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honeysrecs · 25 days ago

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Your Man

thank you very much to @ananonymousaffair, @clubsoft, and @letsgobarbs for including me in the 𝘈 𝘋𝑂𝘊𝑇𝘖𝑅 𝐴 𝐷𝘈𝑌 writing event <3 i cannot wait to dive into the pieces written by my fellow writers (check out the full post for every tagged gem!) prompt: "I think to be so dumb must be nice." | colour: black 🖤 pairing: jack abbot x f!resident reader summary: You and Jack have been bickering your way through night shifts for ages now—until two flying trays, a stitched-up hand, and one too many almost-confessions turn everything into something neither of you can ignore. content/warnings: enemies to lovers (all the banter, jabs, & sarcasm), slow-burn, emotionally repressed idiots to emotionally repressed idiots in love, depiction of harassment towards healthcare workers, protective!reader & protective!jack, fluff, angst, Robby being done with both of you wc: 5.2k a/n: i def could have gone a certain direction *cough cough* but i was overcome with a sudden craving for enemies to lovers / "they're both stubborn and it's complicated tropes," so i present to you this emotionally constipated snippet of my heart 🩺🖤

It was a well-known fact that you always clocked in after Jack Abbot.

Not because you meant to. At least, not exactly.

It started one night during your first week on night shift. You’d been cramming for exams all day, convinced you could fit in just one more practice block before your shift—just one more. But you dozed off somewhere around question 43, mouth open against the back of your textbook, a puddle of drool collecting around what once was a diagram of the cardiac chambers.

You sprinted in at 6:45pm, flustered and un-caffeinated, only to find Jack already there. Leaning against the nurses’ station with a cup of coffee like he’d been born in that spot, annoyingly calm and smirking like he’d seen this coming.

"Cutting it close, Dr. L/N," he’d said, not even looking up from his chart. "Careful. That’s how habits start."

He was right.

At first, you were apologetic—nervous and over-eager, all stammered greetings and shuffled charts. Jack didn’t seem to notice you beyond the bare minimum, and you chalked that up to his status, his seniority, his general aura of don’t talk to me unless someone is actively dying.

But things changed. Somewhere between covering for each other during rounds, tagging out on disaster admits, and a running tally of how many times you each got paged during a single trauma night, familiarity set in. You became colleagues. Then reluctant allies. And somewhere along the line—rivals. Enemies, depending on who you asked and on how bad the night was going.

One time, you were both elbow-deep in post-codes, barely functioning off stale coffee and mutual spite, when he passed you a chart and muttered, "Try not to kill this one with your bedside manner."

You took it without looking up from the board above you. "I'll match your emotional range and we'll both be fine."

You were never late, but it soon became a silent game. He always beat you at it. Whether it was by five minutes or five steps, you never let yourself get there before him. A superstition, maybe. A routine. A rhythm. And because you liked to keep him on edge—just to get a reaction out of him.

Seeing Jack colored with shades of affect, even if it was playfully annoyed, was fun. It made him predictable, addictive, a full 180 from his usual stone-cold demeanor. He’d scowl, grumble something about professionalism, and still let you win half the time. It became a kind of game, and you were very good at it.

Now as a senior resident awaiting board licensure, it was practically tradition.

He was already at the nurses’ station, sipping black coffee like it was fuel and he was a half-full tank, eyes scanning over charts. His voice cut through the hum of bedlam as you approached. "Late again, Dr. L/N. At least you're consistent."

You flipped him off without breaking stride. "And yet, somehow, the hospital hasn't burned down yet. Miraculous, wouldn't you say so, Dr. Abbot?"

He raised a brow, the faintest smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Not even ten minutes in and already have our claws out, do we?"

"Oh, Jack," you pouted, "this is just foreplay."

"Ah, is that what you call passive-aggressive incompetence now?"

"Bold of you to assume it’s passive," you fired back, picking up an iPad and scanning through your list of patients for the night. "Or that I’m incompetent, considering I actually round with patients instead of brooding in corners like a gargoyle."

"Gargoyle?" he echoed. "I’m flattered you’ve been staring long enough to come up with nicknames."

"Please," you scoffed. "Your aura of gloom is visible from space. NASA actually filed a complaint saying it was interfering with their ability to conduct research."

Jack paused for a beat, gaze flicking over you more intently than usual. "Did you eat before your shift?"

You eyes were glued on the iPad, your only response a single head bobble "no."

He didn’t like that. Robby could tell from the way his jaw flexed slightly—but he said nothing. Just hummed under his breath and looked back at his clipboard.

Robby had been watching through his glasses the entire time, arms crossed and eyes narrowed like a dad wrangling in two over-caffeinated siblings. He blinked at the two of you, then sighed—long, theatrical, the kind of sigh that said he had survived more codes than he could count but this was titrating his patience.

"You two ever gonna kiss, or just keep trying to murder each other with sarcasm?" He took his glasses off to bury his face in his hands with a groan.

Jack didn’t look up, turning the page over on his clipboard. "I prefer homicide. Cleaner paperwork."

"Honestly, I'd take an explosive diarrhea case over having this conversation," you muttered, half to Robby, half to yourself, rubbing at the bridge of your nose like the words might erase Jack from your field of vision.

Robby would be remiss if he didn't catch the way neither of you clocked his kiss and make up comment. He stared at you both, mouth frozen in a half-smile that said he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or launch you into separate time zones. He gave it two full seconds—long enough to confirm that you were both still hopeless—before shaking his head in defeat.

"I think," Robby hummed, patting both of your shoulders like a tired camp counselor, "to be so dumb must be nice."

You and Jack had the same unimpressed expression locked and loaded—scowls sharp and identical, contempt trained squarely on Robby, both of you about to mouth off in perfect sync.

He walked off before either of you could open your mouths.

—

By 3am, the fatigue and hunger were chewing holes in your composure.

Too many admits. Not enough staff. Shen being chronically unbothered. Myrna threatening to murder her wife—when you and Jack turned to ask if she had a wife, matching expressions of disbelief already locked in place, she looked at you deadpan and asked, "You wanna get hitched?"

And always—always—Jack.

Fucking Jack.

With his clipboard full of passive-aggressive notes in that damn attractive calligraphy handwriting.

His tone clipped like a warning and welcome all at once.

And his black scrubs making him look like the grim reaper of constructive criticism and deconstructive mental undressing.

"Patient in six?" you asked.

"CT just came back. Small bowel obstruction. Classic presentation, apparently."

You glanced his way. "Told you it wasn’t just post-op gas."

Jack didn’t miss a beat. "And yet, you were already quoting discharge guidelines to the new intern before radiology even called back."

You shot him a look. Walsh would be proud of you for that one. "I was outlining possibilities. It’s called methodical thinking—must not be a concept you’re familiar with."

He grinned, lazy and unbothered. "Chaos works for me. You panic without bullet points."

You rolled your eyes. "You’re the only attending I know who thrives in complete chaos and calls it a ‘method.’"

"And you’re the only resident I know who color-codes her trauma alerts."

The edge of your lip curled. "That’s called being prepared."

He gestured vaguely. "It’s called being uptight."

You arched a brow. "Spoken like someone who thinks organized is a four-letter word that starts with 'f' and ends with 'k'."

He leaned in, voice dropping just slightly. "Spoken like someone who secretly enjoys cleaning up after my messes."

You blinked once. Then grinned wider. "One day, your beloved chaos is going to bite you in the ass."

He tapped your chart as he walked past. "I guess it’s a good thing you’ve already alphabetized the first aid supplies for me."

—

By 3:20, the storm hit.

Lightning cracked the sky. Power flickered. The backup generator hummed to life with a groan. You should've brought an extra jacket to keep in your locker but it would end up disappearing anyway. Jack was in the hallway already, flashlight in hand.

"OR’s shut down. We’re triaging manually. You good?"

You nodded, biting your tongue. This wasn’t the time.

You worked side by side in the makeshift command center. Tension simmered beneath the quiet coordination—until a grabby frat-boy type from bay four decided he didn’t like being told to sit still and wait.

