criminalamnesia

[criminalamnesia]

PLEASEEE

[criminalamnesia]

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 | john price

price meets you on base after mission gone south—a strict little thing, the medic barking out orders at disgruntled men. you tell him you don’t date soldiers. price has no doubt he can change that.

contents: fem! reader, smut (mdni), piv, oral (m! receiving), cunnilingus, age gap, price has fantasies of knocking you up and making you his pretty little wife, breeding kink, size kink, virginity loss (reader), pet names (sweetheart, dove, love), price is a little questionable but he means well. wordcount: 6k

Price meets you after a mission gone south. 

You're a medic at the base they’ve been assigned to, a pretty little thing who swarms around and barks out orders. He intends to just drop off Gaz and then head back to the barracks he was temporarily appointed to; however, your eyes seem to zero in on him, and your brows narrow.

"You’re dripping on my floor."

He glances down at the dark stain on his sleeve, raising a brow. He thinks he hears Johnny snicker, though he’s more interested in you now, watching the way you frown at him. 

“Just a scratch,” he states, sending you a smile. “Nothing serious.” 

Still, he sits down where you point for him to go, letting you fuss over him. His grin widens when you scoff, murmuring under your breath. 

“You call this a scratch?”

There’s a dirtied cloth tied around his arm, already turning dark. Price isn’t proud of it. He was focused somewhere else for mere seconds when a soldier came from behind, managing to slice him before he got the situation under control. The bandage was a temporary solution given he didn’t have time to inspect it further. 

"You're going to die from an infection if you don't do something about this."

You're scolding him while you help him take his jacket off, barely fazed by the size of his bicep as you clean the cut on his arm. 

“Been doing pretty well so far,” he murmurs, eyes soft as he watches you fuss. You haven’t offered him any painkillers, and you’re not gentle when you dab the alcohol on the wound before grabbing your gauze and beginning to roll it around his arm. He wouldn’t have accepted any painkillers anyway. “Trust me, sweetheart. I’ve had worse.” 

“Lucky you,” you murmur, not even glancing at his face, and a smile curls onto Price’s lips. He sees the flush on your cheeks at the proximity. 

Price knows he’s older and experienced. Rough from the effects of war and constant strategy. He’s not oblivious to the effect he has on the younger soldiers on base. You hesitate for a second, eyes darting over his dog tag, and Price catches it immediately. 

“Call me John, dove,” he says, and you roll your eyes.

“Price. If you don't take care of yourself, then you're going to—” He lets you continue to fuss over him in silence, mapping out every curve of your body, never once taking his eyes off you. Afterwards, he listens to your instructions on how to keep it clean, as though he hasn’t dealt with wounds like this countless times, but before he can ask you for your name, he’s being ushered off the bed so the next guy can get treated, practically pushed away. 

“So bossy,” he hums, and you glare before motioning the next soldier over. 

“If you don’t mind, Captain,” 

“John”,

“Captain”, you grit your teeth in annoyance. “Then I’d like to do my job uninterrupted.”

Price stops for a second. He eyes you up and down, noticing the way you quietly shift on your feet. 

“Course, love,” he states, grin turning sharp. “I’ll leave you alone for now.” 

“Never seen the captain so cooperative before.” It’s half light-hearted, half not, as Gaz watches Price, amusement present in his tone. Johnny snorts, eyes flickering between the two of you before his attention is back on Gaz. 

“Yeah, it’s because he’s getting dizzy with how fast his blood is rushing from one place to another.” 

✰ ✰ ✰

It doesn’t take him more than a day to show up at the infirmary again. This time you’re calmer, the infirmary empty apart from one sorry lad sleeping in a bed by the door.

Your office is at the very back end—a cute little place, scattered with paperwork and Band-Aids and pastilles. You hear his heavy boots on the floor before he announces himself, and you’re turning around to eye him with a faint suspicion as he sits on the bed closest to you.

“How’s your arm, captain?” 

He smiles and shrugs off his jacket, revealing his poorly wrapped bicep, and you sigh before digging out some gauze from between a stack of papers.

“You know, sir—“ 

“It’s John, dove.” 

You sigh as you come closer, calmly unwrapping his bandage. He spreads his legs and pulls you in between without a word, ignoring your squeak of surprise.

“It’s easier this way,” he murmurs, and big warm hands find the back of your thighs as he looks up at you, soft blue eyes grinning at you with mischief.

You’re more skittish when you’re not wrapped up in an infirmary filled with injured soldiers, much less strict. John likes you like this. You’re more malleable, giving a resigned sigh as you begin to unwrap his arm.

“I’ve asked around about you,” you murmur, voice low as if you’re doing something you’re not supposed to. Price hums, hands moving up the back of your thighs, but then you squeeze the gauze around his bicep in warning, and he stops, though he doesn’t move them back down.

“Is that so?” Price asks, and you nod. He’s staring at you, his eyes not once straying from your face.

“Yeah,” you say and your cheeks are warm when you finally meet his eyes. John smiles, the skin around his eyes crinkling while you pretend to be distracted by the bandage. “They say you’ve been in service for decades.” 

Price shrugs, but he doesn’t confirm or deny anything. He doesn’t really count the years anymore, most of it having muddled into a mess of memories and chaos. His retirement is nearing, though—can’t blame a man for wanting a pretty thing to settle down with.

“To be frank, Captain,” he’s about to correct you again, but there’s that fire in your eyes that you had yesterday too, and he closes his mouth. There’ll be enough time to teach you his name later down the line anyway. “I’m having a hard time believing a man who’s been on the field for as long as you doesn’t know how to do something as simple as wrapping a wound.”

Caught red-handed. 

John’s smile turns wolfish, and he squeezes your thigh for just a second before completely letting go. You try not to think about how your skin feels scorching where his hands were just seconds ago, and you shift slightly, tightening the gauze around his arm.

You take his silence for quiet admittance, and you sigh, finishing up your work. “You’re wasting my time. I have other patients.”

John looks around, perking an eyebrow up before he gazes back at you again. 

“Don’t look much like it, sweetheart,” he states, and you sigh. 

“I don't date soldiers.” 

“Date? Who said anything about dating?” Price is smiling, and your cheeks flush as you shake your head. 

“Well, alright. Then you shouldn’t mind quitting all your nonsense flirting and nicknames and–”

John laughs, head thrown back, eyes closing. Something inside you stutters, and you look away, feeling out of bounds in his presence. 

“Well, love, I thought we had a moment yesterday. Got to first-name basis and everything too,” he states, and you shake your head, glaring, heat in your belly instantly dissipating. 

“You’re way too old for me anyway,” you state, though Price isn’t sure if you’re saying it to him or yourself. He already knows he doesn’t care though. 

You’ll beg to be his pretty little wife in no time. 

You’re sent home a week later. You haven’t seen Price since he showed up at the infirmary for the second time, but you push that thought to the back of your head as you pack your things and drag yourself all the way back to your tiny old empty flat in London. 

You tell yourself you like being home. No whiny soldiers, no blood and bandages, no sleepless nights. The truth is you prefer being stationed rather being holed up in your home, with no routine, no purpose. 

