#collins/reader

[thepencilnerd]

Feels Like Trouble

pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Reader summary: You and Robby have been secretly dating for a while now. Most of the ER is clueless—except the five people who could probably write dissertations on your dynamic. Enter a frat boy med student with too much confidence and not enough self-awareness. Robby? Jealous. You? Oblivious. Everyone else? Watching the drama unfold like it's peak primetime television. warnings: cringe flirting, depiction of boundary-pushing behavior, mutual pining, protective!Robby genre: fluff, slow burn, banter, crack vibes, emotional constipation, robbie's love language is acts of service, strong!reader energy because women run the world word count: 6.3k a/n: robby in his protective, simmering, quietly feral era + men anticipating my needs without me having to ask is my roman empire. p.s. also check out my other Dr. Robby fics (Not Enough | And Through It All) if you're interested <3

It started at the nurses’ station.

You were finishing up notes from a back-to-back shift, hair a mess, sleeves rolled, running purely on caffeine and spite. You barely registered the med student who leaned in a little too close—Jackson, of course. Jackson, who everyone knew had barely scraped through med school with a transcript that looked like a cry for help and a reputation for quoting his frat days like gospel. Jackson, who thought calling women 'Doc' in a tone meant to charm was somehow endearing. So, yeah. Not a great dude, to say the absolute least.

"Hey, Dr. L/N," Jackson said with that ever-present grin, leaning just a little too close. "You, uh... ever take pity on exhausted interns and grab a drink after shift?"

You gave a polite smile. "I’m not really a spirits person, but thanks."

Jackson blinked. "Huh?"

"You said drink, right? I’m more of a coffee or tea girl. Caffeine over cocktails."

He opened his mouth like he was going to try again, but you were already turning back to your chart.

"Good luck today!" you said cheerfully, not noticing the groan from your colleagues. Just around the corner, Mateo muttered to Javadi, "That’s the fourth time this week. It’s painful, man."

Javadi sipped her carton of apple juice with focused precision, attention directed solely on your ability to brush off such obvious advances without it getting in the way of your work. "Seventh, actually. If you count the half-made attempt on Monday. She's bulletproof."

"Try Jackson-proof," Mateo scoffed.

Two beds down, King leaned over to Langdon with her gloved hands clasped and asked, "Why does Jackson keep hovering around Dr. L/N like a... rabid mosquito?"

Langdon just smiled knowingly, looking over to the nurses' station where the man of the hour sat. "Don’t worry. Robby'll take care of it. Eventually."

Unbeknownst to you, Robby had been watching the entire interaction—and every interaction before that. If any med student so much as breathed near you with less-than-pure intentions, he was up in arms, ready to intervene at a moment's notice.

There was that time Whitaker nearly took your eye out when a patient came in with a nail embedded in his femur; the force of pulling it out snapped Whitaker’s elbow backward—only for Robby's hand to catch it mid-swing before it could clock you in the face. Or when Santos nearly sliced your finger open as you gently guided her through her first incision—Robby had materialized behind her in the span of a gasp, steadying her hands with a calm correction that masked sheer panic. Or when Javadi passed out for the second time during a gnarly pelvic realignment and collapsed straight into you, nearly giving you a concussion from her deadweight—Robby had been there then, too, catching you both with lightning reflexes and barely concealed fury.

At this point, the only person in the hospital who hadn’t triggered Robby’s internal security system was Mel. And that was only because she kept a respectful three-foot radius and shared snacks with you during breaks. The two of you had a quiet little tradition—inviting her out to try the new cat café when it opened downtown, or attending weekend adoption events together like it was a team-building exercise. Langdon once joked that she was the third wheel in the most wholesome slow-burn romcom he'd ever seen. Mel's only response was two blinks and a single nod of acknowledgement.

Everyone in the ER noticed your dynamic—the way you and Robby worked together like a well-oiled machine, never needing to speak aloud to know what the other needed. It was intuitive. Rhythmic. Like watching a dance you’d been rehearsing for years.

Still, only a handful of people actually knew about your relationship. Abbot, Collins, McKay, Dana, Langdon, and Mel.

Abbot had been Robby’s sounding board from the very beginning. Back when Robby was still pacing around the break room, torn between professionalism and the undeniable, slow-burning pull he felt toward you, it was Abbot who told him to get over himself and ask you out. Life was too short for regrets.

Collins, McKay, and Dana didn’t know officially—but they knew. The meaningful glances, the subtle handoffs of coffee, the shared silences that were too loaded to be casual. They never said a word because they lived for the soap-opera-worthy drama of it all.

Langdon and Mel were on the same wavelength. They hadn’t caught you red-handed, but their spidey senses were borderline clairvoyant. They never probed, never asked. Just watched it unfold like a plotline they already knew the ending to.

Besides them, the rest of the department remained blissfully unaware—except for the way Robby’s entire demeanor shifted over a year ago. A quiet warmth started to replace his usual stoicism. People credited it to the anonymous private donation made to the ER around the same time.

But the truth was, it had nothing to do with money.

It was you. 

You, of course, were oblivious to whatever other people thought or said—unless it had something to do with your patients. Robby sometimes joked that you were pathologically unbothered, something he made a mental note to ask you about, and he wasn’t wrong. The rumors from the nurses, the looks from the interns, the knowing smirks from Dana or Langdon? All of it flew over your head like air traffic.

Maybe you just didn’t see it. Didn’t see how Robby’s entire world seemed to tilt when you entered a room. How effortlessly the two of you moved in sync like second nature—side by side in trauma bays, tossing instruments, treatment plans, and glances back and forth like muscle memory. Everyone else could see it.

You were always focused on the next decision, the next step, the next person who needed your help. You didn’t think about what you needed until the shift was over—if ever. Your well-being came last, always.

But not to Robby. Never to Robby.

He noticed everything.

The slump in your shoulders. The faint crease in your forehead when a headache was starting to set in. He knew when you were on the verge of running on empty, when your patience was thinning, when you hadn’t eaten since sunrise. He never made a show of it. He just acted.

He didn’t wait for you to ask. He didn’t expect you to remember to need anything.

Because he already knew. He just... knew.

Your coffee, brewed and sweetened exactly how you liked it, would be waiting for you at the nurses’ station first thing in the morning. A second cup at lunch—always packed, always hot, even if you never had time to drink it. He’d drop it off like it was routine, like it was no big deal, because he knew the odds of you being pulled into another case mid-sip were astronomical.

Your favorite sandwich from the cafeteria, left quietly on your desk with a sticky note that said, “Eat this or I’m calling your mother.” You'd sooner pass out from hunger than remember to eat. He knew that. So he took the thinking out of it for you.

And after the longest days—those days where you'd made a thousand decisions, answered a hundred questions, led back-to-back codes—he’d cook dinner at his place. Quietly, without fanfare, and pieced together with the same kind of intention you gave your patients. He’d hand you a glass of water—because that was one other thing that you along with 80% of the population deprived yourself of—and steer you to the couch while he handled the rest. Just so you could turn your brain off.

You never asked, never had to, yet he always knew.

You’d just been snapped back to the present by the sound of an unwelcome familiar voice—again.

"Dr. L/N," he said, sidling up to you again with that same confident grin—clearly not deterred by every failed attempt before. "I’ve got a list of mocktails that might just change your mind. Pretty creative, right? I googled it during lunch. There’s this one with lychee and—"

You blinked at him slowly, like you were buffering.

"Jackson," you said, voice firmer this time, "I don’t even have time to finish a protein bar most days, let alone entertain another pitch for drinks. You’re taking time away from my patients, my patients. I sincerely hope you don’t treat them the same way—ignoring their boundaries and refusing to take no for an answer."

You didn’t say it harshly. Just plainly. Clearly and finite. Like a diagnosis that needed no follow-up.

Across the room, Robby pulled down his glasses as his lip quirked up into a slow, private smirk. Pride bloomed across his face so fast he had to duck his head behind a chart to hide it. He knew better than to coddle you. The mutual discomfort and stifled reactions from the staff were one thing. Watching you handle yourself like that? That was something else entirely.

From across the nurses’ station, the staff collectively cringed like someone had just dropped a post-op surgical tray. Santos and Mateo physically turned away to hide their budding laughter. Javadi buried her face in her sleeve, secondhand embarrassment blooming. Mohan took off at a brisk pace to see a patient. Whitaker closed his eyes and mouthed a silent prayer to the ceiling. Meanwhile, Dana, McKay, and Collins couldn’t look away if they tried, pressing down their grins and wishing they'd brought popcorn. Langdon sipped his coffee like it was a box-office premiere. King, ever diligent, kept her focus on irrigating her patient’s wound—Langdon would fill her in later with full commentary. Before you could continue—

"Dr. L/N," your savior called, tone light but cutting through the air like a scalpel—just loud enough to interrupt whatever nonsense Jackson was about to say next.

You turned and there he was.

Dr. Robby—your chaos compass, your caffeinated partner in crime, loyal boyfriend, favorite soon-to-be roommate, and at the moment, your very composed but unmistakably irritated attending—his expression perfectly calm to the untrained eye, but you could read the tension in every line of his face.

"Got a case," he said flatly. "Now. Come on."

You blinked, confused but relieved. "Okay."

You didn’t miss the way Jackson shrank a little at Robby’s tone, nor the way Langdon grinned over his coffee like he'd just won a bet. You caught up to him by the supply closet, where he all but dragged you inside and shut the door behind you.

"What's up?" you asked, eyebrow raised.

He stared at you, a little too intently, like he wasn’t sure whether to scold you or wrap you in bubble wrap. "Are you seriously asking me that after that guy just tried to chat you up in the middle of the ER like this is Grey’s Anatomy?"

You blinked, tilting your head. "Wait… was that flirting?"

Robby blinked back. "You’re joking."

You were. "I thought he just wanted to split an energy drink or something."

He huffed a quiet laugh, some of the tension bleeding from his shoulders as his hands came up to ruffle his hair. "Jesus."

You poked his chest lightly. "You’re kind of cute when you’re flustered, you know that?"

His ears went red immediately. "I’m not flustered. I’m... professionally annoyed."

You blinked. "You’re jealous?"

"I’m not jealous," he said tightly. "I’m—concerned."

You grinned, stepping close. "Concerned is hot."

"He was twelve."

"He's definitely at least twenty-six."

Robby exhaled through his nose. "I’ve been very chill about this whole 'let’s not tell the hospital we’re dating' thing. But if I see him so much as come within two feet of you again, I’m submitting a formal notice that you are very much taken and a complaint with HR about his behavior. And if that doesn’t work—" he leaned in closer, voice dropping—"I’m dealing with him myself."

You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching into a smirk. "What’s that going to look like—are you gonna slam your clipboard down and tag team him with Abbot? Because honestly, I wouldn’t hate that."

Your voice was teasing, but your cheeks were warm. Watching Robby get territorial from a respectful distance? Unexpectedly hot. And now, you couldn’t help but push his buttons to see how much more riled up he’d get.

He didn’t answer. Just leaned in slowly, deliberately, raising both of his arms to cage you in—palms flat against the wall on either side of your head. The move sent heat straight to your cheeks, blinking up at him as he leaned closer, so close his breath brushed your lips.

Then he kissed you—hard and fast and possessive, his hands sliding up into your hair, threading through it with the kind of reverence that made your knees go weak. You gasped softly into his mouth, one hand instinctively rising to cup his jaw, your fingers grazing the edge of his beard before curling into the softness of it. He leaned into your touch, like he’d been waiting for it all day.

Your other hand slid up into his hair, tugging gently at the strands at the nape of his neck, and you felt it—the way his pulse thrummed just beneath your fingertips, the way he shivered just slightly at your touch.

His thumbs caressed the line of your jaw, then drifted down to the curve of your neck, holding you like you might slip away if he wasn’t careful.

It was fire and softness, urgency wrapped in warmth. And you never wanted to stop.

When you finally pulled back, you were both breathless. "Is that allowed in a supply closet?" you smirked. 

"If they didn’t want people kissing in here, they wouldn’t make it this conveniently located."

You smacked his arm, giggling.

"I’m serious," he added, voice softening but maintaining a firm undertone. "I don't share."

You looped your arms around his neck. "Good. I wasn’t offering."

He grinned, still close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. "That thing you said back there—about boundaries, about respect." He paused, eyes scanning yours. "That was... incredible. Seriously. You handled it perfectly."

Your brows furrowed for a moment, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice.

"It was... commanding," he added a moment later, voice lower, more playful now. "Alluringly so."

You snorted. "You're ridiculous."

"Yeah," he agreed, pulling you closer to pepper your face with kisses. "Ridiculously in love with a woman who knows exactly how to shut down frat boys without breaking stride, resuscitate half the ER, deliver excellent patient care, and still make rounds on time."

His hand slid down your back, warm and steady. "You’re the whole damn package, you know that? It’s genuinely unfair."

You chuckled, burying your face briefly in his shoulder.

Somewhere down the hall, Dana's voice rang echoed through the PA, summoning you for the consult. Robby groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

"This is not over," he muttered.

You kissed the corner of his mouth, a smirk following soon after where your lips lingered. "Got any dinner plans?"

Robby raised an eyebrow, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Actually, yeah. I’ve got a date—with my incredibly beautiful, breathtaking, beyond intelligent, and painfully witty girlfriend."

You blinked at him, then laughed, delighted. "Wow. Sounds like a catch."

He leaned in and bumped his nose against yours, grinning. "She really is. And I think she’s about to say yes."

You didn’t say anything at first. Just smiled, so full of affection it made your cheeks ache. Then you nodded, brushing your thumb gently along his cheekbone.

"Yeah," you whispered, "she definitely is."

[chuulyssa]

“let me work.”

“no, i’m not letting you work until you give me some attention,” he demanded.

you scoffed loudly, still not looking up at him from your textbook. “don’t you already get enough attention from the media and the fans?”

he had to hold back a scoff, rolling his eyes at the idea. he didn’t want attention from fans. he wanted your attention! but he didn’t want to tell you that and sound like some desperate nerd — because he wasn’t! he was him after all, handsome, popular, and definitely not obsessed with you. 

“not enough, princess. besides, those people fawn over the actor!me, not the real me, ya know—”

“i don’t fawn over you at all, so i don’t know what you’re on about right now.”

“oh.” his smirk faded a bit.

that was true, he realized. you despised him, that was for certain. but he wanted you to want him the way he wanted you.

his gaze watched you intently as you wrote on your notebook, looking down at the paper and not at him. he was jealous of the paper. he wished you were looking at him instead.

but his fans would’ve threatened you until you unalived yourself if they knew. they would’ve ruined your life if they knew. you couldn’t be together, you never could.

so you sighed, once again choosing to ignore the subtle pout on his face and how you fell down the stairs one day thinking about it. how he probably thought you hated him right now, and you’d do nothing to change that.

why?

because you were a coward.

[cuntiel]

[actually-mentally-ill]

“I can fix him!”

Him:

[ladysharmaa]

My miracle

Anthony Bridgerton x reader

summary: Anthony’s wife is in labor and it’s not looking good

warnings: mentions of death

“Where is she?” the loud voice of Anthony was heard in the entire mansion. The door he opened slammed into the wall but he couldn’t care less as he saw some servants running his way to take off his coat. “Tell me where my wife is!”

“My apologies, my Lord.” the poor man trembled under the Lord’s menacingly glare, that were just a cover for the worry and fear that was running though his veins. “The Viscountess is in your chambers. The midwife and your mother are already present with her. Shall I inform your brothers to come and wait with you until the child is born?”

Anthony didn’t bother to respond. He quickly climbed the stairs, two steps at once, seeing with wide eyes as the maids ran to his room with towels in their hands. He doesn't even settle for knocking, immediatly opening the bedroom door. None of his mother's stories could have prepared him for the sight that lay ahead.

His darling wife was drenched in sweat, dressed in her nightdown. One hand was on her round belly protectively while the other was in his mother’s hands, who was whispering words of comfort. Her jaw was clenched in pain and it was only then that he noticed the midwife between the Viscountess legs. 

“You!” Y/n screamed accusingly, managing to point a finger at Anthony with hatred. “You did this to me! You will never ever put your hands on me again!”

“I-” Anthony was at loss of words. He knew that his wife was in pain, and looking like she was ready to kill, so he just nodded his head in agreement. He took slow hesitant steps towards the bed, hoping to comfort her without dying. “I’ll never touch you again, my love. How are you feeling?”

“How do you think I’m feeling? I’m pushing your child that inherited your big head out of my lady parts! So tell me, my dear husband, how am I feeling?”

“Like you are giving birth?”

“Anthony...” his mother whispered while shaking her head in dispair. “You should leave the room. Your brothers must be coming to keep you company. We shall call you when the child is born.” 

“I’m not leaving my wife.” was the only thing he said with firmity, holding Y/n’s hand and kissing her soft skin gently.

She turned to him, a change in her demeanor, eyes full of tears of terror. “I’m scared, Anthony. It hurts.”

“I know it hurts. It’s okay, love. You will be alright and then we will have our child with us.” he whispered. A feeling of guilt washed through him. How could he have made his wife suffer through childbirth? “You are the bravest person I know. So so much braver than me and everyone else. I’m so proud of you.”

"I can't do this. It hurts too much. Make it stop, Anthony, please." Y/n cried.

It was only then that Anthony saw the look in his mother. She was worried, exchanging looks with the midwife. And as much as the Viscount would like to also show his anguish, his first priority was to comfort Y/n. "It's going to be okay, my love. Just a little longer, you're being so strong."

But she no longer had the strength to respond. It was getting harder and harder to keep her eyes open and she just wanted to sleep to escape the pain. Between her legs, an increasingly larger pool of blood was forming. Anthony's eyes were wide and there was enormous pressure in his chest. It felt like I was running out of oxygen, and it only got worse when Y/n finally gave in to unconsciousness.

"What's happening?" he whispered, looking in alarm first at Violet. Afterwards, he turned to the midwife furiously. "What's wrong with her? Help her! Do something!"

"Anthony, you need to leave." Violet advised, trying to remain calm for everyone's sake. Anthony was becoming more and more desperate, tears falling from his eyes as he grabbed his wife's hand tighter and brought it to his lips.

"I'm not going anywhere!"

"Viscount Bridgerton, the baby is in pain. You won't want to see what I'm going to do. I promise I'll try to save both of them." the midwife said, taking a small knife and flying it over Y/n's stomach.

"If you need to choose, save my wife's life." Anthony begged, now more desperate as his mother called his brothers to take him out of the room.

"Anthony..."

"No, mother, you save my wife's life!" Benedict and Collin grabbed the man by the arms and began to carry him outside, despite Anthony's struggle. "You hear me! My wife is going to survive! Let me go! Mother, save Y/n!" he shouted before the door closed in his face. 

The last thing he saw was the woman making the cut on Y/n's stomach, who woke up with a jolt. She then let out a scream that would torment Anthony for the rest of his life.

With a cry of anger mixed with sadness, Anthony broke free from his brothers' grip and put his hands to his face. He didn't want to think about the possibility of losing the love of his life. He simply couldn't take it.

"Wow, Anthony, calm down." Collin whispered when Anthony, in a rage, threw a punch against the wall. "The Viscountess is a fighter. If anyone is capable of overcoming this, it's her."

"You don't tell me to calm down, Collin. Not when my wife is in that room fighting for her life over something I did." he cried, jaw shaking and eyes red that only showed the immense pain he was in. He sat on the floor, leaning his head back and looking at the ceiling. "I need her to live."

"And she will live, brother. I will bring a drink, and we will wait together for news." Benedict said, rushing to bring the alcohol when Y/n's screams became louder.

On one hand, each scream was like a stab in the heart of Anthony, who was increasingly pale and looked like he was going to vomit at any moment. On the other, it was the only way to know she was alive.

Moments passed. The Viscount didn't know if it had been seconds, minutes or hours. Things seemed to be getting mixed up in his mind. Nothing made sense, not when the love of his life was in the next room in pain and he was away from her. He had to protect her, it was his obligation as a husband. And he failed.

And then came the moment when Anthony's heart stopped. A baby's cry was heard, and he allowed himself to smile a little. He had a son or daughter. A mini version of his wife. And then he burst into tears when Y/n stopped screaming and everything became too silent.

It was uncontrollable. He cried without being able to stop, making it even difficult to breathe in. Anthony refused to believe that he would have to raise this child without Y/n. Without her affection, her kindness, her love. He didn't want to open his eyes and realize that all this wasn't a nightmare, but reality.

Benedict and Collin didn't know what to do. But one thing was certain, they would be there to help Anthony with whatever he needed and never let that child forget the wonderful mother he had. Then, Violet left the room holding a pile of blankets that held the baby.

"You have a daughter, Anthony."

He just cried more. His body was shaking and he couldn't even look at his mother and the baby. "Y/n... Is she...?" He took Violet's silence as a yes. "Oh god..."

"Enter the room, Anthony. She is waiting for you."

Anthony had never stood up so quickly in his life. He quickly opened the door, stopping momentarily when he saw the amount of blood on the sheets, but the most important thing was Y/n's half-open eyes. She was alive and looking around the room in confusion.

"Anthony? Where is my baby?" her voice was hoarse and extremely weak.

The man fell to his knees at the edge of her bed, and lowered his head to rest on her chest. A feeling of relief spread throughout his body when he felt the rising and falling movement of her chest, indicating that she was breathing and that it wasn't just his imagination.

"I love you so much." he cried, feeling her hands start stroking his hair. "I'm sorry. You were so brave and strong. I'm so proud of you, my love."

"Where is my baby?" Y/n didn't want to seem like she didn't appreciate Anthony's words because that was a lie. He was the most important person in her life. But at that moment, Y/n just wanted to know where her baby was.

"She's right here, dear." Violet reassured with a smile, announcing her presence.

Very carefully, she passed the child into the arms of her son's wife, her smile widening as the little family was finally together again. The new parents had a gentle smile as they looked at their creation, a new love emerging for this fragile human being.

Anthony kissed Y/n's temple. "We have a daughter."

"She is beautiful."

"She takes after her mother." Anthony quickly said, never feeling so much love as he did in that moment. 

He was extremely proud of Y/n admiring her strength and courage. Now, he was going to protect his two girls until the end of his life. Nothing was more important than his family.

[g8taloadofdisguy]

[booksandteaandtears]

Building something

Michael 'Dr. Robby' Robinavitch x f!prosecutor!reader

continuation of Teaching Hospital (was meant to be a short, but now I can't stop myself from turning it into a mini-series)

summary: something starts building between the two. quite literally. ft. chaotic mornings, highly interested colleagues, furniture and a very stubborn reader

genre: pure fluff, a few shorter snippets, an overview of them falling in love, Robby is a simp

about 2.1k words

masterlist

You hadn't expected Dr. Robby to call you literally fifteen minutes after you left the hospital, but that wasn't to say you weren't happy with it. He'd opened the bottle of wine two days later, seated on your balcony, heaps of Indian food in front of you, Elle Fitzgerald playing in the background -your choice.

He'd been a real gentleman, especially because your arm was still in the sling: pulling back your chair, cutting pieces that were too big, insisting you were not allowed to do the dishes. There were jokes and prolonged eye contact, subtle touches when reaching for the wine bottle and flirty remarks.

When he was saying goodbye on your doorstep, you promised him you'd cook next time. "Next time?" He asked. You nodded at him. "I'll pick you up when your shift ends Friday. Try not to be too late. Emphasis on try." Then you kissed him on his cheek, turned around and closed the door. Robby was stunned on the step for a minute, unaware that you were squealing on the other side of the door.