It happened fast.

He flung the tray off his bed, sending instruments clattering across the floor. You instinctively raised your hand to shield your face—just as a stray scalpel nicked the back of your hand, slicing a sharp, shallow arc. The pain didn’t register immediately. Jack did.

He was on the guy in an instant, stepping in front of you, voice low and lethal. "Sit. Down." The words came out all but minced.

Security had already been called, but Jack looked like he wanted to break the guy’s face just for breathing in your direction. He didn’t even turn back to you until the orderlies dragged the patient away.

Then his hand was cupping your elbow, his voice much softer. "Let me see it."

You hissed as he inspected the cut. "It’s not deep."

"You’re bleeding on my chaos," he muttered, guiding you gently to an empty room.

You snorted through the blossoming pain. "Told you my color-coding wasn’t excessive."

He grabbed a suture kit, pulling gloves on with the kind of care you usually saw him reserve for crics and broken ribs. "Hold still."

"Bossy."

"Only when someone I like gets stabbed in the hand."

Your breathing hitched. "Like, huh?"

Jack’s attention was fixed on your hand. "Don’t make it weird."

You smiled, watching him thread the needle, so close, so focused. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

The quiet that followed wasn’t heavy. Quite the opposite. It felt warm. Easy. He worked methodically, hands sure, touch gentle, eyes flicking up every few seconds to check your expression like it mattered more than the wound. As he cleaned around the cut and prepped the lidocaine syringe, you both said it in unison—

"Slight prick and a burn."

You laughed under your breath, both at his expression of surprise and your synchrony. "God. That phrase is ingrained in my soul. I think I said it to a grapefruit during my 5th year."

Jack’s lips twitched. "I said it to a patient’s plush raccoon once."

You watched his hands move with steady precision, stitching you up like he had all the time in the world. The storm outside cracked again, but neither of you flinched.

"Make sure I don’t scar, Doc," you teased, settling in as he prepped the suture. "I need these hands to make magic and miracles happen. Might even become a hand model if this whole medicine thing doesn’t pan out."

Jack didn’t look up, but you caught the twitch at the corner of his mouth. "I’ll do my best, ma’am. But if you end up on a billboard somewhere, I expect royalties."

You snorted. "In your dreams."

Jack didn’t say anything at first—just gave you a small, private smile like he was tucking something away in the back of his mind. Like he was keeping it just for himself.

And this time, when you looked at him, he didn’t look away.

For a few minutes, the raindrops tapping against the windows were the only sound that filled the empty space. Jack didn't speak. He just kept his gaze on your hand, now bandaged, resting on the edge of the tray table like it had never been hurt. You watched him watching you, your heart thudding quietly in your throat.

"You always take care of your disasters this nicely?" you mumbled.

He smirked. "Only the pretty ones."

You didn’t speak of it.

Not until later, when the lights came back and the halls emptied and you were alone in the break room.

You noticed it as he leaned against the counter, scrubs rumpled, hair even more so. His scrubs were black, as always—just rumpled enough to prove he'd been moving all night, just fitted enough to be infuriating. You took a sip of water, eyeing him from across the break room table as you both took a seat. Something about the way the fluorescent light caught the curve of his jaw made the words slip out before you could stop them.

"Do you own anything that isn’t black?" you asked, voice light with sudden curiosity. "Or is your off-duty wardrobe just a series of increasingly gothic-toned hoodies that match your work-wear?"

Jack glanced up from his coffee, one brow arched. "It hides blood."

You stared. "You really don’t let anyone in, huh?"

He didn’t answer right away, just sipped his coffee and stared out at the empty hallway beyond the break room.

Finally, with a shrug that didn’t quite match the weight behind it, he said, "You’re one to talk."

That made you laugh, but it came out softer than expected. "Guess we’re both pretty terrible at normal."

Jack’s lips twitched. "Normal’s overrated."

You leaned back in your chair, legs stretched out in front of you, the tips of your sneakers barely brushing his. Neither of you moved.

Suddenly, Jack got up and yanked open a small drawer by the coffee machine and pulled out a sad-looking granola bar, handing it to you without meeting your eyes.

"Eat this."

Your brow furrowed, suspicious. "Seriously?"

"You haven’t eaten since yesterday," he muttered, brushing it off like it didn’t matter. Like he hadn’t noticed.

You stared at the wrapper, then at him. "You really had that locked and loaded?"

He didn’t answer. Just crossed his arms and stuck the bar out at you further. "It’s chocolate. Don’t make me regret it."

Instead of prying further, your hand reached out slowly and took it, eyes still narrowed, studying him like he’d just burnt out a fuse in your brain.

Silence washed over you again. Occasionally filled by the sound of you munching on your granola bar and taking measured sips of your coffee. After a few minutes and one crumpled granola bar later, you caught Jack sneaking a glance at you over the rim of his cup.

You didn’t say anything—just raised a brow.

He looked away like he hadn’t been watching you at all.

But the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

The words crept out of your mouth carefully. "Do you think..."

Jack looked up, gaze intent.

"Nevermind," you stopped yourself.

He leaned in closer, the space between you shrinking into something almost unbearable. Not quite touching, not even brushing—but the air thickened under the weight of his stare. That kind of eye contact that felt like it could crack glass. Steady. Searching.

You let the quiet spool between you like a thread someone might tug, if they were brave enough.

"It's rude to start things you don't intend on finishing," he stated simply.

You blinked, still caught in the current of that look, then leaned in a little—almost like you were about to whisper a secret. Jack mirrored you without hesitation, like it was instinct.

Your voice was barely above a murmur. "Do you think..."

He waited, gaze steady, maybe even a tinge of hope if you squinted.

"...that the real reason you thrive in chaos is because it matches your personality?" you deadpanned.

Jack exhaled sharply, the ghost of a scoff tugging at his mouth. He sat back, shaking his head. "Unbelievable."

You grinned, eyes bright and playful. "What? I finished it."

"Barely," he muttered, but he was smiling too.

A few beats passed. You both sat in the lingering quiet, the kind that settled in only after long shifts and half-spoken things.

Then he leaned in—just a little—mirroring what you'd done earlier. You furrowed your brows, curious.

He lowered his voice, almost conspiratorial. "Do you think..."

You leaned in too, expecting something real, something heavy.

"...that you secretly enjoy being wrong? Because, statistically, it’s seems like your favorite hobby."

Your jaw dropped to let out a puff of air, baffled by his audacity, and pushed his arm. "God, you’re insufferable."

He chuckled under his breath. "And yet, here you are."

You gave him a sideways glance, lips quirking. "I will admit that it’s in my top five favorite hobbies. But it still doesn’t beat ‘annoying Jack Abbot.’ That one’s undefeated."

Jack shook his head, eyes warm and lips softened in a grin. "You’d miss me if I ever stopped letting you win."

Your only response was a coy smile. You nudged his foot with yours beneath the table, and he glanced down at the contact. He nudged back, subtle and sure, like he didn’t want the moment to end just yet—then looked back up at you. Something passed between the pair of you—unspoken, tentative, curious.

The room fell quiet again, comfortable this time. Neither of you moved to leave.

Until Jack's phone buzzed.

He glanced at it, then cursed under his breath. "Room seven. It's that kid who demanded to speak to the 'head doctor' because I wouldn't give him dilaudid for a tension headache."

You raised a brow. "So... a normal Friday?"

"Basically."

You watched him go, expecting a quick de-escalation. Room seven. You knew who that was. Height rivaled only by his ego. Frat letters drawn across his bare chest like illiterate war paint. Barked at nurses like he owned the floor. The kind of guy who made everything someone else's problem, backed by daddy’s legal team and a two-semester record of hazing infractions.

Jack had said he’d handle it. He always did. Especially with these types. It was like they were on a rotation—every Friday night, a new brand of uninhibited pre-frontal cortex, privileged chaos.

But then you heard his voice—Jack’s—sharp and too loud from down the hall. A clatter followed, unmistakable. Tray to tile. A chair scraping. Then another crash. A shout that definitely wasn’t Jack’s.

You were already moving.