You’re nearly three weeks into your self made pity party when a knock on your door brings you out of your sleepy state on the couch. Normally you wouldn’t open the door unless you were expecting someone or had ordered food but for some reason you feel compelled as you walk barefoot towards your door. 

Your heart nearly beats out of your chest when you find John Price on your doorstep. 

Civilian jacket stretched over his ridiculously broad shoulders, beard trimmed neater, a cap hiding his hair. You blink, unsure if it’s really him. You’re wearing your pajamas, ready for bed. 

You’re sputtering, talking about inappropriate fraternising. It goes in one ear and out the other for Price, who’s already walking inside your apartment, taking in the quaint decorations and interior, all calm and collected like he’s been here a thousand times before. 

“Calm down, love,” he states, casually picking up a small picture on your drawer of you and some of your family. “It’s not fraternising if we’re not in the same unit, now, is it?”

Your brows furrow, and you’re stuttering out more excuses, but Price is already inside your kitchen, turning on the kettle and finding cups on the table. Eventually, you resign to your fate, sitting down at your dining table. Price is sliding a cup towards you, and you take it, sinking down into your chair.

“What are you doing here?” you sigh, shifting in your seat. 

“Wanted to see you,” he shrugs, calmly taking a sip of his tea. “Missed you.”

Your eyes narrow, and you push your tea away.  

“You don’t even know me,” you state, and Price hums, head tilting to the side. You can tell he’s taking you in, reading your body language and your red cheeks. Your tank top is thin—he can make out the outline of your tits. They’re probably soft, perfect for him to grope and bite. 

“Of course I do, sweets,” he smiles, and for a second it feels like you’re being hunted.

“Know where you live, know your local gym centre and your favourite pub.” he states, shrugging. “Though you haven’t been out in a while.”

You shrug, looking away, trying not to overheat underneath his attentive gaze. 

“So we’ll start with having a cuppa, yeah? And then I’ll take you out on a date and show you how a real man should treat a pretty bird. Might fuck you in the backseat of my car afterwards.”

You flush at this, mouth falling open. The mental image of Price towering over you, pounding you into the cushions of his car, haunts you as you try to think of something else. 

It’s morbid the way he says it like it’s factual. But then he cracks, and he’s laughing, shaking his head. 

“I’m just messin’ with you, love,” he states, and you giggle nervously, feeling smaller and smaller in your seat by the second. 

Price likes to ask questions. He asks why you joined the military, why you’re a medic. He asks about your family and your hobbies. He pokes into your (private) records, mentioning how you’ve seemingly never stepped out of line. 

How good you are at following rules. 

He likes this about you—the naivety. You’re green in ways he hasn’t been in years, all docile and sweet.

And eager to please.

He waits a week before he fucks you.

Takes you out twice, first to dinner at the one restaurant in town he likes, then to the movies. 

He hasn’t done something like that in years, but he’s willing to for you. Figures you should get a taste of the dating life before he puts a ring on your finger and a baby in your tummy.

Just the thought of it—you, in a dress, a baby on your hip—it makes his cock twitch to life.

He’d figured you’d be harder to crack. That he’d need at least a month if not two, maybe even a deployment together before you’d cave in. But you’re much needier, much lonelier than he thought. 

And, god, if you aren’t a pretty thing.

Sat in his lap, your brows are furrowed, there’s a pout on your lips, and you look at him with not a single ounce of the strict little lady you were when he met you in that infirmary a month ago.

“John,”

John, John, John. He wishes you would say it again and again; he knows he’ll never get tired of the way it rolls off your tongue like it belongs there. However, your tone is accusing.

Tired of waiting.

“Please?”

It’s a little raw, already worn with wear, and you wriggle around, trying to pull him closer, get him to do something. Anything.

Price chuckles, and you sigh, placing your head on his shoulder. Big hands are on your waist, burning into your skin, and your legs are spread wide to accommodate the sheer size of his thighs.

“Will you do something, please?” Your tone is whiny. It makes John throb. He noses at your hair, taking in the scent of your shampoo. He chuckles when you begin squirming around again, hands grabbing at his bicep, almost whimpering at the way he vibrates beneath you.

“Well since you’re asking so nicely, sweetheart,”

There’s something demeaning about the way he says it, an edge that makes your brows furrow. He grabs the back of your head and pulls you back, pressing his forehead against yours so he can look at you right.

You’re frowning. Surely, you’re getting cold too, sitting there, all naked while he’s clothed.

“Why don’t you touch yourself?”

The command makes your breath hitch, and you’re about to complain, but then he grabs your hand and guides you to your dripping centre, pressing your fingers through your folds. It makes you whimper, legs already feeling weak as he pushes your fingers to your entrance while his palm digs into your clit, sending dull stimulation through you.

His hands are big. Big enough to cup your pussy perfectly, enveloping your hand in the process. He pushes one of your fingers inside you despite your helpless whimpers, following along with two of his own, till you’re stuffed and stretched.

It’s tight and warm and pulsing. He feels the way you’re all wound up, refusing to let him go any further, clamping up around him.

“Oh, baby,” he says, and you whimper again, barely able to keep any sounds contained. It’s like he’s opening you up, desperate to see what’s hiding inside. And you can’t help but feel that you willingly laid down on the operating table, handing him the knife.

“You need to loosen up, yeah?”

You shake your head profusely, tears beading in your eyes, and John can’t wait to lick them off your cheeks. He nods, slowly, and gives you a short peck before slowly beginning to thrust in and out of you.

You gasp, head falling onto his shoulder again, eyes squeezing shut.

“You made me wait a week,” you complain, gripping onto his shoulders for dear life.

“A week? You always give yourself this easily?” 

“No. You’re the first person I've been with.” 

Your voice is timid, your face feeling hot as you chase the burning coil in your stomach. You feel the way he tenses underneath you, taking a sharp inhale of breath, his movements momentarily stopping.

“Sweetheart,” it’s a coo, and he retracts his fingers from your cunt, shushing you when you whine, leaning in to kiss your cheek, lips moving up your temple. “Sweet, sweet girl,”

You feel drowned in his sudden tenderness, bewildered at the pet names rolling off his tongue. Price looks at you with such adoration that it makes you dizzy and confused. 

“You've never been with anyone? At all?” 

You shake your head, feeling shy. 

“Haven’t had time,” you murmur, trying to avoid his burning gaze. “I don’t date soldiers, you know.” 

Price is chuckling, deep and fond, a thumb rubbing at your clit, big gentle circles that make your breath hitch, hips chasing more friction.

“Not even in uni? No one?” 

You shake your head.

His awe is almost sickening, and immediately you’re on your back, with Price looming over you. He takes a second to admire you before he shrugs off his shirt, pants coming with them till he’s just in his boxers, his dog tag dangling over you. 

Then he’s pulling your legs apart, lying down in front of you, admiring your soaked pussy. 

“And here I’ve been so mean to my girl.” 

You have a feeling he’s not talking to you per se, but you still huff, instinctively trying to get away from his piercing gaze. His hands around your thighs turn bruising, and you get a warning look from him. 

