It's not everyday that Brendon comes for an advice to a medical student but here he is. Javadi's eyes are big and cautious as he catches her after a procedure.
"You read books right?" Brendon asks bluntly, looking almost bored talking to her.
"H-How do you know that?"
"Not important." He replies. He overheard one of his residents talking about her book account on some app. And he knows you definitely have that app.
"Ugh, yeah, I read." She looks around uncertainly, trying to see if this is some kind of sick prank.
"Good." He takes out his phone and shows her the book app. "Can you explain to me how this works?"
She looks at him like he's grown another head before she starts stammering through the whole explanation.
By the end of it, Javadi's throat is all dry and she's drenched in nervous sweat. She expects Park to chew her out or something. But he only nods and mutters a quiet thanks before he leaves.
Brendon finds your profile easily and starts his research.
-
It's a few days later that you find out about it. You get woken up by a delivery guy hauling a huge box in front of your door. You get up as quietly as you can so you don't wake up Brendon. He came to your apartment straight from pulling a double shift.
You drag the box inside and carefully open it. You didn't order anything so unless it's a joke, you know it must be Brendon's doing.
You almost pass out from the sight in front of you. There are at least 40 books in the box. All of the books you currently have in the 'Want to read' bookshelf in the app.
You jump up and pad quickly to the bedroom on your still bare feet. Brendon is already blinking at you, it's like he has a sixth sense for knowing when you are awake.
"What's this?" You ask tentatively, crawling across the bed towards him so you can settle in his lap.
He gives you one of his smiles that only you get to see and his hands come to squeeze your hips just like you like it. You love his touch, and Brendon loves touching you, it's a win win situation.
"Good morning to you too, doll." He chuckles, looking you up and down. He doesn't even look at the stack of books you're holding.
"Bren, why did you buy all of these and how?" There's a blush creeping in on your cheeks as he grins at you.
"Just because and I won't reveal that secret." He shrugs, giving your soft flesh a squeeze in emphasise. You are smart so you are pretty sure that the newest follower of your account must be Brendon.
You put the books away on the bed, and lay down on Brendon. Your arms come up to hold him by his shoulders and his sneak around your torso.
"They cost too much, Bren. You shouldn't have, but thank you." You whisper, enjoying the soft morning cuddle.
"Sweetheart, I'm more than happy to spend my money on books for you. It wasn't even that much. You know, I'm a surgeon, right?" You can feel his ridiculous smirk as he drops a kiss on the top of your head.
"So humble." You tease, soaking in his warmth. If you could, you'd stay forever like this, just in your boyfriend's arms.
"And besides, I'll reap the benefits of those books later." Your cheeks definitely heat at that, and Brendon can see it. He chuckles before he flips you around and peppers your burning face in amused kisses.
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"All because my head is full of poison
And my heart is full of doubt
I got toxins in my bloodstream
You tried so hard to suck out
—the cure, Olivia Rodrigo
summary: you’re the ray of sunshine and overly dependable smiling intern the night shift crew has been needing. But a certain attending begins noticing you might need more help than you let on.
wc: 11.7k (a short one sorry guys)
warnings: crippling perfectionism, high-key people pleasing, reader is bright and bubbly to compensate for how awful she feels day to day, one vomiting scene, service dom jack, santos is on nightshift bc i love her and i wanted her in this fic. trinity and dennis and reader r basically siblings, jack’s characterization in this is DEF andrew pope cody-esque panic attacks, mental health struggles, reader is an intern again but i swear it’s just cause i watch a lot of greys and interns r the only stage of medical career i know enough about to write semi-well T-T
acknowledgments: once again a round of applause for @wesandresons for the lovely gif, and @uzmacchiato and @cursed-carmine for the dividers!
a/n: i’m not rlly sure i like how this turned out but oh well @leeknowpegger i hope this keeps you company
masterlist
When you first get to the PTMC, Jack can’t decide what he thinks about you.
He vaguely remembers you— you’d done a rotation here, some time ago. One of the unfortunate ones who’d drawn the short stick and been stuck on the night shift. He has a hazy recollection of your face during an MVC, your jaw hard set and a permanent smile to your face. He vaguely remembers, at the time, the only thing he’d really though was:
Jesus, this kid needs to dial it back.
The sentiment, of course, remains the same when it’s handoff time, and Robby is telling him all about what an awful fucking day it’s been, and of course now he says “Oh, remember that med student you got stuck with awhile back? Smiley-face? You must’ve done something right, because she matched into the ED for her residency. She starts today.”
Not exactly the news an attending wants to hear right after the horror show the day has been so far. Especially when intern/baby resident in question is… charismatic.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Ellis says, her eyes trained on you as you soothe a crying teenager who just got wheeled in. “If you ask me, we could use someone who actually smiles. Bit too dark and dreary in here for my taste.”
“You like dark and dreary.”
She gives him an unimpressed raised eyebrow. “So? We can’t all be doing it. Like, we’ve got Shen, but his is more iced-coffee induced than actual smiling charm.”
“I can be charming when I want to be.”
“No, you can be flirty or suggestive. There’s a difference.”
Jack does not justify her response with one of his own, instead choosing to look down at his tablet and pretend to chart while he listens to how you’re interacting with the patient. The teenager seems to be calmed down, and the parents don't sound frantic or worried.
Maybe Ellis is right. Unfortunately, this tends to be the case fairly often.
He sighs and focuses on the chart he’s supposed to be doing and attempts to wipe his mind of bright smiles and glittering eyes.
—
The PTMC and Emergency Medicine in general was not, actually, your first choice. It wasn’t even your second, or your third.
First was surgical. Everybody wants to be surgical. You wanted surgical. It’s flashy, it pays well, and it’s cool as fuck. Plus, unlike some of your classmates, you actually have the stomach for it (one of the many things that eventually translated well to emergency medicine.)
Second was Ortho. Because bones are cool. Ortho surgeries are fun too, when they’re not arthroscopy after arthroscopy.
Third was any kind of unit like Burn or ICU. A high stress program that wouldn’t let you think, let you run on adrenaline all day.
But then you did your rotation in general surgery and absolutely fucking hated it.
Surgeons are assholes. Surgeons are uptight nerds who like to subject anyone they consider beneath them to cruel and unusual punishment.
Even in during the short duration of your rotation through surgery, it almost killed you. You could practically feel the light in your soul dimming at every pointed comment, every sharp correction, every barked insult and something or other cruel word.
And then there was the PTMC. The stupid ED that wasn’t supposed to fun, was supposed to be grueling and exhausting (especially since you’d gotten assigned to the night shift.) But instead of awful you got amazing, which sucked.
Seems counterintuitive, but it’s true.
You wanted to like surgery enough to power though. But not a single rotation after the ED even came close to measuring up. The speed, the action, the gore, and the kind but firm guiding direction from the attending’s and residents.
Matching into the PTMC was an event actually worth celebrating. As in, you decided to un-tense minutely and splurge on actual champagne that you drank in your apartment while dancing to your favorite music.
And now, you’re here. Determined to not fuck this up. To keep moving, keep going, and be a fucking excellent ED doctor.
Except your attending, Dr. Jack Abbot, one of the reasons you joined the ED in the first place, keeps giving you funny looks when he thinks you’re not looking.
You’re not sure if he’s aware that you know that he’s staring at you. You do have a wider than normal field of peripheral vision, so maybe he doesn’t know that you can still see him out of the corner of your eye?
Regardless of if he knows or not, it’s unnerving. Because he’s your boss. And you know he’s capable of being an incredible doctor and mentor, because you see it every single day.
Just not directed at you.
He’s not really mean, or standoffish, or anything like that, he’s just… not necessarily kind. Not in the way that you see him with the other residents on his service or even with you, during your rotation as a med student.
Hell, he’s nicer to Santos than he is to you.
“Did I like, say something to offend him and I don’t know?”
Trinity makes a face at you from over the edge of the monitor. “Isn’t that more my area of expertise?”
“No. You offend people on purpose.”
“True.”
You prop your head on your hands, resting your elbows on the counter above her. Your keycard, attached to your breast pocket via a red, heart-shaped badge reel is lovingly adorned with pink rhinestones and cute stickers. The pocket itself is filled with several glitter gel pens (and regular pens, just in case.)
“I just don’t get it. I’m nice, right?”
“Disturbingly so.”
“Exactly. The only thing I can think of is that I’ve messed up or something, but it’s Dr. Abbot. He’d tell me if I did. He doesn’t exactly hold back.”
“Do you really need me for this conversation?”
You level her with a look, but she just groans.
“Why do you even care? So what, one guy doesn’t like you, boohoo.”
“He’s not just some guy. He’s my attending. And you might’ve secured your spot here, but i’m all shiny and new. I can’t exactly earn people’s respect if our boss doesn’t like me.”
Trinity doesn’t immediately respond with a scathing remark, which usually means that you’ve made a valid point.
“Should I talk to him?”
She sighs. “I think you’re overreacting. You’ve only been here for like, two weeks? Three? He’ll probably calm down the more you work together.”
“Did he stare at you all weirdly when you first started?”
“Well, no, but that’s because I don’t suck at my job.”
Now it’s your turn to glare.
“Sorry. I guess you’re not completely hopeless.”
You roll your eyes. “Thanks, Trin.”
She scrunches her nose up at the nickname like you knew she would, because she hates it, which makes it one of the only weapons you have against her.
Trinity wasn’t as helpful as you’d hoped, and night shift means no Dana to ask for advice. There’s Dr. Ellis, but she’s pretty close to Dr. Abbot, which means there’s a high chance that whatever you ask her will make it back to him. You aren’t really close enough to Dr. Shen to ask him “Hey, how come Dr. Abbot stares at me when he thinks I’m not looking and isn’t as nice to me as he is to you guys?”
The question is stupid and kind of pathetic, so really, you shouldn’t be asking anybody, but you’ve always been crippled by an intense need to be well-liked. It feels like winning, and it feels good and safe. Safe is good. Safe is great.
Wanting the guy who's essentially your boss to like you is completely rational, right?
You just wish he’d tell you what you’re doing wrong, so you can fix it.
Also, it’s just driving you crazy.
Even if he just legitimately didn’t like you, and made that apparent, it’d be something. You could work with that. You could figure out what it was he didn't like via intense pattern recognitin and fix it. Problem solved!
But he isn't obvious about it. He behaves indifferent and detatched- like you could die tomorrow and he wouldn't care.
It’s the not knowing. If you could just ask him, if he could just give you an answer, then you’d know where you stood, and everything could be fine.
What changed? You want to beg, What happened after my med student rotation? Do you even remember that? What did I do? Where did I go wrong?
It eats away at you over the course of the week. It has been since you noticed, which was pretty much on day one. You don’t show this outwardly of course, because you’re pretty sure you can get through to him and level out the wrong-footedness you feel around him through stubborn determination. Surely, at some point your unwavering nature will win out and he’ll finally see there isn’t anything he needs to hate about you. This is an incredibly healthy mindset to move through life with.
The week closes with an MCI around 5pm, which is just everyone’s favorite thing in the world. The night shift gets called in, minus Trinity, who was already there working a double, and everyone sets in for the long haul. You do your best to focus on the patients and do not at all think about the ease and camaraderie between Mohan and Abbot, because that would be a very fucked up progression of priorities.
Eventually it’s all over— patients are stabilized, some aren’t. Overtime ends with phantom blood on your hands and being strong-armed into drinks in the park afterwards.
You feel awkward, because you don’t work with the day shift people that often, so you’re not really sure how best to be yourself and not come across as weird. Neither of your “safe” people (Trinity and Dennis) are present, so there’s no way in hell you’re going to be capable of relaxing.
You take the beer that’s tossed to you, even though you think beer is gross (why does it taste like that? Why do people enjoy it?) and sip on it excruciatingly slowly, trying to hide a grimace and occasionally chiming in with mentally rehearsed and carefully crafted jokes and comments.
It’s exhausting, and not at all how you wanted to spend your night after an MCI. In a dream world, you don’t have the social backbone of a wet paper bag, and you say no, and you go home to your house and shower, then watch one, maybe two episodes of a tv show, scroll through Pinterest, and then go the fuck to bed.
But for the low low price of much needed rest, you get to drink one of the most disgusting alcoholic beverages known to man and worry if everyone thinks you’re being weird! Yay!
Also. Side note. Minor comment. Little issue.
Jack Abbot is sitting next to you. Like, right next to you on the bench. Because he came late and it was the last spot open. So he’s just right there. Posture loose and open and not at all like he didn’t just help you try to save a girl your age who had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Like two hours ago your elbows weren’t brushing, elbow deep in a man’s organs, saving his life.
Jack, unlike you, looks comfortable to be at the park with everyone. He doesn’t look like he’s analyzing conversation to determine the best thing to say next.
Jack isn’t looking at everyone. He’s not looking at anyone. He’s looking at you.
You turn, give him a little smile.
Again.
Maybe he doesn’t know you can still see him out of the corner of your eye. (No, he’s a vet, he’d definitely also have wide peripheral vision. But maybe he thinks that you don’t have it, because you’re not a vet.)
(You’re probably thinking too much about the peripheral vision.)
Jack doesn’t stop staring at you. Instead, he reaches over to where your barely-drunk beer is in your hands, and says:
“Here, give me that.”
And then he just. Takes your beer. Straight out of your hands.
Jesus fucking fuck he so hates you.
—
“He took your beer?”
“Yes,” You groan from the kitchen island in Trinity’s apartment, “He said ‘here, give me that’ and then just took it. He didn’t say anything else to me for the rest of the night.”
She lets out a low whistle. “Maybe he doesn’t like you. What could you have possibly done to make him not like you?”
“I don’t know!”
“Well, you better fix it. Having your attending hate your guts will like, majorly suck.”
“I don’t know how to fix it. That’s what i’m over here for. To brainstorm.”
“I thought you were here to steal the cookies Huckleberry made?”
Dennis peeks his head up from the couch. “Wait, what?”
You wave a hand. “Semantics. Focus.”
“Okay,” Trinity taps a pencil on a notepad, “Have you tried sleeping with him?”
“He’s like, probably over twenty years older than me.”
“So? I know your type.”
You roll your eyes. “As if he’d go after me, Trin. He doesn’t like me.”
“Hate sex is a thing.”
“Name one time hate sex solved the hate part.”
She purses her lips. “Touché. What about like, baking him shit, like Huckleberry does for—“
“Shut up Trinity!”
You both snicker.
“No dice,” You sigh, “I can’t bake for shit. Recipes never have enough context. They’re never specific enough.”
“Two tablespoons of sugar isn’t specific enough for you?”
“You’re not helping.”
Trinity holds up her hands in mock surrender. “To be fair, I never agreed to help. I just said we’d both be here if you wanted to come over.”
“I think you should just ask him.” Dennis pipes up.
He shuffles off the couch and slides into the second chair at the kitchen island adjacent to you. “Dr. Abbot is a straightforward guy. He appreciates honesty. Doesn’t beat around the bush. I can’t imagine him being truly upset that you tried to fix a problem.”
“I want to, but that’s like. Too straightforward. What if—“
“Oh my god,” Trinity moans, “Just ask him. Or fuck him. Do something so I don’t have to hear about it anymore.”
You frown, opening your mouth to object, then close it with a sigh.
She’s right.
You have to just move on. Either deal with it or deal with it by… not dealing with it. Talk to him or don’t.
Easier said than done.
—
It takes two more shifts of unrequited awkwardness for you to finally reach your limit. At a certain point, probably when you almost snapped at him for hovering (doing his job) while you were trying to intubate a patient, you realize that you cannot, actually, just get through to him via stubborn determination.
Damn.
So when you have a second, you corner him in one of the quieter hallways. The conversation has the potential to be horrifically embarrassing and mortifying, so it’s best if there’s no audience.
“Do you have a minute, Dr. Abbot?”
He glances down at his watch, then crosses his arms and leans against the opposite wall.
He doesn’t talk (unnerving, annoying) and his sharp, ever analyzing gaze makes your skin prickle as you cross your hands behind your back and mirror his position, leaning against the wall.
He’s so irritating. He won’t even give you a fucking inch. There’s nothing to go on.
“Did I do something wrong?”
For the first time since you became a resident in the ED, he makes an expression: surprise.
“Why do you think you did something wrong?”
“Because you won’t fucking talk to me!” You hiss, absolutely fed up with Dr. Jack Abbot, “Half the time you only look at me when you think I won’t notice. You don’t talk to me unless it’s required for teaching, and even then, it’s short and stilted. I’ve seen how you interact with literally every other person who works here. I know you can be nice. You’re just not nice to me, and I’d like to know why.”
You pause. “And you took my beer!”
There’s a moment of silence, and then there’s a breathy, almost wheezing sound that takes you a minute to place.
He’s laughing.
Jack fucking Abbot starts laughing.
You honest to God want to kill him.
“Sorry,” He says, eyes sparkling with mirth and shoulders loose, “I can see how all of that can be taken negatively—“
“How else was I supposed to take that.”
Jack levels you with a look, and you shut your mouth. “But it was not my intention.”
He just stops speaking there, like that’s a perfectly adequate explanation and not at all vague and almost more disconcerting.
“So…,” You drawl, “What was your intention?”
Something interesting, a little more heated than just analytical sparks in his gaze, and he tilts his head, eyes flicking up and down your body.
Under the silence and scrutiny, you resist the urge to squirm in place, hands squeezing themselves in an effort to subdue the itch.
“You hate confrontation.”
Your chest feels like a cinder block just slammed onto it. “What?”
“You,” He levels a finger at your chest, “Hate confrontation. You hate it so much that you lie about yourself to people instead of saying things they might not like.”
You laugh nervously, voice high and reedy. “A lot of people do that. I don’t think that’s a crime.”
“It’s not. But it doesn’t exactly make me want to trust you with my residents. With my team.”
“You’re worried I’ll what? Get somebody in trouble? Do something shitty?”
“I’m worried that something is going to happen to you, and you won’t tell anyone about it.”
The hallway grows silent. In this distance there’s beeping, someone shouting orders, a child crying. But not in the five feet of space you, Jack, and the conversion currently occupies.
“Why do all of this?” You gesture vaguely to the space between you two, unwilling to be more specific. He does not deserve the itemized list you assembled in your head.
“I wanted to see if you’d confront me about it or not. Confirm my suspicions.”
“That’s—“ You wrinkle your nose, “Actually kind of shitty of you.”
Jack just hums.
“So what now? Did I prove myself to you?” Your tone is mocking.
He scoffs, “God, you really hate confrontation, don’t you?”
Your skin prickles again. “No.”
“Lying again.”
“Shut up.”
He knows how uncomfortable he’s making you. He’s doing it on purpose. And right then and there, you decide you don’t care what Jack Abbot thinks, because if Jack Abbot is going to be a self-assured asshole, Jack Abbot can go fuck himself.
Your pager going off saves you from verbalizing any of this, and with one last glare, you’re gone.
—
If Jack was an obnoxious lurker before, it doesn’t hold a damn candle to how he behaves now.
He’s just. Everywhere. Around every corner. Driving you crazy.
When you bring this up to Trinity, she looks at you like you’ve finally lost it.
Which. Okay. You probably have. But that’s beside the point! The point is…
…The point is that Jack Abbot is getting on your last nerve and you really don’t have any to spare. Life has been stomping all over the other ones, so the singular nerve Jack is stabbing with his annoying pointed looks and almost lingering touches and stupid little questions (“Hey, that was a rough one, are you alright?”) is just worn out. It doesn’t have anything left to give. You don’t have anything left to give.
But, like you were brought up to do, you keep right on giving. And working. And smiling.
Because it goes a little something like this: There’s no one to pick you up if you fall. You pick yourself up when you fall, and you’ve gotten pretty fucking good at it. All of your friends (read: Trinity and Dennis and maybe Mel) are doctors, which means you all have shitty work/life balance and no one would even be available if you called and said “Hey, every morning I lie awake and stare at the ceiling and convince myself to get up while listening to Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley, after which I will inevitably cry on the bus to work. Would you mind helping me with my laundry?”
Okay. Well. Trinity would probably show up if you asked because once she decides that you’re her friend she’s really intense about it (she’s a bit like a Doberman or some other dog like that, not that you would ever tell her) and Dennis probably would too, but only because he never says no when someone asks for help so it kind of just feels like you’re taking advantage of him. Mel is far too busy juggling being an ED doctor and caring for Becca for you to even think about asking her without feeling intense, soul crushing guilt.
So yeah. You don’t really have a best friend, unless one would count the singular romance book you’ve read so much the spine is completely fucked and the pages are yellow from years of travel and rereading. Counting any book as a best friend is probably very pathetic. But hey, don’t fix what isn’t broken.
So you have a system and a method and crying before and after work every single day is totally, completely normal, healthy, and sustainable. Probably even more so in the medical field, and especially since you’re a PGY1. Interns gotta suffer and all that jazz.
Jack Abbot does not need to make the suffering worse by existing near you constantly. Things are really honestly bad enough.
“Hey,” Trinity grabs your arm as you’re going by during a mellow shift, grip not tight enough to hurt but enough to be a bit past uncomfortable, especially for a girl not used to physical contact, “You good?”
‘No,’ You want to shout, collapsing on the floor in a heap of bones and tears, ‘I haven’t done laundry in so long that I’ve started wearing my cleanest dirty socks instead of washing more. I don’t have the energy to spend my days off doing anything productive, but every time I sleep instead of doing chores the anxiety eats me alive. I can’t sleep at night because the guilt makes me so nervous sometimes I throw up. Sometimes I don’t wash myself in the shower and I just stand in the water until it gets cold. Every day I wake up with the same headache, and then I take medicine for it, but by the time it’s gone I’m going to bed and then I wake up with it all over again. I think my liver is shot from over-the-counter medication usage. Everything hurts. I’m so tired.’
Trinity needs you to be okay. Trinity is too busy and under too much stress to worry about you. She needs you to be okay. Everyone needs you be okay.
“Mhm!” You nod, lips spread wide, “Pretty good day actually, all things considered.”
It’s not a total lie. The headache relief you’ve been taking religiously is kicking in faster than it usually does today.
Trinity scans your face, looking for signs of a lie, and she must find something (not shocking, it’s very hard to pretend that everything isn’t awful when Everything Is Really Awful) because her grip tightens minutely and she does that pursed lip thing she does when she’s worried and about to express it through anger or bitchiness.
“Don’t fuck with me. I don’t want to find out you’re like, doing drugs or something stupid like that. If you’re having a hard time—“
“Trin,” You interrupt, skin prickling uncomfortably as she implies that you’re not capable of handling things on your own, “If I need help, I know I can ask for it. And look,”
You tap your unbroken collection of glitter gel pens still intact in the front pocket of your scrubs. “It’s gotta be a good day. I still got my glitter.”
She wrinkles her nose, but drops your arm. “I don’t even know why you keep those. You can’t use them on like, anything. It’s against hospital policy.”
You shrug. “Glitter is a great motivator and mood elevator. Plus, kids love ‘em.”
You manage to feign something important coming up and duck out of the conversation and then, when the coast is clear, dart into one of the lesser used bathrooms and tuck yourself in the darkest stall.
Even in a hospital, toilet seats are disgusting, but you can’t quite summon any actual disgust as you plop down on the white porcelain, only lightly cracked, and cradle your exhausted head in your hands.
You have to keep going. There is no alternative. There is no other option.
Your chest feels tight and loose at the same time, and your skin feels clammy and wrong. Everything feels wrong. The lights are too bright and the material of your scrubs is scratchy and awful, and the longer you sit in the stall the more you want to throw up.
Someone knocks on the door before you get the chance to move down to your knees and start worshipping the porcelain altar. Assuming it to be Mel, who sometimes has a habit of showing up at the wrong time, you open the stall door to reveal none other than Jack Fucking Abbot.
You stare at him blankly for a few beats, too bewildered to feel sick. “You’re not allowed to be in here.”
“In the men’s bathroom?”
“This isn’t the men’s bathroom.”
“The sign on the door would say otherwise.”
Embarrassment brings the nausea back tenfold. You hold the stall door in a white knuckle grip to keep yourself upright and from hurling onto your boss.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I swear I didn’t do this on purpose—“
Jack raises an eyebrow, his hands folded behind his back. Military man, right.
“Clearly.”
You stumble forward. “I need to go—“
“Woah, down girl. I didn’t knock because I cared which toilet you use. You work here. Use whatever toilet you want. Preferably not the one in the attending’s lounge.”
“There’s an attending’s lounge?”
“No.” He grins, a devilish upturn to just the corner of his lips.
“Oh,” You pause, then catch up to the rest of what he said, “Then why’d you knock?”
“Cause it kind of sounded like you were dying in there, and I’d rather if you didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“The paperwork, for one. Two, Santos would probably shank me.”
“Ah.”
“Also,” He shrugs, “I’d miss you.”
You scoff. “No you wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
“You don’t like me. You don’t even trust me.”
Jack gets this pinched look on his face; his lips pull down, his brows furrow and he narrows his eyes, just a bit.
He opens his mouth to respond when the door bangs open.
Jack doesn’t even look up before he’s barking:
“Find another bathroom.”
“But I have to—“
“Find another bathroom or I’ll cut your dick off.”
The guy grumbles away, but Jack never takes his eyes off you. It’s unnerving— to be the sole focus of his attention.
You’re the first to break the now tense silence of the bathroom.
“That seemed a bit extreme.”
“I’m not a man who does things by halves.”
“No,” You sigh, “I suppose you’re not.”
Jack cocks his head to side, almost predatory. More methodical than anything. He looks at you— really looks at you. Shamelessly drags his eyes up your body, likely cataloguing every mystery bruise, frown line, eye bag, freckle, and all the million lines of exhaustion that seem etched on your very being, right down through the bones and marrow.
He sighs, crossing his arms before leaning back on the opposite wall of the bathroom.
“What am I going to do with you?”
His words instantly have you on edge, bristling at all the unsaid things behind his tone.
“I’m not something to be dealt with. I’m a person, not some fucking—“
“You’re like a stray cat,” He interrupts, “Always hissing. Do I need to win you over with treats? Should I start bringing canned tuna?”
“You’re an asshole.”
“And you’re drowning.”
Just like that, all the humor gets sucked from the room, replaced with the cold, sharp grip of reality. Suddenly exhausted by the weight of it all, you drop back down onto the toilet seat.
Jack gives you a few moments to respond, get angry, or defend yourself, but you don’t. He’s too good at reading you, it seems. What is there to say?
When you don’t speak, he does.
“Did you think no one would notice?”
“No one has.”
“Am I no one?”
You lean back, closing your eyes and awkwardly resting the back of your head against the wall and the back of the toilet.
“You’re nosy.”
If this were any other moment, any other scenario with any other person, you would never ever act so contrary. But you’re tired and Jack seems to bring out the worst in you.
He makes an amused huffing noise. “You’re good at what you do, I’ll give you that.”
“What, exactly, am I doing?”
“Pretending.”
You scoff. “Fuck off.”
“Come on, sweetheart. How much longer are you going to do this to yourself?”
You lift your head off the back of the toilet. “You act like I’m killing myself:”
“You are,” His inclined his head, “Just really slowly.”
You scrub a hand down your face.
“Look. I understand why you think you have to care, but you don’t. I’m just going through a rough patch. I’ll get through them like I always do. I’m not gonna crash and burn or endanger myself or do whatever it is you’re worried I’m going to do, okay? So you can leave me alone. I’m fine.”
Jack doesn’t get to respond, because the second the words are out of your mouth the nausea that’s been churning in your stomach since you made it to the bathroom rises all at once, and you barely have time to slide off the toilet and turn before you’re throwing up hard enough to almost choke.
The worst part is that you forgot to eat lunch so your stomach is woefully, painfully empty. You’re throwing up nothing but bile, throat burning and tears streaming down your face.
“Alright, come on,” A warm hand rubs soothing circles on your back, and if you weren’t busy hurling your guts out, you’d marvel at the feeling and juxtaposition between the Jack you know, who’s all cold indifference, and the Jack currently holding your hair out of your face while you vomit.
“Let it out,” He soothes, hand still rubbing, “Don’t fight it. It’ll be over soon.”
“I hate throwing up.” You choke, coughing and gasping.
“No one does. But you’ll feel better when it’s over.”
Over feels like it’s never going to come. But eventually your stomach stops clenching, you manage to stop heaving, and you’re slumped over the toilet, sucking down gulps of air, sweat beading on your forehead and the back of your neck.
“This,” You mumble in between gasps, “Means nothing.”
You can’t see Jack’s expression, but his response is so quiet you almost miss it.
“Okay.”
You can’t see his face, but you know this isn’t over.
—
Jack sends you home once you’re capable of standing on your own two feet without shaking like a newborn fawn.
(“You can’t send me home.”
“Yes I can. You’re not allowed to come back to work after throwing up in the bathroom.”
“We both know I’m not the only person to do it.”
“Yeah, but I haven’t caught the other people in the wrong bathroom and held their hair back while they vomited.”
“…”
“You only have two hours left anyway. Go home.”)
The problem lies in the fact that the buses aren’t running yet, which means that you can’t, actually, get home. Your house is an hour away on foot. An hour you’d normally be capable of walking, but your phone is almost dead, you’re exhausted, and you still feel a little weak because of the vomiting.
So after retrieving your things from your locker, you find yourself sitting on the little bench outside the PTMC, waiting for the minutes to tick by. If you didn’t bring at least one book with you everywhere you go in case of emergencies (like this one) you probably would have just walked into oncoming traffic.
It’s cold out and your jacket is cheap so you have to burrow into it, hood up to retain any semblance of warmth. It would be almost cozy —huddled in your jacket, watching the city go by, tucked into your favorite romance book— if the shift hadn’t gone the way it had and if a grueling bus ride and half mile walk didn’t await you once the buses finally start running. Waiting for you beyond that is just chores and an empty apartment.
Your fingers tighten on the edges of your book.
“Why the fuck are you still here?”
You jolt in place, cracking your neck over to the side and blinking blearily.
Jack. Again.
He makes an expectant face at you as if to say ‘Well?’ when you don’t answer immediately.
Your eyes dart back and forth nervously, even though you know you haven’t done anything wrong. “The buses aren’t running yet. It’s an hour walk to my house.”
Jack scrubs a hand down his face and curses under his breath.
“How long until your bus gets here?”
You check your phone. Shit. Only four percent left.
“And hour and a half. Maybe a little longer if it’s running behind more than usual.”
He seems put out by your answer, as if the bus’s heavily fluctuating schedule is of personal consequence and offense to him.
“Um,” You start, both uncomfortable at having been caught reading a romance book in public and at the general air of frustration Jack seems to be venting at the moment, “I’m fine. I have my book. I don’t mind waiting.”
Jack just sighs.
“Do you really think I’m just going to leave you out here, in the cold, after you threw up in the bathroom, to wait for the bus, for nearly two more hours?”
You wince. “Well, it doesn’t sound great when you put it like that.”
He works his jaw. “Have you eaten?”
“No…?”
He shakes his head.
“Come on. You’re coming with me.”
—
“I have to admit, this isn’t where I thought we were going.
Thirty minutes later finds you seated on the cracked vinyl seat of a booth in a cheap diner, staring at a menu and rationalizing spending your last $15 on what will probably be mediocre pancakes.
Jack is seated across from you, already two mugs of coffee —black, but oddly enough, decaf— and not even bothering to pretend to look at his menu. He either comes here often or doesn’t care to act like he isn’t staring at you.
Probably both.
“Where did you think we were going?”
Steam curls out of your own untouched mug of coffee —ordered for you by Jack, also unfortunately decaf— and you debate just getting up and running out of here.
Too bad you’re too exhausted to run anywhere. Jack’s probably banking on that.
“I don’t know,” You shrug, setting the menu down, “Maybe to Gloria’s office to write me up or something.”
“What would I even be writing you up for?”
“Disobeying direction? I’m sure you could come up with something.”
The waitress chooses that moment to appear, notepad in hand. “Are we ready to order?”
Jack rattles off his order, and then two sets of eyes turn to you expectantly. Before you can order the single fruit bowl you were planning on getting (the cheapest thing on the menu) Jack pipes up:
“Order whatever you actually want. Not whatever you think is cheapest or easiest.”
The waitress, a middle aged woman who has probably seen much worse than whatever the two of you have going on, just chuckles lightly under her breath.
You hesitantly list the item you’d been eyeing and thank the waitress.
It isn’t until after the menus have been taken and Jack’s coffee re-upped for the third time that you manage to courage to speak.
“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”
“I know.”
“No, I mean,” your fingers curl on the edge of the table, desperate for something to hold onto, “I can’t— It’ll be awhile until I can pay you back. I barely made rent this month.”
“Do you think I would take you to breakfast and then make you pay?”
“Yes…?”
“You’re not touching the bill, kid. I’m a gentleman.”
“Oh,” You didn’t really see that coming, “Okay.”
Jack gets a funny expression on his face, then resumes his drinking coffee and glancing out the window routine.
“So,” You say after a beat, “Was there something you wanted to talk about…?”
The silence just feels so awkward. It’s killing you.
He raises a brow. “Do you want to talk?”
“I’m asking you.”
“And I’m asking you what you want to do. What do you usually do when you come out to eat?”
“I don’t? Eating out is expensive, so. But when I do it’s usually by myself, so I end up just reading.”
Jack gestures to your bag beside you. “Don’t let me stop you.”
“What?”
“Read your book.”
“But that’s— isn’t that boring for you?”
He sets his mug down. “I didn’t bring you here because I wanted something from you. I brought you here because you had a shitty day and it seemed like you could use some cheering up. If reading makes you feel better, then do it.”
You have to look out the window to avoid his gaze. You don’t understand how your perfectly crafted facade just crumbles into fucking dust around him. How he manages to see right through you at every turn, how he manages to uncover every lie and every half truth.
“How did you even know I like diner food?”
“Because I pay attention to you.”
You finally look back over at him, arms folded across your chest; not really defensively, more like you’re trying to hold your entire body together by sheer force of will.
Jack’s lips twitch. Not really a smile, but almost. “You bring it up every time Santos wants to get food after a shift. She always says no, because she hates it, but it never stops you from suggesting it.”
It’s just one detail. One tiny, inconsequential detail that he’s apparently memorized and held onto because to him, it’s important. For some impossible to understand reason, he seems to care.
"Also," He shrugs, "I'd miss you."
You scoff. "No you wouldn't."
"I would."
“Do you hate me?”
Jack looks back at you, seemingly startled by the abrupt question.
“No.”
You take a deep, shuddering breath.
“Okay.”
—
“You did what?”
You wince from your spot lying face-down on Trinity’s couch.
“Not so loud, Trin. I have a headache.”
She ignores you, seated on the floor almost directly in front of you. “So you’ve gone from hating each other to going on a date?”
“It wasn’t a date,” You groan, “We spent almost the entire time in silence. I read my book and he stared out the window and did… whatever it is men like him do when they stare out the window.”
“Brooding,” Trinity says, “He paid. That means it’s a date.”
“No it doesn’t!”
It doesn't. It totally doesn't. Just because Jack said he doesn't hate you doesn't mean he likes you either. There are a lot of emotions in between hate and love. Like toleration, for example. Mild amusement. Exasperation. An appropriate amount of annoyance.
Trinity pokes you on the back of your head, having none of it.
"He likes you. Why else would he willingly hang out with one of us after work?"
"He goes out for drinks in the park sometimes." You mumble.
"Yeah, after an MCI."
What Trinity doesn't know is the events leading up to breakfast at the diner, because that would involve telling her about the whole throwing up from anxiety in the men's bathroom directly after a mini-panic attack because she confronted you about your unhealthy lifestyle (which all just sounds a lot worse than it is), so there isn't really a way to give her the kind of context necessary to get her off your back and dissuade her from her (insanely insane) belief that Jack likes you. Romantically.
"Trust me Trin, he was just being nice. Nothing romantic about it."
It was kind of romantic. Just eating surprisingly good food in the company of someone you don't need to pretend around, enjoying being in the company of another human being without worry or expectation.
Not that she needs to know that.
"Jack doesn't do nice. Have you seen him? What happened to the hating?"
You shrug. "You'll just have to ask him, because I don't know."
You do know. He told you. Explained it.
It doesn't make sense.
Trinity throws her hands in the air dramatically.
"Whatever. You two are impossible."
She finally withdraws, leaving you to wallow in your headache-induced misery by yourself on her couch.
Your phone vibrates on the floor next to you, and you groan, rolling further over to hide yourself in the crack of the couch, shunning the light like the reclusive vampire you are.
Your phone vibrates again.
“Dennis,” your voice is muffled by the couch cushion so it ends up sounding more like ‘denim’, “Can you please see who’s texting me and tell them to fuck off?”
Dennis, who was eating cereal at the tiny table near the kitchen when you first showed up fifteen minutes ago and has pointedly stayed silent throughout the entire exchange between you and Trinity, finally speaks.
“Your phone is two inches away from your hand.”
“I have a headache I don’t wanna look at the screen.”
You feel rather than actually see him roll his eyes, but then there’s the clink of a spoon against a bowl and the faint sound of socked —you’ve genuinely never seen him ever be barefoot under any circumstances, no matter what, he’s always wearing socks— feet as they make their way over to your temporary pit (couch) of despair.
There’s a quiet rustle as he picks up your phone off the floor.
“Oh.”
You whine, dramatic and upset. “What?”
“Um,” He grabs your shoulder, slowly rolling you over and away from the back of the couch, “It’s Jack?”
“What!?” You screech.
You throw yourself up, wincing as you immediately regret it when the pain in your head doubles, take a steadying breath to ignore it, and then grab the phone from Dennis’s outstretched hand.
You turn on the phone and— yep. Sure enough. A text from Jack, complete with the stupid picture of a dinosaur you made his profile picture. Because he’s old.
(It was funnier at the time.)
Somewhere behind you there’s a crash, and then the thump thump thump that can only mean a person running towards you at dangerous speeds for sock covered feet on cheap linoleum.
“Incoming,” Dennis mutters.
“Did I just hear that right?” Trinity gasps, nearly giving herself blunt force trauma via the back of the couch, “Did Jack just text you?”
“I don’t know!” You cry.
“How do you not know! Your phone is right in your fucking hands!”
“I’m tired! Stop yelling at me!”
“Guys!” Dennis shouts, holding up his hands, “I refuse to spend my day off listening to you two argue over the validity of romance with our attending. Give me the phone.”
He snatches the phone without waiting for a response, quickly typing in your password (if there was ever a moment you regret telling him in case of emergency…) and opening the text.
He makes an incredulous face at the phone before saying:
“He asked what you’re doing today.”
Trinity claps once. “Fucking called it!”
“Trinity!” Dennis snaps, before sighing and tapping at your keyboard, “I’m telling him that you have a headache and you’re at our place and to please not text again—“
“No!” You squeal, launching yourself off the couch, arms outstretched, but your legs tangle over each other and you fall and slam, gloriously and beautifully, face first into the coffee table.
“Oo!” Trinity winces, covering her mouth.
“Oh my god!” Dennis balks, “Are you okay?”
“Just give me the fucking phone.”
Peeling your face off, you grab the phone, squinting at the screen and ignoring the black spots in the corner of your vision.
hi, you type, I’m at Trinity and Dennis’s. Did you need something?
You hit send before you can talk yourself out of it.
“We,” You haul yourself to your feet and stagger over to the kitchen table, “Will never speak of this.”
“I definitely am. When I’m the maid of honor at your guys wedding, I’m gonna give a speech and be all ‘you guys, she gave herself a concussion the first time he texted—‘“
“There will be no wedding!”
“That’s just what you think.”
Your phone vibrates again, signaling a response.
Just wondering how you were doing. Surprised to hear you’re not holed up in your apartment reading something.
Ah, sexy old men and their correct grammar and punctuation when texting. Shouldn’t be endearing.
“What’s he saying?”
“Go away!”
You tap out a quick response.
Not today unfortunately lol I have a headache so no reading for me
Isn’t this the sixth day in a row you’ve had a headache? Should I give neuro a call?
You stomach flips.
nooo I’m fine i get them all the time
That’s not exactly reassuring.
I went to the doctor for them awhile ago apparently they’re normal
Who?
if I tell you, are you going to call him and make him send over my chart?
Yes.
Your heart is starting to pound a fluttering beat in your chest, and you hunch over your phone.
then i’m not telling you. it’s fine, really
they usually go away when i take over the counter stuff
So your plan is just to destroy your liver?
pretty much
We need to work on your planning skills.
we?
I’m not doing all the work.
Now stop looking at your phone. Drink some Gatorade and take a nap.
this is a resident apartment there’s no gatorade here just redbulls
Have either of them buy you one. I’ll pay whichever one it is later. Go to sleep. You need it.
You turn off your phone, shuffling back over to the couch and flopping down onto it.
“I’m taking a nap. Jack wants one of you to go buy me a Gatorade. He said he’d pay you back later.”
“He said what?”
—
You end up sleeping the entire day away, which should have screwed up your sleep schedule, but thankfully you live in a state of perpetual exhaustion and are fully capable of falling asleep anytime, anywhere, no matter how much you last sleep. It’s a gift.
Shockingly, the shift you work the next day is actually much easier to survive and your smiles aren’t nearly as forced. Go figure. Who knew that getting an appropriate amount of sleep would be so helpful?
“Somebody’s in a better mood today.” Jack mutters as you sidle up next to him under the board.
“I’m pretty sure I slept for like, fourteen straight hours. Thanks for the Gatorade, by the way. I woke up around hour three, chugged it, and then went back to sleep. No headache when I woke up!”
“Wonderful,” He drawls, “It’s almost like taking care of yourself is actually beneficial.”
“I take care of myself plenty.”
He casts you a sidelong glance, expression pinched.
“When was the last time you drank water without being prompted?”
“That’s different.”
“Okay,” He dips his head, “When was the last time you ever felt truly relaxed?”
You give him a beaming smile, so wide it hurts. “We’re not going to talk about this right now!”
“You started this conversation. I’m trying to do my job.”
You snort. “You’re waiting to see if someone else is going to take the sunburn guy.”
“Are you accusing an attending of cherry picking?”
“Of course not. Just observing, sir.”