By the time you rounded the corner, the frat boy was mid-lunge, fury twisting his face as he hurled a tray toward Jack’s head like he was reenacting some half-remembered bar fight. Jack ducked, barely—but he was boxed in, too close to the wall.

You didn’t think. Just moved.

"Hey!" you barked, adrenaline surging. You threw yourself at him, coming at him like a freight train and making him fall back onto the bed with a grunt. A nurse hit the emergency call. Security swarmed seconds later.

Jack had grabbed your arm and pulled you back—tight but not painful—pulling you just out of the fray. "What the hell?"

You glared at him, chest heaving. "Returning the favor."

He didn’t let go.

"On-call room. Now."

He practically hauled you down the hall, his hand never leaving yours. You were both silent until the door shut behind you. He pressed his palms to the counter and stared at it like it had personally offended him.

"What was that?" His voice was sharp, unfiltered, pissed in a way you didn’t see often—not like this. Not when it was about you. "You could’ve gotten hurt."

"So could you." You leaned against the metal bunkbed frame, still catching your breath. "A simple 'thank you' would suffice."

His Adam's apple bobbed, slow, like the movement itself took restraint. His jaw was tight, eyes darker than usual.

"You're reckless," he said quietly.

"Takes one to know one," you laughed.

Jack didn’t.

He stepped forward instead, jaw clenched. "You have no regard for your safety and only for that of others."

You took a step back.

"You will go out of your way to treat and protect everyone around you at the expense of your own well-being."

Another step back. Any closer and—

"Do you understand," he said, each word measured, devastating, "how much I worry about you?"

Your heartbeat was a war drum now—loud, insistent, thunderous.

"Do you know how much I think about you? How much I plan for the worst every time you throw yourself between danger and someone else without a second thought?" he added, voice cracking just enough to reveal the truth beneath it. Laid bare.

"When you walk into the ER and you haven't eaten since the night before and I can see it—you're running on caffeine and impulse and whatever scraps of adrenaline are left."

You opened your mouth, but no sound came out.

He didn’t stop there. "When you give your jacket to a freezing patient and spend the next six hours shivering without saying a word—like that’s normal."

You swallowed. "It wasn’t cold..."

Jack’s voice sharpened. "You forget your umbrella and show up soaked but act like it's fine. Like it’s not freezing. Like you didn’t just volunteer to get sick."

Your fingers twitched against your side.

"And when you blow off your own wound care to finish a chart. Or cover a code blue for someone else even though your shift ended twenty minutes ago."

You looked away. His eyes never left you.

He stepped even closer, willing you to look at him. "When you pretend you’re made of steel. And then crack alone in the stairwell when you think no one’s looking."

It felt like ice cold water had dropped from the ceiling.

"Jack—" you managed to force out.

He held up a hand and turned around, cutting you off. "Please."

He couldn’t hear it. Not unless you felt the same. Not unless you'd listened, actually listened, for once. He’d rather bleed out not knowing than survive a rejection he couldn’t patch. Just colleagues. He'd switch over to day shift if he had to. Robby could put in a word for him. Temporary, at least until he found a new hospital. Maybe in a different city. Of a different state.

He looked anywhere but you, turning like he meant to leave, like he could walk it off and pretend none of this ever happened.

"Jack, please..." The words came out desperate, begging, pleading for him to stop.

He didn't meet your eyes—couldn't. "I'll see you at the nurses station."

"Oh, for the love of God—" You reached forward and yanked him back by his forearm.

And then your lips were on his.

It wasn’t clean or careful. It was a crash—years of tension detonating all at once. He froze for half a second, eyes wide open like his brain was short-circuiting, then kissed you back with everything he had and more. Desperation, disbelief, hunger—it all poured out of him like water breaking through a dam.

Your hands cradled his face, thumbs grazing over the light stubble along his jaw, fingertips brushing the sharp edges of his cheekbones like you were learning him by touch alone. He kissed you like he couldn’t stand to stop, and you held him like you weren’t going to let him. He tasted like spearmint—sharp and stubborn—the gum he always carried in his pocket, and behind that, burnt coffee and something so distinctly Jack it made your limbs tingle.

His hands found your waist, your jaw, your back—grasping like he didn’t trust the moment to be real unless he mapped every inch of you with his fingertips. You were pressed chest to chest, and it still didn’t feel close enough.

Jack had kissed people before. He had slept with people before. He'd been married, for God's sake. But this—this—was unreal. This was heat and gravity and every inch of restraint he’d stitched into place finally tearing wide open. This was the reason human beings fought in wars. Why people wrote poetry and ruined perfectly stable lives for one perfect, maddening kiss. Why everything else material and immaterial suddenly paled in comparison.

Your hands were in his hair, tugging salt and pepper curls just enough to make him groan, low and wrecked against your lips.

He kissed you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, share the oxygen in your lungs, the little gasp you made when his thumb grazed the spot behind your ear just right. He devoured everything you gave him and kissed you like a man who had run out of time and patience.

Because he had.

He’d wanted this too long to pretend otherwise, and he'd sooner die than deprive either of you from this any longer.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, your forehead resting lightly against his. Both of you were gasping, eyes locked in the kind of dazed silence that usually followed adrenaline crashes.

"Took you long enough, old man," you whispered, lips still brushing his.

Jack blinked once, twice. Like he couldn’t believe this was real. Like the thought had crossed his mind a thousand times, but the reality of you—this—hit harder than he’d prepared for.

"You feel the same?" he asked quietly, in a tone that was more awe than question.

You nodded. "Since before either of us were brave enough to say it."

Jack let out a breath that shook at the edges. "I thought if I let it slip—if I looked too long, said too much—you’d shut me out."

"I thought if I admitted it, it would ruin everything."

"It didn’t," he murmured, leaning his forehead against yours.

"No," you whispered. "It finally made sense of everything."

Jack blinked again, almost like he hadn’t fully registered it until now. His gaze swept over your face, pausing at your lips, then your eyes, as if searching for the lie he couldn’t find.

"You really mean that?" he asked, quieter now. Not disbelieving—just internalizing.

You nodded again, slower this time. "I don’t do this if I don’t."

Jack let out another breath, but it wasn’t shaky this time—it was solid. Grounded. Relieved. He laughed under it, the sound warm and slightly incredulous.

"You really are impossible," he murmured, brushing his nose against yours.

"And you’re dramatic," you whispered back, smiling.

"Fair," he said. "But you’re still mine."

"Yeah," you said. "I think I always was."

Jack huffed a breath, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. "Careful. You just kissed your attending. That kind of power could go to your head."

You grinned, still breathless. "Please. You kissed me back like your life depended on it."

"Who says it didn't?" he asked rhetorically, so quietly it almost got lost in the air between you.

Your fingers drifted to the back of his neck, fingertips brushing softly along the hairline, anchoring him there. Jack shivered. Not from cold—never from cold.

"Thank you," you admitted. "For taking care of me while I was busy taking care of everyone else."

His grip on your waist tightened, grounding himself, and then he leaned in again. This time it was slower. Less frantic. His lips found the curve of your neck, warm and reverent. You gasped—quietly—but it was enough. He kissed lower, just beneath your jaw, and your hands curled in the fabric at his shoulders.

"Always." The word left his lips like a prayer.

His fingers traced the hem of your scrub top, ghosting up your sides like he was overriding any and all memories of anything else other than you. No dissonance. Just Jack, desperate to feel something real in a world that never gave him space to.

You pressed closer, kissed the corner of his mouth. "You taste like that godawful spearmint gum."

He grinned against your skin. "You love it."

Another scoff. "If throwing myself in front of a raging frat boy was all it took to get you to shut up and kiss me, I would've done it ages ago."

Jack pulled back just enough to look at you, smug. "If you do that again, I’m going to make you do my charting for a week."

You snorted. "With pleasure."

He didn’t argue. Just dipped his head and kissed you again.

—

You woke in the on-call room, a mess of tangled limbs and haphazardly strewn clothes. Your cheek pressed to the rise and fall of his chest. The storm had long passed, but its echo lingered in the hush around you. Jack’s arm was slung low around your waist, fingers drawing lazy, absent-minded shapes against your hip like he didn’t know how to stop touching you now that he’d started.