All your dates flowed easily, conversation was great, the banter even better. The second date (where he had been late, because a trauma had come in ten minutes before he was supposed to leave), had earned Robby a peck on his lips. By the third date he couldn't help himself, and pulled you against him when you tried to make it a quick kiss again. After a second he could feel you melt into his chest, hands gripping the hair in his neck. When you both came up for air he leaned his forehead against yours, noses touching. "Sorry," he whispered. "I've been wanting to do that since you came into my ER. Couldn't stop myself this time." You smile back at him, turning you lips towards his ear. "I know." You whispered. "I was trying to test when you'd finally make a move. Took you two dates longer that I thought." Upon hearing this, his hands shot towards your jaw and his lips found yours again.

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Dana tried to be subtle. Keyword: tried. It just did not come naturally to her. So when Robby turned up to work with a smile on his face after date three, she could not help herself. "Did you help the lady with her wine? Got your hoodie back yet? You're looking less of a sad boy every week." By some unfortunate miracle both Langdon and Abbot were near enough to hear her ask, and they abandoned whatever they were doing to join the questioning committee. "The lady? What lady?" "You gave your hoodie away? You never allow me near the thing." Robby sighed. "Thanks Dana. I'll be withdrawing your wingwoman title." He turned towards the break room, the two men stalking behind him.

"Come on, brother. You can't keep this stuff to yourself." Abbot was saying as Robby poured himself some coffee. "I can, and I will." "What can't he keep to himself?" Collins had chosen that moment to join them. Robby sighed. Timing was not on his side today. Collins grabbed the coffee from his hand and took a sip. "Is this about the patient wearing your hoodie a couple weeks ago? The one with the pretty face? How did your flirting turn out?" "Fli-flirting?" Langdon stuttered, "In the ER? With a PATIENT?" Robby sighed, again. "Yes, Langdon. Flirting. In the ER. With a patient. Did you think I had forgotten how to?" Then Robby turned out the door and fled from his residents.

Half an hour later a betting pool was started on when exactly Dr. Robby would admit he had a girlfriend. Dana's money was on four months, Jack's on five.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The morning after date four Robby had woken in your bed. He smiled to himself when he realised where he was and pulled you closer against him, breathing in your hair. There had been no awkwardness, not the night before, not that morning as you took a shower while he made breakfast. He was fascinated by your morning ritual, the speed at which you shoved eggs into your mouth, while somehow simultaneously applying mascara and reading emails. He leaned back in his chair, calmly sipping coffee. "You know, you told me you hated mornings, but now I see why. I know women can multitask, but this is too much too handle at once, for anyone." You smirked. "You caught me on a good day, Michael. If it'd been a court day there would be stacks of paper everywhere. And I would have taken an extra fifteen minutes getting dressed." It had taken you a good half an hour already today. Robby blinked and mumbled something about efficiency. When the last of breakfast had disappeared you sprinted upstairs, grabbing you bag and heels, and came charging down the stairs again. "Right," you mumbled as you sifted through your bag, "Keys, laptop, charger, phone, wallet." You wobbled on one heel as you tried to put on the other. Robby stepped in and stabilised you. "Thanks," you smiled at him. "Thanks for last night, and for breakfast. It was calm this morning because of you." Robby chuckled at you. "This was calm? I can't wait to catch you on a bad day." You pulled him towards yourself and kissed him, closer to his lips now you were on heels. "Sleep over again tonight and you might experience it tomorrow. I'll be back around 8, you up for some Chinese food tonight?" Robby smiled and kissed her again. "Text me when you leave, I'll take care of the food." With another peck she bolted out the door.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

By month three of dating you decided Robby needed some wardrobe space in your house. He'd started taking extra clothes to work so he'd have a chance to change after he'd spend the night, but you hated that. You wanted him to feel at home in your place. Robby argued that he felt quite at home, as he'd spend almost every night of the past two weeks there, but you wouldn't hear it. You had decided on it, and nothing an nobody could steer you from it now. Robby was learning to work with that stubbornness, so he'd agreed on it eventually. There was, however, the small issue of actually making space in your wardrobe. It should have been easy, having a massive walk-in, but it had been filled to the brim for years, piling over into other rooms recently.

At the moment you were both staring at the walk-in. Robby tried to keep the smirk of his face. Your eyes pinched in determination and gestured towards a cabinet at the back. "If I fit more shoes into the right side of that cabinet, I can give you a plank on the left." As you opened the right side, shoes fell out and you were nearly buried beneath them. Robby was working hard on keeping a poker-face, knowing you'd stop being stubborn when you were ready for it, but not before. He kept his distance in the doorway. After you'd opened two more cabinets and the floor was littered with clothes and shoes, he'd had enough of it. You were sat amid the chaos, feeling defeated. He shuffled in front of you, knees groaning as he sat down. His back was leaning against one of the closet doors that wasn't opened. "I think," he started carefully, "You might have a few too many clothes to be making space." You pouted at him. "How about you pick out an extra wardrobe, we put it in your spare bedroom and I take a drawer there? You can fill the rest with your overflow. Might even be able to buy that new dress you've been eyeing since we saw it in town last week." You shuffled yourself towards his laps and straddled him. "Excellent problem solving skills, Dr. Robinavitch. I can see why you're good in an ER." You laughed and kissed him, his hands finding your waist. "But you'll be the one putting that wardrobe together, cause I've got two left hands and I don't want to end up in your Pitt." "Deal." He whispered against your lips and pulled you closer towards him on his lap. The two of you stayed in that wardrobe quite some time.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

While Robby had thought a new wardrobe would mean a trip to IKEA, you had tastes that pointed you the opposite way. That was how Robby was now stood in you spare room, looking at the pieces of an antique wardrobe you had picked out. You were in court all day, and he had a day of, so he'd decided that this would be the day he'd try to build the thing. No audience when he'd inevitably end up cursing at the wardrobe. IKEA building he could do, that was as easy as following the manual, but this required actual skill in carpentry. After ten minutes of staring at the heavy wood he decided he'd need to call in back up.

Court was adjourned for fifteen minutes when you finally dared to take a peek at your phone. Your background was still a picture of a trip to the Alps a couple years back, but you were debating on changing it to the close up picture you took of you and Robby holding hands at the farmers market last weekend.

Robby: So, I'd rather not admit it, but I need to call in back up for that wardrobe of yours. You okay with me inviting a friend into your home? 😅

You: As long as you serve him the good coffee I'm all for it! 😉 Top cabinet next to the mugs.

You: And with a friend you mean Jack, right?

Robby: Yep, he's coming over in ten

You: Will said friend stay for dinner? I'd like to meet him. Planning on making pasta alla norma! 🍝

Robby: He'd be delighted 😘

And so there were three of you on the balcony that evening. Abbot had saved the day. As a reward, you had taken a nice, Italian red from your stash and were enjoying it slightly chilled. Robby had learned early on that he had nog choice in wines, not at home, nor at a restaurant. He had picked up a very sour white wine once and was banned from ever choosing wine again.

He'd been worried about you meeting his best friend, but in all honesty, not a second had been awkward between the two of you. You were in excited conversation about the workmanship that had gone into your new wardrobe, Abbot apparently got just as animated about good carpentry as you, so Robby had zoned out of the conversation a while ago. He was quite content looking at the view, hearing you and his friend go on about dovetail joints and how to best treat mahogany. At some point you stood up to get more wine, leaving Abbot and Robby.

"So," began Jack. "Why the hell have you been hiding her from us all these months?" Robby rolled his eyes. "It's been barely three months, give me a break." Jack laughed. "She's a catch, brother. And you know it. She gets it, doesn't she? Your life? How work overtakes it all some days?" Robby nodded. "It's not the same, being a prosecutor, but it's similar in some things. Work never stops, the responsibilities are massive, making mistakes hurts people. She understands the pressure, the stakes. She knows the hurt people can bring about, the terror a human being can bring onto someone else." It was Jack's turn to nod. Robby looked at his friend and smiled. "It hasn't diluted her though, that life, she's so bright and happy and sure. She's strong." "And Dana approved of her." Jack replied. Robby laughed, a genuine smile reaching his eyes. "Yes, that she did."

When Jack had left, the two of you were sat on the sofa, staring out of the balcony doors, enjoying the end of a lovely evening. You had snuggled up into Robby, head resting on his chest. He closed his eyes and kissed the top of your head. "Michael," You whispered, "I think I love you." You looked up at him. A warmth filled his heart. "I know I love you." He whispered back.

[cheriladycl01]

Hey! Could you write a fic where female reader is an older driver (maybe debuted around the same time as Seb) and just little scenarios of her being a mother figure towards the drivers. Maybe mix of SMAU and written story (if you do that) xxx 😊 big thx

MUM! - Grid x OlderDriver! Reader

Plot: Everyone needs their grid mum, and that’s everyone!

F1 was you’re life.

Not in a oh I love watching the races every week and going to one race a year. No, you were convinced there was fuel in your veins.

You drove for about 16 years in F1 being the first female driver to win a race. You debuted at the same time as Sebastian Vettel, you guys were bestfriends and didn't let racing affect that friendship. And that's all it ever remained. Every bone in your body loved Seb, he was quite literally your platonic soulmate. When you first met, your now husband, he'd become fast friends with Seb and never questioned your friendship with him and never tried to involve himself too much to the point it felt forced and thats why you knew he was the one.

When you left F1, you left the same year that Seb did, it felt right leaving the same year he did and you discussed it with him. For you it was because you wanted to focus on family. You were 17 when you first got into F1 and now 33 years old and you wanted to settle down with your husband and expand the family. Which apparently wasn't as much as a struggle as you thought it would be as you'd gotten pregnant 5 months after retirement. Giving birth in 2023 and now being pregnant again in 2025.

But F1 and half the drivers you grew up with didn't want you to leave the sport. So when Sky Sports reached out you knew you had to go.

But with the growing amount of Rookies you seem to have adopted children as well as having had them as well.

Sebastian Vettel

y/user

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y/user: 25 years of friendship! Happy Birthday to the Grid Dad from the Grid Mum! 🫶🏼

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sebastianvettel: woah, I wish I looked this cool now! Look at that haircut 🫨

-> y/user: a diva once, a diva always

fan1: OMG MOTHER AND FATHER!!

You and your husband always made sure to vist Seb for his birthday, it was like an annual gathering that was held where you both were able to have a massive catch up without being near anything to do with racing.

"Happy birthday!" you crashed him handing him his huge bag of gifts before you went to his wife who you'd become very close to and hugging her handing over a cheeky bottle of wine for the both of you to share.

Your husband stood with Seb while you and Hanna went into the kitchen to unpack the food that you'd got for Seb's birthday dinner.

"Thank you for coming" Seb smiles pulling you into a hug, sighing against you.

"I havent missed one in 25 years, even when i had Tonsillitis i still got here. Wasn't much fun for you guys, but you all had a great time" you grin at the memory making him laugh. He could still see you, wrapped up in a bundle of blankets on his sofa with a box of tissues and a honey and lemon tea.

"Mmmmm good times" he laughs, pulling out of the hug and helping you and Hanna dish up.

"What are you doing?" Hanna cries seeing him doing work.

"Huh?" he asks confused.

"It's your birthday, go sit! Keep out other guests entertained and enjoy yourself!" Hanna exclaims, forcing him out the kitchen where he went to sit with your husband.

Your husband and Seb actually did lots of what you and Hanna called 'guy things' together. They'd go on fishing trips while you and Hanna would go to Italy or Spain and soak up the sun. Or they'd play games while you and Hanna went shopping.

Your husband also found joy in travelling with you and your kids adored seeing their Uncle Seb who despite it being his birthday always had to have something for his favrioute kids.

However, another child always seemed to lurk their way into these parties, that being yours and Seb's first adopted child, Lance Stroll.

You and Seb had been officially made mum and dad of the grid. It started off with Lance being taken under his wing and you just sort of joined in with that.

Lance Stroll

Lance was one of your favrioute people, you could sit with him in a comfortable silence and didn't feel like you needed it to be forced. He was also incredibly funny when he wanted to be.

One time, you'd been talking to him off of camera and he's accidentally called you mom. You'd bursted out laughing before querying him wondering if he really did see you as a mother figure.

"Yeah and what?" he asked and you stopped shocked.

After that it was just sort of known that you and Seb had taken on the roll of parents to all the little drivers across the grid.

You would always make sure to make time for Lance as he always would make the time for you. You werent keen on his dad, as he always gave you strange stare that made you feel like he hated you, no matter how many times Lance told you to 'just ignore it'.

"Lance, that overtake today was incredible!" You praise and he nods in thanks.

“Im glad I managed to get us in the points after Fernando’s crash” he offers and you nod. He’d got himself P6 which was a good score considering how the rest of the season had been going.

“Mmmm you’re leading the Aston Team now” you exclaim happy at the fact.

“Thanks Y/N, you’re always there for me” he says making eye contact with you.

“Can’t get rid of me Lance, I’m your mother” you tease and he laughs looking down.

Charles Leclerc

y/user

Liked by charles_leclerc, lewishamilton and others

y/user: Interviewed my first son today. He asked for a hug :) always such a pleasure interviewing him and getting time to talk. Oh and then theres Lewis ...

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charles_leclerc: Ahhh thank you, ma mère adoptive! You should come see Leo your Grandson!

-> y/user: I have a grandson?! I'm so old!

fan1: argh she's so cute with everyone! We all knew she's be such a good mother (real mother)

-> y/user: I'll have you know I've been a real mother since 2018 when Charles joined the grid.

-> fan1: omg she replies!!!!!

lewishamilton: i'm not ignoring her i swear...

Charles and you first met in 2017. He was very nervous when he came up to you, asking you how you felt you're race had went. You later found out he had a whole script to say to you after your race that you'd started from pole. Little did he know that Lewis was going to turn into you on lap 3 and crash you out for the rest of the race.

"Well, i didn't finish so not great kid" you chuckle at his nervous expression where he'd finally realised what he'd said.

“I erm, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that” he blurts out and you can only laugh at him.

“I know I know. I’m just teasing you” you say placing a light hand in his shoulder trying to ease his nerves.

“You know you’ll be racing with us soon” you grin at him knowing he’s signed for Seb’s old team.

“Yes, I’m excited … and nervous. You’re all so great” he compliments looking down and you sigh.

“I bet you’re gonna be big. Like world champion big. I can see it now. Charles Leclerc WORLD CHAMPION” you say raising your hands in a jazzy manner.

“That should be you. You should have hand a championship but it’s HIS fault” he directs looking at the screen following Lewis in your P1.

“How are you so calm and not angry at him?” He presses and you just laugh.

“I used to get very angry when I first started and I was young. But you learn that you being upset gets you nowhere. I learn from my mistakes, I don’t let them have a hold over me” you explain to him. Knowing that you were a much calmer and level headed driver than you used to be.

“Do you think I’ll ever be as good as him?” He asks tone softer than it was before.

“I think anyone can be as good as him, given the circumstances. I’ve know Lewis for years and he’s where he is now because of how committed he is. He works and trains harder than anyone I know. He’s got an incredible team behind him and a car to match, when all of that falls into play you’ve got yourself a winner. He’s one of the greats and will be remembered by everyone” you offer and Charles nods, now seeing the current leader of the championship in a new light. He’d always looked up to him, but now he just seems like a hard worker and Charles wanted to be that.

Lewis Hamilton

Lewis by far was not one of your grid kids, being a similar age to you and having started your careers in the same year you’d know him for an incredibly long time.

Which means you knew his tendency to be a little … childish. And by a little you mean a lot.

Too put it bluntly Lewis is a massive brat.

He doesn’t act angry when races don’t go his way, he’ll pout and be all salty looking like a puppy whose just had his biscuits taken away from him.

He’d been know to throw caps at his teammates when they said something bad about him and would often try play the victim card. You’d know him for so long that you knew the games he played like the back of your hand.

“Lewis!” You chide the man whose currently slumped over on the drivers room. You were both on the podium. Max having taken the win.

“What! He’s taken my win from me!” He points at the empty seat where Max should be.

“That’s racing! You’ll get him next week, this week things didn’t go your way and that’s okay. So stop sulking and put that gorgeous smile on your face” You command sick of him moping when he’s still up on the podium. He looks up to see your famous mum look, and nods on instinct feeling like it’s his mum scolding him when he was a child.

“You’re scarily good at that look Yano? Ever think of having your own?” He asks and you roll your eyes.

“Yeah, but I gotta retire first” you smile and he nods.

“We’ll get out of here then, less competition for me” he grins and you shake your head laughing.

That’s the Lewis you knew.

Jamie Chadwick and Bernie Collins

y/user

Liked by bernie.collins.1, jamiechadwick

y/yser: COMMENTATING WITH MY DAUGHTERS!!! Look at how beautiful they are!!! So proud of Jamie for last weekend in Indy Car as well, as a ex-female driver I hope to see her in F1 in the future!

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Jamie and Bernie were a recent development in the F1 World. You couldn’t be more pleased that women were taking more of an interest in the sport than they historically had.

Not only as viewers but working there. You now saw so many female engineers and mechanics. And it made you so happy that women were comfy within the sport.

When Bernie came onto the scene you immedielty took the younger lady under your wing, almost becoming a mentor. But the mum side would slip out at times when people managed to pick up on it.

"Bernie did you put cream on? It awfully sunny and they haven't given you an umbrella!" you exclaimed one day, going into your back and taking out the aerosol can of sunscreen you'd brought with you incase anyone was in need.

"No i was a little rushed this morning leaving! I didn't realise how early they wanted us at the track" she sighed and you offer her the can showing her you can spray it in her cheeks. She closed her eyes letting you spray it on before you wipe it in.

"Don't wanna get greasy hands before you hold your mic hun" you smile at her as she opens her eyes thank you for the coverage.

It was very similar to Jamie, who was much younger but also whenever the girl came to the f1 track would find her way to you.

But the moment you really saw it was when you went to her Indy Car race. Her parents werent able to attend and you had the weekend free so of course you and you're husband came down for the show.

And you couldnt be prouder of her. You were one of the first people there to congratulate her on her amazing race, pulling her into a huge sweaty hug.

"I'm so proud of you darling! You did so well!" you smile kissing the side of her head pulling her in for a second hug.

"Thanks mum" she chuckles with a shake of her head before heading off with her team.

George Russell

y/user

Liked by georgerussell63, carmenmmundt and others

y/user: My son drove me and his girlfriend to work today! Recommended 10/10!

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georgerussell63: yeah you're welcome. Might need you to come to parents evening soon. Professor Wolff isn't happy with me or Kimi!

-> y/user: @ susie_wolff get your husband in check! lol

->susie_wolff: will get on this now, not our sons, not on our watch

-> georgerussell63: thanks mum number 2

kimi.antonelli: Mr Wolff is very scary. PS can i have some help with my homework?

George was one you always watched out for. Being a British driver you felt like you had to mentor him. Which is exactly what you did. The minute he came into Williams despite his awful first year, you knew he was something worth your time and knowledge. So you helped him out, gave him small pointers on the track and he got his first points in F1. The car got better as the year went on and he was driving with more ambition.

George had a special place in his heart for you after all you'd helped him do in his career. He was one of the saddest when you annouced your retiremeant. You had to actually to take him out to dinner and explain to him privately that you were leaving even before it got out in the media.

"So what's this treat of a meal for? Not my birthday!" he says digging into the Carbonara that was in front of him.

"Well, next years going to be a little different in the races!" you start to explain not picking up your own knife and fork, wanting to concentrate on getting everything out in the open.

"What, OMG are you changing teams?" he asks in shock.

"No, i'm retiring" you say and he chokes on the pasta making you look up in shock. He also looked shocked too.

"W-what? No you cant be!" he says looking at you. You were his favrioute person on the grid. He always came to you whenever he had a bad race or an issue with Max, which you always treated as if they were siblings in an argument.

"I'm sorry, but it's my time and i want to be with my husband and ... i wanna start a family" you smile softly looking at him.

"Were you're family. Here racing!" he demands a sour upset sort of look on his face.

"George ... i love you all. But i need to do this. For me, okay. I'll still come and visit. Think i've got a free paddock pass for life ..." you joke.

"But ..." he starts but you just smile.

"Come on, lets not spoil a good meal" you say, tapping his hand.

"You better come visit" he mutters looking up at you with a smile.

"Does that mean i'll get to be a cool Uncle?" he grins and you laugh with a nod.

"Oh absolutely"

Kimi Antonelli

Kimi Antonelli wasn't who you expected for Mercedes to replace a 7 time world champion. However, he was for sure the right choice. You saw him as this timid young teenager who was still going through school.

When he'd started in 2025, you were at every race as a commentator or guest. You loved travelling and being with the calendar as it went through the year and being in their to see the wins and talk to your old friends.

But Kimi was interesting. 2025 had brought many rookies who were in a very different age bracket from you. Which meant of course they all flocked to you like sheep.

Kimi was a special case where you met his mum in his F1 debut when he crashed. His mum was incredibly worried and you consoled her as much as you could until Kimi came to meet the both of you.

After that moment she trusted you with her son. You would go with him from the hotel to the track and you'd sit in the Mercedes hospitality with him.

"I don't get this, what does it mean?" he asks you about a question on his English homework that he didn't really understand. This was a typical race weekend now, between practices and interviews you were hauled up with papers both of you having what you called mocktails. It was literally just fancy water with lemons and limes and an umbrella in it but you and Kimi always found it funny ordering them.

"Well, its asking you how the poem makes you feel... its about emotion in literature" you then translate it into Italian, and he nods a thoughtful face appearing across his features before. He writes his answer out in english before showing it to you and you smile.

"I recon if you werent half the driver you are, you'd be a poet!" you grin and he frowns lightly knocking your shoulder.

"No! Shush!" he cries before laughing with you.

"Good thing I'm a good driver then!" he jokes and smiles taking some water.

Isack Hadjar

y/user

Instagram Story Caption: He destroyed the car, but got a hug from me!!!

Yuki Tsunoda

Instagram Story Caption: Mine and @ nicolepiastri child!

Lando Norris

Instagram Story Caption: MY SON WON!!!!!

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[anyarose011]

Born Too Late: "Death by a Thousand Cuts"

Pairing: DBF!Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch x Reader

Summary: Your stepfather (not your actual father, let's make that clear), helped you out and scored you a job as one of the Medical Trauma's social workers. Moving off of the night shift from your first week, you figured that you'd seen all the worst things you could. It doesn't help that, at the start of your first day shift, the man you had an...interesting few encounters with at a local cafe, is your supervisor...What's twelve hours in an ER with him?

Part 1 of 3 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): Descriptions of Past Smut, Heavy Age Gap [Reader is in her mid-20s] Swearing, Past Parental Death, and Inevitable Medical Inaccuracies.

My Brain Randomly on a Sunday: "You know what? Fuck you guys! *Realistic DBF!Robby x Reader, with a sprinkle of Whitacre, King, and/or Santos x Reader (depending on what your poison is) and a 'Lost in your 20s' feel*". Lmao, yeah this idea just came to me out of the blue and I had to get it down. Now usually, I'm not a fan of the Dad's Best Friend Trope, but I think I've found a way to make it tasteful while also keeping some of the ✨drama✨. I've taken a huge inspiration from Shiva Baby, which also taps into a more realistic age gap relationship and feeling like the world is ending post-graduation (am I feeling this too? Idk). I'm also more personally experienced with the social/psychological aspect of the show, and wanted Kiara to have a partner because she was put through the wringer in the first season, so I decided to make reader a social worker. I hope I do this justice!

Word Count: 4.9k

“Fuck me!” Your roommate, Kimi, groaned into the toilet bowl seat beside you once she finished vomiting.