“None of that now.” He smacks his lips and runs a finger through your folds. “Look at her. And you kept her untouched just for me.” 

You purse your mouth at the way he speaks so lewdly, ready to snap back that it has nothing to do with him, but then he leans down, getting on his stomach in front of you, blowing air on your clit. 

Your legs twitch and you gasp, thighs threatening to snap closed, but Price still has that bruising grip on you, keeping you wide open for him. 

“But you’re ready for me, aren’t you?” He’s still cooing, still talking to your cunt more than you, and you squirm, a hand coming down to grip at his hair, the other digging into the sheets underneath you. “Fuck, you’re practically dripping with it.”

He doesn’t hesitate to dig in, attaching his lips to your pussy like it’s second nature. You gasp, back arching off the bed at the sudden stimulation. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt, wet and warm against your centre, pleasure coiling in your stomach. 

You can barely control the sounds leaving you, strangled gasps and whines of pleasure filling your bedroom as your heels dig into his back and your thighs clamp around his head. 

Price seems to enjoy it even more than you, kissing and sucking and licking you with zero shame, pushing you towards your orgasm in record time. You’re gasping and squirming, and your thighs are already turning raw from scratching against his beard, the pain somehow only adding to your pleasure. 

You shake your head, your hand in his hair trying to pull him away, especially when he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, sparks shooting up your spine. 

“John, oh, I’m going to come if you, ah, if you keep that up,” you whimper, and Price moans, sucking even harder. 

“Come on my face then,” he says, kissing your clit and licking up your juices till they’re dripping down his chin. “Make a mess, sweetheart,”

You come hard, vision going white and a strangled moan leaving you. You grind your hips against his face uselessly, gasping little thank you’s as he continues to eat you out through your intense high, his own hips humping the bed beneath him. 

By the time he’s done, you’re limp, sunken into the mattress beneath you. Your muscles ache, bones feeling heavy, as he hovers above you, not bothering to wipe his chin before kissing you again. 

“You sound so pretty like that.” The praise makes you flush, but most of all, the way he says it so casually, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You hide your face between your hands, letting out a laugh of disbelief, but then you feel something poke at your entrance, and your hands shoot down to his pelvis. 

“Wait, are you–? Oh,”

He's huge. 

You gape, wondering how it’s going to fit.

Price croons, grabbing your face so you’re looking at him and not the thing between his legs, pressing his lips to yours. 

You gasp into his mouth when he pushes in, pain and pressure gathering at your core. You whimper, and he nods, rubbing tight circles into your clit with his thumb while he pushes further. 

“It’s only going to hurt for a bit, sweetheart, I promise,” 

You claw at his shoulders, legs spreading wider and wider to accommodate him as he pushes further in, pressing his hips to yours. You don’t even realise tears are rolling down your cheeks till he’s wiping them, murmuring praises to you, telling you how well you’re doing. 

Soon he’s fucking into you slowly, still swallowing each of your gasps, his hand now grabbing onto your hip, holding you in place. His thrusts grow rougher, and pain and pleasure begin to mix as you grow used to the foreign feeling of him rearranging your guts. 

“Feels good?” he asks, piercing blue eyes trained on your expressions as your mouth falls open. 

“I – oh,” 

Your back arches when he hits somewhere good, ice hot pleasure coursing through you. He laughs, big hand slipping under you to keep you arched as he continues to hit your g spot dead-on, punching out the prettiest little moans from you. 

“Sounds like music,” he chuckles, gazing down at where your hips meet, watching the way your pussy swallows him up perfectly. “Looks like she loves it too, creaming all over me,”

His cock is coated in your slick, and it’s dripping down into the sheets beneath you. You can’t reply, all coherency went out the window the moment he started fucking you. 

You don’t think he wants a reply, though, not really. The way your eyes are threatening to roll back is enough reply on its own. 

“Perfect fucking pussy, the best I’ve ever had,”

You clench around him, and he groans, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. With a hand still on your back, his other sneaks up to grab your tit, squishing it tight while he fucks you into the mattress beneath you.

Your orgasm is over you before you even realise it, your mouth falling open in a silent moan, your body tightening up, pussy nearly choking Price’s cock. He groans, pulling you close, balls drawing tight when he empties himself inside you, painting your walls white. 

He fucks you both through it till you’re out of breath and sweaty. 

You’re barely present, eyelids nearly falling shut as Price catches his breath and lies down beside you, pulling you onto his chest. His hand strokes your back while he pulls your hair behind your ear. 

“Still with me, baby?”

“Uh huh,” You shift, feeling his cum drip out of you, coating your inner thighs. Your pussy feels sorer than ever.  “Felt good,”

After that, you’re insatiable. 

It’s like he’s struck a chord, awoken something in you. Gone is the strict little missus he found at the infirmary; now there’s just a horny pup, ready to jump his bones at all times. He finds himself fucking you in the shower, eating you out on the kitchen counter, and fingering you on the sofa. You moan and gasp and coo and grind your hips into his touch, begging him for more, more, more. 

You’re on the couch, legs spread wide to accommodate John’s big body between your thighs. He’s got you all splayed out, completely naked against the scratchy fabric, a hand on the back of each of your thighs keeping you right where he wants you.

It’s not exactly comfortable. You’re being pushed deeper into the couch with each thrust, made to take every inch of his thick cock inside you. Your neck is bent at a deep angle, your chin almost colliding with your collarbone, and every time he bottoms out, the air is pushed out of your lungs.

It feels good—he’s able to get deep with this angle, and there’s really nowhere for you to go except further into the cushions.

The moans feel like they’re being punched out of you—tiny little ragged things, sounding between a sob and a whine. You’re starting to think John likes you like this, all ruined and sloppy for him.

He’s naked too, his sweats and shirt somewhere on the floor, a light sheen covering his chest. You push at his pelvis, though you’re unsure what you’re trying to gain from it as your fingers curl into the coarse hair.

John chuckles. Blue eyes are locked on your every move, and he removes a hand from your thigh so he can take your hand and intertwine your fingers, pushing them into the couch. He leans over you further, caging you in as he pushes his forehead against your own.

You whimper as you’re curled further into yourself by the action; meanwhile, something delicious is building in your core. You know he’s feeling the way you flutter around him; you can see the predatory look in his eyes as his gaze flickers down to where you’re connected.

“John, I—ah!” 

You cry out when he thrusts particularly hard, your free hand now pushing at his chest as you squeeze your eyes shut. His chuckle is deep and fond, and it rings in your head as you flush, digging your nails into his chest.

“Use your words, love,” he teases, moving a hand down to push down on your stomach, and he hits your sweet spot with his next thrust, making you jolt in his grasp. “What do you want?” 

You’re glossy-eyed, pouting up at him. It's mean of him to ask this; he already knows exactly what you want. He’s sure you’d prefer it if he just told you to take it and told you what you wanted, so you didn’t have to think about it.

Part of him likes this—the naive trust, the trembling “I want whatever you want”. Another part of him wants to mould you into something needier, something loud and demanding.

He’s not sure what part of him is winning.

You shake your head, gasping moans and breaths, leaving you as you pull him closer. 

