halfpsychic

[halfpsychic]

You could do it with me.

Jack Abbot x F!Reader - Best friends to lovers!!!!!!!

11.1k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: quickly resolved angst; patient death; coding that veteran for two hours; reference to DUI; suicidal ideation; discussion of Jack's injury; reader wants marriage and kids (I know this is not everyone’s fave or something everyone wants, but I needed it for the storyline so I’m sorry if it's not your thing); reader and Jack are idiots; reference to Shen’s wedding; reference and allusion to sex; allusion to masturbation; reader is briefly held hostage with a knife to her neck and gets a very light cut; mention of drugs generally; mention of demerol; blood; no use of y/n or related

This is for the A Doctor a Day event hosted by @ananonymousaffair, @clubsoft and @letsgobarbs. Thank you for hosting such an awesome event! My prompt was "You are the very beating and pulse of my heart" and my color was black!

Summary: A message from your college ex changes everything.

AN: I love best friends to lovers. I love when they're so god damn blind to each other's romantic love and interest. I love when they do things that are so beyond what best friends (generally) do. Also for the record I do think people of opposite genders can just be platonic best friends. I challenged myself to stay under 10k and lost, but I was really close so I'm taking it. For some reason I really ended up struggling with this and don't really love or even necessarily particularly like how it came out in the end. I'm just very unsure about it. Could not articulate why to save my life. I hope it ended up coming out and reading okay. I really appreciate you taking the time to read and hope you enjoy!

You met Jack Abbot on the first day of your intern year, night shift.

He was an R4, but with the way he carried himself and practiced and the fact that he was older, you assumed he was your attending. You were both drawn to each other immediately. For both of you it was pretty much love at first sight and interaction. Neither of you could explain why if asked. It just was. By the end of your first twelve hours knowing each other you were in love with each other. 

Not, of course, that either of you told the other that. Because there was no way the other would feel the same. So instead you became best friends, almost instantly. Like after two weeks everyone had noticed how close you were. People hadn’t started assuming you were together at that point but they were assuming it was heading in that direction. 

Your reasons for not telling each other were slightly different then. For you, you were new and an intern to Jack’s R4, were quite sure Jack was not interested in you like that and, even that early on, having him in your life as a best friend was better than losing him and not having him in your life at all. For Jack, he was an R4 and you were an intern, plus he was older than you and missing a foot, he truly believed you weren’t and would never be into him like that and, as it was for you, even that early on, having you in his life as a best friend was better than losing you and not having you in his life at all.

And for a while you really were just best friends. But then over time you both seemed to greatly expand your definition of best friends. And after a while you were doing almost everything a couple did except for kissing and having sex and admitting feelings and saying you loved each other. To you and Jack though, it was all just being best friends, all things best friends did. 

The true beginning of that expansion was the first time you spent the night at Jack’s house, about three months after you met. 

Jack is confused when he sees you sitting at the hub eating the other half of the granola bar you’d started and not finished last night. It’s strange because he just assumed you guys would grab breakfast so why would you be eating. “Aren’t you off?” he asks you as he walks up to where you’re sitting.

“I am, but I just got a text from my neighbor that the AC in my apartment building is broken and won’t be fixed until this evening so I’m just gonna hang here.” You shrug. “Maybe work, maybe try to catch some sleep in the on-call room and then head home and pray it’s working.”

It has been disgustingly hot and humid the last week or ten days and being in your AC-less apartment on the fifth floor during the day was simply not happening. You’d rather be at the hospital getting shitty sleep in the on-call room or working. 

“Wasn’t this last shift our sixth straight night on?” Jack asks, with a raise of his brows.

“Indeed it was,” you sigh. “Pretty irritating because I would just like to go sleep. But what can you do? I’m not going home to sleep in this heat.”

“Yeah. No, you’re not.” It’s short, somewhere between disbelief and concern. “You’re not staying here either. Go grab your shit. You can crash at my place.” 

“Really?”

“No, I just said it to be a dick and take back the offer when you agreed.” Jack gives you a pointed really? look. “Yes, really. Now go get your shit before we both end up getting pulled back into something.”

“You don’t have to do that Jack, I’ll be fine. I wouldn’t want to intrude like that.” You shake your head at him a little. 

“I know I don’t have to offer, but you need to get some real sleep. I know you know that. You’ll make yourself sick. And you’re not intruding, you know that too.” Jack tilts his head at you.

“Aw,” you tease him a little, “are you worried about me?”

Jack rolls his eyes at you. You both know he is and that he does worry about you and that you worry about him. That’s what best friends do. “Okay, stay here then.” He shrugs.

“No, no. I’ll take you up on it if you’re still offering,” you say quickly. 

“I am.”

“Okay, let me grab my stuff.” You get up and head to the lockers, grab your things and make your way over to Jack. 

Once you’re out of the Pitt Jack turns to you as you walk towards your guys’ favorite breakfast spot. You haven’t discussed going there but it’s just unspoken at this point. “Why didn’t you just ask? How many times now have I told you you’re welcome at my place whenever? Open door or whatever. It’s not like you’ve never been to my place and don’t know I have a guest room.”

You shrug as he opens the door for you. “It felt like there was a difference between come over whenever and spend the night, or what’s our night, at my place.”

“Well there’s not,” he tells you as you slide into a booth sitting across from each other. “I’m telling you that now.”

Once you finish breakfast the two of you head to Jack’s place. Like Jack said, you’ve been to his place before. 

“You should take my bed,” Jack says once you’re at his place and both of you have set all your stuff down. “The guest bed mattress is really not the greatest. I need to replace it but nobody ever sleeps on it so I just haven’t gotten around to it.”

You’re thrown for a second at the prospect of sleeping in Jack’s bed. Even without him. “It’s alright, I don’t mind. My cheap mattress at home isn’t really the greatest.” 

“No seriously, you’ll probably wake up hurting.” He gives you a firm look. “Just let me take it.” 

“Oh, yes, because if it’s going to hurt the person who sleeps on it, the best idea is surely to give it to the older of the two of us.” You give him a look. 

“Did you just call me old?” Jack says in mock offence. 

“No, I just said you were older than me.” You soften a little. “I can tell your hip and back are hurting after six straight Jack.” You both know you’re right. This shift in particular he could really feel his hip and back compensating as his prosthetic caused him a little more pain than usual. “So just let me take the guest room.”

That makes Jack blush a little and you feel bad. You hadn’t meant to hit a nerve or make him self-conscious. “Hate than you can tell, but alright. You wanna shower before?” 

“If you don’t mind.”

“Wouldn’t have asked if I did. You’re going to have to use mine though. I don’t have any shampoo or whatever in the spare. And I’ll leave you a shirt and some boxers on my bed so you don’t have to get back into your scrubs.” He says it so casually, like he’s totally unaffected by it when he is in fact very, very affected. The thought of you in his clothes has him hardening. And the thought of wearing his clothes makes you feel warm and start to get slick between your thighs. 

You clear your throat. “Thank you.” 

Jack nods, flick his head to tell you to follow him and you do. He steps into his bathroom for a second and then comes back out. “Fresh towel and washcloth on the counter for you. I found a spare toothbrush too. Clothes will be on the bed. Shout if you need anything.”

It’s not until you’re in Jack’s shower squeezing some of his shampoo into your hand that you realize you’re going to smell like him at the end of this. You get even slicker between your legs at the thought and spend the entire shower telling yourself to stop thinking about him as anything other than your best friend. It doesn’t really work. 

And getting dried off and into Jack’s clothes does nothing to help the matter. His black shirt is oversized on you and he said boxers but he really meant boxer briefs which make you feel far closer to him in a way. 

You find Jack sitting on his couch reading. “Hey. Thank you for the shower and clothes.” Jack looks up at you and has to carefully control his reaction. He’s glad you’re far enough away that you don’t see the way his jaw clenches at how unbelievably hot you look in his clothes. It makes him feel possessive in a way he knows he shouldn’t. He’s also glad he’s sitting far enough away that you can’t see the bulge in his pants that starts to grow. 

“Of course.”

“I’m going to try and get some sleep. Wake me whenever you need me to leave.” Jack’s not waking you up. As far as he’s concerned you never need to leave. “And I hope you sleep well.” You give him a shy nod and turn to head back to the guest room. 

“Sleep well,” he calls after you. 

From then on, going to each other’s places after work slowly became a thing. By the end of your intern year it was far more common for you to end up at Jack’s place or him to end up at yours after work. Sometimes you’d spend what was your night at Jack’s, sometimes you wouldn’t. He only spent the night at yours once when you both fell asleep on your couch. You didn’t have a spare room and no way were you making Jack sleep on your couch and you knew he’d never accept your bed with you on the couch.

And then one day about a year and a half after meeting and being best friends both of you were clearly sore from your run of shifts and Jack floated the idea. 

“You wanna just sleep in my bed with me? It’s far more comfortable. And big enough so we don’t have to like… be particularly close or anything.” It takes a lot for him not to tack on ‘unless you want.’

“Oh.” His offer catches you by surprise. It feels like it should mean something, but best friends sleep in the same beds, right? It’s not that big of a deal. “Yeah, sure. That would be nice, thank you.” 

After you both shower you and Jack slide into his bed, staying respectfully at the edge of the side of the bed each of you is on. You wake up much closer, about a foot between you, and both of you have to fight the urge to snuggle into the other and try to use this opportunity to express your real feelings for each other.

After that, sleeping in the same bed became your usual thing. It opened up staying at your place more often after a while when you slowly started sleeping closer together since you had a smaller mattress. And before either of you knew it you had a drawer at Jack’s place and he had a drawer at yours, both of you had your toiletries in the other’s shower and on the other’s bathroom counter. It happened so naturally neither of you truly realized the implication for a while, and when you did you convinced yourselves that it was something best friends did.

You also convinced yourselves that getting ready in the bathroom together at the same time, bumping into each other and being close and Jack sometimes shirtless and you sometimes in just a bra and pants or shorts was something best friends did. And you wearing Jack’s clothes just because you liked to, not because you needed to borrow them, without asking him and wearing his shirt and boxer briefs to bed because they were comfortable was a best friends thing. So was Jack sleeping in just a pair of pajama pants and eventually just his boxer briefs in the same bed as you. Laying in his lap with your head on his chest cuddling or him snuggling up to you after a bad day as you watched a movie together was also just something best friends did. 

And then Jack had a really bad day. 

“Jack,” you say softly, moving your head down to try and get him to look at you as he keeps doing compressions. “We have to let him go.” Both you and Jack are sweaty, as are most of the people in the room with you. You’ve been coding the patient in front of you for two hours now. 

“Not your call to make,” he pants out. But it’s laced with anger and frustration. “You’re an R3 and I’m the attending. It’s not your call to make. So either keep running the code or get out.” It’s pretty close to snarled and makes you grimace. You and everybody in the room know that Jack’s anger and frustration isn’t truly at you. 

Jack knows you’re right but he can’t bring himself to stop. Because it’s unfair. It’s so fucking unfair. 

“Jack. Look at me.” He doesn’t stop compressions but he does lift his eyes to yours after a few seconds. “You know that I’m with you and just as aggressive as you. You know that if I thought for a second there was even the slightest chance of us getting him back I wouldn’t be telling you we have to let him go.” You nod at him, watch his jaw clench. The protective eye glasses he’s wearing might fool others into thinking that’s what’s making his eyes shiny but you know better. “He’s gone, Jack.” 

He just looks at you for another minute as he does compressions before he finally stops, panting hard. You both look up at the monitor. “Asystole,” you say quietly. You try to be quicker than Jack but aren’t and Jack’s the one to confirm with his stethoscope and you shut the monitor off. 

He pulls it away and puts it back on his neck as he speaks and glances at his watch. “Time of death 06:57.”

Jack is silent as he pulls his gloves, trauma gown and glasses off, tossing them in the biohazard bin before walking out. You tell everyone thank you before doing the same as Jack and walking out of the trauma room, head on a swivel as you look for him even though you’re pretty sure you know exactly where he is. It’s all but confirmed for you when you don’t see him in the immediate vicinity. 

It is confirmed when you step out onto the roof. You hate it when he stands on that side of the railing, it always scares the shit out of you because you always worry one day he’s going to do it. And if he was, today would likely be that day. You’re one of three people who work at the hospital other than Jack who knows that when it hit midnight seven hours ago it became the anniversary of the day of his injury. So yeah. With the significance of the day and the fact that you just coded a veteran for two hours, if he was going to do it, today seems like it could be the day. 

“You know you’re not allowed to leave me,” you call to him as you walk closer. Jack doesn’t say anything. “Seriously.” You reach the rail right behind him. “What the fuck am I gonna do if you jump?” 

Jack lets out a heavy sigh. “It’s unfair. It’s a fucking joke. Surviving over there to come back and be taken out by a drunk driver. Just like that.” He snaps his fingers as he says it. “What the fuck is the point? Of any of this anymore?” 

“It is unfair. And it’s pretty fucking cruel of the universe to have this happen ever, but especially to have it happen and put it in front of you today.” You let out a long breath. “And I don’t know what the point is either sometimes, or I lose sight of it. But I think the point is all the ones you can and do save and help, Jack. And if you jump then you can’t save or help anyone else. Civilian, service member or vet. You can’t teach others, pass on what you’ve learned. Every student and resident who comes through here would be worse off.” 

Jack knows you’re right. Some part of him wants to almost be mad at you for the way that you’re right and know what to say. He’s not though. He looks back at you a little to acknowledge he heard you. To tell you that you’re right and he knows it. 

“Will you come here, please, Jack?”

He gives a little shake of his head and lets out a shuddery breath before he turns and ducks under the rail so he’s standing right next to you. You turn into him and give him a hug. Jack returns it tightly and you can feel how hard he swallows. You know the last place he wants to show any further emotion is here so you pull out of the hug. 

“Let’s get out of here.” You grab Jack’s hand and start walking. Jack follows and the two of you only drop hands once someone else gets on the elevator with you. 

You guys manage to get out fairly quickly and unsurprisingly end up at Jack’s place. You take turns showering before crawling into bed together, both exhausted and ready to just pass out. You roll on your sides and look at each other. You know Jack needs to let some emotion out and you consider going to sleep in the guest room so he can be alone but the thought of him being alone today, especially after that code, makes you sad.

“Jack?” you say his name softly. He raises his eyebrows at you. “I know the real question you went up there looking for an answer to. Why were you the one to survive? And I’m not going to pretend to know the answer. I know this might be selfish of me, but I just want you to know that I’m really glad you were the one to survive.”