You rubbed her back as you continued to put on mascara. “I’m sorry, babe.”

“It’s been twenty-four hours!” She groaned, staring up at you. “Do you think you could squeeze me in today at your job?”

“Go to Urgent Care if you keep puking.” You answered.

Kimi rested her head against the seam of your pants. It was six in the morning, and you had no idea how she had so much energy. “I thought you only worked nights.”

You weren’t a doctor, nor were you a nurse, but a secret third thing: A social worker. You graduated from your master’s program a year prior, taking a job at a senior center. To you, it was boring as shit, so you left several months later. Turns out, in this economy, job security was more important than job stimulation; and it wasn’t necessarily easy to find work with your degree.

So…someone had done a favor for you. That someone being your stepfather; the Night Shift Attending.

Everyone had known Jack Abbott was your stepfather by midnight on your first shift. There was some teasing by Ellis and Shen, but other than that, nothing. You wouldn’t call it ‘nepotism’. Jack was in the picture since you were fifteen, and you’d only called him ‘dad’ once.

It was when he found you tucked away in the corner at your mother’s funeral, unable to stand. He just held you there, not saying anything. One would’ve thought you’d grow closer to him after that; but you were twenty-two when your mother died, and he’d only been married to her for five years. You didn’t necessarily want to know him more.

Of course, then you let it slip one day that you were trying to find a job in social work, and he had to swoop in and save the day. Still, how could you complain?

You finished your makeup and helped Kimi stand. “I did last week. I’m doing the day now to see which one I like.”

She washed her hands. “Do mornings so we can talk more. Like,” she smirked as she dried her hands. “Why didn’t you come home last Saturday night?”

Laughing, you left the bathroom and walked into the kitchen, packing your lunch. She followed after you, leaning over the breakfast bar.

“Come on!” She begged. “I gave you a few days to play coy, now spill!”

You grinned from ear to ear. “I went home with a guy.”

“Fork found in kitchen. Who was it?!”

“The one from Big Dog.”

Her face dropped into disgust. “The old Jewish guy?”

You sneered. “A, his name’s Michael, and B, it’s weird that’s how you remember him.”

“Girl, how old is he?!” She laughed.

“Forty-five? I don’t know.” You did know: fifty-one, but you couldn’t say that.

Kimi tossed herself onto the sofa. “You’ve been talking to this guy for like a month, and you don’t know. Is he even that cute?”

Of course he was. His eyes were quite possibly the kindest ones you’d ever seen on a man, and he smiled at almost everything. Beauty standards be damned; you don’t give a shit if smiling “causes early wrinkles”.

After packing your lunch, you walked into the sitting room and sat on the floor, resting your back against the couch. “I think so.”

“You like rat-looking men.”

You shoved her. “Now stop it!”

“No, you do!” She relented. “You’ve always liked the ugly ones.”

“Kimi.”

“Sorry, the unconventionally attractive ones.”

If you had a death wish, you would say that she had no right to judge. You at least knew that Michael didn’t have a single baby mama, and you weren’t in an off again on-again relationship with him every few weeks. Besides, at least it was obvious that you could tell he showered; unlike her “true love”.

But, that was always Kimi. You weren’t best friends in undergrad, but got along enough to where, after going a few years of not talking after graduation, you reconnected, and she asked you to be her roommate. So, you had been living with her for seven months, and it wasn’t….so bad.

Well, unless her ex-boyfriend (that’s who Trent was at the time of this) would come over. Besides the fact he was open about getting two separate women pregnant (he had three daughters), he had a short fuse. You made one joke about his favorite movie being basic, and he threw a plastic cup in your direction.

That was the first time Kimi broke up with him; then took him back two weeks later.

“He’s sweet.” You settled upon defending Michael. “He’s ridiculously smart too and can hold a conversation.”

It was something out of a 2000s romcom how you met him. There you were at Big Dog Coffee one early morning a month ago when he quite literally bumped into you, spilling your coffee onto the floor. Thankfully, it didn’t get on you, and he attempted to joke about how you wouldn’t have to take off your shirt to check for burns.

It was awkward, that beat of silence where the realization of what he said settled in. Then, you laughed, and it wasn’t so strange anymore. You fell into effortless conversation that only lasted ten minutes before you both had to leave. You thought that’s where the story ended.

Then, he was there the next time you went, and you talked for hours. He was a doctor but didn’t say where; if anything, the two of you barely discussed work and that was fine with you. He wasn’t always there when you went to get coffee. You managed to get it out of him that there were times he’d see you in the window but wouldn’t go in, not wanting to make you think he was stalking you.

A man who went out of his way to not make you feel uncomfortable? Of course you were attracted to him.

“So,” Kimi teased. “tell me how sweet he was when he took you home.”

You giggled. “He kissed me.”

“And?”

“And kissed me,” you smiled at the memories. “and kissed me, and kissed me, and-.”

Kimi talked over you as you repeated yourself. “I mean, he’s probably ready for the grave so I get he can’t do a lot but-.”

“-And kissed me between my legs,” you snuck in. “and kissed me and-.”

“-Woah!” Kimi laughed. “Back up, how was it?”

You looked back at her, feeling yourself blushing. “His beard was soaking.”

She screamed, causing you to as well into fits of laughter. She shook you, hugging you from behind. “Okay, grandpa!”

“Stop!” You shoved her. “God, I feel weird now.”

“How long did he go?”

“Like…almost three times I think?”

“Three?! At his age?!”

“I mean, his back started hurting-.”

“-Oh my god!” She hollered. “Have you seen him since?”

You shook your head. “No.”

“Well, you got his number, right?”

“No.”

“You’re the fucking worst!”

“It’s not like we’re gonna date!” You rationalized. “I like talking to him, but I don’t wanna be forty or fifty when my husband dies.”

“Who said he’d be your husband?”

“You know what I mean.”

She sighed. “Okay, what else did he do?”

You stood up after looking at the time. “I gotta go to my shift.”

“Come on!”

“I promise,” you slipped on your shoes. “I’ll recreate every position we did when I get home.”

But there were some things she didn’t get to know. Like how you and Michael were both nervous to the point of laughter, how he apologized profusely for not lasting long the first time, but you didn’t care; it was raw, and it was all real. You still wondered how that didn’t scare you.

“You better.” Kimi laid back down. “Have a good day.”

“Call if you need anything.” You took your keys and purse before leaving. It was a bit of a longer drive to the hospital from your apartment, but you didn’t mind driving. You’d grown up in Pittsburgh, so you could essentially drive downtown with your eyes closed.

It was strange arriving at the hospital in the morning when you were so used to leaving. You wondered if the time change would be the worst thing you’d deal with that day, but upon seeing your stepfather still there when you arrived, that was only the beginning.

“Hey kiddo.” He greeted, his bag over his shoulder as he walked outside.

You thinned your lips. “Dr. Abbott.”

“You ready?”

“You said day shifters are more type A.”

He snickered. “Yeah, you gonna be able to adjust?”

“I think so…” you bounced on the balls of your feet. “Uh, how was your shift?”

“Not bad.” he shrugged. “We had three patients come in from sex injuries.”

“Shit, that’s more than last week!”

He laughed. “Yeah, you wanna know the worst one?”

“Please no, it’s seven in the morning.”

“Alright.” He backed down. “So, you’re gonna stick close mainly with Kiara and sometimes Lupe if shit goes bad-.”

“-I know.” It’s as if he hadn’t already told you this. “‘The Attending’s Robby who means well but has a stick up his ass sometimes, so don’t take it personally.’ I got this.”

He smiled. “Yeah, you do.” His eyes then traveled to the direction of the parking lot, and he huffed. “Hey, we were just talking about you!”

You turned your gaze and felt your heart leap into your throat. There, approaching the two of you, with the same hair, same eyes, and same nose…was Michael.

Shit…

“All good things, I hope!” He yelled back, not making out your figure yet.

“I got your newest social worker here.” Jack introduced you, and once Robby got close enough, you saw recognition settling in his eyes.  It was only for a moment, forcing himself to remain smiling.

Robby looked at Abbott. “This is uh, this your daughter?”

“Stepdaughter.” Left your mouth before you could stop yourself.

Jack snorted. “I was gonna say I found you on the side of the road, but that’ll do.”

All Robby did was hum, nodding. “Well, I’ll make sure she stays out of trouble, even though that’s more Kiara’s job.”

“She’s a tough cookie.” He pat your shoulder. “I think she’ll make the day shift her bitch.”

“Jack.” You nudged him, clutching your purse.

“I’m sure she will.” Robby forced a laughed. “See you in twelve hours, brother.”

Oh, shut up. You thought, dreading the day ahead and turning your eyes to the ground.

Jack nodded, brushing by him to leave. “See you in twelve hours. And be nice to her!”

“I will!” Robby yelled back.

When it was just the two of you, that was when everything started settling into you like a parasite under your skin. The older guy you talked to for hours upon hours at a simple café, the same older guy you slept with just that last weekend…was technically your supervisor.

“Good morning.” He greeted as if he hadn’t acknowledged you until Abbott was gone.

You finally looked up at him. “Good morning.”

Then you walked through the hospital doors. Of course, he was on your tail.

“Alright, all on the table, did you know?” He asked.

You scoffed. “How the hell do you get ‘Robby’ from ‘Michael’?”

“Dr. Robinavitch.”

“Shit.” You shut your eyes. “And no, I didn’t know.”

He sighed as you both entered the stairwell. “Okay. Are you able to keep this…professional?”

“I’m so professional, I don’t even want to say another word about this even when we’re done with a shift.” You rolled your eyes.

“We have to talk about this sometime.”

“No, we don’t.” You stopped on the stairs, knowing no one else was around. “I’ve already agreed I never want to see you again outside of work because…well, obviously.”

“Yeah?” He rose his brows, then shrugged. “Okay.”

“Okay.” You walked back down. “Cool, cool, cool.”

It wasn’t, but you had to say that because you were going to have to spend twelve hours with a bunch of new people and him. When you arrived in the lobby, you were astounded just to see how many people there were. All ranging from kids with bloody noses, to a middle-aged woman clutching her stomach, and an old man holding a rag to his face.

“Welcome to the morning shift.” Robby said from beside you.

Pushing past disgruntled people in line to harass Lupe, you and Robby entered the ED, or, as your stepfather had called it: ‘The Pitt’.

Upon entering, a woman with cornrows approached you, smiling and saying your first name; thank God she had a hint not to say your last one. “I heard you were coming in today.”

“Are you Kiara?” You shook her hand, feeling warmth flow through you at the sight of a friendly face.

“Yes, you’ll be shadowing me today just to still get the hang of the day shift.” She explained. “Hope that’s okay?”

“No, it’s great!”

You hadn’t realized Robby left until Kiara was leading you into a room to speak with a woman who had failed an overdose suicide attempt. What a way to start the day.

Much like anyone, there were different versions of you. There was you when you were with family (yes, including Jack), there was you when you were with Kimi, and there was you when you were at work.

That was the one you could barely recognize yourself.

Still, you were pretty damn good at it. Almost like a chameleon, you could morph into whatever you or someone else needed you to be. Usually, it was the gentle and sweet girl anyone could talk to and share their deepest secrets with. While that part of you still existed on its own, it thrived while being a social worker.

Two hours later, after having only your second heart-to-heart with a patient that day, you ran into some familiar faces.

“Oh shit, Starshine!” Santos greeted as she looked away from the overhead monitor behind the front desk. You’d forgotten his name, but the boy beside her looked at you. He had bags under his eyes that you knew would never be covered even if he had all the concealer in the world. Yet, his own gaze was…kind.

You laughed as you approached them. “You gave me a nickname?”

“Well yeah,” she winked. “you made such an impression on me.”

That impression being the end of your third night shift, where you had drunk too much caffeine and, I shit you not, greeted most of the day shifters with: “Good morning, starshine!”

Trinity Santos and the Charles Dicken’s looking boy were your first victims.

You snorted. “I want to forget any of that happened.”

“I don’t.” She looked over at the boy. “Come on, Huckleberry, where’s your manners?”

He smiled shyly. “Sorry, how are you doing?”

“Don’t apologize.” You chuckled. “But I’m doing pretty good.”

“I thought you only worked night shifts?”

You shrugged. “I did last week. I’m trying out day ones; seeing what I like.”

“And?” Santos asked.

“I kinda like the vibe more here.”

“Just you wait.” She tisked, then turned on her heel and went to one of the rooms. That left you there with…Huckleberry.

“I’m sorry,” you smiled. “I actually don’t remember your name.”

He shook his head, mirroring your grin. “No, it’s good. Dennis Whitaker.”

You introduced yourself, but instead of using Jack’s surname you used your mother’s. “How long have you been here?”

“It’ll be three months on Friday.” He nodded.

“Wow, congrats. How’s it been?”

“I mean, the worst day was my first day.” He laughed humorlessly. “Everyday after that has been basically a cakewalk.”

“What happened your first day?”

He paused. “Pittfest.”

“Shit…” was all you could say.

“Yeah…” He pursed his lips.

“Hey,” a woman wearing a red sweatshirt said your name from behind you. “Kiara said you’re the new social worker. Could you come with me, please?”

“No problem.” You started following her, looking back at Whitaker. “See you later!”

You heard him utter a ‘see you later!’ behind you as you walked alongside the new woman.

“You’re usually on the night shift, I hear?” She asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She hummed, smiling. “None of that. Heather Collins. You’re probably getting overloaded with names.”

“I can keep up.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” She turned down the hall, lowering her voice. “Okay, so we got this young girl who came in a few months back. We think she’s being trafficked, but she didn’t say anything the last time; now she is. We need you to talk with the woman who came in with her.”

“About?” You were on top of it.

“Literally anything.” She explained. “Her new baby, movies, herself, just somethingto keep her preoccupied for a few minutes’ tops.”

Just as you were about to say ‘Okay’, a man poked his head from behind the corner, calling your name.

“Are you busy?”

Motherfucker, you cursed in your head. Why?!

“Back off, Robinavitch.” Collins rolled her eyes, yet you heard humor in her voice. “I got her first.”

He smiled the same smile you saw him wear every time he talked to you at the café. “Didn’t mean to interrupt you, ladies.”

“Ladies?” She stretched the word, glancing at you. “Is he serious?”

You swallowed thickly. “I think he is.”

Collins sighed, holding her hand out almost to comedically present him. “This is Dr. Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch, I assume you’ve already met him.”

“Yeah.” you said without missing a beat. “He was talking with Dr. Abbott outside before my shift started.”

She put her hands on her hips, looking at you closely before smiling. “You’re Jack’s kid.”

 Luckily, you managed to bite your tongue before you could correct her with ‘step’. Unfortunately, Robby had his own words to say.

“Did you just steal her away to figure out if she was related to anyone,” he teased. “or do you actually need her?”

You and Collins mirrored each other’s somewhat disgusted faces as you looked at him. She responded first.

“Yeah, I actually need her. Do you need anything, Robby?”

“No, Heather, I’m good.” He shook his head, backing away. He looked at you. “If she’s ever hazing you, just tell me.”

You were quicker this time. “Everyone’s been telling me you do the hazing.”

Not exactly true; you just felt the need to say something sassy. Ultimately, that’ll probably kill you.

Still, while Robby rose his brows in shock, Collins snickered, grabbing your arm and leading your farther away. “Come one.”

When you both were outside the door and away from Robby, she composed herself. “Okay, that was funny, but maybe just in the future…tone it back a little?”

You nodded. “For sure. It won’t happen again.”

“No and he’s good about it.” She explained. “I know he can be a bit much sometimes, but…he’s good at what he does.”

Oh…oh they definitely fucked. You figured it out. …Shit…

And all you did was nod, then went in to distract the human trafficker. She was a bitch for sure, but your thousands of dollars in student debt paid off. You kept her busy for ten minutes, and two police officers showed up: one taking her into custody, and the other to process the victim.

Not even a minute after it was over, Robby found you to talk with two worried moms whose daughter had an asthma attack. Then after that, the most eventful thing was feeling a wetness between your legs.

No…not the good kind.

Rushing into the bathroom and into a stall, you yanked your pants and underwear down. There wasn’t enough blood to cause a scene, but regardless, you still started your period.

“Shit!” You hissed, as well as said every curse in the book.

“Are you okay?” A woman asked from the stall beside you, her voice somewhat deeper.

“Do you have a pad, or a tampon?” You asked, sitting on the toilet.

“Hold on, I got a pad in my locker.” She flushed the toilet then went to wash her hands.

You sighed. “Thank you!”

“Don’t mention it.” You heard the front door open and close. Soon after, she came back in and handed it to you under the stall.

You sighed happily. “You have saved at least one life today. I’m buying you lunch.”

“You really don’t-.”

“-Shut up, I do.” You opened the pad. “I can’t today, but some other time. Who are you?”

“Melissa King.”

You gave her your name, and then she left.

It somehow got busier the further you were into your shift. You had to skip lunch when a grandmother brought her grandson in after he fell climbing a tree and started going blind as she drove him to the ER. It was pure luck she herself didn’t go into cardiac arrest.

It was about three when you finally managed to slow down. You took your lunch out of the fridge in the breakroom and ate what you could. The moment you sat down was the moment Whitaker came into the room, breathing heavily as if he’d run a marathon.

“You good?” You asked.

He nodded. “Uh huh, yeah uh…I just…”

You stood up. “Can I take your hand?”

“Huh?” You repeated yourself, and all he did was nod. You helped him sit down in one of the chairs before getting a Styrofoam cup off the counter and filling it with tap water. Once you set that on the table, you sat beside him and opened the chocolate bar you brought.

“Go on.”

“No,” he shook his head, taking a drink of water. “I can’t, it’s your lunch-.”

“-And I doubt you had anything today.” You held the chocolate out to him.

He smiled shyly before taking a piece off the bar. “Thanks.”

You took a piece and popped it into your mouth. “So, you’re from Missouri?”

“Nebraska.” He corrected, eating more of the chocolate.

“Why’d Santos call you Huckleberry? That doesn’t make sense.”

He snickered. “Just assuming that all of the Midwest is the same I guess.”

“I mean,” you hummed. “all I really know about Nebraska is Ethel Cain and Children of the Corn.”

“No, but the movie wasn’t even filmed there.” He pointed out.

“What?”

“They didn’t film Children of the Corn in Nebraska; they did in Iowa.”

You furrowed your brow. “But…it takes place…in Nebraska.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” He laughed.

“So, what I’m hearing is that it doesn’t actually exist?”

 “Yeah, you’re right.” He played along. “In fact…I was never actually here.”

He slowly sank out of his seat and onto the floor, out of sight from you. You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your chest, trying to smother it. It shouldn’t have been that funny, but aside from the delivery being impeccable, the case with the grandma really struck you so that’s why everything was now hilarious.

What wasn’t though, was the door opening, and seeing Robby being the reason it did.

“Hey Whitaker,” he stared right at him. “Mr. Lee’s asking for you.”

Whitaker stood up off the ground like a soldier as soon as Robby had looked at him. “Yeah, sorry. Thanks.”

Even when Whitaker left after thanking you, Robby stayed put, crossing his arms. “You doing alright?”

You nodded. “Yeah; it’s actually not that crazy.”

“We’re having a good day. You get along with everyone?”

Standard questions yet sprinkled with a tenseness you could see he held within himself. You pursed your lips, still meaning to remain professional.

“Yeah, really nice.”

“Should I ask a night shift resident if you distract them too?”

Okay, out of left field, but still, you were going to keep a cool head-.

“If I distract them?” You tilted your head.

“Just a question.”

“Yeah, and my answer is that he was freaking out so I just gave him some water and something to eat so he wouldn’t crash in the middle of the ER!” You scoffed.

He held his hands together, pointing them at you. “And thank you, but we never know when we need all hands-on deck. So, in the future, if you could keep it short-.”

“-He was in here for like two minutes.”

“The exact same amount of time it could take for someone to die.”

You surprised yourself and took a deep breath before responding; even though you could feel your blood boil beneath your skin.

“He’s a grown man; at least my age, but maybe a few years older. I think he can take care of himself, take accountability, and not blame some girl for it.”

Was the statement slightly targeted? Who’s to say?

Still, his eyes changed. Where they were once hardened with a mix of annoyance and passive-aggressive glee, they softened at the realization. He dropped your gaze and sighed.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, that was out of line.”

Shrugging, you stuck your hands in your pockets. “Bad day?”

“I’ve had worse.”

“I didn’t ask that.”

He looked at you, and for the first time that day, you saw Michael; the idiot who ran into you but didn’t spill his coffee on your body and then made a stupid joke he probably made at work. For a moment, it was as if neither of you had known what you found out at 7am that day. That you were both in the worst positions imaginable, job and personal wise.

Then, he was gone and was back to Dr. Robby. “Kiara said she was looking for you. I heard about a gunshot victim coming in; teenager, so his parents are gonna love that.”

You nodded. “I bet.”

With that, you went to find Kiara. Sure enough, there was a teenager who’d been shot, and two worried parents. Still, despite the mom talking down to you, you and Kiara managed to calm their nerves. Luckily, an hour later, the teenager woke up and could talk to his parents.

“Good job,” Kiara squeezed your shoulder. “I know that was rough.”

You nodded. “Yeah, it was.”

“Do you need to talk?”

You shook your head. “No, but thanks. Do you?”

One can only talk to so many people about injured or even dying loved ones. This was actually your first shift where no one had died. It should’ve been a great day just with that alone. Still, you had no idea what the rest of it had in store, and it was already five.

What was two more hours?

Kiara smiled. “I’m doing alright. I’m gonna go make my rounds, you should too.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” You teased, and she left with a small skip in her step.

Sighing, you leaned against the front desk, looking up at the monitor. Someone lightly kicked your heel, and you turned to see who it was.

“Good evening, Starshine.” Santos bumped your shoulder with hers.

You scoffed, shaking your head. “I gotta start calling you something.”

“How about ‘Goddess’?”

“‘Satan’ suits you more.”

The two of you giggled, and just as you were about to ask her how the rest of her day was, she said.

“Rumor has it, you and my roommate were really hitting it off in the break room.”

Your immediate reaction was to laugh, yet your heart still stammered. “Yeah, he’s nice.”

“Uh huh,” she bit her lip. “how nice?”

Side-eyeing her, you answered politely. “Not like you.”

She snickered. “I can be nice.”

“Sure, Jan.”

“Who?”

“Brady Bunch?”

Santos shook her head. “Never took you to have an old soul, Starshine.”

You heard two women whisper to each other as they sat behind the desk. Santos made a face before responding in Tagalog. The two women only shook their heads, giggling to each other. Santos slipped her arm through yours, leading you away.

“Don’t pay attention to them.” She said lightly. “Princess and Perlah just like to think they know and see everything around here.”

“I guarantee you, they don’t.” It left your lips before it left your mind. You’d gotten too comfortable, and now it was going to bite you in the ass.

Santos’ face dropped into a shocked smile as you stopped outside one of the rooms. “What?!”

Your chest felt like it was being constricted by a snake as your skin turned cold. Swallowing, you attempted to cover it all up. “It’s nothing, I’m just saying-.”

“-What do you know?” She lowered her voice, pulling you off more to the side hopefully away from others. “Oh my god, what did you do?”

“Santos-.”

“-No,” She grinned like the devil. “who’d you do?”

It should’ve been easy to brush it off; to act like she was crazy to assume that you had a big secret just from a stupid statement. Yet, the longer you were silent, the deeper the pit you dug yourself into.

“I promise, I’ll keep quiet.” Santos held her pinky up. “Pinky swear.”

You finally found your words. “That doesn’t mean shit.”