“Please,”

There’s a furrow between your brows, and the moans that leave you each time he grazes your g spot make him groan. The hand on your stomach inches down so he can thumb at your clit just the way you showed him you like it. (How he showed you that you like it.)

The graze of his cock against your walls, combined with the big gentle circles on your clit, brings you over the edge, your eyes rolling back into your head when you come. You get so tight that he’s pushed out, something wet splashing against his pelvis.

Price grins. Wicked and gross, as he grabs your thighs so hard that he knows it’ll bruise and pushes into you again, fucking you deep and rough. You go limp in his grasp, taking everything he gives you as praise tumbles from his lips.

“Pretty baby, huh?” His voice is breathy. “Feels like you’re trying to, fuck, strangle my cock.” 

He pushes deep when he comes, barely sparing it a second thought that he’s filling you up for the nth time this week. Hope it takes, he thinks, the thought crossing as quickly as it leaves again, while he stays deep, keeping you full. It’s dripping out around where he’s stretching you thin, droplets of cum dripping down onto the couch beneath you.

You’re hardly there anymore, nothing but putty in his hands. He grunts when he slips out of you, his cock immediately feeling cold.

“You broken, sweetheart?”

You’re mumbling something incoherent. He thinks you’re blaming him for how sore you’re going to be in the morning. His eyes fall to your pussy, and there’s a low thrum of excitement in the shape of him dripping out of you.

“The couch is ruined,” you grumble, and he pulls you up, helping you stand and patting your ass. He eyes the darkening stain.

“I’ve dealt with worse stains than that.” 

For some reason, it makes you giggle. It makes his dick twitch back to life, slowly growing between his legs. You haven’t noticed yet, still humming as you stretch out, pretty tits and cunt on full display as you wince.

It’s not long before he’s back on the couch, back against the cushions, as he motions for you to sit on it. You’re still giggling, but you’re crawling onto the couch, positioning yourself right over his cock. There’s still cum glistening on your thighs, and you’re already sinking down on him, laughter morphing into moans as you place your hands on his chest for stability.

Price reaches out, one firm hand groping your tit while the other grabs your hip. He lets you take him at your own pace till your bodies meet again.

“Yeah, that’s it.” His hand is rubbing soothing circles into your hip, while his other is squeezing your tit as though it’s a stress ball. Eyes trained on where you connect, he groans. 

“Fuck, taking me so deep, yeah?” 

He lets go of your tit, giving it one last fond squeeze before he’s stroking your tummy. You gasp when he digs in right under your navel, trying to feel himself in there.

“Must be right around here,” he states, and you whimper, but then the hand on your hip is guiding you in circles, and your eyes are rolling to the back of your head. “So tight, and yet you’re taking me like it’s nothin’.”

You cry out, clawing at his arms, riding him with more desperation as the tip of his cock hits your g spot. 

“So good,” you gasp, leaning down so you can kiss him, moaning into his mouth. “Love your cock”,

This makes him laugh, and then he’s placing his feet on the couch so he can fuck up into you, causing you to collapse onto his chest. 

You let out a surprised curse, eyes rolling back again, and Price cups your face, making you open your mouth so he can stick his thumb in. You instantly wrap your lips around the digit, moaning around it, and Price grins, nodding. 

It’s not long before your brows are furrowing and your thighs are shaking, and your pussy is clenching around him while you come all over his cock again, pure bliss overtaking your features. 

Price moans, feeling the way you throb and slick cum drips down his balls. It’s not long before he’s giving you the last couple of erratic thrusts and then he finishes inside you, creamy cum spilling out around where he’s filling you up. 

You hum, satisfied, resting your head on his chest. 

“Let’s stay like this,” you murmur after letting go of his thumb, your pussy still throbbing around him. “Like it when I’m full of you,” 

Price thinks you might be a succubus. 

✰ ✰ ✰

You’re deployed a month later. It runs cold down your back when you realise you’re deployed to the same base as Price, expected to take care of his team. Price chuckles, soothingly stroking your back when you read the email beside him in bed. 

“Relax, sweetheart. No one’s going to care.” 

You’re not entirely sure about that, but it seems easy enough to keep quiet about. As long as no one questions why Captain Price is going to the infirmary more than ever. 

“John, you don’t need a checkup.” You’re slightly annoyed, glaring at him. The infirmary smells like antiseptic and stale coffee, and Price hums, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Can’t even come to see my favourite medic anymore, huh?”

His tone is serious, but you’ve been around him enough to know that there’s a teasing edge. You shake your head, sighing. 

“Not if you’re not sick or hurt.”

Price whistles, adjusting his seat in the bed closest to you. 

“I am hurt,” he states, palming the bulge in his military pants. Your eyes flicker down at the motion, and your mouth instantly feels empty. “I think it’s best you take look at it.” 

You shift your weight, glancing at the door behind him. It’s late, and no one is scheduled to return from any missions today, so it’s going to be a quiet night anyway.  

Hesitantly you walk over, about to sit beside him, but then he shakes his head. 

“I think it’s better if you get on your knees,” 

He’s still palming himself, letting out an occasional sigh. “That way you can get a real good look,” 

All fight is gone in you as you follow his orders, sitting on your knees in front of him. You place your hands on his broad thighs, blinking up at him through your lashes. 

“Where does it hurt?” you ask, and he groans when you move your hands up his thighs, towards his cock. “Right here, perhaps?” 

He lets his hand fall away, and you coo, before your hands are unbuttoning his pants, pulling out his heavy cock. It’s already hard, drooling precum, and you lick your lips before moving closer. 

“Looks like you have a serious problem here, captain,” His cock twitches in your hand at the title, and you smile. “It’s good you came here right away.” 

He grabs your hair, and you don’t hesitate to follow when he pulls you forward, tapping his cock against your lips. 

“Open up then,” he hums. “Let me fuck that pretty mouth.” 

Your eyes are glossing again, just the way he likes it. You lick along his shaft before wrapping your lips around him entirely, bobbing your head up and down. John leans back and lets you do what you want. He groans when you pull off again, just to lick the underside of his cockhead, tasting salty precum on your lips.

“You look gorgeous like this, baby.” 

An affectionate hand finds your head, and he pets you, almost making you purr when he strokes your cheek, pulling you away from his cock so he can really take in the way your lips are all glossy with spit and pre and how your eyes are looking at him with such unbridled (undeserved) trust.

Your hand is still stroking him, and at this rate, he thinks he might finish early in your hand like a fucking teenager. You rest your cheek on his thigh, humming.

“I love you,”

The words leave you before you can even process them, ripped from your mouth. You pull back, feeling mortified, but Price puts his hand on the back of your neck, keeping you close. His expression is unreadable, eyes locked on your face. 

“I didn’t mean to— oh my god, I—“ you fumble over your words, but then you’re being pulled up from your knees, nearly stumbling when he does. 

“Say it again,”

You shake your head, tongue stuck in your throat, cheeks growing hot. Price nods slowly, and the hand on the back of your neck moves down to rest right over your collarbone. 

“Can we please forget this? I didn’t mean to—“

“Come on, sweets,” he mutters, and you frown, still hesitant. It feels weird and silly and childish. 