Jack’s mind spins. He can’t believe you knew that was the question. He can in a way, because it’s you and you always seem to know but part of him still can’t comprehend someone caring for him and knowing him how you do. And he wishes more than anything in the moment that he could kiss you. But he can’t. And he can’t risk losing you. His mind also spins trying to answer the question, why him, why did he survive over there, why does he survive over here? And it spins like it always does on this day, scenes of this day all those years ago playing in the background of his mind constantly.

He shakes his head a little at you, eyes glassy. He really didn’t want to cry. “You can come here, if you want, Jack.” 

Jack nods this time and slides over to you. You pull him close to you and wrap your arms around him as he buries his face in your neck and lets himself cry. You run your hands through his hair for the first time without even realizing it and keep doing it. Scratch at his scalp sometimes, play with the curls at the nape of his neck. You wish you could pull his head from your neck and kiss him, tell him you love him and have him know you mean it as more than just a friend. 

After that it became your guys’ normal. Cuddling together in bed, sleeping tangled up together or you on Jack’s chest or him on yours or with him as the big spoon or you as the big spoon, you running your hands through his hair, something you discovered relaxed him immensely and helped him fall asleep. 

Neither of you really dated over the years, not as such. It was just another thing that made everyone think you were already together or heavily in denial. As an intern and resident you didn’t really have the time, and it just wasn’t how you wanted to spend your free time at that point in your life. Jack theoretically had the time but he just didn’t want to put the effort into it really. He was content with you, even non-romantically. As you were with him. You did want more though, you did want to get married and have kids one day. With someone. You knew it would never be Jack and that if you wanted that you were eventually going to have to get over Jack and go try. You just never really brought yourself to.

Occasionally over the years each of you would pick someone up at a bar or somewhere and have some casual sex. Sometimes it turned into a bit of a friends with benefits situation and you’d see the person more than once. That was all more common for you. Jack wasn’t super into casual sex or friends with benefits. You went on a couple of dates to appease some friends and try to get over Jack. He did the same to try and get over you. Nothing ever went anywhere. 

People of course noticed how close you and Jack were. The way you always seemed to walk in and out of work together. The times you’d come in wearing Jack’s sweatshirt. The reactions you’d both have at times when the other got flirted with, either at work or when everyone went out to a bar or somewhere. 

Both of you were constantly getting asked if you were together, some people just assumed it. You both always laughed and said no, you weren’t, you didn’t know why so many people thought that, you’re just best friends. Bets were placed on when you guys would finally either admit you were together already or realize what literally everyone else could tell, that you were both in love with each other, and finally get together as a couple.

A few people bet on it taking one of you to get worryingly sick or injured or otherwise put in danger for the other to admit their feelings. They were proven wrong one night. 

Your mistake was something you’d done hundreds of times before. Walking out into the ambulance bay by yourself in the middle of the night. It’s how you find yourself being held hostage and walked back into the ED with a knife pressed against your throat. 

Sound seems to go. You’re only vaguely aware of the guy holding you making demands for drugs. Your eyes drag across the floor looking for a single person. One you can’t find. He must be in with a patient. You know he’s the only person who would give you any comfort in this situation but a part of you is almost glad you don’t see him. 

You don’t want him to see this. Especially if this guy ends up using the knife on you. You really don’t want Jack to see that. 

The scream a patient lets out and the general collective gasps he hears are Jack’s initial clues something is wrong. The chilly silence that follows is another clue and he decides to go look, makes his way to the door of the exam room he’s in. He doesn’t know what he expects to see when he steps out but it sure isn’t you with a knife pressed to your throat. And yet that’s what he sees.

Jack’s entire world stops, the vial of medication he was holding falling out of his hand. His eyes find yours immediately. “I’m sorry,” you mouth to him. He shakes his head. Why the fuck are you sorry? is all he can think. 

Jack walks forward holding up his hands. “What do you want?” he asks the guy. 

“Finally somebody with some fucking sense. Demerol. 150. To start. Then I want all the fucking vials of it and morphine you have with a bunch of needles.” The guy laughs, thinks he’s about to make out. 

“And then you’ll let her go?” Jack asks.

“I’ll walk her out with me and then I’ll let her go, yeah.”

“Fine,” Jack nods at him. “I’ll pull your dose now.” The way the guy laughs as Jack walks over to pull some demerol out makes him want to be sick. If something happens to you, anything at all, if you die, Jack swears he’ll die with you. He’d never forgive himself. He’s eerily calm and steady for how fast his heart is racing but he knows he needs to be calm and focused to get you out of this alive and physically uninjured. He knows the mental injuries are already there. 

Jack can’t quite pin down how sophisticated this guy is. The laughter makes Jack think he’s not very. That he doesn’t really know what he’s doing. So Jack tries it, sees if the guy will tell him to show him the vial first and pull it in front of him and make Jack give himself some to prove it’s nothing dangerous first. He takes a vial of etomidate out and pulls a dose, starts walking over to the guy. 

There’s no questioning. No telling Jack to go back and bring it all over and pull it in front of him, no asking Jack if Jack think he’s stupid. Only that fucking laugh that neither you nor Jack will ever forget.

“Need a vein,” Jack tells the guy as he gets close. 

“Back of the hand. The one holding the knife. She can watch,” the guy grunts at Jack and laughs as he tightens his grip on the knife and presses it into your neck hard enough to give you little deeper than a paper cut, but deep enough to draw some blood. 

The sight of your blood makes him want to be sick because, even though it’s only a few drops, you still have a fucking knife against your throat that’s making you bleed. Jack nods at you but doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t want to risk pissing the guy off, not with how tight that knife is against your skin. Jack feels the back of the guys hand for a vein to make sure they’re not all blown. He finds one and so Jack pushes the med and then steps back 

“I’m getting the rest now, okay?” Jack starts walking backwards slowly. It’s the longest onset time of Jack’s entire life but he can see when it starts to hit the guy and he’s already running back towards you as the etomidate renders the guy unconscious. “Etomidate,” Jack shouts at nobody in particular so at least somebody knows what he gave the guy and can deal with him accordingly.

The second the knife drops from your throat you’re stepping forward and Jack is right there to grab you and pull you away from the guy. Jack crushes you to him. “Jack,” you whimper as your hands fist at his scrub top at his chest, his arms wrapping around you and holding you tighter than he ever has before. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out, “fuck, you’re okay.” You’re shaking in Jack’s arms just as much as he’s shaking having you safe and in his as the adrenaline crashes for you both. “Let me see your neck.” 

He tries to pull away but you cling to him and follow him. “It’s fine, it’s fine. Just stay, please.” 

Jack wants to look at your neck for himself but he knows you’re right that it’s okay for now and you clearly need him like this and frankly he needs you like this too. Safe in his arms. 

It makes you feel safe. If you’re in Jack’s arms nothing is going to happen to you. You trust him. You know he’s safe, will keep you safe. “Please stay,” you whisper, voice shaking. “I need you.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises. “I’ve got you. And I’m not letting you out of my sight.” Jack’s voice is shaky like yours. “I can’t lose you.”

Everyone who heard that line and the way Jack said it had thought it meant you in fact weren’t together but Jack was going to admit his feelings to you and you’d admit yours back and you’d finally be together and holding hands walking in and calling each other pet names. And Jack almost did admit his feelings to you. But then you guys had gotten home and went about your routine and you were so shaken and clingy that he wasn’t able to bring himself to tell you and risk losing you, especially when you needed him so much in the aftermath. So it didn’t happen. 

The calling each other a pet name, however, did. But not in the way anyone expected. To you and Jack the word just became a nickname. One that intensified the confusion about what you and Jack were. 

You’re standing at the hub charting when you overhear Jack finishing discharge instructions with a mom and her five or six year old daughter as he walks them towards the door. You’re finally an R4 about two weeks away from starting the attending position you were offered and accepted. Jack is of course still an attending. Your schedules are almost always identical. It was easy to pull off when most people didn’t want to work nights and the two of you volunteered to. You both knew it would be staying that way once you became an attending.

“Thank you so much, babe!” You watch the mom tell Jack as she hugs him. You bite your lip to stifle your laugh, continuing to watch as Jack remains completely still. “And like we talked about if you ever need anything or get bored, here’s my number,” she giggles as she presses a post-it note to his chest. You’d be more jealous if you thought for a single second Jack might actually be interested, but he is so clearly not you almost feel embarrassed for the woman. The whole thing is so funny you have to quickly log out and walk away to keep from laughing. 

The second the mom is out the door Jack tosses the post-it note with a shake of his head. Jack has always gotten hit on at work. He’s always gotten flirted with everywhere really. He very, very rarely flirts back. But though he may not have put it together, everyone else, yourself included, has noticed that now that he’s truly gone salt and pepper he gets flirted with far more. 

Later that night around 1:30 a.m. the two of you are at the hub charting together. “Can you take the eight year old with a possible broken arm from a bunk bed fall with the new med student, Cooper? I said I would but I don’t think I can handle another mom right now and I would really love to try and get like four bites of literally anything.”

“I suppose for you I can,” you tease him, bumping your hip against his. “I brought us leftovers from last night too. They’re in the fridge.”

“I knew I kept you around for a reason.” You scoff in mock offense as Jack logs off his computer. He looks over at you and waits until you look up at him which doesn’t take long. “Thank you.” He gives you a flash of a smile and then starts to walk toward the breakroom. 

The opportunity is too good to pass up. After he gets a step or two away you call out to him. “Sure thing, babe!” 

Jack stops walking and tilts his head letting out a single huffed laugh as he shakes his head and rolls his eyes before he resumes walking. He can’t keep the small smile off his face though. 

A while later Jack finds you again at the hub, just the two of you. You guys chat for a bit until you get called away. “Oh,” you turn back to Jack, “can you remind me to check if my mascara is dried out when we get home. I’m going to need some for Shen’s wedding.”

Jack smirks at you and you already know what he’s about to say. “Sure thing, babe!” 

The nickname stuck and it pretty much became your and Jack’s exclusive way of referring to each other. You both ached for it to be a real pet name. People assumed that calling each other ‘babe’ constantly would lead to a conversation and so you’d get together within a month or so. Especially because then you’d be an attending. You wouldn’t technically be Jack’s student anymore, you’d be equals. But you still didn’t get together.

And once you became an attending and had been one for six months or so and nothing happened, people stopped placing bets. Because surely if it was going to happen it would have already. 

A year after you became an attending you started to notice it more than you had before. It felt like most of your patients were children with their parents or newlyweds or recently engaged or celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary or pregnant. Marriage and kids were frequently on your mind. But you still couldn’t bring yourself to put yourself out there and try to find someone. 

You talk about it casually with a couple of people at work, that you think you’d like marriage and kids one day, and the interest in you and Jack is renewed and bets start getting placed again. 

And one day, six years after you met, it finally happens.

You and Jack walk into his place after your shift. You unsurprisingly had to stay late so it’s 9 a.m. or so, your guys’ evening. It wasn’t a bad shift in the scope of things, but it wasn’t the easiest shift you’ve ever had either. 

Jack keeps semi blackout curtains in his living room and pulls them closed while you grab a drink for yourself and a beer for Jack from his fridge without even asking if he wants one. You don’t turn any lights on. The curtains dim the room, but you can still easily see each other.

He sits on the opposite end of the couch from you, leaning into the corner of it and putting the thigh of one leg on it as he tilts his body towards you so that you guys can see each other. Manspreading like always. If only he knew how insane it drove you. You hand him his beer and then settle back into the same position, and if only you knew how insane your legs being relatively spread open drove him. 

“I guess at least nobody died,” you mutter before taking a drink. 

Jack nods slowly as he finishes swallowing. “We’ll take the wins where we can.” He tilts his head at you. “Didn’t see much of you tonight.” 

“It was busy. I think we kept hitting our free moments at different times. It’s not like I was ignoring you.” You give him a knowing look, confused about why he’s even commenting on it. It’s something that just happens sometimes. 

He’s commenting because he missed you, quite a lot today for some reason, and especially because he saw you on your phone a decent amount at the beginning of your shift, more than you usually are, and you seemed happy. Of course he wants you to be happy, but he wants to know why. Why you weren’t using that time to come see him and let him make you happy. He’s hoping the explanation isn’t another man. 

“You seemed to be in an awfully good mood at the beginning of your shift.” He tries to keep it light, like it’s just something he noticed and not him trying to probe for information.

“Eh. My college ex boyfriend texted me.” You roll your eyes. “It was random more than anything.”

He swallows hard. Fuck. It was another man. “Oh,” Jack draws the word out, “is that who was making you smile down at your phone until about midnight tonight?” He smirks at you like he isn’t internally seething with jealousy.

You roll your eyes again but this time at Jack. “He sent me the most ridiculous opening line and it was funny, so it made me smile, yes.” 

Jack’s jaw sets and he takes a drink of his beer so that he doesn’t grind his teeth loud enough for you to hear. “You sharing or?”

There’s the faintest hint of snippiness in his tone that makes you narrow your eyes at him slightly. Jack knows all about your college ex, how he decided he didn’t want to move with you for medical school and then again for residency potentially. It broke your heart at the time but things still ended amicably all things considered. You figure the snippiness is related to Jack disliking him.

“He asked if I went into cardiology because, and I quote ‘you are the very beating and pulse of my heart.’” You start laughing as you finish saying it. Jack hardly even laughs, he just rolls his eyes and shakes his head, shifts to sit straighter on the couch so he’s looking at the black TV in front of him and not over at you. “Oh come on,” you nudge his thigh with your foot. “It was funny.”

Jack takes another swig of his beer and pulls his lips down, shrugs slightly. “Worked on you enough that you memorized it.” 

You choke on the sip of your drink you just took, coughing a little. Jack glances over at you for a second just to make sure you’re okay. 

“Worked on me? It didn’t fucking work on me. He sent it to break the ice, babe.” You furrow your brows and shake your head at him, looking at him with a mixture of disbelief and confusion. 

“Well you liked it enough to remember it and keep talking to him.” He already knows you’re going to go see this guy and probably get into a relationship and that’ll pretty much be the end of your best friends relationship as you know it now. 

You scoff at him. “I found it funny enough to remember. There’s a difference.” 

“Okay,” he sings, clearly not believing you and you just shake your head at him. You both take sips of your drinks. Even with Jack’s kind of strange behavior the silence is still comfortable. “So why’d he text you after all this time? It’s been like what? Ten years?”

You shift on the couch and pull your legs up to your chest. “He moved to Pittsburgh. Asked if I’d be interested in seeing him.”