Jack’s turned to look at you now, head tilted up, hands folded behind his back.
When you say sir, his eyes flick down to your lips, and then his jaw tightens.
The air suddenly becomes charged, the space between you two filled with something too electric to be air.
It smells like aftershave, hospital antiseptic, wanting, and something that’s distinctly masculine.
You look away first, swallowing hard past the sudden dryness of your mouth.
“You know,” You say, crossing your arms and looking up at the board, “Trinity thinks you like me. Romantically.”
“Mm.”
“I told her that was dumb,” You babble, “Obviously it’s not true, but. She won’t let it go, so if she says something, just ignore her. Or not. Whatever you want.”
“Why wouldn’t it be true?”
You whip your head around so fast you’re pretty sure something cracks. “What?”
“I mean,” Jack’s voice is gruff as he shrugs once, “Is that really so unrealistic?”
“Of course it is,” You sputter, “You don’t like me.”
“I’ve actually never said that. That was a conclusion you came to on your own. I distinctly recall telling you that I don’t hate you.”
“Just because you don’t hate me doesn’t mean that you like me, let alone— like that.”
Jack tilts his head, almost predatory, and all that sharp tension rushes straight back in.
“Like what?”
Something hot and dangerous is starting to unfurl in your chest, untethering from where it was previously lodged deep behind your ribs, out of sight, out of feeling.
“Code Blue en route, ETA two minutes.”
Jack jerks his head in the direction of the ambulance bay. “You gonna go get that?”
“Uh,” You’re pretty sure you’re stroking out, having a seizure, or something, because the only thing you’re capable of comprehending is the fact that Jack just not-so-subtly implied to actually liking you. Romantically.
“Get going then.”
You scurry away, hot all over and absolutely done with emotions in their entirety.
—
The rest of the week is hell on Earth. Perks of being in your twenties.
Things could be worse though!
Kind of.
It’s just that it’s been several days since Jack basically confirmed Trinity’s suspicions on romance and you can’t stop thinking about it. Obsessively.
It’s bad.
Bad enough that when Mel asked if there was any way you could cover her shift, you said yes.
“Okay,” Dennis stage-whispers as you’re downing your third coffee of the day, miserably charting at the nurses station, “I feel the need to ask how bad things can possibly be if you’re covering a day shift.”
“Mel asked.”
Dennis blinks incredulously. “You love Mel, but not enough to work a day shift voluntarily.”
“What exactly are you asking me here?”
“Did you and Jack hit a rough patch or something?”
“Keep your voice down!” You hiss, ducking your head as if you can hide from Princess and Perlah, “And for your information, no. We didn’t. I just wanted to do something nice for Mel.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t need you to believe me.”
Day-shift crawls on in a whirlwind of chaos and a level of dumb-fuckery that can only be achieved from the hours of 8 a.m to 8 p.m. As usual, the place is understaffed, overcrowded, and filled with a lingering sense of impending doom.
By the time night-shift starts filtering in, you’re ready to completely give up and start a new life a sheep rancher in New Zealand. It’s always been the plan if being a doctor didn’t work out.
Jack finds you in the locker room once the handoff is over, sitting on the little bench in the same position Dennis found you in earlier. Face in your hands, heels in your eyes, methodically counting breaths and wondering if that fluttering feeling in your chest is from caffeine consumption or sleep deprivation.
It’s fine. Your fine. Everything is fine.
“You don’t look too good.”
“I’m—“
“Don’t say you’re fine.”
“But I am,” You grit, “I just need a minute.”
“Okay.”
There’s the distinct sound of Jack’s slightly uneven footsteps, and then there’s a warm weight pressed against your side.
You take another shuddering breath that feels less like breathing and more like placing a single brick in a wobbly foundation.
“Shouldn’t you be out on the floor?”
“I don’t work tonight.”
You raise your head just enough to look at him. “You don’t? I thought I saw you on the schedule. Why are you here if you don’t work?”
Now that you’re looking at him and not starburst patterns on the back of your eyelids, you can see that he’s wearing casual clothes, not scrubs, and he doesn’t have his usual army-issue backpack with him.
“I got Shen to cover me. I came here for you.”
Your next breath in almost gets stuck in your chest, air struggling to move past that alive and wriggling thing that keeps moving every time Jack is around.
“What’d you do that for?”
The barest hints of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Dennis called me. He said you’d need picking up after your shift.”
Shame, guilt, and embarrassment flood your veins, turning your blood into sickly-sweet poison that makes your stomach roll and twist.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I have no idea why he did that. You really didn’t have to drive all the way over here, I swear I didn’t tell him to call you or something like that—“
“I know you didn’t,” Jack soothes, voice a rumbly, smooth timber that washes over your permanently-frazzled nerves like a balm, “Which is why I came.”
“I don’t understand.”
Jack stands, pulling your bag and change of clothes out of your locker.
“I’m going to ask you a question, and I need you to be honest with me, so you don’t have to answer it again. Can you do that for me?”
You nod once.
“Words.”
“Uh— yeah. Yes.”
“Good.”
Thank god the locker room is empty— everyone’s either on the floor or already left for their homes.
He closes your locker down, shoulders your bag, and hands you your clothes.
“Is it easier for you to accept help when you don’t have to ask and don’t get the chance to say no?”
It sounds so pathetic, hearing it laid out like that. The ugly guts of you; cut open, laid bare, and marked for research. Exhibit A, the inside of the girl no one ever needed to worry about.
You don’t want to agree. You want to laugh it off, maybe run away from it. Sit up straight, wipe your face, take the bag from Jack and explain that this is all a big misunderstanding and you’re perfectly fine and he can stop worrying about you now.
“Yes.”
Jack doesn’t verbally acknowledge your response besides a single dip of his head, like he knows that if he does anything more it’ll turn your response into a confession and that’s just too vulnerable for the hospital locker room.
“I’ll drive you home.”
“I don’t mean to be this way, you know.”
The passenger seat of Jack’s car isn’t somewhere you’d ever imagined yourself being. Not even late at night or on the bus when you’re pretending to be someone else who’s better at chasing what they want.
“It stopped being intentional a long time ago,” your hands are fisted into the material of your sweatpants, nails digging into the fabric, “It was just the natural progression of things. I like being liked.”
What you don’t say, what becomes an unspoken truth that lingers in the air despite not being verbalized, is the survival aspect of it. Why and how a person fuses this kind of thing to their personality; to their life. The circumstances that makes the natural progression of things end it being better for everyone if you just don’t have needs.
“I know.”
“I know you know, I just… needed to tell you. Myself.”
It’s odd seeing Jack illuminated by streetlights instead of fluorescent overheads. It’s odd being able to watch his hand flex on the steering wheel, watching his forearm tense as he shifts gears in his old stick-shift.
“You like being told what to do.”
Your face heats, but you’re determined not to lose face now. Especially after managing to survive being emotionally flayed open, willingly, by him.
“It feels safe. If I know what yo— someone wants, then I can’t mess it up, and I can relax.”
You can practically see the gears turning in Jack’s mind.
“Makes sense.”
The rest of the drive is quiet, the silence only filled by the sounds of Pittsburgh around you and the gentle crackle of something from the radio turned down too low to hear.
And for the first time in longer than you can remember, you begin feeling something that approaches calm.
Jack doesn’t have any expectations. There isn’t any one particular way he wants you to act or expects you to behave like. There’s nothing he wants you to do.
So you do what you want to do.
You relax.
—
In the weeks following Jack driving you home, there is a quantifiable shift in behavior between the two of you.
He starts pulling back.
It strikes you as odd first, and your natural inclination is to pull back too— to guard the soft, vulnerable bits you’ve showed him in case he throws them back at you.
But then you realize what he’s doing.
Instead of telling you how to proceed on a case when you come to him for advice, he asks you questions and steers you to the answer. He holds back when he’s evaluating a case with you, patiently following your lead and only interjecting when necessary.
He’s making space for you try new things and learn without fear of rejection. Building your confidence bit by bit.
It feels more intimate than sex.
After much deliberation, screaming into your pillow, and Reddit forum searching for HR violations, you decide to get him a card. Because he’s actually been really kind and helpful and he makes you feel like you can actually survive residency.
“What’s this?”
“A thank you card.”
You’re staring at your shoes, eyes flicking up and down between Jack’s face and the floor.
“What for?”
“It says it in the card.”
You scurry away, attaching yourself to the closest patient to avoid seeing Jack’s face when he does finally open it.
But when you look back, he’s just staring at it, a small smile on his face.
—
It’s the card that does him in.
Jack hasn’t made his feelings for you a secret, despite your unwillingness to see him as anything other than standoffish in the beginning.
He came on too strong at first— that was his fault. He didn’t yet understand how imbedded your need ran and how long it’d been since anyone bothered to look deeper.
He’d hoped, at least, that you were letting Whitaker and Santos help, and though you let them closer than most, it was clear you still seemed intent on holding up yourself and everyone around you on your own.
But it wasn’t just that. It was the way you oozed kindness— like it was a byproduct of your existence. He watched you get so wrapped up in being the perfect resident, perfect friend, perfect person, that no one ever stopped to let you know how good you were just by being.
He hadn’t planned on developing feelings or anything of the sort. At first, you’d just been one of his residents. Smart and capable but lacking confidence in yourself to fully commit. Then there was that MCI, and drinks in the park afterwards where he’d painfully watched you sip a beer you clearly hated, and everything just clicked right into place.
He never intends to flirt with you. It just happens. He can’t help himself. He’s a weak fucking man when it comes to you.
And then you bring him a card. A fucking card. To thank him for doing his job as an attending, a job he should’ve been doing better from the start. It has an illustration of bananas on it and says “Thanks a bunch!”.
He knows he’s completely gone, then. He was capable of being in denial before, could delude himself into thinking that what he felt was casual, but the sight of you before him, hands nervously wringing, your glitter gel pens sparkling as they caught the light was just the final nail in the coffin.
He allows himself a modicum of flirting on a day to day basis, mostly because if he couldn’t tease that real smile out of you at least once per day, he’d lose his mind.
Sometimes he takes you back to the diner, especially on longer days where none of your smiles reach your eyes and you start obsessively uncapping and capping your gel pens.
Even though you think it “looks dumb” you’ve also taken to sitting shoulder to shoulder with him in the booth, and he pretends he can’t see you sneaking fries off his plate because he knows how much effort it takes you to ask him if you can sit with him instead of on the opposite side.
Then he starts driving you home during a string of bad weather after you start sneezing from walking in the rain everyday, but even after the storm passes and the weather clears up he still finds you at the lockers, every day, car keys in hand. No matter how many times he does it, you always look so happily surprised that he’s still offering.
As if he’s not wrapped around your finger.
One day, after things have been mellow for awhile, Whitaker calls him and says that neither he nor Trinity have seen you in three days and you called out of work.
So naturally, as a calm and collected man, he showed up to your house.
You’d answered the door after the third time he knocked (which was great, because he was gearing up to force the door open) and you just looked miserable. Your hair was a mess, you head blanket wrinkles imprinted onto your face, and your eyes were puffy.
“Jack?” You’d mumbled, squinting your eyes against the not very bright light in the hallway, “Why are you at my apartment?”
“No one’s heard from you in three days.”
You wince. “I swear I meant to text Trinity. I just have a bad headache.”
His fingers twitch towards a penlight he doesn’t have. “How bad?”
“I don’t know. Like a seven on the pain scale?”
“Jesus— I’m coming in.”
“Nooo,” You cry, but shuffle back from the door and put up very little fight as he ushers you to the couch.
Your apartment is….. exactly as messy as he’d imagined a resident who lives alone would be. For someone who doesn’t drink enough water, there are an incredible amount of beverage bottles and cans littered about.
“Do you have headache relief?”
You gesture to the kitchen. “Cabinet furthest to the left.”
While rifling through your very disorganized medicine cabinet, he spies an orange prescription bottle with your name on it, dated for the previous year.
“Why do you have a prescription for a high level antihistamine?”
“Stop snooping. It’s for my migraines.”
“You’ve had a prescription this entire time and you’ve been taking all that over the counter shit?”
“Stop being mad,” You mumble into the couch cushion, “My migraine meds put me to sleep, so I can’t take them when I’m working. Plus I don’t have any refills left so I save them for when it’s really bad.”
“You called out of work and haven’t left your apartment in three days and you don’t consider this bad?”
“Could be worse. Could be throwing up.”
He sighs. Sets the bottle on the counter, breathes in once, then lets it out slowly. Imagines all the ways he could murder whoever made you think suffering alone for three days is preferable to asking for help.
“I’m going to help you back to bed,” He starts, voice low as he rounds the couch, “And then you’re going to drink some electrolytes, have a snack, and take your meds. Okay?”
The migraine has clearly taken it out of you, because you put up zero fight as he manhandles you to your feet and helps you drag yourself back to your bed.
“M’ sorry my apartment is a mess. I was supposed to clean it.”
“I’m not judging, sweetheart,” He says, tucking the blankets up around you, lips twitching as you make grabby hands for a giant triceratops plushie that looks to be the size of your upper body. “I’m gonna make you a snack, so try to stay awake until I come back. Can you do that?”
“Mhm. I’ll try.”
“Good girl.”
He manages to find a cucumber in your fridge, cuts it into slices and then adds a few pieces of lunch meat for protein. Last but not least, he snags a bottle of blue Gatorade from your pantry.
(He only knows they were there because he bought them for you a few weeks ago.)
He doesn’t make you sit up to eat, but instead scoots you a little ways away from the edge of your bed so there’s space for the plate.
You slowly nibble your way through, taking little sips of Gatorade when he nudges the bottle into your hands.
You finish the cucumbers, eat most of the lunch meat, and drink half the Gatorade before burrowing back into the blankets and declaring yourself done.
“Can I have my sleep mask please? I think it’s on the floor under my nightstand?”
“Of course you can.”
After your face mask is on and the curtains closed, he gives you the correct dose of your meds and gently shuts the door to your bedroom.
He fires off a quick text to Whitaker (he doesn’t have Santos’s number) that says you’re fine, stuck in bed with a migraine, and that he’s handling it.
And then he gets to work.
Two hours later your apartment is clean, your laundry is started, and Jack’s relaxing on your couch, aimlessly watching the news.
He hears the door creak open but knows you hate feeling on the spot, so he keeps his gaze trained on the tv even as he hears the sound of you shuffling over to the couch.
And then you pause.
“Jack.”
“Yes?”
“Did you clean my apartment?”
He finally looks over to you, and when his gaze reaches your face his stomach drops.
You’re crying.
He hauls himself off the couch (he’s thankful that he put his leg back on a few minutes prior) and stops in front of you, arms twitching at his sides with the need to fix, help, to stop whatever it is that’s making you cry.
“What’s wrong? Did I overstep?”
“No,” You warble, voice wet, “I just haven’t had the time or energy to clean in here for so long, and it’s been stressing me out so bad I avoid staying here during my off days. It’s just really, really nice of you.”
You look at him, eyebrows pinched and eyes wide with worry, “I— I’m not sure how to repay you for all of this. I know you said going to the diner was fine, but this is— a lot.”
“Sweetheart,” He starts, bracing one hand on the side of your face, thumb deftly sweeping across your cheek and wiping away the quickly drying tears, “I’m not doing any of this because I expect you to repay me. I’m doing it because I care about you and I want to see you happy.”
You sniff hard. “This is a lot of work, though.”
“I like doing it. I like taking care of you.”
Another sniff. “It doesn’t seem very fun.”
“I told you. You’re like a cat. Had to coax you over and now look at you,” he thumb rubs circles over your cheekbone, “Practically purring.”
You wrinkle your nose. “I don’t know if I like this metaphor.”
“Get used to it.”
You sigh, dramatic and long.
“I suppose I’ll allow it.”
“Oh, you’ll allow it, huh.”
You fold your hands behind your back, rocking back and forth on your heels. “Yes. I’ll allow it.”
“Well, aren’t I lucky.”
Later, when you’re lying on the couch, two movies into what Jack thinks is an unofficial early 2000s rom-com marathon (your favorite genre) you turn to look up at him from your spot tucked into his side.
“This is romantic, right?”
He presses a lazy kiss to your forehead, because he knows how much you like physical affirmations as well as verbal ones.
“Yes.”
“You’re serious about this?”
“You need confirmation?”
“I’d rather have it in writing, but this will do for now.”
He huffs a breathy laugh, tucks you closer to his chest.
“I’ll put it in writing for you later.”
You hum, pleased, and snuggle back into him, letting out a content sigh.
robby jokes that jack does "nude yoga" at sunrise...but jack's not too sure he'd describe it like that. 1.3k
♡ — MDNI/18+; fem!reader; reader is jack's coworker; unestablished relationship; everyone say thank you robby; p in v sex; unprotected sex; big dick jack abbot; pet names(baby, sweetheart); jack is kinda condescending; but in a hot way; mix it with praise; mating press; size kink if you squint; there's no plot to this lol
me when i have long wips and i write this instead
MAIN MASTERLIST
"You do nude yoga?"
Jack's head whips up at the question. You've never seen that man look so confused. He's almost dumbfounded. The papers he'd been thumbing through slip away from his thick fingers as his eyes dart around. You assume he's trying to find the audacity for your question.
"Where the hell did you hear that from?" You note how the response isn't a denial. Though his confusion is certainly no question when he looks at you with a cocked brow.
"Robby told me. Said you do nude yoga at sunrise."
Jack huffs a disbelieving laugh at that. He shakes his head and the lines around his eyes crinkle with his toothy smile. "Robby told you that..?" He rocks back on his heels and shoves his hands in the pockets of his scrubs. "Guess he goes around spilling secrets."
You weren't oblivious to the sarcasm in his voice. "Well, for the record," you clarify with a wave of your hand, "I didn't think he was being serious. You don't seem like a yoga guy."
He makes a sound at that. Just a short hum of acknowledgement. "Yeah..." Jack shakes his head, sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, "I wouldn't exactly call it yoga."
"What, you actually do nude pilates?"
He laughs again, not quite as breathy. The tips of his ears flush pink as he looks down at the floor. "Ah, no...not quite. Just...a lot of stretching."
"Stretching." You repeat, testing the word between the two of you. "But...nude?"
"Is that the part that matters..?"
"No, it's just...you're not denying it."
Jack straightens, rolls those big shoulders beneath his scrub top. He looks down at you under heavy-lidded eyes. Smirking with a look so filthy it makes you feel exposed.
"If you're that curious, you should stop by after work. Easier to just show you."
———
"Fuuuck, Jack, s'too much..."
Your whine lands sweet on his ears, landing somewhere with your gasp when he'd first pushed in. You'd barely taken the head of his fat cock when you pitched a fit about him being 'too big'. Your slick cunt dripped wet around him—sensitive where he'd already made you cum twice trying to prep you—but you still hugged him tight.
"Mm, you can take it, baby," he groans, rolling his hips to sink another inch inside you. His hands push your thighs wide, fingers sinking into the plush skin, keeping you open for him. "Just a little stretch, c'mon."
Jack reveled in the sight beneath him: you, all flushed and panting, sweating with effort, and your cunt stretched out around his dick, clit all hard and puffy where he'd played with it to get you off. The Pittsburgh dawn streaked golden light over your sweat-slick skin where it snuck through his curtains. He could surely die happy with this as his last memory.
"Little stretch?" You pant out, throat dry. Your hands scramble at the flushed skin of his chest as he leans in. "Fff-uck you...you're too big—ah!"
He cuts you off with a firm push that sinks his cock down to the root. His hips rest heavy against your ass where he presses his weight into you. "Y'keep saying that..." those big hands slide up your legs, guiding your ankles to the broad set of his freckled shoulders, "...but you're taking it just fine."
His body rocks forward just enough to draw another whine from you before pulling back. It's not a lot—barely an inch or two, only to sink back in. The groans that rumble in his chest are just as filthy as the sounds you make, keening and whimpering at the girth of his cock. He rocks back only to press back in, somehow reaching even deeper, forcing your cunt to mold around the shape of him.
"There you go...Yeah, let me in, baby." Jack's mesmerized by the sight of your cunt swallowing every inch of him, leaving his skin slick and creamy with your cum every time he pulls back. "See, look at that. Fits just fine."
All you can offer is a shaky, breathless moan as he presses deep. Your hands brace on his thighs where they bracket your hips, nails digging into the meat and muscle with every push.
"Jack..." you whine, brows knit tight on your sweaty forehead.
"I know, sweetheart. But you're doing so good..." One thick arm bands over your thighs while his other hand slides up your ribs and over your breast, palming the weight there. "Think you can stretch a little more for me?"
You didn't know how he could stretch you any more than this. Every time his hips pressed flush, it pushed the air out of your lungs in a pathetic whine. He'd already filled you completely.
But at the sight of your nod and soft mm-hmm, Jack doesn't pull back. He leans in, pushing your legs with him as he brings his face close to yours. Your knees nearly meet your own ears, legs pinned down with the full weight of his body draped over yours. And somehow, with the movement, his cock burrows even deeper. The fat tip of his cock hits something deep inside that makes you shiver underneath him.
He groans shamelessly, right into your face, as your cunt pulses desperately around him. "Fuck, there you go..." His hips rock against yours, chasing the pulse of your slick cunt.
"Jack—! Mm, fuck..." Your face scrunches up as you keen. "You're s-sooo deep..."
"Oh, I know," he coos with mock-sympathy, "you're doing so good, baby. Taking me so well..." If it were even possible, he seems to sink deeper when his arms move to brace right by your head.
His cock kisses that spot deep inside, the one that makes your legs shake on his shoulders. The pleasure zips up your spine and into the base of your skull until it's all you can think about. Every movement makes you clench tight around him until you're panting into each other's mouths. You feel yourself dripping around the thick base of his cock, slicking his heavy balls with every press.
"Gettin'...really tight on me, sweetheart," he huffs—almost laughs—against your lips. "Gonna cum for me again?"
"Yeah..." He forces the word out in a breathless whine when he grinds into you.
"Yeah, just stretching you out's enough to make that pretty pussy cum, huh?"
Anything you could've hoped to say is immediately interrupted by your own moans as he ruts into you. Like an animal, short and quick thrusts, still buried to the hilt inside you. His cock grinding against that spot so deep you, bullying the sensitive nerves until you can't take it anymore. Your muscles pull tight and he feels it immediately; those slick, hot pulses around his dick only motivate him to stay buried deep as you ride the high.
By the time you settle, Jack's still rocking in and out of the hot pull of your cunt. He savors the little twitches, the whines that slip from your lips, when he pushes in. His hands move inward to cradle your face, heavy palms resting on your cheeks and forcing you to look up at him. He manages to lean in just enough to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth, its gentleness in complete contrast with the ache of your muscles.
"Felt good, huh?" You barely manage to nod in the clasp of his hands. He hums a sound that you feel more than hear. "Yeah...this is a lot better than yoga, isn't it?"
Somewhere between the jumbled thoughts of pleasure, you remember the conversation at work that started the whole thing. How Robby had nonchalantly tossed the words around last time you saw him. Yeah, Abbot does nude yoga in the mornings, at sunrise. A stupid joke meant to embarrass Jack.
Well, he was anything but embarrassed. Looking up at him now—with his face flushed, dripping sweat, head still framed by your ankles in the air—he never looked so smug and proud. You didn't know if you wanted to kiss him or slap him.
You'd have to tell Robby he needs to find a better name for it.
hiiii 😚😚😚😚 i have this idea that Jack and reader are dating but lately reader has been acting kind of strange and Jack thinks she’s cheating on him and it all peaks when after their FUN time she immediately gets to her phone, but clearly it’s not what he thinks and she’s not cheating…I ADORE ANGST WITH HAPPY ENDINGS
Jack watches you from the living room as you make lunch.
You’ve made the last four years of his life nothing short of amazing. He really couldn’t imagine a day without you so he guaranteed a forever with you.
He can see the engagement ring from where he is. The look on your face when he got on one knee was something he’ll remember for a lifetime.
It felt like a while ago even though it had only been two months.
He sighs as he turns back to the tv.
So, what’s changed for you in that short period of time?
Over the last 3 weeks you’ve been acting weird.
You’re on your phone a lot more and keeping your distance when you do. Almost as if you’re hiding something from him.
He hates to even think about it but are you seeing someone else? What is it?
The thought makes him sick at the idea of not only you leaving him but that you’d do something like that to him.
Jack decides to not think the worst just yet.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
The next day you’re on your laptop sitting on the floor with your back against the couch.
Jack walks in the front door from a grocery run.
“Hey sweetheart.” he greets as he passes you to the kitchen.
“Hey baby,” you lean your head back to try and look at him “Did you find everyhtng on the list?”
He smiles as he empties the bags
“Sure did honey.”
You smile back before looking on your laptop again.
Once he puts everything away Jack walks over and sits on the couch behind you, your back leaning against his legs.
He leans his head on top of yours, hands on your shoulders.
“Whatcha doing down here sweetheart”
You lift the laptop a little so he can see better.
“You said to look at houses so we could hopefully get one before the wedding next year. Well, I finally got the time and I really like this one.”
He looks at the one you’re pointing to.
“It’s got the in-home gym you like, this gorgeous sunroom, the high ceiling design in the living room, fenced in front and back yard..”
He scrunches his eyes as he reads the descriptions.
“Sweetheart, there’s five bedrooms. We don’t need all of that space.”
You grab one of his hands over your shoulder and cuddle back against him.
“Well,” you start “There’s a room for us, one or two for whatever we want, and then I was thinking…one or two for some mini Abbots.”
Jack’s heart feels like it could burst with love and joy.
He leans forward and wraps his arms around you.
“Mini Abbots, huh?”
You can feel his smile as he kisses your cheek.
“Just a few.” you say while playing with his hand.
“I’d love that sweetheart.”
He really meant it too.
Jack would love to have kids with you.
This also gave him relief after the past few weeks.
You wouldn’t be seeing someone else if you were picking a house and talking about kids with him, right?
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
A few days later is when things come to a head.
You and Jack had come back from a date night and ended up tangled in the sheets to end an amazing night.
You have your head on his chest as you both catch your breath.
“Fuck..” you get out between breaths
He has one arm wrapped around you and the other holding your leg across his hip.
“I’ll take that as high praise sweetheart.” he laughs
You pat his chest teasingly “Yeah, you’ve still got it old man.”
“You little shit,” he grins and tickles your sides “I more than still have it by the way you were scr–”
His words are interrupted by your phone chiming with a notification.
You get up and straddle his waist to lean over him, looking at your phone.
With you on top of him Jack can't see your phone from his position.
“What is it babe?” he tries leaning up to look over.
You lay a hand on his chest as you quickly type something.
“I uh, nothing J. Just an email from work.”
His heart races. He has a feeling it isn’t work and now the relief he had felt a couple days ago is gone.
Now he’s afraid it's true.
You’re seeing someone else.
He’s losing you.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Jack didn’t confront you right away.
He sat on the idea and his feelings for a few days. The longer he sat on it, the quicker it turned from feeling only upset to adding in anger.
It’s Saturday, Jack’s day off, when he decides he's going to say something.
You left the house early to run some errands but he's convinced that ‘errands’ is the one you’re seeing behind his back.
It’s around 11 a.m. when you come back with a smile on your face.
“Hey babe!” echoes in the kitchen as you set some bags down.
Jack can’t even bring himself to greet you back.
Grabbing a small box from your bag, you listen for him.
You're confused at the silence and find him standing in the living room with his arms crossed and a frown on his face.
“J, is everything okay?” you ask hesitantly
He shakes his head as he huffs “How long?”
What?
“How long what, Jack?”
He lets out a small laugh that lacks any humor.
“Don’t play fucking dumb with me.”
The words feel like a physical blow, making you step back slightly.
What the hell is wrong with him?
“I-I’m a little lost here Jack. I’m not playing anything.”
“Okay, I'll humor you. Who the fuck have you been cheating on me with huh?”
Your eyes widen at the accusation.
“Jack, I would never do that to you or anyone. Where is this co–”
“You’re still playing dumb!”
You can see the anger roll through him as he grips his hair tight and then run his hands over his face.
Tears start to fill your eyes
You’re lost for words.
You said yes to marrying him. You guys are buying a house soon. You said you wanted kids with him.
So why would you ever look in anyone else’s direction?
“You could just admit it instead of acting oblivious. You’ve been on your phone nonstop the last month, hiding it from me, lying to me. We were literally having sex one minute and then after you’re answering the phone, to whom I assume is that jackass.”
Your chest is so full of emotion and hurt at his words.
“Jack, I” you take a breath as the tears start falling “I’m not ch–”
He interrupts you “Why not just let me go and then fuck around?! Why d–”
“Jack” you try to butt in but he keeps rambling on.
“I asked you to marry me for god's sake!”
“Jack!” you try a little louder
“I wanted forever with y–”
“JACK!”
He turns to face you “WHAT?”
He sees you holding a small box about the size of a softball.
You silently hold it out to him.
He eyes it as if it’s a ridiculous offer “What’s this?”
“Just open it…” you say in a whisper, tears still falling.
Jack takes it hesitantly and lifts the lid off. His eyes widen as all the air leaves his lungs.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
You and Jack had gone to a festival event in Philadelphia for a week several months ago.
Somehow during the activities and chaos down there, his dog tags had gone missing. He couldn’t remember where he had sat them or if the chain broke and they fell, or what could’ve happened.
You both eventually had to go home without the tags, having searched all over for them.
“𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺 𝘑, 𝘸𝘦'𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮.”
On the drive back to Pittsburgh you posted a picture of Jack’s tags from a selfie you took with him weeks ago on all the social media you had. You asked that if anyone found them to contact your number or social media.
Sadly several months had passed and no one had responded to your posts.
Jack was upset with the outcome but tried to not let it show how much.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
He takes a deep breath as guilt floods his chest.
“My…my dog tags. Wh-Where did you find them?”
How could he have said all these things and accused you of cheating when you did this for him?
You sniffle as you wring your fingers.
“Some guy had posted them in a facebook group to sell and I recognized them. So I sent him a message and told him what happened and he said he’d meet me to return them. He, uh, had been out of the state so we had been messaging to set a meetup to get the tags. I wanted to surprise you…”
Jack’s heart fills with so much more love for you but sinks at the same time with how he handled things.
“Sweetheart, I-I can’t begin to say how sor-”
You wave a hand gently to stop him.
“It’s okay J. I’m realizing how it all must have looked and how that made you feel. So, I’m sorry for that but do you realize how much I love you? Do you understand that?”
He nods because he does know. He’s never doubted your love before because you gave more than anyone ever did.
How could he do this to you and you’re still so understanding of him and his feelings?
“I’m so sorry sweetheart, I know you love me, more than I deserve. I’m so fucking sorry…” a few tears slip down his cheek and you’re quick to move in front of him and wipe them away.
“Hey, J, it’s okay. We’re okay. Yeah your words hurt but I get it. And I love you. I forgive you baby.” you kiss him briefly.
His body trembles on the verge of sobs.
“I-I don’t d-deserve you.” he gets out between breaths.
You chuckle a little as you rub his back.
“Baby, you deserve everything. And I already agreed to marry you so you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
You hear him laugh a little through his tears.
Jack Abbot who falls even harder for Reader than he thought possible when they decide not only to move in together but to find a place together. Reader who insists to their realtor that they only want to see one story houses.
Yes she knows Jack has figured out how to manage stairs with his crutches but she insists that he shouldn’t have to just “manage” and make it work. She understands he tends to go without his prosthetic at home as he does need a break from it and needs to let his residual limb breathe in order to avoid skin breakdown.
She knows a one story place will be way more assessable for him than having to deal with stairs.
She considers his needs even when he tries to insist that it’s not a big deal and she shouldn’t accommodate or sacrifice her wants for him.
She has to remind him that there is no sacrifice as her wants involve a home her boyfriend can feel comfortable in and move freely in without stressing his body.
She does occasionally have to remind him that there is zero shame in admitting his body’s needs. She has to remind him that admitting when he’s tired or in pain is not a sign of weakness, it is simply being aware of his own body.
She makes sure that the shower in their new place has a built in bench. She makes sure the doorways are wide enough if Jack ever does decide to break down and use his wheelchair, which he’s always super reluctant to do, that the chair can fit though them with zero effort.
She insists that her dream home involves a space where he can exist without effort. She loves him effortlessly and she wants him to live effortlessly with her.
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You convince yourself that sleeping with Robby was just a one-time relapse, and return to the co-parenting routine you’ve carefully built. But everything unravels when you’re dragged into a family vacation at a resort in Mexico. One full week of trying to survive Robby’s relentless attempts to win you back.
warnings/tags: smut, minors DNI, porn with plot (lots of plot), age gap (but readers age isn’t disclosed), jealous!robby, co-parenting, GirlDad!Robby, this is long as fuck so read it with time, they’re still down bad for each other, unprotected piv, semi-public sex, handjob, blowjob, fingering, creampie
You remembered that day as if it had been yesterday. The cold porcelain of the toilet seat under your thighs. The pregnancy test stick clutched in your trembling fingers while you tried to aim. The uncertainty that made every sound echo louder in your tiny studio apartment, the best place a med student could afford. The steady drip-drip-drip from the leaky faucet. The nervous pacing of Robby’s footsteps just behind the thin wooden door.
“You good in there?” he asked, you could picture him leaning in, pressing his ear against the wood like he could somehow hear your thoughts.
You quickly wiped away the silent tears that had been streaming down your cheeks. “Yeah…” Your voice came out shaky and small. “Yeah. I’m done.”
You wiped, flushed the toilet, and stood up on unsteady legs, pulling your pants back on. Carefully, you set the cup and the pregnancy test on the edge of the sink before washing your hands.
“Can I come in?” Robby asked from the other side. Guilt was already eating him alive. This was his fault. He should have been the one guiding you, teaching you how to become a great doctor. Instead, he had jeopardized everything, your education, your career, your future. Now, because of him, you were taking a pregnancy test in a cramped bathroom, wondering what the hell you were going to do with your life if two pink lines appeared.
You didn’t answer with words. You simply walked to the door, opened it, and stepped aside so he could enter. “It says three to five minutes,” you murmured, nodding toward the test resting on the sink.
“How—” Robby cleared his throat when his voice threatened to crack. “How are you feeling?”
“Scared?” The word came out like a question. Truthfully, you didn’t even know if “scared” was the right word. What was the right word for finding yourself in a situation you’d never wanted, knowing it was your own damn fault? You should have been more careful. You should have said yes the first time he asked about wearing a condom. You should have told him to pull out instead of moaning “fill me up, Robby” every single time like you had lost all sense.
You knew the odds. You knew the risks. But when he was inside you, none of that had mattered. And now destiny was laughing in your face. You had no plan. If you were pregnant… what then? Goodbye to med school. Goodbye to your dream of graduating and matching into emergency medicine. You’d probably have to move back in with your parents and spend your days raising a child instead of becoming a doctor. And goodbye to Robby, because why would a man like him want to stay tied to the med student he’d accidentally gotten pregnant and the baby he never asked for?
Fresh tears slipped from the corners of your eyes, soaking your cheeks instantly. You tried to stay quiet, but the sobs broke free anyway.
“Hey, hey, hey… come here.” Robby closed the distance in one step. The heat of his body wrapped around you like a shield. He slid one strong arm around your waist, anchoring you against his solid frame, and the other hand cradled the back of your head. “It’s perfectly normal to be scared. But you’ve got me. You’re not alone in this.”
“What are we—” Another sob escaped, muffled against his shoulder. “What am I gonna do, Robby? What am I supposed to do?”
“Whatever feels right,” he whispered against your hair, pressing a gentle kiss there. “You’re supposed to do whatever you want to do. You have all the choices.”
“But which one is the right one?” You pressed harder into him, as if you could disappear into his chest. “Which one won’t make you hate me?”
“Jesus— Look at me.” He gently cupped your face with both hands, lifting it from his chest so you had no choice but to meet his eyes. His own were red and watery. “Let me say this once, and I need you to hear me. I could never hate you. None of this is your fault. It’s no one’s fault… this just happens, okay? If the test is positive, then… it’s not the end of the world. We’ve got options. We have time to think about it.”
“Then why does it feel like it is the end of the world?” You tried to hide your face again in the broad warmth of his chest, where your tears had already left a dark patch on his shirt. He wouldn’t let you. He kept your face cradled between his palms, one thumb softly stroking your cheek as he wiped away another tear.
“Why does it feel like no matter what I choose, you’ll end up resenting me for it?”
“I won’t,” he assured you again, his voice steady even though you could feel how hard he was trying. “You have to think about what you want. Nothing is more important than that. I’ll be here for whatever you decide.”
“What if I don’t want to keep it?” The words tumbled out. “Wouldn’t you feel like… like I took something away from you? Wouldn’t you think I’m selfish?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think.” He leaned in and kissed the tip of your nose, his warm lips making you shiver. Then your cheek, tasting your tears. Then your lips, reassuringly. “If the test is positive and you choose to terminate 6he pregnancy, I wouldn’t think that makes you selfish. I wouldn’t think you’re a bad person or that you’re stealing something from me. I’d think you’re strong. I’d think you’re being brave. And I’d be right there with you.”
The calmness in his voice steadied you a little. You could tell he was terrified, probably having a panic attack on the inside, but he was pouring every ounce of strength into not showing it. He wanted to be the rock you could lean on, the one who had answer, who knew what to do, who’d be there to support you no matter what.
“Is that what you’d want?” he murmured against your lips. “An abortion?”
“I don’t know,” you whispered, so softly he might not have heard if he weren’t so close. “But… maybe it’s the only right choice. What would I even do with a baby? I’d have to drop out of med school… I’d fall so far behind. Raising a baby… I don’t know when I could even go back.”
“It doesn’t have to be like that, you know?” he said gently. “A lot of women finish their studies while pregnant. They work while being moms too. Think of Dr. Shamsi, she finished her residency while—”
You knew he meant well, but right now the last thing you needed was a pep talk about strong women. “Yeah, well, I’m not Dr. Shamsi, Robby,” you cut in, the words coming out harsher than you intended. “I don’t think I can do it. And I can’t… I can’t put that weight on you. That burden. A child, Robby. I’d feel so guilty knowing I trapped you.”
An incredulous laugh escaped him. He pulled back just enough to really look at you. “Trap me? Jesus fuck… do you even hear yourself? When have I ever made you feel like you’d be trapping me?”
His tone edged toward anger, which only made your own flare up. “You didn’t ask for this! You’d be stuck with a child you never even wanted just because I didn’t want to get rid of it!” You couldn’t meet his eyes anymore and stared at the floor instead.
“A child…” He let out a slow breath. “A child doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world.” The words he’d been too afraid to even think until now finally slipped out. “Yeah, it would be difficult. Yeah, it would be a fucking challenge. I’m not gonna lie, I’m scared. But I don’t think a baby would be the worst thing to ever happen. Not by far.”
He’d be lying if he said he had never dreamed of having a child, of becoming a father. In his mid-twenties, he had pictured it so differently. Finding the love of his life, getting married, waiting a year or two before having their first baby, then another one soon after. A proper family. But life had gotten in the way, long hours in the ED, the weight of responsibility, his own fears and insecurities reshaping the entire trajectory of his existence. Time slipped through his fingers, and before he knew it, the dream had been pushed further and further into the distance. Definitely not like this, a baby at forty-nine with the fourth-year med student he’d been sleeping with in a messy situationship for only a few months… that was never part of the plan. And yet, as that pregnancy test sat on the edge of the sink, the possibility grew heavier, more real. Maybe this was how it was meant to happen. Maybe the universe had finally caught up with him. Maybe it was time to stop running, time to stop hiding, and finally commit to something bigger than work. Something that actually mattered. Something that’d change his life and give it a new meaning, a new purpose.
“You’re saying you’d want it?” you asked, surprise flashing in your eyes as you finally looked up at him. “If I were pregnant… you’d want the baby?”
“I’m saying I want you to do what you want. But yeah… if you chose to keep it, then I’d want it too. I’m in, 100%.” Behind the fear in his voice, you heard absolute certainty.
“And how would that even look?” you asked quietly. “How would we do it?”
“If we’re doing it, we do it right. Together.” He took your hands in his, brushing his thumbs over your knuckles. “You could move in with me. Once the baby’s born, we’d arrange our shifts so one of us is always with them. We’d get a sitter to help us so you can still have time to do your residency. You have me. You’ll have me every step of the way.”
“Promise?” you whispered.
“Promise.”
Silence stretched between you, as if the rest of the world had stopped spinning. In that tiny bathroom, it was just the two of you, holding each other’s hands with the promise of facing whatever came next together.
“I think it’s been over five minutes,” Robby said finally, glancing toward the sink. “Want to check?”
You nodded, and Robby released one of your hands, picked up the test, and held it between you without looking at the result yet. “Together?” he asked.
You swallowed. “Together.”
The imposing voice of Dana cut through the fog in your mind. “Earth to you… hello?”
You blinked, startled, and reluctantly dragged your eyes away from the computer screen where you’d been pretending to chart for the last ten minutes. Dana was leaning against the nurses’ station counter with one hip, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Are you even listening to me right now? Because I’ve been talking to myself for five minutes. What’s up with you? You look like you didn’t close an eye last night.”
You forced a small, nervous laugh and quickly looked back down at the computer, hoping the glow of the screen would hide the exhaustion on your face. “Sorry… I slept okay,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant and unbothered. You weren’t fooling anyone, least of all Dana. You could feel her eyes studying you, taking in the faint shadows under your eyes, the slight slump of your shoulders, and the way you kept subtly shifting in your chair. Because no matter how hard you tried to focus on work, your body was still painfully aware of last night. The ghost of Robby’s thrusts still lingered between your thighs, a delicious ache that refused to fade even twelve hours later.
Every time you moved, you were reminded of how hard he had taken you, how thoroughly he had ruined you. Your muscles were sore in the best and most inconvenient way possible. You crossed your legs under the desk, trying to ignore the throb that pulsed through you at the memory. The last thing you needed was Dana figuring out why you were so distracted. Unfortunately, Dana had the observational skills. She narrowed her eyes even further, tilting her head as she continued to stare at you. “Yeah… sure you did.”