“We’re not doing the pussy version.” She clarified. “If I say anything, you break my finger.”

“Girl-.”

The doors to the ER opened wide and in came two paramedics wheeling a woman on a gurney. She was sitting up and alert thankfully, and you could get a clearer view of her face, and the sound of her voice.

“Where the fuck is that bitch?!” Kimi yelled. “The one who hit us, where is she?!”

As the paramedics tried to quiet her, you saw another familiar face rush to Kimi’s side. He had the same greasy hair and overall feel about him that you knew would never leave. It was almost embarrassing how surprised you were that she got back with him.

Still, it wasn’t simply seeing Trent that was the worst part of your day.

…What was two more hours?

[thepencilnerd]

A Lesson In Fear Extinction | part I

pairing: professor!Jack Abbot x f!psych phd student reader summary: You’re a senior doctoral student in the clinical department, burned out and emotionally barricaded, just trying to finish your final few years when Jack Abbot—trauma researcher, new committee member, and unexpectedly perceptive—starts seeing through you in ways you didn’t anticipate wc: 11.9k content/warnings: academic!AU, slow burn (takes places over 3 years lbffr), frat boys being gross + depictions of unwanted male attention/verbal harassment, academic power dynamics, emotional repression, discussions of mental health, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, angst, so much yearning, canon divergence, no explicit smut (yet/tbd but still 18+ MDNI, i will fight u) a/n: this started as a slow-burn AU and spiraled into a study in mutual repression, avoidant-attachment, and me trying to resolve my personal baggage through writing ~yet again~ p.s. indubitably inspired by @hotelraleigh and their incredible mohan x abbot fic (and all of their fics that live in my head rent free, tyvm) i hope you stay tuned for part II (coming soon, pinky promise) ^-^

The first thing you learn about Dr. Jack Abbot is that he hates small talk. That, and that he has a death glare potent enough to silence even the most self-important faculty members in the psych department.

The second thing you learn is that he runs his office like a bunker—door usually half-shut, always a little too cold, shelves lined with books no one's touched in decades. You step inside for your first meeting, and it feels like entering a war room.

"You’re early," he says, without looking up from the annotated manuscript he’s scribbling on.

"It's the first day of the school year."

"Same difference."

You take a seat, balancing your laptop on your knees. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, unsure if you should even bother.

Dr. Abbot finally glances up. Hazel eyes, sharp behind silver-framed glasses. "Let’s make this easy. Tell me what you’re working on and what you want from me."

You hesitate. Not because you don’t know. You’ve been rehearsing this on the walk over. You just hadn’t planned on him cutting through the pleasantries quite so fast.

"I’m running a mixed methods study on affective forecasting errors in anxiety and depression. Lab-based mood induction, longitudinal survey follow-up, and semi-structured interviews. I'm trying to map discrepancies between predicted and experienced affect and how that mismatch contributes to maladaptive emotion regulation patterns over time."

A beat.

"So you're testing whether people with anxiety and depression are bad at predicting their own feelings."

You blink. "Yes."

"Good. Start with that next time."

You bite the tip of your tongue. Roll the flesh between your teeth to ground yourself. There is no next time, you want to say. You’re only meeting with him once, to get sign-off on your committee. He wasn’t your first choice. Wasn't even your second. But your advisor's on sabbatical, and the other quantitative faculty are already overbooked.

Dr. Abbot leans back in his chair, examining you. "You’re primary is Robby, right?"

"Technically, yes."

He hums, not bothering to hide the skepticism. "And you want me on your committee because...?"

"Because you published that meta-analysis on PTSD and chronic stress. Your work on cumulative trauma exposure and dysregulated affect dovetails with mine on stress-related trajectories for internalizing disorders and comorbidity. I thought you might actually get what I’m trying to do."

His brow lifts, just slightly. "You did your homework."

"Well, I’m asking you for feedback on a dissertation that will probably make me break down countless times before it's done. Figured I should know what I was getting into."

Dr. Abbot's mouth twitches. You wouldn’t call it a smile, exactly. But it’s something.

"Alright," he says, flipping open a calendar. "Let’s see if we can find a time next week to go over your proposal draft."

You arch a brow. "You’ll do it?"

"You came in prepared. And you didn’t waste my time—as much as the other fourth years. That gets you further than you’d think around here."

You nod, heart thudding. Not because you’re nervous.

Because you have the weirdest feeling that Jack Abbot just became your biggest academic problem—and your most unexpected ally.

You see him again the next day. Robby was enjoying his last remaining few weeks of paternity leave and graciously asked Jack to sub for his foundations of clinical psychology course. Jack preferred the word coerced but was silenced by a text message with a photo of a child attached. The baby was cute enough to warrant blackmail. 

He barely got through the door intact: balancing a coffee cup between his teeth, cradling a half-closed laptop under one arm, and wrangling the straps of a clearly ancient backpack. His limp is more pronounced today. The small cohort watches him with a mix of curiosity and vague alarm.

You’re in the front row, laptop open before he even gets to the podium.

Jack drops everything onto the lectern with a heavy exhale, then glances around. His eyes catch on you and pause—not recognition yet, just flicker. Then he turns back to plug in his laptop.

You don’t expect to see him again two days later, striding into the 200-level general psych class you TA. The room’s already three-quarters of the way full when he walks in, and it takes him a moment before he does a brief double-take in your direction.

You return your attention to your notes. Jack stares.

"Small world."

"Nice to see you too, Dr. Abbot."

He sighs. "Why am I not surprised."

"Because the annual stipend increase doesn't adjust for inflation, I'm desperate, and there aren't enough grants given the current state of events?"

Jack mutters something under his breath about cosmic punishment and unfolds the syllabus from his coat pocket like it personally betrayed him.

When he finally settles at the front—coffee in one hand, laptop balancing precariously on the desk—you catch him bending and straightening his knee just under the edge of the table, jaw set tight. It’s subtle. Anyone else might miss it. But you’ve been watching.

You say nothing. 

A few students linger with questions—mostly undergrads eager to impress, notebooks clutched to their chests, rattling off textbook jargon in shaky voices. Jack humors them, mostly. Nods here, clarification there. But his eyes flick to you more than once.

You take your time with the stack of late enrollment passes. He’s still watching when you sling your tote over one shoulder and head for the door.

Probably off to the lab. Or your cubicle in the main psych building. Wherever fourth years disappear to when they aren’t shadowing faculty or training underqualified and overzealous research assistants on data collection procedures.

Jack shifts his weight onto his good leg and half-listens to the sophomore with the over-highlighted textbook.

His eyes stay on you when you walk out.

You make it three steps past the stairwell before the sound of your name stops you. It’s not loud—more like a clipped murmur through the general noise of backpacks zipping and chairs scraping—but it cuts straight through.

You turn back.

Jack’s still at the front, the stragglers now filtering out behind him. He doesn’t wave. Doesn’t beckon. Just meets your gaze like he already knows you’ll wait. You do.

He makes his way toward you slowly, favoring one leg. The closer he gets, the more you notice—the way his hand tightens on the strap of his backpack, the exhausted pull at his brow. He’s not masking as well today.

"Thanks for not saying anything," he says when he stops beside you.

You shrug. "Didn’t seem like you needed an audience."

Jack huffs a laugh, dry and faintly surprised. "Most people mean well, but—"

"They hover," you finish. "Or overcompensate. Or say something weird and then try to walk it back."

"Exactly."

You both stand there for a beat too long, campus noise shifting around you like a slow tide.

"I was heading to the coffee shop," you say finally. "Did you want anything?"

Jack tilts his head. "Bribery?"

"Positive reinforcement." The words trail behind a small grin. 

He shakes his head, mouth twitching. "Probably had enough caffeine for the day."

The corner of your lip curls higher. "As if there's such a thing."

That earns you a half-huff, half-scoff—just enough to let you believe you might have amused him.

"Well," you say, taking a step backward, "I’ve got three more RAs to train and one very stubborn loop to fix. See you around, Dr. Abbot."

"Good luck," he says, voice low but steady. "Don’t let the building eat you alive."

The next time he sees you, it’s after 10 p.m. on a Thursday.

You hadn’t planned on staying that late. But the dinosaur of a computer kept crashing, two of your participants no-showed, and by the time you’d salvaged the afternoon’s data to pull, it was easier to crash on the grad lounge couch than face the lone commute back to your apartment.

You must’ve fallen asleep halfway through reading feedback from your committee—curled up with your legs splayed over the edge of the couch and laptop perched on the cheap coffee table. The hall is mostly dark when Jack walks past. He’s heading toward the parking lot when he stops, mid-step.

For a moment, he just stands there, taking in the sight of you tucked awkwardly into yourself. You look comfortable in your oversized hoodie, if not for the highlighter cap still tucked between your fingers and mouth parted in a silent snore. 

He doesn’t say anything. Just watches you breathe for a few seconds longer than necessary.

Then, maybe with more curiosity than concern, he raps his knuckles gently against the doorframe. Once. Twice. Three times for good measure. 

No response.

Jack steps inside and calls out, voice pitched low but insistent. "This is not a sustainable sleep schedule, you know."

You stir—just barely. A vague groan escapes your lips as you shift and swat clumsily in the direction of the noise. "Just five more minutes... need to run reliability analyses..."

Jack chuckles, genuine and surprised.

He leans against the wall, watching you with no urgency to leave. "Dreaming about data cleaning. Impressive."

You make a small, unintelligible noise and swat again, this time with a little more conviction. Jack snorts.

After a moment, he sighs. Then carefully crosses the room, picks up the crumpled throw blanket from the floor, and drapes it over you without ceremony.

He flicks off the overheads and closes the door behind him with a quiet click. The hallway hums with fluorescent buzz as he limps toward the parking lot, shoulders tucked in against the chill.

A few weeks into the semester, the rhythm settles—lecture, discussion, grading, rinse and repeat. But today, something shifts.

You’re stacking quizzes at the front of the general psych lecture hall when Jack catches movement out of the corner of his eye. Two male students—frat-adjacent, all oversized hoodies and entitled swagger—approach your desk.

Jack looks up from his laptop. His expression doesn’t shift, but something in his posture does—a subtle, perceptible freeze. He watches from where he’s still packing up—hand paused on his laptop case, jaw tight, eyes narrowing just slightly as he takes in the dynamic. There’s a flicker of tension behind his glasses, a pause that says: if you needed him, he’d step in.

They swagger up with the kind of smirks you’ve seen too many times before—overconfident, under-read, and powered by too many YouTube clips of alpha male podcasts.

"Yo, TA—what’s up?" one says, leaning far too close to your desk. "Was gonna ask something about the exam, but figured I’d shoot my shot first. You free later? Coffee on me."

His friend elbows him like he’s a comedic genius. "Yeah, like maybe we could pick your brain about, like, how to get into grad school. You probably have all the insider tricks, right?"

You don’t even blink.

"Sure," you say sweetly. "I’d love to review your application materials. Bring your CV, your transcript, three letters of rec, and proof that you’ve read the Title IX policy in full. Bonus points if you can make it through a meeting without quoting Andrew Tate—or I’ll assume you’re trying to get yourself suspended." 

They stare. You smile.

One laughs uncertainly. The other mutters something about how "damn, okay," and both slink away.

Jack’s jaw works once. Then relaxes.

You glance up, like you knew he’d been watching.

"Well handled," he says, voice low as he steps beside you.

You offer a nonchalant shrug. "First years are getting bolder."

"Bold is one word for it."

You hand him a stack of leftover forms. "Relax, Dr. Abbot. I’ve survived undergrads before. I’ll survive again."

Jack gives a small, amused grunt. Then, after a beat: "You can call me Jack."

You glance up, brow raised. 

"Feels a little formal to keep pretending we’re strangers.

You don’t say anything right away. Just nod once, almost imperceptibly, then go back to gathering your things.

He doesn’t push it.

It’s raining hard enough to rattle the windows.

You’re having what your cohort half-jokingly calls a "good brain day"—sentences coming easy, theory clicking into place, citations at your fingertips. You barely notice the weather.

Jack glances up from your chapter draft as you launch into a point about predictive error and affective flattening. He doesn't interrupt. His eyes follow how you pace—one hand gesturing, the other holding your annotated copy, words sharp and certain.

Eventually, you pause mid-thought and glance at him.

He's already looking at you. 

Your hand flies up to cover your mouth. "Shit. I'm sorry—"

Jack shakes his head, lips twitching at the corners. "Don’t apologize. That was… brilliant."

You blink at him, the compliment stalling your momentum. The automatic response bubbles up fast—some joke to deflect, to downplay. You don't say it. Not this time.

Still, your fingers tighten slightly on the edge of the desk. "I don't know about brilliant..."

Jack doesn’t look away. "I do."

The silence stretches—not awkward, exactly, but thick. His gaze doesn’t waver, and it holds something steady and burning behind it.

You glance down at your annotated draft. The silence stays between you like a taut wire.

Jack doesn’t fill it. Just waits—gaze unwavering, as if giving you time to come to your own conclusion. No pressure, no indulgent smile. Just a quiet, grounded certainty that settles between you like weight.

Eventually, you exhale. The tension loosens—not completely, but enough to keep going.

"Okay," you murmur, almost to yourself.

Jack nods once, slowly. Then gestures at your printed draft. "Let’s talk about your integration of mindfulness in the discussion section. I’ve got a few thoughts."

Ethics is the last class of the week. The room's heating is inconsistent, the lights too bright, and Jack doesn’t know how the hell he ended up covering for Frank Langdon. Probably the same way he got stuck with Foundations and General Psych: Robby. The department’s too damn small and apparently everyone with a baby gets to vanish into thin air.

He steps into the room ten minutes early, coffee already lukewarm, and makes a half-hearted attempt to adjust the podium screen. The first few students trickle in, then more. He flips through the lecture slides, barely registering them.

And then he sees you.

You’re near the back, chatting with someone Jack doesn’t recognize. Another grad student by the look of him—slouched posture, soft jaw, navy sweater. The guy’s grinning like he thinks he’s charming. He leans in a little too close to your chair. Says something Jack can’t hear.

Jack tells himself he’s only looking because the guy seems familiar. Maybe someone from Walsh’s lab. Or Garcia’s. 

You laugh at something—light, genuine.

Jack tries not to react.

Navy Sweater says something else, more animated now. He gestures to your laptop. Points to something. You nudge his hand away with a grin and say something back that makes him blush.

Jack flips the page on his lecture notes without reading a word.

You’re still smiling when you finally glance up toward the podium.

Your eyes meet.

Jack doesn’t look away. But he doesn’t smile either.

The guy beside you says something else. You nod politely.

But you’re not looking at him anymore.

The next time you're in Jack’s office, the air feels different—autumn sharp outside, but warm in here.

He notices things. Not all at once, but cumulatively.

Your hair’s longer now. It’s subtle, but the ends graze your jaw in a way they hadn’t before. You’ve started wearing darker shades—amber, forest green, burgundy—instead of the lighter neutrals from early fall. Small changes. Seasonal shifts.

He doesn’t say anything about any of that.

But then he sees it.

A faint smudge of something high on your neck, near the curve of your jaw.

"Rough night?" he asks, lightly. The tone’s casual, but his eyes stay there a second too long.

You look up, blinking. Then seem to realize. "Oh. No, it’s—nothing."

He raises an eyebrow, just once. Doesn’t press.

What you don’t say: you went on a date last night. Your first real date since your second year. Navy Sweater—Isaac—had been sweet. Patient. Social psych, so he talked about group dynamics and interdependence theory instead of clinical cases. A refreshing change from your usual context. He’d been pining for you since orientation. You finally gave him a chance.

You’re not sure yet if it was a mistake.

Jack doesn’t ask again. He just shifts his attention back to your printed draft, flipping a page without comment.

But you can feel it—that subtle change in the room. Like something under the surface has started to stir.

Jack doesn’t speak again for the rest of the meeting, at least not about anything that isn’t your manuscript. But the temperature between you has shifted, unmistakable even in silence.

His feedback is sharp, incisive, and you take it all in—but your focus tugs sideways more than once.

You start to notice little things. The way his hands move when he talks—precise, economical, almost always with a pen twirling between his fingers. The way he reads with his whole posture—leaned in slightly, brows furrowed, lips moving just barely like he’s tasting the cadence of each sentence. How he always wears button-downs, sleeves pushed up to the elbows, like he’s never quite comfortable in them.

You catch the faint scruff at his jawline, the flecks of gray you hadn’t seen before in the fluorescent classroom light. The quiet groan of his office chair as he shifts to get more comfortable—though he never quite does. The occasional tap of his fingers against the desk when he’s thinking. The way his eyes track you when you pace, like he’s cataloging your rhythm.

When he leans in to gesture at a line in your text, you’re aware of his proximity in a way you hadn’t been before. The warmth that radiates off him. The way his breath hitches just slightly before he speaks.

When you ask a clarifying question, he meets your eyes and holds the gaze a fraction too long.

It shouldn’t mean anything. It probably doesn’t.

Still, when you pack up to leave, you don’t rush. Neither does he.

He walks you to the door, stops just short of it.

"Good luck with the coding," he says.

You nod. "Thanks. See you next week."

He hesitates, then nods once more. "Yeah. Next week."

And when you leave his office, the echo of that pause follows you down the hall.

At home, Jack goes through the same routine he always does. He hangs up his coat. Places his keys in the ceramic dish by the door. Fills the kettle. Rinses a clean mug from the rack without thinking—habit, even if it’s just for himself.

Then he sits down on the edge of the couch and unbuckles the prosthetic from his leg with practiced efficiency. He leans forward, slow and deliberate, and cleans the area with a soft cloth, checking the skin for signs of irritation before applying a thin layer of ointment. Only then does he begin to massage the tender spot where his leg ends, pressing the heel of his palm just enough to release tension. The ache is dull tonight, but persistent. It always is when the weather shifts.

He doesn’t turn on the TV. When he buckles it back on and gets up again, he moves around his apartment quietly, the limp less noticeable this time around.

While the water heats, he scrolls through emails on his phone—most from admin, flagged with false urgency. A few unread messages from students, one from a journal editor asking for another reviewer on a manuscript that costs too much to publish open access. He deletes half, archives another third. Wonders when it became so easy to ignore what used to feel so important.

The kettle whistles. He pours the water over the tea bag and sets it down, not bothering with the stack of essays he meant to look at hours ago.

He doesn’t touch them.

Not yet.

Tonight, his rhythm is off.

Instead, he looks over your latest draft after dinner, meaning only to skim. He finds himself rereading the same paragraph three times, mind somewhere else entirely. Your words, your phrasing, your comments in the margins—he's memorizing them. Not intentionally. It just happens.

Later, brushing his teeth, Jack thinks of how you’d looked that afternoon: eyes sharp, expression animated, tucked into a wool sweater the color of cinnamon. Hair falling forward when you tilted your head to listen, then swept back with one distracted hand. A little ink smudged on your finger. The edge of a smile you didn’t know you were wearing.

He wonders if you know how often you pace when you’re deep in thought. How your whole posture changes when something clicks—like your bones remember before your voice does. How you gesture with the same hand you write with, sometimes forgetting you’re holding a pen at all.

He tells himself it’s just professional attentiveness. That he’s tuned into all his students this way. That noticing you in detail is part of his job.

But it’s a lie. And the truth has started to settle into his bones.

He closes his laptop, shuts off the light.

He dreams in fragments—lecture notes and old conference halls, the scent of rain-soaked leaves, the sound of your voice mid-sentence. The ghost of a laugh.

He doesn’t remember the shape of the dream when he wakes.

Only the warmth that lingers in its place.

Across town, you’re on another date with Isaac.

He’s funny tonight—quick with dry quips, gentler than you'd expected. He walks you to a small café far from campus, one you’ve driven by a dozen times but never tried. He orders chai with oat milk. You get the pumpkin spice out of spite.

"Pumpkin spice, really?" he teases. "Living the stereotype."

"It’s autumn," you shoot back. "Let me have one basic pleasure."

You talk about everything but your dissertation—TV shows, childhood pets, the worst advice you’ve ever received from an advisor. Inevitably, you steer the conversation into something about work. It's a habit you seem to remember having since your earliest academic days, and one you don't see yourself breaking free from anytime soon.

"My undergrad advisor once told me I’d never get into grad school unless I stopped sounding ‘so West Coast.’ Still not sure what that means."

Isaac laughs. "Mine told me to pick a research topic ‘I wouldn’t mind reading about for the rest of my life.’ As if anyone wants to read their own lit review twice."

You laugh—genuine, belly-deep. Isaac flushes with pride and takes a long sip of his chai, eyes bright.

It's easy with him, you think. Talking, breathing, being. You lean back in your chair, cup warm between your palms, and realize you should feel more present than you do.

He’s exactly what you thought you needed. Different. Outside your orbit. Not tangled up in diagnoses or a department that feels more like a pressure cooker every day.

But still, your mind drifts. Not far. Just enough.

Back to the way Jack had looked at you earlier that day. The pause before he spoke. The silence that wasn’t quite silence.

You can’t put your finger on it. You don’t want to.

Isaac reaches across the table to brush his fingers against yours. You let him.

And yet.

You catch yourself glancing toward the door as he brushes your fingers. Just once. Barely perceptible. A flicker of something unformed tugging at the edge of your attention.

Not for any reason you can name. Not because anything happened. But because something did—quiet and slow and not easily undone.

You remember the way his brow furrowed as he read your chapter, the steadiness in his voice when he called your argument brilliant, the way he looked at you like the room had narrowed down to a single point.

Isaac is sweet. Funny. Steady. You should be here.

But your mind keeps slipping sideways.

And Jack Abbot—stubborn, sharp, unreadable Jack—is suddenly everywhere. In the cadence of a sentence you revise, where you hear his voice in your head asking, 'Why this framework? Why now?' In the questions you don’t ask Isaac because you already know how Jack would answer them—precise, cutting, but never unkind. In the sudden, irritating way you want someone to challenge you just a little more. To push back, to poke holes, to see if your argument still stands.

You find yourself wondering what he’s doing tonight. If he’s at home, pacing through a quiet, single-family home too large for his own company. If he’s reading someone else’s manuscript with the same intensity. If he ever thinks about the way you looked that afternoon, how you paced his office with fire in your voice and a red pen tucked behind your ear.

You think about the hitch in his breath when you leaned in. The way he’d watched you leave, that pause at the door.

And then Isaac says something—soft, thoughtful—and it takes you a second too long to register it. You nod, distracted, and reach for your drink again.

But your mind is already elsewhere.

Still with someone else.

You take another sip of your drink. Smile at Isaac. Let the moment pass.

But even then, even here—Jack is in the room.

You don’t see Jack again until the following Thursday. It’s raining hard again—something about mid-semester always seems to come with the weather—and the psych building smells like wet paper and overworked radiators.

You’re in the hallway, hunched over a Tupperware of leftover lentils and trying to catch up on grading, when his door creaks open across the hall. You glance up reflexively.

He’s standing there, brow furrowed, papers in hand. He spots you. Freezes.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The hallway is quiet, just the hum of fluorescents and the distant murmur of a class in session. Then:

"Grading?" he asks, voice lower than usual—quiet, but unmistakably curious.

You lift your fork, deadpan. "Don’t sound so jealous."

Jack’s mouth twitches—almost a smile. A pause, then: "You’re in Langdon’s office hours slot, right?"

"Only if I bring snacks," you quip, referring to the way Frank Langdon always lets the TA with snacks cut the line—a running joke in the department.

Jack raises his coffee like a toast. "Then I’ll keep walking." A dry little truce. An unspoken I’ll stay out of your way—unless you want me to stay.