Jack’s head snaps over to you. “You are, aren’t you? You’re going to see him?” 

His gaze is so intense it feels like it’s pinning you in place. “Yeah.” You shrug. You don’t get why this is such a big deal all of the sudden. You need this. You need to move on from Jack. You need to try and have the rest of the life you want, even if it’s not quite how you pictured it. You and Jack would still be best friends and some things might change, but it’s not like everything would change or suddenly you’d just stop hanging out because you got married and had kids.

Jack scoffs at you now. “Why?” There’s a bite behind his tone. He’s not sure if you have a real reason or if it’s just to reconnect. You squirm under his gaze for a second before you have to look away as you give him another shrug. That’s the confirmation he needs. “Bull-fucking-shit, you absolutely have a reason.” You let out a breath and occupy your mouth with another sip of your drink. “Fine. Then look me in the eye and tell me you don’t have a reason.” 

You sigh and look back at him. You swear he almost seems mad with how serious he looks, lips pressed in a line, still staring at you with that same intensity, eyes slightly narrowed. You know you’re going to have to tell him because you can’t lie to him. As in you couldn’t bring yourself to do it and also he would know the second it came out of your mouth. 

“It’s stupid,” you admit, “it’s stupid and I know it and a big part of me doesn’t care. But you’ll think it’s stupid too. Think I’m stupid for even considering it.” 

“Hey.” Jack shifts on the couch so he’s turned towards you again, features softened. “You’re not stupid. I know you far too well to know that if there is one thing in this world that you are definitively not, it’s stupid. If it’s a stupid idea, yeah I will tell you that. ” 

You look down at your hands. You know you’re going to have to tell him eventually. If you end up doing it then it’s going to come out. “When we broke up we made this stupid pact together that we both thought was just a funny joke at the time. We said if we reached the age we are now and weren’t married or in a serious relationship we’d get married and have kids together.” You pause for a second and swallow. “Neither of us are married or in a serious relationship. So you know…”

Jack’s jaw falls open a little as his head lolls forward. Adrenaline floods his body so fast he grows cold in seconds, stomach churning. He can’t lose you. Not like this. If you dated the guy and fell back in love with him that would be one thing. But this? No. And actually, no in general. He can’t lose you. He can’t watch you marry someone else and have someone else’s kids. He knows you really want marriage and kids and he wants that for you, just selfishly only with him. It gets harder to breathe as some actual panic starts to seep into him. 

He lets out an incredulous laugh. “You’re actually fucking considering this?” 

Tears sting at the back of your eyes. You know he’s not laughing at you and you know he’s not truly judging you but his reaction still hurts in a way you didn’t expect it to. All you can do is nod at him. 

Jack laughs again, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head. “Fucking why?”

“Because Jack!” He shrinks back slightly, eyebrows raising at your response and the emotion he thinks he hears in your voice. “Because I want to share my life with someone romantically! Because I want to get married and have a house and have kids! I want that life. And I’m not getting any fucking younger.”

“Oh my fucking god,” Jack scoffs. He’s nearly at a loss for words. “How can you say that? You haven’t even been looking for someone! You don’t date and I know you’ve been asked out plenty of times. And don’t give the excuse of being too busy because we both know that’s not true anymore.” He shakes his head at you and looks pissed. “Do you even fucking love him?” 

You shrug. You have absolutely no justification for why you don’t date other than because you’re in love with Jack. So you don’t even really try to justify anything. “I haven’t been, no, but I’ve still always wanted that stuff and this kind of fell in my lap and so maybe it’s a sign. And as for loving him… yeah. No. Kind of? I don’t know anymore. Would he be my first pick? No. But he’s nice, he treated me well and he’ll be a good dad I think. And maybe now that we’re both grown up there will be more of a spark there.” You knew Jack would think it was a stupid and bad idea but you didn’t know he’d react quite this strongly. In part you’re not sure why he cares so much. He’s your best friend. He should want to see you happy and living the life you want. And this is a way for you to at least be living the life you want and to be happy enough.

“So what, you’re going to fucking settle? Settle for the guy who broke your heart? The guy who couldn’t be fucking asked to move maybe twice for you so that you could do what you dreamed of? The guy who allegedly loved you but not quite enough to make any sacrifices for you?” Jack tilts his head at you. “Babe you deserve so much better. So much fucking better. Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t even consider it further. Please” 

“I think maybe I would be enough for him now. He reached out. Remembered. That has to count for something, right? And I want it Jack.” You shrug at him. You’re a little upset. Not with Jack, just with everything else. With what you don’t have. With the way you struggle about whether you really want marriage and kids without Jack now that you’re really thinking about it. “I want that life and I feel like I’m running out of time and yeah, I haven’t been looking so that’s on me, but still. You can want something and still be okay with not having it. But if the opportunity arose, if it just kind of fell in your lap… you know?”

“I know,” Jack whispers before speaking at a normal level. “I just want you to be with someone who you are enough for. Because you are enough. You are so much fucking more than enough.” Jack nods at you, hoping it will help drive his words home. “He doesn’t deserve you. Any fucking part of you. He doesn’t deserve another second of your time. I know you won’t be happy with him. Not truly. You would be settling and you know it. But you don’t have to settle. You don’t. You still have time. You can still have the life you want, just with someone who really makes you happy. Who you really want to live that life with. You still have time to find that person. Your person. So don’t do this to yourself. Please.”

Your heart aches. You know and love Jack so deeply, he’s the one you trust with every secret and part of you. You wish that you could tell him you already found your person. You already found the man who makes you really, truly happy. You already found the man you want to live your life with. That you’re staring at him.

“Jack, we have to be realistic. When am I going to go find that person? With what time? And where? It’ll take me forever to find someone.” You let out a short breath. “And then after I do find them it’s at minimum a year of dating, an engagement, then a wedding, then wanting time as just a couple before kids. I don’t have that kind of time. I have a couple of years at best.” 

“You’re giving yourself an artificial timeline.” He shakes his head. He’s not getting through to you. “You could still go find them. Or at least do this all, marriage and kids, with someone better.” 

“Who, Jack?” You laugh exasperatedly. “Who the fuck is that? I’d still have to find them. At least I know him. That’s better than jumping into this with a stranger. Who the fuck else do I know that I would do this with?” 

There’s a silence as you and Jack stare at each other. 

And then Jack raises his eyebrows and tilts his head at you quickly, just a one second or two flash. 

It hits you. 

“Jack?” you whisper. You need him to say it. Because there’s no fucking way.

He swallows hard. “Please just don’t do it with him.” 

“Jack.” 

“Me.” He rushes the word out, taking a few heavy breaths. “You could do it with me.” 

You stop breathing for a second as you look at him, expression unreadable in a way that makes him incredibly self-conscious, blush creeping up his neck to his ears and cheeks. You’re stunned. Beyond stunned. While your body is still and you’re silent your mind is running a million miles an hour screaming seventy things at once. There’s no way he means this as a romantic thing. He just has to be volunteering himself because he thinks he’s at least better than your college ex. 

The breath you take in thirty seconds later is still shocked. You lick your lips quickly and open your mouth to say something, but then close it when you can’t think of anything. This happens a couple of times before Jack speaks again. He’s quite sure he knows what your reaction means. That you’re trying to find a way to turn him down nicely. 

“I know I’m not him and I’m sure I have much less to offer than him.” You stare at Jack as he speaks, bring a hand up to cover your mouth. “And I know that I come with baggage and that I’m older and that I’m missing a piece of me, literally, but I just think, no I know I could make you happier than he could.” 

You’re silent for a minute. You process what he says but your brain doesn’t formulate a reply to it because you need to know exactly what Jack means. You move your hand from your mouth and rest it to the side of you. 

Your voice is surprisingly even, just like your body is still. You haven’t given into the trembling you can feel coming yet. “Is that… Would you want that? Or would it just be a pact kind of thing to you?” You’re still not convinced he’s thinking about this the same way you are. You’re convinced he’s just offering to take the place of your ex in the pact, not that he’s in love with you like you are with him.

The way you gloss over what he said hurts. He tries to hold onto some modicum of hope that all of this will get figured out and he won’t lose you but it’s getting hard. 

Jack lets out the saddest laugh you’ve ever heard by anyone ever. “Oh no, I want that. I’ve wanted that for a long time. Wanted you. I’ve been in love with you since that first day. The first day I met you. And I’m sorry if knowing it would be really real for me ruins it and makes me not an option. But even if it’s not me you should still find someone better than him.” He shrugs and looks away from you. 

“Are you being for fucking real?” He nods, still looking down. “No, Jack.” You move down the couch so that you’re sitting right next to each other, you with your legs crossed facing Jack who’s still turned into the couch so that he could see you. “Look at me.” He forces himself to look up at you. “Are you serious right now? Do you mean it? You want me? You’re in love with me? Like more than platonically?” 

Jack’s heart breaks because it’s not the declaration of love he’d hoped you give him in return. 

“Yes.” He nods at you, gives you the eye contact you sought, as intense as always even with his glassy and somewhat defeated looking eyes. “I want you. I’m in love with you. I’m in love with you like I want to marry you, I want you to be my wife and me to be your husband, I want to give you my last name, I want to confuse the fuck out of everyone on night shift with two Dr. Abbots, I want you to be the mother of my kids, I want to get you pregnant, more than once maybe, I want to grow old holding your hand and kissing your lips and making you laugh. I want you. I’m in love with you. I love you. I have always loved you.”

You swallow hard, the trembling finally hitting your entire body. “Why did you never say anything or make a move?” 

Your lack of real response to everything he just admitted confirms it for Jack. You don’t feel the same way. You don’t love him like he does you. There’s not going to be any saving this. 

“Because I knew you’d never reciprocate and if I said anything or made a move it would make things awkward and if it didn’t totally end our friendship it would have at least changed it significantly. And having you in my life like this, as my best friend, like you have been for the past six years was so much better than not having you in my life at all and being tortured seeing you at work.” Jack sniffles a little. “But then you started talking about marriage and kids with this guy and I know you want that life and that if you were even considering this pact you were either going to do it or probably start seriously dating and looking for someone. And so I sat here and realized I’d lose you either way. If I admitted my unrequited love I’d lose you. If you do it with him or go find someone to have that life with we obviously wouldn’t be able to continue how we are and so you’d slowly slip away and I’d lose you. So I figured I might as well throw it out there so that if nothing else you know that you are enough for someone. So much more than enough. And you shouldn’t settle for anyone who thinks differently.” 

You look at Jack for a few seconds and then you laugh. Hard. Because you cannot think of how else to react in the moment and Jack fucking Abbot is in love with you and you’re in love with him and you both have been forever and you’re both fucking idiots. 

The sound is a knife through Jack’s heart. 

You quiet your laughter and smile at Jack. He can’t quite believe it because it would be so out of character for you but Jack assumes you’re about to make fun of him. What else could you do?

“Knew I’d never reciprocate? Unrequited love?” You let out a few giggles this time. “Jack Abbot I have loved you every day for the past six years. I fell in love with you the day we met too. I am in love with you. Romantically. I love you.” You laugh again, a few tears slipping down your face, not from the laughter but the other emotions the laughter is just audibly louder than. “You’re sitting here talking about me going and finding my person and I’m trying not to fucking lose it because I’m sitting here fucking staring at my person so sure you would never reciprocate. You’re the one who makes me happy. The fucking happiest. The happiest I’ve ever been.” You take a breath and look at Jack, laughter leaving you and watery smile pulling up on your face, eyes the brightest Jack has ever seen them even in the relatively low light. “You are the one I want that life with. Marriage and kids. I said he wasn’t my first choice. You know who fucking is? You, Jack. You. It’s always been you. I’ve always loved you, too.” 

“Me?” There’s no fucking way.

“Yeah, Jack. You!” You’re beaming at him.

“You’re being for fucking real now?” He loosely mimics what you asked him earlier. A tentative smile pulls onto his face. He’s still struggling to believe that you love him. “You’re in love with me?”

“Yes. Like, like, I don’t even fucking know,” you pause trying to search for a word but it’s hard with how fucking giddy you are, “I’m soul-consumingly in love with you. Head over heels. All the clichés. I’m in love with you. I love you. I love you too.” 

His smile widens and he rests a hand on your thigh. He has to be sure you understand the reality of him though. Or what he thinks the reality of him is. “But I’m-”

“Oh, don’t even start with the I’m older and missing a piece of myself and have baggage. I’ve got some baggage myself. And I know you fucking know that.” You give him a pointed look though your smile remains. “I don’t care how old you are. And it’s hot quite frankly. I mean you are in general but you being older. The salt and pepper drives me fucking insane. Hardest day of my life was when you got enough gray for me to really notice. I had to go back to my place alone after shift and damn near burned out a vibrator over it, I mean jesus fucking christ, I set a personal record, Jack. Your age is hot. You’re hot. And handsome. Unfairly so.” You grow a little more serious to address the last point Jack had brought up earlier, rest one of your hands over his on your thigh and your other hand on his knee. “And yes. You’re missing a piece of yourself. But that doesn’t matter to me Jack. And I know what you think but it’s not unattractive, it doesn’t make you less desirable. And it certainly doesn’t somehow make you less of a man, Jack.”

His head is spinning. At all of. The whole situation. Him professing his love. You professing yours. The fact that you’re in love with each other. That you both want to get married and have kids. His brain glitched out for a second at almost burned out a vibrator and set a personal record all because you were thinking of him. And the way you read him like a book when all he said was he was he’s missing a piece of himself and reassured him perfectly, textbook example of a reason why he loves you. 

Jack’s eyes search yours as he beams with you now. He laughs, and he understands why you laughed. A few tears slide down his face, just as happy and emotional as you. “We’re fucking idiots.”

You laugh with him and nod. “Total fucking idiots.”

“We could have had all those years together. Why did you never say anything?” Jack asks, his free hand covering your hand on his knee. You’re both still so in shock and processing that kissing each other or continuing this conversation with you straddling him or somehow being closer than you are now hasn’t come to the forefront of either of your minds. 

“Same reason you didn’t. Having you somehow was better than not at all. And I mean, Jack,” you let out a flustered laugh, “you have to know like everyone wants you. You could have anybody you wanted and so I never thought you’d want me.”