“I love you,” you murmur, words clumsy on your tongue, and Price groans, kissing you roughly in response, pulling you into his lap. He pulls your panties aside, making you sit on his hard cock, groaning when you take him to the hilt with no problem. 

“God, sweetheart,” he whispers against your lips, swallowing up your moans and whimpers. He rocks your hips back and forth while his other hand is possessively around your throat. “Gonna make you my pretty little wife if you keep that up,”

The words make you clench around him, and Price hums. 

“Your pussy is telling me you would like that, huh?” 

You whimper again, head going cloudy when his tip nudges your g spot and his hands are all over you. He moves back to watch your expression, grabbing your chin lightly so he can nod your head up and down. 

“Yeah, good girl.” He states, chuckling when you nuzzle into his hand. “Gonna knock you up and put a ring on your finger in no time.” 

thank you for reading! beta-read by cutiepie @houndofllove <333

masterlist. dividers by my lovely letta.

[criminalamnesia]

google show me this guy wet and whimpering

[criminalamnesia]

sir, please, this is a wendys...

[criminalamnesia]

who's up missing bo chow with a cigarette in his mouth stopping a poker game no questions asked to dance with his wife 🤕

[criminalamnesia]

Night time, bitch. Night time, bitch. Time for night time shit (uh) + text posts

[criminalamnesia]

Brother, you are scaring the hoes + text posts

[criminalamnesia]

[criminalamnesia]

shen would be the type to get into a somewhat life threatening accident and then send an "i lived bitch" message in the night shift gc with a selfie of him giving a thumbs up (and ellis will be like wtf)

[criminalamnesia]

Weekly Harvest from The Pitt Twitter Part 2 🌾

[criminalamnesia]

my masterlists and pinned post are now updated! I also made a pitt masterlist!

more pitt x reader coming soon (hopefully)!!

[criminalamnesia]

The Pitt masterlist! ☆彡

dr. jack abbot

—✩ ephemeral (angst)

part one / part 2 version 1 / part 3

[criminalamnesia]

Wish you would have labeled the angst and non happy ending…

normally I do try to put warnings and tags, but with my Jack mini series, I wrote it so quickly that I didn’t.

that’s my bad, but also, I do tend to write mostly angst. I mention that in my pinned post. I will try to do better with tags and warnings!

[criminalamnesia]

AN: i am so normal about this scene i promise.

[criminalamnesia]

part 3 is out!! 👀 (Jack knows!)

Hey man, idk if your goal was to make people cry with that Jack Abbot fic but if it was mission accomplished! *finger guns out of the room while sobbing*

10/10 fic would definitely recommend to anyone needing a satisfying story that ends with you crying

I honestly didn’t expect it to get so much love!!! im just obsessed with the Pitt rn and god that man… I need him….

anyways here’s part 2 to this!!

jack doesn’t know what’s going on.

ellis came into the er with a gurney, screaming for robby, and then (if even possible) things in the ED got worse.

people scrambling, muffled sobs from nurses and doctors alike as they pass by whoever robby is currently working on. jack’s brows are furrowed, his eyes squinting to try and get a look across the room, but no dice. he starts to think maybe it’s jake— and fuck if it is.

“dr. abbot,” samira breathes beside him from where she’s hunched over their patient. another red, blood covering their torso— a gunshot wound through the upper chest. collapsed lung, struggling to breathe, struggling to live.

(like someone else across the room. but he doesn’t know that.)

“you’re good, mohan. keep going,” he says, voice even as he glances down at the resident’s work. she doesn’t need him here, really. she was one of the best residents on the floor— next to you, of course.

speaking of you— where were you? even if you’d been sleeping during dana’s slew of calls, he’d figure you’d have cracked an eye open by now. you always complained you tossed and turned at night (he had offered to remedy that in various ways.)

“done,” mohan exhales with a grin as jack’s fingers find the patients carotid, pressing for a pulse. it’s stronger than it was before mohan went to work.

“sound work,” he says, nodding down at her. her grin widens as she straightens up.

“great teacher.”

jack chuckles as he waves dr. walsh over. samira starts to walk away, but before he can even register what he’s doing, he’s got a light grip on her forearm. she glances over at him, obviously confused, head cocked to the side as chaos continues around them.

“check on robby, yeah? make sure that’s not jake he’s got.”

samira nods and leaves his grasp, weaving through gurneys and wheelchairs to reach the other attending.

“got one for me?” walsh has finally made her way over, her eyes assessing the stabilizing patient before her.

“yeah, this one’s good for upstairs,” he responds, eyes glancing once again to robby before santos starts yelling for an attending.

“better go see what she wants before she kills someone,” walsh says, smug grin adorning her lips as she grabs the gurney’s handles. “garcia says that one’s trouble.”

“yeah, yeah. don’t you have someone to cut into?”

“oh my god!”

even with all the clamor in the room, samira’s gasp cuts over the noise loud and clear. abbot’s head shoots up, watching as the resident’s hands fly over her mouth. dana hurries over, a hand landing on the young woman’s shoulder as she pulls her to the side.

“dr. abbot, we need you over at the yellows—” santos is saying as she catches her breath in front of him, her eyes flitting from the scene across the room and back to the attending beside her.

“abbot!” shen calls as he pushes a gurney through the bay doors “got another red!”

“are they dying, santos?” he asks, already starting towards shen.

“well, not actively—”

“get someone else.”

he hears her faint huff behind him, but it’s forgotten as soon as he gets his eyes on his next patient.

across the room, robby is sweating.

it’s awful, profuse, and he feels like he can’t catch his breath. there’s a ringing in his ears.

he’s never experienced drowning, but he imagines it feels a lot like this.

“c’mon,” he mutters, his eyes watching your face, searching for a sign that you were coming back.

your eyes were closed. your skin was pale from blood loss.

your heart had stopped beating.

“robby,” dana says, her voice as soft as it can be as she rests a hand on his shoulder.

“no,” he says, and he doesn’t need to say anything else. he’s tired. his body aches from the past twelve hours, but he can’t stop. this is you. he cannot stop.

somewhere in his brain, he realizes that this is not working. he’s been doing cpr since he lost your pulse, and it is not working. the tube shoved down your throat is helping you breathe. blood is still trickling from your gunshot wound.

your heart is still not beating.

this is not working.

samira is crying quietly behind him. princess has tears on her cheeks from where she stands beside your head, squeezing the bag attached to your intubation tube.

he can’t stop. one, two, three, four. one, two, three, four. up, down. up, down.

he presses down so hard he cracks your ribs. he cannot breathe. he can’t think. he can’t, he can’t—

“way past trauma protocol over there, brother.”

everything comes crashing down around him at the sound of jack’s voice carrying across the room.

he wants to laugh, because doesn’t jack know who he’s working on?

would he still be saying that if he was looking down at your pale face, your bloodstained skin?

robby ignores him. shakes his head as if shaking off the words. he can’t be done with this, he can’t give up on you. he can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

“we use blood on the ones that are gonna make it.”

jack again. robby wants to scream and laugh and cry. he’s turning hysterical, he knows it. this fucking day.

adamson. jake. abbot. you.

he can’t catch a goddamn break and it’s all weighing on him, and he’s about to lose his best friend and his best student and—

a hand on his shoulder. a firm hold, squeezing his skin so hard it almost hurts.