Dana drifted his gaze past your shoulder down the corridor. Her expression shifted almost imperceptibly, lifting her brows a fraction and her mouth twitching like she’d tasted something sour. You followed her line of sight to Robby, striding toward trauma two, wearing his navy scrubs and cargo pants. There was a loose, easy roll to his shoulders, a confidence in his steps that screamed satisfaction. The corners of his mouth were curved in a half-smile that was the unmistakable “I got laid and it was fucking amazing” look.
Dana let out a dry huff of laughter, crossing her arms over her chest. “Jesus. I hate when he walks around with that ‘I got laid and it was amazing’ face. It’s obnoxious as hell. Makes the rest of us feel like we’re doing it wrong.”
You kept your face carefully neutral, tapping your fingers against the keyboard, but without writing anything. “Maybe he’s just in a good mood.”
“Oh, please, don’t give me that. You know that face, it’s always the same with that man.” Dana tilted her head, studying him as he paused to talk with Victoria, that satisfied smile lingering a beat too long. She narrowed her eyes, thinking hard for a second, then her head snapped back toward you when realization hit him. “Wait a minute… That face. That exact face is too familiar. It’s not just his regular ‘I got some’ look. That’s the same damn face he used to wear back when you two were sneaking around four years ago. And I haven’t seen it on him once since you two called it quits. Not a single time.”
Heat flooded your cheeks instantly. You felt cornered, exposed, like a deer caught in headlights. Dana ran this place, nothing escaped her eyes. Trying to lie to her was usually pointless, she could smell bullshit from miles away. “I– I really need to finish these charts,” you stammered. “I promised Hannah I’d try to get home early so we could—” The excuse died on your tongue, it sounded pathetic even to your own ears.
She looked at you like she’d already decided you were guilty. “Please tell me you didn’t do it.”
“Didn’t do what?”
She snorted. “You’re a terrible liar. Always have been.”
You exhaled through your nose, dropping your shoulders in defeat. You glanced around the nurse station. It was quiet, no one close enough to overhear, then leaned in just a fraction.“Okay,” you muttered. “It was one time. One weak moment. I’m not doing it again.”
Dana didn’t t look surprised, just disappointed in the resigned way of someone who’s watched this film before and knew how it ended . “You’re so stupid,” she said, almost fondly. “Letting that mess of a man back in again.”
“I know.” You rubbed a hand over your face, wishing you could teleport anywhere but here. “I know. I’m just… so weak when it comes to him. He’s got this way of looking at me, like I’m the only thing in the room that matters, and the way he touches me…” You trailed off. “God, Dana, you don’t know how good it is. How he remembers every single—”
She held up a hand with the palm out. “Stop. Right there. I do not need the details. I’ve worked with that man for the last 20 years of my life, and I still got to work with him for the next eight hours. Spare me the play-by-play.”
“Sorry. It’s just… it felt like coming home, you know? And then this morning reality hit like a truck. And I realized I fucked up last night.”
Dana studied you for a long beat, and her expression softened just a fraction, enough to show the concern underneath.“Honey,” she said quietly, “you’re not weak. You’re human. And that man has always known exactly which buttons to push with you. But you’ve built something solid these last five years. Don’t throw that away because the sex is good.”
You nodded, swallowing hard. “I told him it was a one-time thing. A relapse. I’m not doing it again. I swear.”
Dana arched her eyebrow high. “You swear.”
“Yeah.” You met her eyes even if your stomach twisted. You were embarrassed to let anyone know about your poor life choices, but if you could trust anyone, that was Dana, one of the only people who’d been here since the start of your story with him. “Last night was… it was stupid. It won’t happen again.”
She studied you for a long beat, then she pushed off the counter, stepping closer and dropping her voice to that tone she used when she’s done playing nice.“You'd better not. Go out. Meet someone. Anyone whose last name isn’t Robinavitch. Someone who can actually commit to a relationship.”
You looked down at your hands, still faintly wrinkled from too much hand sanitizer, a nervous habit you’d gotten out of him. “It’s not that easy.”
“It’s not supposed to be easy,” she countered. “But it’s supposed to be possible. Find a guy who doesn’t bolt after a month because he ‘feels trapped’ and ‘needs space.’ Someone who doesn’t look at commitment like it’s an impossible mission. Someone who stays.”
The words sting because they’re true. Robby never lied about it, he’d told you early on he wasn’t built for the long haul, that relationships felt like another thing he’d inevitably fuck up. And when Hannah came along, when the exhaustion and the shifts and the fear piled up, he didn’t fight to keep you together. He just… drifted. Back to separate houses, separate beds, separate lives.
“Hon, you know Robby was not made for a relationship. He’s a great dad, nobody’s arguing that. The man would walk through fire for that little girl. But you? He loves you in the way he knows how: sporadically. And that’s never gonna change. Keep it that way. Keep him in the dad column. Don’t let him back into the partner one.”
You rubbed your temples, the ache from last night’s lack of real sleep settling in behind your eyes. “I know. I do. It’s just… when he’s there, when he’s touching me, talking to me like I’m still his… it’s like the last five years never happened. Like we could pick up where we left off.”
“That’s the trap,” Dana said quietly. “It feels like home because it used to be. But homes can be haunted too.”
In the days that followed, you did everything you could to avoid Robby. At work, you kept your distance, volunteering for procedures on the opposite side of the ED whenever possible and burying yourself in charts or patient updates the moment you felt his presence nearby. Because every single time your eyes met his, even for a brief second, your body betrayed you.
You remembered the crushing weight of him on top of you that night, the way he’d fucked you into the mattress like the world was ending. You remembered how perfectly your bodies still moved together, how easily he could pull those broken sounds from your throat. Years had passed, but the fire between you hadn’t dimmed. If anything, it was burning brighter and hotter than ever, threatening to consume every boundary you had built.
Thankfully, Robby seemed to sense your need for space and didn’t push. He gave you room to breathe at the hospital, only speaking to you when a case genuinely required collaboration. His tone stayed strictly professional, his touches nonexistent. He still called every evening like clockwork to talk to Hannah, but with you he remained carefully polite, never lingering, never teasing, never crossing the lines you had drawn.
You should have been relieved. He was finally respecting your wishes, he was doing exactly what you had asked him to do, and yet… on nights like this, when Hannah was at his place for her half of the week, the silence in your house felt suffocating. The emptiness pressed in from every corner. No little footsteps pattering down the hallway, no giggles echoing from the living room. Just you, alone in the quiet, with nothing but your own thoughts to keep you company. And your mind refused to shut off, It buzzed loudly, relentlessly, replaying every moment of that night in vivid detail, the heat of Robby’s skin, the burn of his beard against your neck, the groan in your ear when he came undone inside you.
You kept hearing his promises afterward: that he was a changed man, that this time he wanted you for real. Not out of duty because he’d gotten you pregnant. Not because he felt trapped by responsibility. But because he truly wanted to be with you, because he loved you. God, you wanted to believe him so badly. There were moments, weak and dangerous moments when you wished you could be reckless enough to fall for every word that came out of his mouth. To let yourself be dumb and hopeful and blind, just like you were five years ago.
Maybe you would have risked it if you were the only one who would get hurt when everything inevitably fell apart. You could survive a broken heart, you’d done it before. But Hannah couldn’t, she was innocent in all of this. She didn’t deserve to watch her parents try and fail again, to feel the instability, the confusion, the heartbreak of seeing her mother and father almost become a family, only for it to crumble. You refused to gamble with your daughter’s emotional safety just because you still craved the man who once broke your heart.
The knock on the door came right on time, just as the late afternoon sun was starting to slant through the living room windows. You were still in your scrubs, hair thrown up in a messy bun, when you opened the door to find Robby standing there with Hannah perched on his hip, her little pink backpack slung over his shoulder, making him look both silly and endearing at the same time, and her head resting sleepily against his chest.
“Hey,” Robby said softly. “We’re here.”
Hannah’s face lit up the second she saw you. “Mommy!” She reached both arms out, already wiggling to get to you. Robby shifted her gently into your arms, brushing his hand against your side in the process. The brief contact sent an unwelcome spark through you that you immediately tried to ignore.
“Hi, baby girl,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to her soft brown hair, she smelled like the strawberry shampoo Robby always used on her. “Did you have a good time with Daddy?”
“We had a great time,” Robby answered for her, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He set her little backpack down by the couch and rubbed the back of his neck, looking unusually hesitant.
“Listen… I’ve been thinking about something.”
You raised an eyebrow, bouncing Hannah lightly on your hip as she played with the collar of your top. “That sounds ominous.”
He let out a small laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Not ominous. Just… I’m thinking of taking some days off work. Vacation days.” Your surprise must have shown on your face because Robby quickly continued. “I’ve been thinking about taking her somewhere warm. She’s been talking about the beach nonstop lately. There’s this resort in Mexico I’ve been looking at, very kid-friendly, right on the beach. Thought it might be nice for her to run around in the sand and actually see the ocean.”
Robby had never been one to take vacations. For most of his life, work had consumed him completely. He was drowning in the ED, the never-ending stream of patients, the constant pressure of being the one everyone relied on. There was always something more important, and a quiet voice in the back of his head constantly whispered that everything would crumble if he wasn’t there to hold it all together. He had never felt the pull to travel, no place ever seemed worth leaving the hospital for. Nothing could impress him or hold his attention long enough to make him want to step away. His entire identity had been tied to the job for so long that the idea of doing anything else felt foreign, almost selfish.
That was before Hannah arrived, she changed everything. From the moment she came into his life, Hannah gave him something he had never truly had before, and that was real purpose. She became the reason he woke up every single day determined to be better, to be the kind of father she deserved. The person who had to stay strong and healthy because she depended on him for everything, from teaching her how to tie her shoes, to how to be kind, how to stand up for herself.
But Hannah had given him more than just purpose. She had awakened in him a brand-new desire to actually live. For the first time in years, his world expanded beyondwork. He wanted to do things, he wanted to see things, and more than anything, he wanted to experience them with her. His life no longer felt like it should revolve solely around the ED, he craved as much free time as he could carve out so he could share it with his daughter, watching her discover the world. He refused to miss even a single moment of her childhood while she was still small and everything felt unique to her. Hannah had unknowingly pulled him out of the endless cycle of work and survival.
And that was how the trips began. Beach days where Hannah squealed at the waves and collected seashells in her bucket. Lazy summer afternoons fishing at a lake. Winter weekends at a cabin resort in the mountains, where they built snowmen in the backyard and drank hot chocolate by the fire. Whatever Hannah wanted to do, Robby made it happen.
You nodded slowly, processing the information. You dropped Hannah off carefully on the floor, and she immediately walked to her bedroom, mumbling something about saying hello to her stuffed animals. “Mexico… That sounds really nice for her. When were you thinking?”
“Probably in a couple of weeks, if I can get the time approved. I’d take about a week.” He paused, watching your expression carefully. “Are you okay with that? With me taking her?”
“Yeah,” you said without hesitation. “Of course I’m okay with it. She’ll love it. Just make sure you send me all the flight information and the hotel details once you have them. I want to know exactly where she’ll be and how to reach you.”
“Already planning on it,” he assured you. “I’ll send everything as soon as it’s booked.” A comfortable silence settled for a moment. Then Robby shifted his weight and looked at you again, something vulnerable flickering behind his eyes. “Actually… I wanted to ask you something else.” He rubbed the back of his neck again, a tell you knew too well. “Would you want to come with us?”
You blinked, caught completely off guard. “What?”
“I’d pay for everything,” he added quickly. “Your flight, your room. You don’t have to worry about that. You’ve been working insane hours lately with residency. It might be good for you to get away for a few days, too. Relax. Sleep in.”
The offer hung in the air between you, and for one brief second, you let yourself imagine it. You pictured the three of you on a beach in Mexico. Hannah running barefoot through the warm sand, her hair messy from the ocean breeze, laughing with pure joy every time a wave came close enough to tickle her toes. You saw yourself and Robby sitting nearby on lounge chairs, drinking margaritas while the sun kissed your skin. The sound of the waves rolling onto the shore, lulling you into a nap you hadn’t allowed yourself in years.
After surviving on less than six hours a night for so long, the mere idea of lying back on a lounge chair and actually resting felt almost sinful. Vacations had always been a luxury you couldn’t afford. Not with the mountain of student loans, the demands of your residency, and the constant juggle of motherhood. The thought of taking time off just to relax had felt selfish, unrealistic, and completely out of reach. And now Robby was offering it all on a silver platter.
You quickly shoved the beautiful images away before they could take root and make you weak. Because that was the problem with Robby’s offer, it wasn’t just a vacation. It was a week of playing house, of blurred lines, and of watching him be the devoted father he had become, while your stupid heart remembered exactly how good things used to feel when the three of you were almost a real family.
“Robby…” You let out a slow breath. “Thank you. Really. That’s incredibly generous. But I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
He furrowed his brow slightly. “Why not?”
“Because going on a vacation like that, the three of us, it would be confusing. For her, especially. If we’re sharing space like a family for a whole week, she might start getting ideas about us getting back together. I don’t want to give her false hope. And it’d be confusing for us two, we need to keep our distance after… You know what.”
Robby’s jaw tightened for a moment, but his voice stayed calm. “We can get separate rooms. Hell, we don’t even have to hang out the whole time if you don’t want to. You could do your own thing, be at a different pool, get spa treatments, whatever. I’m not asking you to pretend we’re a couple. I just… I want to do this for you. You deserve a break too.”
You shook your head, even as a small, traitorous part of you ached at how sincere he sounded. “No, Robby. Thank you, but no. It’s sweet of you to offer, but it’s too complicated. We’ve worked really hard to keep things stable and clear for Hannah. Mixing a family vacation into that… it blurs too many lines. I appreciate it, I really do. But I think it’s better if it’s just the two of you.”
He watched you for a long moment, something like disappointment passing across his face, a quiet frustration he tried so hard to hide. “Alright,” he said quietly. “Message received. I’ll just take her, then. But the offer stands if you ever change your mind.”
You gave him a grateful smile, even though your chest felt tight from how much you wanted to say yes, because of how much you wished that maybe in another life, Robby and you could be those parents sunbathing in Mexico with their kid. “I won’t. But thank you.”
He nodded once, lingering for another few seconds like he wanted to say more, but decided that by pushing too hard to get close to you again, he’d only end up pushing you away. “I’ll text you the details as soon as everything’s booked.”
“Sounds good.”
Before heading toward the door, Robby paused. He gave you one last long look, the kind that always managed to slip past every defense you’d carefully built over the years. In that single glance, you were flooded with memories you spent most days trying desperately not to dwell on. Memories from five years ago, back when everything still felt possible. Back when you still believed, with naive, foolish hope, that the two of you could somehow make it work.
And then there were the much more dangerous memories from just two weeks ago, the night where, for a few stolen hours, it felt like the rest of the world had simply stopped existing. His hands on your body like he still owned every inch of it, the way he’d whispered your name against your skin, the overwhelming feeling that you had teleported back in time, back to when it was just the two of you. For those few hours, you had let yourself believe again. You had let yourself imagine that maybe, just maybe, there could still be a “we” in your future.
A couple of days later, you heard the knock of the door echo through the house just as you were finishing packing Hannah’s favorite stuffed capybara into her little backpack. You opened the door to find Robby standing on the porch. Hannah immediately squealed at the sight of him.
“Daddy!” She bolted forward, launching herself into his arms. Robby caught her with ease, laughing as he lifted her high and spun her once before settling her on his hip. “Hey, angel,” he said, pressing a loud kiss to her cheek. “You ready for Daddy’s house?”
You stepped aside to let them both in, arms crossed loosely over your chest as you watched the usual handoff routine unfold. Hannah was buzzing with energy, clutching Robby’s shirt with her little hands. “Daddy, Daddy! Are we really going to the beach soon?” she asked with her eyes wide, full of pure excitement. “With the ocean and the sand?”
Robby grinned, the kind of soft and genuine smile he only ever wore for her. “We sure are, baby girl. I already picked out a really nice hotel. It’s right on the beach. Want me to show you the pictures later when we get home?”
“Yes!” Hannah bounced in his arms, practically vibrating. “Does it have a pool? And ice cream? And can I get a new swimsuit to wear?”
“It has a huge pool, and I’m pretty sure they have all the ice cream you can eat,” Robby answered patiently. He glanced over at you while still holding her. “I booked one of the family suites with a big balcony overlooking the ocean. You’re gonna love it, Han.”
Hannah gasped dramatically, her little mouth forming a perfect ‘O’. “Mommy, did you hear? Daddy got a hotel with a balcony! For the ocean!”
You couldn’t help but smile at her pure joy, even as a knot started forming in your stomach. “I heard, sweetheart. Sounds amazing.”
Robby set Hannah down so she could run to grab her stuffed animal from the couch. The moment she was out of earshot, he lowered his voice slightly. “I meant what I said the other day. The offer’s still open if—”
Before he could finish, Hannah came racing back, clutching her capybara tightly. “Daddy, can Mommy come with us to the beach? Please?”
Robby didn’t miss a beat. He looked straight at his daughter with an innocent expression that you knew was anything but. “You know what, Han? I was actually thinking about inviting Mommy too. What do you think? Would you like Mommy to come on the trip with us?”
Hannah’s entire face lit up like the Fourth of July. She spun toward you so fast she nearly tripped over her own feet. “Mommy! You have to come! Please please please! We can build sandcastles together and swim and eat ice cream and watch the sunset and— and everything!”
You shot Robby a deadly look over Hannah’s head, the kind that promised a painful retribution the moment you two were alone. He simply raised his eyebrows in mock innocence. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing. He was weaponizing the one person he knew you could never say no to. Hannah. She had always been your biggest weakness, your softest spot, and Robby knew it better than anyone. Those big, warm brown eyes were lethal. One pleading look from her, and your resolve crumbled like sand.
And right now, she was using every ounce of that power, blinking up at you with hope while clutching your hand like her entire happiness depended on your answer. It was unfair, completely unfair. Robby wasn’t just standing by and letting her beg, he was actively encouraging it, using your daughter as the ultimate emotional leverage. He knew you could resist him, he knew you could fight your own feelings, your own desires, your own stupid heart. But Hannah? Saying no to her when she looked at you like that felt almost cruel. And the worst part? He wasn’t even trying to hide how satisfied he was with himself, that tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth said everything. He was enjoying this far too much.
“Hannah, baby…” You crouched down to her level, gently brushing a strand of brown hair behind her ear. “Mommy would love to, but I’m super busy with work right now. I have so many shifts and—”
Robby’s voice cut in smoothly from behind her. “Actually, you have a bunch of vacation days saved up. I checked it yesterday.”
You straightened up slowly, narrowing your eyes at him, silently warning him to stop this nonsense before it went too far. “Robby.”
He shrugged, completely unbothered. “Just stating facts. You shouldn’t lie to your daughter, you know?”
Hannah grabbed your hand with both of hers, swinging it dramatically. “Mommy, pleeease? Pretty, pretty please!” You opened your mouth to respond, but Hannah was already in full pleading mode, her big puppy-brown eyes, exactly like Robby’s, staring up at you with devastating effectiveness.
“I really can’t afford it right now, sweetheart,” you tried again. “Plane tickets and hotels are expensive, and Mommy—”
“If Mommy can’t pay,” Robby interrupted you. “Then Daddy will pay. I’ve got it covered. Flights, resort, activities, all of it. You wouldn’t have to worry about a single thing.”
Hannah tugged harder on your hand, bouncing on her toes. “See? Daddy’s paying! So you can come! Please, Mommy? I want all of us together. Pretty pleeeeease.”
You felt cornered, trying to come up with more excuses, but as you reached inside your head, you couldn’t think of any. Robby stood there looking far too pleased with himself, while your daughter continued her relentless assault with those lethal eyes and endless enthusiasm.
“Hannah…” you started, searching desperately for another excuse.
“But Mommy,” she whined, pressing her face against your leg, “I’ll miss you so much if you stay here.”
Robby, the absolute traitor, decided to join forces. “She’s got a point,” he said casually, though his eyes were anything but casual when they met yours. “It wouldn’t be the same without you. And like I said before, I can get us separate rooms. You can do your own thing the whole time if you want. But it would mean a lot to her… and to me.”
The “and to me” was spoken so quietly you almost missed it. You looked between the two of them, your daughter with her hopeful, shining eyes and her father, the man you still stupidly loved, with that steady and patient gaze that had always been able to wear you down. The silence stretched. Hannah’s lower lip started to tremble just slightly, the ultimate weapon in her arsenal.
With a long, defeated sigh, you finally gave in. “…Fine,” you muttered, rubbing your temple. “I’ll go too.”
Hannah let out an ear-piercing squeal of pure delight and threw herself at your legs, hugging them tightly. “Yay! Mommy’s coming! We’re all going to the beach together!”
Robby’s smile was slow and satisfied, though he tried to keep it modest. “That’s great,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Really great.”
You pointed a finger at him over Hannah’s head. “You’re going to pay for this later, Robinavitch.”
His only response was a knowing chuckle. “Looking forward to it.”
Hannah continued dancing around the living room in celebration, already chattering about sandcastles, seashells, and swimming with dolphins. You stood there watching her, with your heart full of love for your daughter, loving every second of seeing her so happy, and equal parts dread and excitement about what you’d just agreed to, a family vacation in Mexico with Robby. God help you.
Hours later, the glow of your bedside lamp was the only light in the room. You were already tucked into bed, wearing an old, oversized t-shirt that had seen better days. Your phone suddenly vibrated on the nightstand, making you glance at the screen, letting out a slow breath as soon as you noticed who was calling. A Facetime from Robby.
You hesitated for two rings, it was almost midnight, and you didn’t feel like having any possibly agitating conversation right before your bedtime, but ultimately ended up accepting the call. Robby’s face filled the screen almost immediately, he was in his bedroom too, the light of his lamp illuminating his face. His hair was messy, like he’d been running his hand through it, and his glasses were perched low on his nose, those fucking glasses… No, don’t even go there, you silently muttered to your brain
“Hey,” his voice sounded rougher, the way it always got late at night. A small smile tugged at his lips. “You already in bed?”
“Yeah,” you replied, adjusting the blanket over your lap, as if trying to cover yourself up. “It’s late, Robby.”
He hummed in agreement, slowly dragging his eyes over what he could see of you on the screen. “You look comfortable. Cute shirt.” There was a brief pause before he asked, almost casually, “So… have you started packing swimsuits yet?”
You stared at him for a moment, the irritation you’d been carrying for the past hours finally bubbled up. “Robby… we need to talk.”
Robby lifted his eyebrows slightly, but the lazy smile didn’t leave his face. “Alright. About what?”
“You manipulated me into agreeing to this trip.”
Robby let out a low chuckle. “Manipulated? Damn, you’re using big words tonight.”
“It’s not funny,” you said sharply, though you kept your voice quiet so you wouldn’t wake Hannah. “You used our daughter to convince me, and then you joined in. That was low, even for you.”
He tilted his head, still smiling like this was all some lighthearted game. “Anything else?”
You narrowed your eyes. “Yes. You guilt-tripped me. The whole ‘it would mean a lot to her… and to me’ line? That was manipulation.”
Robby leaned back against his headboard, resting one arm behind his head, giving you an even better view of his bare chest. He looked far too relaxed for someone being accused of emotional manipulation. “Jesus,” he muttered, still chuckling softly. “Oh-ho-ho, I’m so evil, I manipulated the mother of my child into letting me take her on a fully paid week at a luxury beach resort in Mexico.” He raised an eyebrow, mock-serious. “Am I gonna go to prison for that?”
“Robby.”
“Relax,” he said, softening his tone just a fraction, though the amusement was still there. “Hannah’s excited. You saw her. She wants all three of us there. I’m just trying to give her what she wants.”
“You know exactly what you’re doing,” you shot back. “I know your real agenda behind all of this.”
He tilted his head again, looking curious now. “Oh yeah? And what’s my agenda, according to you?”
You sat up a little straighter in bed, clutching the blanket tighter. “You’re using this stupid trip as an excuse to try and get back with me. You think throwing money at a vacation and putting us in the same space for a whole week is going to magically fix everything. It’s not going to work.”
For a moment, Robby just looked at you, his expression unreadable. Then that stupid smirk of his spread across his face again. “Have you seen me in swim trunks lately? I look real good. You might have to swallow your words when you see me.”
You let out an exasperated scoff, though you couldn’t stop the flush that crept up your neck. You hated the way he could still make you laugh when you were trying to be pissed. You hated the way your body still reacted to his words. “You’re impossible. Seriously, it’s impossible to have a serious conversation with you sometimes.”
“I’m just saying,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself. “Sun, sand, good drinks, me looking like this… you never know.”
“I’ll go,” you said, cutting him off before he could keep going. “But don’t even think this means anything else. We’ll get separate rooms. We’ll make separate plans. I’m going for Hannah. That’s it. Don’t get any ideas.”
Robby ignored your warning completely. “You look so gorgeous right now,” he murmured. Suddenly, his voice went quieter, more intimate. Robby moved his eyes slowly over your face, down to the collar of your shirt and back up again. “All soft and sleepy in bed like that. Fuck… I wish I were lying there with you.”
Your stomach flipped despite yourself, the way he said it, so sincere and full of a hunger that never ceased but only grew stronger every day, made heat bloom in your belly. You wanted to scream at how easily he could still do that to you. “Robby…” you warned him.
“I’m serious,” he continued. “I miss the way you feel under me. The way you breathe when you’re falling asleep next to me. I miss—”
“Goodbye, Robby.” You didn’t wait for him to finish, you ended the facetime call with a tap of your finger, plunging your screen into darkness. The room felt suddenly too quiet, too empty without his presence there. You dropped your phone onto the mattress beside you and stared up at the ceiling. Your skin felt warm, your mind was already replaying the way he’d looked at you, the tone of his voice when he said he wished he was lying there with you.
You pulled the blanket higher up to your chest, trying to ignore the storm of feelings Robby had just stirred up with nothing but his voice. It didn’t work, the ache was still there, as well as the flutter in your chest. The way your heart tripped over itself whenever he looked at you like that. Five years later, and Michael could still make your stupid heart race like you were that same fourth-year med student who used to sneak into his place late at night after shift. And now you had agreed to spend an entire week with him. A full week in Mexico. Seven days of Robby being Robby, charming, attentive, and far too good at reminding you exactly why you fell for him in the first place.
You had to force yourself to go back to one of the saddest days you could remember. Robby had come home from a brutal twelve-hour shift. You had just collapsed onto the couch after finally getting Hannah down, she’d been fussy all day, teething and crying restlessly. The moment he walked through the door, you could tell it had been a bad one. His eyes were glassy and distant, the lines on his face etched deeper than usual. Lately, every shift seemed to carve something out of him. He moved closer and pressed a quick, almost mechanical kiss to your forehead. No hello. No “how was your day.” Not even the ghost of a smile. Just autopilot, he was running on empty.
He sat on the edge of the kitchen counter, far from you, shoulders slumped. “There’s some pasta in the fridge I made,” you whispered, hoping it would reach him. He didn’t answer, didn’t even nod. He just stared at nothing, too drained to move.
Then Hannah let out a small cry from her crib. Before you could push yourself up, Robby was already on his feet. He scooped her up gently against his shoulder, swaying her in a soothing rhythm. “Are you okay, little angel?” he cooed softly, tender in a way it hadn’t been for you in weeks. “Yes, you’re okay. Yes, you are. Daddy’s here… shhh, go back to sleep.” That was the only moment you saw him smile genuine, and heartbreakingly soft as he held his daughter.
Tears burned in your eyes as you stood and walked closer to him. You had spent so many sleepless nights turning it over in your mind, and you couldn’t keep prolonging the inevitable. “Robby… we need to talk.”
“About us?” he replied, already sensing where this was going.
You nodded, feeling your throat tight. “Why do I get the feeling that you don’t want to be with me? That… you regret telling me to move in with you and being together?”
Robby sighed heavily, rubbing his temples like the weight of the world was pressing down on them. “It’s just work. You have no idea what it’s like trying to hold the whole fucking department together when everything is crumbling down and—”
“It’s not just that,” you cut him off. “You don’t look at me. You don’t talk to me. I understand your job is hard, that you’re stressed and exhausted, but… shit, Robby, all we do is ignore each other. The only time we actually speak is to argue about something stupid.” The tears slipped free then, there was no holding them back.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I thought I could do all of this, but I—” Tears welled in his eyes too, spilling over as he tried to hold it together. “I don’t know what to do. I—” A sob cut him off.
“Do you need space?” you asked, dreading the answer. “Is that it? You need us to take some time?”
He looked at you for a long moment, broken and defeated. “Yes.”
Two weeks had passed, and before you realized it, the suitcase lay now open on your bed, half-filled with the folded clothes you had carefully picked for the trip. You stood in front of it, folding another sundress, while Hannah sat cross-legged on the floor surrounded by her own small pink suitcase and a pile of toys.
“Hannah, baby, do you have everything?” you asked for what felt like the tenth time. “Swimsuits? Sunscreen? The colouring books Daddy bought you for the plane?”
Hannah nodded enthusiastically, holding up her favorite ruffled swimsuit. “Yes, Mommy! And my water wings and the new sunglasses Daddy got me!” She beamed with uncontainable excitement. “Are we leaving soon? Is Daddy almost here?”
“Any minute now,” you replied, zipping up the main compartment of your suitcase with a sigh. Your stomach had been in knots all morning, this trip still felt like a terrible idea the more you thought about it, but Hannah’s joy made it impossible to back out now.
Right on cue, there was a knock at the front door. Hannah shot up like a rocket and ran toward it, yelling “Daddy!” at the top of her lungs.
You followed more slowly, pulling both suitcases behind you. When you opened the door, Robby stood there in a casual white linen shirt and shorts, looking annoyingly relaxed and handsome in the morning sunlight. His eyes immediately found yours, a small playing on his lips. “Hey,” he said softly. “You two ready?”
“Daddy!” Hannah launched herself at him. Robby scooped her up effortlessly, kissing her cheek as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Hi, my little mermaid. You got all your stuff?” He glanced over her head at you. “Need help with the bags?"
“I’ve got them,” you said, a little more curtly than you intended.
The drive to the airport was filled with Hannah’s nonstop chatter from the backseat. She pointed out every car, every cloud, every sign, asking a thousand questions about the plane, the ocean, and whether there would be dolphins. Robby answered every single one with patience, occasionally glancing at you in the passenger seat. You kept your eyes on the road, trying not to think too hard about how domestic this all felt.
At the airport, Robby handled check-in, and when the agent handed over the boarding passes, you caught a glimpse of them and froze. Business class.
You turned to him slowly as they walked toward security. “Seriously, Robby? It’s a four-hour flight. We could’ve flown economy like normal people.”
He shrugged, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “I had miles on my card for an upgrade. Didn’t cost anything extra.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Robby.”
He leaned in slightly, keeping his voice low so Hannah wouldn’t hear. “Forgive me. I just wanted to spoil my family a little.”
“We’re not a family,” you said firmly, glancing ahead at Hannah skipping between you two. Robby didn’t argue, he just gave you a look that said he disagreed but wasn’t going to push.
The flight itself was smoother than you expected. In business class, the seats were wide and comfortable. You both let Hannah had the window seat, ans she spent most of the flight pressed against the glass, watching the clouds and looking at the ocean. Robby sat in the middle, keeping Hannah entertained with the in-flight entertainment and snacks.
You tried to read, but your mind kept wandering, every time Robby’s arm brushed yours, reaching for something, or when he laughed at one of Hannah’s excited comments, memories flooded your mind back, and you had to constantly remind yourself the only reason you were doing this was because Hannah had asked.
You landed in Cancun four hours later. A private transfer waited for you outside arrivals. The driver loaded your bags while Hannah bounced between you and Robby, holding both your hands. The drive to the resort took about forty-five minutes along the coast. You watched the palm trees that lined the road and the turquoise water on one side. Hannah pressed her face to the window the entire time, gasping at every new sight.
When the resort finally came into view, it was even more beautiful than the pictures. A luxurious property with white buildings, infinity pools cascading toward the ocean, and tropical gardens everywhere.
The humid air of Cancun wrapped around you the moment you stepped out of the transfer van. The resort lobby was stunning with high ceilings, white marble floors and massive floral arrangements. Hannah’s hand was firmly in yours, her fingers squeezing with excitement as her eyes darted everywhere at once. “Mommy, look! There’s a fountain! And flowers! And the ocean is right there!”
Robby walked a few steps ahead, carrying Hannah’s pink suitcase in one hand and his own duffel in the other. He looked completely at ease, the fabric of his shirt slightly damp from the humidity and clinging just enough to show the lines of his shoulders. He glanced back at you with a reassuring smile before heading straight to the reception desk. You stayed back with Hannah, letting her point out every detail she noticed.
A few minutes later, Robby returned, twirling a key card between his fingers. “All set. We’re in the beachfront wing. Follow me.”
The walk to the room was beautiful but felt endless. Hannah skipped between you and Robby, holding both your hands and swinging them as she chattered nonstop about building the biggest sandcastle in the world.
Robby finally stopped in front of a beautiful wooden door, he swiped the key card, and the door clicked open. The suite was breathtaking, with floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors that opened onto a wide private balcony overlooking the ocean. The living area had elegant white furniture, and as you stepped further inside, your eyes landed on the bedroom area with two queen-size beds.
You stopped dead in the doorway. “Where’s the other room?” you asked slowly, worried you already knew the answer Robby was about to give you.
Robby set the suitcases down and scratched the back of his head, looking mildly sheepish. “Yeah… so there was a mix-up at the front desk. We only got one room.”
You stared at him with disbelief. “What? Are you serious right now?” The asshole had to be kidding. But then again, this was Robby, and this was exactly the kind of shenanigans he’d put you through. You should have known he wouldn’t keep his promise to let you do your own thing at the resort, to not act like you were a real family on a family holiday. You had been to hopeful to expect he’d at least wait a little longer before showing his real intentions.
Hannah, completely oblivious to the tension, let out a delighted squeal and immediately launched herself onto the nearest bed, jumping up and down with pure joy. “This one’s mine! No, this one! Look how bouncy it is, Mommy! Daddy, come jump with me!”
You barely heard her, your whole attention was locked on Robby. The family suite was gorgeous, in tasteful neutral tones, with fresh flowers on the nightstands, a bottle of champagne and fruit plate waiting on the table with a welcome note, but none of that mattered. What mattered now was that Robby had not only manipulated you to agree to this trip, but he’d also lied to you.
“Michael, do you think I was born yesterday? You totally did this on purpose. I know it.”
He held up both hands in a placating gesture, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “There was a confusion with the booking. I swear. They had us down for a family suite with two queens instead of two separate rooms.”
You crossed your arms, glaring at him. “Go fix it. Right now.”
“I already tried,” he said calmly, stepping closer so Hannah wouldn’t overhear. “They’re completely booked. Peak season, a big wedding happening this week. No other rooms available in the whole resort.”
You let out a frustrated breath, rubbing your temple. “This is not what I agreed to, Robby. Separate rooms. That was the condition. I never would’ve come if—”
“I know,” he interrupted gently. “But it’s just one week. I can take one bed, you and Hannah can take the other. It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” you hissed, keeping your voice down as Hannah continued bouncing happily, now unpacking her stuffed capybara and arranging it on the pillows. “This is exactly what I was worried about. You’re pushing boundaries.”
Meanwhile, Hannah had moved on to dragging her suitcase across the room, chattering excitedly. “Mommy, can we go to the beach now? The water is waiting! I want to find seashells and build a castle.”
Robby glanced at her with that fatherly smile that always made your chest ache, then looked back at you. “Look at her. She’s already so happy. One week, that’s all. We’re adults. We can handle sharing space for a few nights without it meaning anything.”
You stared at the two queen beds again. They were large, luxurious, with more pillows than necessary. The balcony doors were open, letting in the warm breeze and the constant, soothing sound of waves. It would have been perfect… if it weren’t for the man standing two feet away looking far too pleased with this “mix-up.”
Hannah suddenly ran over and grabbed your hand, then Robby’s. “Come on! Let’s go to the beach! I’m ready! I have my bucket and everything!”
You looked down at your daughter’s beaming face, then back at Robby. He raised an eyebrow slightly, waiting. You let out a long, defeated sigh. “Fine. But this changes nothing, Robby. Separate beds. No funny business. And the second a room opens up, we’re switching.”
“Whatever you say,” he replied, but the small, satisfied smile on his face told you he wasn’t worried at all.
He set his suitcase near one of the queen beds and nodded toward the bathroom. “I’ll go change first. Won’t be long.”
You nodded silently, still processing everything, but as soon as the bathroom door clicked shut behind him, you turned your attention to Hannah, who was already pulling things out of her pink suitcase with frantic excitement.
“Come here, baby,” you said softly, kneeling on the floor beside her bed. “Let’s get you ready for the beach.”
Hannah stood in front of you, wiggling with impatience as you helped her out of her travel clothes. You carefully slipped her into her favorite ruffled swimsuit, bright pink with little white flowers, adjusting the straps and smoothing the fabric over her tummy. Then came the sunscreen. You squeezed a generous amount into your palm and rubbed it slowly over her arms, shoulders, back, legs, and face, making sure every inch was covred. Hannah giggled when you got to her nose, squirming because of how tickly it was.
“You have to stay safe from the sun, okay?” you murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We’re going to have so much fun, but Mommy doesn’t want you to get burned like a toast.”
“I won’t!” she promised solemnly, then immediately went back to bouncing on her toes. “Can I wear my new sunglasses? And my hat with the flowers?”
The bathroom door opened, and Robby stepped out, for a moment, time seemed to slow. He wore dark swim trunks, paired with a simple white shirt that he hadn’t bothered to put on yet, it was slung over his shoulder. You had seen his bare body no more than a month ago, you’d been under it, but it still felt, somehow, like seeing him again for the first time.
You stared at him longer than you should have. His soft but solid tummy that drove you insane, and that familiar trail of dark hair across his chest that you had always, always loved running your fingers through.
Your eyes traced the lines of his chest, the way the hair curled slightly, the soft give of his stomach. Heat flushed up your neck because God, you still loved every inch of him.
Robby caught you looking and a knowing smile spread across his face. “What?” he asked teasingly. “I got something on my face?”
You blinked hard, tearing your gaze away. “No,” you muttered, grabbing your own beach bag a little too quickly. “I’m… going to change.”
You escaped into the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind you. The mirror showed your flushed cheeks, and you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. This was just a week, you could handle this. Just a week of sleeping in the same room, just a week of seeing his body, just a week of him deliberately trying to break down our walls.
You changed into one of the bikinis you’d packed, a simple black two-piece that tied at the sides and back. You liked how it looked on you, it was flattering, but as you looked at yourself in the mirror, you felt suddenly, acutely aware of how little it covered. Your body had changed since having Hannah, a few stretch marks here and there, breasts that were fuller but not as perky as before. Standing here in just this tiny bikini, knowing Robby was right outside… it felt vulnerable.
You adjusted the ties one more time, took another steadying breath, and stepped out of the bathroom. Hannah immediately squealed. “Mommy, you look so pretty!” She ran over and hugged your legs before darting into the bathroom herself to grab her sunglasses and sun hat. “I’ll be right back!”
You stood in the middle of the suite, adjusting the strap of your beach bag, when Robby stepped in from the balcony. He had been leaning on the railing, looking out at the ocean, but the moment he turned and saw you, he stopped dead. His eyes widened, and he dramatically clutched his chest with one hand, staggering back a step like he was having a heart attack.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, the grin on his face pure mischief. “Warn a guy next time.”
You rolled your eyes, fighting the smile that wanted to break free. “You’re so not funny, Robinavitch.”
You wanted to slap that smug smile right off his face and kiss him senseless at the same time. The two urges warred inside you, because you hated how much his words mattered. How easily he could make you feel like the most beautiful woman who had ever stepped foot on this earth, and how completely you believed him when he said it. He wasn’t just mumbling the words because it felt like something he was supposed to say. No, Robby looked at you like he truly wanted you, like he was dying to get his hands back on your body, to pull you close and remind you exactly how good it used to feel. His gaze lingered, tracing over you in a way that made heat flood your stomach. God, you hated how much you still wanted him to.
He didn’t stop. He kept one hand pressed to his heart, shaking his head slowly as his gaze traveled over you, unashamed, appreciative, and far too warm. “You’re trying to kill me on day one, huh? That bikini… fuck. You look incredible.”
Heat flooded your face again, but you crossed your arms over your chest, suddenly self-conscious. “Stop it. This is exactly what I was worried about.”
Robby took a slow step closer, still smiling, but his voice dropped. “Can’t help it. You’ve always looked good, but seeing you like this…” He let the sentence trail off, his sight lingering on the curve of your waist and the ties at your hips.
Before you could respond, Hannah burst back out of the bathroom wearing her oversized sunglasses and floppy sun hat, striking a dramatic pose. “I’m ready! Let’s go see the ocean!”
The sand was warm under your feet as the three of you made your way down the wooden boardwalk to the private stretch of beach reserved for resort guests. The sea stretched out in front of you, waves lapping against the shore, leaving behind lines of foam. Hannah’s excitement was infectious. She ran ahead a few steps, then back to you and Robby, her little sun hat flopping with every bounce. “The water is so blue! Can we go in right now? Please?”
Robby chuckled, adjusting the beach bag on his shoulder. “Let’s set up first, kiddo. Then we’ll swim.”
You chose three loungers under a large thatched umbrella near the water’s edge. You spread out towels while Robby helped Hannah with her water wings. The resort staff had placed a small cooler with chilled water and fruit beside the chairs, and soft music drifted from speakers along the beach.
Once everything was settled, Robby stood and offered his hand to Hannah. “Ready, little mermaid?”
She grabbed his hand with both of hers and tugged him toward the water. You watched them go, settling back into your lounger with the book you’d brought. The sun felt incredible on your skin, you opened your book, but your eyes kept drifting over the top of the pages. Robby and Hannah waded into the shallow waves. Hannah squealed every time the water touched her legs, clinging to Robby’s hand. He lifted her high when a bigger wave came, spinning her around as she laughed uncontrollably. His swim trunks moved lower on his hips, and it made it impossible for you to focus on your book, every few minutes your gaze wandered back to them.