“Hey. Listen to me.” Jack grows more serious though a soft smile remains. He shifts so that he can hold your face in his hands. He’s held your face like this before, many times, but not like this. This is different. You know you love each other. And while Jack is still your best friend and will always be your best friend, he’s your partner now. Your lover. Your future husband. Your future children’s father. And the same is true for Jack. You are and will always be his best friend, but you’re his partner now. His lover. His future wife. His future children’s mother. And so Jack’s holding your face like that. Like you’re his, in every sense of the word. “There is not a single human being on this entire fucking planet who I want more than you. Not a single fucking one. And there isn’t one that’s better for me. You’re the only woman I see anymore. You’ve been the only woman I see for a long time. You are the only one I want and the only one for me, Babe.”

You grin at the nickname and how it really is a pet name now, how it suddenly holds even more meaning. And you nod at Jack’s words, relish in how they warm your heart and make you feel so needed and wanted and loved. You know he means them. With his entire being. You bring your hands up and wrap them around Jack’s wrists as he holds your face, thumbs rubbing soft circles on the inside of his wrists. 

“You are the only one I want and the only for me, Babe,” you repeat to him. You bite your lip and giggle again and it goes straight to Jack’s cock. Now that you can say it you can’t help yourself. “And I can’t wait to marry you one day.”

“Oh yeah?” He smirks, confidence back in full force, seductive without even really trying. “You want it to be soon?” Jack tilts his head and leans his head in a little closer. You both know you’re fucking finally about to kiss. 

“Could be tomorrow as far as I’m concerned.” You wink at him. It’s kind of a joke but also not really. You’d marry him tomorrow. “But I do want to wait on kids. I know we’ve been dating in a sense for effectively six years, but I want time for us to really be a couple together. Just the two of us. We have a lot of time to make up for.” You look down at Jack’s lips and tilt your head opposite his, lean in even closer expecting him to close the gap. 

But instead he pulls away, making your face furrow. “Seriously?” Jack asks. 

“To which part?” Your confusion at his question and at his pulling back is clear in your tone.

Jack lets go of your face and you let go of his wrists. He stands, confusing you further until he pulls at the fabric of his scrub pants on one leg and sinks onto one knee. “Jack.” Your breathing picks up and tears hit your eyes. 

“I’m sorry I don’t have a ring right now. But I will buy you whatever you want-”

“I want whatever you pick out, Jack,” you interrupt him. 

He huffs a laugh. He loves you so much. You would interrupt his proposal for that. “Okay. I’m sorry I don’t have a ring right now. But I will pick you out one and we’ll get wedding bands on our way. I want to do life by your side forever. I love you.” Jack takes in a breath. “Will you marry me? Tomorrow?”

You nod as you start laughing. “Yeah. Yes! Of course I’ll marry you, Jack. Tomorrow.” 

You and Jack are beaming at each other again as he starts to laugh with you, standing back up and holding his hands out for you. You take them and uncross your legs, let Jack help pull you up. He pulls you close, so that you’re flush against him. And after six years, you both finally get what you want as you tilt your heads and lean in and kiss each other. 

The first kiss is soft, a lingering expression of love that has the two of you breathless as you focus on feeling each other’s lips and the electricity it seems to send through you. The second kiss is a little more, turns sucking on each other’s bottom lips are taken. The third kiss is where things really escalate and before you know it you and Jack are standing in front of his couch properly making out, tongues in each other’s mouths, Jack’s arms sliding around you to keep you close, one forearm running parallel up your spine and holding the nape of your neck, your hands finding Jack’s hair and running through it, scratching at his scalp and occasionally tugging. 

“We’re going to have to go to a different state though,” you laugh against his lips when you finally break apart for air. 

“Wait, what?” His question is a little breathless from kissing and he pulls away a bit so that you can look at each other properly. 

You nod. “Pennsylvania has a three day waiting period after you apply for a marriage license. It almost fucked up Shen’s wedding.” 

“Fuck,” Jack mutters. He looks off to the side in thought for a moment. You take the moment to admire him, this beautiful beautiful man who’s now yours. Who loves you. You keep running your hands through his hair. It’s not the first time you’ve done it but it’s the first time as his lover, his fiancée. “This is the start of our string of offs, right?”

“Mhm,” you hum, “sure is, Babe.”

Jack looks back at you, right in the eyes as usual. “Tomorrow we fly to Vegas. Elope.” 

You raise your eyebrows and pause, waiting to see if he says more or changes his mind or anything. When he doesn’t you bite your lip and nod. He’s probably not even aware of how loved it makes you feel to know he’s ready to marry you tomorrow. Just like that. But then you being ready to marry him tomorrow makes him feel the same. “Sounds like a plan, Dr. Abbot.” Jack’s pupils dilate even more, his hands sliding down your sides and back to grab your ass. “Get your laptop or my iPad, we can book the plane tickets now.”

Jack doesn’t move. “You know you’re going to be Dr. Abbot in less than 48 hours.” The realization has you taking a shallow breath in and subconsciously pressing yourself against Jack even harder. “And we can book later, in a couple of hours.”

You raise your eyebrows slightly. “Oh? Why the delay?”

He uses his hands that are still gripping your ass to grind your hips and pelvis against him as he does the same with his against you. You let out a soft moan when you feel just how hard he is, swear you can feel him throb against as you grow even wetter for him. “Because I’ve been waiting six years to fuck you and now I can. And I need to. You have no idea how badly I need you. So if it’s okay with you I’m going to take my fiancée to bed now.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope it was okay! I love hearing your guys' thoughts and comments, and I appreciate your likes, reblogs and replies so so much!

Although I'm struggling with how I'm feeling about the above, if there was any level of interest I could probably be persuaded to do a smutty part two because I do love some first time together smut and already have some ideas. So let me know if that's something you might like to see!

Thank you again for reading and all your support! ♥️

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[halfpsychic]

I’m the Dana anon, I’ve been away and missed when you reblogged the prompt lists. Just wondering if you ended up getting any requests for Dana? If so, I’m very excited to read them.

hi dana anon!!! yes i did get a few but ive been busier than usual and slow working on them 🤕 i reblogged them under #prompts pls feel free to send one in if you’d like!!

[halfpsychic]

biker robby is hot and all but im more concerned for his safety…. do you think when he has a bad shift he speeds down the highway not caring if his bike goes flying with him on it. or what happens when he does crash one day and is wheeled into the pitt on a stretcher

[halfpsychic]

Writing Commissions 4 sale Now, let me preface this: you do not need to even acknowledge this. This is just in case my shit job fires me for taking one day off for a mental health day, God forbid, am I right?

To those of you who would like to support me, there are commissions to purchase from me of different word counts. Up to 10k words!

I write for ANY Shawn Hatosy or Noah Wyle. I mean it, you give me anything on their IMDB, and I will try, like, hard to write it for you.

Will Write: -Smut -Injuries/Death -Reader Inserts & more if it's something other than these, DM me.

Won't Write: DM to find out before purchasing if you have something more unique for me to write.

[halfpsychic]

𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 – 𝐚. 𝐜𝐨𝐝𝐲 (𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭; +𝟏𝟖) | OKAY. very nervous and excited about this one. it was supposed to be a two paragraph blurb... then it balloned as it always does. very special thanks to @robbyology for their kind words about exploring kink in fic. i've become sooo much more open with others and myself when writing/reading taboo and dark fics but still start shaking in my boots when trying to show that growth. eneeways, i hope you find this as hot as i did! i need this man so bad y'all, i'm SICK. if anyone can guess where i got the title from, i'll give you my a cookie <3 word count is sitting at 1.2k :)

warning(s) include language, watersports, holding!kink, freaky!pope, taboo/dubcon, reader has a vagina, pope wants to watch you pee, bodily fluids, public urination; also PLEASE remember this is fiction. do NOT hold in your pee regularly unless you want kidney failure (which can very much kill you)

Of course, Pope doesn't realize he has a piss kink until you're sitting in the passenger's seat of his truck, leg bouncing and gritting your teeth. He immediately asks you what's wrong and you reassure him that you're fine.

"Just gotta pee..." you clarify, and his eyes zip to your clenched thighs.

Gulping, he thinks. You're on the interstate and will be for a while.

"Well... you want me to pull over or–"

You interrupt him with a shake of your head. "No. No, it's fine. Don't wanna go on the side of the road."

Pope shuffles in his place, flicking his stare to you again.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, Pope. I'm good, just try not to hit any–" Thump. The vehicle jumps with a hard jerk, Pope steadying the steering wheel as you gasp and shut your eyes. Your thighs shut even tighter, a groan pouring from you after you hold your seat with a worried grip. "...bumps."

Mumbling a sorry, Pope scratches the back of his head. A thousand words are stuck in his throat and they won't move. Not with you less than an arms length away, doing a bad job at hiding your squirm and quiet groans.

Shit. Why the fuck is he getting hard? Is he that into you that the sight of you struggling to hold your piss is getting to him this badly? The answer is a resounding yes, and he's rock solid and bulging through the crotch of his jeans not even a few minutes later.

Luckily... or unluckily... you're too busy trying not to pee all over his seat. Fuck, the thought of that does not help the man, who ends up grunting out loud before he can stop himself.

There's a shift that happens in Pope after that... one driven by the thoughts of his cock and not his brain. He inhales silently, pushing out his next question on a tight breath.

"...they were really pushing the drinks there, weren't they. You had to have... what? Four? Five? Was kind of impressive, actually. Chugged 'em all like a damn champ."

Pope doesn't look at you when he speaks. But he can still feel the helpless stare you throw his way, your eyebrows furrowed and body rigid as you squeeze. He bets you feel great, all warm and clenched. and he wonders how much warmer you'd feel if he can coax you into letting it go while he was still inside you.

Go ahead. Call him a freak, it's nothing he hasn't heard before.

"Andrew," you call out, the strain of your voice twitching his cock. The fidgeting you're doing is getting worse. More noticeable, more desperate, more distressed.

"Sorry. s'probably not helping, is it? Me talking 'bout drinkin' stuff," Pope continues, making sure to drive over the small hole in the road he sees a few feet ahead. The truck bounces again.

"Shit–seriously," you start, voice wobbly with what sounds a little like embarrassment. You turn to him halfway, eyes pleading. "No more bumps. please, or you'll make me piss my pants."

"Might be you're only option, darlin'," he eases out, swallow at the way your eyebrows furrow at his words. "Don't see another exit comin' up for a while."

You curse again, this time to yourself and quieter. Turning your head from him and to the window, you bite hard into the inside of your cheek as your bladder inches closer and closer to giving out.

Not one part of you is willing to admit that the pressure feels... nice. Better than nice and it's making you wet as you sit here next to the man who is unknowingly the usual cause of your arousal.

Out of the corner of the eye, you see the thick of his arms flex as they readjust themselves.

Hm. Okay.

You need out of this car.

Now.

"Okay, yeah. P-pull over, 'm not gonna make it back into town," you tell Pope, who feels a heat bloom throughout his chest.

He obeys you with zero words, merging the truck and pulling it to an easing stop. The rasp of his voice sounds just as you're rushing to unbuckle and pop open the door.

"Wait."

"What?"

"Just wait–

"Pope, what–"

"Can I watch?"

For the first time since you've gotten in the car, you freeze. It becomes so silent that you can almost hear the gulp that bobs Pope's throat. When you swivel your head, he doesn't look at you... not until you let out a small what?

A long inhale rises his chest and he holds it for a few seconds before huffing out the air, eyes cutting to look at yours.

"Can I?"

Pope doesn't blink the entire time you think on an answer. his heart jumps in his chest when you finally open your mouth.

"...okay."

He follows you away from the truck and behind a thick gathering of trees. Mouth settled in a hard lie to stop him from grimacing at the way his dick is rubbing against the fabric in his jeans with every other step.

Stomach flipping when you stop, you turn and blink at Pope. throwing him a tense smile, he quirks his mouth at you.

"So i'm just gonna..." you sputter out and he nods reassuringly, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket.

"Do your thing," Pope tells you, scanning his stare to make sure no one else is around. Once he's certain, he looks back to you... eyes darkening when you start to unbutton your jeans.

Hooking your thumbs at the waistband, you pause.

"Do you... do you wanna get closer?"

Pope's answer is a hesitant step toward you. One that sucks the air from your lungs and compels you to pull your bottoms the rest of your way down. His breath hitches as you reveal yourself to him and he shudders all over.

He studies you, unmoving and eyes cemented while you lower into a deep squat and lean against the nearest tree. There's no use in trying to stop the sinking of his stare. rattling with a shaky, sharp inhale, Pope watches you... mesmerized as you finally release.

Jesus, you sound like you're coming with the noises you're making. choking out groans of relief and sweet whines. Your stream is strong and loud splashing beneath you messily, and Pope's mouth is damn near watering at your exposed slit.

"Fuck, that's pretty," the man mumbles to himself, hands clenched into tight fists. His cock is pulsing and now he's unsure that he'll make it home with needing some kind of relief of his own.

You finish with a easy trickle, and Pope hurries to offer his arm. Taking your hand, he tugs you upwards in complete silence, and you end up closer to him than you expect. It stays quiet between the two of you as Pope bends and helps you underwear and jeans back into place.

Buttoning your jeans, Pope floats his face near yours with a bite of his lip. All you can do is look at him. He looks right back.

"Thank you," you whisper.

"Thank you," Pope replies lowly, hands dragging across your hips before he pulls them away.

You don't think about your next move, you just do it. Grab the thick bulge between his legs and pressing until Pope croaks.

"Might need a few more minutes," the man grates out, voice edging with a held back laugh.

Pope groans out again when you squeeze him harder.

"No worries," you bob your head, eyes brightening a touch. "...Can I watch?"

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[halfpsychic]

got side tracked and am writing robby x virgin reader smut sorry

[halfpsychic]

trying to have sex with dr robby but i have to take 5 minutes to pull off my sweaty binder first

[halfpsychic]

what your camera roll would look like if you were in a relationship with michael robinavitch

[halfpsychic]

i need to shove my face in robby’s armpit (or carter’s especially when he has the beard). noah wyle show armpit show chest hair please i need it to keep living please

[halfpsychic]

in a situation where im looking after a really hot man’s cat and well….. projecting this onto dr robby. neighbour!reader catsitting for robby. and falling in love.

[halfpsychic]

so animal kingdom taking place in late 2010s/early 2020s (can anyone give me a straight answer…) means pope could have discovered and listened to ethel cain in canon. knuckle velvet would’ve been out…. pope listening to knuckle velvet (all of golden age really) ough…..