“robby,” it’s dana again. “you gotta let her go.”

he can hear the crack in the steely charge nurse’s tone, and that’s what really breaks him.

“fuck,” he breathes, and tears are clouding his vision. “fuck.”

dana’s hands land on top of his still moving ones. the ones that are physically beating the heart that lies dormant in your chest. she digs her nails into his skin, and that breaks him from his trance, and he finally stops.

someone sobs nearby. he doesn’t look up to see who.

he announces time of death. marks it on the card tied to your wrist.

princess removes the bag from your tube. dana pulls a blanket over your body, tucking it over your head as carefully as she can.

without a word, she and robby wheel you toward the makeshift morgue. you do not deserve to join the other bodies in there. you do not deserve to die.

dana leaves the room before him, and as soon as the door shuts behind her, he sinks to the ground.

“shit,” he cries, shaking hands reaching up to cover his eyes before scrubbing over his face. his trauma gown is covered in blood— some of it yours— and he tears at the thing as he sobs.

“fuck, fuck,” he can’t breathe. adamson, you. langdon and his drugs. jack and his trust. everything, all of it, is overwhelming. a wave too big to jump over or swim under. a current so strong it’s pulling him out to sea before he even knows he’s in the water.

“dr. robby?”

he can’t. his eyes are clenched shut, his hands grasping the chain around his neck. he mutters a prayer his grandmother taught him when he was a kid.

“dr. robby,” the voice calls again, and robby recoils as a hand grazes his shoulder, his eyes shooting open as he pushes the offender away.

whitaker looks distraught, a frown forming on his lips as he stands over the older man.

“we need you out there,” the intern says, his words firm. “you gotta get up.”

and robby wants to smack the kid, but as he finally starts to take deep breaths again. whitaker holds out a hand. robby (after a moment of contemplation) takes it.

and then he promptly shoves whitaker away as soon as he’s on his feet.

the intern nods, and without another word, leaves the room.

robby takes a breath, then another. he reaches for the door handle, but stops just short of turning it. he turns, his eyes landing on your gurney and the sheet hiding your body.

“im sorry,” he says. it is such a guttural and profound feeling, this sadness that overtakes him as he says those words.

but the ED needs him.

so he steps back into the chaos.

[criminalamnesia]

IM SORRYYYYY I know im evil 😭

Hey man, idk if your goal was to make people cry with that Jack Abbot fic but if it was mission accomplished! *finger guns out of the room while sobbing*

10/10 fic would definitely recommend to anyone needing a satisfying story that ends with you crying

I honestly didn’t expect it to get so much love!!! im just obsessed with the Pitt rn and god that man… I need him….

anyways here’s part 2 to this!!

jack doesn’t know what’s going on.

ellis came into the er with a gurney, screaming for robby, and then (if even possible) things in the ED got worse.

people scrambling, muffled sobs from nurses and doctors alike as they pass by whoever robby is currently working on. jack’s brows are furrowed, his eyes squinting to try and get a look across the room, but no dice. he starts to think maybe it’s jake— and fuck if it is.

“dr. abbot,” samira breathes beside him from where she’s hunched over their patient. another red, blood covering their torso— a gunshot wound through the upper chest. collapsed lung, struggling to breathe, struggling to live.

(like someone else across the room. but he doesn’t know that.)

“you’re good, mohan. keep going,” he says, voice even as he glances down at the resident’s work. she doesn’t need him here, really. she was one of the best residents on the floor— next to you, of course.

speaking of you— where were you? even if you’d been sleeping during dana’s slew of calls, he’d figure you’d have cracked an eye open by now. you always complained you tossed and turned at night (he had offered to remedy that in various ways.)

“done,” mohan exhales with a grin as jack’s fingers find the patients carotid, pressing for a pulse. it’s stronger than it was before mohan went to work.

“sound work,” he says, nodding down at her. her grin widens as she straightens up.

“great teacher.”

jack chuckles as he waves dr. walsh over. samira starts to walk away, but before he can even register what he’s doing, he’s got a light grip on her forearm. she glances over at him, obviously confused, head cocked to the side as chaos continues around them.

“check on robby, yeah? make sure that’s not jake he’s got.”

samira nods and leaves his grasp, weaving through gurneys and wheelchairs to reach the other attending.

“got one for me?” walsh has finally made her way over, her eyes assessing the stabilizing patient before her.

“yeah, this one’s good for upstairs,” he responds, eyes glancing once again to robby before santos starts yelling for an attending.

“better go see what she wants before she kills someone,” walsh says, smug grin adorning her lips as she grabs the gurney’s handles. “garcia says that one’s trouble.”

“yeah, yeah. don’t you have someone to cut into?”

“oh my god!”

even with all the clamor in the room, samira’s gasp cuts over the noise loud and clear. abbot’s head shoots up, watching as the resident’s hands fly over her mouth. dana hurries over, a hand landing on the young woman’s shoulder as she pulls her to the side.

“dr. abbot, we need you over at the yellows—” santos is saying as she catches her breath in front of him, her eyes flitting from the scene across the room and back to the attending beside her.

“abbot!” shen calls as he pushes a gurney through the bay doors “got another red!”

“are they dying, santos?” he asks, already starting towards shen.

“well, not actively—”

“get someone else.”

he hears her faint huff behind him, but it’s forgotten as soon as he gets his eyes on his next patient.

across the room, robby is sweating.

it’s awful, profuse, and he feels like he can’t catch his breath. there’s a ringing in his ears.

he’s never experienced drowning, but he imagines it feels a lot like this.

“c’mon,” he mutters, his eyes watching your face, searching for a sign that you were coming back.

your eyes were closed. your skin was pale from blood loss.

your heart had stopped beating.

“robby,” dana says, her voice as soft as it can be as she rests a hand on his shoulder.

“no,” he says, and he doesn’t need to say anything else. he’s tired. his body aches from the past twelve hours, but he can’t stop. this is you. he cannot stop.

somewhere in his brain, he realizes that this is not working. he’s been doing cpr since he lost your pulse, and it is not working. the tube shoved down your throat is helping you breathe. blood is still trickling from your gunshot wound.

your heart is still not beating.

this is not working.

samira is crying quietly behind him. princess has tears on her cheeks from where she stands beside your head, squeezing the bag attached to your intubation tube.

he can’t stop. one, two, three, four. one, two, three, four. up, down. up, down.

he presses down so hard he cracks your ribs. he cannot breathe. he can’t think. he can’t, he can’t—

“way past trauma protocol over there, brother.”

everything comes crashing down around him at the sound of jack’s voice carrying across the room.

he wants to laugh, because doesn’t jack know who he’s working on?

would he still be saying that if he was looking down at your pale face, your bloodstained skin?

robby ignores him. shakes his head as if shaking off the words. he can’t be done with this, he can’t give up on you. he can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

“we use blood on the ones that are gonna make it.”

jack again. robby wants to scream and laugh and cry. he’s turning hysterical, he knows it. this fucking day.

adamson. jake. abbot. you.

he can’t catch a goddamn break and it’s all weighing on him, and he’s about to lose his best friend and his best student and—

a hand on his shoulder. a firm hold, squeezing his skin so hard it almost hurts.