After nearly an hour, Hannah came running back to you, dripping wet and beaming. “Mommy! Come build sandcastles with me! Daddy said he’ll watch our stuff.”
You set your book aside and took her hand, walking down to the firmer sand near the waterline. The two of you knelt together, digging with plastic shovels and buckets. Hannah chattered nonstop about her castle needing a moat and a tower for the princess. You helped her pat the walls smooth, adding seashells and bits of coral you found along the shore. The sun warmed your back, and for a while, everything felt simple and perfect, just you and your daughter creating something together. But you felt Robby’s eyes on you the entire time, when you glanced up, he was sitting on the lounger, with his elbows on his knees, watching with an unreadable expression.
He didn’t look away when your eyes met, the intensity in his gaze made heat bloom across your skin. Later, when the castle was tall and elaborate, Hannah got a mischievous glint in her eye. “Can we bury Daddy in the sand? Like a mummy?”
Robby, who had joined you, raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I see how it is. Ganging up on me already?”
You smiled despite yourself. “Sounds fair.”
The three of you worked together, slowly covering Robby as he lay back in the sand. Hannah patted sand over his legs with delight, while you worked on his arms and torso. The heavy sand molded around his body as he lay there patiently, occasionally joking with Hannah about becoming a “sand mummy.” Every time your hands brushed his skin while smoothing the sand, a spark jumped between you. He noticed, and you knew he did.
When you finally stepped back, Robby was almost completely buried, only his head and part of his neck visible. Hannah clapped her hands and danced around him. “He looks like a turtle!”
Robby chuckled, trying to move and finding himself well and truly stuck. “Alright, ladies. Fun’s over. Unbury me.”
You exchanged a look with Hannah, a smile spreading across your face. “You know what, Hannah? Don’t you want to go get some ice cream? I saw a stand right by the pools, and since this is all-inclusive, we can have all the ice cream we want.”
Hannah’s eyes lit up like stars. “Yes! Chocolate and strawberry and rainbow sprinkles!”
Robby snapped his head toward you, as much as he could with what little mobility he had left. “Ice cream sounds great. Why don’t you get me out of here and we go there together?”
You crouched down beside him, close enough that your shadow fell over his face. You leaned in until your faces were only inches apart. “This is for booking one room, Michael.”
His eyes widened with outrage. “You wouldn’t—”
You straightened up before he could finish, taking Hannah’s hand. “Come on, baby. Let’s go find that ice cream. Daddy can wait a few more minutes.”
Hannah giggled conspiratorially and waved at Robby. “Bye, Daddy! We’ll bring you some… maybe!”
As the two of you walked away hand-in-hand toward the resort path, Robby’s voice followed you, half-laughing, half-protesting. “This is unfair punishment! Hannah! Come back!”
You didn’t look back, but you couldn’t stop the satisfied smile on your face. For the first time since arriving, you felt like you might actually survive this week, but only if you kept winning the small battles.
The light of late afternoon had softened into the warm pinks and oranges by the time you and Hannah returned to the suite. The scent of ocean salt that clung to your skin and your hair was a wild mess. You both needed showers badly. You helped Hannah first, rinsing the sand from her hair and body. After drying her with one of the oversized white towels, you slipped her into her favorite purple dress and brushed her hair until it was smooth. Your turn came next, you took your time, letting the warm water wash away the salt, sand, and sunscreen. When you emerged wrapped in a towel, Hannah was sitting on one of the queen beds, flipping through a children’s book the resort had left.
She looked up with a bright smile. “Mommy, I’m so hungry! Can we go eat now?”
“Soon, baby. Let’s wait and see if Daddy gets back so we can all go together.”
You were both dressed and ready when the door to the suite finally opened. Robby stepped inside, still covered head to toe in sand. It clung to his hair, dusted his shoulders and arms, and left visible trails down his legs. His swim trunks looked gritty, and there was sand stuck to the damp skin of his chest and stomach. He looked equal parts ridiculous and defeated. You and Hannah stared for half a second before bursting into laughter.
Hannah pointed, doubling over on the bed. “Daddy! You’re a sand monster for real!”
Robby closed the door behind him with a dramatic sigh, brushing uselessly at his arms. “It’s not funny,” he grumbled, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “That wasn’t cool at all.”
You tried to stifle your laughter, covering your mouth with one hand. “You deserved that, Michael.”
He shot you a look, narrowing his eyes playfully. “I have sand in places no person should ever have sand. I’m talking places, okay? You left me there all afernoon.”
You raised an eyebrow, still smiling. “Really? The whole afternoon?”
He ran a hand through his hair, sending another shower of sand onto the floor. “Maybe a beach guard eventually helped dig me out. That’s not the point. The point is you two left me there.”
Hannah was still giggling uncontrollably. “Sorry, Daddy. I ate all the ice-cream.”
Robby shook his head, trying to look stern but failing miserably. “Traitors, both of you.” He glanced down at himself again and sighed. “I need a shower. Give me ten minutes and we can head to dinner.”
While Robby disappeared into the bathroom, you and Hannah sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the water run. When Robby finally emerged, he looked refreshed, wearing a clean button-down shirt and shorts. “Ready?” he asked, offering Hannah his hand.
The buffet was everything a resort like this promised, long tables overflowing with fresh seafood, grilled meats, salads, tropical fruits, and many dessert stations. Hannah’s eyes were wide as saucers as she piled her plate high with pasta, shrimp, and fruit, while you and Robby chose more balanced meals.
You ate slowly, savoring the flavors while Hannah chattered between bites about everything she’d seen that day, occasionally yawning as the long day caught up with her.
After dinner, the walk back to the suite was peaceful, the pathways were lit with lanterns, and the sound of waves grew louder again as you approached the beach wing. Hannah walked between you and Robby, holding both your hands, her steps slowing with tiredness.
Back in the room, the bedtime routine felt strangely intimate. You helped Hannah brush her teeth while Robby turned down the beds. Hannah chose to sleep with you tonight. You tucked her in on the bed closest to the balcony, reading her a short story while Robby dimmed the lights.
Soon, Hannah’s breathing evened out into sleep, her body curled against your side. You lay there in the semi-darkness while Robby settled into the other bed, the sheets rustling as he got comfortable.
“Well, isn’t this nice?” Robby murmured, soft enough not to disturb Hannah’s peaceful sleep. “The three of us here like this… I had a great time today. Even if I spent three hours buried under sand.”
You closed your eyes, trying to ignore the way your treacherous heart agreed with him. It did feel nice, dangerously nice. You’d had so much fun being with him, doing things together like a regular family: building sandcastles, chasing waves, watching Hannah’s delighted squeals. For a few stolen hours, it had felt real. “Tomorrow morning,” you said quietly, despite the ache in your chest, “you’re going to the reception and asking if they have any more rooms available.”
The next morning you woke slowly, Hannah was still curled against your side on the queen bed. Carefully, so as not to wake her, you slipped out of bed. You moved quietly around the room, brushing your teeth, splashing cool water on your face, and running a brush through your hair. You chose a red bikini today, tied the strings and slipped on a light white cover-up. Before leaving, you scribbled a short note and left it on the nightstand: Went for an early walk on the beach to watch the sunrise.
Robby woke later, he spotted the note immediately and read it with a smile. “Mommy went for an early beach walk,” he told Hannah, helping her sit up. “Let’s get ready and surprise her with breakfast on the beach. What do you think?”
Hannah’s face lit up. They took their time, Robby patiently helping her brush her teeth and wash her face. He changed into swim trunks and a loose linen shirt, applied sunscreen to Hannah’s face and arms, and they headed out hand-in-hand, making a quick stop at the breakfast buffet to grab some fresh fruit, croissants, yogurt, and cold water bottles to bring to the beach.
The ocean sparkled brilliantly as he scanned the loungers, looking for you. When he finally spotted you further down the beach, his steps slowed. You were standing near the water’s edge in just the red bikini, the morning light highlighting every curve of your body. You looked relaxed, confident, and breathtakingly beautiful. And you weren’t alone. A tall, ripped guy in his mid-to-late twenties stood close to you, shirtless, his sculpted abs and broad shoulders glistening slightly with sweat or water. He was laughing at something you said, leaning in with confidence, clearly flirting back with you.
He looked like he belonged on a fitness magazine cover, young, with zero signs of the wear that came from decades of work. An ugly twist of jealousy hit Robby in the chest. But it wasn’t just jealousy, it was insecurity hiding right behind it. This guy was younger, fitter. Probably had endless stamina and no emotional baggage. Robby became acutely aware of his own softer stomach, the gray hairs scattered across his chest, and the wrinkles around his eyes from years of exhaustion. He felt every one of his fifty. years in that moment, standing there holding a plate of fruit and his daughter’s hand.
Hannah tugged excitedly on Robby’s hand. “There’s Mommy! Look, Daddy! She’s over there by the water. Can we go say hi? Please?”
Robby forced a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, angel. Let’s go.”
They started walking across the warm sand. Robby’s focus narrowed entirely on you and the man standing far too close. As they approached, he heard the guy’s easy laugh again. The young man was animated, gesturing toward the horizon with one muscular arm, clearly in the middle of some charming story.
“Good morning” Robby said, trying not to sound bothered but doing a terrible job hiding his annoyance. “I see you found company.”
The guy’s gaze flicked from you to Robby, then back to you with mild confusion. “Is that… your father?”
The word landed like a punch, and Robby let out a short and dry laugh, though his jaw tightened painfully. “Her father,” he mumbled on the low. “Cute. No. I’m her husband, as a matter of fact.” His voice didn’t even hesitate over the blatant lie he’d just said.
You laughed, an uncomfortable and forced sound that made Robby’s chest twist. “He’s not my husband,” you corrected quickly. “He’s just… a guy I know from work.”
Robby turned to you slowly, raising one eyebrow raised in disbelief. “A guy you know from work? Excuse me?” The young guy shifted awkwardly on his feet, clearly sensing the sudden thick tension crackling in the air. “I’m the father of her daughter. Michael Robinavitch, nice to meet you.”
The guy’s eyes darted between the three of you, with a confused look across his face as if he couldn’t quite process the sudden shift. Just a couple of minutes earlier he’d been leaning in close, flashing an easy smile and flirting with acute woman at the beach. Now here you were with a man standing possessively close and a little kid next to him. And as if he couldn’t quite believe that Robby, was somehow the father of that kid. “So… you have a daughter? With her?”
Robby kept his tone light for Hannah’s sake, ruffling her hair gently with one hand, but there was an edge underneath his words. “Yes. I got her pregnant. It was a wonderful experience, actually.”
The words came out with a possessive undertone he didn’t even try to hide. What a fucking little prick, Robby thought. He wishes he could pull a woman like you. Sure, the guy might have abs where Robby had a softer belly. Maybe his forehead was smooth, with no lines etched from the pass of time, and his head might still be free of silver hairs. But Robby had pulled you without any of that polished bullshit, and you had always looked at him like he was the most handsome man to ever exist. A little asshole like him wouldn’t have a clue what to do with a woman like you.
You shot Robby a warning glare, a mix of anger and embarrassment. because now you had to explain your awkard family situation to this stranger. “It’s… complicated,” you told the guy, forcing a polite smile that felt brittle on your face. “Really complicated.”
The young man rubbed the back of his neck, his sculpted shoulders tensing visibly. He was clearly uncomfortable now, the easy flirtation from moments ago evaporating. “Yeah… uhh, I think my friends are calling me. Nice to meet you, though.” He gave you one last lingering, appreciative glance before turning and walking away toward a group of guys further down the beach.
The second he was out of earshot, you rounded on Robby, trying to keep your voice low and controlled so Hannah wouldn’t hear, but still with a furious undertone in it. “What the hell was that? You completely ruined it. He was flirting with me, and you had to march over here acting like some possessive caveman. And “her husband” What the hell was that?”
Robby set the beach bag down on the sand a little harder than necessary. “Oh please,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, the movement highlighting the soft give of his stomach beneath his shirt. “He’s not even your type.”
You stared at him incredulously. “And how exactly would you know what my type is these days, Robby?”
He shrugged, but his eyes were dark with a potent mix of jealousy and insecurity. “Because I know you. That guy? All looks and no substance. Perfect abs and zero idea what real life looks like. You’d be bored in ten minutes.”
The words hung between you. Hannah, sensing the growing tension like children always do, tugged gently on your hand. “Mommy, can we eat breakfast now? I’m hungry.”
You forced a warm smile for her, pushing down the frustration and smoothing her messy brown hair with your fingers. “Of course, sweetheart. Let’s sit down and eat. Daddy brought all your favorites.”
The rest of the morning on the beach passed in silence from your side. You didn’t speak one more word to Robby. Every time he tried to make conversation,offering you some mango, commenting on how beautiful the water looked, asking if you wanted more sunscreen, you answered with short nods or turned your attention to Hannah instead. Robby noticed, and after a while, he stood up slowly, brushing sand from his legs.
“I’m gonna take a walk around the resort for a bit. Give you some space.” He looked at Hannah with a soft smile. “You stay with Mommy, okay, angel? I’ll be back soon.”
Hannah nodded, already busy building another small tower on her sandcastle. Robby lingered for a second longer, resting his eyes on you with something regretful in them, before he turned and walked away down the beach path. You watched his back until he disappeared behind the palm trees.
The hours passed slowly, you played with Hannah in the shallow water, built more sandcastles, applied more sunscreen, and read a few chapters of your book while she napped under the umbrella. But your mind kept replaying the scene with the guy, Robby’s jealous interruption, his possessive words, the way he’d looked at you. It stirred up too many old feelings you didn’t want to examine.
Part of you enjoyed the attention he gave you, the way Robby got possessive whenever another guy even stepped too close. It felt good to be wanted like that. To see him look at you like he still wanted you to be his and his only, even after all this time, even after everything that had happened between you. It was dangerous, how much you liked it. Because it stirred up the same old feelings, the ones that made it so hard to remember why you kept pushing him away in the first place.
Robby returned a couple of hours later, carrying two fresh iced drinks. He approached cautiously and sat down on the edge of your lounger, close but not touching you. “I know you’re pissed,” he said. “And you have every right to be. I overstepped. I was an asshole back there. Jealous and… yeah. I’m sorry.”
You stayed silent for a long moment, staring out at the turquoise water. “You were. You ruined a nice, harmless conversation.”
Robby nodded, accepting it. “I did.” He paused, then offered one of the iced drinks. “I walked by the spa earlier. They have really good reviews. I thought of getting you a massage as an apology. You deserve to relax after everything… and after dealing with me being an idiot.”
You looked at him then, searching his face. His expression was sincere, the usual cocky edge softened by genuine regret. Part of you wanted to stay mad. The other part, the tired nd overworked resident and mother, desperately wanted that massage. “…Fine,” you said eventually. “But this doesn’t mean I’m not still annoyed.”
“Understood.” He gave you a small smile.
You left Hannah at the resort’s supervised children’s activity center, a beautiful shaded area with crafts, games, and attentive staff. She was thrilled to join the other kids, waving goodbye without a second thought.
The spa building was serene and even more luxurious than the rest of the resort. Robby stepped up to the elegant reception desk first. You watched him leaning slightly on the polished wood counter, and the woman on the desk checking the screen and nodding.
After a couple of seconds, Robby came back to you. “Okay, it’s all settled. I’m gonna head back, maybe hit the pool with the bar. Enjoy your massage. You deserve it.”
Before Robby had any time to head to the door, a masseuse in a white uniform approached you both. She offered a welcoming smile. “Okay, beautiful couple, ready for your couple’s massage? We have the ocean-view room prepared with the full aromatherapy package you selected. It’s one of our most popular experiences.”
You froze right there and then, the word “couple” hitting you like cold water. Your stomach tightened instantly, a rush of irritation flooding through you. “Robby,” you said, turning to him. “What the hell did you do now?”
He looked genuinely surprised, his eyes widening as he raised both hands in a surrender gesture. “I swear I don’t know,” he said quickly, sounding sincere for once. “I just booked a regular massage for you. I didn’t say anything about a couple’s anything. I was very clear, one person, one massage.”
The masseuse glanced between the two of you, still smiling politely, completely unfazed by the sudden tension. “It’s our signature couples experience, side-by-side tables, synchronized massage, and a glass of champagne afterward. Very romantic and relaxing. Perfect for reconnecting.”
Before you could refuse, clarify, or even form a full protest, the staff were already guiding you both forward with efficiency. They led you down a quiet, incense-scented hallway that opened into a treatment room. Two massage tables stood side by side in the center, candles flickering all around the room and towels folded neatly.
Your heart was racing now, a mix of irritation at Robby and anticipation because soon he would be shirtless again, lying only a few feet away while you were both having a “couple experience” when all you needed was to be as far away as possible from the concept of you and Robby being a couple. Your brain was already getting all these confused, dangerous feelings after spending so much time together, the laughter, the casual touches, the way the three of you looked like a real family from the outside. The last thing you needed right now was to keep doing couple activities. Every shared dinner, every walk along the beach, only made the line between co-parents. You were supposed to be keeping your distance.
You turned to him. “This is not what I agreed to, Robby.”
He looked almost sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “I really did just ask for one massage. But… we’re here now. Might as well enjoy it?”
The masseuses were already moving, preparing the oils, laying out fresh towels, adjusting the temperature and lighting.
On of them smiled gently. “If you’d both like to remove your clothes to your comfort level and lie face down on the tables, we’ll begin with the back and shoulders. Take your time.”
Robby glanced at you, reading the hesitation in your posture. He gave a reassuring nod. “I’ll go first,” he said quietly, and stepped behind the simple privacy screen they had provided.
You heard the rustle of fabric as he removed his shirt and trunks. You turned around quickly, facing the wall to avoid the sight of his fully naked body, one you knew far too well and that still had the exact same devastating effect on you. Definitely not the kind of reaction you needed when you were supposed to be relaxing. But even with your back to him, the knowledge that he was right there in the same room, completely bare, got your heart beating fast.
When he emerged and lay face down on the right-hand table, he draped the sheet modestly over his lower half. You couldn’t help but notice the familiar lines of his back, his strong shoulders, the soft curve where his waist met his hips. Your turn came next, you stepped behind the screen, your fingers slightly unsteady as you untied the bikini top and stepped out of the bottoms. The cool air kissed your bare skin, you wrapped yourself quickly in one of the large, warmed towels and moved to the left table, lying face down.
You turned your head to the side, away from Robby, trying to steady your breathing. The masseuses worked in sync. Pouring warm oil first, spreading it with their fingers, starting at your shoulders and working downward in long strokes. The pressure was perfect — deep enough to melt the knots from endless shifts, gentle enough to feel indulgent. Beside you, Robby let out a low sound of relief as his own masseuse began. The sound sent an unwelcome shiver down your spine, you knew that voice too well, one you’d heard far too many times.
One of the masseuses, an older woman, spoke softly as she worked on your upper back. “You two make a lovely couple. Have you been together a long time?”
Robby answered before you could explain how you weren’t a couple, you two had ended here after a complicated series of events. “Five years.”
You opened your eyes, staring at the white sheet beneath you. “We’re not really together,” you corrected quietly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.
Robby let out a soft chuckle from the next table. “It’s more like an on-and-off thing.”
You turned your head slightly toward him, the irritation mixing with the pleasure of the massage, an experience that was supposed to be relaxing, but now was irritating due to Robby’s presence. “It’s mostly off than on, really.”
The younger masseuse working on Robby smiled as she kneaded his shoulders. “Ah, but you are here together now. That counts for something, no?”
The older woman on your side pressed deeper into a knot between your shoulder blades, drawing a quiet sigh from you. “You make a good couple,” she said warmly. “I have seen many couples working here, but not many where the man looks at the woman the way he looks at you. It’s very special.”
You let out a small, skeptical laugh, the sound muffled against the face cradle. “I find that hard to believe.”
Robby’s voice came from beside you. “I look at her like she’s the second most precious thing in this entire world.”
The masseuses both made soft. The younger one asked curiously, “Why second?”
Robby didn’t hesitate. “Becuse the first one is the daughter she gave me five years ago.”
A soft chorus of “Awww” filled the room. You could practically feel the women melting at his words. The older masseuse patted your shoulder gently. “That is beautiful. A man who knows what he has.”
You felt heat rise in your cheeks, a confusing mix of embarrassment, irritation, and something warmer that his words always managed to make you feel. “He’s a flatterer,” you muttered, trying to keep your voice light. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s very good at saying the right things.”
Robby chuckled again. “Only when it’s true.”
The synchronized rhythm of the massage created an oddly intimate atmosphere. When your masseuse dug into a tight knot between your shoulder blades, Robby’s masseuse did the same at the exact same moment. The sensation of feeling your own body release tension while hearing his quiet groans of pleasure made the room feel smaller, more charged. Time stretched. You found yourself relaxing despite everything, the ocean view, the scent of the oils, the pressure, until the masseuse gently asked you to turn over. You hesitated for a second before complying, keeping the sheet carefully draped over your chest as you rolled onto your back. Robby turned at the same moment, and for a brief second, your eyes met across the small space between the tables. His gaze was dark, but you looked away quickly, focusing on the ceiling and the glow of the candles.
The front massage was somehow even more intimate, oil poured across your collarbones, your arms, your legs. The masseuse’s hands worked slowly up your thighs, careful and professional, but the proximity of Robby, who was lying there with his eyes sometimes closed, sometimes open and watching the ceiling, made every touch feel amplified.
The older masseuse spoke again softly as she massaged your temples. “It is good to see a family taking time together. These moments are precious.”
You stayed silent this time, and Robby’s quiet reply came a moment later. “They are. It took me a while to realize there’s nothing more important than my family.”
When the massage ended, the masseuses quietly stepped out, leaving you and Robby alone in the treatment room. Robes had been provided, and two elegant flutes of champagne with fresh strawberries and raspberries waited on a small table between the two massage tables. You sat up slowly, wrapping the white robe tightly around yourself. Robby did the same on his table, the robe hanging open just enough to show his chest.
For a moment, neither of you spoke, the only sounds were the distant waves. Robby reached for the champagne glasses and handed one to you. He clinked his glass gently against yours.
“To surviving the rest of this trip,” he said softly, a smile playing on his lips.
Robby leaned back against the edge of his table, watching you. The robe slipped slightly off one shoulder, revealing more of his chest. “No matter how much you try to pretend you hate spending time with me… I know you secretly enjoy it. We get along. We have fun together. You know there’s this… connection between us.”
You stared into your glass, watching the bubbles rise. You took a sip before answering. “You’re wrong. The only reason we keep spending time together is because you pull this shit all the time. This wasn’t what I agreed to. I asked for separate rooms, no couple activities. You keep lying to me and manipulating everything because you have this fantasy that I’ll magically get back with you just because you paid for some expensive vacation.”
Robby set his glass down slowly. He didn’t look defensive. Instead, his expression was open, almost vulnerable. “I didn’t get a couple’s massage. I swear. I asked for one massage for you.”
You raised an eyebrow, the champagne making your cheeks feel warmer. “What about the hotel room mix-up?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish smile tugging at his mouth. “Maybe… I didn’t correct the receptionist when he gave me only one room.”
You let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”
Robby looked at you then. “I’m in love,” he said simply. “Crazy in love with you. And every single day, every second I spend with you it just gets bigger and bigger. I can’t help it.”
The confession hung between you. You wanted to push back, to stay angry, but the massage had stripped away too many defenses. You knew you could pack your suitcase right now. You knew you could call a taxi, get to the airport, and buy the fastest ticket back home. But part of you didn’t. Part of you longed to stay and see what the next thing Robby would do, how far he’d go to win you back, how much he was willing to risk this time, and whether he truly meant it. The worst part of it all was how little you actually wanted to run away from him.
“You can’t deny the massage was nice,” Robby added quietly.
You took another slow sip of champagne. The truth slipped out before you could stop it. “It felt good,” you admitted, barely above a whisper. “Really good.”
The next day you woke to Hannah’s excited bouncing on the bed and Robby’s chuckle from the other side of the room. After a leisurely breakfast on the balcony while watching the ocean, the three of you headed to the resort’s massive water park, full of slides, lazy rivers, and splash zones. Hannah’s eyes were wide with wonder as she ran from one attraction to the next.
You spent hours in the shallow kids’ area first, where sprays of water misted over mushroom fountains. Hannah laughed uncontrollably as she darted through the sprays. Robby lifted her onto his shoulders so she could reach higher sprays, both of them soaked and beaming.
Later, you moved to the lazy river, the three of you floated together on a large raft, the current carrying you under bridges and past waterfalls. Hannah sat between you and Robby, chattering nonstop about the “big slides” she wanted to try next. Robby’s arm rested casually behind you on the raft, occasionally brushing his fingers over your shoulder.
You braved a few bigger slides with Hannah while Robby waited at the bottom with open arms to catch her. He went down the steeper ones with her, their laughter echoing as they shot out into the splash pool. You watched from the side, smiling despite yourself at how good he was with her, patient and playful.
By late afternoon, you were all tired, but still decided to head to the open-air resort theater for the karaoke night. The tables were arranged in an arc around a central stage. You sat at a table near the front with Hannah comfortably settled on your lap. She wore her favorite sundress, her hair still slightly damp from the evening shower. In her small hands, she held a colorful fruity mocktail with a paper umbrella and a slice of pineapple on the rim. She watched performer after performer take the stage, clapping enthusiastically for every single one, whether they were hilariously off-key or surprisingly talented.
Robby sat right beside you, he had switched to margaritas after dinner and was now on his third or fourth. His cheeks were flushed a warm pink, and his smile came easier, the alcohol had softened the edges that usually existed between you, but you kept your guard firmly in place, hyper-aware of the weight of his arm behind you and the occasional brush of his fingers against your shoulder
The host, a charismatic man stepped up to the microphone scanning the crowd. “Alright, folks, next up we have Michael Robinavitch! Michael, the stage is all yours.”
Your stomach dropped instantly. You froze, asking yourself if you’d heard right, because karaoke was something Robby would never, ever, do. But then again, this wasn’t normal Robby, this was Robby after four margaritas that inhibited any level of self-awareness he had. “Robby… where are you going? What are you doing?”
He stood up with a bright, slightly tipsy smile that lit up his whole face. He leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to the top of Hannah’s head, then straightened. “You’ll see,” he said.
He walked toward the stage with confidence, the stage lights catching on the slight sway in his step from the margaritas. The crowd quieted with anticipation as he took the microphone. For a moment, he just stood there, looking out over the audience, until his eyes found yours across the tables. A heart-stopping smile spread across his face.
“Good evening, everyone,” he began. “My name is Michael Robinavitch.” He scanned the audience again until his gaze locked directly on you. “This song goes out to the love of my life.” He pointed straight at you, and heads turned. Dozens of eyes shifted your way all at once. Heat flooded your face in an instant, a deep and mortifying warmth that burned from your chest all the way to your ears.
You wanted the sand beneath the theater to open up and swallow you whole. You sank lower in your seat, wishing you could disappear. Robby didn’t stop. “No, not only the love of my life. She’s the woman of my life. She’s the mother of my child. Look at them, aren’t they the most beautiful ladies in the world?”
The crowd let out a collective and heartfelt “Awww.” Some people clapped, a few whistled. Hannah waved happily at her dad from your lap, completely thrilled and oblivious to your embarrassment. “Daddy’s singing for us, Mommy!” she whispered excitedly, bouncing a little.
The opening notes of Aerosmith’s I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing began playing, and Robby’s voice came through the speakers, rough around the edges from the margaritas, but surprisingly in tune despite being a terrible singer. He sang directly to you, keeping his eyes locked on yours the entire time, as if no one else existed.
“I could stay awake just to hear you breathing
Watch you smile while you are sleeping
While you’re far away and dreaming…”
Embarrassment burned through every inch of you. Your cheeks were on fire, and you covered your face with one hand, peeking through your fingers.
“I could spend my life in this sweet surrender
I could stay lost in this moment forever
Where a moment spent with you is a moment I treasure…”
Hannah bounced happily on your lap, clapping along. “Daddy sounds so good! He’s singing for you, Mommy!”
Robby poured everything into the chorus, his voice rising with emotion, and cracking slightly on the high notes but full of feeling.
“Don't wanna close my eyes
I don't wanna to fall asleep
'Cause I'd miss you baby
And I don't wanna miss a thing…”
He pointed at you and Hannah again during the song, his gaze never wavering. The crowd was completely swept up, some singing along, others watching the three of you with fond, smiling faces. You felt painfully exposed, seen in a way that terrified you, and yet terrifyingly wanted and loved in front of all these strangers.
When the final notes faded, the audience erupted in loud applause and cheers. He gave a small, humble bow, grinning widely. He didn’t step off the stage immediately, instead, he raised the microphone again. “Thank you,” he said, smiling at the crowd. “I just want to say one more thing before I go. I was an idiot. I did some things I regret. I let fear and work, and my own stubbornness get in the way of the best things in my life.” He looked straight at you. “But this woman right here… and our beautiful daughter… they are the best thing that ever happened to me. All I want is another chance to fix it. To do it right this time.”
The crowd reacted instantly, followed by scattered cheers and shouts of encouragement. Someone near the back yelled, “Give the man another chance!” More voices joined in, “Yeah, go for it!” until it became a playful chant rippling across the theater.
Robby finally stepped off the stage, making his way back to your table amid the lingering applause. Hannah launched herself into his arms the moment he sat down. “Daddy! You sang so good for Mommy!”
You stared at him, your heart still racing from the public love declaration and the serenade. You leaned in close so only he could hear. “You’re an idiot, Robby.”
He turned to you, so close that the scent of tequila and his cologne wrapped around you again. “Yeah. But I’m your idiot.”
You wanted to push him away, to stay angry about the public spectacle and the way he kept blurring every boundary. But with Hannah happily chattering between you two about how “Daddy is the best singer ever,” and the crowd still occasionally glancing your way with fond smiles, it was impossible to ignore the pull.
“Every single word was true.” He brushed your shoulder gently. “I lost so many years, so much time, so many memories I let go because of how I felt, and now the thought of missing one single moment with you kills me. I don’t want to be anywhere you’re not.”
You had to blink back the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. For the first time, you believed every single word that left his lips, no doubting, no second-guessing, no walls left to hide behind. After days of fighting him, of pushing back against every word and lingering touch, all you wanted was to pull him close, to bury your face in his chest and tell him you wanted the same thing. That every second you’d wasted fighting him was a second the two of you could have been together, laughing, touching. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow,” you swallowed. “When you’re not four margaritas in.”
The next morning, you woke before Hannah. You glanced at Robby in the other queen bed. He was still asleep, lying on his back with one arm draped over his stomach, the sheet low on his hips. You moved quietly and sat on the edge of his bed, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight. For a long moment you just watched him, the morning light highlighting the white hair on his jaw and the lines around his eyes.
Then Robby stirred, fluttering his eyes open slowly, focusing on you with sleepy confusion that quickly shifted into something softer, almost disbelieving. “Am I dreaming?” he murmured as he blinked a few times, pushing himself up on one elbow. “Why are you in bed with me?”
You stayed seated on the edge with your hands in your lap. “Do you remember what happened yesterday?”
He rubbed his face with one hand, still half-asleep. “We went to the water park? Hannah loved the slides…”
“Not that, idiot,” you said quietly, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Later. The karaoke.”
Robby froze. His eyes widened as the memories clearly flooded back. He let out a long groan and dropped back onto the pillow, covering his face with both hands. “Oh yeah… Jesus. I can’t believe I did that.”
“I bet you’re regretting it now.”
He lowered his hands slowly. “I might be deeply embarrassed. But I don’t regret it. I wanted to do something romantic for you. Something that showed you how I feel.”
You raised an eyebrow, trying to keep your tone light even as your pulse quickened. “Yeah? Nothing more romantic than singing off-key Aerosmith in front of a hundred strangers.”
Robby chuckled and pushed himself up to sit against the headboard. “Come on, it wasn’t that off-key.” His eyes met yours. “I meant every single word I said. About not wanting to miss another second without you. About you and Hannah being the best things that ever happened to me. About wanting another chance.”
You held his gaze for a long moment, the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest, breaking down your defences more and more each day. “I heard you loud and clear, Robby.”
Hannah stirred slightly in the other bed but didn’t wake. You stood up slowly, smoothing your sleep shirt. “I’m gonna head to the pools for a bit before she wakes up.”
Robby sat up straighter. “You can’t.”
You turned back to him, raising your eyebrow. “Why not?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish again. “Yesterday I… booked us dancing lessons on the beach. Salsa. For this morning.”
You stared at him. “And why the hell did you do that? Why didn’t you ask me first? I don’t wanna go.”
He let out a helpless laugh. “I don’t know. I was drunk and thought dancing salsa with you on the beach sounded like a great idea at the time.”
You crossed your arms. “Well, I’m not going.”
“Please go with me,” he said wofter now, almost pleading. He looked at you with those warm brown eyes that had always been able to weaken your resolve. “I’ll behave. I promise. Otherwise I’m gonna have to dance with the teacher, and that would be even more embarrassing than last night.”
You stood there in the quiet morning light, part of you still wanted to say no, to keep the boundaries firm, to protect the distance you’d fought so hard to maintain. But you knew if it wasn’t this, then he’d simply come up with another way of putting the two of you together in another situation. Being with him for these days had softened you more than you cared to admit, it had all worn down your defenses. And after every honest word he’d laid bare last night, combined with the way he was looking at you now with that sheepish, boyish smile and those earnest eyes that always saw straight through you, it made it very hard to keep saying no.
After dropping Hannah off at the resort’s supervised kids’ activities center, where she immediately ran off with a group of children to do crafts and play games, you and Robby walked the shaded pathways toward the beach.
The beach dancing area was set up in a beautiful, semi-private cove framed by gently curving palm trees and large rocks. The instructor, a local man, welcomed you both with open arms. “Perfect timing!. Come, come, partners, face each other. We start with the basic steps.”
Robby was a terrible dancer. He tried, God, he tried so hard, but his movements were initially stiff and awkward, his hips resisting the rhythm. He settled his hands on your bare waist with visible hesitation at first, but that hesitation quickly melted into something much hungrier.
The first time the instructor called for a basic side step and Robby pulled you in, he pressed his palm firmly against the small of your back, splaying his fingers wide as if he needed to feel as much of you as possible.
The heat of his touch burned straight through your skin, sending a spark racing up your spine. “Like this?” Robby asked the instructor as he attempted the next step.
His thigh accidentally slid between your legs for balance during a turn, pressing close for a second longer than necessary. You felt the warmth of him, the subtle shift of his hips, and heat pooled in your belly.
The instructor laughed good-naturedly. “Looser hips, my friend! Feel the music. Let it move you.”
Robby tried again, pulling you closer on the next basic. He brushed his chest against yours with every step, the thin fabric of his shirt and your bikini top did nothing to hide the heat of his body.
“This is harder than it looks,” he muttered close to your ear, his breath warm against your neck. He slid his hand a little lower on your back, digging his fingers in with hunger. “But I like having an excuse to hold you like this.”
You swallowed hard, trying to focus on the beat. “You’re terrible at this.”
He grinned as he dipped you slightly on the instructor’s cue. “But I’m trying. For you.”
His body was pressed flush against yours, his hips rolling in what was supposed to be a salsa step but felt far more intimate. The subtle grind, the way his thigh stayed between yours for balance, the hungry way in which he dropped his to your mouth and lower, to the swell of your breasts, made your skin tingle everywhere he touched.
Your pulse thundered in your ears, almost drowning out the music. Every turn, every close hold, every time his hands guided your hips, the tension built higher. He traced possessive circles on your lower back with his fingers. When the music slowed for a moment to practice a more sensual move, he looked down at you with heavy-lidded eyes, like he wanted to devour every inch of you right there on the sand in front of everyone.
You couldn’t take it anymore. You’d tried to fight every single advance he’d made since you both arrived. You’d tried to ignore the way he looked, more tan from the sun, those charming freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks, his soft body on full display in nothing but swim trunks. You’d tried to pretend you weren’t affected by the flood of memories rushing back every time he got close, or by the fantasies of what life could look like if you finally let him in. And you were bone-tired of pretending you didn’t want the same thing. Exhausted from denying yourself what your body craved so much, his hands, his mouth, the weight of him pressing you down, the way only he could make you fel.
Mid-step, you grabbed Robby’s hand tightly and started walking, pulling him firmly away from the group and down the beach. The ocean breeze tried cooling the flush on your skin but did nothing to calm the fire in your belly.
Robby stumbled slightly to keep up, surprised but not resisting. “Where are we going?”
You didn’t slow down, already scanning the shoreline ahead. “We’re going to have sex.”
He let out a startled and deep laugh that sent another shiver racing through you. A second later the laugh faded into pure disbelief. “Wait… are you serious?”
You kept walking, your breath coming faster as the arousal intensified with every second that went by without feeling Robby’s touch. “Yes, Michael.”
Robby’s grip on your hand tightened. “Let’s go back to the room then. No risk of anyone seeing—”
“It’s too far,” you cut him off, your voice breathy with need. “And they’re probably cleaning it right now.”
He let out an incredulous laugh, half-aroused, half-amused. “So what? We’re doing it in the wild?”
You glanced back at him, the corner of your mouth twitching despite the heat flooding your body. “Michael, it’s the beach, not the wilderness.”
“Excuse me,” he said, still laughing softly but with clear hunger in his eyes, “But I really like this resort. I don’t want to get banned for life from this chain.”
You stopped for a second, turning to look at him fully. Your voice dropped to a more direct and impatient tone. “You wanna fuck or not?”
His expression shifted instantly, completely undone. “Yes please.”
“Good, then stop complaining.” You kept walking until you found a good spot: a small, semi-secluded cove partially shielded by large rocks and leaning palm trees. The sand here was softer, shaded in patches by the foliage, with a clear but private view of the ocean. You pulled him behind the largest rock formation and Robby followed without hesitation, his hands already sliding to your waist the moment you stopped. The hunger in his touch matched the fire burning in your veins. He pressed you back against the smooth, sun-warmed rock, his body crowding yours, mouth hovering just inches from yours, breath ragged. The tension that had been building since the massage, since the karaoke, since the entire trip finally snapped.
The moment you pulled Robby behind the large, sun-warmed rock, the rest of the world fell away, all that existed was the heat between you, the desperate need that had been simmering since the very beginning of this trip.
You surged forward and kissed him. Robby met you instantly, a hungry sound rumbling in his chest as his hands grabbed your waist, pulling you flush against him. His mouth was hot and demanding, and his fingers dug into your hips with desperation. He kissed you like a man who had been starving ever since the last night you shared together, sweeping his tongue into your mouth, claiming, while he slid one up your back to tangle in your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wanted it.
He broke the kiss just enough to breathe against your lips. “I’ve been dreaming about this. Every single night since we got here. I didn’t think it would actually happen.”
You smiled against his mouth, sliding your hands up his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under your palms. “All your stupid tricks finally worked.”
He groaned, pressing his forehead to yours as he roamed his hands restlessly over your body, down your sides, cupping your ass, pulling you harder against the growing hardness in his swim trunks. “All I did was to try and prove you how much I love you,” he murmured. “I want to be with you. Not just fuck you again. I want everything. You, Hannah, us as a family. That’s all it’s ever been about.”
Your hand slid down between you, palming the hard and thick outline of his cock through the fabric. He hissed sharply, jerking his hips forward into your touch. “It was torture,” he rasped, against your ear, “seeing you in that bikini every single day and not being able to touch you. Not being able to do this.”
You squeezed him gently, stroking the length of him through his trunks. “Maybe I wanted to touch your body too.”
He let out a shaky laugh that turned into a groan as you rubbed your thumb over the fat head. “I know. I could see the way you watched me. You’re not as subtle as you think you are.”
You couldn’t wait any longer. You hooked your fingers into the waistband of Robby’s swim trunks and pushed them down just enough to free him. His cock sprang out, the thick vein along the underside pulsed visibly as you wrapped your hand around the base, your fingers barely able to close fully around his girth. You stroked him slowly from base to tip, savoring the way he throbbed powerfully in your grip. “It’s your fault for having this fucking body,” you whispered. “It’s just my type.”
Robby let his head fall back against the rock with a moan, bucking his hips into your fist. “I was right,” he managed to say. “That guy the other day at the beach… he wasn’t your type, was he?”
You swept your thumb over the head on every upstroke, spreading the leaking precum and making him even wetter. Robby groaned deeply, jerking forward into your fist as you twisted your wrist just the way he liked, squeezing a little tighter on the way back down. “Please. That guy lacked everything I love in you.”
“Fuck… your hand feels so good,” he rasped. “Been dying to feel you touch me again.” He cursed under his breath, gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks.
You sank slowly to your knees in the sand, until Robby’s cock stood right in front of you, flushed a deep, needy red at the head and already leaking a steady bead of precum. You looked up at him through your lashes, taking in the sight of him towering above you.
As you wrapped one hand around the thick base, the heat of him pulsed strongly against your palm, the weight and girth of him making your mouth water. You started slow, torturously slow. Leaning in, you pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the leaking tip, tasting the salty, slightly bitter bead of precum that had gathered there. Robby’s hips jerked forward involuntarily as a whimper escaped from his chest. You kissed it again, slower this time, letting your lips linger as you savored the skin stretched tight over the swollen head.
Then you dragged your tongue in a wet circle around it, tracing every ridge and vein, feeling the way he twitched and throbbed against your tongue with every pass. “Fuck… baby,” he groaned, already wrecked and sounding hoarse. One of his hands came down to gently grab your hair, trembling slightly as his fingers carded through the strands. “Come on… please… Take a little more, baby.”
You smiled against the slick head, barely parting your lips to take just the tip into the wet heat of your mouth. You sucked gently, swirling your tongue lazily around him, giving him only the lightest, teasing pressure. Robby’s moan was loud and needy, his thighs were trembling as he fought the powerful urge to thrust deeper into your mouth.
You pulled back just enough to speak, brushing your lips still against the glistening tip, a thin string of saliva connecting you. “You’ve been thinking about this the whole trip, haven’t you?”