"For what it’s worth, I still think you’re a pain in the ass," you murmured, voice thick with sleep.

His chest rumbled beneath your cheek. "Likewise," he said, but it came out softer than usual.

You shifted just enough to look up at him, your hand brushing gently across his ribs, then settling over his heart. "Don’t get used to this."

His brow arched. "This?" If you looked hard enough, you might have seen worry flash across his face.

"Me being nice."

Relief painted his expression. He smiled, full and rare. "You’re the one curled into me like a particularly mouthy cat."

You buried your face in his chest. "Shut up."

His fingers tightened slightly at your hip. "Not complaining. Just saying... I could get used to this."

You looked up again, caught the vulnerability flickering there before he blinked it away. Your thumb brushed his jaw, and you leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to the corner of his mouth, a smile blooming in its wake.

"Yeah," you whispered. "Me too."

—

A few weeks and an undetermined number of shifts later, you walked through the double doors of the ER wearing a black hoodie—oversized and unassuming to anyone else, but unmistakable to anyone who knew him.

Robby and Dana spotted it from a mile away. The frayed drawstring, the hole near the front pocket, the faded cuff seams—the one he always reached for when the weather dropped below 60 degrees, too tired to bother, or too raw to pretend. Jack’s favorite and now second most prized possession.

The first being the shirt you wore when you stayed the night for the first time—oversized and soft, probably older than the first year med students—borrowed without asking. He never washed it. Claimed it smelled like you now and he'd keep it that way.

No one said a word.

Except Robby, who walked past and muttered, "Finally." Then, as you and Jack strolled side by side toward the nurses’ station—still bickering, now with smiles tucked behind every jab—he held out a fist to Jack.

Jack bumped it without hesitation.

Robby grinned. "Took you long enough."

"Shut up," you and Jack muttered in unison, but neither of you stopped smiling.

Jack's hand brushed yours between steps, a casual touch that lingered just long enough to say everything he couldn't say out loud in front of witnesses. You let your pinky hook around his for a second before letting go—just a flash of something soft beneath the usual snark.

"Didn't know we allowed pets in the ER," Dana remarked from her chair before looking up through her glasses. "Or are those lovebirds I hear?"

You smirked. "We’re just evolving."

Jack raised a brow. "Into better people?"

"No," you replied. "Into slightly better-functioning disasters. I am, anyway. Jack’s still somewhere between disaster and cryptid."

He bumped your shoulder gently before giving you a playful wink. "Speak for yourself. I was already perfect."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. A smile crept up like second nature. You'd get him next time.

Robby snorted. "God, you two are insufferable."

You turned just enough to shoot him a smug look. "You love it."

He held up his hands in mock surrender. "I do. But if I walk in on you making out in the supply closet, I’m blackmailing both of you. With photos."

Jack didn’t even flinch. "Make sure you get our good angles."

You could definitely get used to this.

#jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x you #the pitt x reader #the pitt x you #ja fic rec #q

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honeysrecs · 25 days ago

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Matcha

Michael Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Reader

Rating: Explicit/MDNI (language and smut) Word count: ~17,000 Tags: slow burn, slight plot but mostly just an excuse for eventual smut, slight age gap, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, p in v, oral, friends to lovers, colleagues to lovers, mutual pining, meet the parents, reader insert, no y/n, 2nd person POV, no beta

Summary: It's Thanksgiving and you're en route to introduce your boyfriend, Dr. Robby, to your parents for the first time. Though you're nervous about their reaction to your age difference, you reflect on the journey of your relationship and how proud you are to call him yours.

Notes: Reader is a 35-year-old psych doc. Dr. Robby is 50. This takes place a year after S1 ends. I never know if I should refer to him as Michael or Robby, but Michael just feels so weird to me. Also, I am not a doctor or any type of medical professional, so please forgive any medical inaccuracies. Thanks to all who take the time to read!

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Nope, not like this.

Bringing a boyfriend home to meet your parents was supposed to be thrilling. And truthfully, it was. You adored your boyfriend and you were proud of him. After years of a slow-burn back-and-forth, the two of you finally breached the boundaries of the ‘will-they-won’t-they’ whispers within the curious confines of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.

So yes, you were excited to introduce your man to your parents, and they were excited to meet him, too. After all, you hadn’t introduced them to a boyfriend in nearly two decades, since you were sixteen. They’d spent years patiently waiting on you to finish med school and acclimate to your career. Now, they were ready to see you settle down and start a family. They were both newly retired and itching for grandchildren.

But they didn’t know your boyfriend was closer to them in age than he was to you.

You, personally, didn’t view it as a problem. It wasn’t a scandalous age gap. Your boyfriend was experienced, mature, and over the performative bullshit that often accompanied relationships. He was open, honest and blunt about what he wanted, not to mention he was in therapy now, something most men your age avoided like the plague. He made you feel safe and secure, valued and loved. Most importantly, you couldn’t get enough of each other.

So yes, you loved your boyfriend. But you weren’t sure your parents would love the notion of their 35-year-old daughter dating a 50-year-old man.

The drive from Pittsburgh to Cleveland was quiet at first. You insisted on driving – you enjoyed it and you knew where you were going, you claimed. In truth, you hoped focusing on the roads would prevent you from dwelling too deep within your own insecurities.

The roads swished with steady traffic beneath grey skies as other travelers headed home for the Thanksgiving holiday. You promised your mother you’d arrive by 2 p.m. Dinner was planned for 4 p.m., and then you’d spend the night at your parents’ house before returning to Pittsburgh in the morning.

It all seemed so simple. The plans were in place, your parents were happily awaiting your arrival, and you were smitten with the man sitting beside you. But your brain buzzed with anxious energy.

Your parents were good people – kind, friendly and hard-working. They ensured you got into med school and supported your decision to specialize in psych, rather than become a primary care physician like they’d hoped. And when you’d decided to remain in Pittsburgh rather than return to Cleveland to work, they remained supportive.

But they were still old-school, set in a particular way of doing things. Your dad was protective and your mom still worried far too much about what others thought. And now, you were worried over what they’d think.

There was no reason for them to dislike your boyfriend beyond your age gap. He was handsome and humble, but sharply intelligent and competent. Most importantly, he adored you. But you weren’t sure your parents would be able to see past the 15 years that separated you. They’d surely wonder what a 50-year-old man was doing with you.

Sometimes you wondered that, too. There was the obvious – you were pretty. And you were sharp as hell, often deemed snarky and sarcastic by your friends, but also one of the smartest people in every room. You were the classic honor student turned doctor, but that of course meant you’d ignored much of the social life you should have had in your 20s. Dating wasn’t your expertise. You were more of the girl who went home with men and forgot to call them back. But while others looked at you as the boring, albeit brilliant, workaholic, your boyfriend saw someone who understood the sacrifices required of a career in health care.

You knew your parents would also wonder what you saw in him. The short answer was everything, but you also knew few people understood your boyfriend the way you did. Others saw a man who could be gruff and moody. You saw a man who merely wanted to save as many people as possible, even if it meant sacrificing his own best interests. But you were helping him work on that.

Others also wondered why you didn’t date someone your own age, who didn’t carry as much emotional baggage, or who better aligned with your generational interests. You saw a man who didn’t lie or cheat, who didn’t waste your time or his, and who preferred to catch a ballgame than catch an STI at the club.

The two of you were simpatico, a match meant only for your understanding. You brought light to his darkness, but you never tried to extinguish it. You didn’t view him as someone who needed fixing. You embraced him exactly as he was, with hopes that seeing and accepting him would help him find comfort in you.

With twenty minutes remaining in your drive, the soft sounds of Springsteen wafting from the car speakers, you snuck a sideways glance. Though the two of you often sat in peaceful silence, your boyfriend was fidgeting with the strap of his seatbelt. His eyes remained forward, but it was clear he wasn’t actually observing anything.

“Robby,” you said gently, your eyes glinting with warm amusement. “You alright?”