[halfpsychic]

18+ MDNI NSFW robby x trans/ftm-nonbinary!reader

i wanna fuck this man in the back of his car so bad

after a long shift at the hospital it wasn’t uncommon for you and your coworkers to find yourselves at the closest bar drinking until you forgot about the day and fostering some positive human connection.

lot of these meet ups were dictated by what shift had been worked with the right group of people; sometimes they ended up in the park across the way from the hospital drinking cheap beer out of a cooler and shootin’ the shit. tonight, however, you and some of your fellow techs ended up running into a group from the emergency department having their own get together in the dimly lit, sticky, but affordable bar.

you had changed out of your scrubs before departing the hospital, finding the physical act of peeling the items of clothing that reflected your anxieties and exhaustion was borderline therapeutic. you noticed that a lot of the individuals from the er decidedly had not changed out of theirs; too bone tired to even think about it.

one of your fellow techs recalled a story of when one of the more rude patients they had been injecting with contrast dye for an xray fainting, smashing their head against the machine itself and having to be wheeled down to the er. the booth you were at erupted in laughter as jesse, the tall nurse from the er, pointed in recognition and added on his own tale of that same patient.

you giggled, nursing your third beverage of the night as you took stock of the interior of the bar; people watching was a hobby you were unafraid to admit to, arguing it was best to be aware of the people around. your eyes fell on another table made up of mainly residents, noting the extremely different personalities crashing together in one conversation. your eyes made their way over the rest of the bar, not necessarily taking anything in, until falling on your favourite er eye candy saddling up to the bartender with his fellow attending.

robinavitch.

dr robby as long as you don’t annoy him.

while not exactly as tall as nurse jesse, himself easy on the eyes, robby was big and broad and you wanted to climb him like a tree. his dark brown eyes, not unlike a puppy, were difficult to look at for too long without fear of losing all sense of intelligent thought. his shoulders filled out nicely in whatever he wore and against any backdrop; you counted your blessings whenever his signature navy jacket was out of the way so you could really enjoy his biceps against his black scrub top.

unfortunately, you didn’t work as closely with dr robby as your certifications and degree weren’t meant to land you in his department, but passing by when transferring patients or subbing in for simple needs when the er was short staffed was enough for you. maybe that was what made you as bold as you were when crossing paths; your time was limited and you didn’t have to stick around long.

especially when he responded: trying a new style to keep out of his eyes, he liked the way it flattered his figure so he got a dozen in the same color, gotta keep up appearances to keep the satisfaction scores up. god, the little smirk on his face was dangerous.

but he was cool, always respectful to those around him no matter what department or hierarchy in the hospital. hearing the stories about how he worked, the peeks into his skill when you happen to step foot in his department.

you were barely paying attention to the conversation at your booth, still holding onto your drink as you watched robby and abbot across the room. immediately, your eyes were drawn to the sheer width of his shoulders. robby wasn’t an extremeley buff guy, but the natural strength in his body was impressive. your mouth felt suddenly dry at the thought, tongue making its way out to moisten your chapped lip.

your eyes flicked up as you did so, making contact with robby’s surprised stare.

god, he saw you blatantly ogling him in the middle of this bar surrounded by colleagues and strangers alike. what were the odds?

already warm from the alcohol you took the opportunity to raise your eyebrows at him, acknowledging that you were caught but still holding his gaze as your lips curled into a smirk. the resulting blush that immediately made the tips of his ears go bright red before warming his cheeks was satisfying, your face and smile softening. robby broke eye contact first, attempting to follow along with whatever abbot had been talking about as the bartender brought them their respective drinks.

you stopped drinking after that, allowing yourself to slowly sober up through the continued conversation at your booth. the rest of the time you made eyes at robby from across the room, and every time he found yours; who was looking first was impossible to say, but the fact was that your eyes didn’t stray far for long.

eventually you found yourself outside for some air, standing at the far corner of the front of the bar, back against the aged brick wall. the bar was busy, and you were starting to feel a little too warm, the cool air of the night quickly breezing over your flushed skin.

“you good, kid?”

robby’s deep voice coming your side startled you, pushing back against the wall the slightest bit more in surprise. a sigh of breath that you hadn’t realized you’d inhaled let loose from your lips, followed by laughter.

“you’re quieter than you look, robinavitch,” robby let out a chuckle, eyes downcast for a moment while his sneakers toed at the concrete beneath your feet. you liked the way his laugh sounded every time you heard it; deep, little gruff, straight from the diaphragm and into your veins. addicting. you bite your lip at the sound, and robby’s eyes pointedly shoot down to your mouth at the movement.

“doesn’t answer my question,” brown eyes now back on yours, pupils the slightest bit dilated, from what you could see from the moon light. the shadows played with his features, accentuating the slope of his nose and cheek bones.

“just got a little warm, needed some air,” robby was nodding along as you spoke, a quick swipe of his tongue over his lower lip catching your attention in a very deja vü moment. when your eyes looked back up robby’s were right there, ready and waiting.

“you got a ride home?”

“was gonna share a ride with jesse, im on his way,” this answer wasn’t what robby was expecting. by the drop in his stomach and the twitch in his hands, he hated the idea of you relying on jesse, anyone, besides him. imagining jesse sliding into some backseat with you, pressed close—

“let me,” robby took a step closer, almost too close to be socially acceptable. “i can take you.”

he smells warm, whatever he had been drinking inside that warmed his belly now warmed your face as he spoke. the finality in his voice made you curious, but his smell and proximity was too distracting for you to notice what was right in front of you.

robby was jealous.

“let me pay my tab, don’t move,” you’re about to sidestep when robby’s hand brushes your forearm to stop you.

“i may have… already taken care of that.”

your eyebrows raise and robby has the decency to blush, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck the same way he does in the hospital when stressed or uncomfortable; a near constant state of being when working in healthcare. it was hard to tell whether he was being kind or if there was some ulterior motive. that wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing, you don’t think robby had a bad bone in his body.

and right now all you could think about were the different things you could do to said body and make him cry.

you toyed with the zipper of his navy hoodie, robby’s breath hitching at the action. “take me to your car, robinavitch,” and he did.

robby had parked his car far back in the parking lot, away from other cars that may be too packed together and risk causing or receiving damage. the walk was nice, the air fresh and cool on your face. it did nothing for the blush still settled on the tips of robby’s ears. as he reached for the passenger door to open, you lifted a hand to press againsst his broad chest and gave a light push.

there was a light thud from where robby’s back connected with the door, his head tilted down to look at you with growing pupils and shaky breaths. your hand pressed against his chest, enjoying the subtle strength you found there. his chest slowly rose and fell under your fingers, his heartbeat raising as the seconds went by.

you made a decision, you didn’t want to waste time or breath on keeping up the game. you wanted to get your prize for all the looks across that bar, across the emergency department, the flirty banter that started innocently at first then began to infiltrate your dreams. your palms were warm as you fisted the zip up and pulled robby to your level and finally made real contact.

and he fucking whimpered.

a large hand held you just beneath your jaw, half holding your neck and tilting your head at just the right angle. the kiss lasted a few seconds before you pulled back to try to gauge robby’s reaction, but the second you pulled away his lips chased after yours to suck your bottom lip into his mouth. you raised your other hand to hold robby just below his ribs, pulling him closer to you as he fervently licked past your lips and into your mouth.

robby’s free hand was heavy against your hip, pulling you impossibly closer while his own hips crashed against yours. he whimpered into your mouth at the contact and you could feel him hardening beneath his cargos against your belly.

“can we get in the back?” you barely managed to escape his lips long enough to speak.

“fuck, yeah, please,” robby’s hands shook as he wretched open the back door and climbed into his backseat. you followed suit, closing the door behind you before clambering onto his lap. you scrambled to unzip his hoodie as you reconnected your lips. you had to see his biceps in his scrub top now.

robby did his best to get the offending article of clothing off, and just as it slipped off him completely you threw it to the front seat. finally, your hands rested against his pecs, and you slowed everything down. now, you were ready to savor. hands trailed up his broad chest, over the clavicle, to his wide, thick shoulders. your hips liesurely rolled against the bulge in robby’s cargos, swallowing the moans that tried to escape his mouth with your tongue and lips. he couldn’t decide where to put his hands, needing to feel as much of you as possible, trembling with the growing pleasure.

once you’d had your fill of his width, you set your sights on your next target. moonlight reflected confusion in robby’s eyes as you pulled away and began to lift his scrub top, but not to fully remove it. the hair smattered against his heaving torso caused the aching between your legs to grow almost painfully. the slight pudge to his middle absolutely mouth watering. you kept one hand holding up his top to his neck and lowered your lips began to press against his chest. wet, hot, open mouthed kisses across the great expanse of flesh before you, robby’s head falling backwards with a pleasured groan at the attention, cheeks somehow more red than they had been before if even possible.

when you sucked his nipple into your mouth his hips instantly thrusted up at the foreign sensation. his head snapped down with wide eyes, slack-jawed, as you held his hips down with one hand and continued your assault. laving your tongue over the pebbled flesh before moving on to its twin with the same slow, focused pace.

“oh fuck, i-i—‘m gonna co—” with one last lick you nosed your way down his sternum to repeat the same process with his stomach, teasing close to the dark happy trail above his waistband. his abdomen heaving with tension as he came down from the premature end he nearly met. “jesus christ, kid.”

with one last, harsh suck, you admired the hickey quickly forming against the pale canvas before you. a beautiful bruise that would mark the memory of this night for days to come. the spit left behind reflecting the slim amount of light making its way into the car, as if spotlighting your work by the heavens with approval.

“god, i gotta get a picture of this next time,” you released your hold on robby to quickly work at your belt.

“already planning to have your way with me again?” he sounded breathless as he helped you pull one leg out of your pants and boxers, and you’d barely begun to play with him.

“i’d keep you and take care of you the rest of your life if you’d let me, robby,” the words were deliberate, skating away from the singular idea that you could see forming in robby’s eyes. he thought you just wanted to fuck. that this was going to satiste whatever interest you had and then you would move on to the next person that caught your fancy. this was you laying your feelings and intentions right in front of him to make of them what he will. whether he wanted you or not, you wouldn’t let him think he wasn’t.

“michael,” his voice was soft, “please, it’s michael,” his thumb stroked the apple of your cheek. emotion thick and heavy in his words and glinting in his eyes as he stared straight back at you. your chest warmed at the fondness in the look he gave you.

you leaned forward to kiss his cheek.

“michael,” his jaw.

“michael,” the opposite cheek.

“michael,” his lips.

your hands made work to unbuckle his pants, popping the button, and unzipping. michael released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding as you freed his cock from the confines of his cargos and briefs. his cock twitched as his weeping tip met the cool air, angry and red with need.

you dragged your center over the length of him, moaning in tandem as your engorged clit kissed his tip with each stroke. knees bracketing michael’s hips, you reached between you to notch him right at your entrance. his hands gripped you tightly, but without force, around your own hips. leaning his forehead against yours, eyes locked onto each other as you slowly took him whole. shuddered breaths danced between you at the pleasure of being connected.

michael kissed you as your hips started moving, muffling the moan that was about to escape his mouth. the only thing you could hear being your heart beating against your chest and the wet slapping of flesh against flesh. you braced your hands on his chest and shoulder, using the support to fuck yourself down harder into michael’s lap. he let out a deep whine, his eyes straying from your face to where his cock disappeared within you and reappeared absolutely glistening with your arousal.

“michael, you’re so—fuck— you’re so good,” you breathed into his ear, rubbing your cheek against the wiry hair on his face. “so full, ‘m so close,” the praise sent zaps of pleasure down michael’s back and straight to his cock. he began hurdling towards his precipice once again as your walls fluttered and clenched around his shaft.

michael’s hand slipped under your shirt, splaying his fingers against your stomach. he could have sword he could feel himself move inside just below his palm. all he could think about was how you felt wrapped around him and what you felt like when you came. with a sudden vigor he began fucking into you, bringing his hand not on your stomach to trap your throbbing clit in between his thumb and forefinger, tugging at the wet muscle. he needed you to finish before he lost his mind and embarrassed himself in the back of his car.

“w-where should i-i-,” you shoved your head into his shoulder as the aching in your legs and pleasure in your core began to reach dangerous heights.

“ins-inside,” you could barely get the words out fast enough, “i need you right here, right here inside. please, michael, baby— fuck.”

he’d fantasized about it sometimes, when he was alone in his bed jerking himself off to fall asleep faster. when you infiltrated those thoughts and his stomach tensed imagining this moment right now. michael cried out as he began to come, bracing his shoes against the armrests of the front seat so he could get his spend as deep as possible, just like you needed.

“oh fuck—im co-oh my god,” the after shocks kept his hips twitching upwards, his poor cock spent and sensitive to the overstimulation. you turned your head to see michael come, you had to know not only what it felt like, absolutely incredible, but what it looked like. the sweat on his brow, his hair sticking to his forehead and up at odd angles. his lips wet, the corners capturing near drool that dared to escape while he was unawares. the skin leading below his scrubs red with exertion to match the shade of his cheeks and ears.

it made you ache, the want rising quickly in your lower belly. this was the taste of something you were never supposed to have, but now that you had? you were addicted. you’d die for it. you thought you’d die with out just one more hit.

your hips began to move again, trying to reach the same break-neck pace as before. you needed one more from him, then you would be satisfied. maybe. there was only one way to tell.

“what’re you doing,” michael gasped at the stimulation, trying to angle his hips away from the mix of pain and pleasure, but there was nowhere for him to retreat to. he was stuck beneath your figure taking more and more. using him and fucking down into his lap, his cock ringed white with your combined orgasm. “i can’t, baby, i ca—,” he cut himself off with a loud moan as his abdomen tensed in that deliciously familiar way, mouth breathing heavily into the space between you.

“mikey, please, y’can. you’re so good f’me, need it bad, not enough, i need you,” you shoved your to gue into his mouth to bring him back into the moment, your praise going straight through his brain and to his loins.

michael’s eyes began to water, the pleasure so overwhelming. he hooked his arms undee your armpits, holding on to your shoulders with whatever strength he had left in his body. his babbles and increasing volumed cries of how good you felt and how he wanted to be good and fill you and how it hurt so good. his hips pistoning into you brought you quickly to your second orgasm, michael following swiftly behind.

“don-don’t move. im still coming, fuck,” his body was relaxing now as he sunk into the backseat, still clutching your shoulders for support as his cock twitched inside of you still. you could feel that if you extricated yourself now you’d dribble out all that you’d worked so hard for. you cooed against michael’s furred cheek, placing gentle kisses into his sweat coated skin. the salty tears drying against his face as he rubbed up and down your back, slow and steady. somehow more intimate than what had just transpired.