Robby closed his eyes for a second and nodded, almost like he was in pain. Then you took him deeper, sucking more of his length into your mouth. You hollowed our cheeks as you worked him with deliberate bobs of your head, savoring every inch. The taste of him, the salty skin that was so uniquely Robby, made you moan around his cock. The vibration drew another loud, desperate whimper from deep in his throat.
You remembered every little trick he used to love from years ago, the way he liked the flat of your tongue pressing firmly along the sensitive underside, followed immediately by soothing suction, the way you hollowed your cheeks on the upstroke to create that perfect tight pressure. You did them all, eagerly and hungrily, losing yourself in the heavy weight of him on your tongue and the broken, needy sounds he couldn’t hold back no matter how hard he tried.
You slid your free hand between his spread legs, cupping and gently rolling his heavy balls, massaging them with careful pressure. Robby’s head fell back against the rock with a guttural groan that was almost too loud for the public setting. His hips stuttered forward, chasing the wet heat of your mouth as he fought for control.
“God… your mouth,” he panted, forcing his eyes to stay open. He couldn’t stop watching you, the way your lips stretched obscenely around his cock, the spit glistening on your chin and dripping down his shaft, the lust-drunk look in your eyes as you took him deeper with every bob of your head. “I can’t… fuck. You look so fucking good like this, on your knees for me.”
You moaned again around him, and took him as deep as you could, until your nose was brushing the dark, untrimmed hair at his base, holding him there for a long moment while your throat worked around him. You continued playing with his balls, gently tugging and rolling them, feeling them draw up tight as his pleasure built.
Robby’s whimpers turned into full, unrestrained moans. He tightened his fingers almost painfully in your hair as he began rocking his hips shallowly, fucking your mouth with tiny movements. Spit dripped down your chin, coating your hand as you stroked what your mouth couldn’t reach, twisting your wrist on every upstroke just the way he liked.
You pulled off just enough to gasp for air, strings of thick spit connecting your swollen lips to his throbbing cock. “You gotta be quiet,” you whispered, “if you don’t want to attract an audience.”
Robby let out a shaky laugh that quickly dissolved into another deep moan as you licked a long stripe up the entire underside of his cock, tongue pressing firmly against the thick vein there.
“I can’t… I can’t be quiet when I’m finally feeling your mouth again. Fuck, I’ve missed this so much. Missed you so fucking much.”
You took him back in without warning, sucking harder and faster now. Robby’s moans grew louder, more needy, his body trembling as he fought the edge, his thighs shaking beside your head. “Baby… I’m close,” he warned, stuttering his hips forward. “So fucking close—”
You kept going, eager to push him over the edge, dying to feel his thick load flooding your mouth, but Robby suddenly pulled you off with a desperate groan. He hauled you up to your feet with strength. His cock, slick and throbbing and coated in your spit, pressed against your stomach. “Not yet,” he rasped. “Not like this. I want more. I want all of you.”
With a growl, he spun you around, pressing your front firmly against the rock. Your cheek rested against the stone as he yanked the ties of your bikini bottoms loose with impatient fingers until the fabric slid down your legs and pooled at your ankles. You kicked it aside impatiently, leaving yourself completely bare from the waist down.
One of Robby’s large hands slid up your body from behind, slipping under the fabric of your bikini top. His palm was hot as it cupped your breast fully, squeezing the soft flesh with blatant hunger. He found your already hard nipple and rolled it slowly between thumb and forefinger, pinching just hard enough to send sparks of pleasure shooting straight down to your dripping core. You gasped, arching your back and pressing your breast harder into his hand, craving more of that delicious sting.
At the same time, he dipped his other hand between your legs from behind, dragging two thick fingers teasingly through your soaked folds, parting them and spreading your slick arousal everywhere. The wetness coated his fingers as he explored you, rubbing up and down your slit before finally finding your puffy clit. He circled it with the pad of his middle finger, pressing it just right, making your thighs tremble and your knees threaten to buckle against the rock.
“Fuck, you’re soaked,” his voice was rough with lust. “This pussy is dripping for me already. You’ve been aching for my cock, huh?”
You moaned loudly and pushed back against his hand desperately. “Robby… I can’t wait anymore,” you gasped. “I need you inside me. Now. Please.”
He pressed a wet kiss to the back of your neck, grazing your skin with his teeth possessively. “Fuck, yes,” he groaned.
You felt the blunt head of his cock nudge against your entrance, sliding through your slick folds once, twice, teasing you both. Then, with one powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside you.
The stretch was like something you never felt before, overwhelming and full, exactly what you’d been craving for days. Robby filled you completely, his cock dragged against every spot inside as he bottomed out with a satisfied groan.
He stayed there for a long moment, buried to the hilt, both of you breathing hard together, his chest pressed flush against your back, one hand still massaging and kneading your breast, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks.
Then he started moving, he was slow at first, giving you deep and rolling thrusts that let you feel every single inch of him. Robby snapped his hips forward deliberately, driving his cock so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach. The wet sound of skin meeting skin mixed beautifully with the waves and your shared, breathy moans.
Robby’s grip on your hip tightened as he gradually picked up the pace, fucking you harder, deeper. “God, you feel so fucking good,” he groaned right against your ear. One of his hands left your breast, sliding down your body until it reached your ass. He grabbed a full, greedy handful of the rounded flesh, squeezing hard enough to leave marks as he spread you open wider for him, pulling your cheeks apart so he could watch every inch of his cock as it disappeared inside your greedy pussy. Your arousal coated his shaft, strings of wetness connecting you every time he pulled back, only to slam in deeper. “So tight… so wet for me. Been thinking about this pussy every single day on this trip. You’re creaming all over me, baby. Can you feel how deep I am?”
You moaned loudly, pushing back to meet every powerful thrust. The rock was warm against your front, your breasts kept rubbing against it with every movement. He leaned over you more, changing the angle so he could fuck you even deeper, snapping his hips forward with raw purpose now. “You’re mine,” he growled against your ear. “This pussy is mine. You’re mine. Say it.”
You could only moan in response at first, lost in the overwhelming pleasure. “Y-yours.”
He grabbed your hips with both hands, digging his fingers in hard as he pulled you back onto his cock with every thrust. “Fuck, Robby… harder,” you gasped, still pushing back against him. “Don’t stop.”
“Never,” he growled, slamming into you deeper. “Not gonna stop until you’re coming all over my cock.”
You moaned louder, unable to hold back. Robby’s hand left your hip and slid up your body, pressing two fingers firmly against your lips. “Suck on them,” he growled hotly against your skin. “Before someone hears how well I’m fucking you. Be a good girl for me.”
You parted your lips obediently, taking his fingers deep into your mouth. You sucked on them eagerly, swirling your tongue around the digits just like you had around his cock earlier. Robby groaned deeply at the feeling of your muffled moans against his fingers, his hips slamming into you harder.
With his other hand, Robby found your swollen, aching clit. He pressed his digit firmly against the bundle of nerves, rubbing tight circles with exactly the pressure he knew drove you wild. He alternated between teasing strokes and faster, more insistent ones, never letting the rhythm become predictable. The dual sensation was devastating, not only his cock stretching and pounding into you from behind, but now his fingers working your clit relentlessly.
“That’s it,” he rasped as he fucked you even deeper. “Suck my fingers while I ruin this pussy. You’re so fucking wet for me. Been thinking of it since the dance lesson, haven’t you? I could feel how soaked you were the whole time I was touching you.”
You moaned around his fingers, the sound vibrating against them as you sucked harder. Your legs shook uncontrollably. “Come for me,” he rubbed your clit faster and harder. “I want to feel you squeezing my cock when you cum. Let me feel how much you need this. How much you’ve been aching for me.”
The tension snapped, your orgasm crashing over you hard and suddenly. You cried out around his fingers, your pussy clenching rhythmically around his thick cock, fluttering and squeezing him tightly as waves of overwhelming pleasure rolled through your entire body.
Robby’s thrusts grew erratic as he chased his own release. “Fuck… you feel so good when you cum. So tight. I’m so close, baby.” He kept fucking you through your orgasm, drawing it out with deep strokes, his fingers still rubbing your oversensitive clit in gentler circles. His voice was completely wrecked when he spoke again. “Can I finish inside? Please… I need to fill you up. I need to cum inside you.”
You pulled off his fingers just enough to gasp out. “Yes. Cum inside me. Fill me up, Robby. I want it so much.”
That was all he needed. Robby buried himself as deep as possible with a broken moan as he came. You felt every pulse as he emptied himself inside you, hot ropes of cum flooding your pussy in thick spurts. He kept thrusting through it, as if he wanted to push every single drop of his fat load as far inside you as possible. His body trembled against yours as he pressed his forehead to the back of your neck, breathing raggedly against your sweat-slicked skin.
Robby wrapped his arms around you from behind, holding you close as he softened inside you, placing lazy kisses along your shoulder and the back of your neck. His cum slowly leaked down your thigh in sticky trails, mixing with your own wetness.
Eventually, you shifted, feeling the pleasant ache between your legs and the reality of where you were. You reached down, picked up your discarded bikini bottoms from the sand, and slowly tied them back on with slightly shaky fingers. Robby stayed close, resting his hands on your hips, stroking circles with his thumbs as if he couldn’t bear to stop touching you.
“We should go pick up Hannah,” you said softly, still sounding a little hoarse.
Robby didn’t move right away, he turned you gently to face him, cupping your face with his hands. “Wait,” he murmured. “What does this mean? Just admit it and stop fooling yourself. Tell me you want this as much as I do. That you want to be with me too. That you never minded sharing a room, or getting a couple’s massage, or taking dancing lessons. Tell me you actually like spending time together like this.”
You looked up at him, the vulnerability in his voice made your chest ache, and after an intense orgasm like the one he’d just given you, you couldn’t even fool yourself. You took a slow breath. “Yes… I do,” you admitted. “I like being with you, Robby. I like the sex. I like how you make me laugh. I like talking to you. I like… all of it.” His eyes lit up with hope, but you continued before he could speak. “But what happens with me? What happens with Hannah if you change your mind? If the charm wears off once we’re back home, dealing with real life.”
Robby’s expression turned serious, almost pained. He cupped your face more firmly, brushing your cheeks. “I wouldn’t go through all of this if I weren’t a hundred percent sure of what I feel and what I want. Hannah is the most important thing in my life. I’d die before hurting her. Or you. I’m not going anywhere this time. I promise.”
You searched his eyes, tears pricking at the corners of yours. “How can I believe you?”
He smiled softly, a little sheepish. “I sang in front of a crowd for you. That has to count for something.”
You laughed despite yourself. “This whole trip has been so nice… but real life isn’t a beach resort with massages and dancing lessons.”
Robby pulled you closer, resting his forehead against yours. “I want you when you’re tired from work. Sweaty, your hair a mess, exhausted. I want the long nights when we’re both too drained to speak, and the fights when we’re frustrated and still choose each other every single day. I want all of it.” He kissed you softly, then pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. “Please… I’ve missed so much already, don’t let me miss another thing.”
You smiled, tears slipping freely down your cheeks. You leaned in and kissed him again, slow and deep, full of everything you’d been holding back. When you pulled away, he searched your face with hopeful eyes. “Is that a yes?” he asked, barely above a whisper.
You smiled wider. “It’s a maybe.”
He kissed you again, deeper this time. “Say yes.”
You laughed softly against his lips. “Maybe.”
Another kiss, sweeter. “Yes?”
You melted into him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Yes.”
Your reblog doesn’t just support me as a writer, it also helps this reach the people who read the first part, so please consider taking 0.00001 second to click that button, it’s free!!💜
A/N: I feel like, the way it happens in a lot of media, second parts are never quite as good as the first one. But people wanted a second part, and I wanted to write one too, so here’s what I came up with. I hope it wasn’t too long or boring. I’m so thankful for all the love and support the first part got. It genuinely makes me so happy to see that people enjoyed it🥹
There’s honestly so much I could write about these two, but it already felt long as it is. I don’t think I’ll write a third part, to be honest.
synopsis: Sometimes Brendon Park is a very stupid man.
warnings/notes: Omegaverse dynamics. Reader is an ortho surgery fellow. Another attending is a dick to reader. Flangst, my beloved. let me know if i missed something. First time writing Park. @thedamnqueenofhell requested this one for my One Big Bash.
wc: 3.3k
Eight weeks.
That’s how long you had been putting up with one Dr. Keith Jacobs.
You were no stranger to the prejudice and assumptions that came with you being an Omega studying to become a surgeon. You’d dealt with them in undergrad, in med school, and throughout your residency. Now you were a surgical fellow six weeks out from that attending position. Already offered and accepted here at PTMC.
Jacobs was an alphahole of the first order. Not a day went by without him taking the opportunity to make a snide comment, to attempt to tear you down. You ignored him as you had everyone who came before him and as you would everyone who came after him.
But the longer he went without getting the response he clearly wanted, the sharper and more hateful his comments became. You knew it wasn’t entirely due to your designation. No, Jacobs was here as temporary coverage, to fill the spot Dr. Simmons left with her retirement. The spot you’d been hired to fill. He undoubtedly thought if he chased you off, he could keep the job. Asshole.
Unfortunately for him, today you were tired. Exhausted really, functioning only off spite and copious amounts of caffeine. You’d been on call the last three nights. And while you’d only had to come in for one surgery, you never slept well when you knew you could be summoned at any moment. So today, you weren’t putting up with his shit.
You sat at one of the computers finishing up your notes for the surgery you’d finished fifteen minutes ago. Jacobs stood nearby chatting with one of the trauma surgeons, though his voice was pitched to carry straight to you.
“I just don’t understand why they would even give her a fellowship. Omegas are naturally better at following than leading. The designation is wired for support roles. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s just interesting that PTMC is encouraging it.” He dropped his voice just a fraction but still loud enough to be heard by you and anyone else that happened to be around. “They can’t possibly think that she’ll be a successful attending.”
You stood, hands braced on the desk and stared him down. “Just because I am an Omega, doesn’t mean you get to be an asshole to me and I just take it.” You leaned closer to him and his eyes widened slightly. “Shove your designation up your ass.”
The department was silent as the few witnesses took in the both of you. Even those who hadn’t heard the entirety of what had been said, knew that it had to have been too far, too much. You were level-headed and calm in even the worst situations. It came from a lifetime of biting your tongue. Well, you were done.
Jacobs’ face turned a brilliant shade of red as he opened his mouth to respond. It snapped shut as someone said your name.
Just your name, but it was enough when it was Brendon Park saying it. It wasn’t loud, wasn’t sharp. Just that calm, even tone he used when he wasn’t busy reprimanding the med students and residents.
Your face flooded with heat. A combination of embarrassment and anger, you supposed. You turned and found him standing a short distance away. His scrubs were impeccable even though it was nearing the end of the shift. Of course, they were. Just like his hair was still gelled back with nary a strand out of place. His jaw was sharp enough to cut. His blue eyes gave nothing away as they assessed the situation.Head of the department. Alpha. And all together perfect for you, even if he’d never be yours.
He didn’t say anything else, simply tilting his head toward the hallway that led to his office and waited. Once you moved to follow, he led the way. The corridor felt longer than it had any right to be. You kept your chin up even if your hands were shaking. Jacobs might be an alpha asshole but he was still your superior. Technically. Telling him to shove anything up his ass probably wasn’t the most intelligent thing you’d ever done.
Park didn’t say a word nor did he look back to make sure you were following. His office door was open and he gestured for you to enter first. He followed and closed the door behind you. You glanced around the office, finding no changes from the last time you were here. The office was sparse but it was all him.
And here, you could detect the slightest hint of warm cedar. His scent was dampened but stronger here than anywhere else and you knew he probably changed his scent patches here when needed. You attempted to breathe shallowly, not wanting this man to get any further under your skin than he already was.
He didn’t sit behind the desk. He leaned against the front of it, arms crossed, posture casual. You realized he was trying to keep this from feeling like a disciplinary meeting and you appreciated it. Some of the tension bled from your shoulders.
“What was that about?” he asked.
You told him all of it. From the first comment about how omegas have no place in the OR to the one he’d made last week to a nurse about your scent being distracting and maybe you should consider a stronger scent patch. Then the suggestion, made twice in the last month, that you’d gotten your fellowship placement because some alpha had put in a good word to get into your nest.
As you spoke, your voice regained its steadiness and the shaking in your hands ceased. You watched his face as you spoke. His expression didn’t change but his jaw tightened, a muscle twitching under the skin. His eyes remained on yours, not looking away even once. He listened without interrupting. When you finished, you felt lighter than you had in weeks.
Park studied you for a moment. “When did this start?”
“His second day.”
His gaze narrowed slightly at that before returning to normal. “Why didn’t you report it?”
You sighed. “I didn’t want to be that omega. The one that couldn’t take a few comments from an alpha. I only have six more weeks before he’ll be gone. I thought I could ignore it.”
“You could have said something to me if you didn’t want to involve HR.” His voice had softened.
“I could have, yes.”
The silence stretched for a beat. “But you didn’t.”
“No, sir.”
He nodded just once, a short downward movement of his chin. An acknowledgement of what you’d told him.
“Finish your rounds and go home,” he said.
That was it. No platitudes. No promises. Just a dismissal.
So, you left.
When you returned for your next shift two days later, you found Jacobs’ name gone from the department board. You glanced at the wall lined with the photos of the surgical attendings. There was no longer a picture of Jacobs smirking from the end of the row. It was if he’d never been there at all. The corners of your lips curled up into a smile.
Park was already at the nurses’ station when you arrived, reviewing his charts for that day’s surgeries. He didn’t look up when you approached. When you said good morning, he responded with nothing more than a short nod, his eyes meeting yours for half a second before returning to the chart.
Gratitude washed through you. Park had handled it. He hadn’t questioned your sincerity, hadn’t taken an alpha’s word over yours. He’d simply assessed the problem and took care of it. And that feeling you’d been shoving down for months welled up. The feeling you got whenever you watched him operate, when you took in the set of his broad shoulders, when he approved of your work with a simple ‘good.’
You were six weeks from being his colleague instead of his fellow. Six weeks from the hierarchy between you becoming something simpler. You had promised yourself you would wait.
That evening you broke that promise.
You decided on brownies. Something that would keep for a couple of days without refrigeration. That he could take a bite of when he had a moment. But you didn’t make the quick ones you could throw together without a second thought. No, these were a layered concoction that were rich without being too sweet. Dark chocolate and raspberry and cream cheese.
The apartment filled with the rich aroma. Once they’d cooled you packaged them carefully in a glass container. You stuck a note to the lid. A simple Thank you for believing me followed by your name. You resisted the urge to add a little heart after it.
You rested your palm against the lid and took a deep breath. An omega bringing food to an alpha was not a casual act of gratitude. It carried weight. It was a courting gesture. It was the kind of thing that said, I value you, I appreciate you, you’re worth me spending my time on. You knew what you were doing. Had known as soon as he asked for no accolades for his actions that were going to do it.
The next morning you arrived an hour early for your shift. Even Park didn’t arrive that early. You set the container on his desk, carefully in the center where he would see it first thing. Then you left, your heart in your throat, and went to prepare for your day.
Brendon found the container just before 6:30. He always arrived a half an hour early for his shift, wanting a chance to review the day’s OR schedule. He paused, setting down his bag, eyes on the container and your familiar scrawl. His brow furrowed as he read the note. Of course he believed you. Why would he do otherwise?
He’d worked with you for years. Watched you grow from a shy resident into a competent, confident surgeon. Jacobs was just some asshole filling a spot that was rightfully yours.
He lifted the lid. The deep, rich aroma of good chocolate flooded his senses, his mouth instantly watering. A pulse of possessive warmth started low in his belly and spread outward, making the hair on his arms stand up. His scent changed before he could stop it, the cedar deepening mixing with the underlying spicy smell of a pleased alpha.
He stood very still for a moment and let himself feel it.
Then he shut it down. Hard.
The last thing you needed was an alpha reading too much into a thank you. You had just spent weeks being insulted and humiliated on a daily basis by another alpha. You didn’t deserve the unwanted attentions of another.
If he ate this food, if he accepted this gesture, he would not be able to maintain the distance he’d built between you shift by shift. He closed the container, carried it to the breakroom and left it on the table. Then he went back to his office, closed the door and did not come out for twenty minutes.
You found it when you stopped by to get a cup of coffee between procedures. Your glass container, still half full of brownies sitting on the table. Crumbs littered the area around it.
You stood just inside the doorway of the empty breakroom and took a deep breath. Then another. Then you picked up the container and carried it to your locker. That night when you got home, you threw the whole thing in the garbage. Then you walked away.
As the days passed, you changed. You knew it but didn’t care enough to correct it. You spoke less in rounds. You kept your eyes anywhere but on Park when he was speaking. You stopped lingering at the nurses’ station to talk to him after your work was finished or between procedures. It was the only thing you knew to do. He had made his position clear and you weren’t going to push when you weren’t wanted.
Park changed too. His interactions with you became shorter, the tone more formal. Not cold, never that, but careful in a way he hadn’t been before. He stopped standing quite as close to you in the OR. Quit making small talk.
The distance between you grew enough that it was noted by others in the department. It was brought up to you exactly once and your cold dismissal was enough to keep them from asking again. No one was brave enough to broach the topic with Park.
It was fine, you told yourself, meaning it less with each passing day.
The shift was a brutal one.
You’d nearly lost a patient on the table. A tib-fib fracture that shifted, nicking the artery. For the longest ninety seconds of your life, the blood had come faster than you could clamp it. Your hands remained steady through all of it. As you found the bleed, as you repaired it, finished the surgery and closed. The patient was stable and in recovery now.
Your hands waited until after to shake. You stood at the sink, too hot water running over your trembling fingers. You pressed your forehead against the cool tile and breathed. Once you were more certain of yourself, sure the anxiety had ebbed enough to not be read on your face, you headed back to work.
At the end of the day, you were still carrying it there in the middle of your chest. As you passed the nurses’ station on your way out you heard the distinct sound of Park’s laugh.
Not the short exhale he gave when he found something mildly amusing. No, this was a real laugh. Low and easy, the way you’d only heard a handful of times. You stopped walking without meaning to, eyes searching him out.
He stood nearby with one of the floor nurses. Cindy, a pretty unmated omega that made residents trip over their own feet when she graced them with a smile. She had her hand on Park’s arm as she smiled up at him. And he let her. He stood there in his stupid purple scrubs with his stupid perfect hair while his eyes crinkled at the corners as he laughed at something another omega had said.
He didn’t move her hand.
You kept walking and didn’t look back again. You swiped your badge to clock out then got on the elevator to head to the parking garage. You pushed through the doors to your level. You did not let yourself think about it until you were sitting in the driver’s seat of your car, engine off. The world mostly quiet around you.
And oh gods that hurt. It was one thing to know he didn’t want you. Another entirely to discover he wanted someone else. You sucked in a shaky breath as your fingers scrabbled to get a purchase on the scent patch on your wrist. First your left, then the right, ignoring the sharp pull of the adhesive against your skin.
You tossed them into the trash you kept on the passenger side of your car. Then you removed the larger one on your neck, at the junction of your throat and shoulder. The one that did the most work. Your omega scent began to bleed back into the air around you. The feeling of relief was immediate as your muscles loosened.
You braced your hands on the steering wheel and dropped your forehead to rest against them. You closed your eyes. And you cried.
Quiet sobs filled your car as your shoulders shook with the action. You were exhausted. You’d been holding onto everything so tightly. Pretending the rejection of the only alpha you’d ever really wanted hadn’t affected you in the least. Pretending you could keep things professional. That you could work with him every day without it tearing you up inside.
Your body had finally reached its limit and broke. Tears warmed your cheeks and dripped onto the wheel. You didn’t try to stop them. You could fall apart here in the quiet of the parking garage. Gods knew you wouldn’t be the first person to break in employee parking. You just needed to let it out, then you could pull yourself together and drive home. No one would ever know.
You barely registered the yank of your car door opening. Then hands were on your shoulders, turning you and pulling you out of the seat before you could even fully process what was happening. And then you were against his chest.
For a moment you panicked until that warm cedar scent flooded your nose. Brendon. His arms went around you, one hand resting on your back, the other cradling your head. His touch was gentle, grounding and…not meant for you.
You pushed against him, putting distance between you, minimal as it may be. His hands shifted to hold onto your upper arms.
His gaze raked over you, looking for injury maybe. “Who made you cry?” His voice was rough, urgent. “Tell me and I’ll take care of it.”
You shook your head and huffed in disbelief. You had cried so many times over this man. This alpha that wasn’t yours. “It was you, Brendon. It’s always been you.”
His hands stayed on you but he went still. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Then, quietly, “Me? What did I do? Please tell me so I can fix it.”
“You can’t fix it. Sometimes things just hurt and you can’t fix them,” you insisted then sucked in a bracing breath. “You’re allowed to not want me, Brendon, but it will take me a while to get over your rejection. It’s just how it is. I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable.”
His brow furrowed. “Rejection?”
Maybe he wasn’t as smart as you thought he was. “You left my gift on the breakroom table for everyone to eat. That usually counts as a rejection, yes.”
He stared at you, eyes wide with something that looked like panic. “The brownies. You were courting me?”
You blinked. “What did you think I was doing?”
“Saying thank you.” His voice was so quiet you barely heard him.
“Brendon Park.” His name dripped with disbelief as it rolled off your tongue. This stupid, idiot alpha. But just because he didn’t understand, didn’t mean he suddenly wanted you. You opened your mouth to say something else but he interrupted by cradling your face in both of his hands.
His thumbs brushed across your cheekbones. His eyes were dark, blue almost swallowed by his pupils. His scent grew warmer, headier with contentment and something that felt like want.
“I’m sorry, Omega.” His voice was low and rough. “We can discuss what an idiot I am later, but right now I need to kiss you. You smell divine and it’s making my head swim.”
And then he did.
His mouth was warm and softer than you’d imagined. And you had imagined it. So many times. His hands slid from your face to the back of your neck and he kissed you like he’d been thinking about it for as long as you had. Perhaps that careful distance he’d maintained between you had cost him something too.
You kissed him back. Your hands found his chest, clutching onto his scrubs to pull him closer. He chuckled against your lips. The world around you disappeared until all that was left was his mouth on yours and his scent in your lungs.
When he pulled back, his breathing was uneven. His forehead rested against yours, his thumbs still tracing your skin. “Five weeks until you’re an attending. I can wait five weeks.”
You laughed, the sound bright and relieved. “I couldn’t.” You closed your eyes and just enjoyed the moment before you pulled back to look at him. “I don’t want to wait, Brendon. I’ve been waiting. I already have the position. We can be discrete but don’t make me wait.” When he didn’t immediately respond, you added, “Please, alpha.”
a/n: "jess wtf is this??" well it's an idea that wouldn't leave my brain until it was done ok. i don't even know who would fuck with this but here you go enjoy patrick jane being soft. is this the thing that gets me back into writi g period?? who knows man but this felt nice to write enjoy yall
- - -
“What are you doing on my couch?” The soft voice that worms into your ears only makes the pressure behind your eyes pound even more.
"It’s not your couch, Jane," you grumble, "and it should be pretty obvious what I'm doing."
Even with your eyes closed, you can still hear the faint smile in Jane's voice. "Okay, fine. I'll redirect. Why are you on my couch?"
You take a grounding breath through your nose; your exhale escapes like a whistle from your lips. It helps. A bit. "Guess?"
If it's even possible, you can hear Jane's grin get wider. "That's no fun."
"It's all you do, guess," you grumble. The leather underneath you squeaks as you shift your weight. "Shoot, Sherlock."
Jane goes silent a moment. You think he's probably scrutinizing you the way he does your suspects, with those unreadable eyes of his and a vague smile on his lips.
His footsteps shuffle against the floor of the station, echoing against its silent interior. It's just you and him tonight. You make quite the duo - insomniacs whose jobs are never done.
The air shifts. When you crack one eye open - against your better judgement, as the harsh lamplight bores into you and into your brain - Jane has crouched down to meet your gaze.
The quip you have behind your lips dies when you actually see Jane's face. Instead of the wry smirk you're expecting him to wear, he looks strange. The look in his eyes is as unreadable as ever, of course, but it's not assured or even amused. It's something else you can't place, something duller.
"Are you okay?" you ask. You move to sit up - he gently, but firmly, lays one hand on your shoulder.
"That's my line," he quips. His other hand lifts to your forehead, his fingers gently coming to rest against your chilled skin. Under his breath, he mutters, "I was right."
"Aren't you always?"
The look in his eyes snaps away, that strange look disappearing the moment one side of his lips curls upwards. "I suppose." He releases your shoulder but keeps his other hand on your forehead. “Time for my line. You okay?"
You shrug noncommittally. "It's not that bad. Just a headache. Figured I could crash on your couch."
The other corner of his lips lifts. "So you think it's my couch."
"Shut up, Jane,” you grumble. Jane’s hold on your shoulder relaxes, but he doesn’t let go. “Let me rest my eyes in peace, will you?”
“No,” he says simply. No? He cocks his head to the side. “Lift your head up.”
You quirk an eyebrow, but do as he says. He smoothly moves to sit where your head once was, places his fingers gently on your face, and guides you so your head lies - surprisingly comfortably - in his lap.
Something is wrong, yes, but it’s not the headache drumming behind your eyes or the growing chill in your bones that makes you ache. It’s the fact that your head is in Patrick Jane’s lap and it’s… fine. It feels normal. What it should be doing is making your heart beat out of your chest, not slowing it down.
"That’s good, thank you,” Jane murmurs. He brushes his fingertips against your forehead. He squints at you. Frowns. That strange look appears again. His eyes seem focused, but vacant, sad. His pupils dart around your face, searching for something. “Sure you’re not sick? Pretty sure you’re burning up right now.”
“Scorching?” you ask, trying to smile.
He mirrors it, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Positively. Third degree burns.”
One of Jane’s hands comes to rest in your hair, the other settling on your shoulder once again. And again, against your better judgement (which you’re beginning to believe just may not be in the room with you right now), you raise your hand to your shoulder, placing it above his.
His eyes widen a fraction, then soften. “You don’t have to do that. You’re the one who’s sick. I'm just trying to help.”
“Had to do something.” Thinking is getting harder to do. You let him hold your hand. It’s firm, and comforting, and is he rubbing his thumb against your palm? “You’re doing that that thing you do.”
“I don’t do a thing,” he protests, then frowns. “Correction, I do many things, but I’m not doing one right now. You’ll have to be specific.”
“With your face.” God, has Jane always been this warm? “Your eyes.”
Jane smiles. This time it reaches his eyes. They crinkle kindly, but something lingers.
“Windows to the soul,” he murmurs, running his fingers through your hair. The pressure against your scalp feels amazing, and he must notice, because he doesn’t stop. “You should try to sleep. You’ll feel better.”
"No,” you mumble, but Jane’s warmth and the way he’s running his fingers through your hair and how he’s holding your hand is taking you away, somewhere far and soft and gentle, away from your body’s aches and pains. You can feel his chest as he slows his breathing, buoying you into the clement waves of sleep.
The last thing you remember before sleep pulls you under is the soft brush of lips against your forehead.
♡ pairing: jack abbot x fem!reader x michael robinavitch
♡ synopsis: when the day of your birthday rolls around, no one but you seems to know about it. what you'd hoped would be a good day ends in upset when robby lays into you for making a mistake. come the following afternoon, he & jack are made aware of how they screwed up & make strides to set things right.
♡ content: angst, grumpy!robby, they're both pining for reader as always, mohan is a sweetie, you get (1) sad cupcake
♡ a/n: based off this request. ty!
For some birthdays in the Pitt—given people are aware one is upcoming—a couple balloons and a store-bought cake might be brought into the Employee Lounge for all to enjoy in spare moments between the never-ending flow of emergent patients. Granted, a show isn't exactly made out of the celebration with colorful streamers, decorative party hats, and screeching noise makers, but even so, just the possibility of other people making a grand display out of your "special day" is a horrifying thought.
Being the center of attention for even a moment while someone else lies but a few yards away bleeding from a bullet wound? Couldn't be you.
Nevertheless, you can't help but wish for one holiday—personal or otherwise—where a flower delivery or gift box might be delivered to your place of work with a romantic message attached.
Today is no different in you entertaining such wishful thinking when you come walking through the ED's sliding doors.
There's a pin-up in the Lounge with a long list of everyone's birth dates with balloon clipart placed crookedly at the top, so surely someone will have remembered and gotten you a cheap cupcake, or even just a basic card with a couple signatures scrawled within.
As you take a peek inside while passing by, however, you see nothing of the sort awaiting you. Just an empty table, and counter space full of upside down mugs and a coffee machine—same as ever.
Deflating, you mentally shrug and make your way to your locker. It's better this way. Had anyone remembered—or just known in general—then word would spread like wildfire all the way up to reception, meaning you'd have to awkwardly thank every well wisher who crossed your path for the remainder of your shift.
Saves you the trouble.
You're working up an individual who came in complaining of lower back pain and difficulty urinating—which you've pretty well chalked up to most likely being kidney stones—when Robby raps his knuckles against the propped open door behind you.
Glancing to him over your shoulder, you briefly halt your assessment of your patient. "Yeah?"
He beckons you forth with an index finger. "C'mere, something I need to talk to you about." He feigns a smile for the middle-aged man in front of you and states that you'll be back momentarily.
Following him out, Robby pulls you into an empty room and shuts the door after you've entered.
"Is something wrong?" You ask innocently while gazing up at him with furrowed brows.
"Do you remember the woman from earlier? Mrs. Jacobson?"
You nod.
"She's been up in Plastics waiting for an hour to be seen because her chart was never finished down here."
Your stomach sinks. You'd meant to get to that before being side-tracked by needing to use the restroom, and then there'd been a thing with Whittaker's patient vomiting all over the floor, so you'd fetched housekeeping, and then—
"So imagine my surprise when one of their nurses takes time out of her day to come down asking after it and I find out you've already moved onto another patient."
You open your mouth to reply, until he holds up a palm to stop you.
"You know our protocol," Robby says sternly. "If they're being referred to another floor or physician, you make sure their information is up to date and their chart complete before you begin work on anything else." He takes a small step forward, and you shrink into yourself.
With him towering over you like this, you feel like a child being scolded by its parent after it forgot to do an assigned chore on the daily chart.
"So I trust you have a good reason why you didn't do as much," he states while folding his arms.
You blink back tears. "I—I forgot. I'm so—"
He throws his head back, pinches the bridge of his nose, then returns to his previous stance. "That's no excuse for being neglectful. Gloria is up my ass all day long about patient satisfaction bullshit and now this!"
Your chin wobbles.
"Get back in there," he says while pointing at the wall to the right, where your patient awaits your return on the other side, "Finish up with what you're currently doing, then get both charts done. Understood?"
You nod while sniffling. "Y-Yes."
He rolls his eyes, then steps past you to the door. Once he's opened it and waved you out, you scurry past him in a panic.
You keep your head down for the remainder of the day. Figuratively and literally. You're diligent in your work, and hold your bladder so long at one point—just to get a bit more charting done—that you nearly have an accident in the hallway.
When evening time rolls around and your workday is coming to a close, Robby goes in search of you to apologize for his earlier treatment after his temper has cooled, but when he comes into your line-of-sight, you turn and hurry in the other direction.
Thinking he may be able to catch you outside, he makes for the doors to the ambulance bay and only just catches the sight of you speed-walking past Abbot while mumbling a quick 'Goodnight' before marching on.
"The hell did you do to our girl?" Abbot asks while readjusting the strap of the camo backpack that's slung over his shoulder.
Robby sighs and sinks his hands into the pockets of his coat. "She got behind on a patient's chart who went upstairs and I might've been a little hard on her about it because I was already in a mood. She's been avoiding me all day because of it."
Jack glares at him. "So, in other words, you've been taking frustrations with HR bullshit out on our star pupil?"
He shakes his head and goes to step away.
"Do you want her to leave us for Westbridge?" Jack calls from behind him.
Gritting his teeth and looking skyward, Robby huffs in irritation before turning back on his heel. "She isn't that damn fragile, Jack."
He shrugs. "Maybe, maybe not. But you get snippy with her again and I'll put her on night shift with me."
Robby curses lowly. "It was one conversation. You don't need to jump to extremes just because you want her all to yourself."
Jack purses his lips and Robby smirks. "Since we both know that that's what this whole conversation is truly about—less her and more you."
Turning his back on him, the vet shoots up a middle finger before hobbling inside.
On the way home, you pick up a small cupcake that's your favorite flavor and decorated with pretty, sparkly swirls of icing on top, as well as a small pack of multi-color birthday candles.
Once you're settled in for the night, you save the sugary treat for dessert after eating a filling dinner.
Sitting in the silence of your apartment, you quietly sing 'Happy birthday to me' before blowing out the singular candle stuck in the middle of your pastry before plucking it out and taking a bite.
Somehow by eating it alone, however, it doesn't taste as good as you'd hoped.
"Oh! Oh, Y/N!" Mohan calls from the nurses station.
You glance up from the manilla folder you're currently carrying to Trauma 4 and meet her smile with a raised brow.
"We're playing this game that involves astrological signs," she explains.
Santos shakes her head. "It's stupid. Trust me, you do not wanna bother."
Whittaker grins. "I dunno, I think it's kinda neat."
"What's yours?" Samira asks.
You clutch the folder to your chest and snicker. "No offense or anything, but I don't believe in all that. I just think the definitions are broad enough that you can make things fit if you really want to."
When you make to step away, she shrugs and begins typing. "Well, I could just pull up your employee profile to figure it out for myself."
Your eyes grow wide when you turn back in her direction. Tripping over your own feet, you stumble over to where she sits. "Oh, no, that's fine! I could just tell you what it is. I'm a—"
"Oh," she says with slight surprise.
"What, is she the crab or whatever?" Trinity asks.
Mohan looks up to you with knitted brows. "Your birthday was yesterday."
You don't see it, but Robby, who's standing a handful of feet behind you reading over an EKG, turns to look in your direction over his glasses.
Jack, who's just exited an exam room, meets his gaze and shakes his head. Not because he's disappointed in Robby per se, but rather the both of them for not knowing, or so much as making an effort to keep such an important date in mind.
"Why didn't you say anything?" Mel questions while walking over.
"I..." You grasp for explanation.
"Yeah, we would've gotten you something," Mohan reassures sweetly.
"Maybe Huckleberry could get you a pumpkin from the farm," Trinity adds sarcastically.
"It's just another day on a calendar," you say quietly. "It isn't important." Just another year spent alone, you think.
Jack's heart shatters for you.
"Well that's depressing," Trin commentates before pushing off the counter and getting back to work.
You swallow thickly while taking a step back. "I'm just gonna—" You wave the folder you currently hold in the air before walking away.
"How did you not know?" Jack questions from beside Robby.
Throwing his glasses down on the surface before him, which his elbows rest upon, he runs his hands down his face. "I had other things on my mind, like taking care of patients. Not cake and balloon animals," he says while clasping his palms together and turning his head in Jack's direction.
Jack crosses his arms. "She got you a gift for yours, or have you already forgotten that fact?"
It'd been simple, but handmade. Which made the item mean even more to him: an embroidered piece. The Shema Prayer in Hebrew. When you found him during PittFest in Peds, you'd heard him reciting it. Had gone so far as to ask quietly about it later.
He cried the night he hung it up in his home because you had cared enough to make such a loving gesture in the first place while the others simply purchased a cheap card from a Hallmark store down the street.
"Of course I remember," he says lowly. "I touch it every night when I get home and every morning before I leave. Because she's the one it came from."
You'd pulled him aside that day—had held the tips of his fingers as you led him into the Lounge before presenting it to him with shaking hands.
"The letters might be a little crooked," you'd explained quietly. "But I did my best."
His eyes had grown glassy as he cradled it between his palms.
"Do... Do you not like it? That day... Maybe I've upset you—"
He'd shook his head while sniffling. And then he'd smiled. "No, sweetheart, it's perfect. Thank you...for being so thoughtful."
It'd felt so right when he pulled you against his chest before wrapping his arms around you.
"Then we need to fix this," Jack retorts.
He nods. "I know."
"Hey, doll," Dana calls to you while adjusting her hair clip.
"Yes?"
"Somebody dropped off some snacks earlier in the Employee Lounge. One of those assorted chip boxes. Go grab ya a couple before everybody else takes 'em."
"Oh. Okay."
Heading in that direction, you secretly hope that there's Cheetos. Or maybe white cheddar popcorn. Classic Lays sounds good, too, though.
Alright, so maybe you're feeling just a bit peckish.
Swinging around the corner and into the aforementioned room, you halt in your tracks. Sitting atop the table that's pushed off to the side is a glass vase filled to the brim with soft pink roses and baby's breath. Clutching it is a fluffy brown teddy bear.
It's not... It's not for you, though. You know that.
Glancing around, you fail to spot the box in question. Maybe it's already been emptied?
Sighing with disappointment, you turn to exit, but are stopped by Robby blocking the doorway. Leaning against it with crossed arms, he smiles warmly at you. "Happy birthday, sweetheart."
Your eyes flit between his as a lump develops in your throat. "It... It's for me?"
He nods, then glances to it while jerking his chin in the direction of your gift. "Read the card."
Turning around yet again, you wander over to it and pull the item in question from the cardette.
The day of your birth is more than worth celebrating. Without it, we wouldn't be able to look forward to seeing you every day.
Love, J & R
Tears brim in your eyes and you sniffle quietly. Worrying your lower lip between your teeth, you keep hold of the item while repeatedly telling yourself not to cry.
You jump slightly when the chair next to you is pulled out and Jack seats himself heavily upon it. "Do you like it, then?"
You nod and a tear slips down your cheek.
Coming to stand at your side, Robby pulls you against the wealth of his chest just like before, which you snuggle contentedly against, appreciating the softness and warmth it provides.
"I always wanted flowers delivered," you whisper. "On my birthday. Or...Valentine's Day."
Jack's eyes flit to Robby, who smirks and gives him a knowing look. Future plans.
"But never had anyone who'd..." You trail off. "Well, never had anyone."