His eyes shifted toward yours and he offered you a reassuring smile.

“Oh yeah, I’m good,” he said. You turned your head slightly to offer him a pointed stare, your eyes quickly returning to the road.

“Liar.” You smirked sideways at him and he chuckled.

“I’m fine, really,” he assured. “This is just…”

“Weird,” you finished. “It’s weird.”

“You said it, not me.”

It was your turn to chuckle softly. “I know,” you said sincerely. “I know it’s weird. Trust me, this was not on my life’s bingo card.”

“What, you mean to tell me the teenage version of yourself never envisioned bringing a 50-year-old boyfriend home to Mom and Dad?”

You laughed. “The teenage version of myself was supposed to end up marrying the lead singer of My Chemical Romance.”

“Guess that shouldn’t surprise me,” Robby said. “Your vinyl collection is atrocious.”

“Says the man who only owns Springsteen albums.”

“Hey, respect your elders.”

You rolled your eyes, the corners of your lips curved upward in a smile. “They’ll love you, you know,” you said encouragingly.

“I still think you should have disclosed some of the more important details,” Robby muttered.

“I did disclose the important details,” you noted. “I told them you’re an ER doc at Pitt Trauma, that you’ve never been married, no kids and no criminal background.”

“Just not the part where I’m only twelve years younger than your dad.”

“And you’re only fifteen years older than me. It’s not a big deal,” you insisted. “It’s not like this is a Bill Belichick situation.”

“Isn’t your dad a Browns fan?”

“Yes.”

“Feel like I’d be better off as Belichick.”

You heaved a sigh, though you’d be lying if you said you weren’t entertained. After all, this was a predicament of your own doing, so you might as well learn to laugh through the discomfort. Not that you’d intended to fall for the ER’s senior attending in the first place.

Your crush on Dr. Robby developed long before you had any idea you’d end up working in the same hospital as him long-term.

You first met him in the Pitt Trauma ER during your clinical rotations, where you quickly decided you weren’t interested in emergency medicine. Still, you developed a close bond with the ER staff and grew to view many of them like family. Once you’d decided on psych, you desperately wanted a residency at Pitt Trauma to remain close to them.

But even after you completed your residency and cemented your spot on staff within the Pitt Trauma psychiatric care team, you never predicted you’d find love within the hospital’s walls, too. After your residency, you opened up more to dating. You swiped your way through apps, stumbled home with men from bars and even let Dana set you up with a family friend.

Dates came and went, some stuck around for weeks, even months. You even had a three-month fling with Dr. Shen that fizzled when you discovered him following far too many models on Instagram.

But you never envisioned yourself in a months-long relationship with Dr. Robby of all people. You’d always admired him from afar, a schoolgirl-type crush in which you often daydreamed of pulling him into a supply closet for a hook-up, but never thought you’d learn what he eats for breakfast or what brand of deodorant he buys.

But your attraction stemmed from more than mere physical desire. You felt pulled to him. He was confident and commanding, respected and revered. Even when you made it clear you weren’t interested in pursuing emergency medicine, Robby taught you things few students had the opportunity to learn. And when you revealed you were interested in psych, he ensured you were included in all of the interesting psych cases.

You respected the hell out of Dr. Robby. The gentle banter and attraction for him were merely bonuses, as far as you were concerned.

But once you began visiting the ER for psych consultations and were no longer under his direct supervision, your chemistry with Dr. Robby ignited from a simmer to a rapid, rolling boil.

Your colleagues noticed, no matter how much you insisted on the contrary. Meanwhile, you remained convinced Dr. Robby remained clueless. But he heard the whispers, too. He shrugged off inquisitive remarks from Dana and Dr. Abbot, stifled the jealousy that shredded his insides when you dated Dr. Shen, and did his best to maintain a respectful and professional distance.

The night at the bar was the first time the two of you approached the edge, the near-tipping point into something you couldn’t claw your way back from.

Trinity convinced you to go, insisting that most of the ER day shift would be there. So you tagged along and spent the first portion of the night laughing and drinking with your old friends.

You enjoyed catching up with them, nostalgic for your time spent in the trenches of The Pitt, while your eyes occasionally swept toward the TV airing the Pirates game above the bar. You were simply checking the score, you told yourself. You were most certainly not glancing at Robby, who stood at the opposite end of the bar with Frank Langdon.

But as the night progressed, so did the confidence in some random bar bro who offered to buy you drinks. You kindly thanked him for the offer and said no, but he lingered. You could feel his eyes clinging to you the entire evening, like a predator biding his time.

Typically your friends would have your back and tell the guy to fuck off. Typically you would, too.

But Samira was working late, Cassie was with her son and Trinity was too busy trying to beat Mateo on the skee-ball machine. And an incident a few weeks prior hovered in the back of your mind.

You were in line at a coffee shop when a man struck up a conversation with you. You were polite and friendly, perhaps too much, because by the time you left the shop, he asked you to dinner. And when you said no, he called you a “fucking tease” and a “waste of time,” vowing that someday, women like you would "pay for your bullshit behavior.”

So when the bro at the bar moved in again, the smell of liquor and cigarettes smothering your senses as he tried to ask about your Penguins sweatshirt, you seized an opportunity as Robby happened to emerge from the bathroom.

“There you are!” you squealed, making a quick beeline toward him, leaving the bro with your vacated barstool. You tossed your arms around Robby’s neck and he froze, his eyes wide in confusion and lips lopsided in an amused smile. “Babe, it was the longest day without you!”

“Uh, you too,” Robby managed, his posture rigid. Neither of you could believe you were that close. You silently thanked the gods that Robby was sharp enough to catch on to what was happening.

“Babe, let’s go out back to the patio and have a smoke,” you said, grabbing Robby by the hand to drag him toward the back door. He followed you without resistance.

You snuck one final glance toward the bro at the bar, who was scowling at your retreating forms. Once outside, you dropped Robby’s hand immediately.

“I am so sorry!” you exclaimed hurriedly. “That guy, he’s been following me around all night. Couldn't take a hint.”

“It’s alright,” Robby chuckled, amusement blooming within his warm eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” you said with an assuring nod. “Just didn’t want that weirdo near me anymore.”

“I’ve been watching him all night. Seems like he was pretty drunk.”

Your lips thinned at Robby’s admission. Why had he been watching that guy? Was it because he was also keeping an eye on you? You swallowed the naive notion and flashed Robby a grin.

“I’m sure he’s harmless,” you said. “But can’t be too sure. Anyway, thank you for… you know, being my boyfriend for 30 seconds.”

“Anytime.” Robby stood with his hands in his sweatshirt pockets, the signature pose you’d come to expect from him. You struggled to meet his eyes and prayed he couldn't see the flush creeping up the back of your neck.

“Well, I think I’m going to call it a night,” you finally said with a soft smile.

“I’ll come with you.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, I’ll walk you home.” More amusement glimmered in Robby’s eyes and all you could think about was how fucking appealing he looked.

“Oh. No, you don’t have to do that,” you said as casually as you could manage; nevermind the sudden spike in the pitch of your voice. “My apartment isn’t far, I’ll be fine. I have pepper spray.”

“Nonsense,” Robby said, motioning you toward the door. “I couldn’t live with myself if I let you walk home alone after some creep’s been following you all night. I was getting ready to head out anyway.”

Heaven help you. You returned inside the bar, where you waved goodbye to your friends and pretended to ignore Trinity’s piercing stare when she realized Robby was leaving with you.

Once outside on the sidewalk, you silently begged every higher power to prevent you from embarrassing yourself. You weren’t sure why you were so flustered – beyond the fact the man you’d held a years-long torch for was walking you home.

But this was Dr. Robby. You’d known him for years and you were comfortable in his presence (when you weren’t thinking about how handsome he was or how nice his hands were). There was no reason to be rattled by him. Nothing had ever happened between the two of you, nor would it in the future, you reminded yourself. He was your colleague and a mentor. You couldn’t allow your silly crush to jeopardize your relationship.

“Did you, uh, end up admitting that patient this afternoon?” Robby asked as you walked. “The man who was presenting with ideation?”