You watch him disappear down the hallway, his limp slightly more pronounced than usual. And you find yourself thinking—about how many times you’ve noticed that, and how many times he’s never once drawn attention to it.

Your spoon scrapes the bottom of the container. You try to return to grading.

You don’t get much done.

Later that afternoon, you’re back in the general psych lecture hall, perched on the side of the desk with your TA notes while Jack clicks through the day’s slides. It’s the second time he’s teaching this unit and he’s not even pretending to follow the script. You know him well enough now to catch the subtle shifts—when he goes off-book, lets the theory breathe.

He doesn’t look at you while he lectures, but you can tell when he’s aware of you. The slight change in cadence, the way his eyes flick toward the front row where you sometimes sit, sometimes stand.

Today’s lecture is on conditioning. Classical, operant, extinction.

At one point, Jack pauses at the podium. He’s talking about fear responses—conditioned reactions, the body’s anticipatory wiring, what it takes to unlearn a threat. You’ve heard this part a dozen times in college and a dozen more in grad school. You’ve written about it. You've published on it. 

But when he says, "Fear isn’t erased. It’s overwritten," his eyes flick toward you—just for a second.

And your heart trips a little. Not in a dramatic, cinematic way—more like a misstep in rhythm, a skipped beat in a song you thought you knew by heart. Your breath catches for half a second, and you feel the heat rush to the tips of your ears.

It’s absurd, maybe. Definitely. But the tone of his voice when he said it—that measured, worn certainty—lands somewhere deep inside you. Not clinical. Not abstract. It feels like he’s speaking to something unspoken, to a part of you you've tried to keep quiet.

You shift your weight, pretending to re-stack a paper that doesn’t need re-stacking, pulse louder than it should be in your ears.

From your seat on the edge of the desk, you can see the way he gestures with his hand, slow and spare, like every movement costs something. The way he leans on his good leg. The way the muscles in his forearm flex as he flips to the next slide, still speaking, still teaching—none of this showing on his face.

Your eyes keep drifting back.

And he doesn’t look at you again. Not for the rest of the lecture.

But you feel the weight of that glance long after the class ends.

You stay after class, mostly to gather the quiz sheets and handouts. A few students linger, asking Jack questions about the exam. You hear him shift into that firm-but-generous tone he uses with undergrads, the kind that makes them think he’s colder than he is. Efficient. Clear.

When the last student finally packs up and leaves the room, Jack straightens. His eyes find you, soft but unreadable.

"Good lecture," you say.

He hums. "Not bad for a recycled deck."

You hand him the stack of forms. "You made it your own."

His thumb brushes over the edge of the papers. "So did you."

You don’t ask what he means. But the quiet between you feels different than it did at the start of the semester.

The room is mostly empty. Just the two of you. You're caught somewhere between impulse and caution. Approach and avoidance. There's a pull in your chest, low and slow, that makes you want to linger a second longer. To say something else. To ask about the lecture, or the line he looked at you during, or the kind of day he's had. But your voice sticks.

Instead, you shift again, adjust your grip on the papers in your hands, and let it all stay unsaid. But Jack’s already turned back toward the podium, gathering his things.

He doesn’t look up right away. Just slides his laptop into its case with more force than necessary, his jaw set tight. He’s annoyed with himself. The kind of annoyance that comes from knowing he missed something—not a moment, exactly, but the shadow of one. An opening. And he let it pass.

There was a question in your eyes. Or maybe not a question—maybe a dare. Maybe just the start of one. And he didn’t rise to meet it.

He tells himself that’s good. That’s safe. That’s professional.

But it doesn’t feel like a win.

His hand pauses on the zipper. He breathes out through his nose, not quite a sigh. Then glances toward the door.

You’re already gone.

You let the moment pass.

But you feel it. Like something just under the surface, waiting for another breach in the routine.

It happens late one evening, entirely by accident.

You’re in your office, door mostly closed, light still on. You meant to leave hours ago—meant to finish your email and call it—but the combination of caffeine and a dataset that refused to make sense kept you tethered to your desk.

Jack’s on his way out of the building when he hears it: a muffled sound from behind a half-open door just across the hallway from his own. He pauses, backtracks, and realizes for the first time exactly where your office is.

He hears it again—a quiet sniffle, then a low, barely-there laugh like you’re trying to brush it off.

He knocks.

You don’t answer.

"Hey," he says, voice just loud enough to carry but still gentle. "You alright?"

The sound of your chair creaking. A breath caught in your throat.

"Shit—Jack." You swipe at your face automatically, the name out before you think about it.

He steps just inside, not crossing the threshold. "Didn’t mean to scare you."

You shake your head, still blinking fast. "No, I just—burned out. Hit a wall. It’s fine. Nothing serious. Just… one of those days." You try for a joke.

Jack’s eyes sweep the room. The state of your desk. The way your sweater sleeves are pulled down over your hands. He shifts his weight.

There’s a long pause. Then he says, softer, "Can I—?"

You furrow your brows for a moment before nodding.

He steps in and leaves the door slightly cracked open behind him. He remains by the edge of your desk, a respectful distance between you. His presence is quiet but steady, and he doesn't pry with questions.

You exhale slowly, suddenly aware of the sting behind your eyes and how tight your shoulders have been all day. You look down, embarrassed, and when you reach for a tissue, your hand grazes his by accident.

You both freeze.

It’s nothing, really. A brush of skin. But it lands like something else. Not unwelcome. Not forgotten.

Jack doesn’t pull away. But he doesn’t linger, either.

Jack doesn’t move at first. He watches you for a moment longer, the quiet in the room settling unevenly.

"You sure you’re alright?" he asks, voice low, unreadable.

You nod, quick. "Yeah. I’m fine."

It comes too fast. Reflexive. But it lands the way you want it to—firm, closed.

Jack nods slowly. He doesn’t push. "Okay."

He steps back, finally. "Just—don’t stay too late, alright?"

You offer a smaller nod.

He hesitates again. Then turns and slips out without another word.

Your office feels warmer once he’s gone.

And your breath feels just a little easier.

Jack makes his way down the hallway toward the faculty lounge with the intention of grabbing a fresh coffee before his office hours. He passes a few students loitering in the corridor—chatter, laughter, the usual.

But then he hears your voice. Quiet, edged. Just outside the lecture hall.

"Isaac, I’m not having this conversation again. Not here."

Jack slows. Doesn’t stop, but slows and finds a small nook just shy of the corner. 

"I just don’t get why you won’t answer a simple question," Isaac says. "Are you seeing someone else or not?"

There’s a pause. Jack glances down at the coffee in his hand and debates turning around.

But then he hears your exhale—sharp, frustrated. "No. I’m not."

Isaac huffs. "Then what is this? You’re always somewhere else—even when we’re out, even on weekends. It’s like your head’s in another fucking dimension."

Jack feels the hairs on his neck stand up. He sees you standing with your back half-turned to Isaac, arms crossed tightly over your chest. Isaac’s face is flushed, his voice a little too loud for the setting. Your posture is still—too still.

Jack doesn’t step in. Not yet. He stays just out of sight, near the hallway alcove. Close enough to hear. Close enough to watch.

You draw in a long breath. When you speak, your voice is level, cold. "I just don’t think I’m in the right place to be in a relationship right now."

Isaac’s expression shifts—confused, hurt.

Jack watches the edge of your profile. How your shoulders lock into place. How your eyes go distant, like you’re powering down every soft part of yourself.

He doesn’t breathe.

Then someone laughs down the hallway, and the moment breaks. Isaac looks over his shoulder, distracted for half a beat, then turns back to you with something sharp in his eyes.

"You’re not even trying," he says, voice low but biting. "I’m giving you everything I’ve got, and you’re... somewhere else. Always."

You stiffen. Jack stays hidden, tension rippling down his spine.

"I know..." you say, voice tight. "I'm sorry. I really am. But this isn’t working."

Isaac’s face contorts. "Seriously? That’s it?"

You shake your head. "You deserve someone who’s fully here. Who wants the same things you do. I’m not that person right now."

He opens his mouth to say something, but your eyes have already gone cold. Guarded. Clinical.

"I don't want to whip out the 'it's not you it's me bullshit'," you continue, each word deliberate. "But this isn’t about you doing something wrong. It’s me. I can’t give more than I’ve already given."

Jack watches the shift in your posture—how you shut it all down, protect the last open pieces of yourself. He recognizes it because he’s done the same.

"I'm sorry." The words are genuine. "You deserve better." Your eyes don't betray you. For a moment, though, your expression softens. You look at Isaac like a kicked dog, like you wish you could offer something kinder. But then it’s gone. Your eyes go cold again, your voice a blade dulled only by exhaustion.

Then someone laughs again down the hallway, closer this time, and the moment scatters. Jack moves past without a word. Doesn’t look at you directly.

But he sees you.

And he doesn’t forget what he saw.

As he passes, you glance up. Your eyes meet.

Only for a second.

Then he’s gone.

Isaac doesn’t notice.

Time passes. You're back in Jack's office for your regular one-on-one—but something is different.

You sit a little straighter. Speak a little quieter. The bright curiosity you usually carry in your voice has hardened, now precise ,restrained. Not icy, but guarded. Pulled taut.

You’re not trying to be unreadable, but you can feel yourself defaulting. Drawing the boundaries back up.

Jack notices.

He doesn’t say anything, but you catch the slight narrowing of his gaze as he listens.

You’d gone all in on this program, this career—your research, your ambitions, your carefully calculated goals. Isaac was the first time you'd tried letting something else in. A possibility. A softness.

And it crashed. Of course it did.

Because that’s what you do. That’s the pattern. You’re excellent at control, planning, systems, at hypothesis testing and case management. But when it comes to anything outside the academic orbit—connection, trust, letting someone see the jagged pieces under the polish—you flinch. You fail.

And you’ve learned not to let that show. Not anymore.

At one point, you trail off mid-sentence. Jack doesn’t fill the silence.

You clear your throat. Try again.

There’s something steadier in his quiet today. You finally finish your point and glance up. His expression is neutral, but his gaze is… undivided.

"Are you okay?"

It catches you off guard. You blink once, not expecting the question, not from him, not here.

You start to nod. Then pause. Your throat feels tight for a second.

"Yeah," you say. "I’m fine."

Jack doesn’t look away. He holds your gaze a moment longer. Not pressing. Not interrogating. Just there.

"You should know better than to lie to a psychologist."

It’s almost a joke. Almost. Just enough curve at the corner of your mouth to soften it. You let out a breath—half a laugh, half a sigh. "Guess I need to reassess my baseline."

Jack leans forward slightly. Then, without saying anything, reaches over and closes your laptop. Slides it just out of reach on the desk.

You open your mouth to protest.

Jack cuts in, quiet but firm. "You need to turn your brain off before it short circuits."

You blink. He continues, gentler this time. "Just for a few minutes. You don’t have to push through every wall. Sometimes it’s okay to sit still. Breathe. Be a human being."

You look down at your hands, fingers curled around a pen you hadn’t realized you were still holding. There’s a long pause before you speak.

"I don’t know how to do that," you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

Jack doesn’t say anything at first. He lets the silence settle. "Start small," he says. "We’re not built to stay in fight-or-flight forever."

The words land heavier than you expect. You stare down at your hands, your knuckles paling against the pressure of your grip. Your breath stutters on the way out.

Jack doesn’t move, but his presence feels closer somehow—like the room has contracted around the two of you, warm and steady.

You set the pen down slowly. Swallow. Your eyes burn, but nothing falls.

Your jaw shifts. Just a fraction.

You don’t say anything at first.

Jack doesn’t either. But he doesn’t look away.

After a beat, he says—careful, quiet—"You want to talk about it?"

You hesitate, eyes fixed on a crease in your jeans. "No."

He waits. "I think you do."

You laugh under your breath. It’s not funny. "This how you talk to all of your clients?"

He doesn't bite.

"You don’t let up, do you?" You're only half-serious.

"I do," he pauses. "When it matters. Just not when my mentee is sitting in front of me looking like the world’s pressing down on their ribcage."

That makes you flinch. Not visibly, not to most. But he sees it. Of course he does. He’s trained to.

You look at your hands. He's not going to let this go so you might as well bite the bullet. "I'm not great at the whole... letting people in thing."

Jack doesn’t respond. Just shifts his weight slightly in his chair—almost imperceptibly. A silent invitation.

Your voice stays quiet. Measured. "I usually just throw myself into work. It’s easier. It’s something I can control."

Still, he says nothing.

You pick at the seam of your sleeve. "Other stuff... it gets messy. Too unpredictable. People are unpredictable."

Jack’s gaze never wavers. He doesn’t push. But the absence of interruption is its own kind of presence—steady, open.

Your lips twitch in a faint, humorless smile. "I know that’s ironic coming from someone studying emotion regulation."

He finally says, softly, "Sometimes the people who study it hardest are the ones trying to figure it out for themselves."

That makes your eyes flick up. His expression is calm. Receptive. No judgment. No smile, either. Just… presence.

You look down again. Your voice even softer now. "I don’t know how to do it. Not really."

Jack doesn’t interrupt. Just shifts, barely, like bracing.

And somehow, that makes you keep going.

"Grad school’s easier. Career’s easier. I can plan. I can control. Everything else just…" You trail off. Shrug, a flicker of helplessness.

He’s still watching you. The way he does when he’s listening hard, like there’s a string between you and he’s waiting to see if you’ll keep tugging it.

"I thought maybe..." You press your lips together. "I thought I could do it. Let someone in. Be a person. A twenty-nine year old, for fuck's sake." Your hands come up to your face. "But it just reminded me why I don’t."

You draw a slow breath. Something in your chest cracks. Not a collapse—just a fault line giving way.

Jack just stares.

Then, slowly, he leans back—not away, but into the quiet. He folds his hands in his lap, thumb tracing a familiar line over his knuckle. A practitioner’s stillness. A kind of careful permission.

"You know," he says, voice low, "when I first started in trauma research, I thought if I understood it well enough, I could outsmart it. Like if I had the right frameworks, if I mapped the pathways right, it wouldn’t touch me."

You glance up.

He exhales through his nose—dry, but not bitter. "Turns out, knowing the symptoms doesn’t stop you from living them. Doesn’t stop the body from remembering."

He doesn’t specify. Doesn’t have to.

His eyes flick to yours. "But you don’t have to be fluent in trust to start learning it. You don’t have to be good at it yet. You just have to let someone sit with you in the silence."

You study him. The sharpness of his jaw, the quiet behind his glasses, the wear in his voice that doesn’t make it weaker.

Your throat tightens, but you don’t speak.

He doesn’t need you to.

He just stays there—anchored. Steady. Unmoving.

Like he's not waiting for you to come undone.

He's waiting for you to believe you don’t have to.

It's Friday night. You’re walking a participant through the start of a lab assessment—part of the longitudinal stress and memory protocol you’ve spent the last year fine-tuning. The task itself is simple enough: a series of conditioned images, paired with soft tones. But you watch the participant's pulse rise on the screen. Notice the minute shift in posture, the tension in their jaw.

You pause. Slow things down.

"Remember," you say gently, "we’re looking at how your body responds when it doesn’t need to anymore. The point isn’t to trick you—it’s to see what happens when the threat isn’t real. When it’s safe."

The participant nods, still uneasy.

You don’t blame them.

Later, the metaphor clings to you like static from laundry fresh out of the dryer. Fear extinction: the process of unlearning what once kept you alive. Or something close to it.

You think of what Jack said. What he didn’t say. The silence he offered like a landing strip.

It replays in your head more than you'd like to admit—the dim warmth of his office, the soft click of your laptop closing, the unexpected steadiness in his voice. No clinical jargon. No agenda. Just space. Permission.

You remember the way he folded his hands. The faint scuff on the corner of his desk. The way he didn’t fill the air with reassurances or advice. Just stayed quiet until the quiet felt less like drowning and more like floating.

And it had made something in your chest stutter—because you'd spent years studying fear responses, coding reactivity curves and salience windows, mapping out prediction error pathways and understanding affect labeling.

But none of your models accounted for the way someone simply sitting with you could ease the grip of it.

Maybe, you think now, as you log the participant's final response, this is what fear extinction looks like outside of a lab setting. Not just reducing reactivity to a blue square or a sharp tone.

But learning—relearning—how it feels to let another person in and survive it.

Maybe Jack wasn’t offering a solution.

Maybe he was offering proof.

Is this what it looked like in practice? Not just in a scanner or a skin conductance chart—but in the quiet, everyday choice of showing up? Staying? 

Perhaps the data is secondary and this is the experiment.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re already in the middle of it.

The new semester begins in a blur of syllabi updates and shuffled office assignments. It's your final year before internship—a fact that looms and hums in the background like a lamp you can't turn off. You’re no longer the quiet, watchful second-year—you’ve published, you've taught, you've survived.

But you’re also exhausted. You’ve become adept at wearing competence like armor.

Jack is teaching an elective course this semester—Epigenetics of Trauma. You're enrolled in it—a course you didn’t technically need, but couldn’t resist for reasons you cared not to admit. 

When you pass him in the hallway—coffee in one hand, a paper balanced on his clipboard—he stops.

"Did you hear the department finally updated the HVAC?" he asks, and it’s not really about the HVAC.

You nod, a wry smile tugging at your mouth. "Barely. Still feels like a sauna most days."

Jack gestures to your cardigan. "And yet you persist."

You grin. It’s a tiny thing. But it stays.

Later that week, he pokes his head into your office between student meetings.

"You’re on the panel for the trauma symposium, right?"

The one you were flying to at the end of October—thanks to Robby, who had playfully threatened to submit your name himself if you didn’t volunteer. He’d needed someone to piggyback off of, he’d said, and who better than his best grad student—who was also swamped with grant deadlines, dissertation chapters, and a growing list of internship applications. You’d rolled your eyes and said yes, of course, because that’s what you did. And maybe because a part of you liked the challenge, academic mascochism and validation and all. 

You nod. "Talk and discussion."

He steps farther in. "If you’re open to it—I’d like to sit in."

You glance up. "You’ve already read the draft."

Jack smiles. "Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to hear it out loud."

You lean back slightly, watching him. "You going to grill me from the audience and be that one guy?"

Jack raises an eyebrow, amused. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

You hum. "Mmhm."

But you’re smiling now. Just a little.

It’s not quite vulnerability. Not yet. But it’s a beginning. A reset. The next slow iteration in a long series of exposures. New responses. New learning. Acceptance in the face of uncertainty.

The only way fear ever learns to quiet down.

Robby’s already three beers in and trying to argue that Good Will Hunting is actually a terrible representation of therapy while Mel King—your cohort-mate in the developmental area, always mindful and reserved—defends its emotional core like it’s a thesis chapter she’s still revising in her head.

Mentored by John Shen, Mel studies peer rejection and emotional socialization in early childhood, and she talks about toddlers with the same reverence some people reserve for philosophers. Her dissertation focuses on how early experiences of exclusion and inclusion shape later prosocial behavior, and she can recite every milestone in the Denver Developmental Screening Test like scripture.

She’s known for respectful debates, non-caffeinated bursts of energy, and an uncanny ability to babysit and code data at the same time. The kind of person who shows up with a snack bag labeled for every child at a study visit—and still finds time to coordinate the department's annual "bring your child to work" day. She even makes time to join you and Samira on your Sunday morning farmers market walks, reusable tote slung over one shoulder, ready to talk about plum varieties and which stand has the best sourdough.

Samira Mohan, meanwhile, sits with her signature whiskey sour and a stack of color-coded notecards she pretends not to be working on. She’s in the clinical area too—mentored by Collins—and her work focuses on how minority stress intersects with emotion regulation in underserved populations. Her analyses are razor sharp and sometimes terrifying. Samira rarely speaks unless she knows her words will land precisely—measured, deliberate, the kind of sharp that cuts clean.

Although still in her early prospectus phase, choosing to propose in her fifth year rather than fourth, her dissertation is shaping into a cross-sectional and mixed-methods exploration of how racial and gender minority stressors compound across contexts—academic, familial, and romantic—and the specific emotion regulation repertoires that emerge as survival strategies.

Samira doesn’t stir the pot for fun; she does it when she sees complacency and feels compelled to light a fire under it. That’s the Samira everyone knows and you love—the one who will quietly dismantle your entire line of argument with one clinical observation and a deadpan stare. She does exactly that now, throwing in a quote from bell hooks with the sly smile of someone who knows she’s lit a fuse just to watch it burn. 

It’s a blur of overlapping conversations, familiar inside jokes, cheap spirits, and the particular cadence of a group that knows each other’s pressure points and proposal deadlines down to the day. For a moment you let yourself exist in it—in the din, in the messy affection of your academic family, in the safety you didn’t know you’d built, much less deserved. Samira’s halfway through a story about a disastrous clinical interview when she turns to you, parts her mouth to speak, and looks up behind you—

"So is this where all the cool kids hang out?"

You feel him before you see him—Jack’s presence like a low hum behind you, the soft waft of his cologne cutting through the ambient chatter. The light buzz of conversation has your senses dialed up, awareness prickling at the back of your neck. You don’t turn. You don’t have to.

Robby lets out a loud "whoohoo" as Jack joins the table, hauling him into a bro hug with the miraculously coordinated enthusiasm of someone riding high off departmental gossip. Jack rolls his eyes but doesn’t resist, letting Robby thump his back twice before extracting himself but instead of settling there, he leans down slightly, voice pitched just for you. “Is this seat taken?”

Robby at 12 o'clock, Heather to his left, then Samira, Mel, you, and John. The large circular table meant for twelve suddenly feels exponentially smaller. The tablecloth brushes your knees, heavy and starchy against your lap. You feel warmth creep up your cheeks—probably from the alcohol (definitely not from anything else)—and scoot over slightly closer to Mel, giving him room to squeeze in between you and John. You can feel the shift in the air, the proximity of his sleeve against yours, the silent knowledge that he's there now—anchored in your orbit.

He slides in beside you with a quiet murmur of thanks, the space between your arms barely more than a breath. The conversation continues, but the air feels a little different now.

He nods politely to Shen on his left, mutters something about being tricked into another committee, then glances your way—dry, amused, measured.

Always measured.

You feel Jack beside you—not just his sleeve brushing yours, but his presence, calm and dense as gravity. His knee bumps yours beneath the table once, lightly, maybe unintentional. Maybe not. The cologne still lingers faintly and you try to focus on what Samira is saying about peer-reviewed journals versus reviewer roulette, but it’s impossible to ignore the warmth radiating from his side, the way your skin registers it before your brain does. He's like a human crucible. You keep your gaze trained forward, sipping your drink a little too casually, pretending you don’t notice the way your heartbeat’s caught in your throat.

The charged air gives you a spike of bravery—fleeting, foolish, and just enough. Before you let the doubt creep into your veins, you nudge your knee toward Jack’s beneath the table, thankful for the tablecloth concealing the movement. You feel him exhale beside you—quiet, but unmistakable—and something inside you hums in response.

You feel Jack’s thigh tense against yours. The contact lingers, neither of you moving. Moments pass. Nothing happens.

So you cross your legs slowly, right over left, deliberately, letting the heel of your shoe graze his calf.

He stills.

The conversation around the table doesn’t pause, but you’re aware of every breath, every shift in weight beside you. The air between you tightens, stretched across the tension of everything unsaid.

Everyone else is occupied—Robby and Shen deep in conversation about conference logistics, Heather and Samira bickering over which of them was the worse TA, Mel nodding along and adding commentary between sips of cider. Jack sees the opening and seizes it.

He leans in, just slightly, until his shoulder brushes yours again—barely perceptible. "Subtle," he murmurs, voice pitched low, teasing.

You arch a brow, still facing forward. “I have no idea what you're talking.”