“should stay over, worried about you driving home yourself," you offered. it was true, you were concerned at how much you’d wrung out of the older man, but the selfish part of you didn’t mind having him close for longer.

michael chuckled into your neck, nosing at the soft skin beneath your ear. “respectfully, you have roommates. im taking you back to mine. g’na fuck you into my bed on my day off as revenge for nearly killin’ me. you sick fuck,” he couldnt stop the laughter towards the end, and you couldn’t resist laughing along with him.

that didn’t sound too bad at all.

[halfpsychic]

turning this into a headcanons post because im struggling to write it. pope cody x cat owner gn!reader.

° He comes over to your place like usual and is met with a ball of fur sitting on the couch. That is not usual. You hadn't warned him about a new pet.

° She was one of the cats who were at the shelter the longest. She looked so lonely. And defeated. Just looking for someone to love her. Reminded you of a certain someone…

° Just. So awkward with the cat. Tensing when she sits on his lap (even asks if you can take her off the first few times), staring at her in confusion when she meows at him. He doesn’t say anything but when you offer to let him give her a few treats, he watches her mouth just in case she bites him (she doesn’t). He knows absolutely nothing about cat behaviour and is confused why she doesn’t always like belly rubs or why she swats at him if he pets her for too long.

° It takes him sooooo long to properly warm up to her. He gets the hang of petting her pretty quick, but he’s still lost on how to play. She doesn’t fetch. He has to scramble around the floor picking up all of her toys to throw again. He can’t figure out how to move around her stick toys to entice her. The cat just stares at him like he's stupid. Then she'll turn around and chase dust floating in the air.

° He learns physical affection with her. When you’re dating, he subconsciously starts petting you when he’s next to you. It's nice, though. His hands are so big and warm, you start to see why cats love it so much.

° Doesn't coo a lot at her (at first). Silently scratches her chin and her ears.

° Pope getting confused when you call out pet names you usually call him. Walking into the living room and saying "Sweetheart, what are you doing?" to the cat and Pope responds "Watching TV," before realizing you're staring at the cat. Or coming back into your bedroom in the morning to the cat sleeping on the bed beside Pope. Leaning down carefully to not wake either of them, cooing, "You're so cute," to the cat and Pope murmurs, "Thanks," back...

° Staring contests with her from across the room.

“Pope, stop staring at her.”

“No. She has to blink first.”

° He hates how much she sheds. Always on you about brushing her to try containing the situation. Buys you lint rollers and pet fur removers so he doesn’t leave your place covered in fur. Lets you brush her so he doesn't get covered in fur.

° Once he gets used to the fact that no matter how hard he tries, he'll always end up covered in her fur, he starts getting really into grooming her. Gets all kinds of brushes and does his best to control her shedding situation. Nightly brushes while she sits in his lap, and sometimes it moves to the floor so she can roll around.

° Pope is so gentle with her. Always worried he’s going to play too rough with her by accident, but he never does. He’s aware of his strength.

° Before you know it, he’s picking her up and sitting down on your couch with her in his lap. She doesn’t mind. She likes how firm his grip can be when he pets her and how big his arms are when he holds her. Once he gets comfortable with her, he's better at playing rough. Not too rough, but he finds it amusing when she attacks his hand. He doesn't care if she bites and leaves a mark. Once in a while, he'll seek out her sharp claws and get her riled up so she attacks his hands. All in good fun, though (totally not worrisome behaviour).

° When Pope leaves, she meows at the door after him, and very often tries to run out after him. If he forgets a jacket, she’s curled up on it (and Pope is groaning when he gets it back because it is covered in her fur). That cat becomes attached quick.

° (in reference to my other work, Perverts) He can’t sneak into your place in the middle of the night anymore because she hears the door click open and runs to see who is there. And when she knows it’s Pope, she meows at him for pets or to play. It disturbs his secrecy.

° (prompt req from this list) Pope can be a busy guy so when he hasn't been around for a few days, his absence is felt by two living creatures now. Depending where you are in the relationship, she’ll meow at you constantly to play with her (which she does not engage with because you don’t do it the way he does it), she’ll gravitate towards his side of the couch, or she’ll sleep on his side of the bed, on top of his pillow (and he huffs about the fur she leaves on it later). In the beginning, he doesn't really understand how she could miss him. She's just a cat. But every time he comes over after being gone for a few days she's all over him, and soon enough it gets through his head that she does have feelings, too, and most of those feelings are about missing him.

He calls late one night. The cat is curled up in his spot on the couch, the opposite end of where you're sitting, and it's almost offensive. But you get it. You miss him, too.

Your phone rings, startling her awake for a moment, her head lifting up at the intrusion.

"The cat misses you," you say instead of a greeting.

"Yeah, I bet she does," Pope responds. "What about you?"

A soft smile creeps onto your face. No matter how many times Pope offers you his attention, it pulls you back into the shyness that overtook you in the beginning. "Yeah, I guess," you respond, attempting to be nonchalant but the need in your voice still shines through. "When are you coming home?"

Pope ignores the way his heart beats faster when you call your place home. "Tomorrow night. Promise."

"Good. She really misses you. She won't sit with me, she likes your spot on the couch better."

"Give her the phone."

"What? She's asleep."

"I want to say goodnight."

You roll your eyes but obey anyway, stretching over on the couch to put your phone by her (sleeping) ears. The volume on your phone isn't loud enough for you to hear what he has to say. It's just between him and the cat.

Bringing the phone back to your ear, you ask, "Any goodnights for me?"

"Goodnight," he replies in a soft voice. "I told her to take care of you while I'm gone."

Pope always knows just how to take your breath away. "Goodnight Andrew, I love you."

a/n: had this in my mind because i love and miss my cats and thank you @dastmalchianss for the prompt request <3. Vaguely based off of my baby…. my pretty princess…. my beautiful Lou

masterlist ko-fi

[halfpsychic]

The Pope lipstick blurb you posted !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! its so mundane and day o day yet its the hottest thing ive ever laid eyes on im sweating holy fuck 😔 im down bad for pope tysm

thank you!!!!! i really missed writing him. i would love to get lipstick on some places Other than his face…. wink wink

[halfpsychic]

👀

Let me be the one to get you going on CNC Robby!! Girl what are your thots!!!?

Babe I got so many thots, all of them definitely talked about extensively before hand with safe words at play and check ins because Robby doesn't want to hurt his girl

Pussy inspection, just the tip, "accidental" wrong hole, definitely some med students/attending power dynamics, THROAT FUCKING, mix with breeding with taking the condom off mid fuck

[halfpsychic]

how easy you are to need - part 1

MICHAEL ‘ROBBY’ ROBINAVITCH x F!READER

|| part 2 >>

Summary: You accidentally send some very compromising pictures (and a particularly filthy video) to your boss/attending/crush. Chaos follows and, along with it, a very pleasant surprise.

wc: 7.6k

Warnings: f!reader, secondhand embarrassment probably (it ends well), kind of non-con voyeurism, resident/attending, implied age gap, lewds n’ nudes, jerking off at work, banter, robby has a dirty mouth, mutual pining, (they’re both down so bad but robby is better at hiding it), tension, reader is shorter than robby, alternating pov

A/N: *sobbing into my hands* it was not supposed to be like this. i need help. i need to be sedated. actual smut in part 2, i promise </3

Honestly, you really shouldn’t be putting in this kind of effort for a guy who’s failed to get you off not just once, not twice, but three times now, which happens to be the same number of times you’ve hooked up with him. 

Yet here you are, striking various poses in various states of undress with the hope of inspiring Tony to just try harder.

You start on your knees in your thigh highs, cheeksters, and a way-too-short crop top. Arch the back, make sure to get some under and side boob, a tasteful lewd to whet his palate.

Move to the bed and lose the panties. Part of your face is in the shot, lip between your teeth, but the main focus is your ass that’s pushed into the air enough to get a better view. 

The last photo is of your tits—most of them, anyway, but if Tony is smart enough to press his thumb to the screen, he’ll see that it’s a live and be generously afforded the sight of your nipples on screen for half a second when you give a little bounce. 

None of it is crazy, just enough to make him hungry, prepare him for the video you film. Back in bed, you take the time to get yourself wet with your favorite vibrator, feel your muscles contract and loosen in preparation for your fingers first, then your dildo. 

About seven inches with a satisfying girth, the toy is a shade of light teal (and glows in the dark, but that’s irrelevant). Phone secured in a telescopic stand that gives you more reach, you click ‘record’ again and spend the next 20 minutes filming and editing until you’re pleased with the end result. 

Your moans are loud enough to hear but not over the top, still leave gaps that are filled by the squelch of your pussy. Some frames catch the quiver of your thighs, others a glimpse of the curve of your tits where your shirt has ridden up. The star of the show, however, is the toy you’re plunging in and out of your cunt, coated in gossamer arousal at first but eventually smeared with white cream as you continue to fuck yourself with it. 

The orgasm at the end is faked, impossible for you to achieve without clitoral stimulation, but you’re positive Tony won’t know the difference considering you’ve already faked three with him. 

Scrolling through, you hum at everything you’ve managed to capture. Good work. Maybe he’ll finally go down on you for longer than three minutes. Maybe next time you see him, you’ll actually cum. 

Wishful thinking, but enough to motivate you to send the suggestive images and filthy fucking video. 

It’s about four PM, so Tony will be at work for another hour. Refusing to wait with baited breath, you toss your phone to the side and busy yourself with cleaning your toys. You’ve done enough for this guy; you’re not gonna let him take up any more space in your mind by obsessing over what his reply might be. 

You have no idea that you’ve just made a horrible mistake.

You should’ve double checked. Maybe then you would’ve been quick enough to delete everything. 

But, you didn’t, so you’re not, and about 15 minutes later when you pick up your phone again your heart drops into your ass. 

It’s so fucking stupid. You’re so fucking stupid. But Tony was your most recent message, and you were positive that when you unlocked your phone, it opened up his thread like it usually does. You hadn’t even noticed that it had, instead, taken you to your most recent notification—an older text thread that had remained untouched for over a week.

Until now. 

>> I know you just worked 5 in a row, but Mel is out with the flu. Is there any way you can come in for her tomorrow? 

From Robby. 

As in Dr. Robinavitch. As in your senior attending, your boss, your teacher (your crush for the last two years).

And, right there under his question, or really in response to it, are your three pictures and amateur video. 

You slap a hand over your mouth to keep vomit from spewing past your lips, ohh God, your stomach is rolling. There are literal tears in your eyes as you frantically type 

<< DO NOT FULLY OPEN THIS THREAD!!!

<< JUST DELETE IT 

<< PLEASE

But, you’re kidding yourself. It’s already been 15 minutes since you sent them, and that dreaded ‘Read’ is already time-stamped beneath your video. 

Dizzy and hot with humiliation, you walk into your bathroom and sit on the tile, want to be as close to the toilet as possible in case you really do hurl. 

<< I am SO sorry those obviously weren’t meant for you 

<< I didn’t realize you texted 

<< I should have double checked. Triple checked 

<< I’m so so sorry oh my god 

Three dots appear, and you bite down on your lip so hard, you just might open the scars left by old piercings. 

The dots disappear for several seconds. Pop back up. Disappear again. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

>> No worries. Deleted. 

You inhale shakily, the text almost impossible to read with how your phone quakes in your trembling hands. 

There is no way you’ll be able to look Robby in the face ever again. You should just go to the hospital now and grab any shit you have in the locker you share with Trinity. Start looking at different residency programs. See if you can get some kind of letter of recommendation from an attending who is not Robby. 

His question, you remember. If you can work for Mel. You can’t agree to it—absolutely not. 

Should you tell him that, though? Is he waiting for a real answer that does not involve your naked fucking body? Oh, this is bad. This is very not good. 

You don’t tell him that you’ll cover the shift, and Robby doesn’t ask a second time. He probably knows you’re going through the five stages of grief and are nowhere near ‘acceptance’. He’s a smart guy, merciful despite what some of the other residents say. You need time to process your egregious mistake, and he’s giving it to you. 

Or, so you assume. 

In reality, Robby is about ten miles away, dealing with what might be the most painful erection in the history of mankind, and he can’t even do anything about it aside from hide in the bathroom, staring and cursing at his traitorous dick for reacting like this. 

He’s at work, for fuck’s sake. There are patients bleeding out on the other side of this door, and he’s standing here like an asshole, contemplating if it’s possible to will his predicament away, or if it’ll be easier to just jerk off right here. Robby has no doubt that he’d be able to cum within thirty seconds, but the morality aspect of it…

Getting himself off in the bathroom of his own emergency department is goddamn degenerate behavior, but how the fuck is he supposed to focus like this? 

Holy fuck, he’s so hard it hurts, and when Robby finally pulls his cock from his cargos, the pressure of his hand alone has him gasping and hissing. His tip is leaking precum, and he decides that yeah, this was the right move. Most ethical? Fuck no. But at least now he won’t have to explain any suspicious fluid that may bleed through his pants. 

The weight of his phone in his pocket is comparable to that of an anvil. Robby tries to ignore it, gives himself a few slow strokes while bracing his other hand on the wall. 

Don’t. Don’t look at the pictures. Do not fucking open that thread again (the one that he definitely did not delete). Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t—

“Shit,” Robby huffs, grabbing his phone, unlocking it, immediately opening your messages. 

He’s fucked. He is fucked. Can’t believe he’s actually doing this. It’s wrong on so many levels, but God, you are gorgeous and splayed out, on display for Robby to drink in even though these images were not meant for his eyes.

The arch of your back in the picture of you on your knees. The outline—the suggestion—of your tits beneath that impractically tiny top, completely gone in the next image to show off the slopes and curves and valley between. Robby thinks about what it might feel like to suck on your pebbled nipples, what sounds you’d make for him. 

Then, he sees the video, the one he hadn’t actually opened because the screencap was already too much. It’s what sent him speed walking to the nearest bathroom in the first place. 

He’s smart enough to turn his volume all the way down, looks over his shoulder to make sure no one is nearby despite being in a very locked staff restroom that is one, marked as occupied, and two, requires a code to get in. Still, it never hurts to double check (as you learned just a few minutes ago). 

With a deep breath, hand still wrapped around his cock, Robby taps his screen to play the video and—

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he whispers, sucking saliva from his teeth as he watches you move the camera from your chest down your torso, your hips, and finally the hand between your legs. The toy between your legs. 

Robby is panting as he watches you, stroking himself and time-locked with the bright dildo you’re thrusting in and out of your cunt. 

He wants to hear you, fuck, he wants to find out if you’re moaning or whimpering or letting your pussy do all the talking. 