“We did,” you sighed. “He has family flying in from Florida in the morning.”

Robby nodded in quiet acknowledgment. Silence settled between the two of you, and you couldn’t decide if you were grateful or terrified. You glanced at your phone to check the score of the Pirates game, desperate for a distraction. Robby smiled.

“Still the eighth inning?” he asked.

You shook your head as you slid your phone back into your bag. “Bottom of the ninth. They’re down one.”

“You ever find one of those co-ed softball leagues?” Robby asked. “I remember you mentioning wanting to join one.”

“I did, but it was too late,” you replied. “Their season had already started and the spots were full.”

“Ah, too bad.”

“I was thinking we could start a Pitt Trauma team,” you mused. “Santos said she used to play and Langdon’s competitive as hell. Could be fun. You in?”

“Oh, no one wants to see that,” Robby joked with a shake of the head.

“Oh, come on,” you teased. “You love baseball. How bad can you be?”

“I’d rather not find out.”

You laughed, thankful for the ease in your self-inflicted tension. But as you neared your building, the anxiety bubbled into your throat again.

“Cool building,” Robby commented as you approached the front steps. His head tilted backward as he scanned the building’s exterior to admire the historic details. “I love this part of town, all the old architecture.”

��It’s a great neighborhood,” you agreed. In fact, the architecture and old charm was precisely why you’d picked it. You fished your keys from your bag and met Robby’s eyes with a smile. “Well, thanks for getting me home… and for, you know, keeping me safe from bar creeps.”

“Anytime,” Robby said. The warmth in his eyes seemed to permeate your skin, sweeping across your flesh with a crimson flush. You hoped it was too dark to notice.

You knew it was time to say goodnight, or to say literally anything to initiate your exit. It was time to go inside, to hop in the shower and crawl into bed to pretend you weren’t down bad for the senior attending of the ER. But you remained frozen in place, your feet unable – and perhaps unwilling – to step away from Robby.

“See you tomorrow?” you finally managed. Robby seemed to swallow, though his eyes held your gaze, heavy and intense. They pierced the battlements of your resolve, then flickered downward for a fleeting moment toward your lips. You held your breath as you wondered if he was going to kiss you. Your heart threatened to slam against your ribcage.

“Ah, yeah, I’m on tomorrow,” he said instead, knocking the air from your lungs with disappointment.

“Oh, great,” you said, much too cheerily. “See you then. Goodnight, Dr. Robby.”

“Goodnight.”

You avoided the ER at all costs the next day.

Weeks passed and you had managed to move past whatever that moment was outside your apartment. In fact, you convinced yourself it was nothing. Robby acted no differently at work, so you decided to do the same. You had merely been swept up in a wave of wishful thinking, you told yourself.

But the fire changed everything.

It was your day off and you’d spent the afternoon running errands around town before meeting up with a college friend for dinner and drinks.

You declined to mention Robby when she pressed you for details on your dating life. After all, he’d need to ask you on a date for it to count as anything more than a crush, right? Instead, you merely shrugged and insisted you weren’t seeing anyone, nor were you interested in any prospects. Your friend called you boring. You didn’t disagree.

As she disclosed more details about her upcoming wedding, you were none the wiser to the fire that threatened to destroy your home. In fact, Robby learned of it first.

The ER received two transports from the scene, a mother and son who had suffered burns and smoke inhalation. Then more victims trickled in, none seriously injured but coughing and covered in smoke and soot.

“What happened?” Robby asked as another victim was wheeled past him.

“Apartment fire,” one of the EMTs answered. “1100 block of Liberty Avenue.”

Robby froze. “Liberty Avenue?”

“Yeah, big old brick building. Sounds like it started as a dryer fire in the basement.”

Robby swallowed the lump forming in his throat. Focus, he told himself. You’re needed here. She doesn’t need you.

But by the end of his shift, he was damn near ready to sprint to Liberty Avenue. He went straight there, eyes roaming the building as he approached. The flames and smoke had been doused hours ago, but fire crews were still on scene and the sidewalks were still wet.

He didn’t know why he thought he’d be able to help you. The entire building had been evacuated, its residents gone in search of other living arrangements. You had always been tough and independent. Surely you’d already figured things out.

Robby heaved a sigh and shook his head, annoyed at himself for coming there. If you’d needed him, you would have reached out. And the notion that you would have picked him for help now felt silly. You were closer with McKay, Mohan, even Dana would have been a likelier choice.

He turned to head home, his eyes widening when they landed on you. You had just rounded the corner from the bus stop, your shocked expression revealing that this was the first time you’d been home all day. Before he could react, Robby watched you sprint toward the building before you were stopped by the fire crew. He jogged after you.

“But I need my stuff!” you were shouting. “All of my stuff is in there!”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we can’t let anyone in. It could be dangerous. The structure has to be checked and secured, and the investigators need time to determine the fire’s cause,” a fireman told you.

“But what do I do? Where do I go? I have nowhere to stay! I have no stuff!”

“See that van over there?” The fireman gestured toward the other side of the street. “That’s the American Red Cross. They’ll help you out.”

“But my stuff— Dr. Robby? What are you doing here?”

“I heard about the fire at work,” Robby answered quickly. “We treated a few of the victims and I… I thought I’d check and make sure you’re okay.”

“Clearly not,” you mumbled, your head spinning at the overwhelming clash of emotion. You were exhausted and stunned, scared and aggravated. But you were also relieved to see Robby.

“Come on,” he said, draping a gentle arm around your shoulder. “You can crash at my place.”

“What? Oh- no, no I can’t ask you to do that-” you started, your panic threatening to swell into a full-blown attack.

“You’re right, you can’t, because you don’t need to ask,” Robby said.

“No,” you repeated. “I can’t, I won’t be a burden. I mean, I don’t even know how long until they’ll let me move back in and-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Robby said. He began steering you away from the building.

“But I have no clothes. I have work in the morning. How am-”

“I’ll hook you up,” Robby said. “At least until the morning when we can get you some new clothes.”

You didn’t want new clothes. You wanted your clothes, which were carefully curated from years of an Anthropologie shopping addiction. Besides, Robby lived alone. He didn’t have a girlfriend or wife or daughter whose clothes you could borrow. Your eyes began to tear up at the thought of having to sleep in the jeans you were wearing. But it wasn’t the actual jeans or clothes that were making you cry. It was the sudden, crushing realization of what was happening to you.

You refused to let Robby see you cry, so instead you walked in determined silence. You didn’t even notice when you reached his building until he was leading you into an elevator. You stared at your reflection in the steel doors. Robby remained quiet.

When he unlocked his door and motioned you inside, you paused. You never dreamed you’d actually ever see the inside of Robby’s home, let alone under such bizarre circumstances.

“Go on,” Robby said in your ear as he held the door open for you. “I promise, it’ll be fine.”

You held your breath and stepped inside. Had you not been distraught over your present predicament, you might have smiled. Robby’s apartment was exactly as you would have imagined – clean and tidy, but completely lacking in character or decor. The far wall was exposed brick and a vinyl record player sat on a table against it. There was no artwork on the walls, but a framed photo of Robby and Jake at a Pirates game sat on a corner of the TV stand.

“Make yourself at home, okay? I’ll be right back,” Robby said as he brushed past you. He tossed his backpack and keys on the counter before disappearing down the hallway.

As you stood, glued to your spot near the door, Robby scrambled around his bedroom. Like the rest of the apartment, his bedroom was neat and orderly, but he kicked his laundry basket into the corner and hurriedly changed the bedding. He had nothing to hide, nothing embarrassing in the apartment, but he still felt the undeniable pressure to impress you. Or at the very least, he wanted you to feel comfortable.

He popped into the bathroom to make sure it was clean – it was – before returning to you. You hadn’t moved.

“Are you alright?” Robby asked gently. His eyes suffocated you with their concern.

“I’m fine,” you sighed. “Just… processing everything, is all.”

Robby nodded with sympathy. “I can’t imagine how you feel right now,” he said. “If there’s anything I can do-”

“Trust me, you’re doing more than enough,” you said.