"Of course not," he says, dry. "Just sudden interest in the hem of the tablecloth, is it?"

You swirl your drink, letting the glass tilt in your fingers. "I’m a tactile learner. You know this."

He huffs a quiet breath—could almost be a laugh. "Must make data cleaning a thrilling experience."

"Only when R crashes mid-run." You angle your knee back toward his under the table, a soft bump like punctuation.

Jack tilts his head slightly, eyes flicking to yours. "Dangerous territory."

"Afraid of a little ambiguity, professor?"

His mouth twitches at the title. 

You sip slowly, buying time, letting the quiet between you stretch like a drawn breath. His thigh is still pressed against yours. Still unmoving. Still deliberate.

"You always like to push your luck this much?" you murmur, keeping your eyes trained on your drink.

Jack hums low. "Only when the risk feels... calculated."

You glance at him, the corner of your mouth twitching. "Bit of a reward sensitivity bias tonight, Dr. Abbot?"

He shrugs. "You’ve been unintentionally reinforcing bad behavior."

You smirk, but say nothing, letting the conversation around you swell again. Robby starts ranting about departmental politics, Heather counters with a story about a grant mix-up that almost ended in flames. You sip your drink, Samira taps her notecards absently against her palm.

The rest of the evening hums on, warm and loose around the edges. When it finally winds down—people slowly gathering coats, hugging their goodbyes—you rise with the group, still a little buzzed, still aware of Jack’s presence beside you like heat that never quite left your side.

Under the soft yellow glow of the dim lobby chandelier, everyone says their goodnights—laughing, tipsy, hugging, good vibes all around. Jack is the last to leave the circle, and as you turn toward the elevator, you glance over your shoulder at him. "See you tomorrow," you say. "Last day of the conference—only the most boring panels left."

Jack lifts a brow. "You wound me."

You grin. "I’m just saying—if you show up in sweats and a baseball cap for your presentation, I’ll pretend not to know you."

The elevator dings. The doors slide open. You step inside, leaning against the railing. Jack stays behind. 

"Goodnight," he says, eyes lingering. You nod, then turn, pressing the button for your floor. Just as the doors begin to glide shut, a hand slides into the narrow threshold—the border between hesitation and something else.

Palm flat against the seam. That sliver of metal and air.

He steps in slowly. Quiet. And presses the button for the same floor.

The doors slide shut behind him with a soft hiss.

Silence hums between you.

You don’t speak. Neither does he. But your awareness of each other sharpens—your breath shallow, his jaw tense. The elevator jolts into motion.

Jack shifts slightly, turning his body just enough to lean back against the railing—mirroring you. His arm grazes yours. Then the back of his hand brushes against your knuckles.

A spark—not metaphorical, not imagined—zips down your arm.

Neither of you pulls away.

You glance sideways.

He’s already looking at you.

Your eyes meet—held, quiet.

Not a word is exchanged. But something breaks—clean and sharp, like a snapped circuit. Long-simmering, unvoiced tension rising to the surface, clinging to the pause between heartbeats and motion-sensor lighting.

Jack leans in—not tentative, not teasing. Just close enough that his breath grazes your cheek. Your breath catches. His proximity feels like a fuse. He’s watching you—steady, unreadable. But you feel the pressure in the air shift, charged and thick.

"I don’t know what this is," you finally whisper. Your throat feels incredibly dry. A sharp juxtaposition to the state of your undergarments. 

Jack’s voice dips low. "I think we’ve both been trying not to look too closely."

Your chest tightens. His hand twitches by his side. Flexing. Gripping. Restraint unraveling. His breath shallows, matching yours—fast, hungry, starved of oxygen and logic. And then, like a spark to dry kindling, you thread your fingers through his.

Heat erupts between your palms, a jolt that hits your spine. You don’t flinch. You don’t pull away. You tighten your grip.

He exhales—shaky, like it’s cost him everything not to close the distance between your mouths. The electricity is unbearable, like a dam on the edge of collapse.

And still, neither of you move. Not quite yet.

But the air is thick with the promise: the next breach will not be small.

The elevator dings.

You both flinch—just barely.

The doors slide open.

You release his hand slowly, fingers slipping apart like sand through mesh, reluctant and slow but inevitable. Jack's hands stay in a slightly open grip. 

"I should..." you begin, breath catching. You clear your throat. "Goodnight, Jack."

Your voice is soft. Almost too soft.

Jack nods once. Doesn’t reach again. Doesn’t follow.

"Goodnight," he says. Low, warm. Weighted.

You step out. Don’t look back.

The doors begin to close.

You glance over your shoulder, once—just once.

Your eyes meet through the narrowing gap.

Then the doors seal shut, quiet as breath.

For now.

Contrary to Samira's reappraisal of you joining her for Friday night drinks, you begrudgingly allow her to drag you out of your cave. Just the two of you—girls’ night, no work talk allowed, and no saying "I need to work on my script" more than once. She makes you wear lip gloss and a top that could almost be considered reckless, and you down two tequila sodas before you even start to loosen your shoulders.

You’re halfway through your third drink when a pair of guys approaches—normal-looking, vaguely grad-school adjacent, maybe from public health or law school. Samira gives you a look that says seems safe enough, and you need this, and so you nod. You dance.

The one paired off with you is tall, not unpleasant. He asks before he touches you—his hand at your waist, then your hip, then lightly over your ribs. You nod, give consent. He smells like good cologne and something sugary, and he’s saying all the right things.

But something feels wrong.

You realize it halfway through the song, when his hand brushes the curve of your waist again, gentle and careful and... wrong. Too polite. Too other.

You think of the way Jack’s fingers had curled between yours. The heat of his palm against yours for a single minute in the elevator. The way he hadn’t touched you anywhere else—but it had felt like everything.

You close your eyes, trying to ground yourself. But you can’t stop comparing.

You’ve danced with this stranger for five whole minutes, and it hasn’t come close to the electricity of the sixty seconds you spent not speaking, not kissing, not touching anything else in the elevator with Jack.

It shouldn’t mean anything but it means everything. 

You step back, thanking the guy politely, claiming a bathroom break. He nods, not pushy, already scanning the room.

Samira follows a song change later. "You okay?"

You nod. Then shake your head. Then say, "I think I might be fucked."

Samira just hands you a tissue, already knowing. She looks understanding. Like she sees it, too—and she's not going to mock you for it.

"Yep," she says gently while fixing a stray baby hair by your ear. "Saw it the second Jack joined us for drinks that night." 

The night air feels cooler after the club, like the city is exhaling with you. You and Samira walk back toward the rideshare pickup, her arm looped loosely through yours.

You don’t say anything for a long moment. She doesn’t push.

"I don’t even know what it is," you murmur eventually. "I just know when that guy touched me, it felt like wearing someone else’s coat. Warm, sure, but not mine."

Samira hums in agreement. "Jack feels like your coat?"

"No," you sigh. Then, after a beat, quieter, "He feels like the one thing I forgot I was cold without."

She doesn’t say anything. Not right away. Just squeezes your hand. "So what’re you gonna do about it?"

"Scream. Cry. Have a pre-doctoral crisis," you say flatly.

Samira snorts. "So… Tuesday." You bite back a smile, shoving her shoulder lightly but appreciating the comedic diffusion nonetheless.

She exhales through her nose, gentler now. "If it’s any consolation, I see the way he looks at you."

Your eyes flick toward her. She continues, tone still soft, sincere. "Not just that night during drinks, but during your flash talk. I’ve never seen him that… emotive. It was like he was mesmerized. And even back during seminar last year, when he was filling in for Robby? Same thing. I remember thinking, damn, he listens to her like she’s rewriting gravity."

You should feel elated. Giddy. Instead, you bury your face in your hands and emit a sound that can only be described as a dying pterodactyl emitting its final screech. "I hate my fucking life." 

"It's going to be okay!" Samira tries to hide her laughter but it comes through anyway, making you laugh through teary eyes. "You will be okay." 

You shake your head back and forth, trying to make yourself dizzy in hopes that this was all a dream. 

"Who was it that said 'boys are temporary, education is forever?'" Samira all-but-sang. 

"Do not quote me right now, Mira," you groan, dragging the syllables like they physically pain you. "I am but a husk with a degree-in-progress."

The week that follows is both everything and nothing. You go to class. You show up to lab meetings. You present clean analyses and nod through questions from the new cohort of freshmen. You even draft two paragraphs of your discussion section. One of three discussion sections. It looks like functioning.

Since submitting the last batch of internship applications, your dissertation committee meetings have gone from once a week with each member to once every three. You'd already run all of your main studies, had all the data cleaned and collated, and even coded all of the analyses you intended on running. Now all that was left was the actual writing and compiling of it all for a neat, hundred-or-so-page manuscript that no one would read. 

It’s your first meeting with Jack since flying back from the conference.

In all honesty, you hadn’t given it much thought. Compartmentalization had become a survival strategy, not a skill. It helped you meet deadlines, finish your talk, submit your final batch of internship applications—all while pretending nothing in that elevator happened. At least not in any way that mattered.

Now, seated outside his office with your laptop open and your third coffee in hand, you realize too late: you never really prepared for this part. The after.

You hear the door open behind you. A familiar cadence of steps—steady but slightly uneven. You know that gait.

"Hey," Jack says, as calm and neutral as ever. Like you didn’t almost combust into each other two weeks ago.

You glance up. Smile tight. "Hey."

"Come in?"

You nod. Stand. Follow him inside.

The office is the same as it’s always been—overcrowded with books, one stack threatening to collapse near the filing cabinet. You sit in your usual chair. He sits in his. The silence is comfortable. Professional.

It shouldn’t feel like a loss.

Jack taps a few keys on his laptop. "You sent your methods revisions?"

"Yesterday," you say. "Just a few small clarifications."

He hums. Nods. Clicks something open.

You sip your coffee. Pretend the sting behind your ribs is just caffeine.

The moment stretches.

He finally speaks. "You look… tired."

You smile, faint and crooked. “It’s November.”

Jack lets out a quiet laugh. Then scrolls through the document, silent again.

But the air between you feels thinner now. Like something’s missing. Or maybe like something’s waiting.

He reads.

You watch him.

Not just glance. Not just notice. Watch.

Your coffee cools in your hands, untouched.

He doesn't ask why you weren't at the symposium he moderated. Or if you were running on caffeine and nerves from recent deadlines. And definitely not why you booked an earlier flight home from the conference.

You search his face like it might hold an answer—though you’re not entirely sure what the question is. Something about the last two weeks. The way he hasn’t said anything. The way you haven’t either. The way both of you pretended, remarkably well, that everything was the same.

But Jack’s expression doesn’t change. Not noticeably. He just skims the screen, fingers occasionally tapping his trackpad. The glow from his monitor traces the line of his jaw.

Still, you keep looking. Like maybe if you study him hard enough, you’ll find a hint of something there.

A crack. A tell. A memory.

But he stays unreadable.

Professional.

And you hate that it hurts.

It eats at you.

Why does it hurt?

You knew better than to let this happen. To let it get this far. This was never supposed to be anything other than professional, clinical, tidy. But somewhere between all the late-night edits and long silences, the boundaries started to blur like ink in water. 

You tell yourself to turn it off. That part in your brain responsible for—this—whatever it was. Romantic projection, limerence, foolishness. You’d diagnose it in a heartbeat if it weren’t your own.

You just need to get through this meeting. This last academic year. Then you'd be somewhere far away for internship, and then graduated. That’s all.

Then you could go back to pretending you’re fine. That everything was okay.

The entire time you’d been staring—not at Jack, not directly—but just past his shoulder, toward the bookshelves. Not really seeing them. Just trying to breathe.

Jack had already finished reading through your edits. He read them last night, actually—when your email came through far too late. He’d learned to stay up past his usual bedtime about two weeks into joining your committee.

But he wasn’t just reading. Not now.

He was watching. Noticing the subtle shifts in your brow, the tension at the corners of your mouth. You didn’t look at him, but he didn’t need you to.

Jack studied people for a living. He’d made a career out of it.

And right now, he was studying you.

You snap yourself out of it. A light head bobble. A few quick blinks. A swallow. "All done?" you ask, voice dry. Almost nonchalant, like you hadn’t been staring through him trying to excavate meaning.

Jack lifts an eyebrow, subtle, but nods. "Yeah. Looks solid."

You nod back. Like it’s just another meeting. Like that’s all it ever was.

Then you close your laptop a little too quickly. "I think I’m gonna head out early, I don’t feel great," you offer, keeping your tone breezy, eyes still somewhere over his shoulder.

Jack doesn’t call you on it. Not outright.

But he watches you too long. Like he’s flipping through every frame of this scene in real time, and none of it quite adds up.

"Alright," he says finally. Even. Quiet. "Feel better."

You nod again, already halfway to the door.

You don’t look back.

"Hey—" Jack’s voice catches, right as the door swings shut.

Your hand freezes on the handle.

You hesitate.

But you don’t turn around.

Just one breath.

Then you keep walking.

You make it halfway down the hall before you realize your hands are shaking.

Not much. Barely. Just enough that when you fish your phone out of your coat pocket to check the time, your thumb slips twice before you unlock the screen.

He’d called your name.

And maybe that wouldn’t mean anything—shouldn’t mean anything—except Jack Abbot isn’t the type to call out without a reason. You’ve worked with him long enough to know that. Observed him enough in clinical and classroom settings. Hell, you’ve studied men like him—hyper-controlled, slow to show their hand. You’d written an entire paper on the paradox of behavioral inhibition in high-functioning trauma survivors and then realized, two weeks into seminar, that the paragraph on defensive withdrawal could’ve been subtitled See: Jack Abbot, Case Study #1.

You’d meant to file that away and forget it.

You haven’t forgotten it.

And now you're walking fast, maybe too fast, through the undergrad psych wing like the answer might be waiting for you in your lab inbox or the fluorescence of your office.

You don’t stop until you’re behind a locked door with your laptop powered off and your hands braced on either side of your desk.

You breathe.

In through your nose. Out through your mouth.

Again.

Again.

Still—when you close your eyes, you see the look on his face.

That same unreadable stillness.

Like he wanted to say something else.

Like he knew something else. And maybe—maybe—you did too.

[leo-in-the-pitt]

Until The End

This is Chapter 3 of the Beginning to End series !

Summary: With your 2 year anniversary coming up with Dr. Jack Abbot, you’re trying to figure out his secret plans and see if you can get over the final hurdle in your relationship before it's too late.

Warnings: Established relationship, age gap (unspecified but reader late 20s, Abbotts an old man), beginning is all fluff but the end is something else, strong language, sexual tension, unprotected p in v sex, fingering, handjob/blowjob, all the dirty stuff tbh 

Word Count 8.8K+, was shooting for 10k but I'll take it

Until The End 

Monday

You caught Jack talking to Robby that Monday afternoon. Both of you were busy obviously planning something for your 2 year anniversary. He was the absolute worst at keeping secrets but, apparently when it came  these plans he had nothing to say.

He ordered some pizza that night for dinner and you two sat next to each other on the couch. He seemed on edge, not making much conversation. He usually never shuts up during movies. He kept checking his phone and you could see him typing but, didn’t bring it up.

“You sure you’re alright Jack?”

He had a mouthful of pizza. “Yeah why?”

“You’re acting really sketchy.”

“I’m just trying to eat my pizza.”

“Mhm, so what exactly is the plan for Friday?”

“I already told you, it’s a surprise. Stop trying to spoil it for yourself.”

“Well you know that I hate surprises. I’m a planner Jack. I need to know what we’re doing. What am I supposed to wear?”

“I already told you I picked an outfit out for you.”

“Okay but what if it doesn’t fit? Or I don’t look good in it? There is an outfit right? You’re not just trying to get me naked?”

“Well, now that you mention it, that’s not too bad of an idea.”

“You’re just full of jokes tonight aren’t you Abbott?” 

Everybody called him Abbott, only you called him Jack, unless you were annoyed with him.

“Oh, now I’m Abbott?” He nodded his head in disbelief. 

“Until I know what we’re doing Friday, you’re Abbott.”

“Look who has the jokes now.”

You let the topic go for the rest of the night. But if there was one thing about you, you weren’t going to let this go. He would hear about it again.

———————————————————————

Tuesday

It was always a bit of a habit to go out for food together at least once a week. You both hated cooking and doing the dishes so this ended up being one of the easiest compromises in the past 2 years.

You typically ended up at your favorite diner, which he was most definitely tired of but, it kept you happy so he kept going. It was around noon when you arrived to the diner with him. Both ordering your usual without even needing the menus.

“You want to spilt a milkshake?”

“But you never want one?”

“Yeah but, I know that you do. And I’m feeling extra nice in this moment.”

“What are you doing? Making sure I don’t leave you before we hit 2 years?”

“Yeah I’m just buttering you up since there’s actually no plans for Friday.”

“You’re really pushing it Abbott, you know that?”

“You know you love it.” He said with his crooked smirk that drove you wild even after all this time.

You said nothing just shook your head at him. But don’t worry, you got your milkshake. 

Once you got home it was already time to start getting ready for a nap since you’d be working 2 night shifts back to back with each other before your anniversary. Maybe you could find out if he told anybody else about his secret plans.

You were dragging after your 3 hour power nap. No amount of sleep was ever going to be enough for you. But Abbott, of course, was already bouncing off the walls ready to leave. 

“We’re going to be late because of you.” He yelled from the kitchen. 

“Forgive me for wanting to cover up my under eye bags Abbott.”

“You gonna call me Abbott at work too?”

“Depends, are you going to tell me the plans?”

He rolled his eyes, “I’ll be in the car waiting for you.” And he walked out of the apartment.

Once you got to work, of course you had to go say hi to Langdon.

“What’s up kid?” He put out his hand for your handshake.

“I’m on a mission tonight.”

“Oh god that’s never a good thing.”

“First of all the last mission I went on here was to get Abbott, and I succeeded so I’m trying again tonight.”

“Wa- wait, did you just call him Abbott? What happened?” His eyes widening. 

“He’s Abbott until I know what Fridays plan is.”

Yet another man rolling his eyes at you tonight. “Why are you trying to ruin the fun?”

“I hate surprises Langdon, like I despise them. It’s eating me alive slowly and painfully. Like look at him over there whispering with Robby.” You looked over and squinted while waving at the two of them. 

Robby waved back laughing and Abbott just shook his head without cracking a smile. “They’re probably talking about it. Do you know anything?” You turned to him with puppy dog eyes. 

“I already told you, no. You’re my best friend and Robby is his best friend, why don’t you go ask him?” He shrugged. 

“You know what? You’re right. Maybe I should, I’ll be right back!” You skipped over to Robby and Abbott.

“Oh shit, I was just kidding.” He yelled but, you were already gone. 

You marched yourself over across the ER to the nurses station they were standing behind. Basically skipped over, smiling like a child.

“What’s the hot gossip boys?”

“I know nothing. I have nothing to say. I’m going home to my wife. Have a good night you two.” He waved directly at you, smiling. And he was gone.

You glared over at Abbott. “What did you do tell everyone not to talk to me until Friday?”

“That’s exactly what I did. Nobody knows anything anyway but, I don’t want them putting ideas into that mind of yours.”

The rest of the night was hectic. No more chances to trick anyone into spilling details. Not even a chance to sit down. You decided to give a rest, at least for the night.

———————————————————————

Wednesday 

He seemed different on the drive to work, glancing out the window, his mind racing with plans and details of the Friday plans, before forcing a calm smile as you asked him if he was okay. He was feeling guilty for not letting you in on the secret yet, but you had no idea.

“I’m telling you, I’m so ready for this week to be over.” 

Each night that you worked together, when things would slow down, even just slightly, you find each other to sit down for a quiet moment to catch up on charting.

Jack taps his fingers on the desk nervously, the clock ticking by slowly. He’s been planning the surprise for weeks, and now, the moment is almost here. But his mind was all over the place. He starts typing up a note, clearly not paying attention to what keys he was hitting.

You glare over at his screen. Words underlined in red and blue. Mistakes written all over the page.

“Hey, what’s up with you?” You sat back and glared at him. His mind clearly somewhere else. 

No response. For a moment, he’s lost in the thought of how his life is about to change.

“Earth to Abbott?” You waved your hand directly in front of his face. 

“What happened?” His head sharply turned to you.

You pointed to his screen. “What’s going on there? Forgot how to type?”

He rubs both eyes. Took a deep sigh. “Guess I’m just really tired tonight.”

“Wow, you tired? Never.”

———————————————————————

Thursday 

Tomorrow’s the big day. 2 years down, hopefully forever to go.

You were absolutely exhausted after the past 2 nights. But to flip your sleep schedule you were only planning a quick nap. Abbott on the other hand was basically ready for another shift.

“I will never understand how you require so little sleep.”

“And I don’t know how you need so much.”

He cooked you dinner, dishes are still in the sink. Sitting on the couch, a candle flickering on the coffee table, soft music playing in the background. Music from a playlist you’ve been adding to since you were a teenager in high school. It was filled with cheesy love songs, songs that you wanted at your future wedding.

“Can you believe it’s been almost two years?” You said laying your head on his chest.

“I know. Feels like it flew by yet also like I’ve known you my whole life. I still remember our first official date, how nervous we both were.” He caressed your hair out of your face. 

“You kept fiddling with your napkin the entire time."

“Hey, I was trying to impress you. Clearly, it worked well enough to keep you around all this time. I was trying so hard not to mess anything up. You were just sitting there, looking as beautiful as ever. It was intimidating.”

"I was nervous too! But honestly, the moment you started talking, I felt so at peace. Like I knew I was in the right place with you. I didn’t think even for a second that we’d end up here, like this, happier than ever.”

“I think that was the moment I knew. Something about you, just made sense. Just remember thinking, 'I really hope this isn’t the only date.'"

“And here we are, two years later.”

"And I wouldn’t trade a second of it. That night changed everything. You changed my life in all the best ways. I didn’t even know what I needed that until I met you.”

“I feel safe here in your arms. I could stay here with you forever and be completely okay.” You leaned up to kiss him. “So tomorrow’s the big day. Got anything special planned Abbott? This is your last chance to tell me!” You said while looking into his big green eyes.

“Those big beautiful brown eyes of your will get your anywhere if you try hard enough. But not tonight babygirl, not tonight.”

“I don’t quit Abbott!”

“I’m just gonna keep it simple. Just us being together. Nobody else.”

———————————————————————

Friday 

You slept for 12 hours straight Thursday night into Friday. You were woken by the smell of breakfast cooking. 

Still half asleep you said, “Oh god he’s going to burn the apartment down.” You quickly hoped out of bed. Wearing his clothes already, you grabbed a pair of socks out of his drawer, of course, and headed towards the kitchen.

As you walked out of the bedroom, the morning light streamed through the windows of the apartment. The clinking of plates and kitchen utensils filled the room. Your eyes light up at the sight in front of you. 

Pancakes, fruit, freshly brewed coffee, and the biggest bouquet of red roses you’ve ever seen. Balloons tied all around the apartment. A gift box in the middle of the kitchen island. And Abbott standing there smiling at you, ear to ear. His silver curls shined in the rising sun beaming through the shades. Still in the same clothes he went to sleep in. White t-shirt and gray boxers. 

God, how are you going to get through the day with him looking like that? You thought to yourself. 

“What’s all this for?”

“Haha you’re so funny.”

“I got jokes too. But really, happy anniversary to my favorite guy on the planet. I love you.”

“Happy anniversary babygirl. Love you more than you know.”

“Homemade breakfast? On our anniversary? You really are a professional at this ‘romance’ thing huh? Why do I feel like there’s more going on here than just pancakes?”