The toy shines in the light whenever you pull it out, but Robby zeroes in on the ring of cream you leave around the base, smearing it up and down as you keep fucking yourself, and fuckfuck, he’s gonna cum. He’s gonna cum in this hospital restroom to this video that he was never supposed to see, the video he’d told you he deleted. 

So wrong, so fucking wrong, possibly the most fucked up thing he’s ever done, but he couldn’t help it—can’t help it when you tremble and buck and shove the dildo into your pussy as far as it’ll go like you’re greedy for more. 

Robby can give you more. He wants to give you more, has wanted to for too fucking long. From the first time he stood behind you to guide you through a procedure, got a whiff of your shampoo, saw the way you smiled at him. Cute and competent, beautiful, flexible, good. You’re so fucking good. 

He’s ignored it for two years. Two years of squeezing his eyes shut to block out the stars in yours. Two years of biting back groans when you end up pressed against him in a crowded trauma room. Two years of flushed skin and heart palpitations and staring at someone he shouldn’t even be glancing at. 

But, now he has the pictures and this video, and it’s like he’s been damned to a special kind of hell. He’s watching you take that dildo, obsessed with the idea of watching you take something bigger, take him, let him fill you up with more than just his cock. Shit, he could give you so much more, load after load until his cum is dripping out of your pussy rather than off of his hand like it is now. 

“Fuuucking—”

Robby drops his head to the wall and takes a few deep breaths while letting the shame wash over him, wishing he would drown in it instead of simply bathing. 

•

Robby quickly figures out that he is going to have to be the mature one out of the two of you. He doesn’t really have a choice, has to pretend that he didn’t get off to your photos or that he’s watched the video so many times he has it fucking memorized. Every breath, every moan, the faked orgasm at the end that’s honestly kind of insulting. He’s offended on your behalf because you should never ever have to fake that. You should have never gotten so good at faking it.

The first shift that you work with one another, you go out of your way to avoid him. It’s impossible to keep up considering the environment and pace that goes along with traumas, but whenever you aren’t stuck in a room with him, you do your best to hide. 

It isn’t subtle. 

If Robby could, he would also be making himself scarce, but again, he was supposed to delete your messages, not obsess over them with his hand shoved down the front of his pants. 

After stepping into an exam room that you’re already in then watching you scurry out of it at the first opportunity, Robby decides he’s had enough. This kind of avoidant behavior, though understandable in this case, just doesn’t fucking work in an ER, and he refuses to let you fuck up the rest of your residency over some accidental nudes. 

So, Robby plasters on his best ‘I have never seen your pussy before’ expression and, when he gets his chance, wraps a hand around your elbow and gently guides you out to the ambulance bay. 

You don’t protest or shrug him off, just sigh, resign yourself to whatever fate you think Robby has in store for you. 

He looks around, checking for any coworkers or, you know, incoming ambulances, and once he deems it safe, Robby takes you by the shoulders, looks you dead in the eye, and states, “you have got to fucking relax.”

He thinks you might sputter or gawk, but that is not what happens.

“That’s easy for you to say!” and you do not bother censoring yourself when you continue, “you’re not the one who sent fucking nudes to your boss.”

“Definitely not arguing that, and I get that you’re embarrassed, but I’m telling you—” he notices that he’s still holding onto you, drops his hands and shoves them into his jacket pockets, “—it’s fine, alright? I’m not gonna fucking blackmail you or make fun of you or some shit. I’m not twelve.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re a grown ass man who I work with every day who has now seen my—my, like…” 

You can’t even say it, can’t even look at him, just hide your face in your hands. 

It’s fine. Robby can finish it for you. Maybe if he’s blunt about it, the awkwardness will dissipate. Lay it out. Rip off the band-aid. Exposure therapy. 

“I’m a fucking doctor. Seeing a pair of tits,” perfect, pretty tits, “and a vulva,” slick and creamy, hole all twitchy and greedy… Christ. Robby has to clear his throat in order to finish, “it’s not gonna faze me. Yours is not the first female body I’ve seen.”

The number of emotions that play out on your face is more entertaining than it should be. Mortification to surprise to confusion to something very fucking pouty. 

“What? What are frowning about?” 

Your, “nothing,” comes out suspiciously fast, and Robby narrows his eyes as you avert yours. “Nothing. It’s just weird hearing you talk like that.”

He rubs a hand down his face. Of all the things to focus on. 

“Tits. Pussy. Cock. Cunt,” he lists because if you’re gonna hash all of this out, he can’t have you on the brink of combusting. 

“Oh my god, stop! Stop talking!” It’s practically a squeal, and the noise sends heat racing down Robby’s spine to settle right at the base of it. 

It reminds him of the sounds you made in that video, turned up all the way while in the privacy of his own home. Gasps, and mewls, and adorable whines. Little ‘please please please’s thrown in there as a treat, but even if the begging isn’t genuine, it still sounds damn good, still ricochets in Robby’s brain even now. 

“I’m just trying to show that this isn’t a big fucking deal,” he tries, then immediately backtracks when he sees yet another emotion play out on your face: anger. “Hold on, wait, listen. I’m not trying to invalidate you. I—look, I get that you’re probably feeling vulnerable, or that now I don’t know, I have something on you, or more power or some other bullshit. I recognize that, okay? Nod with me,” he pauses to make sure you’re following, would be worried about condescending, but you don’t seem to take it as such, just stare and do as you’re told, nodding slowly. “As far as I’m concerned, it never happened,” a lie, “it was a mistake. You have a life outside of this ER just like I do.”

“You send dick pics to the wrong people?” you pipe up, finally starting to look more like a person and less like a deer being hunted.  

“Well, no…” Robby cradles the back of his neck, “but I’m sure some of the people who’ve seen it wish they hadn’t.”

He never noticed how fucking cute you are when you’re caught off guard—eyes widening, brows rising, lips parting. 

“Didn’t ever think I’d end up in a conversation with my attending about his dick,” you mutter. 

Robby laughs, “yeah, well, I didn’t ever think my best resident would send me a sex tape.”

Your jaw drops, but the corners of your mouth are still upturned. “It was not a sex tape—”

Hands back in his pockets, Robby’s body language screams his disagreement. He lifts his shoulders in a shrug, presses his lips into a line, rocks his head back and forth as if he’s waffling on the idea until he eventually responds, “mmmyeah, except it is. That was a sex tape.”

“It was n—wait,” you stop, eyes going wide again only they don’t stop growing, threatening to pop out of their sockets. 

Confused, Robby raises an eyebrow and—

Ohh, shit. 

“You watched it?”

Yep, he just outed himself, and now all he can do is cringe. 

“Robby, what the fuck?!”

He expects a slap to the face. Deserves that and more. But all you do is stand there, hands on your cheeks like you just stepped out of whatever art museum The Scream is mounted in. 

“I’m sorry—I don’t…” He runs his palms up his face, presses them to his temples before settling at the top of his head and squeezing his skull as if it’ll ground him. “I have no fucking excuse. I’m sorry. It was just base brain curiosity.”

Head hanging forward, you shake it back and forth, muttering something Robby can’t hear as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. 

Should he go back inside? He should go back inside. Jesus, this is about to be an HR clusterfuck, god dammit—

“Okay, the least you can do is tell me I looked good in it, fuck.” 

You seem to steel yourself, crossing your arms over your chest, hip cocked out, chin up in some kind of unnecessary defiance. 

“You…” Robby blinks at you, stunned. His entire body feels like it’s on fire, blushing all the way to his scalp. “You want me to fucking critique it?”

“Absolutely not. If you criticize any of it, I will kill myself,” you say so seriously that Robby actually believes you. “I want you to tell me that I didn’t fucking film it for no goddamn reason, ‘cause the guy it was for didn’t seem to care, so—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Robby cuts you off, startled by how loud his voice is. 

It makes you jump, but you still release something that might be a giggle. 

“I wish I was. He just said ‘you’re sexy’,” finger quotation marks, “with a sweating emoji.” 

You roll your eyes, and Robby lets out an incredulous laugh about an octave higher than is normal for him, looks up at the bay awning while uttering, “Jesus, men are so fucking stupid,” before he levels his gaze back on you. 

“Yeah, I’m well aware.” All moody and inpatient, literally tapping your foot as you look at Robby expectantly. “Well?”

He checks his surroundings again, must be habit at this point, then asks, “you want me to be honest?” and when you nod, he pushes a little more, “one hundred percent?” just to be sure. 

“Oh my god. You watched the video like a fucking pervert. I think I deserve some validation—yes, I’m sure.”

How is his skin still getting hotter? 

Robby exhales through his teeth, squeezes his eyes shut for a second before shaking off his nerves. 

You aren’t mad at him. Irritated, maybe, but not about to shove a scalpel into his carotid. And, you’re asking for his opinion, asking for his praise, brimming with curiosity. 

It gives Robby undeserved confidence, and he slowly walks you backward toward the brick wall behind you until he’s got you crowded against it. 

Lips nearly brushing the shell of your ear, he confesses—quiet, deep, rough, “I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve cum to that video of you.” 

You inhale sharp enough for him to hear, air filling your lungs and making your chest rise, and suddenly Robby isn’t the only one who’s burning. He can feel the heat radiating off of you. 

So, he keeps going.

“You want validation?” 

He’s met with the tiniest nod, as if you’re ashamed for asking. Robby tells you exactly why you shouldn’t be. 

“I got those messages while I was here, right in the middle of the pitt. Didn’t even move ‘cause I was too busy staring at how pretty you are in them…” He raises a hand to catch a strand of your hair, tries to memorize how soft it is between his fingers. “Locked myself in the bathroom ‘cause I couldn’t let anyone see how fucking hard I was getting. Doubt I need to tell you what I did in there.”

He’s getting bold. Too bold. About to cross the last line bold. Your head is tilted back so you can gaze up at him, and Robby takes it as an invitation, drops your hair in favor of running a knuckle up the side of your neck then along your jaw. 

“I watched that video and stroked my cock until I came all over my hand like some fucking teenager. And, then I went home and did it again.”

Biting your lip, your eyes are hooded and desirous as you slide down the wall a couple inches, stopped by the leg Robby slots between yours without thinking. 

“Listened to you over and over—so fuckin’ sweet when you started whining, when your pussy started begging.”

“Holy fuck,” you whisper, and it pulls a chuckle from his chest. It’s easy to tell you’ve never had a man speak to you like this. Robby is glad to be the first. Honored, even. 

Some of your weight rests against his thigh, and he has to bite back a groan when your hips twitch against him. 

It was just a few days ago that Robby was locked in a prison of arousal and self-loathing, hating himself for even thinking about getting off in the EC. Now, he’s got you pinned to the wall outside of the same department, and all he wants is to watch you grind and squirm against him. 

Any shame he felt before is long fucking gone. 

“The photos, the video… I know you’re embarrassed, but I am fucking ruined, okay? I can’t think straight anymore, not when you’re around. Fuck, not even when you’re gone.” 

He’s telling you too much, admitting things he shouldn’t, but he’s spent days walking around with the image of you fucking yourself with a dildo burned into his retinas (days walking around with his cock being at least half hard at any given time). 

Pent up, frustrated, and stupid, Robby really can’t be held at fault for running his mouth and letting his hands wander. 

“And, the worst part of it all,” his fingers curl over where your neck meets your shoulder, but his thumb is stretched out to lightly press against your throat, wishing he could leave his unique print on your skin. 

“The fucking worst part is that you took those while thinking of some someone else, put on your little thigh-highs and fucked yourself for some asshole who can’t tell the difference between a real orgasm and a fake one.”

You go rigid between Robby and the wall, staring up at him in shock. You’re still simmering from the contact, with where all this is heading because it is heading somewhere. 

But, the difference between… there’s no way he could know. He’s just talking shit about Tony because he’s jealous apparently (and that idea is extremely fucking hot), but his words hit home because yeah, you have faked every orgasm with Tony, and no, he hasn’t noticed. 

But, how could Robby? He’s seen one video; it’s not like he knows—

“Honey, I’ve been fucking for longer than you’ve been alive,” oh, good lord, “I know what an orgasm looks and sounds like.” His hand is calloused where he cups your cheek, and you melt straight into it. “What you did in that video was beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but it wasn’t real.”

He raises the leg between yours, probably rocks onto the ball of his foot, and it presses harder against you, but it’s not enough. Even when you grind down, clutch at his shoulders, it is not fucking enough. 

His brazen display of self-assuredness makes you dizzy and dumb. If he’s this confident, there must be a reason, and that reason is likely how you’re responding to him. Your body language, how you can barely even see him through your half-lidded eyes, how your bottom lip is raw from chewing on it.

It makes you desperate—embarrassingly so, and when his coarse beard grazes over your cheek bone, you let the last of your inhibitions dissipate. 

“Robby, I swear to God, if you keep talking, I will literally fuck you in one of the parked ambulances.”

He has the audacity to laugh, a puff of air straight from his throat that cascades over the shell of your ear, and it makes you want to cry. It makes you hit your head against the wall behind you. One, two, three times before Robby slips his hand between your skull and the bricks. 

“Not in an ambulance,” he shakes his head, brown eyes trained on your mouth. “You won’t be able to move the way I want you to in an ambulance.”

His voice is so low, a rumble, a vibration, and it makes you pulse, pussy hungry for what you can’t have. 

You roll your hips in a plea for more friction, and you’re about ready to strip right here and now if it means he’ll fuck you. 

If you could just push him a little further. If you could just make him as crazy as he’s made you. 

Eager to the point of hysteria, you squeeze your eyes shut and tell him the secret you’ve been harboring since starting at the hospital (part of it, anyway), something you never imagined telling him, and it comes out in the form of pathetic incoherencies— “it was you. I was thinking about you when I made the video, ‘nd I’ve done it before—made myself cum while—I try not to, t-to think and, like, imagine other things, but can’t—”

A surprised grunt (squeak) is forced out of you when Robby crushes his lips against yours, and you cannot remember the last time a man has rendered you so fucking useless, but fuck, you’re holding onto him as if it’ll keep you in a solid state because it sure feels like you’re about to evaporate out of his hands and into the clouds.

You are going to die here. No way you can survive his beard scratching against your face or the sensation of his lips on yours, warm and a little chapped but so, so hungry as they move with yours. 

Jesus fuck, you feel his tongue, do not hesitate to stroke it with your own, licking into his mouth before pulling back and catching his bottom lip between your incisors and biting. 

Robby groans, the fingers at the back of your head curling into your hair. He cants his hips forward, and you finally see that it’s not just you who’s affected. Worked up. Not thinking straight. 