Jack grabs your hand and tugs you down onto his thigh. "Getting a cake delivered last minute was sort of out of the question, but—"
You shake your head. "I got myself a cupcake last night."
Somehow, that makes the pair of them feel impossibly worse about the whole situation: the thought of you at home having just a singular cupcake on your lonesome. They'll certainly be unlikely to forget your birthday next year, if nothing else.
Running his palm down your back, Jack leans forward and presses a kiss to your cheek. "Happy birthday, honey."
Summary; When a patient assumes Robby and you are married, you're forced to confront a future neither of you has ever talked about, and wonder if you're really on the same page
The laceration wasn't deep. Messy, and definitely painful, but thankfully not deep.
"Good news," you said with a smile as you pulled on a fresh pair of gloves. "You're going to keep the arm."
Mrs Clark let out a delighted laugh, the sound bouncing off the walls of the treatment room.
"Oh, thank goodness. I was rather attached to it."
You reached for the saline, irrigating the wound carefully while she winced only slightly. She was somewhere in her late seventies, maybe early eighties. Sharp as a tack despite the pain medication, endlessly chatty, and reminding you so much of your grandmother.
"So," she asked after a comfortable silence, watching you work. "How long have you worked here?"
"Long enough to know which patients I need to keep my eye on." You glanced up with a wink. "And you're at the top of today's list."
"Oh, you're wicked."
You finished flushing the wound before drying the surrounding skin, laying out your suture kit with practiced efficiency. Needle driver. Forceps. Scissors. Suture. Mrs Clark watched every movement with surprising interest.
"So," you already recognised that tone. “Are you seeing anyone?"
Your hands paused for a second before continuing.
"Straight to the important questions?"
"At my age," she replied matter-of-factly, "I don't waste time."
"Fair enough."
"So?"
"I'm seeing someone."
Her entire face brightened.
"Oh, good."
You found yourself smiling as you picked up the first stitch.
"Very good, actually."
"How long?"
You thought for a moment, eyes fixed on bringing the edges of the wound neatly together.
"About six months now."
"And?"
"And," you admitted quietly, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips, "he's wonderful."
Mrs Clark's eyes sparkled.
"You’ve got that smile."
You frowned, though it lacked any conviction.
"What smile?"
"The one a woman gets when she's completely smitten."
Heat crept into your cheeks.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, I think you do."
You laughed under your breath, shaking your head.
"He's," you threaded another stitch through the skin. "He's just a good man."
"What does he do?"
You hesitated.
"We work together. He’s a doctor here.”
Mrs Clark nodded knowingly.
"Does that make things easier or harder?"
You couldn't help chuckling.
"Both."
"How so?"
You looked down at the wound, concentrating on keeping your stitches evenly spaced.
"He worries too much."
"About you?"
You smiled to yourself.
"He'd deny it, but yes."
"And you?"
"What about me?"
"Do you worry about him?"
Your fingers continued to move in a steady rhythm.
"Constantly."
The word slipped out before you had the chance to soften it. Mrs Clark's smile softened into something almost maternal.
"Oh, sweetheart."
Before you could recover, two familiar knocks sounded against the door.
"Come in."
The door swung open, Robby stepped inside, rubbing freshly dispensed sanitiser between his hands.
"I heard you were hiding in here."
"I'm working," you corrected without looking up.
"So you claim."
He wandered over, stopping just beside your shoulder. Not close enough to crowd you, but close enough that you became acutely aware of his presence. He leaned slightly to inspect the repair.
"You mind if I watch?"
You smiled.
"You checking my work?"
"I'm supervising."
"Uh-huh."
He watched quietly for a moment, his eyes following the precise rhythm of your hands.
"Hm."
You glanced sideways.
"Hm, good or hm, concerning?"
"The spacing's good."
You looked back at the wound before he could see how ridiculously pleased that made you.
"High praise."
"Don't let it go to your head."
"I'll try."
Mrs Clark had gone suspiciously quiet. Her eyes drifted between the two of you. The way Robby instinctively moved closer whenever you shifted position. The way you made room for him without either of you acknowledging it. The comfortable silence that settled whenever neither of you spoke. A slow smile spread across her face.
"Ah."
You frowned.
"What?"
"Oh, nothing."
She looked directly at Robby.
"So you're the one she worries about."
Your hand froze for the briefest second.
"Mrs Clark."
"What?" she asked innocently. "I only repeated what she told me."
Robby looked at her first.
"She said that?"
"Word for word."
Only then did he turn to you. There was no teasing in his expression at first. Just quiet surprise.
"You worry about me?"
You looked back at Mrs Clark with a shake of your head.
"I was under the impression doctor-patient confidentiality applied."
Mrs Clark burst into laughter.
"I don't think that's how it works my dear." Robby chuckled, folding his arms loosely across his chest. You tied the final knot before snipping the suture.
"There."
You reached for the dressing, smoothing it into place.
"All finished." Mrs Clark watched the pair of you with open delight.
"She's blushing."
You groaned, finally looking up at Robby, and he was smiling. Not the amused grin he wore with most people. Something softer, something only for you. Your stomach performed an embarrassing little flip.
Mrs Clark clasped her hands together.
"Oh, I like the two of you. How long have you two been married?"
You couldn't help laughing.
"We're not married," Robby said, his voice gentle. Mrs Clark frowned thoughtfully and you shook your head. She hummed to herself, lips twitching. You knew that look. She knew exactly what she was doing.
"You knew perfectly well we weren't married, Mrs Clark."
Mrs Clark's smile softened as she looked at the pair of you.
"The way he watches you, my Harold used to look at me like that."
The teasing disappeared from her voice. She nodded towards Robby.
Without meaning to, you looked up and Robby was already looking at you. The moment your eyes met, he cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the suture tray.
"Forty-eight years."
She folded her hands in her lap.
"Didn't matter if we were in church, or at home reading the newspaper. When I asked what he was looking at, he'd say, 'Just making sure you're real.'"
The treatment room fell quiet. Then she looked directly at Robby.
"I haven't seen that look in a long time." She smiled again, entirely unbothered, "Don't keep her waiting too long. I had forty-eight years with my husband." She looked at the wedding ring she still wore. "It still wasn't enough."
Even Robby had no witty reply.
Your stomach twisted. You dropped your gaze immediately, fussing with the dressing even though it was already sitting perfectly.
A ring, marriage. You'd never really let yourself picture it. Not because you didn't want it, but because you'd always quietly assumed Robby didn't. He'd never talked about weddings or forever or any of it. He wasn't exactly the daydreaming type, and you'd made your peace with that months ago. Being with him was enough. The last thing you ever wanted was for him to think you expected something he didn't want.
Beside you, Robby noticed the way you'd gone quiet. The smile had vanished from your face. Your shoulders had tightened ever so slightly. He felt something sink in his chest.
Mrs Clark looked between the two of you, her smile fading just a touch.
"Have I put my foot in it?"
"No," you and Robby answered together.
She sighed dramatically.
"Oh, dear."
You finally looked at Robby. He met your eyes for just a second. Both of you wore almost identical expressions, thoughtful and uncertain.
You had always imagined getting married. Not in the ‘I've planned every detail since I was twelve’ kind of way. Just one day, finding your person and standing in front of the people you loved. Promising forever. You had stopped picturing who that person might be years ago. Until Robby. Then he had taken the place that always belonged to him. You'd imagined wearing his ring. Growing old together. Then, just as quickly, you'd forced yourself to stop. Because he had never talked about marriage. Not once. Not when conversations drifted toward the future. Not when colleagues announced engagements.
You had taken the hint. He was older than you, he had built a life before you came into it. Maybe he had already decided marriage wasn't for him. Maybe he had seen too many relationships fall apart. Maybe he simply didn't need a piece of paper to prove how he felt. And that was ok, it had to be ok. Because you loved him. You weren't about to lose him over something he'd never promised you.
You felt Robby watching you for the rest of the shift. He had been quiet all afternoon. Not withdrawn, just somewhere else. Every time your paths crossed, he smiled politely. Professionally. Then he kept walking. It felt wrong.
When your shift finally ended, you were halfway through changing out of your scrubs when you heard a knock on the locker room door.
"You decent?" Robby. He stepped inside, already changed into jeans and his navy zip up, his keys twirling lazily around one finger. You quickly finished the knot in your laces before standing to sling your bag over your shoulder.
"You ready?"
“I want to talk to you first.”
You let out a breath that was almost a laugh.
"I knew that was coming."
He leaned lightly against the row of lockers opposite you.
"Mrs Clark."
You groaned.
"Please don't."
"I think we have to."
You dropped your eyes.
“It doesn’t have to be awkward Robby, we can just let it go.”
“No, I want to talk about it. I want us to be on the same page.”
You knew he was right, even if you did want to bury your head in the sand. You nodded, giving in.
“When she mentioned it, us being married, you looked uncomfortable.” It sounded more like a question, like he wanted confirmation.
"I was embarrassed."
He took a slow breath.
"I know. I saw it on your face."
“Robby, I just didn’t want you thinking I assumed anything. I don’t want you to feel like I’m expecting more than what you’re happy to give.”
His brow furrowed.
"What do you mean?"
"You've never talked about marriage."
He said nothing, just continued to watch you thoughtfully.
"I know it’s not something you see in your future, or our future," you continued quietly, “and that’s ok. Because if it isn’t something you want, then I don’t want to lose you over it.”
His expression changed immediately.
"It isn't a deal breaker for me." You smiled gently.
His face morphed into something softer, the avoidant Robby from before disappeared.
"You think that I don't want to marry you?" You couldn’t find the words to speak. You didn’t think Robby wanted to marry you, and you had tried to make peace with that. But to say it outloud, sounded like something you weren’t ready to hear.
“Listen to me,” he reached for your hand, “I know we've only been together a relatively short time." He was speaking carefully now. "And I don't want a comment from a patient making you think there's any pressure. But I want you to know, I have every intention of marrying you some day.”
You stared at him and for a full five seconds, your brain simply stopped. Then your eyes went impossibly wide.
“Really?”
The word came out in a tiny, almost disbelieving squeak. Something in Robby’s chest loosened. A smile spread slowly across his face, completely unguarded. He wasn't even trying to hide it anymore.
"Really."
Your hands flew to his forearms.
"No, but," you shook your head, searching his face. "You’re serious?"
"I’m serious."
A nervous laugh escaped you.
"You want to marry me?"
"I do."
Your entire face lit up. It wasn't just a smile, it was pure, unfiltered joy. The kind that reached your eyes before it reached your mouth. The kind you couldn't possibly fake.
"Oh my God." You laughed once, completely breathless. "Oh my God."
You bounced once on the balls of your feet before throwing your arms around his neck. He caught you automatically, chuckling as he wrapped his arms around your waist.
"You have no idea how happy you've just made me."
"I think I do."
"No, you don't!"
You pulled back just enough to look at him, your grin so wide your cheeks were beginning to ache.
“I didn’t think it bothered me that much, I've spent months telling myself I was perfectly happy never getting married because I had you. And now you're telling me," your smile somehow became even brighter, "that I get both?"
He smiled, unable to look away from you. You knew you weren’t the only one who had become giddy. Robby just wore it differently. Your excitement came out in your laughter, his came out in the quiet smiles and warm hands that didn’t let go of yours.
Mrs. Clark had been right. Every time you looked up, Robby was already looking at you. Not staring, just looking. Like he was taking it all in.
"You know," he said as you climbed in the car, "your face might get stuck like that." He laughed under his breath, closing your door before walking around to the driver's side.
The moment he sat down, you looked at him again and he reached across and squeezed your hand. You tried to bite your lip to stop yourself grinning. It didn't work.
"You should probably prepare yourself, you know."
"For what?"
He turned on the engine and pulled out of the parking space with suspicious calm.
"I could ask you at any moment now."
Your head whipped towards him.
"What?"
He kept his eyes on the road, though the corner of his mouth twitched.
"Could be tonight."
You stared.
"Could be next week."
"Robby."
"I just think it's important you stay alert.” He shrugged with exaggerated seriousness. "Could happen in the grocery store."
You snorted.
"The grocery store?"
"You would be loading up the cart, turn around and there I am. Down on one knee. You'd never see it coming."
He glanced sideways at you, gripping your hand and bringing it to his lips and kissed your knuckles.
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Robby hears the words. Jack hears the words. And it feels like you slapped them.
"Is that what you think?" Jack asked, keeping his tone gentle. You hurt. You just got woke up from drugging yourself to sleep because sleeping through it is the only option. And now they're here and you don't know what exactly is happening. You're probably not even with it enough to know you just said all that.
"I'm just here to fuck you or cook- 's all you ever call me for," you shrug, pulling away from Robby and trying to get up off the couch. Crashing back on to the cushions with a groan.
"Just stay there," Robby said, "Did you take your normal dose or did you double it already?" He tilted your chin up to look at your eyes- he didn't think you were in danger of an overdose. You were awake even if you were struggling. Talking, aware. He glances over his shoulder at Jack, "Wanna get the heating pad out of her room?"
"You want heat or ice, baby?" Jack asked.
"It's fine I can-" you break off and twist your jaw out of Robby's careful grip. "Stop."
"Ice," Robby said. "She still feels like she's too warm." To you he prompted, "Did you double it or not?"
"Yeah, I just- I couldn't breathe." You huff softly, "You can go."
"No thanks," Jack said, handing Robby an Ice pack, "Gonna start your dishes."
"On your belly," Robby hummed taking it, "Once you get settled, I'm gonna go to the store for you."
You shake your head, and Jack smiled a little. "You gotta let us do this baby. We really had you thinking you don't really matter?" he tutted and moved to help Robby get you laid down again. You only had so much fight right now. It hadn't been very long since you took your meds. Still too groggy and emotional to do much more than pout and then cry.
"You're the only person we CAN call," Robby said. "Sometimes if we try to get each other to do things- fuck. All we do is get pissed off."
"S'true," Jack said, stroking the back of your head softly.
"You guys get pissed at me- don't even call me to say hi."
"We get mad at you different," Robby said.
"And it's our fault. Taking you for granted."
"Hate this. Hate everything. Half the time I don't even want to wake up."
Both of them wince but Jack can find his voice first, "How long, baby? How long d'you think you felt like this?"
"Doesn't matter-"
"Does matter," Robby countered, laying the ice pack on your back. It's big. Where you found it he doesn't know, but it covers your whole back almost. From just below your shoulders to your hips. "You know how long? You got a plan?"
"No."
"No, you don't know how long or no, you don't have a plan," Jack asked, sitting on the coffee table.
"Both. Either. The fuck-"
"Rest," Robby said softly, "Just rest. Go back to sleep, okay?"
You protest, at least verbally but now that you're down there's no getting up. All you can do is face the back of the sofa and put one arm over your head to try and block this all out.
"She needs- pretty much everything," Jack muttered, squeezing Robby's shoulder. "Fridge is empty. Cupboards too. Nothing but ramen and crackers pretty much."
Robby nodded, "You gonna be fine here?"
Jack nodded, "Gonna do some dishes for her. Put clean sheets on the bed- then probably crash on it. Don't think she's gonna move for a while."
"Probably not," Robby sighed. "I'll be back-"
"Make sure you get her something sweet too?"
"What'd I look like? An amature?" Robby said kissing the top of Jack's head as he stood up. "Coconut cream pie, I think-"
"Something sweet and cold," Jack agreed.
"And some watermelon."
"This heat has her fucked up," Jack said.
"The heat and our heads up our ass," Robby said, frowning.
Summary: After an unfortunate mixup of pain medication and your friend's party substances at Pitt Fest, you're rushed to the Pitt and placed in the care of Jack Abbot. As he oversees your care, you get a little too touchy, and a little too honest.
Word Count: 6.6k
Content: accidental drug use (MDMA), mention of alcohol consumption, age gap (reader is mid 20s), fluff, comfort, a hint of smut (18+ MDNI) - literally like two seconds of thigh riding, mention of ovulation
A/N: listen… I’ve never done MDMA. I did a lot of research, but I had to fudge some stuff for plot. don’t do drugs kids
Pitt Fest was not your idea. When your friend Beth offered you her spare ticket, you waffled at first. You're not really a crowds person, or a partying person. Beth was always the partier in college. But you do like live music, and she pointed out that your top Spotify artist from last year is in the concert lineup.
So you’d caved.
That decision is coming back to bite you in the ass, and bite hard.
It’s hot as balls outside. You’re covered in sweat, which mingles in a sticky and unpleasant mix with the sunscreen you’ve been dutifully applying since the afternoon to avoid frying like an egg. When the sun finally set, you no longer had to worry about the burgeoning threat of skin cancer, but the heat doesn’t break. In fact, it almost seems to get worse, because more and more people arrive to crowd you as night descends and the bigger names with larger fanbases grace the stage.
You’re waiting for Beth outside of the bathroom facilities. She's been ingesting a steady stream of margaritas since sundown, so she leaves you holding the bag, literally. At least it's a nice excuse to separate yourself from the throng of jumping, sweaty bodies gathered by the stage.
It’s nearly two in the morning. You’re hungry. Your feet are killing you. You have a headache from the festival’s sugary cocktails. You’re sweating through the top Beth lent you. And on top of everything else, your ovulation cramps are kicking in like a motherfucker.
Growing desperate, you dig through Beth's bag, searching for the little Altoid tin that she always keeps her pain meds in. At long last, your hands make contact with the metal tin at the bottom of her tote. Nearly crying with relief, you pop an aspirin in your mouth and wash it down with the tepid bottled water you’ve been clutching for the last hour.
Beth's voice rings out from behind you, talking over the din of the nearby DJ set. “What are you doing?”
You turn towards her, and see Beth staring at the tin in your hand. “I have cramps,” you explain, and just as you’re about to shove the tin back in her bag and hand it to her, she grabs your wrist.
“…please tell me you didn’t just take one of those,” she says urgently.
You raise an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Because those are not aspirin, babe.”
Your blood runs cold. Your brain quickly does the math — Beth had told you how much she’s looking forward to meeting up with her rave friends tomorrow for the second night of Pitt Fest. Beth has always been quite the partier. And she often partied with her good friend Molly.
Your eyes widen in horror. “Oh no.”
Pitt Fest, as always, is a huge pain in the ass for the night shift.
Handoff gets messy. There's a shit ton of substance cases, even more of heatstroke. Robby stays longer than he should and snaps at everyone, clearly in his feelings remembering last year’s Pitt Fest. Understandable, yes, but it also makes everyone’s life that much harder when they’re within sniping distance of him.
Needless to say, Jack is already over this shift, and it’s not even halfway done. It doesn't help that his favorite resident happens to have the night off, which deposits his mood firmly in the hospital basement. Which, coincidentally, happens to be the location of the morgue.
Now that Robby has been politely ordered to go the fuck home, Jack feels like he can finally focus on his job instead of doing damage control with the med students. As he walks down the hall, Lena catches his attention from the hub desk.
“We have an ambulance two minutes out with a mid-20s female, collapsed at Pitt Fest,” she informs him. “Probable dehydration, likely drug-related, because, well… Pitt Fest.”
This festival truly is the gift that keeps on giving. Jack cracks his knuckles and eyes the ambulance bay doors. “All right. Let's get ready to receive the party girl.”
A few minutes later, the gurney is wheeled in by two paramedics and received by Lena and Parker. Parker shoots an alarmed and confused look over her shoulder at Jack, who steps forward to supervise.
“Dr. Abbot!"
Of all the things Jack expected to see tonight, this is at the bottom of the list. You're strapped to the gurney, scantily clad and gleaming with sweat, a goofy smile on your face and your pupils blown so wide they nearly swallow your irises.
Jack scrubs a hand through his hair. “You're shitting me.”
This is quite the surprising turn of events.
After Lena sets you up in South 16, Jack discreetly shoos away Parker so he can handle your examination himself. He doubts you would be comfortable with one of your fellow residents seeing you like this, considering your condition and your current state of dress.
Jack closes the door behind him and saunters over to you. His eyes snag on your tight, strappy top, and the strategically placed cutouts baring sections of your midriff and chest. He’s holding onto his professionalism by a thread, especially with the way you’re shifting around on the exam table, causing the hem of your miniskirt to ride up.
He has no choice but to focus up. You need medical attention, not the kind of attention his brain and body really want to give you right now. First, Lena takes your temperature and shows him the number on the display. 100.2 degrees F. It's coming down from what the paramedics recorded in the ambulance, and not so high that he’s still worried about heat stroke. But you’ll need cooling down regardless.
“That’s quite the outfit you got on,” he mutters as he gently raises your chin and shines his penlight into your pupils.
“Do you like it?” you ask, beaming up at him even as you squint. “I borrowed it from my friend. She’s so nice.”
Your pupils are so dilated that your eyes are almost completely black.
“Yup.” Jack clicks off the light and sighs, turning to Lena. “She’s rolling, all right. Let’s get a tox to make sure there’s nothing else to be worried about.”
You don’t seem to even register the pain of the needle prick, but you let out a delighted little hum when Lena smooths a bandage over your arm and adds gentle pressure over top of it.
“That feels good,” you murmur with a lazy smile.
“I bet.” Jack crosses his arms and tries to give you a stern look. “Can I ask what my best resident is doing taking ecstasy at a music festival?”
“I didn’t take it on purpose, I swear,” you protest, your eyes widening in a brief panic. “It was my friend’s. I thought it was aspirin, for my cramps.”
“You’re menstruating?” he asks, picking up his tablet and sitting in the edge of the exam table next to you to amend your chart.
You shake your head and say matter-of-factly, “Ovulation cramps.”
His eyebrows shoot up towards the ceiling in surprise.
You continue babbling, unaware of the grenade you just lobbed at Jack. “She tried to get me to throw it up, but I couldn’t because I don’t really have a gag reflex.”
Jack takes a deep breath to prevent his brain from completely short-circuiting.
Your face breaks into a sheepish smile, and you giggle, “Oops. Sorry, that was probably too much information.” Leaning forward on the exam table, you bring your face inches away from his and observe with a sigh, “Your eyes are really pretty.”
From behind him, Jack hears Lena snickering under her breath. He clears his throat and straightens up to standing.
Avoiding Lena's eyes, he instructs her, “Let’s, uh, get her some fluids and cooling packs, huh? Maybe a Saf-T-Pop, too. Keep her mouth occupied, so she won’t say any more nonsense she’ll regret in the morning.”
Lena just shoots him an amused look and heads off to gather supplies. Nurses, he thinks ruefully to himself. They see everything.
Movement and sound draw his attention back to you. You're laid back on the exam table, eyes fluttering closed. And you’re running your hands through your hair, letting out a pleased little noise like the sensation is better than sex.
Jack breathes carefully through his nose. He needs out of this room with you, before this becomes mortifying for everyone involved. His phone buzzes in his pocket, giving him the perfect excuse for escape.
His voice is thin when he speaks, and for a moment, he’s glad you’re too high to notice. “You sit tight, sunshine.”
As he turns to leave the room, your hand catches the edge of his scrubs.
“You’re leaving?” your mouth turns down into a pout, those huge eyes shining up at him. He very nearly gives in, very nearly reaches out a hand to stroke a thumb across your cheek just to hear the kind of sound it would pull from you. But his phone buzzes insistently, so he briefly pats your knee instead.
“I have other patients to see. But I'll be back before you know it,” he assures you, pulling open the door and diving headfirst back into the glorious chaos.
At least it’ll be a convenient distraction from the thought of you, eagerly waiting in south fifteen for him to return.
He shakes his head in disbelief. Ovulation cramps. You’re gonna be the death of him.
An MVA, a ketamine overdose, and a cardiac event later, the Pitt finally slows down enough for Jack to breathe. Enough to check your tox screen and sigh with relief that the MDMA you mistakenly took wasn’t cut with anything. Alcohol is the only other thing in your system, in levels not high enough to be concerning. Although, combined with the ecstasy, it means you probably won’t remember much of this exciting little escapade.
At long last, he manages to find some time to check on you.
In his absence, Lena had set you up with a gown to preserve a little more of your modesty. You’re laying on the exam table amongst the cooling packs, an IV attached to your arm and a Saf-T-Pop in your mouth that’s turning your tongue red.
A smile breaks like sunrise over your face as soon as you see him.
“Hey there, sunshine,” he greets you, approaching you with a little more warmth now that Lena's sharp eyes aren’t here to observe.
“Hi. I missed you,” you sigh.
Jack smirks. “Did you now?”
You nod happily. “Mm-hmm.”
“How are you feeling?” he asks, his gaze attentive, checking you over.
“Cold,” you answer, wrapping your arms around yourself.
He reaches up a hand to feel your forehead. Still warm, but still steadily coming down over time. He’s satisfied enough with your progress. You'll be out of here in no time.
The prospect disappoints him just a little.
“Yeah, your body is having trouble regulating its temperature,” he explains, his thumb stroking delicately along your hairline. “We’ll need to keep these cool packs on you a little while longer.”
Just as his hand retreats, your hand catches his wrist. You press his palm to your cheek, almost nuzzling into it like an affectionate kitten.
“Your hands are so warm,” you murmur, eyelids slipping shut as you revel in the sensation.
The gesture catches him off guard, but he doesn’t pull away. He couldn’t even if he wanted to, and he certainly doesn’t want to.
“Easy there, gorgeous,” he chuckles softly. “I need that hand for doctoring.”
Your eyelids flutter halfway open, and you look up at him with a lazy grin, clearly pleased as punch. “You think I'm gorgeous?”
Jack freezes for a moment. The word had slipped out without him even registering it, familiar and endeared and entirely too revealing.
“I plead the fifth,” he replies, warmth creeping up his neck.
You giggle again. God, that sound does things to his heart that are medically concerning.
“I think you’re gorgeous,” you mumble dreamily.
Jack blinks in surprise.
He’s been a little too fond of you for a while now, been staring a little too long when you brush past him in the halls. And he’s suspected before that it might not be completely one-sided. He sees how you receive his attention and praise differently than the other attendings, how you look at him with more than just the admiration of a mentor. But suspecting it and having it be confirmed are two different things. Especially since you wouldn’t be saying any of this if you were sober.
He tries to laugh it off before his ego can run away with the compliment. “I think you’re high.”
You shrug. “Maybe. But I always think you’re gorgeous.”
Removing his palm from your cheek, you examine it with fascination, running a finger along the deep set lines. “I think about these,” you say thoughtfully. “All the time.”
Jack is a little ashamed at how quickly that comment goes straight to his cock. His favorite resident, fantasizing about his hands, maybe even touching yourself to the thought of them, wishing your own fingers were his—
He drags his free hand over his face and mutters, "Jesus Christ."
“Can I tell you a secret?” You peer up at him again, that goofy, starstruck smile returning. “I’ve got, like, the biggest crush on you.”
Unfortunately for Jack, there is very little time to process this very interesting information before his phone buzzes again. Just beyond the doors, he can hear the familiar sound of what is likely a high-priority trauma heading into the bay. Voices overlapping in urgent tones, gurney wheels on tile floor, grunts and yelps of pain from a patient.
Jack crosses to the door in two steps, and speaks over his shoulder to you. “Hey, baby, I gotta handle something. Stay out of trouble, okay?”
As the door swings shut behind him, he just manages to catch the sound of you happily mumbling to yourself, “He called me baby.”
Which is how he heads into Trauma 1 with a smile on his face, entirely too cheerful for a man facing down a compound femur fracture.
The shift that would never fucking end is almost fucking over. And all Jack can think about is you. You and your moony, lovey-dovey eyes and your wide, childlike smile. You gazing up at him and crooning I have the biggest crush on you. You giggling and telling him point-blank that you’re ovulating.
As he rolls out of yet another demanding trauma, Lena updates him on your condition. You’re rehydrated and back to a normal temperature, pretty much ready for discharge if you can be released to someone who will take care of you. He returns to your room, finding you unhooked from your IV and cold-pack-free, happily set up with another lollipop.
“Jack, you’re back!” you exclaim, and then laugh at your accidental rhyme.
Still rolling, he thinks. He checks his watch. According to your best guess of when you took the ‘aspirin’ in your friend’s purse, it’s been about four hours. You'll be due to start coming down anytime in the next two hours or so. He's due to head out, but he can’t bring himself to go home until he knows you’re leaving in capable hands.
“Hey, sunshine.” He offers you a tired but warm smile. “Seems like you’re in pretty good shape here, and you should be tapering off pretty soon. You got anybody to take you home, keep an eye on you?”
A little crease forms between your brows as you think hard. “I don’t know where my friend went when the ambulance came. And I think my phone died,” you add pathetically, gesturing to the device in your lap and its terminally black screen.
Jack pinches the bridge of his nose. He can’t in good conscience leave you to your own devices, especially when you’ve never taken ecstasy before. At worst, there’s still a chance you could have some kind of reaction. At best, the comedown is sure to knock you on your ass.
He can only think of one thing to do. It's not the best idea. It might not even be a good idea. But his brain is too addled from the long shift to come up with anything better. And you need someone to take care of you.
“Jesus. Okay,” he mutters to himself, then sits on the edge of the exam table, bringing his face level to yours. “Listen up, sunshine.”
You gaze at him intently, attention vacillating occasionally between his eyes and his mouth. Jack has a feeling that what he’s about to say will go in one ear and right out the other. But there’s a chance you’ll retain it, so he says it anyway.
“You're gonna have a pretty serious crash when you come down. All those happy little chemicals that are making you feel good right now?” He gives you a soft little tap against your temple, and you giggle softly. He continues, “They’re gonna go on vacation for a day or two. I don't want you dealing with that on your own. So I'm gonna take you to my place, just to watch out for you until you’re feeling a little more like yourself.”
You’re quiet for a minute, your brain catching up and computing the meaning of what he just said. When it finishes, the lightbulb goes off behind your eyes, and you ask excitedly, “We’re having a sleepover?”
Of course that would be your takeaway.
He chuckles as he helps you to your feet. “That's right. You got it.”
When Jack drapes his hoodie over your shoulders and guides you out of the Pitt to his car, he’s reminded of all the reasons that this is probably a terrible idea.
He sees the watchful eyes and the knowing smirks of the nurses. He sees Parker and Crus snickering behind their hands. He sees Shen counting up his winnings from the betting pool, because he wrote down molly and tripsitter Abbot.
And he feels your hand clinging to his bicep, sees how you gaze up at him with a dreamy expression as he walks you out to his car. He’s knows he’s really going to need to behave himself for a few hours, because there’s a very good chance that you won’t, and Jack doesn’t want to accidentally take advantage of your… impaired judgement.
You spend most of the ride with your face by the cracked car window, feeling the wind on your face, eyes blissfully closed. Jack thanks his lucky stars that he thought to give the apartment a once-over before shift, so he isn’t bringing you into a total mess.
He walks you into his bedroom and gestures to the en-suite. “Bathroom’s there, if you want to take a shower. I'll find you something a little more… comfortable to wear,” he adds, peeling his eyes away from your tiny little shirt and how you’re already fussing with the straps.
As he turns to his bureau to find you a t-shirt, he feels arms wrapping around his middle, your body molding to his back as you embrace him with a sigh. “Thank you for being so nice to me.”
Jack swallows and delicately removes your hands, stepping out of your embrace and ushering you in the direction of the bathroom.
“Go on, then,” he instructs you. “While you’re still upright.”
You barely even register it as rejection, heading towards the shower and wiggling out of your top before Jack even has the chance to close the door behind you. Which he does, quickly and with his eyes glued to the floor.
His instincts were right. He will very much need to behave himself while you’re here.
He busies himself while you shower by changing out of his scrubs and assembling a meal. It's a humble offering — just a couple of sandwiches and frozen french fries heated up in the oven, but it’s better than nothing.
After about twenty minutes, you emerge from the bedroom with damp hair and your face scrubbed clean, clad in one of his t-shirts and a pair of his boxers, smelling like his soap. You lean on his kitchen island with a contented little sigh.
Jack repeats it to himself like a mantra — behave yourself.
“Time to eat something,” he says, sliding one of the plates toward you.
“I’m not hungry.”
“I know. But I'm trying to set you up for success here, so you don’t feel as awful when this is out of your system. When's the last time you ate?” he asks.
You rest your chin on your hand as you think back. “I had… lunch.”
“Thought so.” He puts the plate into your hands and steers you in the direction of the couch with a hand on your lower back. “You and I are gonna eat these sandwiches, drink some water, and watch Planet Earth.”
You gasp in delight and plop down onto the couch. “I love Planet Earth!”
He knows you do. You'd gushed about it being your favorite docuseries at work, and he’d bragged about owning the box set. It had been the first day you and he had really started to bond.
Once the tv is on, it thankfully keeps you occupied. You chew your food slowly, enraptured with the beautiful imagery on the screen. Managing a decent effort with the meal, you eat half the sandwich and most of the fries before you start to lose a little steam.
You abandon your plate on the coffee table, then take Jack completely by surprise as you lean over to lay your head in his lap.
He goes still for a moment, unsure if he should be allowing this. But he doesn’t have the heart to push you away, so he puts his plate aside and lets a hand come to rest on your shoulder.
You sigh happily and snuggle closer.
It's been so long since Jack has taken care of someone like this that he’d almost forgotten what it feels like. How good it feels to be needed. The easy intimacy of sharing a space, sharing a meal, of letting someone melt against you after a long night.
Affectionately, he brushes a stray lock of hair out of your face, and you practically purr in response, leaning into his hand. So Jack keeps doing it, keeps gently stroking his fingers through your hair, preferring to watch your relaxing form instead of the polar bears on screen.
The two of you spend nearly an hour like that, until your breath starts to take on that even, drowsy quality and Jack’s own brain starts calling for rest. He gently eases you off his lap to sit up, takes you by the hand and leads you to bed, already resigning himself to the aching back that a couch nap is going to earn him.
Jack sets you up with a glass of water and the best blankets in the linen closet. As he turns to head back to the living room, your hand grabs his arm, pulling him back.
“Stay.”
Your voice is low and warm. You're sitting up in his bed, his sheets pooled around your knees. Your eyes are dark, tempting, pleading.
Jack knows dangerous territory when he sees it.
Still, your serotonin is due to start dropping any time now, and hurt feelings are only going to be worsened once it does. Jack sits carefully on the edge of the bed, maintaining a few inches of distance, his other hand gently cradling your cheek.
“Sorry, sunshine. Not a good idea.”
You move closer, your gaze fixed firmly on his mouth. “Why?”
Best behavior, Jack.
“Because you’re still tapering off. Plus, I just worked a long shift and I need to sleep.” He takes in a deep breath as he feels your hand slide across his shoulders. “And I've got a feeling I won't be getting much rest next to you.”
In a move so surprising that Jack is momentarily powerless to stop it, you rise up onto your knees and shift to straddle one of his thighs.
“What if I promise to be really, really good?” you murmur sweetly.
Jack knows he should stop you, and he almost does. But then you rock your hips on his thigh, the tiniest little life-ruining movement, and you let out the softest, neediest little sound. Suddenly, Jack is hanging onto his sanity and self control-by a thread. And that thread is fraying rapidly.
“Baby,” he whispers, half warning and half plea. His hands come to your hips, torn between stopping you and spurring you on.
Your hips rock again, more purposeful this time. “Please,” you beg quietly, so close now that your lips just barely brush against his.
For a few shameful moments, Jack forgets about his fatigue and the ache in his leg and he wonders… how morally reprehensible would it really be to just let you get off on his thigh? You’d said yourself that you’re ovulating, probably making you even needier. Fuck, he can feel how badly you want it, wetness soaking through the boxers you’re wearing and Jack’s sweatpants. Would it really be so awful of him to sit passively as you hump his leg to get the relief you’re clearly so desperate for? To take pity on you and let you use him for your pleasure?
But he knows it would be wrong, because he’d be getting off on it even if you didn’t touch him. You're not in your right mind, and he doesn’t want to make you come for the first time when you’re whacked out on MDMA.
Summoning the will from deep inside himself, he stills your hips and eases you off of his thigh, ignoring your whines as he nudges you back onto the pillows.
“It wouldn’t be right. I'm not touching you until you’re sober,” he says firmly.
Jack gets to his feet and tucks the blankets around you. “I’ll see you in a few hours. Wake me if you need anything.” He laughs softly at the pointed pouting look you shoot his way. “Other than that.”
“You’re no fun,” you call after him as he retreats into the living room.
Once the bedroom door is shut behind him, he collapses on the couch and wrestles off his prosthetic, punching a throw pillow a few times to soften it before going horizontal. Even after what felt like the longest shift he’s had in months, he’s unsure how much sleep he’ll actually manage to get knowing you’re in the next room. Probably snuggling one of his pillows as if it’s him, probably squeezing your thighs together until the last of the drugs leave your system.
He groans and rolls over, willing his body and his still half-hard cock to go to sleep.
You wake feeling like death warmed over.
You’re in a bed that doesn’t belong to you, but smells familiar and comforting. Same with your clothes. A few memories make it through the fog, blurry and out of order. Planet Earth. Jack’s hand, warm and pleasant on your cheek. An ambulance ride. Lena ruffling your hair and handing you a lollipop. A shower with a chair and a grab bar and soap that smells like Jack.
You’re at Jack's apartment, you realize with a start.
Checking the time groggily, you observe that you've slept from the early morning until late afternoon. Thank god you’d asked for tonight off as well, anticipating you’d need recovery time after Pitt Fest.
You can vaguely recall the warm, fuzzy feelings you’d experienced last night. In the abstract, at least. Now, you feel mostly guilt and shame and embarrassment and anxiety. How could you have been so stupid?
Sounds of life echo from the kitchen, which means Jack has woken up ahead of you. Your guilt sharpens. Jack is spending his hard-earned downtime taking care of you, because of your own carelessness.
Fatigue clings to your bones as you shuffle to the bathroom. The reflection in the mirror is less than kind. Dark shadows frame your eyes, worse than the usual bags worn by the night shift crew. Your hair is a mess, and you sigh as you comb your fingers through to tame it.
Time to face the music.
You trudge out into the kitchen, where Jack is wearing an apron over a t-shirt and sweats and cooking an omelette, looking awfully chipper for having slept seven hours on the couch. He looks so good that it briefly makes you angry. Fuck him for looking so good, while you look and feel like utter dogshit.
Of course, that annoyance turns to guilt again when he looks up and smiles.
“Hey, lover girl,” he greets you warmly as you lean on the kitchen island. “How are you feeling?”
You rub your eyes and groan, “Like I got hit by a Mack truck.”
He squeezes your shoulder fondly and grabs a plate from an overhead cabinet. “Let’s get some food and water in you.”
“Thank you,” you mutter sheepishly. “I’m sorry about… all this.”
“Don't even worry about it, sunshine.”
Jack hands you a glass of water and starts making you a plate. You accept it with a grimace. “I'm not feeling very sunshine-y right about now. I can't remember half of what happened after I went down at the concert.”
“I hope we’ve learned not to go digging for meds in that particular friend’s purse.” He smirks and sets a plate in front of you. A vegetable omelette and buttered toast. Your appetite hasn’t yet returned to its normal levels, but your doctor brain knows that you really need to eat, so you reach for the toast first.
“Never again,” you vow as you take a bite.
In the light of day and out from under the influence of Beth's ‘aspirin,’ you get a good look at Jack's apartment for the first time as he assembles his own plate. It's not spotless, but it’s generally tidy, and it’s a very nice place. Good furniture, great windows with better blackout shades, a nice floor plan. Its niceness only makes you feel smaller.
You poke at your omelette, stewing. “Jack?”
“Yes?”
“Don't take this the wrong way, but…why am I here?”
He plates his own omelette and leans a hip against the kitchen island. “You’d never taken MDMA before, and I knew you’d be in for a hell of a drop. I didn't want you to be on your own.”
You resist the urge to frown. This whole saga is doing nothing to remedy your tragic crush on him. Did he have to be so nice and caring on top of everything else? It feels a little unfair at the moment.
“That’s… very considerate,” you mumble.
“What can I say? I'm a considerate guy.” He pops a bite of omelette into his mouth with a wink.
A thought occurs to you that briefly makes your stomach turn. “Does the whole Pitt know?”
Jack's expression tells you everything you need to know before he even speaks. “There… might have been a betting pool on the subject. Shen cleaned up.”
You drop your face into your hands. “Awesome. That's really awesome.”
Every single one of your coworkers knows that you spent the night rolling. Tears prick at your eyes beneath your palms, which only worsens your humiliation. The last thing you need right now is to cry in front of Jack Abbot. Even if it’s just because the chemicals in your brain are out of whack, it doesn't make it any less embarrassing.
“Hey.” Jack's hand finds your shoulder again. “Don’t worry about it. They're good people, no one is judging you.”
Despite your best efforts, a mortifying little sniffle slips out at the kindness in his voice.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Come here.”
You can’t bear to look up, but your breath hitches in surprise when Jack pulls you into his arms. Instantly, your brain begins to quiet, focusing on the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the reassuring weight of his arms around you, the slow arc of his thumb rhythmically stroking your shoulder blade.
It's medicine. Oxytocin and dopamine, feel-good chemicals produced by physical touch, bolstering your brain against the sapped well of serotonin the ecstasy left in its wake. It also makes your heart flutter pathetically in your chest.
He holds you for a long moment, his grip tightening when you finally loop your arms around his waist and return the embrace.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” you whisper, allowing the comfort to sink into your skin and fill your lungs.
“Of course.”
Jack only pulls away when you do, gently swiping a calloused thumb underneath your eye to banish the straggling tear that managed to escape.
“Let’s get comfortable on the couch,” he says, a hand settling on your back to guide you. “You’re still on the comedown.”
You worry you might be overstaying your welcome. But Jack seems to be in no rush to get you out of his apartment, content to let you rot on his couch as long as you need to. Surely he must have better things to do on his night off than take care of you, but he sits sentry at your side without complaint.
After some consideration, Planet Earth is tabled for the time being — even if you’ve seen it before, animal death is sure to bring back the waterworks in your current state. Flipping through channels, you settle on a cheesy mid-2000s rom-com that you’ve seen before and snuggle back into the couch cushions.
Through it all, you feel the comfort of his steady presence, his hand rubbing idle circles on your back, like an IV drip of Vitamin Jack straight to your brain. You give into the feeling, too worn out to fight it, curling into his side. Eventually, you feel a gentle graze at your scalp as he idly plays with your hair. It surprises you for a moment, but you’re not complaining in the slightest. You melt into it, eyes fluttering closed until you’re slipping in and out of a light doze.