“Well, if there’s anything more I can do, just ask.”

“You know I won’t,” you couldn’t help but joke. Robby smiled.

“I know,” he agreed. “It’s not like you to ask for help. But I want you to know you can.”

You nodded in silent acknowledgement, not that either of you believed you.

“Right now, all I want is a hot shower. And maybe a beer.”

“At the same time?”

“Do I look like a frat boy to you?”

“Just checking.” Robby chuckled as he motioned you toward the hallway. He reached into the bathroom to turn the light on before he stood back, hands finding their usual place in the pockets of his hoodie. “Towels are under the sink. Take your time and I’ll go get that beer ready. No IPAs, right?”

“Right,” you breathed, flattered he remembered your beer preferences. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Robby retreated to the kitchen and you quietly snapped the bathroom door shut. You closed your eyes, grateful for the peace and solitude. And once you stepped into the hot shower, you couldn’t help but chuckle quietly to yourself. You couldn’t believe where the fuck you’d ended up.

You were presently naked in Robby’s apartment, no clothing, nowhere to go. Sure, you could have checked into a hotel, but something had blocked your brain from entertaining the idea. You blinked at the bottles of shampoo and soap and snorted. What the fuck is Old Spice Swagger? You sighed and lathered up, your senses quickly recognizing the familiar woodsy scent that you had always associated with Robby.

By the time you finished showering, steam had fully fogged up the bathroom mirror. You dug beneath the sink for a towel and cursed under your breath. Clothes. You forgot to ask for clothes.

You muttered a string of “fucks” under your breath before securing the towel around your body. You checked it twice and a third time until you were certain it was more secure than a deadbolt.

Your feet padded quietly down the hallway until you carefully peeked around the corner. Robby was sitting on the leather sofa, a beer in hand while the Pirates game played on TV. You inhaled sharply, as if oxygen would give you the courage to speak up.

“Hey,” you managed, stepping tentatively into the living room, very aware that you were nearly naked in front of someone who was technically your superior. “Um, I need some clothes.”

“Oh, fuck!” Robby exclaimed as he scrambled to his feet. It would’ve been a comical moment had his eyes not been so wide and your cheeks not so flushed. He set his beer down and scurried past you into the hallway. “Sorry, I meant to get you some clothes before you got in the shower.”

“It’s my bad, I should have asked,” you offered, fingers gripping your towel for dear life. You followed Robby toward the bedroom and lingered in the doorway, unsure if you should follow him as he rummaged through his dresser. After all, when you’d fantasized about being naked in his bedroom, it certainly wasn’t under these circumstances.

“Here,” he said, offering you a pair of black sweatpants and a t-shirt. You took the pants but blinked pointedly at the shirt.

“I'm not wearing that,” you deadpanned.

“What? What’s wrong with– oh, that’s right. You’re a Cleveland girl.”

“Damn right, I am. I won’t be caught dead in Steelers gear.”

“But you root for the Pirates.”

“That’s different. Different divisions, plus Cleveland’s in the American League. I don’t mind rooting for an American League and a National League team. Now put that hideous Steelers shirt away… or in the garbage.”

“Right, right, I get it,” Robby sighed. He returned to the dresser and fished out another shirt. “Here,” he said as he held it up. “What are your allegiances to The Who?”

You snorted but reached for the shirt. “God, you’re old,” you teased.

“Sorry it’s not Jay-Z.”

“Jay-Z’s old, too. I’m more of a Nas fan anyway.”

You both fell quiet and for a fleeting moment, you thought you caught his eyes roaming your toweled form.

“Right, well, I know that’s not exactly your style, but it’ll get you through the night. Tomorrow you can go shopping for clothes that fit,” he said.

“I don’t mind the oversized part,” you mused. “It’s the old man aesthetic that bothers me.”

“Then maybe you can stop by the Baby Gap,” Robby teased.

“Probably cooler clothes than what you wear,” you shot back. Robby chuckled and moved for the door.

“You can change in here,” he said. “Your beer’s waiting for you on the counter when you’re done.”

The moment he closed the door behind himself, you seized the opportunity to examine his bedroom. A king-size bed was an interesting choice, you thought, as you couldn’t help but wonder how often Robby needed a bed that big. A TV was mounted to the wall opposite the bed above a dresser, which was cluttered with a watch, Robby’s wallet and a stack of books. You decided the room was clean and spacious, with dark, masculine tones. Once again, it was very Robby. You resisted the temptation to rummage through the nightstand and got dressed.

Robby’s gaze wasn’t lost on you as you returned to the living room. You prayed he wasn’t appalled by your make-up free face or your body, which was drowning beneath his baggy clothes.

Of course, Robby had seen enough of you to picture your body beneath the oversized t-shirt and sweatpants. He’d seen you in everything from scrubs to professional dresses and jackets to jeans so tight they looked like they were painted on. Those were his favorite. But this was new. He loved seeing you in his clothes. In fact, he decided you’d never looked more alluring.

As you turned toward the counter to fetch your beer, he shifted in his seat, his head swarming with filthy thoughts as he remembered you weren’t wearing any underwear beneath those loose pants.

You sat at the other end of the sofa, your legs tucked beneath yourself as you pretended to be positively enthralled by the Pirates game. Nevermind the score was 10-1 and they were losing.

“Terrible at-bat,” you muttered as you watched Tommy Pham strike out. “He couldn’t hit sand on a goddamn beach.”

Robby laughed and eyed you from the corner of his eye. Your hair was still wet, dripping damp spots across the t-shirt. You hadn’t noticed, but the white cotton was clinging to your skin in translucent patches. Just the right amount of light and he might be able to see the color of your— fuck, Robby thought as he scolded himself for thinking of you like that. You’d surely scold him for being such a pervy old man. He decided it would be a good time to excuse himself to the shower.

Once he was out of the room, you tilted your head back and closed your eyes. How the fuck were you going to survive this? It was agonizing enough to be wearing Robby’s clothes and sitting next to him, alone, but what if you had to do this for weeks?

There was no way. You’d check into a hotel or find a friend to stay with. There was no way in hell you could do this for more than one night.

You rested your eyes and listened to the TV until you could feel your phone buzzing in the pocket of your sweatpants. Your group text with Samira, Cassie and Trinity was full of missed texts.

Cassie: Heard about your apartment! You good?

Samira: Do you need a place to crash? You can stay with Jack and me.

Trinity: Or you can stay with me if you want to steer clear of the lovebirds. I can make Whitaker sleep on the couch.

Samira: Rude.

Trinity: You aren’t dead, are you?

You sighed and tried to choose your words carefully. Not that it mattered. They were going to freak out regardless.

‘I’m okay!’ You wrote back. ‘I’m staying with Robby.’

The replies were instant.

Samira: ??????

Cassie: WHAT?

Trinity: DR. ROBBY?!

You: Yes. He came by to check on me.

Samira: What do you mean he came by? Came by where?

Trinity: I bet it won’t be the first time tonight he’s going to c-

You dropped your phone as Robby reentered the room. It clattered to the floor with a thud and you scrambled to pick it up. Robby lifted an amused eyebrow at you and you became determined to deflect your embarrassment.

“I’m surprised you don’t have a dog,” you commented with a casual air. Robby tilted his head to look at you.

“Why does that surprise you?” he asked as he lowered himself to the couch again. You averted your eyes when you realized he was wearing grey sweatpants.

“I don’t know,” you said with a shrug. “I guess I always figured you were a dog guy.”

“I love dogs,” Robby agreed. “But I’m also not home enough to take care of one.”

“Ah, that’s fair.”

“Pretty tough to keep a pet with this lifestyle. Or to keep much of anything.”

“Cheers to that,” you muttered as you raised your bottle.

“Says the woman who just had the day off,” Robby teased.

“And whose apartment nearly burned down!”

“Ah yeah, I suppose that’s true.” You rolled your eyes at him and returned your attention to the TV. But you could feel him studying you. “You sure you’re okay?” he finally asked.

You nodded and tilted your head to meet his gaze to assure him. “I’m fine,” you said. “Not like there’s much I can do.”