“robby,” it’s dana again. “you gotta let her go.”

he can hear the crack in the steely charge nurse’s tone, and that’s what really breaks him.

“fuck,” he breathes, and tears are clouding his vision. “fuck.”

dana’s hands land on top of his still moving ones. the ones that are physically beating the heart that lies dormant in your chest. she digs her nails into his skin, and that breaks him from his trance, and he finally stops.

someone sobs nearby. he doesn’t look up to see who.

he announces time of death. marks it on the card tied to your wrist.

princess removes the bag from your tube. dana pulls a blanket over your body, tucking it over your head as carefully as she can.

without a word, she and robby wheel you toward the makeshift morgue. you do not deserve to join the other bodies in there. you do not deserve to die.

dana leaves the room before him, and as soon as the door shuts behind her, he sinks to the ground.

“shit,” he cries, shaking hands reaching up to cover his eyes before scrubbing over his face. his trauma gown is covered in blood— some of it yours— and he tears at the thing as he sobs.

“fuck, fuck,” he can’t breathe. adamson, you. langdon and his drugs. jack and his trust. everything, all of it, is overwhelming. a wave too big to jump over or swim under. a current so strong it’s pulling him out to sea before he even knows he’s in the water.

“dr. robby?”

he can’t. his eyes are clenched shut, his hands grasping the chain around his neck. he mutters a prayer his grandmother taught him when he was a kid.

“dr. robby,” the voice calls again, and robby recoils as a hand grazes his shoulder, his eyes shooting open as he pushes the offender away.

whitaker looks distraught, a frown forming on his lips as he stands over the older man.

“we need you out there,” the intern says, his words firm. “you gotta get up.”

and robby wants to smack the kid, but as he finally starts to take deep breaths again. whitaker holds out a hand. robby (after a moment of contemplation) takes it.

and then he promptly shoves whitaker away as soon as he’s on his feet.

the intern nods, and without another word, leaves the room.

robby takes a breath, then another. he reaches for the door handle, but stops just short of turning it. he turns, his eyes landing on your gurney and the sheet hiding your body.

“im sorry,” he says. it is such a guttural and profound feeling, this sadness that overtakes him as he says those words.

but the ED needs him.

so he steps back into the chaos.

[criminalamnesia]

part 3 of this!!

also sorry guys please don’t hate me (im planning on writing an alternate version where reader lives!!)

it seems like things are finally starting to slow down. it’s been 10 minutes since the last red came in, and jack has been able to focus on the pinks and yellows.

it’s really starting to catch up to him now, as things de-escalate. the pain from his prosthesis, the dizziness from the blood drawing, and the confusion on where you were.

you had missed the whole thing. he wished you had been there— not because he wanted you to witness what happens in the wake of a mass tragedy, but because you were a comfort. a light in his darkness, a calming breeze on a summer morning.

but he’s relieved that your absence most likely means that you slept through the whole thing, which is a blessing in itself. the two of you were alike in that way— struggling with sleep.

jack would get home from a twelve hour night shift, adrenaline still coursing through his veins from close calls, his mind digging its claws into memories he wished he would forget. blood. battles. the dead. the ones he lost, the ones he couldn’t save— both on and off the battlefield.

he gave up on sleep a long time ago. he bought a police scanner, for christ’s sake. anything to keep his mind racing a mile a minute so he wouldn’t have to stop and really think.

you were different. you didn’t have memories of blown-off limbs or screaming men, but sleep still evaded you. you hadn’t told him why yet— this thing between the two of you was still so new. you fully hadn’t let your guard down yet, and he hadn’t either. and he didn’t push.

he wanted you to be sure about him. he didn’t think he could go through the heartbreak of losing a partner again. he especially didn’t think he could endure the pain of losing you.

“brother, you got a minute?” it’s robby breaking him from his stupor.

jack looks up from the patient he’s examined and nods, a frown tilting the corners of his lips down when he sees robby’s face.

jack knew he had his own demons— just like he did, just like you did. but god, he had never seen the man look so defeated.

“what’s up?” jack asks, following robby as he leads him toward the viewing room.

robby doesn’t answer. he doesn’t even look at until he closes the door to the viewing room behind them, and even then, it takes him a moment to lift his gaze from the floor.

“brother, what happened?” jack is asking, brows furrowed. “is it jake? is he alright?”

“kid’s fine,” robby replies, his arms crossing over his chest. jack doesn’t miss how his knuckles grow white as he digs his fingers into his forearms. “his girlfriend is, too. they’ll both make it.”

jack nods. “that’s good— glad to hear it.”

the room falls silent. tension emanates from robby, coming off of him in waves. jack shifts his weight onto his good foot, masking a wince at the pain.

“you gonna tell me what’s wrong, or are we just gonna stand here? you’re weirding me out, man,” jack says, trying to lighten the mood, but robby’s expression doesn’t falter.

he takes a breath, lets it out, and meets jack’s eyes.

“it’s about y/n.”

“what about her?” jack is quick to ask. did you slip in during the chaos, and he just didn’t see you? did you call dana back?

“she…” robby starts, but falters, and jack loves him like a brother but so help him he wants to strangle the man right now.

“she’s dead.”

the words don’t register at first. it takes a minute for them to sink in, and even then, jack doesn’t understand.

“what?” he says, subconsciously shaking his head, as if disagreeing with robby’s prognosis. “what the hell are you talking about?”

“she was at the festival,” robby tells him, his words full of unspoken emotion. “she…she got shot. came in as a red.”

the room falls silent again. jack is still shaking his head. he takes a step forward, a hand waving in front of him as he speaks. “what the fuck do you mean? she never said anything— she was going home. she said she was going home.”

“I don’t know,” robby says. “I just— she came in. ellis brought her in. I—”

“ellis?”

it dawns on him then. ellis had called out for robby, obviously distressed. robby had gone over there, and that was the patient he’d tried so hard to save.

the one that jack had given him grief for.

“way past trauma protocol over there, brother.”

his words ring back to him.

“we use blood on the ones we can save.”

the army of nurses and doctors surrounding that patient. the gasps. the sobs. samira crying, dana leading her away.

it all makes sense, but it shouldn’t.

“brother,” robby is saying, and he’s breaking down. his voice cracks, tears are in his eyes, and he moves like he’s reaching for jack but thinks better of it at the last second. “I am so, so fucking sorry.”

jack doesn’t react for a moment. and then he’s suddenly surging forward, a finger in robby’s chest as he pushes his friend a step back.

“that was her? that fucking red?!” he’s starting to yell. robby doesn’t say anything, just nods.

“you fucking—” jacks reaches out and shoves him, sending the other attending stumbling back a few paces. “you fucking knew it was her! and you didn’t—”

“I didn’t have a choice!” robby interrupts, and jack gives a mirthless laugh.