Afternoon fades to evening, to dinnertime, to nighttime, to bedtime. Even after your intermittent sleep, your fatigue is still bone deep, and Jack insists you can stay the night. You really try to convince him to let you take the couch, but he refuses, insisting that your body needs proper rest to return to baseline. At the end of the night, he sends you off to bed with a smirk.
When you wake up in Jack's bed for the second time, it’s much less disorienting. It helps that you’re much clearer than you were seventeen hours ago. The clock reads 9:05 am — you have the whole day ahead of you to shower, change, and steel yourself for the humiliation ritual that is bound to be your shift tonight.
You stumble into the living room, bleary-eyed. Jack is reclined on the couch with a laptop and readers perched on the end of his nose. Ugh, fuck him again for looking so good.
His eyes find yours over the edge of the screen. “Hey there. You sleep good?”
“Mm-hmm,” you reply, stretching. “I'm feeling much better, I think.”
His mouth curves at the corner. “Good.”
Leaning on the edge of the couch, you sigh and glance at the clock on the wall. “I should probably head home soon, get my life together before shift tonight. Would you be able to drive me home?”
“Sure thing, sunshine.”
After you eat breakfast and shower off the cast of bedrotting from the day before, you change back into the clothes you arrived in, which Jack took the liberty of washing for you. As much as you appreciate the gesture, you blanch at the idea of Jack handling your underwear, and try very hard not to think about that mental image.
As the quiet car ride progresses, you ponder your looming fate, mentally preparing yourself for the teasing you’ll get from the nurses and other residents. It's disorienting to not know what you’re walking into, to have been mentally absent for most of it.
You can’t resist the urge to ask anymore. “Was I a total mess?”
He nods, amused. “Yes. But a very cute mess.”
“God, this is so embarrassing,” you groan. “What did I say?”
“Are you sure you wanna know?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.
That makes you pause, glancing at him warily. “…was it bad?”
“You got a little fixated on hands for a while.” Jack pauses, like he isn’t sure how much to reveal, if you’re ready to handle it. “Said you think about mine all the time.”
Suddenly, you feel a bit sick, even though the car is headed in a straight line down the road. If that's just where it starts… if that’s not the worst of it, then what is?
“Oh god,” you whisper in horror.
“You said you think I'm gorgeous,” he continues, voice thick with amusement. “And that you have a big ol’ crush on me. And… you might’ve tried to seduce me a little at bedtime.”
Your cheeks flare hot. This is quite possibly the worst outcome of the situation aside from death. At the moment, death feels preferable.
You stare straight ahead, sinking in your seat and pressing your hands to your forehead to try and keep your brain from exploding. “Excuse me, I'm just gonna open the door and go lay down in traffic.”
He laughs, the sound warm and fond and doing absolutely nothing to temper your embarrassment. “It's okay.”
“It is completely not okay, Jack,” you protest, turning your body away from him and towards the passenger side door, like that will save you from this conversation.
Jack places a hand on your thigh.
All the systems in your brain go down simultaneously.
His palm rests just above your knee, not high enough to be too inappropriate, but it’s intimate. Especially because your choice of garment for Pitt Fest leaves your leg bare and exposed to his touch. Never once does he take his eyes off the road.
“It was flattering,” he says coolly, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your knee. “And extremely cute.”
He lets the assertion hang in the silence, and he doesn’t move his hand, letting it rest warm and comfortable against the soft skin of your thigh.
After some considerable effort, you remember how to breathe. Once the oxygen makes it to your brain, you manage to peel your hands away from your face and peek sideways at him.
“…really?” you ask, because you need the confirmation. Does Jack Abbot — your mentor, the object of all your desires, and the man who just babysat you through an unwitting MDMA trip — really think you’re cute?
He gives your thigh a gentle squeeze. “Really.”
There isn’t much else to say for the rest of the car ride. Jack keeps his hand on your thigh until he turns down your street and throws the car in park. You try and fail to suppress a smile the whole way, and allow him to walk you up to your building’s front step, palms tingling with anticipation.
“I’d like to do this again sometime,” he says as you unlock the main entrance. “Minus the party drugs.”
You grin up at him, slightly emboldened by the revelations that occurred in the car. “You wanna have another sleepover?”
“Very much.” His eyes crinkle at the edges when he smiles back. “See you tonight?”
“See you tonight.”
You turn to head inside, but Jack catches your elbow. “Hey. One last thing.”
Before you have time to register his closeness, a hand slides along your waist, another cupping your jaw, and Jack is kissing you.
A warm, pleasant feeling floods you from top to toe, a high rivalling the chemical one you’d experienced twenty-eight hours ago. He kisses you like he’s been thinking about it that entire twenty-eight hours. It's tender and hungry at the same time. By the time he pulls away, your lips follow after his and you almost stumble forward into his arms.
You open your eyes and blink up at him, feeling a little dazed and starstruck again.
“Had to wait until you were level,” Jack murmurs. He gives you a lingering peck at the corner of your mouth and descends down the front steps to his car.
Content warning; Contains brieft sexual content 18+ mention of reckless behaviour, female reader
Summary; Robby and you had agreed to keep your relationship casual, but one motorcycle, one argument and the slip of three little words, changed everything
Robby was just slipping into bed as your alarm was due to sound. He had already shed his scrubs, leaving him in just his boxers as he reached over for you, pulling you closer to him, trying to warm his cold hands on your thighs and stomach. You sleepily swatted him away.
“Get off,” you laughed, turning around to face him. “You’re freezing.” He greeted you with a tired smile.
“Hey.”
You ran your fingers through his hair, already disheveled from him raking his fingers though it all day.
“How was work?” You asked him, as he leaned in planting a kiss to your cheek, making his way down to your neck. He let out a huff, his hand snaking behind your back and pulling you in closer.
“Rough.”
Your hands trailed up his chest, reaching for his jaw, bringing his lips to yours.
It wasn’t unusual for Robby to come back to yours after work, or for you to go to his. That was the arrangement you had. When you had time, you gave it to each other. But there were rules, and limits.
Keep it casual.
That had been both of your priorities since the beginning. You were both too busy for dating, so you found something in each other that worked in both your favours. He would come to you, or you would go to him. And it worked, almost too well. Nothing ever got messy, no wires ever got crossed. You had agreed that although you weren’t exactly exclusive, you weren’t seeing or sleeping with other people. You both agreed on that as well. As casual as the whole situation was, it was yours, together. Just the two of you. At the start, you had both decided that staying the night made more sense. You work together, and time in between shifts was so limited that you both understood the importance of sleep where you can, when you can.
But, there came a point when you knew that it wasn’t just sex anymore. Robby knew that too. But you were both, for the time being, happy to keep pretending that it was as casual as it had been at the beginning. Eventually, somewhere along the way, he would come over and you would have dinner before falling asleep talking about your day. Mornings became just as familiar. The two of you would drift around the kitchen making coffee and eating breakfast, bickering over who got the bathroom first. You would perch on the counter brushing your teeth while Robby washed his face beside you. He always remembered your scarf as you rushed out the door, and you always remembered to close his windows so his apartment wasn't freezing when he got home.
He would find you at work, pull you into an empty supply cupboard and steal a kiss before returning to work like nothing happened. There was never much time in the chaos of the ED, but he still somehow always found thirty seconds for you. Sometimes it was nothing more than a brush of his fingers against yours as you passed each other in the corridor, hidden from everyone else's attention. Sometimes it was a folded note tucked into your scrub pocket, his messy handwriting scrawled across the paper. It wasn't dating. At least, that's what the two of you kept telling yourselves. If anyone noticed the way his eyes found yours in a room full of people, or how instinctively you reached for him after particularly difficult cases, nobody ever said anything. You certainly didn't. Neither did he. Because saying it out loud would mean admitting that the lines had blurred.
Because casual relationships weren't supposed to look like that.
“You’re thinking too loudly,” he mumbled against your skin, as he kissed a trail down your neck to your chest and eventually down to your stomach. His hands ghosted over your hips, hooking onto the fabric and slipping it down slowly over your legs. His hands grazed back into your thighs, pushing them apart gently and your hips bucked, desperate for the attention he was purposefully withholding.
“Robby,” you almost whispered, your breath hitching in your chest. Your hands reached for him, trying to guide him down as you shifted underneath him.
“You’re needy when you’re tired.” He laughed, kissing down your thighs, settling in between your legs and gripping you tightly, pulling you towards him.
“And you’re a tease.” Your hands found his head, scratching through his hair.
He huffed a laugh, his breath fanning over you, making you squirm. He knew what he was doing, he always did.
“You’re so beautiful,” he moaned into you, your hips twitching as the vibrations of his voice rolled through you. His fingers teased at your center, slipping in softly and slowly.
Another cry of his name was the only thing you could seem to muster as you threw your head back into the pillow.
After you were showered and dressed, Robby still hadn’t moved from the bed. He lay on his back, one arm behind his head as he watched you search the room for the rest of your things.
“My badge,” you muttered, checking the bedside table before Robby pointed you to the dresser by the door, his eyes never leaving you.
"What?" you asked, catching him staring.
"Nothing."
"You've been looking at me for the last five minutes."
"I know."
You laughed, shaking your head.
“That’s a dangerous look when I’m already running late, Robinavitch.”
His smile was tired, the kind that barely lifted the corners of his mouth after twelve hours on his feet.
"You don't have to go."
You looked over your shoulder. "Pretty sure they'll notice if I don't turn up."
"They'll survive."
"The emergency department?" You raised an eyebrow. "Unlikely."
He let out a quiet chuckle before sighing, dragging a hand over his face.
"When does this stupid night rotation end?"
You slipped your watch onto your wrist.
"Next week."
"So after next week," he looked at you hopefully. "you're back on days?"
You nodded.
"Finally."
You smiled as you stepped closer to the bed, smoothing a hand through his messy hair.
"You'll survive."
"I don't want to."
"Oh?"
"I hate not seeing you."
The words slipped out so naturally that neither of you acknowledged them. Instead, he reached for your hand, his thumb absentmindedly brushing over your knuckles.
"Our schedules are ridiculous."
"They always are."
"They're worse when you're on nights."
"It’s only one more week."
"A long week."
You leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to his forehead.
"Get some sleep."
You started towards the bedroom door before his voice stopped you.
"Hey."
You turned back.
"Be careful tonight."
You smiled softly and he watched you until you disappeared into the hallway, only letting himself close his eyes after he heard the front door click shut.
You stood outside in the ambulance bay, nursing what little you had left of your energy drink. That’s when you heard it, Robby’s motorcycle. You hated that thing, with a passion. Working in the ED there were certain things you were sworn off for life, motorcycles sat firmly at the top of the list. You just wished that Robby felt the same way. You watched as he rounded the corner, and you felt your heart drop into your stomach. He wasn’t wearing a helmet. Even from where you stood, you saw the way his shoulders tensed when he spotted you. He pulled to a stop, killed the engine and slipped off his sunglasses, guilt written all over his face.
“You’re joking.” You walked over to him, tossing your can into the nearby bin.
“Please tell me you’re joking because there is no way you just rode all the way here without wearing a helmet.”
He swung his leg over his bike, grabbing his bag and inching slowly towards you like a child in trouble. You spoke before he had the chance to try and defend himself with whatever excuse he would muster up, you were too tired and too upset to hear it.
“I can’t believe you. How could you be so reckless? You’re the attending of this ED,” you waved your hand behind you to the entrance, “every single day we treat people whose lives change in an instant because they make stupid decisions like this! For fuck sake Robby, what the hell are you thinking?”
He huffed a sigh, only making you angrier than you thought possible. He held his hand up in defence, like he was trying to calm you down, but it was having the opposite effect.
“You don’t get to sigh at me.”
“It was only a ten minute ride, it’s not a big deal.”
Furious didn’t seem to touch the sides of what you were feeling.
“Not a big deal.” You nodded your head. “Sure, so I’ll start driving my car without wearing my seat belt, not a big deal. It’s not like we treat people every day, with injuries that could have easily been avoided by wearing a seat belt. But screw it, hey? Because it’s not a big deal.”
You placed your hands on your hips, shaking your head, trying to look anywhere but at Robby, it was taking everything you had not to run over to him and physically shake some sense into him.
His voice wasn't raised, but there was frustration creeping in now.
"I'm standing here, aren't I? Nothing happened."
You stared at him in disbelief.
"That's your defence?" The words echoed louder than you had intended.
A couple of paramedics glanced over before deciding they suddenly had somewhere else to be.
Robby lowered his voice.
"Please. I don't want to do this out here."
“Oh you don’t want to fight?” You laughed bitterly.
He stepped closer.
"I'm sorry."
"You should be."
His jaw clenched.
"I made one stupid decision."
"Exactly."
"And I'm apologising."
"Because you got caught."
"No." He shook his head. "Because I upset you."
“You don’t like seeing me upset? Imagine how upset I’ll be when you’re brought in here, after crashing that death machine while not wearing a helmet. Imagine how heartbroken I’ll be if something terrible happened to you Robby!” You fought hard to keep the tears at bay, not wanting to cry in front of him. His expression softened immediately.
“Hey, I’m fine. Nothing happened, and nothing is going to happen.”
You laughed. It was all you could do. Never in your life did you think you’d have to worry about something as insane as this.
“You know what Robby, it’s your life. If you’re happy playing chance with it, then go ahead. But I am done, leave me out of it.”
You turned around despite hearing him call after you. You hurried to the bathroom, desperate for a moment of quiet and private place to cry. The tears came before you even reached the sink. You splashed cold water over your face, willing the sting behind your eyes to disappear. Your shift was over. All you had to do was grab your things and go home. But it still took another five minutes before you trusted yourself enough to leave. You kept your head down, hoping if you walked quickly enough you'd make it to the staff room unnoticed. You'd almost made it.
"Hey."
You closed your eyes.
"Please don't."
Robby was already beside you.
"I'm sorry."
"I don't want to do this."
"I know."
His voice was quiet now, stripped of the frustration from outside.
"Just talk to me for a minute."
Before you could object, he gently rested a hand against the small of your back, guiding you towards the nearest empty supply cupboard. The door clicked shut behind you. The shelves around you were crammed with boxes of gloves, IV tubing and gauze, leaving barely enough room for the two of you to stand. Robby rubbed the back of his neck.
"I shouldn't have ridden without it."
"No."
"I wasn't thinking."
"No."
"I'm sorry."
You nodded once. He took half a step closer.
"It won't happen again."
You looked away from him, your eyes drifting around the tiny room. You shook your head, wiping angrily at your cheeks.
"You don't get it. You came into my life," you laughed once, humourlessly. "You came into my life and you made yourself matter to me."
Robby's brow furrowed.
"You did that." You poked his chest once. Your eyes drifted around the tiny cupboard.
"You kissed me in here. We eat lunch together in the break room. We work side by side in trauma. You built the bookshelf in my apartment." Your voice cracked. "You're everywhere."
He didn't interrupt.
"If something happened to you," you swallowed hard. "I'd have to leave. I'd have to get another job because every corner of this hospital would remind me of you. I'd have to move because I'd walk past that bookshelf every day and think about you." You let out a shaky breath.
"You made yourself part of my life." The words came before you could stop them.
"I love you, Robby, but that's so selfish."
His face fell.
"What?"
"It's selfish." Your voice was barely above a whisper now. "You made yourself matter to me, and now you're acting like it doesn't matter if you throw your life away."
The words hung between you, and suddenly your stomach dropped when you realized what you had said. You stared at him for a heartbeat, horror settling across your features as the weight of your own words hit you. Without another word, you pushed past him, yanked the cupboard door open and disappeared into the corridor.
"Wait!"
You didn't, because you couldn’t. You felt the panic settle in your chest. You hadn't meant to say it. Not like that. Not at all.
You told yourself he'd come over after his shift. He always did. But you woke up alone, and that was confirmation enough of you. Whatever was going on between you and Robby was over.
Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the look on Robby's face when they left your mouth. Shock, or anger? Confusion? Something you hadn't stayed long enough to figure out.
You spent the whole of your next shift replaying the argument over and over again. Not the shouting or the tears. Just three words.
I love you.
It was all you could think of, all day. Between that and the endless flow of patients, by the time the day staff started arriving, you were exhausted. You escaped to the break room with a lukewarm coffee and every intention of sitting down for five minutes before dragging yourself home. The chair felt softer than you remembered. You rested your forehead against your folded arms. Just five minutes, that was all. You didn't even realise you'd fallen asleep until you felt something warm brush gently across your back, slowly dragging you from your sleep. Your brow furrowed as you blinked awake, lifting your head just enough to look over your shoulder.
Robby. His hand fell away the moment he realised you were awake.
"Sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to startle you."
You rubbed at your eyes, still half asleep.
"What time is it?"
"About seven."
You sat up with a groan.
"I was supposed to go home."
"I know."
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The awkwardness settled between you almost immediately. You weren't sure whether to apologise or leave. Before you could decide, Robby pulled out the chair opposite yours and sat down. His hands disappeared into the pockets of his jacket.
"I wanted to show you something."
He placed a set of keys on the table between you. Car keys. They sat in front of you, a small black fob attached to a dealership key tag. You frowned.
"What?"
Your eyes lifted to Robby.
"So," he rubbed the back of his neck. "I sold it."
You looked from the keys, to him and then back again.
"You sold your motorcycle?"
He nodded. You couldn't quite find the words.
"You didn't have to do that."
"I know."
"So why did you?"
He let out a quiet breath.
"I kept thinking about what you said."
You immediately looked away.
"Robby."
"No." His voice was gentle, his tired smile returning. "Not the part you're embarrassed about."
Heat crept into your cheeks.
"The rest of it."
Silence settled between you.
"You were right."
You looked back at him.
"I was acting like nothing could happen to me."
His fingers tapped absently against the table.
"And if it did,” he shook his head. "I never thought about what it'd do to you."
Your throat tightened.
"You don't have to give up something you love because of me."
His small smile grew across his face.
"I was thinking about that too. And you've made it pretty clear over the last few months that you were never getting on the back of that thing."
Despite yourself, you laughed quietly.
"Not a chance."
"I figured."
He nudged the keys a little closer to you.
"So I bought a car. A very sensible sedan. Because I like the idea of being able to drive my girlfriend home.”
Your breath caught.
"Your girlfriend?"
The words hung between you. For the first time since you'd known him, Robby looked almost nervous. His hand rubbed absentmindedly at the back of his neck before he let out a quiet laugh.
"Well," he shrugged, his smile small and almost sheepish. "That's what I'm hoping."
The lump in your throat became impossible to swallow. The tears came before you could stop them.
"Oh, don't," Robby sighed, already pushing back his chair.
"I'm not trying to."
"I know."
He was beside you in two strides. You laughed through your tears as he cupped your face, brushing away the ones that had escaped with the pads of his thumbs. Your forehead rested against his. He looked at you for a long moment.
"I love you." He said finally.
The words were quiet, but certain, and they knocked the air out of your lungs. You reached up, grabbing his hand that cradled your cheek.
“Good.” You laughed softly, tears still clinging to your lashes.
"You're supposed to say it back." His smile widened.
"I already did."
Robby smiled, the tired lines around his eyes softening as he leaned in. He didn’t rush. He kissed you gently, the same way he always had. He kissed you like a million more kisses were already promised. When you pulled back, Robby murmured, "So, does this mean we’re not keeping it casual anymore?”
A quiet laugh fluttered in your chest.
"I think we were pretty bad at that anyway." You smiled.
SUMMARY Trying to avoid your hopeless crush has worked surprisingly well… until you accidentally send him a consult request.
IN WHICH Brendon Park proves that the hospital's most intimidating attending has every right to his god complex.
WARNINGS 18+, MDNI, explicit sexual content, workplace romance, attending/resident, awkward crush, reader is down bad, power imbalance, praise kink, size kink (even though reader is mentioned to be curvy a couple of times, park is huge and so is his dick 😮💨), pussy pronouns, oral (f rec), unprotected pnv, body worship, breast play, nipple stimulation, mild choking, slight dumbification, discussion of fractures for like two seconds, mentions of Robby and Whitaker, no use of y/n. partially proof read.
NOTES gif credits : @bodeckerhedron thank you for making it just for me 🙂↕️ (you’re supposed to say “yes, i did make it for you!”)
Colles is a distal radius fracture, usually treated conservatively with a cast. The x-ray above is NOT Colles. It was the only ones that remotely matched my colour scheme. And as usual, the image above does not depict reader, just for vibes.
⟡ READ ON AO3 ⚚ PITT MASTERLIST
There's exactly one upside to being friends with someone in Ortho, even if all of them were just morons with a god complex.
Faster consults.
Peterson was the same as you. Same year, same matching cycle, equally sleep-deprived and increasingly philosophical about whether any of this was worth it — the answer was yes, obviously, but only at certain hours and in certain lighting.
He was Ortho and you were EM. The hospital's hierarchy made you equals, but if anyone asked you, you'd say he was doing a little better than you.
Officially he couldn't sign anything. Unofficially, he could tell you that you were right, and give you the right to say "seen by Ortho." Basically, an excuse wearing scrubs.
You keep Peterson on decent terms, he comes down earlier for consults. Everyone goes home.
Good networking, if you ever had to explain it out loud. Which you wouldn't, because there was one other reason, something that no one except you knew.
Peterson was the single most efficient way to get around a consult without having to see Park.
The problem wasn't that you didn't want to see Park. You wanted to see him, badly. It's just that, something happens when you do see him.
The brain that had passed med school, performed codes at asscrack hours, goes offline. You'd be a functioning person, and then Brendon Park would appear in your peripheral vision, and you'd be a nobody, standing with your mouth slightly open, aware that something was supposed to be happening somewhere and nothing beyond that.
You'd proven this spectacularly multiple times. The latest incident was a week ago. Park had come down for a consult, a MVC, called down to the ER by Robby himself.
You'd been so committed to not watching him, and guess what had happened?
You walked directly into his chest.
When asked about it, you'd learned to say "accidentally bumped into him."
But 'bumped' was underselling it honestly.
What happened was a whole body collision. Face-to-sternum. Your suture tray went in one direction. Everything on it — needle driver, forceps, the forever-in-shortage 3-0 ethilon — went everywhere else.
He'd caught your elbow for half a second, which to you, felt like years, everything playing out in slow motion. It was the kind of reflex one would use to steady a child. "Watch your step." His eyes did a quick pass over you, checking for any damage. "You good?"
You'd said something, that part you remember. For the life of you, you still couldn't figure out what exactly you'd said.
He didn't seem to mind anyway as he'd kept walking, not even throwing a glance over his shoulder. You on the other hand, were rooted to the ground, staring at his interscapular distance, a longing wife sending her husband out to war, a wistful look on your face.
Robby found you exactly like that. He brought you to your senses by snapping a glove at your shoulder, startling you. Without a single molecule of sympathy, he said, "stop drooling in my ER. And please pick those up."
You picked up the tray and it's discarded contents. What you couldn't pick up was your dignity, it had taken residence at the cold hard linoleum floor of the ER.
So yeah. Peterson. Earlier consults and a decent enough heart rate at all times.
That was why he got sent the text. 63 year old woman, fell on an outstretched hand in her driveway, arrived with pain and swelling at the distal radius, classical dinner fork deformity.
You got the X-ray. Classic Colles' — dorsal displacement, clean break. Needed Ortho eyes and a note in the chart and that was it.
You : Colles. You free?
You attached the X-rays, hit send and went back to your patient.
You didn't look at the screen.
You should have looked at the screen.
Forty-odd minutes later, Whitaker appeared at your elbow, looking pale. Well, paler than usual. "Why is Park down here?"
You looked up from your chart. "Sorry?"
"Shark." He lowered his voice, like the man could hear his own name from two rooms over. "I've checked the board twice. We only have one Ortho case and it's a Colles'." He frowned at his tablet like it had personally disappointed him. "He doesn't come down for a Colles'. He'd call every sleeping resident in the building before he personally came down here for a Colles'. Even if the systems didn't work, he'd make someone carry the films upstairs."
You followed his line of sight to see Park. Big mistake, your brain started bidding you goodbye. But you feigned indifference and continued your chart. "Maybe they're short upstairs."
Whitaker looked at you like you'd suggested maybe the defibrillator was decorative. "He's the attending. If they're short, he makes their lives miserable, he doesn't physically transport himself four floors down for a Colles' fracture."
"I don't know, Dennis. Probably came down for something else." You brushed him off, trying to block out the fact that Park was standing at a five metres distance and the traitorous organ inside your chest had already picked up on it.
Whitaker wandered off, probably to some hole where no one — no, Park — couldn't find him.
You continued for about one more minute. But then you remembered that Peterson hadn't texted you back.
He always texted back within ten minutes. That was the entire arrangement. The one rule. Immediate response. You knew he wasn't in the OR. There were no emergency cases in the morning, and as far as you knew, Monday wasn't elective OR day.
Peterson picked up sounding mildly surprised that you'd called instead of texted. No one called anyone anymore. "Hey. What's—"
"Did you get my text?"
"What — what text?"
The floor dropped out from under you.
"I'll call you back," you hung up before he'd finished his next word, your messages already open, thumb scrolling backward —
Dr. Park Ortho.
No, no, no. You'd texted him. You'd made him come down. God, if you still believed in her, was a cruel entity.
Park's name should not exist in your phone, a number you absolutely shouldn't have. You are not his resident, you are not even tangentially his responsibility, the only reason you have it at all is because you asked Peterson for it three months ago under the thin pretense of Robby asking for it. God knows why Peterson bought it, why the Chief of Emergency Medicine would need a measly resident to ask for the Ortho God's number, but he'd given it to you nonetheless. You just kept it there like a lottery ticket you knew wouldn't win.
Three images, sent at 2:23 PM.
Three? Shouldn't it be just two? X-ray wrist — AP and lateral.
Your thumb flied to the thread, and the first two photos were AP and lateral views.
The third though.
You almost dropped the phone. Almost being the keyword. Because you couldn't afford to drop it down the floor, what with the photo on display.
It's you.
The photo was taken three days ago. Having bought yourself an actual matching set for once, lace, dark red, you'd taken one picture. Just the one, for yourself. Like you take a picture of a meal you were proud of cooking. Same logic. You'd honestly forgotten all about it.
Until now.
Now Brendon Park had a photo of yourself in red lace intended for absolutely no one on this earth, with the caption 'Colles. You free?' underneath it like the universe's cruelest punchline.
Your options were limited. Transfer request, clearly. A sudden and urgent family emergency in another state, and you could continue your residency in some second rated hospital there. But, you liked working here.
You could disappear right now, walk out of this building and never come back, let your absence become the cautionary tale they told at department holiday parties for years. There was something almost freeing about that last one. But once again, you liked working here.
Also Robby would actually end you if you left mid-shift.
A throat being cleared brought you to the present. You looked up to see Park towering over you, shoulders so broad and perfect, you almost wanted to bury yourself in his chest and beg for forgiveness.
"Present the case, doctor."
"M-me?" You pointed at yourself with your free hand, like that one little duck from The Ugly Duckling, as though he'd asked you to march into battle, a bewildered look on your face. Like the medical degree you had held no value at all.
"You were the one who texted me, right?" He turned around and walked towards South 16, where the cause to all your problems peacefully existed, drinking orange juice.
Without any other choice, you followed him.
When you opened your mouth, you discovered that every word you'd ever known had evacuated your skull at once.
Park, for his part, did not rush you, looking at you with a sort of expression reserved for kids who threw tantrums, a somewhat 'go on, I'd like to see you try' look evident on his face.
"I, she's, it's a—" You looked down at the chart in your hands like it might volunteer to speak for you. It declined. "I-It's a wrist."
Transferring was the only option left for you now.
"Glad we covered that." Park deadpanned. "Walk me through it."
Okay, this was pushing it. There's no reason to walk him through a Colles'.
That only meant one thing. He was mad and wanted to kill you.
You were going to die in your own ER, of this, right here, in front of six witnesses. Whitaker was hovering at a respectful distance looking intensely curious.
Your pulse was audible. Well, at least to you.
Park stepped forward, barely an inch, and his voice dropped, his cologne invading your senses almost immediately. "I'd love nothing more right now than to have you dumb on my cock." It was conversational, almost bored, like he was commenting on traffic. "But you've got a patient in front of you, so how about you focus?"
Like he didn't do anything ridiculous like suggest you die a painful death at his dick, he slowly retreated, a smirk playing on his lips, composure perfectly normal.
You presented the case without making a fool of yourself any further than you already had. Mechanism of injury, dorsal angulation, neurovascular intact distally. Possibly because it was a play you knew well, watched and performed a thousand times, at a thousand other places, what with it being one of the most common fractures in the elderly.
Your mouth ran the whole program without having to consult the rest of you, while you sat somewhere a few feet outside your own body and watched him nod along and glance at the films on the tablet like the last ninety seconds had never happened.
"Closed reduction. I'll send a resident down." He spoke to the room, not you.
"Okay," you still responded, nodding your head for good measure.
He looked at you for one more beat, a look with nothing professional left in it whatsoever. "Wait for me. After your shift."
Before you caught up with what had happened, he was walking away, pausing once to nod at Robby — who was glancing between the two of you — and then he was gone up the elevator.
Once again, you stood at the middle of the ER, with your dignity at your feet.
Luckily, Robby did not materialise behind you, only Whitaker did. "What was that about?" His brow was furrowed like he was already constructing six different worst-case scenarios in his head.
"Nothing." You were already walking the other way, shaky legs and all.
"Why do you look like you just saw a ghost?"
If only he knew.
The rest of your shift was something you survived rather than participated in. You sutured, discharged, charted, and your brain ran on a loop the entire time: dumb on my cock — wait for me — dumb on my cock, with occasional breaks to consider which state had affordable housing before promptly circling back to the cock thing.
By the time you clocked out you'd made and unmade about nine decisions. You spent an embarrassing amount of time in the locker room that you'd defend as getting yourself together and anyone else who'd watched would describe it as you reapplying your lip balm.
Park was leaning against his car in the parking lot when you got outside, scrolling on his phone. He looked up before you'd made it halfway across the lot.
Your legs begged for you to turn back, it's not too late to maybe live out your days in the hospital, like Whitaker did that one time.
Thanks or no thanks to your prefrontal cortex, you did not retreat back to the confines of your job, put one foot forward and reached Park. "You didn't have to wait outside." And, that that was the sentence your mouth had chosen, out of every sentence currently available in the English language.
"Wasn't standing in that lobby with Robby asking me forty questions about why I'm still in the building." He tilted his head toward the passenger side. "Get in."
With a nod reserved only for superiors, you got in.
Your bag sat in your lap and you kept fiddling with the zipper, which you were aware of but couldn't stop doing.
"You gonna be okay over there?" His eyes were still on the road, but head slightly tilted over to your side. "Or should I be worried?"
"I sent an attending a photo of myself in my underwear. Attached to a wrist X-ray. Asking him to come look at it." You stared straight ahead, unable to look at him. "Doing great."
That pulled something out of him, not quite a laugh, more of an exhale through the nose, amused despite his best efforts not to be. "Wasn't my least favorite outcome of the day. And wasn't that lingerie?"
"That's an extremely unprofessional thing to say to a resident, Dr Park."
"Wasn't talking to a resident." The statement ended with your name, with the same monotone you used to deliver his. He didn't elaborate any further, and you decided, wisely, not to push.
Against better judgment, you looked at the side of his face though. You didn't know someone could look this good clean shaven. He did not mind you looking at him. Or if he did, he didn't show.
"How'd you even know it was me?" you asked, mostly to fill the air. "You didn't have my number."
"Caller ID's a hell of a thing." He said it like that should have been obvious, which, you supposed, it was. "Been trying to find a reason to come down and see your face all shift. You handed me one."
Park the shark? Coming down to see you?
You did not have a comeback, nor did you need one.
You spent the rest of the drive looking very intently out the window, aware of him glancing over more than once, the anticipation of what's coming twisting your stomach in knots you'd rather not feel right then.
His place was not what you'd expected. A man cave you could've predicted, preferred even. But this was more … homely, telling you this perpetually grumpy guy that you've been pining after has a soft side.
There was a blanket actually balled up on the couch, when you hadn't expected a blanket at all.
A framed photo on the stairwell wall hung slightly crooked. You had the genuinely deranged thought that you wanted to fix it, like you lived here, like that was a thing you got to have an opinion about. You did not get to have an opinion about it. You'd known the man's address for nine minutes.
He dropped his keys in a bowl by the door, the single most domestic gesture you'd ever watched him make. You stood in the entryway feeling abruptly, stupidly out of place.
"Shower," he said, moving toward the hallway, not framing it as a suggestion. "You smell like the hospital."
You almost laughed at the bluntness of it. The fact that he wasn't bothering to pretend this was smooth or romantic, loosened a knot in your chest.
The last person you'd done anything like this with — a general surgery resident — hadn't cared what either of you smelled like. He'd had you on his bed in your hospital socks within four minutes of his front door closing. You remembered lying there afterward, painfully aware of the day's grime still on his sheets, wondering if that was simply what dating other doctors was always going to be like. Safe to say, you never called him back.
But, this was shaping up to be a different experience entirely.
Park pointed you toward the bathroom and went to shower himself.
You showered fast, mostly out of nerves, with a bodywash that smelled unreasonably good for something so utilitarian. When you came out wrapped in a towel, you could hear water running behind a different door somewhere down the hall. A folded gray t-shirt sat on the counter that hadn't been there before, soft form what looked like a hundred washes, a faded logo on the chest you didn't recognize and didn't try to.
You put it on. Nothing else. It seemed like an instruction that didn't need spelling out. Some reckless part of you was already curious to find out if you'd read it right.
Park came out of his own shower in grey sweatpants and nothing else. His chest was, well… there.
When he found you sitting on the edge of his bed, he stopped in his doorway just to look. Your knees were pressed together like that was somehow going to undo the last several hours.
"That's a good look on you." Which was interesting phrasing, from a man who looked like that.
"It's the only thing you gave me to wear." You crossed your arms in front of your chest, the t-shirt riding up with the movement, soft thighs delectable for him to look at.
"Take the compliment." He crossed the room slowly and stopped right in front of where you sat, close enough you had to tip your head back to keep looking at him.
He leaned down and kissed you before you could come up with anything of value, one hand braced on the mattress beside your hip, the other curving along your jaw.
You'd been kissed before. If anyone had asked you, you would describ them as fine. Only now, you were learning that 'fine' is not a word one should use to describe a kiss, this one rewriting every touch of lips you've ever had.
A sigh escaped into it without you meaning to, a soft, helpless little exhale that you heard yourself make and immediately regretted because it meant he heard it too.
He pulled back maybe an inch, mouth still close enough that you felt the warmth of the words. "That good, huh?"
Smug fucking bastard.
"Shut up."
He kissed you again, shorter this time, mouth crooked as it pressed against yours. "You sighed."
"People sigh."
"Not like that they don't." Calloused hands spanned your hips, warmth of it raising goosebumps across your skin even through the fabric, as he softly tugged at it. "Take this off."
"You gave it to me thirty seconds ago."
"And now I'm asking for it back." A faint and wicked smile crept into the corner of his mouth. "Take it off."
Your hands weren't entirely steady when you reached for the hem, more nerves than cold as you pulled the shirt up and over your head in one fast motion. Mainly because you didn't trust yourself to do it any slower, letting it drop somewhere on the floor between you.
The air hit your skin half a second later, followed quickly by the realization that you were now sitting on his bed with nothing on at all while he stood there covered from the waist down.
Reflex more than decision, your knees pressed together, automatic modesty your body apparently decided it needed. His eyes dropped immediately, mouth curving into a half smile.
Big, rough hands made contact with the softness in your thighs, rubbing up and down like he was calming your nerves, followed by a soft tap to your outer thigh. "Open up."
When you stared at him blankly, upstairs evacuating again, he crouched in front of you, hands settling on your knees, thumbs pressing slow circles into the inside of them. "Open up, baby. I want to see her."
You blinked at him. "H-her? Her who?"
Brendon laughed like you'd genuinely caught him off guard. "Your pussy, sweetheart. What'd you think I meant?"
Heat went straight through you, a different kind than the embarrassment, though the embarrassment hadn't entirely left the building either. The two emotions tangled tight together until you couldn't separate one from the other.
You let your knees fall open slowly, watching his face the whole time, needing to see what it did to him.
The sound that left him when he finally got a proper look at your core went straight back to it, slick gathering. "Fuck." His thumbs kept moving, working higher up your thighs. "Look at you."
Only a whimper slipped past your lips, unable to look at his eyes anymore, even if they weren't focused on yours, but an entirely different part of you.
He dragged one finger up the inside of your thigh, slow enough to border on cruel, stopping just shy of where you actually wanted him. "You're soaked, baby. All this from a wrist consult?"
"From you —" Your mouth caught up half a second too late, and you paused, pressing your lips together.
He looked up. "What was that?"
"N-nothing."
"Mm." His thumb made one more lazy circle over your skin and you realised he probably already knew. He sat back slightly as he studied you, fingers not yet reaching for the delicacy on display, content with only working you with his eyes now. "You know what I was thinking when I came down?"
You were not going to ask. You were absolutely not — "What?"
"I wanted to see how you looked. You always get this look." He tilted his head to look at you, hands still stationed at your thighs. "When you see me. You know that?"
"What?"
"That one." He nodded at your face, like it was helpfully demonstrating itself for him right now. Knowing you, it probably was. "Like your brain just took a long lunch and forgot to clock back in."
"I do not."
"You do. The lights go out." He pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee. "I've been curious what it looks like when I've actually got my hands on you."
"W-what?"
A parrot. You were more parrot than human, what with all the 'what's you were repeating.
"You're so clueless it's adorable." Clueless from his mouth wasn't any different, having heard it strug with a hundred other insults aimed at his residents. Adorable, on the other hand…
"Don't say adorable."
"Why not?"
"It — it means something different when you say it." You pointed at him, which from your current position — naked, with his hands on your thighs — was a spectacular show of nothing. You held it anyway. "I'm not adorable. I'm a competent —"
"Mhmm."
"— medical professional."
"Okay." You knew every version of his okay. Months of listening to him from across rooms while pretending very hard you hadn't been doing that, and the 'okay' he'd just used meant he'd already won and had no further interest in pursuing the argument.
The Peterson arrangement was there specifically to avoid this and here you were anyway, sitting on his bed, having been kissed and told you were adorable, like you were a squirrel.
"You're not actually agreeing with me, are you?"
Brendon's eyes fluttered close with a soft smile on his lips. Domesticated almost, looking every bit different from the hospital version of him, damp hair falling onto his face without the usual gel to hold it back.
Piercing eyes bore into yours, an intensity that was miles ahead of what you'd experienced before. The tough guy act he usually dons at work seemed to have revealed itself for what it truly was — an act. "Do you want me to agree with you, or eat you out?"
It was so casual, interrupting your flow of thoughts about how soft Park the Shark looked. A minute to organise your head and you were stuck on the "eat you out." Who even asked things liked that?
Brendon was waiting for you and looked like someone who would be comfortable with the wait. He was good at that actually, the waiting it out. Once had even Robby cave, you still weren't sure how that happened.
"W-what?"
"Focus, babygirl." Babygirl. That was new, that was nice. "Use your words. What do you want?"
You'd think ER doctors would be good with words. You talked dying people down from panic, talked families through the worst sentence of their lives, knew exactly how to phrase things to a scared kid in triage. Words were the whole job, basically.
Apparently that didn't transfer, and once again, this was proving to be an uncharted territory. A shark swimming around you in the ER, you can handle. That was shallow waters, and you had an upper hand, known turf. Whatever this was, you absolutely couldn't.
Trying to repeat that sentence was hard, you opened and closed your mouth like a fish out of water, one the shark would very gladly devour, as you finally settled on, "yes."
"That's not what I asked, was it?"
"E-eat me out." Finally out of your mouth, heat crawling up your neck as his lips curved into an all knowing smirk, quickly vanished by your utterance of "Bren."
You had never called him that before. Even under your own sheets, with your hands between your thighs, you've fantasised and moaned 'Brendon', but this one had simply arrived. A new development, one that softened the shark's cutting bite.
"Good girl." Brendon praised, and it went straight to your cunt. "Such a good girl."
Shouldn't show all your cards the very first time you're together, you'd once decided long back, and had a stellar record of following it up until this point. With the way this night was going, you were pretty sure you'd be cardless by the end of it.
Before you could say anything, Brendon's mouth found your carotid, pressing soft kisses, and briefly — very briefly, for your disappointment — returned to your lips, a chaste kiss, a soft denial as you chased him.
As he continued marking you with featherlight kisses and gentle suction, you were becoming increasingly aware of the bulge in his pants.
There was this grey sweatpants theory your friend had told you about. Never had a reason to think about it before. You were thinking about it now.
Brendon's palms settled on the sides of your ribs. You must've been sleeping with pocket sized humans, because both of his hands seemed to span the whole of your torso, clearly big enough, having absolutely no problem showing it.
It wasn't like you hadn't noticed them before. You had, on numerous occasions, standing on the nurses' station while he picked up a severed limb to examine. But none of that actually showed you how large his hands were, and how it could make you look small in comparison.
His mouth was now warm at your clavicle, your sternum, until it reached one of your breasts. A sudden gasp from you, and you felt him smirk over your skin.
One of his hands left your hip to hold your other breast, palming it as he ravished this one with a particularly strong suction that made your toes curl.
Calloused fingers deftly played with your hardened nipple, and you yet again tried to stifle a moan.
Brendon pulled apart reluctantly, only to chastise you. "I wanna hear you. Don't hold back."
The next one came out loud as you nodded, the second his mouth closed back around your other nipple, tongue flicking against it while his hand kept working the first one between two fingers.
Your hips lifted off the bed on their own, looking for anything to grind against, and found nothing but air.
"Patience." He said it against your skin, not even looking up.
His trail of kisses lowered past your ribs, your stomach, the softest part of it you'd spent a considerable amount of time thinking about.