Next thing you know his hands were on your neck pulling you for a kiss. It was passionate. The type of kiss you don’t want to ever stop. But he pulled away first.

“I wasn’t done with you.” You said. 

“You’ll get more later, don’t worry.”

“You’ve outdone yourself already Abbott”

“Still Abbott huh?”

“Maybe you’ll earn your name back by the end of the day.”

“Oh, I plan on it.” In a lowered tone, “I’ll be hearing it nice and loud tonight.” Again with that smirk.

“What did you just say?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Oh you heard him loud and clear. You just wanted him to say it directly to you.

“Here.” He picked the gift box up off the table and handed it to you. “Just a little something to start the day with. Don’t worry, there’ll be way more later.”

You unwrapped the box slowly. A small jewelry box. Oh shit, this better not be a ring right here, right now.

You opened it. A necklace. Golden with his initial and birthstone.

“So everybody knows that you’re mine. Needed you to have something special, something you can keep close to your heart.”

“Oh my god. Put it on my right now.”

You took the necklace out of the box, handed it to him and turned around. He brushed your hair out of the way, gently rubbing the back of your neck. Shivers went down your back. You could feel him just centimeters away from you. Nothing separating your bodies except the thin fabric. 

God you were touched deprived.

You turned back around to him while holding onto the necklace. “I love it Jack.”

“Ah, I get my name back.” He smiled.

“For now at least.” You tilted your head at him.

“Wait let me go grab your gift!” You ran back into the room to get his present.

"Whispering as low as he could get, "I'll be hearing my name loud from you tonight." You could here him laughing from the kitchen.

"What did you just say?", you yelled from the bedroom. No response.

“Here!” You were so proud to hand it to him.

Two small boxes. “Which should I open first?

“This one! Not as poetic as your gift but just open it."

He opened up the box to reveal the watch.

“Holy shit!” He looked up at you. “You shouldn’t have.”

“New salary is treating me well I guess. Take it out! Look at the back!”

He took it out of the box to see the dates engraved. The day you met and the day you started dating. 

“I figured no matter where you go, you’d have a little piece of us with you. Plus, I just thought it’d look amazing on you."

“Can’t wait to show this off at work.” He immediately put it on his left wrist.

“Well, just don’t get blood all over it though. Come on open the other one!”

This one with a last second buy when you were leaving the jewelry store. A chain to perfectly match the watch. You’d been telling him since you got together how good he’d look with one on but, he never got one.

“I guess great minds think alike huh?” He winked at you. “Well now you have to put it on me.” He handed it to you and turned around. As quietly as he possibly could, he muttered, “You’ll be seeing this up close later.”

“Why the hell do you keep doing that?”

“Doing what?” He laughed.

“Mumbling under your breath! It’s driving me crazy! What did you just say?”

“Are you going crazy? I didn’t say anything!”

Rolling your eyes at him you said, “So, now what’s the plan Abbott?”

“Really with the Abbott again? Really?”

“Stop mumbling and speak up then.”

“Well the plans don’t start until later, so I just want us to spend this time together, enjoying each other’s company, away from all other distractions.”

“Sound perfect to me!”

The day went on, spending time watching each other’s favorite movies, listening to music while dancing around the apartment. Time slipped away with him. 

He stretched as he got up off the couch, “Should probably start getting ready now.”

You went to shower first. Then he went. 

“So where’s this special outfit?”

“I left it hanging on the closet door. Shoes are in there too. Let me just go grab my clothes and then you can get dressed in there and I’ll get dressed out here.”

You went into the bedroom and took the dress out of the bag it was hanging in. 

“Abbott!”, you ran out into the living room where he was getting changed.

He was pulling up his black dress pants, blue briefs underneath. Leaving no room for imagination and showing you everything you have been missing. Zipper, button, and belt all still undone. His undershirt was still lying over the couch. You’d seen him shirtless all the time but, right now, your mind began to wonder. 

You licked and bite your lip not realizing that you were just staring at his bare chest. His hand slid into his pants to straighten out his briefs. 

“Did you come here to say something or just to see me half naked?”

You were able to rip your eyes away from his body for just one second. “Both apparently. Uhm when did you find the time to go get this?” You held up the dress.

It was dress you saw a woman wearing a few weeks earlier and became obsessed with, even asking her where she got it from. White with blue flowers, thin strips, open in the back, slit down the right leg. You never found the time to go see it in person. But he did. 

“I knew you wouldn’t go back for it. So I did. The day after you first saw it. Figured it’d be perfect for the occasion.

You turned around to start walking away. “Well you’re gonna be taking it off me tonight.” You whispered. 

Abbott started laughing. “What’d you just say to me?”

“Nothing!” You ran into the bedroom and shut the door behind you. 

Since he decided to surprise you wet the dress, you put on a surprise for him underneath. 

He even laid out your white sandals with a slight heel. He was still a whole head taller than you. 

“Can’t believe we’re finally going out. I’ve been looking forward to this all week."

Glancing over at you, grinning, “Wow, you look incredible, I think I’m going to have a hard time keeping my eyes off you tonight."

Laughing lightly, turning to face him, “Oh really? Well, I might need to make sure you’re paying attention to where we’re going, because you might get distracted."

He stepped closer, lightly touching your arms, “I think I’ll be okay but I might need a little reminder of how lucky I am to have you by my side." "Well, I’m lucky to have you too. Just don’t be surprised if I end up stealing all of your attention tonight.”

His eyes on you "Trust me, it won’t be hard. I don’t think I could ever take my eyes off you."

"Let’s see if you still feel that way after a whole night.”

He looked down at the time on his new watch. “Shit, we better get going to make the reservation. You might want to take a sweater or something, probably going to be a little chilly out later tonight?”

“Oh, so you’re going to take me somewhere outside then?”

“You’re killing me babygirl.”

“Let me go grab something then.”

You ran back into the bedroom, opening the closet door. Scrambling for one specific item. Putting your arm all the way in you found it. 

The Beers of the Burgh zip up sweater. 

Jack shoved it all the way in the back corner of the closet after your assault, making sure you wouldn’t have to see it. But you were ready to wear it again tonight.

“Okay, I’m ready!”

“What is that?”

You walked up to him and held out the sweater.

“Are you sure?”

“I feel completely safe with you Jack. I’m ready to fully move past it.”

He gave you a light kiss on the cheek, “Let’s go then babygirl.”

All the way down to the car, you pestered him to tell you where it was exactly you were going. He wouldn’t budge. 

“Maybe I’m taking you somewhere completely unexpected. I guess you’ll just have to trust me."

Laughing, playfully narrowing your eyes, “I do trust you more than anything, but now I’m really curious. Should I be excited or nervous?"

He smiled mischievously, “Definitely excited. Trust me, you’re going to love it. But I promise, it’s not whatever you’re thinking."

You leaned back in the seat, raising an eyebrow "You’re making me even more curious now. Are we going somewhere fancy? A secret restaurant? Or are you about to whisk me off to a secret adventure?"

"Maybe a little bit of everything. But tonight is about enjoying the surprise and you’re going to have the time of your life.”

Excitement took over your body. "Okay, okay, I’m all in. I guess I’ll just enjoy the ride and see where it takes me."

He reached over and giving your hand a squeeze "That’s the spirit. I can’t wait to see your face when we get there."

He parked the car and you finally underwent he was excited for you to find out the surprise. 

“Wait, is this the place? Oh my fucking god Jack! This is the place I’ve telling you about for months now!”

Smiling and glancing over at you, "Yeah, this is it. I knew you’d love it. Trust me, you’re going to be impressed."

“I talked about it so much but never even looked at their menu!”

"You’ll find out soon enough. All I’m saying is, they have some of the most interesting dishes. I couldn’t wait to bring you here."

Holding out his hand to you, “Come on, let’s go inside. And I promise, this is just the beginning of a perfect night."

You took his hand with a smile, "Okay, I’m officially excited. If the food is half as good as the surprise, we’re in for a treat."

You’ve were seated at an elegant table inside the restaurant, and you’re both soaking in the ambiance.

You looked around, amazed, "Wow, this place is gorgeous! I can’t believe you got a reservation here! They literally have a Michellin star Jack!”

Smiling as he watched your reaction. "I’m glad you like it. I thought it would be the perfect spot for tonight. I wanted the night to feel just as special as you are.”

Looking at him with a soft smile you said,  "You really know how to make a girl feel special. I’m already having the best time, and we haven’t even started eating yet."

Softly laughing, “That’s the plan. Just wait until the food comes, trust me, it’ll make the night even better."

“If the food is as good as the surprise, I’ll be asking you to pick all our date spots from now on."

“I’m happy to take that responsibility if it means making you smile like this all the time.”

After spending 3 hours in the restaurant, you could see the sun beginning to set outside.

"That was absolutely incredible. I can’t believe you did this. It was perfect!”

“I’m glad you liked it. But, the night’s not over yet. There’s one more surprise I’ve got in store for you."

Your eyes widened. "Wait, another surprise? I’m not sure I can handle any more excitement tonight Jack!”

“You can handle it, trust me. I promise you’re going to love it.”

“God, I hate surprises but, I think you’re beginning to change my mind.” 

He took your hand as you walked out the door. “Good. You deserve it. Just wait  it’ll be worth it at the end”

Right before he opened the car door for you, he stopped. 

“I need you to do something for me first.”

“I’m listening.”

“I need you to put this on.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a long strip of black fabric.

“A blindfold? Really Jack?”

“I’ll be worth it. I promise you. Trust me babygirl.”

“Fine but, you have to put it on me.”

You turned around. He reached around and gently tied it. He whispered , “Maybe we can use this later.”

You turned around to face him, and bit your lip. “I don’t know how you can top any of this, but I’m ready to watch you try.”

You could feel him smiling confidently as he opened the car door and guided you inside. His hands gliding across your body sending shovers down your spine.

“You’ll see soon enough. Trust me, this one’s going to be unforgettable."

He drove for what felt like forever. 

“Are we there yet? People are going to think you’re kidnapping me!”

“Perfect timing, we’re here.”

He put the car in park and turned it off. 

“Can I take this off now please?”

“Not yet. Let me come around and help you. Take your sweater, it got pretty cold out.”

“Jack, I swear if I walk into something-“

“I got you babygirl, don’t worry.” He held his hand on your lower back which was left exposed from the dress. You both walked a short distance from the car. Breeze slowly past you.

“We’re here.”

He stood in front of you, reaching his hands slowly around you to untie the blindfold.

You blinked hard to refocus your eyes. You looked to your left and right smiling. “You know when you said we were going somewhere special I didn’t exactly have the hospital in mind.”

You were standing at the entrance to the emergency department.

“Do you remember the first time we met?”

“The day you told me my excitement to be here would be short lived? I’ll never forget proving you wrong.”

“You know,” he took a deep breath, “I was struggling to come back here day after day, loss after loss. I wasn’t seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Not until you walked in and brought the sun with you into every shift. You’ve become my favorite part of every day. Even the hard days feel lighter with you in them. So yeah, this place will always be special. It’s the place where I found my forever. “

You went up on your toes to kiss him.

“Come on let’s go for a walk.” He grab your hand and lead you across the street into the park. After walking the path for about 20 feet, you saw tea light candles on both sides of the path with flower petals in between. 

You stopped right in your track. Tears already filling your eyes. Face becoming warm. 

“Jack, what is this?”

He smiled softly as you. “Come on. Let’s keep going to our spot. Want to show you something.”

You kept walking until you reached the middle of the path by the bench you two had sat on when he asked you to be his girlfriend. A bouquet of red roses sat on the bench in front of you.

“This is where I made you my girlfriend. And where I told you I loved you for the first time. Felt like the right spot to do this next part too.”

He pulled out a small piece of paper from his pocket. “You know, I did have this whole speech planned but, things never go according to plan anyway so…” 

He crumbled up the paper and shoved it back into his pants pocket. 

And lowered himself down onto one knee. 

“Two years ago today, we walked into this park as friends and left as a couple. Everyday since then has made me the happiest man on earth. You’ve been my partner in everything, my safe place, my challenge, my home. My forever. 

Tears filled your eyes as your hand covered your mouth. “Jack”, you said as your voice broke.

“You’ve taught me more than being a doctor ever could. You showed me that love isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s quiet. It’s in the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching, the way we laugh at things no one else would understand. It’s in how we argue, but always come back to each other. You’ve taught me what real love is. You make me brave. You make me a better man. And I want to spend my whole life figuring out how to love you even more than I already do. I’ve seen so many versions of happiness in my life but none come close to what I feel when I’m next to you The more I think about it, the more certain I become.”

Tears streamed down your face.

 “So I guess I just have one question for you.”

He slowly reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small red box. With his hands shaking, he opened it gently. He revealed a simple yet elegant ring.

“Will you do the absolute honor of marrying me?”

A mixture of awe, laughter, and happy tears beginning to fill the space between you. You fell into his arms as he knelt before you. Wrapping your arms around him and letting the full weight of your body lean into him. 

He leaned back, “Is that a yes?”, he said laughing.

“You could’ve asked me this the day we met and I would have said yes and 2 years later, the answer is still yes! I’ll always choose you Jack”

Still both kneeling on the cold, hard ground in each other’s arms laughing, crying, holding each other like no one else exists in the whole world.

He gently placed the ring on your finger. The outside world distant, everything had stopped except for you and him. The promise of a future.

He lifted you up and held you in his arms. You could stay in this moment forever. You glared down at the ring in full for the first time since he opened the box.

“I wanted it to be perfect. I spent weeks choosing it. Even brought Robby to the jewelers with me. I know it’s not just about the diamond or anything but I wanted you to have something that felt as special as you are to me.”

You couldn’t peel your eyes off of it. Slowly turning the ring on your finger, mesmerized by its beauty, feeling the weight of it, both literally and metaphorically.

“You picked the perfect one. Not just the ring. This whole night. Just you and me here together”

You took a deep breath you looked up into the cloudy night sky. A slight breeze flowing in between you both. Taking in the full moment for all its worth.

You heard more then just the wind rustling in the trees, before you could even realize what was happening, all your favorite people appeared. 

Robby, Collins, Langdon, Mel, residents, nurses, at least a dozen people closest to you two.

“Surprise!” You heard it from every direction possible. Cheers for the both of you. 

“You two are going to be so great together. You know we’ve all been rooting for you since day one, right?” Mel yelled excitedly. 

Hugs from all around for you both. You lost track of just how many people he brought to support you.

“Come on let’s see that rock!”

You put your hand out for everybody to see. Thankfully, you got your nails done earlier that week. The ring catches the moonlight just right, a subtle sparkle, not flashy, but full of meaning. Love. The kind of shine that doesn’t scream for attention but, the type that draws eyes to it.

“You did good.” Robby put his hand on Jacks shoulder. “Really good brother.”

You lost track of time as everyone was gathering in conversation. Almost everyone had left for the night already.

You saw Langdon standing off to the side and walked up to him. 

“So you did know huh?”

“Of course I did.” He nudged your arm, “Make sure you ask him about that note he put back in his pocket. You’re going to want to hear it.”

“I will. So, who are you going to be bringing to our wedding?”

He glanced down at you with a slight smile. “Mel.”

You started jumping up and down. Almost as excited as you were just earlier. “Oh my fucking god! I know it! I knew it this whole time!”

“Yeah I knew that you knew. That’s why I never explicitly said it.”

“Langdon, oh my god. I’m so happy for you two! She’s so good for you!”

“Trust me, I know.” He looked over at her smiling. “You’re not mad that I didn’t tell you about any of this? Or about her?

“I’ll never be mad at you Langdon. Jack might be my person but, you’ll always be my best friend."

“I’ll take second place I guess.”

“Mind if I steal her away for a moment?” Robby came up from behind him and put his hands on his shoulder.

“She’s all yours Robby.”

“You knew about all of it huh?” You glared over at him. 

“He unfortunately tells me everything.” You two laughed. “But on a more serious note you both deserve all the love in the world, and I can’t think of any two people better suited for each other. Watching this chapter of your lives has been a pleasure and I’m excited to see what comes next for you two.”

“Thank you Robby. It really means the world coming from you. I’ll always appreciate you and everything you do for us both.”

Jack and Collins came up to you two.

“Let the man have some time with his fiancé, Robby.” Said Collins while intertwining her arm into Robby’s.

“Uh fine. Congratulations to you both again! Excited already for the wedding.”

You exchanged hugs with them and they were off. 

“You put the sweater back on?” Jack looked down at you. 

“Makes me feel like I’m wrapped in your arms. And there’s no safer place in the world Jack.”

“Come on, let me get my fiancé home.” Jack winked and wrapped his arm around you. 

You grabbed your flowers off the bench before realizing that all the flower petal and lights were gone.

“Dana picked them up, gonna get them back Monday night. Could use them at the wedding for something.”

“Jack.”

“Yeah?”

There’s a short silence, just looking at each other. The mood shifts more tender, more intense. 

You put your hands onto his chest before crashing your lips into his. Hard. Lips moving rhythmically around each others. Desperate, aching, like you’ve both been holding your breath for years waiting for this moment. 

When suddenly you feel water dripping onto your face. It’s starting to rain.

“Could not have planned that out better if I tried.” Jack laughed. 

The walk back to the car was peaceful. Just you two in each other arms. The way it’s supposed to be. Rain falling around you.

Streetlights flash across the windshield. The silence is heavy. The tension during the car right home could be cut with a knife. He kept his left hand on the steering wheel and his right hand in yours softly caressing your thumb. Every chance he got he glanced over at you.

The ring still shines faintly as his hand is in yours. Rain tapping lightly on the windshield.

“Do we think the rain is good luck?”

“Maybe it’ll rain on our wedding day too.” You turned your head to see him smiling softly. “So fiancé, you got anything else special planned for tonight?”

“I could tell you or I could show you.”

The tension from the drive followed you too all the way upstairs. It didn’t snap, it deepened, filling the empty space all around you.

As soon as the elevator doors closed, he immediately turned around. His hands wrapped around your neck as your hands went up to his chest. He pinned you against the wall as his lips crashed into yours. Tongues swirling in each other mouths. Moans filled the elevator until the ding that you had arrived to your floor. He quickly pulled himself off of you. 

He pulled away breathless, panting already, he ran his hands through his silver curls. 

“Fu- fuck, let’s go before I rip your clothes off right here.”

As soon as you both stepped off the elevator, he stopped. 

“I can’t believe that I get to marry my best friend.” 

“Thought Robby was your best friend?”

“Oh you beat him for that title within a week of us meeting. Now come on, I got to give my fiancé what she deserves.”

He wrapped his arms all the way around you and threw you over his shoulder. You kicked your feet up into the air. 

“Oh my god, fucking finally! Yes!”

He carried you down the hall to the apartment door, fighting with the keys in his pants pocket to get into the apartment as quickly as he possibly could. Finally behind closed doors.

Before you know it his jacket hits the floor, shoes kicked off lazily, fingers tracing familiar lines around each other bodies Every movement is slow and deliberate, not just passion, but raw intimacy. The kind that screams, I want all of you and I’m not going anywhere.

“God you look so fucking good in this dress but, I need you out of it right now. Fuck”

He grabbed your hand and lead you into the bedroom. 

“Let me see what I’ve been missing out on.”

He pulled your body against his as his hands slid behind you untying the dress, never breaking eye contact. He gently pulled the straps on your shoulders down around your arms. Underneath a surprise. 

Not only did you go and buy him a gift earlier that week, you stopped at the lingerie store to pick up something extra special. A red set. Lace. Tightly wrapped all around your body. 

He trailed his fingers down the fabric on your stomach. “Fuck, you’re driving me insane already babygirl.” You watched his eyes roam your body, up and down as you unbuttoned his shirt, getting down to his belt buckle.

Hands went to your waist, pushing you back against the bed. Wrapped his arms around you, lifted you up, and threw you down onto the bed. His eyes went dark. He was starving for something only you could give him.

He stood at the edge of the bed, undid his own belt, pulling his pants off in a hurry. Tight black briefs that showed his excitement. He ripped off his socks before crawling on top of you. 

Fingers tracing every inch of your body. You squirmed under his touch. 

As he came face to face with you, you whispered, “Take me.” 

He hand slid effortlessly underneath you, untying your lingerie. Sliding in fully off your body as if he’s done it a million times before.

He lightly kissed you before making his way down around your neck as his hand began to explore your body. You felt his hand on your stomach, instinctually, you open your legs for him. 

“That’s my good girl.” You threw your head back letting a soft moan leave you as he sucked on your collarbone. You felt his hand go lower. 

“Jesus fucking christ, so wet for me already. He growls lowly, the possessive need in him taking over him completely. 

“Been waiting for you all night.” You panted out. 

“Is that right?” He didn’t hesitate, his middle finger was inside of you. 

“Oh fu-fuck Jack. Please.”

“Patience my sweet girl. You’ll get what you need soon enough.”, He leaned into your ear, “We’re going to do this how I say. You’re going to finish on fingers, then on my tongue, then we’re going to finish together.”

His fingers slid easily through your juices as he began sucking on your breasts. Gently biting your nipples. Fingers curled inside of you while his thumb did circles around your clit. The sensation of his breath against your skin made your head spin, the anticipation building as he curved his finger into you, finding that spot that drove you wild. 

Before you knew it, another finger was inside of you. The sounds of your wet pussy filled the room. He knew exactly what spot to hit each time. 

“Ja- Jack, I’m gonna, I’m gonna-“

“Give it to me babygirl. Cum on my fingers.”

You arched your back as your legs began to shake under the pleasure. There were sounds leaving your body you didn’t know you could make. 

“There we go, that’s my girl.”

You let go completely. A wave of pleasure took over your entire body. Your first of many orgasms tonight. His fingers still inside of you, slowly moving. 

“Gotta taste her now.”

“Fuck Jack, ju- just give me a second.” Legs still trembling, you struggled to catch your breath. You covered your face with both hands. Embarrassed that you were already struggling to keep up with him. 

“Damn you missed me that much huh?”

You didn’t respond.

“Are you alright?”

“Fuck I can’t believe I can’t keep up with you and your like twice my age.” You laughed. 

He grabbed both arms off of you dragging them to your sides before wrapping his left hand around your neck. His veins in his hand bludging out. You look down to see his new gold watch. What a good idea. 

“First of all, I’m not twice your age. Second, I know what my girl needs and how to give it to her.”

You glared up at him, chain dangling right in front of your face. You bite your lip and said, “Oh god, just shut up already and clean the mess you made.”

“Anything for you sweetheart.”

Before you knew it, he was leaving a trail of saliva down your body. Kissing every inch of your body. “You want this?”

You grab his hair and pushed him down into your cunt. His lips latched onto your clit, sucking hard, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. Your fingers tangled in his sliver hair, gripping tightly as your legs trembled, and he groaned again into you, the vibration making you whimper.

"God, I could stay here forever.”, He mumbled against you. “This pussy is all mine tonight. You feel that? You hear that? This pussy's mine."

You could hear slurping sounds as he devoured you, his mouth greedy and desperate as if he’d been starving for this moment forever. Your breath came out in gasps, moans, your whole body burning under his relentless attention to you and your ever need and desire. 

Your body began to pull back from him. He reached up and grabbed your hands, pulling you back into him. 

“Where do you think you’re going sweetheart?”

“Fucking hell, Jack, ah Jack!” You wrapped your legs around his body. “Oh my god!”

Once again, he sent an orgasm crashing through your entire body. Leaving you gasping for air as he crawled back up to you to admire his work. 

“Come here, want you to taste yourself for me.”

He crashed his lips onto yours, shoving his tongue all the way into the back of your throat. 