“bullshit! that’s bullshit, robby! why didn’t you— why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped her— could’ve saved her!”

robby is the one shaking his head now. “no, brother, you couldn’t have.”

“I could’ve tried!”

he’s breathing heavy, his mind racing. memories of you, flashing before his eyes. his last conversation with you, just this fucking morning, as he had stolen a kiss from you before saying goodbye.

“I could’ve fucking tried, man!” and he’s breaking down now, his anger bleeding into defeat. into sadness and regret. “I could’ve tried! I could’ve— could’ve said something! Done something— I don’t know!”

robby’s cheeks glisten as the fluorescents catch his fallen tears. he’s still gripping his forearms, his gaze back on the ground when he speaks again.

“she didn’t want me to tell you.” his voice is barely a whisper.

“what?”

“she didn’t want me to tell you.” he repeats a little louder this time, and jack scoffs.

“she said we needed you,” robby pauses. “and she was right. we could not have saved as many people tonight without you, jack.”

jack’s eyes roll up to the ceiling, staring into the bright lights above as everything sinks in. his hands come up to run through his unruly curls, and he finds them shaking. he doesn’t understand. how could this happen— how could this be true? you were fine. you had gone home. you told him you’d see him tomorrow.

(later, he would come to realize that you were right. you had done the honorable thing, the selfless thing, and prioritized a hundred other lives over your own. he would have done the same thing— had tried to during his service.)

“but she…” he trails off. he looks back at robby. “is she with the others?”

robby nods. jack takes a deep breath. “I need to see her.”

he doesn’t say anything else. just turns around, opens the door, and walks out. no one tries to speak to him as he makes his way through the department. in his peripheral, he can see others staring at him. see others holding each other. hear muffled sobs and hushed condolences.

he stops in front of the door to the peds room, looking in through the window. multiple gurneys fill the room, all holding the body someone’s loved one. sheets are pulled over each one, most with blood staining them. he doesn’t know which one is yours. he doesn’t know if that makes this worse.

he steps inside, letting the door click shut behind him. it is just him and the dead, like so many times before. it never gets easier, and he was never naive enough to think it would.

but he had been naive enough to forget that you were human, too.

he approaches the gurney closest to the door, his hands slightly shaking as he reaches for the edge of the sheet. he pulls it back enough to see the face. it’s not you.

the next one isn’t you, either. or the next, or the next. out of the six gurneys in the room, yours is the one furthest from the door. perhaps robby had put you there on purpose— trying to further shield you from prying eyes. trying to hide you away in the back corner (even though a blanket obscured your body) incase jack happened to glance through the window during the madness.

he pulls the sheet back and instantly deflates. there is no denying that this is you. cold, pale, lifeless. no grin or smirk adorning your lips. no playful or serious glint in your eyes.

dead. you are dead. you are gone, and you are not coming back.

he lets out a shaky breath, his hands resting on either side of your head, holding him up as he sags over the bed. his head hangs low, his eyes squeezed shut. he wishes this was not reality. he wishes this was some fucked up dream.

it is not. when he opens his eyes, you will still be dead, and he will still be angry and lost and sad.

angry with himself for waiting so long to start something with you.

lost because you had helped pull him out of his darkness.

sad because he would never get to know you deeper, never get to explore things with you. never tell you he loves you and have you say it back. never hold your hand over dinner, or invite you to move in with him.

so many nevers.

he straightens up and sighs, hands reaching up to wipe away stray tears. he looks down at you and frowns. you had so much left to do. you would’ve been the best damn doctor this hospital had ever seen. definitely would’ve given him a run for his money.

“im sorry, beautiful,” he murmurs. he bends down, brushing his lips against the cold skin of your forehead.

“should’ve said this sooner, but…”

he lifts the sheet back over your head.

“I love you.”

he takes a week of leave, only because gloria mandates it.

he finds himself on the roof of the hospital for each of those seven nights, looking out over the city as he has so many times before. it’s different now.

your loss weighs heavy over him. he does not know how to cope with this— how to deal with losing something he never really had.

his therapist helps a little. keeping busy does, too. but the ache of your loss still lingers, and he doubts it will ever fully go away.

it’s something he’ll learn to live with, just like the loss of his first wife, and just like the loss of so many friends during his service. he will make room for you. he will remember you. he will mourn you and what could’ve been.

and he will keep going, because if he stops, he will join you.

“feels like you get a little closer to the edge every time I find you up here.”

robby. jack hears the crunch of gravel under the other man’s shoes, but he doesn’t turn around. it’s night six of his seven day leave— and he’s itching to be back in the ED.

“still haven’t jumped, though.”

“always a bright side.”

the words are intended to lighten the mood, but they do not.

jack feels, rather than sees, robby slip under the guard railing and sidle up beside him. the two don’t speak for a moment. sirens blare below. lights flash in the distance. the sun will rise soon.

“you sure you don’t need more time off?” robby asks, his voice rough as if dragged through the dirt. he doesn’t look much better off, with dark circles under his eyes and cuts in the crescent shapes of fingernails lining his forearms.

“give me more time off and next time you find me up here, I’ll be jumping.”

robby huffs a laugh, but there’s no real humor behind it. “as long as it’s not on my shift.”

a beat of silence. “seriously, man. whatever you need. im here for you.”

jack nods. he knows. the pair haven’t spoken much since the day of pitt fest, and truthfully, jack doesn’t know how to look him right now. he doesn’t hate him, but there’s a part of him that hates what he did. that he kept your arrival a secret, that he failed to save you.

but it isn’t robby’s fault. he tried. jack knows that.

but sadness and anger are devious, and sometimes he doesn’t quite trust himself to know what’s right.

“just need to get back to work. I can’t— I can’t sit still. can’t sleep, can’t think. it’s too much.”

robby doesn’t respond. jack takes a breath before starting again.

“my therapist says i should take some more time, but i can’t. I need to do something. need to be useful to someone. she says it’s deflecting— I know it is. I know.”

another breath.

“but it’s what I need. if I spend one more day in my apartment, im going to go fucking crazy.”

“thank god you’ll be back tomorrow night,” robby says. jack nods.

“can’t have you going crazy. we need you, brother.” robby places a hand on jack’s shoulder. the words hurt.

everything hurts. everything always hurts. the pain dulls, but never dissipates.

but the people here— they make it better. they help him through. the patients. the nurses. the residents. the doctors.

robby.

jack nods. he doesn’t know what to say, but he hopes that robby knows that he isn’t angry at him. that he doesn’t blame him for what happened to you.

he just hopes that robby isn’t angry at himself.

“better get going before gloria finds out im on hospital grounds,” jack grumbles, and robby nods, his hand sliding from the other man’s shoulder.

the pair slip back under the railing, falling into step as they make their way to the stairs.

“see you tonight, brother,” robby says as the pair reach the ED. jack nods.

“see you tonight.”

and as he walks toward the waiting room, he sees that a plaque has been added to the “frontline heroes” wall. he stops, and his eyes meet yours as he stares at the photo of you.

his lips quirk up in a half-hearted smile, and now he knows why he still comes back to this place. why he’ll keep coming back.

for you.