Brendon didn't seem to mind though, only pressing more open mouthed kisses, saliva streaking over bare skin, even sinking his teeth a few times, evidence of it you were sure to find the next day.
When his hands met your thighs, they spread them so wide, completely exposing you, even though his eyes made contact with yours once before looking back at your wet core, basically inviting him to taste.
Brendon's mouth descended to your cunt as his big hands kept your thighs open however he'd wanted. You squealed at the first touch of his tongue over your wetness, lips closing over your clit, while two of his fingers parted your slick folds with utmost care, the one contrasting his pull on the soft bud.
"You taste so good," his voice was muffled against your folds, the raspy tone almost had you coming right then, just from that.
One finger teased your entrance, circling it just right, his tongue taking the opportunity to delve into it, a high pitched moan — one that you didn't know you were capable of making — ripped past your lips.
The hands that were bunched at the sheets went straight to his hair, a tug that he seemed to enjoy as a groan vibrated through him.
His tongue worked slow circles around your clit while his fingers found a rhythm inside you, curling on every withdrawal, and your thighs started shaking against the sides of his head before you'd even seen it coming.
"Brendon —"
He hummed against you instead of answering, the vibration of it nearly enough on its own, and one of your hands left his hair to grab blindly at the sheet, twisting it into your fist like you needed somewhere else to put all of it.
He pulled back just enough to drag his eyes up your body. Chin wet and mouth shiny, as he reached for your hand — the one that had abandoned his hair — and manoeuvred it right back to where it was, encouraging you. "You can pull at me however you want."
Apparently he wasn't as attached to his hair as you'd thought.
With that, his mouth met your cunt again, a smirk right against your clit before gently sucking it between his lips.
The sound that tore through as you came wasn't one you were familiar with. Glad you weren't — it probably would've gotten you into trouble if this was your apartment.
When your thighs shook at the aftershocks and your fingers tugged at his hair with all their might, Brendon gentled his attack over your pussy, but kept nuzzling into you like he didn't want to stop.
He kissed his way back up. Your stomach, your sternum, your throat, and when he finally got to your mouth you tasted yourself on his tongue and didn't hate it the way you probably should have. "Gotta taste how sweet you are." It was said right against your lips.
A whimper left you in mock protest as you pushed at his chest with the heels of your hands.
"What? I'm not wrong." He kissed you one more time like he was trying to prove it. "You're sweet everywhere, you know that?"
"Stop it."
"Mouth." A soft peck to your lips, lingering there. He pulled back just far enough to watch your face catch up. "Neck." Shark teeth grazed the side of your throat gently, then again with more weight behind it, enough to make your breath catch. He stayed there a moment, mouthing slowly along your pulse.
"Clavicle." Of course the Orthopedician uses the anatomical term, instead of the romantic 'collarbone' you'd have gone for, but you weren't complaining, as his mouth pressed into the hollow of it.
His mouth found the space between your breasts next, a little towards the left, one kiss pressed right over your hammering heart, his breath warm and slow against your skin.
"Breasts." He took his time at your chest this time, mouth closing over one nipple while his thumb worked slow circles on the other, and you squirmed under him, fingers curling into the sheets, the whole idea of him making a point dissolving into the fact that he just wanted to.
His mouth dragged down over your ribs one at a time, like he was counting, his exhale warm the whole way down.
"Stomach." He said it against the soft give of you and pressed an open mouthed kiss into the part of yourself you were probably the most insecure about. But, insecurity didn't stand a chance against Brendon. He stayed there long enough that you squirmed again, and felt him smile against your skin like the squirming was exactly the reaction he'd been after.
The last one he skipped saying out loud. He looked up at you once, a darkness already sitting in his eyes. Every kiss before this was focused on this lips, but this one, his tongue came into action, flat and slow against you, and you understood, with sudden total clarity, that he'd meant every word.
This part wasn't about making you cum, as he immediately started making his way up, no, kissing his way up, at the same pace.
By the time he reached your mouth you'd pushed yourself up to meet him, sitting on shaking legs, hands sliding over his chest, his ribs, the muscle flanking his spine you'd spent months pretending not to notice.
When you dragged a thumb over his nipple out of pure curiosity, he jerked under your hand, a startled laugh breaking loose that didn't match the rest of the night at all.
"Did you just —" You did it again, intentional this time, grinning up at him.
"Don't." He caught your wrist before a third attempt, a boyishness flickering across his face. Evidence for later, blackmail for the next time he tried to act untouchable in front of everyone, dealt in private of course.
"You're ticklish."
"I'm not ticklish."
"Brendon Park." You said his full name like you were reading it off the board. "Attending Orthopedic surgeon. Ticklish."
"You're done." He caught both your wrists in one hand easily and pinned them gently to the side, just above your thigh. His other hand found your chest instead, thumb circling slowly over one nipple, watching your face the whole time. "That what you were trying to do?"
Your hands stayed pinned, no way to touch him back, and the lack of an outlet had your hips lifting off the bed before you'd decided to let them.
He let your wrists go, sitting back to look at you, a thought visibly surfacing behind his eyes. "You know people look at you, right?"
That came from absolutely nowhere, as you gawked at him, wondering who looked at you and where. "What?"
"At the hospital. People look at you."
"They do not."
"Night shift nurse. New surg intern." His eyes flicked toward the door like someone was about to walk through it. "Robby."
Robby couldn't possibly — "Robby looks at me to yell at me, those are very different things."
You crossed your arms on instinct, and the motion pushed your chest up, drawing attention to the soft flesh, drawing his attention.
He pressed you back into the mattress, mouth finding your nipple, tongue working slow circles while his hand kept the other one busy. "You'd know," he said between pulls, "if you weren't so busy ogling me."
"I don't ogle you." Your hands found his hair on their own, fingers soft against his scalp, betraying the indignation in your voice completely.
"Sure you don't."
"I don't." It came out breathier, not exactly your intended outcome.
"Yeah." Agreement, except you both knew it wasn't. He hooked an arm under you and shifted you higher up the bed. Easy, like you weighed nothing. Something about being moved effortlessly, like being tossed like a blanket, settled warm inside your chest.
Brendon kissed down your stomach again, on his way to sit up. When he finally shoved his sweatpants, you watched him do it without meaning to stare, except you were absolutely staring, probably with your mouth wide open.
He kicked them off the end of the bed and you got the full, unobstructed view of exactly what the grey sweatpants had been hiding.
"You're huge." The words left you without you having a say in it, hands immediately flying to clasp your mouth as if you can claw them back by sheer willpower.
"Yeah?" He wrapped his hand around himself and pumped slowly, watching you watch him do it. His hands pried yours from your mouth and wrapped your fingers around him in place of his own.
You barely managed to circle him, the size of him making your own hand look almost comical wrapped around it.
Brendon hissed through his teeth when you gave an experimental stroke, hips twitching forward into your grip like he hadn't expected it either.
He let you work him a few more times, watching your face more than what your hand was doing, before he pulled you off gently and laid himself down flat against your stomach instead, the full hot weight and length of him resting there like he was giving you a preview of what was coming. "See how huge, baby?"
A nod was all you could manage as you stared down at where he sat against your skin, leaking, a thin shine already smeared where he'd dragged himself there. The sight of him measured against your own body, against the soft of your stomach, made your mouth go dry all over again.
He tapped himself once against your stomach, a light thud right at your navel. "Say it again."
"No." Shaking your head, you wanted to disappear inside your own skin, the amount of attention lavished upon you almost overwhelming. The intensity of his stare alone made your knees feel like jelly.
Thank god he had you spread out on his bed. If not for that, you'd definitely have made a fool of yourself in front of him. Again.
"C'mon." He rocked his hips, dragging himself an inch across your stomach, sure of himself. It would've been obnoxious on anyone else, but he looked incredibly gorgeous and that only made your thighs press together. "I like hearing it."
"That's not — I wasn't complimenting you."
"Sure sounded like one." He braced a hand beside your head and pushed in slowly, the stretch of him pulling a gasp out of you before he'd even finished the thought. "Wanna see?"
It took you a second to get what he was offering, and you nodded. Brendon reached up, cupping the back of your skull, guiding your head up so you could watch where he was already halfway inside you, your walls stretched thin and shining around the sheer width of him, more than you'd thought your body had room for.
The sight was too much to take in directly, and your head dropped fully into his palm before he'd pushed in another inch, a laugh breaking out of him.
Watching your face now instead of where your bodies met, Brendon kept pushing in. Your walls clenched around him at every fraction of an inch, a stretch that bordered on too much before settling into something pleasuring.
"You good?" He asked breathless, jaw tight, hips frozen in place as he filled you to the brim.
"Uh-huh." Barely legible syllables were all you could muster.
"Words, baby."
"Move, Brendon."
The air left your lungs in one go as he pulled back almost all the way and slammed back in, your spine coming off the mattress on its own.
Somewhere at the start of this, or the weeks leading up to this, you'd thought he'd be controlled and calm, not one word wasted. He somehow turned out to be the exact opposite but also the exact same.
It felt like you were being taken apart, one piece at a time, while he was also losing himself a little. You could tell by the way his jaw kept clenching, his breath stuttering against your ear like he hadn't planned on that part happening to him too.
His hand slid up from your hip to circle around your throat, more a question than a grip.
"That picture." It barely registered as language. You were somewhere past language by then, his cock and his hand at your throat only things you could process. "Who was that for?"
"What picture?" It wasn't that you were being difficult on purpose. When put in a position you've been mostly dreaming about for the past however many months, the only thing grabbing your attention was right in front of — no, inside — you.
The question floated somewhere above you like it belonged to a conversation happening in another room.
He laughed against your throat, and bit down right over your pulse, sharp enough to sting and soft enough to soothe a second later with his tongue.
On top of that, one of his hands found your nipple, twisting the peaked bud between two fingers, hips coming to a halt.
A half formed protest rushed out of you. "Wha — why'd you — why'd you stop?" Breathy and whiny, your hips tried to chase friction, trying to take whatever he'd stopped giving.
"Tell me, baby." Soft and merciless words in the same breath.
"I don't — don't know, Bren." Your hands found his shoulders, nails biting in without much intention behind it, just somewhere to put the desperation since he'd taken away everything else.
"Did I fuck you dumb, sweetheart?
You shook your head against the pillow, which wasn't even an answer to anything, more just a reflex, the kind of thing your body did now in place of words.
His hips a dead weight notched right where you needed them moving, he waited, patient, that felt almost cruel given the state he'd left the rest of you in.
Like a browser with a hundred tabs open, your mind buffered, going through each of them until it landed on … The Picture. Right. The wrist X-ray, the caption, the —
Oh.
Oh.
The realization was so slow and stupid, the way answers always showed up two minutes after you needed them in a viva. "No one," you somehow got the words out. "I — I took it. For me. Wanted to see how it looked."
Brendon went still processing that — stiller than he already was. "Yeah?" His mouth dragged along your jaw, and his cock dragged out of you, then he pushed in all the way deep into you, like the confession had unlocked something in him he'd been keeping on a leash. "You looked real good, babydoll."
Heat crawled up your neck that had nothing to do with the stretch of him or the slow drag he'd settled into, just the stupid, helpless pleasure of being told that.
Babydoll settled alongside sweetheart and babygirl, right in between them like it had always lived there, and it hit the same place good girl had, and you knew it was all over your face. Every card, every single one, face-up. He looked at you and saw all of them.
You knew and couldn't stop it. You preened. There wasn't a better word for it. Your whole chest just sat up and asked for more.
If he'd noticed, he didn't make a show of it. "Next time," he said, "you're wearing that. And I'm taking it off you myself."
Your cunt clenched around him at the word 'next', an involuntary thing. Of course, he'd felt it, a laugh coming out low and a little wicked against your collarbone. "Oh." His hips stuttered once, to test you or if he was that affected, you weren't sure. "She liked that."
You wanted to die. You wanted to die and also you wanted him to say it again, both feelings sitting side by side without bothering to fight each other for space.
He hooked his arm under your knee and dragged it higher over his thigh, opening you up wider underneath him.
The new angle had you gasping before you'd even processed the shift, his cock pressing somewhere new and unbearably deep.
"Fuck, you feel —" His jaw went tight, breath catching against your ear, and the sentence just died there, unfinished.
You felt a little fierceness in you sit up too, a little smug. He wasn't unaffected. Whatever this was doing to you, it was doing it to him too. That single broken half-sentence felt like a win.
Somewhere underneath the noise, you understood it now. The thing the nurses whispered about — the god complex of it all. You'd rolled your eyes at every Ortho guy who’s acted like they personally invented bone.
Now, you couldn't speak for the rest of them. You hadn't slept with all of them, for one, and didn't plan to start now.
So, the sample size you were working with was n=1, which was not statistically significant in the traditional sense, but you were convinced.
This one. This infuriating, occasionally tender man currently splitting you open — he'd earned whatever god complex he wanted to keep.
"Where do you want it?" His voice dropped, hips losing the rhythm he'd clinged to, like he was holding the last of his control together with both hands. "Tell me, baby."
"Inside." It came out before you could second-guess it. "Please, Bren. Inside."
"Fuck. Good girl." The praise went straight through you, the same way it had the first time. Except now it had nowhere left to land except your shaking core, your whole body drawing tight around the words and around him at the same time.
Brendon reached between you, two fingers finding your clit, and the combination of that and the angle and the low filthy murmur of 'want you' and 'need you' against your throat sent you over before you'd even braced for it, your whole body locking up around him, vision actually whiting out at the corners for a second.
He followed almost immediately after, a groan tearing out of him that didn't sound anything like the composed, deadpan voice you'd known, hips stuttering, before he stilled deep, spilling ropes into you, both of you breathing like you'd run somewhere.
His forehead dropped to your shoulder, one hand smoothing the line of your hip.
You lay there underneath the weight of him thinking, distantly, that you'd never once associated gentle and Brendon Park before tonight and now you weren't sure you'd be able to separate them again.
Eventually he rolled to the side, pulling you with him against his chest, his hand now tracing slow lines up your spine.
"I should go," you said, even as your body did the exact opposite of going, settling deeper into him.
"Or," his mouth was against your neck, "you could stay."
"I'd be late." You'd already started counting the hours, and whether you had a fresh set of scrubs in your locker or if you'd have to do the walk of shame in yesterday's, whether anyone would actually notice or if you were just assuming the entire hospital revolved around tracking your sleep schedule the way you currently were.
"I'll write you a note." He said it with such a straight face, you almost believed there was a version of this where that worked. Brendon Park scrawling an excuse on a prescription pad and Robby just accepting it without asking a single follow-up question. The image alone nearly made you laugh into his chest.
You propped yourself up enough to glare at him, even though the effect was probably ruined by whatever state your hair was currently in. "First of all, I'm not five. I’m not going to school. Secondly, you're not my attending."
His hand found the back of your head before you'd finished the sentence, guiding you back down against his chest. "Robby's the only attending you take orders from, huh?"
"Well. He is my attending."
"Mm." For a man who'd had you twice in the last hour, he sounded almost petulant.
"Brendon. I'm in your bed." You tipped your head back to look at him, his mouth set in a soft frown, more like a pout. "You don’t have to be jealous of Robby."
"I'm not."
"You're jealous of Robby right now. Post-nut."
His nose scrunched up, and you immediately wanted to kiss it. "Don't — don't say post-nut."
A laugh cracked out of you, and not a cute one. "Park the Shark. Jealous. Of Robby." You dragged out the syllables, drawing it into a sing song taunt.
"Watch it."
You bit down on a smile and lost, mouth pressed flat against his chest where you figured he couldn't see it.
Apparently he could feel it though, his hand stilled mid-stroke. "You're hiding."
"I'm not hiding anything."
"You're smiling. I can feel it."
"Shut up, Brendon."
EXTRAS guess who was studying Ortho when this plot came to mind? Also final fic for a while, I’m going on a proper break this time 🙂↕️
Summary: At a wedding, Jack can’t help but feel so lucky to be the one who gets to take you home.
Tags: tooth rotting fluff, partners also being friends, smut!, rough sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, light dom/sub, brief mention of “daddy”, reader and jack have a happy healthy relationship, idk man it’s joyful and fun
WC: 2.8k
Author’s Note: I’ve been wanting to write shorter blurbs here and there to keep my lovely readers fed in between my 20k nightmare fics.
————
Jack Abbot was normal. He was fine. He was definitely not seething watching you dance with friends. The problem with dating the hottest woman in existence was that he couldn’t exclusively monopolize your time. He barely knew anyone at this wedding, it was your friend’s wedding.
She had too many sisters to have you as a bridesmaid and in the comfort and secrecy of your bedroom you had whispered to him that you just didn’t have it in you to be in so many weddings—most of your twenties had been spent traveling around the country to be in friends’ weddings.
Now, he was watching you in a gorgeous plum dress dancing around barefoot with girls you’ve known for over a decade. Some of their husbands were tolerable. Your best friend and her husband were here. Most of the time Ted was fine. Drunk Ted cared a lot about golf and Jack, drunk or sober, couldn’t give a shit.
When P!nk’s “So What” ended you meandered back over to Jack and to his surprise (and delight), collapsed in his lap.
“I’m sorry,” you mumbled. “I’m a little tipsy.”
“So I see,” he replied, lightly pushing your hair back away from your face. Your nice hairdo had long since come unraveled and kept falling in your face.
“I like you so much,” you said leaning into him.
“You don’t love me?” He asked with a smile on his face. You snorted.
“Of course I love you. But I also like you.”
“Thanks?”
“I don’t think all my friends like their husbands,” you whispered a little too wet in his ear. He had to resist the urge to push you away to wipe it off.
“What makes you say that?”
“Take me back to the hotel and I’ll tell you,” you said laying your head on his shoulder. It definitely didn’t look comfortable, largely speaking to your exhaustion. You had been dancing and jumping with your friends for multiple hours.
“C’mon, babe,” he said shifting your legs off his lap.
“Ugh,” you groaned standing again. “I need to tell Claire goodnight.”
“I’ll get our stuff,” he said.
The send off had been a few hours ago, before the elderly relatives had left. Now, it was just a fun party with friends. He loved watching you light up and enjoy being around your people. He loved his people, but they were far more subdued than yours.
Across the dance floor you approached your friend who threw her arms around you with heartfelt but drunken balance and coordination. It made his heart swell, watching how happy you were. Fuck, he loved making you happy. All he wanted in life was to make each day just a little easier; he wanted to do his best to make you happy.
By the time you’d extricated yourself from your friend’s embrace and made your way back to him, Jack had a hold of your purse and coat. He also had already dug your ugly Birkenstocks out of your purse so you didn’t have to put your heels back on.
“Fuck you’re so good to me,” you said, holding onto him while you slipped the shoes on.
“Well if that’s all it takes,” he replied, helping you into your coat.
He kept a hold of your bag when walking out to the parking lot. Just like his mother taught him, he held the door open on the rental car and shut it gently behind you. When he got into the drivers seat, you had dug your water bottle out of your purse.
“Ugh, I’m already sobering up,” you complained.
“So you don’t want drunk fast food?”
You gasped dramatically. “Do you kiss your mother with that dirty mouth?”
Jack laughed and grabbed your hand as he turned out of the parking lot heading back to the hotel.
“What did you mean earlier about your girlfriends not liking their husbands?” He asked pulling into a greasy fast food joint. It rarely mattered which one as the point was disgusting food.
Once the French fries and chicken and burgers had been acquired, Jack pulled into a parking spot towards the back of the lot. One of the first things you both discovered you’d had in common was growing up in small towns. It meant that you both had fond memories of idling car conversations and the occasional makeout. Even now, a long away from your teen years, you both adored your post party ritual.
“So,” you began, curling your legs up. “Abigail, not technically my friend, but she’s a good time. Was talking to me about how glad she was that her husband couldn’t come and that was fucking bonkers to me. Why would you marry someone you don’t like?”
“You would be sad if I couldn’t come?”
“Sure, I like spending time with you. It’s not like it would ruin it for me, I basically barely hung out with you tonight, but it’s fun coming back and kissing you before dancing to Pitbull songs with everyone.”
“I think that’s a compliment,” he laughed.
“But seriously!” You said nudging him. “I like being around you. It’s fun. You’re just as fun as my friends.”
“Even though I can’t dance with the energy of a drunk college girl?”
“Even then,” you laughed. “Hear anything good with the spouses?”
“Ted likes golf,” Jack sighed.
“God he’s so boring,” you laughed. “But she needs boring after the shit head she used to be married to.”
“Do your friends think I’m boring?”
You scoffed. “No, they think you’re a crazy adrenaline junky, not boring. Did you notice the groom’s sister had a fucking weird speech?”
For the next hour you both sat in the car, eating food that would clog your arteries and gossiping about the wedding. It was life giving and comforting in ways you never wanted to lose. You’d had this with friends but Jack was the first man you’d ever dated who wanted to do stupid shit with you. He wanted to go to weddings of people he didn’t know. He wanted to sit in a slightly too heated car talking shit about speeches. He wanted to do nothing and everything with you.
“What’s that look?” Jack asked.
“I dunno,” you sighed. “I just really fucking like you.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I really fucking like you, too,” he said. “Even if you dance like a baby giraffe.”
“Fuck off!”
When you both got back to the hotel, Jack helped you search for the various pins hidden somewhere in your hair.
“You’re so pretty,” he said mouth at your bare shoulder.
“Are you trying to get in my pants, Dr. Abbot?”
“You’re not wearing pants,” he said, bracketing your body against the counter of the bathroom. “You are, however, wearing a gorgeous dress I’ve wanted to peel off with my teeth all night.”
“Your teeth, huh?” You asked making eye contact with him in the mirror.
“God I’ve wanted to touch you so bad all night,” he whispered in your ear, pressing a soft kiss right near your hairline.
“You look so good in that suit,” you grumbled, pushing your ass back against his groin. “Kept coming back to kiss you so everyone knew you were mine.”
Jack’s eyes fluttered closed as he buried his face in your neck. Being wanted by you was intoxicating. Knowing that you coveted him as much as he coveted you was more than enough to turn him on. He could feel the ghost of your cunt clenching around him. It had been two weeks since he last fucked you. Both of your jobs had been hectic.
But now, in the privacy of the too expensive hotel room, he had you at his mercy.
“Look at me baby,” he said softly against your ear, relishing in how you shivered against him. “All mine, right?”
“Only yours,” you breathed. “I’ve missed your hands.”
He ran his hands from your thighs up your dress to cup your tits. The strapless dress was held up by tape and some intricate ties in the back. He pulled the tape off your chest gently and then yanked the fabric down under your tits, bra and all. You looked so good. In the dim light of the bathroom, he drank in your heedy gaze.
“Beautiful,” he said attacking your neck again.
Having you in his bed for so long, meant Jack knew just how to kiss you and play with your chest to make you soaked. It’s like he had a cheat code to turning you on. It helped that most of the night had been subtle foreplay between you both. During dinner his hand was definitely too high on your thigh but he couldn’t bear to move it.
“Fuck, baby, take me to bed. It’s cold as shit in here,” you groaned.
“Anything for you,” he said. “How hard do you want tonight?”
“Rough,” you replied.
He wove his fingers through your hair, close to the roots and pulled. He drug you back into the main room and tossed you on the bed face first. Holding you down with one hand on your upper back, he slowly pulled the zipper of your dress down.
“Look at this sexy body,” he said. “All for me.”
You wiggled a little as he unhooked the strapless bra with one hand. It had taken him nearly a year to master, but it was one of his most used bedroom skills. Letting you go, he pulled off the dress harshly, taking your underwear with it. Then you were face down on the bed, naked and already dripping for him.
You had arched your back, preening under his gaze. With a sharp smack to the meaty part of your glute, he watched you jump and settle back into your skin. A few more spanks and he quickly shoved his fingers inside you making you gasp.
He loved all the noises and movements you made during sex. For the duration of your relationship, he had been making a running catalog of how to get you to do a sound or movement. While he harshly fingered you, enjoying the way you squirmed under him, he began unbuckling his belt and pants.
“Feel good, baby?”
“Fuck me, please,” you panted against the comforter.
Shoving his pants down just low enough let out his dick, he pulled his fingers out of you and rubbed your wetness along his cock. Just the smell of you was sending him over the edge. He made sure to clamp down on your hips tightly, hoping to leave a bruise for you to enjoy, before careening his hips into yours aggressively.
There was a grunt as the air was knocked out of you. For a moment he paused, enjoying how you felt. Your cunt always felt so fucking good against his dick. You were so warm and wet and you clenched so beautifully when he spanked you. As much as he loved to be the one furiously fucking you, he also loved having you in charge.
He always enjoyed feeling your nails rake down his back. He was desperate to feel you closer against his skin, so while he had your hips pinned to the bed, he quickly ripped off his button up and undershirt so he could wrap his arm around your neck and pull you up against his body.
Once he felt you against his chest, he began to thrust ferociously against your cunt. He loved how it fluttered and the grunts and groans you released as he harshly pounded into you.
“Fuck, baby,” Jack growled harshly. “You feel so good. Made for me. Carved for my fucking dick, isn’t that right?”
“Just for you,” you said breathlessly.
You were clutching onto the bicep his had wrapped around your neck (more so your chest than neck, but it had the same effect). He felt you meeting his thrusts sending shockwaves through both of you.
“I love it when you’re rough with me,” you heaved against his assault. “Harder, please.”
Your tone was always so breathy and almost whiny when you got worked up like this.
“Anything for my naughty girl. Do you like this dick pounding into you. Does it feel good to have someone treat you so meanly?”
“Fuuuck,” you groaned arching against his grasp more. “You feel so good inside of me.”
“You make me so fucking crazy, pretty girl,” he hissed against your ear. “Watching you tonight was like my own personal dream. The prettiest girl in the world dancing and jumping but always coming back to me. Can’t be without me can you?”
“No, I can’t,” you whined as one of Jack’s hands roughly kneaded your tits. “Your hands are so good.”
“Rub your clit for me, baby. I want to feel you cum on my dick. I’m going to fuck you so hard you can’t walk tomorrow.”
“Yes please,” you mumbled. He felt one of your hands leave its iron grasp on his arm. “You fill me up so good.”
Jack felt himself getting close so he pulled out and finished taking off his pants. Getting his prosthetic off quickly was a hard fought for skill, but he managed to push you flat on the bed covering your body with his own before slipping back inside of your warmth.
He wrapped his arm around your throat again and grinned at how you moaned wantonly.
“So pretty when you’re being used by me.”
“Please,” you managed.
“Prop your hips up, baby,” he said getting on his knees to allow you room.
The harsh sounds of him slamming into you filled the room while he kept whispering debauched things in your ear:
“You’re made for me and only me.”
“Using you feels so sweet.”
“Are you going to cum on my dick?”
“I’m so fucking deep, baby.”
“I’m going to make you cum so hard.”
He was so focused on making sure you came, he didn’t noticed how you turned your face.
“Please, daddy, harder,” you moaned.
His hips stuttered and to control himself, he bit into the muscle of your shoulder. He almost felt guilty for how hot he found your cry of pain to be.
“Rub your clit and say it again,” he mumbled against your skin.
Your hand snaked underneath your body, and gasping under his assault you said,
“Harder, daddy. I want to feel you cum inside me.”
“Fuck, baby,” he groaned.
He was so close when he felt the tell tale flutters of your cunt against him. He nearly wept with relief you finally were close enough for him to say,
“Cum on my dick, pretty girl. Show me how good I make you feel. Milk me. Milk daddy.”
You cried out as you tensed and gasped underneath him. He made sure to keep moving as you clenched against him until your shaking thighs collapsed. He continued his furious pace until he felt himself orgasm. It felt like he came forever. When he finally collapsed and rolled over next to you, he chest was heaving.
“Daddy, huh?” He asked.
“I don’t know where it came from,” you laughed. “But you clearly liked it.”
“Surprise for me, too,” he huffed. He pulled you against him, reveling in how your naked skin felt against his.
“You’re sweaty and hot,” you grumbled, nuzzling your face against his chest. It was said like a complaint but you weren’t moving away.
“So are you,” he laughed. You tweaked his nipple.
“I’m fresh as a daisy.”
He laughed and kissed the top of your head. “Want to shower first?”
“Yes please,” you said. “Will you keep me company?”
He snorted and nodded.
The accessible bathroom had a removable shower chair that he used while he waited for you. Unlike the shower at home, it wasn’t big enough for Jack, his shower chair, and you. So he watched as you tied your hair up and quickly rinsed off. He noticed your wince when you gently cleaned your vagina.
“Do you want me to check it?” He asked a little concerned.
“Nah, just sensitive. You did a good job.”
“Wow, did I get an A-plus in sex?”
“Fuck off,” you laughed.
While Jack showered, you began working through your nighttime routine. You took off whatever make up hadn’t been sweated off during the wedding or the following sex and washed your face. By the time Jack got out, you were brushing your teeth.
Before leaving the bathroom you kissed him and said, “I love you.”
“Wuv yew,” he said with his toothbrush in his mouth.
Using his crutches, he made his way back to the bed, pulling on a pair of clean boxers before sliding into bed with you. Like you always did, you slept on the side farthest from the door. It was one of the many things that lingered from the war. Jack wanted to be between you and anything unexpected.
He pulled you against him, in the dark, enjoying how warm and soft you were.
“A good night,” he mumbled.
“And good sex,” you said.
He laughed and closed his eyes, feeling so much love and affection for you leaking out of his chest.
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The three times you think Jack is keeping you a secret and the one time he proves he’s not.
You stared at the lunch on the counter for a long minute before deciding on whether or not to do it.
You grabbed the bag and your keys before you could change your mind. Jack was covering days. Between the usual night shifts and the extra day shifts, he was exhausted.
The drive to the hospital was short, and when you hopped out of your car, you realized you had never been here before. You had only been seeing each other a few months, and a work visit in the middle of the night wasn’t your typical forte.
You pulled your phone out and called him.
“Sweetheart? Is something wrong? Is everything okay?” His voice rang through, worried.
“Oh yeah, you just forgot your lunch, I’m outside. I don’t know where I should go in?” You said tentatively.
“Um, give me ten and I can come find you,” he said quickly.
“I don't mind coming in, I can leave it with someone,” you suggested.
“No,” he said quickly. “Um, no, no need.”
He hung up the phone.
Was it the hospital? He didn't want you seeing the everyday horrors he tried to keep you away from? That had to be it.
But you couldn't help the feeling of insecurity that started to bubble in your stomach. Did he not want you to meet everyone? Was there someone specifically he didn't want you to meet?
Ten minutes stretched into nearly twenty.
You stood awkwardly near the front entrance, watching doctors and nurses weave in and out of the automatic doors. Every few seconds someone laughed with a coworker or stopped to hug a family member before heading inside.
Finally, Jack jogged through the doors.
“There you are,” he smiled, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before taking the paper bag from your hands.
“You okay?" he asked.
“Yeah,” you said, plastering an easy going smile on your face.
“You didn't have to drive all the way here,” he said, his eyes holding your gaze.
You shrugged, “I don’t mind.”
“Thank you, love,” he said quietly,
There was another awkward pause.
You glanced toward the lobby. “So... this is where you disappear every night.”
He laughed softly, “pretty much.”
Then his pager went off.
“I have to get back in there, I’ll see you tonight for dinner,” he gave you a quick kiss before all but running back inside.
And then he was gone before you even had the chance to ask him how his shift was going.
You watched him disappear through the sliding doors.
Not once had he turned around.
It was almost two months later when the phone call incident occurred.
“Your phone is ringing!” you yelled from the kitchen, but to no avail.
Jack was taking his post-shift shower, probably enjoying the hot water and a moment of peace.
So, you put the phone to your ear and answered, “hello?”
“Jack— oh, sorry... who is this?” A man's voice carried through the speaker.
You said your name, only to be met with a moment of silence.
“Who?” he asked quickly, but before you could respond, he answered himself, “actually, it's okay. Can you just tell him Shen called?”
Shen.
His coworker.
You'd heard his name in dozens of stories.
You don’t think he meant to sound dismissive or rude, but it was coming off that way.
You tried to keep your voice light, “um, yeah.”
“K thanks,” the line clicked dead.
Your mind spiraled so quickly you hadn't heard the water shut off or your boyfriend pad into the kitchen.
“Honey?” He came up behind you, nearly startling you.
His grey curls were damp on his forehead, and his sweatpants hung low on his hips.
He was so unfairly attractive you almost forgot why your chest suddenly felt tight.
“Shen called,” you said quietly, “he asked you to call him back.”
Jack reached for his phone without thinking, “thanks.”
He noticed your expression almost immediately, “you okay?”
Years of reading people and their injuries as a doctor left very little room for you to get stuff past him.
You hesitated, “does Shen know about me?”
Jack looked up, “what?”
He took a deep breath, hating how crazy you felt, “he didn’t know who I was… when I picked up the phone.”
He blinked.
You tried to laugh, “it was just kind of awkward.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, “I don't really talk about... my personal life at work.”
The words landed heavier than he intended. He opened his mouth to continue his explanation, but you interrupted.
“It’s okay,” you said with a practiced smile, “I get it.”
Because he'd met your coworkers, your friends, your family, but you couldn’t help but feel like he was purposely keeping you separate from the rest of his life.
Maybe this was more serious for you than it was for him?
Everyone important in your life knew him by name.
Yet somehow the people he spent twelve hours a day with had never even heard yours.
The third time nearly sent you into a psychosis.
The coffee shop was small and quaint.
It was the perfect blend of comfort and actually good coffee, which was hard to find these days while living in a world of eleven dollar lattes.
When you got your drink, you nearly walked into the woman standing behind you.
She had bright blonde hair pulled into a small ponytail and looked like she commanded any room she walked into.
You mumbled a polite apology, and as you stepped around her, your eyes caught the PTMC badge clipped to her scrub top.
Dana Evans.
Jack's stories made this woman sound like an absolute force of nature.
You felt like you were standing before a celebrity, “oh my god... Dana?”
You felt a pang of embarrassment as you just acted like a fan sitting in front of their favorite actress.
She looked up with an amused smiled, “I’m sorry, hun. Do I know you?”
You laughed nervously, “um no, I’m sorry. I’m Jack— Jack Abbott’s girlfriend.”
The smile on Dana's face froze, “night shift attending Jack?”
You nodded, suddenly feeling hyper aware of every movement you were making, “yeah.” You felt so small.
Dana's eyebrows lifted just enough that anyone else probably wouldn't have noticed, “you have a boyfriend named Jack Abbott?” she asked carefully.
You nodded again, not sure how much clearer you could be.
She smiled politely.
“It was nice meeting you,” you said, before walking around her. You decided to spare yourself any further humiliation.
No, I've heard so much about you.
No, the pictures don’t do you justice!
No, Jack finally found someone.
No, You're the girl he disappears to after shifts.
Nothing.
She hadn't even known he had a girlfriend.
You got into your car and placed your head on the top of the steering wheel, willing yourself to not spiral.
Maybe he was just private.
Or maybe you weren't as important to him as he was to you. You didn’t know what to do with yourself. So, you drove to his apartment. You were supposed to meet him there anyways, might as well get this over with now.
The apartment was quiet when Jack came home.
You were curled up on one end of the couch with a book open in your lap, though he was fairly certain you hadn't turned a page since he'd unlocked the front door.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he leaned down to kiss your forehead.
You accepted it, but your smile didn't quite reach your eyes.
His brow furrowed, “you okay?”
“Can we talk?” You asked quietly.
You could see him tense as he sat down on the couch next to you, “yeah. What's going on?”
You looked down at your hands, “I met Dana today.”
His eyebrows lifted, “what?”
“At that coffee shop I like, by the park,” you explained, “I recognized her because you talk about her all the time. And I saw her badge and it clicked.”
He smiled faintly, “that sounds about right.”
“I introduced myself to her.”
The smile faded.
“I said I was your girlfriend,” you took a deep breath, “and she had no idea who I was.”
Jack was quiet for a moment, “I don't really talk about my personal life at work.”
“I know that,” your voice cracked despite your best effort to keep it steady, “you told me that after Shen called.”
“So—”
“So I'm trying to understand why,” you interrupted him.
He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.
You scoffed at his silence, growing frustrated, “you spend twelve hours a day with these people.”
He nodded.
“They know what coffee you drink, they know you’re a veteran, that you’re from Boston,” you looked up and held his gaze, “am I right?”
His jaw tightened, but he nodded.
“But they don’t know you have a girlfriend?” You sounded small again, the same way you did with Dana in the coffee shop.
“It makes me feel like I’m a secret, from something or someone, I don’t know,” you ran a hand down your face.
His head snapped toward you, “what?”
You laughed, but there wasn't any humor in it.
“I honestly started wondering if you were embarrassed by me,” you admitted.
His face fell, “what?”
“I know it sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud.”
He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees, “no because that's insane. It shouldn't even be a thought in your head.”
“Well it is.” You said firmly.
Silence settled between you.
He exhaled heavily, “I never wanted you to think that."
You looked at him with a blank face, “then… why?”
He took a minute to think before looking up at you again, “because you're mine.”
You blinked, “what?”
He shook his head, “not mine like…” He sighed, “god, that sounded terrible.”
You gave him a tight lipped smile, “it did.”
He huffed a laugh, searching for the right words, “my job is loud. Everyone is in everyones business, in and out of the hospital. It’s like a pit of gossips and rumors.”
You listened without interrupting.
“I hated the idea of anyone making judgement about me and you before getting to know you. You’re younger than me it’s no secret, sweetheart,” he glanced over at you, “I just wanted you for myself.”
You reached out and grabbed one of his hands in yours.
“I liked having one thing that belonged outside those walls, to me and only me,” he looked at his hand in yours.
“I didn't want everyone talking about you… or us,” his shoulders slumped, “so... I just never mentioned it.”
You were quiet for a long moment, “I can understand that.”
He looked hopeful.
“But they don't even know my name,” you said quietly.
He nearly winced at how sad it sounded, how hurt you sounded.
He looked at you again, “I was so worried about protecting what we have that I never stopped to think what it looked like from your side.”
A sad smile tugged at your lips, “it looked like you didn't want anyone to know I existed.”
He scooted close, taking your other hand, so he had both of them, “I hate that I made you feel that way. I love you, so much.”
He laughed quietly at himself, “I guess I got a little selfish.”
“Selfish?”
“I liked having you all to myself,” his thumb brushed over your knuckles.
He smiled sheepishly, “i didn't realize keeping you to myself also meant pushing you away from this huge part of my life.”
You softened slightly at his words, “you really weren't hiding me?”
He looked almost offended by the thought, “honey,” he leaned forward until his forehead rested against yours. “I’ve been trying to convince myself you're real since the day you agreed to go out with me.”
A tiny laugh escapes you and you smiled, despite yourself.
He kissed your forehead, “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Less than a week later, things felt better than they ever had before.
“Get dressed,” Jack called from the bedroom.
You looked up from your phone as you were sprawled out on his couch. You went to question him, but he answered before you could, like he read your mind.
“I promised Robby I'd stop by O'Malley's after shift,” he said casually from the bathroom, “I want you to come.”
You blinked, “really?”
He looked confused, “yeah.”
You locked your phone and put it down, getting up and walking to the doorway of the bathroom.
“And you’re not just inviting me because you think that’s what I want? Because of the talk we had last week?” You crossed your arms over your chest.
He smiled at you, “no honey, I want you to come.”
You nodded, biting back the excited smile, “okay, I’m gonna go change.”
The drive there was quiet on your end, you couldn’t help the nerves that were eating at you.
Jack rested one hand on your thigh the entire way, absentmindedly rubbing circles with his thumb while he told you about his day.
By the time you walked into the crowded neighborhood bar, your nerves had settled deeper into your stomach.
“You made it!” Robby called from the high-top table.
Dana looked over first. Then Shen. Then Lena.
There was a younger group huddled close to them, also hospital workers you assumed.
All four of them watched Jack approach.
“Everyone,” he said easily, “this is my girlfriend.”
Robby slapped the table, “we finally get to meet this mystery woman that makes him smile at his phone.”
He leaned over and kissed your cheek in front of everyone.
Robby lifted his beer, “to Jack finally showing human emotion!”
Dana rolled her eyes and Lena smiled into her drink.
The banter continued, and you even joined in on it when it felt right. Jack bought you a drink, and all your worries suddenly felt far far away.
For the first time since you'd stood outside the hospital with a forgotten lunch in your hands, that knot in your chest loosened.
You’ve seen plenty of photos of Jack when he was younger and more auburn-haired; when he was softer, more naïve, untouched by the traumas of war and his subsequent disability—but he’s barely seen any of you.
The realization comes quickly to him, and he figures it's the perfect night to rectify that.
“Baby.”
“Yeah?” You glance at him from your peripheral, looking away from the book you're reading.
You feel him lean closer to you from his spot in bed. “You’ve never shown me pictures of yourself before med school. Besides those baby pics you had.”
A scoff escapes you, and you quickly dip your head down in shame. Your fingers fidget and crease a page. “You wouldn't like it. I was ugly. And I wasn’t happy.”
He physically recoils, a frown pulling at his face. “That's not true. Why wouldn't I? It's you, c’mon.” He tries to pinch your cheek to draw a giggle out of you, which usually works, but not this time. “At least let me see. I won’t say anything.”
You sigh. “Jack.”
“Please?”
After a bit of prodding, you huff and give in; you open your photos app, scroll to several years before, and hand him your phone. He's your boyfriend—partner, he prefers, because boyfriend sounds juvenile—after all. It should feel safe. It should feel easy.
Instead, it feels like pinpricks in your eyes and a deep ache in your chest. You barely took photos of yourself before med school for a reason. Insecurity, which is the only one.
You hide yourself from Jack’s reaction. But while you're stewing away a few inches from him, he’s in awe of how beautiful, glowing, cute you looked in college, high school, and before that. It worsens his already bad desire to scoop you up and kiss away all your troubles, if it’ll help a little bit.
“Sweetheart?”
His voice, gruff yet softer than usual, draws you out. “Hm?”
Dry lips press at your temple, and an arm pulls you closer by the waist. “Don't know what you were worried about. Looked just perfect to me. You've always been."
You allow yourself to relax a little, and you feel Jack smile against your hair.