This is Robby—the man who is obsessed with controlling everything he can, who refuses to let anyone see what he’s bottled up, who compartmentalizes so much you’re surprised he doesn’t have multiple active bleeding ulcers—tearing apart at the seams little by little. 

Quick, tiny rips that turn to longer cuts then into deep gashes until he’s cleaved right down the middle. You feel the way his eyebrows pinch together when you hold his face to yours, inhale every one of his shaky breaths, grind yourself down on his thigh as his hips move in short, abortive thrusts. 

Fuck, fuck, “on-call room—”

“No.” Growled. Rough. Leaving no room for argument. “I’m not doing this until I can spread you out,” —the way he keeps running his nose up your cheek is driving you crazy, but not as much as his voice in your ear, “until I can make you scream my fucking name.”

“God, fuck, Robby—”

He smiles, you think, judging by the way his beard scratches at you differently, “not a chance in hell I’m letting anyone else hear you like this.”

There is a very good chance, however, that you’re dripping through your panties and possibly your scrubs. You surge forward, demanding another kiss that Robby eagerly bends to. 

A siren sounds in the distance, distorted by the doppler effect that matches the way you feel inside, like your sanity is waxing and waning, screaming then whimpering. 

“There are still three fucking hours left in this shift,” you grumble, “and you expect me to just power through? Wet?”

He swears under his breath, something that is so very satisfying, but when he actually lifts his head and pulls back enough for you to see his flushed face, he somehow manages to school his expression into something professional. 

“I expect you to do your job,” he says, masterfully composed. You pout, and Robby brushes hair from your face at the same time that he shifts his leg against your cunt, and you think he must really enjoy seeing you unstable because he tacks on a low, sing-songy, “be good for me.”

Fucking devilish. 

Hands on his chest, you shove him backward, eyes narrowed in a heatless glare. 

“Now you’re just being mean.”

“Oh, you have no idea how mean I can be,” he shoots back, winks, then turns his attention to the ambulance that’s pulling up into the bay. 

Back to business, hands in his pockets, brown eyes clear and alert, like nothing even happened. 

“34-year-old female with multiple fractures after a hit-and-run while biking…”

You move on autopilot, falling into step beside the gurney as the medic rattles off numbers and injuries. The motions come easily, muscle memory, but even as you assess and examine, you can’t ignore how damp your panties are. When Robby announces that the biker’s hip needs to be reduced, you almost roll your eyes at him before stepping up to get a better angle. 

External rotation, upward pull, praise the Gods for fast-acting pain meds. 

A hand steadies you as you begin to lower yourself, and you don’t have to look to know who it belongs to. Scorching and far too familiar, following your movements while remaining planted on the small of your back. 

When you’re on solid ground, you lean close to Robby’s shoulder and clack your teeth together as if snapping at him. Playful, maybe even cheeky, but quick so that no one else notices. 

He goes along with it, scrunches his nose while imitating a snarl, and you gallop to put distance between you and him before he can catch the ridiculous fucking giggle that bubbles out of you.

What have you gotten yourself into? 

Two and a half more hours, a case of appendicitis, and a knowing smirk. 

An hour and 45 minutes, a collapsed lung, and fingers that linger a little too long. 

30 minutes, a football player with a compound fracture, and breath on the nape of your neck as he slides to get to your other side. 

The night shift crew starts trickling in, and Ellis nearly pulls you into what would probably be a witty conversation full of laughs and subtle shit-talking, but you spin away from her with the excuse of being late for a family dinner. 

You need to shower and you need to give yourself a pep talk in the mirror and you need to—

“Family dinner?”

Robby catches up to you outside, which was not supposed to happen because he always stays later than necessary, wants to be his control freak self and keep an eye on the night shift for at least an hour. 

“Too late for you to play dumb. I already know you’re an evil goddamn mastermind.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he responds, eyes to the sky, whistling in a casual, cartoonish manner. 

Bouncing back and forth between overwhelming frustration and giddy anticipation, you walk a little closer to him, biting the inside of your cheek when Robby gently shoulders into you.

Then, like a bucket full of ice water, the situation washes over you all at once. From the accidental pictures up to now. The mortification and anxiety, the compulsive avoidance, the enthusiastic conversation you had mere hours ago. 

You stop walking.

Flirting at work is one thing, but bringing it out into the real world…?

You want it. You want him. You have for too long, and you’ve struggled with it. 

Dating apps and hookups and finding new fucking hobbies—they’re just attempts at distracting yourself. You wish you could cope with extra shifts, but that would be counterproductive. It’s hard enough seeing Robby a few days a week. Any more than that and there would be no hope for you to get over this thing you’ve had for him. 

This can’t be a hookup brought on by a few filthy photos. This can’t be the first time he’s ever seen you as more than just a resident. This can’t be a roaring fire tonight that gets doused in the morning. 

Robby only gets a few steps further before noticing your standstill, stops a few feet ahead at the edge of the lot your car is parked in. 

“You okay?” he ventures, “rethinking all of this?”

You shake your head, “no,” then, “yes.”

Robby frowns but the expression doesn’t come off as upset. More confused than anything. 

“You can back out. I know you’re in limbo or… something, but—”

“No, it’s not that,” you wave off, and you notice that your hand is shaking. Actually, all of you is shaking. It’s pretty well contained, you think, but the antsy energy makes you clench your jaw too tight.

Robby is looking at you in a way only he can—concerned, compassionate, exhausted—and he’s about to open his mouth again, push for you to talk to him with that gentle tone that’s usually meant to placate patients and family, and unfortunately, you’re going to be completely honest, tell him what you left out in the ambulance bay, because you’ve never been able to lie to him. 

“What is it, then?” He takes a step forward but keeps his hands in his pockets. It makes him look relaxed, unimposing, I am restrained; I cannot hurt you. “This can end right here if you want it to, but you’ve gotta tell me.” 

Kind despite the gravel, just as you predicted. 

Heaving a sigh, you snort to yourself, truly cannot believe you’re about to ruin the rest of your residency with a single conversation. 

“I know, yeah, just… I’m about to say some things, and they might make you feel awkward or, I don’t know, like, trapped or whatever, so—”

“Is this about the crush you’ve had since you started?”

He just says it. To your face, right out in the open!

Jaw dropping all the way, you stare at Robby completely dumbfounded. Your cheeks blaze and your ears ring and the world around you comes to a jerky stop. 

“You—you knew?”

His eyes are damn near blinding with the way they shine, a smile tugging at his lips, so fucking self-satisfied even as he blushes. 

“It took me a while to catch on, but yeah,” he nods, moving closer now as he pulls a hand from his pocket to scratch over the hair on his cheek. 

You’re only torturing yourself by asking, “how?” but you need to know. What did you do? What tipped him off?

Robby’s grin softens, his blinks get slower, and for the first time today, he sounds a little unsure. 

“You remember that marathon last year? Some charity event, I think for Alzheimer’s or dementia, one of those nightmare diseases.”

“It was Parkinson’s,” you remind him. 

“Right, anyway, we were fucking packed with broken ankles and torn ligaments, that one guy with rhabdomyolosis…” he lists, eyes to the sky instead of on you. “Then, that kid came in with a dislocated jaw, and—”

“Oh, no, I remember now.” Because you do. You remember this story almost as well as you remember the butterflies. 

Robby chuckles. “I still don’t know why, but you got this fucking look on your face when I showed you how to pop it back into place, like I’d just performed some goddamn miracle, and it didn’t—no, it still doesn’t make sense to me, but I remember liking that look way too fuckin’ much, thought about it too much, wondered if you thought about me too much, and eventually it sort of… started making more sense. Not that it’s me, that doesn’t—the doe eyes, I mean, I understood a little better.”

His rambling would be adorable if you weren’t so fucking embarrassed. Shit, how many times had you stared at him with those “doe eyes” without realizing it? Like a dumb puppy chewing on his pant leg to get his attention. 

You slap a hand over your face and shake your head. “So, you’ve just been going along with it no matter how uncomfortable it probably made you.”

If you were to actually look at him again, you’d see the way Robby rolls his eyes. 

“Didn’t listen to a fucking word I said, Jesus…” 

Now, you do glance up, see the familiar way his fingers lock at the back of his neck as Robby slides his jaw back and forth like he’s thinking. Debating. 

“Okay, here’s what it is—I went along with it. I ignored it.” Ah, ouch. “Or, I tried to, ‘cause it’s fucking distracting, but not… it doesn’t make me feel like—what’d you say earlier? Awkward or trapped. It's distracting ‘cause I can see it. On your face. And, I lose my goddamn focus ‘cause all I can think about is—fuck—what can I do to make you keep looking at me like that?”

He looks stressed, like he’s arguing with an ignorant, unruly patient, even releases one of those incredulous laughs. It doesn’t feel like he’s frustrated with you, though, and you think that maybe he hadn’t planned on telling you all of this. 

“Wait…” you massage your temples, “what are you—hold on.”

Is he saying what you think he’s saying? No. No, definitely not. 

“You’re my resident,” Robby groans, and you know. You know you’re his resident and he’s your attending. 

You know it’s cliché and stupid and impossible which is why you’ve been doing everything you can to move the fuck on. It even felt like you’d been making progress, slow and minuscule as it was, it was still progress. 

But, now you’ve seen how heated his gaze is, heard how rough his voice gets, felt his body pressing against yours, and all of that progress has been lost. In fact, you’ve fallen behind your initial starting point, and this time he knows. 

“I’m sorry—I know. I didn’t mean to put you in a shitty spot, but I couldn’t help it! If I could stop, I would.”

“Please fucking don’t,” Robby replies swiftly, covers the last bit of distance until he’s right in front of you, shaking his head and keeping you pinned under those endlessly tortured brown eyes, “don’t be sorry, don’t try to stop.” 

His hand feels huge on your cheek, and you subconsciously lean into it while gazing up at him. Curling his fingers, you feel his nails graze your cheekbone as a devastatingly soft plea falls from him, “don’t stop fucking looking at me like this.”

You wouldn’t be able to even if you wanted to. 

The kiss is a surprise. You didn’t think he’d be the type to be comfortable displaying something like this in a public setting; any of your coworkers could walk by, could snicker, could judge, so either he’s not in his right mind, or he really does not care. 

“There are people,” half-hearted and muffled against his lips as you raise up to your tiptoes. 

Robby huffs a laugh and tells you, “couldn’t give less of a fuck,” and proves it by settling his free hand on your back, just over the waistband of your pants, and pulls until you’re slotted against him. 

It’s… not softer than before, there’s definitely still force behind the kiss, but it’s less greedy. Less about taking, more about giving—giving up, giving in, giving everything. 

You’re still just as desperate as you were three hours ago, want him between your legs, want him to wreck you, but the way his mouth feels moving with yours is all you can focus on. Harsh pressure receding into something feather light, angling your face, tender yet controlling, so that his nose bumps yours, parted lips barely dragging over yours, and he’s teasing, making you want him more and more. 

“So, here’s my plan,” Robby breathes so, so close. 

You think you hear footsteps nearby, can’t find it in yourself to be bothered by them. 

“You have my…” you barely manage to swallow a whimper when he pulls you impossibly closer, “—undivided attention.”

Robby smiles and hums, “like the sound of that,” before getting back on track, “my plan, though—”

“Mhm, your plan,” your hands travel down his torso, finding belt loops to hook your fingers in. 

“It involves going to your place first, so you can grab clothes, your toothbrush, and whatever toys you use to get yourself off—” 

The way he says it punches the air straight from your lungs. 

“Then, we’re going to mine, and I’m gonna use every one of those toys, make sure you actually cum.”

Robby nips at your lower lip, traps it and sucks before he continues. 

His voice isn’t just gravel now; it’s stone. Firm, deep, excavated from his chest— 

“And, when we get there, I am going to fuck you until the only thought in your pretty head is how good I can make you feel.”

If it weren’t for Robby’s broad frame in front of you, the setting sun would beam straight through your dangerously blown pupils, fry both of your fucking optic nerves, but the danger is blocked, eclipsed by this menace of a man.

You’ve seen Robby goof around, seen him play and poke fun, but you have never seen him look and sound and be so fiendish—an honest to god villain. 

And you are so fucking wet, you think you’re getting dehydrated. 

“That… that sounds, uh,” you try, possibly panting, definitely light-headed. But, you are nothing if not stubborn, so you counter, “sounds kinda presumptuous, actually. Assuming I’m just gonna, like, spend the night and cum my brains out.” 

You make a show of rolling your eyes. The petulance doesn’t quite land when you shudder from the sensation of his fingers toying with your waistband, so you add, “I’ve noticed that when guys talk a big game, I usually leave disappointed.”

Robby looks entertained, a little endeared, an expression that reads something like, that’s cute. 

“I’m sure that’s been your experience in the past, but I’m not some fucking,” he makes a dismissive motion like he can’t be bothered to think too hard about it, “some douchey real estate agent you found on Tinder.”

“What side of Tinder are you on?” you snort. 

“I’m not on it at all, actually, but you’re missing the point.”

“Right,” you suck your teeth, still challenging but refusing to move away from him. “The point being you’re gonna rock my world or whatever.”

Robby takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger then uses them to shake your head for you. With his eyebrows raised, his responding, “no,” sounds like an admonishment, “the point being I actually care about making you cum, and plan to do so—multiple times, if I have it my way…”

“Your way,” you parrot. 

“My way.” He strokes your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. “Gonna make sure you don’t send more filthy fucking pictures to anyone but me from now on.”

Is it possible to climax from words alone? It must be because having Robby talk to you like this, show how possessive he can be, it feels like you’re about to explode. 

“So I can keep sending videos, then? Didn’t say anything about those.”

“As long as it shows my head between your thighs, go for it.”

Your pitchy, disbelieving giggle breaks enough for him to hear, “what? Are you serious?”

“No, I’m not fucking serious, are you kidding me? My eyes only, got it?”

Your pussy clenches as if he’s already fucking you.

“I—didn’t you have a fucking plan, or are you just gonna keep riling me up?”

“Oh, so you’re on board then?” he toys, smile growing both in size and smugness. 

You click your tongue, quietly scoff, “as if you don’t know. Asshole.”

Robby laughs, and you grab a handful of his hoodie before turning and making your way to your car.

He’s more than happy to be tugged along behind you.

[halfpsychic]

⁸⁰⁾ “the cat misses you.” WITH ANDREW CODY PUHLEASE 😭😭

this just made my whole day i LOVE cats and had a few pope x cat owner headcanons in my drafts…. maybe i’ll add to that? 🤭