He pulled off of you, “You need a second before we keep going?”

“No but, you’re going to when I finish with you.”

You pushed him off of you and onto his back. You leaned in, brushing your hand softly, over the strain in his briefs, the curve of seven-and-a-half inches compacted against the fabric of his briefs. 

“Lets get rid of these.” You pulled his briefs down to see his cock springing out, slapping against his stomach. You were drooling for him. 

You grab him with one hand and spit on it. Rubbing your saliva up and down his already throbbing cock.You kiss the tip before sucking on his head. 

“Just like that sweetheart, keep going for me.” Seeing Jack beg was a rare occurrence and you were eating it up. “Fu- fuck, oh god please.”

You pulled your mouth off and grabbed his cock with your hands, feeling every vein in him pulse against you. 

“You gonna finish for me baby?”

He grabbed all your hair in one hand. “Put me back in your mouth right now and I’ll show you.”

You moaned onto his member, fighting the urge to swallow him whole and suck every last drop of his cum out of his cock. You brought your hand to his balls, gently squeezing them, making him push himself further down your throat.

“Sh-shit, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum!” He pulled your hair tight, letting out noises that you’ve never heard from him before. He came hard, shooting himself into your mouth. You bobbed your head up and down once more before crawling up to him, his cum dripping from the corner of your mouth dow not your chin. You wiped yourself with your thumb and sucked on your fingers while he watched. 

“You taste so good for me.” 

“Fucking hell babygirl.” 

“Yeah? You need a second?”

“Fuck no.” He flipped you over with no hesitation. Like you were nothing to him. The weight of his body fully on top of you. His sweat mixing with yours.

“Remember, I stopped taking my birth control Jack.”

“I don’t fucking care, I need to feel myself inside of you right now. I’ll go slow,” he promises, lips kissing yours, “You won’t have to worry about a thing babygirl. You just tell me if it’s too much.” Your heart flutters at his words. 

He holds his frame above you, both arms holding himself up around you. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, and you want it closer.

You lift your mouth and kiss him, his tongue licking the insides of your mouth. His hands move down your body, knees digging into the mattress to keep himself steady.

“Tell me you want this.”

“I want you to fuck me Jack. Please. I need you inside of me.”

One hand reached down to grab his cock. He positioned himself at your entrance, slowly sliding just the tip in. Your moans filled the room as he slid further into you. 

In and out. Your body’s syncing up perfectly as he thrusted himself all the way inside of your soaking wet pussy. You dug your nails into his back. You threw your head back, closing your eyes as he pounded himself into you. His balls slapping against you with every thrust. 

He wrapped his hand around your throat once again. “You want me to keep going, you better keep those pretty fucking eyes on me.”

You opened your eyes to find in staring into you. His eyes dark. His chain swinging in front of you, hypnotizing you. 

He leans his head back, almost like he's fighting the orgasm, trying to make the moment last as long as his body will allow. 

“Fuck, baby, you're going to make me cum," he groans.

"Want you to cum, Jack. Want you to fill my pussy," you whine. Your words whimpering, practically begging, music to his ears. 

"You want me to fill you up babygirl?” his hands tighten their grasp around your neck. "You want me to cum inside you?”

“Please Jack, I need it. Put a baby in me," you say, not even thinking twice about it. You need him, all of him.

“You want me to breed you, babygirl? You want me to fill you up and give you a baby?"

As your whimpers gets louder he takes your hand and guides to your lower belly, pressing together with his hand on the place where his tip bulges from inside of you.

“Ah, fuck babygirl, come on, cum with me.” 

“Ja-Jack, oh god!”

He fall onto your body, his thrust became sloppy as he groaned into your ear. His breath hot against your flesh.

With his last thrust, he gently kissed your lips. “You’re so good to me babygirl. There you go, so glad I finally got to cum inside you”, he places a kiss on your forehead. “Think I’m going to have to start working out more to keep up with you babygirl.”

“Wish you could just stay inside of me forever.”

“I’m sure we could arrange that.” He laughed. 

He sucked on your neck some more while you could feel his cock soften inside of you. He finally pulled himself out of you. He lowered his hand and put it on your cunt. 

“Wanna keep her full. Don’t want you to ever forget how she feels with me swimming inside of her.” He dragged the dripping cum back up before putting a finger inside you once more. You let out a loud moan before he pulled out of you. 

He threw his body next to yours and let out a sigh. “Jack, I don’t think I can even walk right now. Trust me you don’t have to worry about me forgetting who I belong to.”

“I thought about this since the last moment we were in bed together. Guess all that waiting was good for something.”

“You could let the do all the work next time, you know?”

“You got a deal babygirl. Shit, I would’ve proposed a long time ago if I knew I was going to get the best sex of my life out of it.”

You crawled onto him, resting your head on his bare chest. 

“You know, not to ruin the mood or anything but, Langdon mentioned the paper you shoved back into your pocket earlier. Don’t know if you want me to read it.”

“Yeah I figured he would.”

“So are you gonna let me read it? Is it the same thing you said tonight or?”

“Well yes and no. It’s not technically a proposal written on there. Might actually be better if you read it the day we get married.”

“You want me to wait until the day of our wedding to read it?”

“I mean, I’ll hide it if you don’t trust yourself to not read it. But please, for the love of god, don’t go around asking what’s in it.”

“No, it’s okay, I think I’m starting to like surprises now.” You laughed. 

With his crooked smile, he said, “I love you.”

“I love you too Jack. Until the end.”

———————————————————————

Six Weeks Later

You’d be feeling off the past few weeks. You chalked it up to the stress of realizing you were going to have to plan out a whole wedding while working as a full time night shift attending. And now Jack wants to go house hunting. 

“Hey! You alright in there? We gotta go before we’re late!” Jack knocked on the bathroom door. 

“Jack, I don’t know if I’m going to make it in tonight. Can you come in here please?”

He slowly opened the door, peeking his head around first. You were sitting on the floor against the shower tub next to the toilet. Fully dressed and ready to go to work.

“Jesus Christ, are you alright??” He ran up to you. 

“Well, I just threw up and feel slightly better but, this nausea is just something else right about now.”

“You think you’re alright to be going to work like this?”

“Yeah I think I’ll be fine just need to take some Zofran or something and I should be able to push through. Don’t want you guys to have to work short tonight. I don’t know maybe it was your cooking.”

“You said it was good…”, he sighed as he helped you up off the cold bathroom floor.

“I don’t know just nauseous really. That’s it. This wedding planning is going to give me an ulcer Jack.”

You somehow made it through the entire shift without vomiting on a patient. But by the time handoff came around, you were struggling just to breath. 

Once you were done, you sat at the nurses station in the corner, waiting for Jack. You put your elbows on your knees and your head down into your hands.

“God you look so pale. Don’t go passing out on me now.” He walked up to you. 

“Can you just help me to the bathroom before I throw up all over the floor please?”

He walked you over and as soon as the door was open to the single stalled bathroom, you ran inside. Swinging your arm back to shut the door before he could see you throwing up yet again.

He could hear you in there and immediately followed you inside. “Fucking hell, again. Are you pregnant or something?” 

You glared up at him, “I don’t know but, something’s wrong Jack.”

“Are you late?”

“Jack I don’t know. I’m never even regular. I don’t fucking know.” You looked up at him and wiped the cover of your mouth.

“Hey, hey, hey, calm down, we’ll be okay no matter what’s going on.”

“I think we need to go buy some tests.”

“Shit.” His eyes widening as his jaw practically fell to the floor. 

———————————————————————

Woooo! Chapter 3! Wrote most of this while watching the MET Gala looks and honestly all the hot people make it so much easier to write lol. But I really hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I loved writing it! Keep an eye out for the next chapter to find out where this one is going! ;) 

Thank you to the like 4 people that asked for more! This one is for you guys!

[lc-birdie]

(76. “you can’t leave marks”-reader and 87. "how about we give them something to talk about?"-Robby) from NSFW for Robby? Please

A/N: ty for keeping me in business lol I love all your requests

It was a whirlwind. One second you were walking through the front door of Robby's apartment and the next you were pressed against it. His lips pressed against every inch of available skin, nipping and biting down the length of your neck as he shucked his hoodie off.

Your hands begin to sneak up under the hem of his scrub top and undershirt seeking out any skin that you could. Running your hands up his back you pull his closer trying to eliminate any space between yall.

Robby reached down to tug your top off, this being the only time he pauses his assault on your neck. He takes the opportunity while your head leans back to place a bite at the juncture of your neck.

"Wait-Robby-ngh" you sigh as he kisses back over the bite. "You can't-leave marks..." Resting your head back against the door, you run your hands up through his hair, "...they'll never let us live it down."

Still you didn't stop him.

He smiles against your neck. "How about we give them something to talk about? Come on I wanna see you all covered. Wanna show them you're mine. You gonna let me sweetheart?"

"mhm please Robby please"

[cuntiel]

[ml080504]

"bestie we are having you put down" I say as i look in the mirror and realize i spent 5 hours reading smut

[ladysharmaa]

Why don't you love me?

Anthony Bridgerton x reader

Summary: Y/n and Anthony are in an arranged marriage. When she stops trying to make the relationship work and be the perfect wife, Anthony realizes what he's lost. Will he be able to get her back?

(gif is not mine)

It wasn't the marriage she wanted. And it wasn't what he wanted, because, in fact, he didn't even want to be married. And he didn't mind showing it. But for Y/n, she tried to make the best of their unfortunate situation.

It all started at the beginning of the season when Violet Bridgerton decided that her firstborn had been single for too long. So, she spoke to Y/n's parents, who were good friends of hers, and they both decided that a marriage between the two would be beneficial to both families. Anthony was going to have the support of someone who would take Violet's place as Viscountess and Lady Bridgerton. For Y/n's life, in this society, having a husband was essential and this marriage would allow social advancement.

Thus, Anthony and Y/n agreed with this decision. The preparation for the wedding was carried out quickly and this event was the biggest news for days. Lady Whistledown didn't help matters either by immediately releasing an advert showing her doubts about Anthony having a wife.

This only worsened Y/n's mood, who already feared being married to Viscount Bridgerton, as she was now doubting all the lovers Anthony could take to their bed. Would he not respect their marriage? Did she just want an heir and take care of the children? With these doubts, she said the "I do" in front of hundreds of people watching the ceremony, and allowed just one tear to fall.

From the beginning, Anthony made a point of making it clear that their marriage was purely a compromise, and that he would never truly love her. He was going to fulfill his role and try to have an heir and outside the house, they would act like a happy couple, but it wouldn't go beyond that. In silence, Y/n just offered him a nod, showing that she understood.

However, since then, nothing has happened between them. Anthony allowed her to have her own room, something Y/n was more than grateful for. Having to look at the face of her husband who would never love her every time she fell asleep would be too painful.

She was expecting that on some nights he would enter her room to try to get her with child. But none of that happened, which only confused Y/n more. Was he so disgusted by the idea of being married to her that he didn't even want to have pleasure with her?

So she tried to distract herself with tasks that could take some of the work off Anthony's shoulders and try to be the perfect wife. But Anthony still refused to spend more than five minutes alone with her. At breakfast, he was already at the office when Y/n woke up to go eat, at night he preferred to spend time with his brothers instead of returning home. He was making everyone's life difficult and Y/n was starting to get more and more sad. Would this be her routine until the end of her life? Trying to please a husband who didn't want her?

It was on a summer afternoon that Y/n, upon returning from a social gathering with Anthony's mother and sister, realized how hot the mansion was. She quickly remembered how Viscount's office, the few times she had been there, was directly in the sun which made it even hotter. So she decided to be brave and try to have at least a friendly relationship with her husband, so she went to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

With growing nerves, Y/n went to Anthony's office door and knocked on the wood. After hearing Anthony's voice, she opened the door, finding him plus Benedict, who had become good friends with Y/n.

"Oh, I apologize if I am interrupting." she said shyly, keeping to the doorway.

"You are." Anthony immediately agreed in a deep voice, not paying attention to her and turning his attention back to the papers.

At the same time, his brother hurried to assure Y/n, "You're not interrupting anything. You even saved me from Anthony's boring lecture here."

The woman smiled uncomfortably. "Right. I just came to bring you a cup of water. It's so warm outside. I wasn't aware you were here, Mr. Bridgerton, but I can go and also bring you some water."

"Thank you, Y/n, I would—"

However, he couldn't finish his sentence as Anthony hit the table, causing his wife to jump in fright and immediately take a step back. Her reaction made Anthony's expression show some regret, but he quickly hid it. A silence fell between the three.

"I'm fed up, Y/n! Can't you understand that men are trying to work?! Go back to your life of looking at flowers and walking around without having to do anything and leave!"

Y/n's mouth opened and closed several times, trying to understand what had just happened. Finally, she pursed her lips and her eyes turned cold. "I apologize, Lord Bridgerton. It won't happen again. If you'll excuse me."

When she left the room, Benedict looked at his brother in shock. "That was so harsh. The poor girl was trying to be nice and cared enough to bring you a glass of water. If you don't want it, I'll have it. I'm talking about the glass and her."

"Don't you dare." he muttered with a clenched jaw, glaring furiously at Benedict. Where did this anger come from just thinking about Y/n with another man? "Now, let's go back to discuss how you spent money on a bet."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Y/n's behavior with Anthony changed completely. Everyone noticed that the Viscountess finally reached her limit, and stopped being the friendly wife, now looking coldly at her husband whenever they passed each other in the mansion. However, as a couple and heads of the family, they still had obligations to fulfill together.

Public appearances were more tense, but they still managed to keep a smile on their faces and talk to all the ladies who asked about their marriage and when they would have children, giving short answers so that nothing would end up in Lady Whistledown's hands. They also attended a horse race, even betting on different horses that would win. Y/n ended up winning the bet, and her smug look irritated Anthony for the rest of the day, something his brothers were quick to tease him about.

But despite not liking Anthony after his cruel words, which Y/n still thought about constantly, she adored his sisters and mother. They had accepted Y/n into the family, including her in their gatherings and even being a should to cry on. Daphne had already said more than once that she would have no problem going to Anthony and try to talk some sense into him, but Y/n refused. Anthony already didn't like her, if he thought she was turning his family against him he would hate her even more. And she didn't need to make her life worse than it already was.

One day, when she went with Anthony to the Bridgerton mansion to drop off some documents, Hyacinth, Anthony's younger sister, took her aside. Y/n followed the girl to the bathroom where she, with teary eyes and trembling lips, asked her if she was going to die when she started bleeding from her lady parts. Hyacinth also revealed to her that she wanted to go to her mother, but she had gone shopping with Francesca and was alone at home with just Collin. Y/n, very calmly and gently, assured her that it was a normal thing and that all women went through this, explaining what she should do.

It was no secret that Y/n was happy that Hyacinth trusted her with this scary situation and that she was able to help the girl. Despite all the problems in her marriage, she now had a role in helping Anthony's sisters and she never wanted to fail in that.

To Y/n's surprise, Hyacinth ended up giving her a big hug, remaining attached to her for the rest of the afternoon. Her period was making her so affectionate, more than she already was, that Y/n couldn't stop a big smile from appearing on her face at receiving so much affection.

Anthony, when he finally finished talking to Collin about the documents he brought, I was surprised to see his sister on the couch hugging Y/n. "Hyacinth, what are you doing?"

"Hugging my sister-in-law, brother. But you don't know what that is, do you?" she snapped. The girl's change in mood made Y/n have to put a hand over her mouth to keep Anthony from hearing the laughter that escaped her.

The shock on Anthony's face was comical. His little sister was basically choosing Y/n over him. And in truth, he didn't judge her because his wife was, without a doubt, better than him. And she deserved so much better.

On the other hand, his heart warmed when he saw the bond that the two had created. It was clear that Y/n felt great affection for his family. Could it be that if he had accepted this marriage from the beginning, they would now be a happy family? That they would spend afternoons together, cuddling on the couch and talking to his siblings? All these thoughts were racing through his mind, and the guilt was growing so much that he felt like he was going to vomit.

"Lord Bridgerton?" that sweet voice he had come to adore brought him out of his thoughts. He hated that since he snapped at her, she never called him by his first name again.

"What?" he asked, still disoriented.

Y/n was looking at him like he was stupid. "I asked if you were ready to leave. Hyacinth already went to her room to rest. I would like to do the same. So you must make haste."

Her bossy tone almost made his lips curl into a smile, but he controlled himself in time. "Of course, wife. We shall leave now. But I have to ask, what happened between you and my sister?"

"All you need to know is that she's fine and she's a woman now. But don't worry, as your wife, I'll handle these situations. Unless you prefer me to go look at the flowers, take a walk, and do nothing?"

The hint, which was delivered with great anger, caused the man to blush in shame and lower his head. Y/n didn't wait for his answer, taking her coat from a maid and walking to the carriage. He had screwed everything up.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

A few more days had passed and the situation between Y/n and Anthony had only gotten stranger. The day after the situation with Hyacinth, Y/n was coming down from her room to go get breakfast, as she always did, when she came across Anthony at the table, appearing to be waiting for her to eat.

Y/n stopped abruptly, looking at him in shock. "What are you doing?"

"I'm waiting for you so we can have breakfast. I have to go see my brothers again today to talk business, so I was thinking you could come with me and spend some time with my sisters. My mother She's also been saying how she hasn't seen you in a while. That is, only if you want to go. If not, I'll just go… Or I'll stay here to keep you company, whatever you want." he choked up, finishing his speech by drinking some milk, perhaps to calm his nerves.

Y/n remained in place without moving. She looked at Anthony strangely, as if doubting that those words had even come out of his mouth.

"It was silly of me to ask—"

"No," she interrupted him. "It's fine. I would actually like to go and spend time with your sisters. They are lovely. I shall go get ready then."

"Aren't you going to have breakfast with me first?"

"Lord Bridgerton, I've been eating breakfast alone since we got married and I came to live with you. I think you can handle doing the same for a day. Excuse me." she said with an exaggerated smile, turning her back on him and starting to go back to her room. However, she turned back to go get a cake that was on the table. "But I'm hungry so I will eat this in my chambers."

"Call me Anthony!" he exclaimed before she was completely gone. He had a desperate look, almost looking like he needed to hear his name come out of her lips.

"No."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Like every year, the Queen decided to throw a ball to celebrate the Diamond of the Season. The most eligible maiden on the marriage market. Y/n still remembers the first ball she attended — Daphne was the diamond of the season, but Y/n also managed to dance with a few suitors. Of course, in the end, she didn't end up marrying any of them. However, the nerves she felt at that ball were equal to or less than what she felt today: her first ball married to Anthony.

The Viscount and Viscountess had entered together, her hand resting on his arm, followed by Violet and the rest of his siblings. Tonight they would have to be on the lookout for suitors who might want to dance with Francesca, the diamond of the season.

Anthony quietly appreciated his wife. She looked breathtaking in her dress, her hair neatly tied back that showed off her majestic earrings, given by Anthony on their wedding day. He was proud to have a wife like Y/n, and he regreted that he hadn't shown it since day one.

While the Bridgertons started to go their own way, interacting with other people and dancing, Y/n preferred to stay in the corner watching the couples dancing. She longed to experience that with Anthony, but not in a forced way like some were. No, she wanted it to be felt, for them to dance to the music and really appreciate that moment.

But instead of her husband approaching her, it was another man, Earl Cavendish. Y/n remembered some moments when she had already seen him, as he was looking to get married this season. As she approached her, with a confident air, Y/n lowered her head to compliment him, "Good afternoon, Earl Cavendish."

"Lady Bridgerton, a pleasure to meet you. I must say, you look flawless. Would you give me the pleasure of dancing with me?" he extended his hand.

Y/n's eyes widened, not knowing what to do. People had already started looking at them, whispering among themselves. However, she didn't have to respond to the invitation as she felt an arm wrap around her waist and bring her closer to him.

"Excuse me, Earl Cavendish, but I want to have the pleasure of dancing with my beautiful wife first." Anthony said with his jaw clenched, looking him up and down menacingly. "I'm sure you will be able to find other ladies to dance with tonight. Just not my wife."

The two men looked at each other for a few seconds, neither of them wanting to back down. Anthony grew more and more furious, her wrists clenching and bringing Y/n even closer to him, but careful not to hurt her.

"Very well. I shall leave. I hope to see you again someday, Lady Bridgerton."

"I will —" Anthony began by exclaiming in anger as the Earl walked towards another woman, not having liked the way he looked at what was his.

"You will do nothing." the Viscountess snapped coldly. "I can't understand you, you ignore me, you treat me badly, and then you act protective when another man shows interest in me? I never said anything about you having lovers, even though I didn't like that in our marriage."

"What? I've never disrespected our marriage like that, Y/n. In the past I've done a lot of things, but since we got married the only woman I'll look at and touch is you. I don't want anyone else."

"You have a funny way of showing it." she laughed sarcastically, feeling increasingly emotional. "I have to go get some air. You should go check on Francesca again."

Feeling the cold night air, Y/n's heart began to calm down. It was so difficult having to deal with Anthony's changes of attitude, she couldn't understand him. She just wanted to be loved, and since that wasn't possible, she preferred that they stay as far away from each other as possible since being friends didn't seem to be an option either.

"I'm sorry." the voice she had come to know so well whispered behind her. Y/n refused to turn around, leaning against the balcony and taking deep breaths to control her emotions. "I shouldn't have acted the way I did. I know that marrying me shouldn't have been your choice either, but I was scared. I was scared to have a wife, because that meant I had another person in my life that I could lose ."

She finally had the courage to turn around and look into Anthony's brown eyes. They held back tears and showed the sadness, regret and anger that Anthony felt.

"I'm so angry with myself for the way I treated you. You deserve so much better than this. And I'm sorry I couldn't give you that. The cruel words I said to you but didn't mean. I was scared to let you in. in my heart, so I tried to push you away. Believe that all I want is to have you in my arms. To love you. To start a family with you. Please, I promise I will do better. And every day I will try to reward you for what you do.

"Lord Bridgerton—"

"Please, call me Anthony. It pains me when you call me like that. Reminds me that I was… Am so close to losing the best thing of my life. I will kneel before you and beg for forgiveness if that's what you want." he murmured with a hand over his heart, beginning to kneel on the ground without hesitation.

"There is no need for that… Anthony." she enjoyed seeing the relief and happiness that spread across his face upon hearing his first name. "I just don't understand why you didn't love me? And now you want to try to make our marriage work?"

"That's the thing, I have always loved you. I love you. My whole body, my heart, feels love for you. That has never changed." he revealed desperately. "I was a coward and didn't know how to deal with my feelings. Because they are so strong that my heart feels like it's going to come out of my chest. Please, give me another chance."

"Hmm, I don't now." The look of disappointment was so marked on Anthony's face, almost looking like he was ready to burst into tears, that Y/n stopped his suffering and showed him an amused smile, making him understand that she was joking. "I think I want you to suffer a little more to get my forgiveness."

"I will do anything for you, Y/n. Ask me the world and I will give it to you."

"Such a romantic now, aren't you?" she whispered, admiring his features.

She didn't realize their faces were so close until she felt his nose trace the delicate skin of her cheek. A gasp escaped her mouth, and Anthony took the opportunity to connect their lips in an unforgettable kiss.

Anthony pulled away quicker than he wanted, but he needed to make sure this was really what his wife wanted. "I love you."

"Kiss me again, and maybe I will also tell you that."

And what his wife wanted, he did. The two remained on the balcony, enjoying the comfort the other gave them. They still had a long way to go, but they knew that from that moment on, their lives would change drastically for the better. They had each other.

[nfr-girly]

can we talk about how FINEE the cast of the Pitt is