“Well, if you need to talk…”

You smiled at him. It was an amusing spin of fate. Just a year ago, you’d been the one offering to talk to Robby when it became clear he wasn’t healing from the deaths of Dr. Adamson and Jake’s girlfriend. Then Dr. Collins moved to Arizona, leaving him with no one who could pull him from the dark place that was dragging him downward.

So you spent numerous nights on the roof of Pitt Trauma Medical Center with Robby. You didn’t want to pry or overstep your boundaries, to make him feel like you were trying to treat him like one of your patients. You merely offered him friendship that crafted a slow, budding trust that eventually eased Robby into opening up more to you.

Some nights, you'd sit there in cheap lawn chairs and share takeout, bantering back and forth. Other times, he'd speak to you with a quiet vulnerability, detailing the demons that lingered in the dark corners of his head.

And when you decided he needed help from a professional he didn’t know personally, you recommended a colleague with a private practice. Robby began weekly therapy sessions — and he hadn’t missed one yet.

Slowly, you watched the sadness vacate Robby’s eyes. It was replaced with the old familiar laughter you’d once adored.

“I’m fine, really,” you finally insisted. “In the grand scheme of things, this is merely an inconvenience, right? At least the whole damn building didn’t burn down, and at least no one died.”

Robby nodded in agreement. “And at least you’re safe.”

“You didn’t have to come check on me, you know,” you said. You quelled the temptation to ask him why he did so in the first place. Though you were dying to hear an explanation, you didn’t need to make Robby uncomfortable in his own home.

“I know. But when I heard the EMTs mention the fire was at your building, I got worried,” he said.

It was an honest reason, and you weren’t sure why you felt surprised by it. Robby had always been one of the most honest men you’d known, almost to a fault at times. Perhaps you were merely surprised because, though you considered him a friend and colleague, you didn’t expect him to spend any time thinking about you outside of the workplace.

“Well, thank you for checking. And for this,” you said, gesturing around the room.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Robby said seriously, his eyes matching his tone.

The room’s atmosphere was shifting. You could feel it in the way it pricked your skin, the way it hummed in your ear, a low buzz meant to distract you from all decorum. It was a devil on your shoulder, dangerous and desperate to make you do things that would surely sever your friendship and working relationship with Robby.

He sensed it, too. He clenched his jaw, fingers gripping his bottle of beer with far too much pressure in an effort to calm his nerves. The air felt like charged static; it crackled overhead, oppressive and full of energy.

What you craved felt forbidden. You weren’t sure why. You certainly wouldn’t be the first attending and former student to do this, nor would you be the first age-gap couple to grace the halls of Pitt Trauma.

But this felt taboo because it was Robby. Everyone wondered if he’d ever settle down, find someone who didn’t fear his surly nature and obnoxious devotion to his job. Then you came around and the whispers shifted to you, the pretty intern-turned-doctor who clearly had chemistry with Robby. But neither of you dared to breach the boundary of professionalism. And you were convinced Robby was too mature, too jaded and too busy to bother with someone like you.

“I should probably get some sleep,” you finally said. Robby swallowed audibly, but you pretended not to notice.

“Of course,” he rasped. “Bed’s ready for you. There’s an extra blanket in the closet if you get too cold.”

You blinked at him in confusion. “Wait. No. No, no, no, I can’t. I won’t impose like that-”

“Nonsense,” Robby cut you off.

“No, let me sleep on the couch.”

“Absolutely not.”

“But-”

“The answer is no. So either you take the bed, or we’re both sleeping on the couch.”

Your lips thinned as you searched your mind for words that could help you reason with him. You genuinely hadn’t expected to take over this man’s bed when he offered to let you stay with him. If anything, you wanted to share it with him.

“Robby, I can’t-”

“You can and you will,” Robby insisted. “Now off you go.”

You sighed and rose to your feet. You were afraid to look at him, fearful how you might react to his gaze.

“Goodnight, Dr. Robby.”

“Goodnight.”

Your insistence on only staying with Robby for a night or two fell on deaf ears. He refused to take no for an answer, even when you swore you could afford a hotel. Meanwhile, your building manager said it would take weeks before you could move in again, due to concerns about structural integrity. So you became Robby’s unofficial roommate, much to the jubilation of your friends.

“How’s it going?” Dana asked one morning when you wandered into the ER for a psych eval. “You poison Robby’s dinner yet?”

“Things are great,” you chirped. Dana offered you a knowing smile.

“I’m sure they are,” she mewed. “But I’m sure he’s also driving you crazy.”

“What? Robby’s great!” you insisted. “He’s easy to live with. Clean, quiet… I’ve got no complaints.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Dana said with a smirk as she sauntered off to check on a patient.

You were about to shout a rebuttal at her when a familiar voice found you.

“There’s my favorite shrink.”

“Good morning, Myrna,” you called over your shoulder, not bothering to look. “How are you today?”

“I have a bone to pick with you.”

“Oh?” You spun to face Myrna, curious what kind of out-of-pocket accusation she’d make this time.

“I heard a little rumor about you,” she said in her usual raspy tone. “I heard you’ve been shacking up with Dr. Robby.”

You sucked your top row of teeth. “Oh? And who told you that?”

“I was eavesdropping on the nurses,” Myrna answered simply. “They said you moved in with him weeks ago, you dirty girl.”

“Oh did they now?” You returned to the paperwork you needed to complete. The quicker you finished, the quicker you could get out of the ER.

“Spill it, sweetheart,” Myrna continued. “I’ve gotta know.”

“Know what?”

“About Dr. Robby! I’ll tell ya, I always thought he was a fruitcake. Didn’t know he had it in him to go after the young ones.”

“Myrna, I’m in my thirties,” you deadpanned.

“Makes you a youngin’ compared to me. Now tell me, sweetheart, what’s it like? How is he?”

“How is he?”

“In the sack!”

You closed your eyes, unsure if you should laugh or sprint toward the stairs. “Don’t you have somewhere to be, Myrna?” You knew she didn’t. She never did.

“At least tell me the size we’re workin’ with here, doll,” Myrna pressed. “With that posture, I can tell he’s hung like a hor-”

“Goodbye, Myrna.”

Despite the incessant teasing from your colleagues, you and Robby quickly fell into a comfortable routine. You’d never been one to go out after work much, save for the occasional date or round of drinks with friends. But now, you found yourself wanting to go straight to Robby’s apartment as soon as your shift ended.

On the days where you both managed to get off work around the same time, you’d meet him outside the ER and walk home with him. Sometimes you’d join him and the rest of the ER day shift crew in the park for beers.

Other nights, when he ended up working late, you’d head to his apartment and have dinner ready for the two of you. He never said it, but he looked forward to those evenings the most. It’d been ages since anyone cooked for him – and ages since he came home to any company. Some nights, you sat together and ate at the counter, but most nights, you sat in front of the TV with the Pirates game on. You chatted about your days, joked about your colleagues and merely appreciated each other’s presence.

You also realized that Robby noticed the little things. When he gave you his spare key, you expressed concern you’d lose it, so he rummaged through his junk drawer until he found an old keychain from Southern Tier Brewery to help you keep track of it. The next day, you noticed he cleared space on the hook next to his by the door, where you could hang your keys and purse.

He also noticed that, like him, you enjoyed reading. One evening you emerged from a shower and found him reading on the couch, his glasses on and an open beer on the coffee table. The two of you slipped into a discussion of your reading lists and favorite writers. The next morning, you found two books from your list waiting for you on the counter, plucked from Robby’s collection.

But your favorite simple gesture was the matcha. Robby noticed you didn’t drink coffee in the mornings. Instead, you’d stop at a shop on your way to the hospital for a matcha latte. Robby teased you, said you were blowing money on “grass water,” but two days later, you discovered a tin of matcha in the cupboard.

It was simple but comforting. You’d never admit it to anyone, but you didn’t want your time there to end.

Still, you and Robby remained at arm’s length inside his apartment. You never stood too close, always sat at opposite ends of the sofa and never discussed topics that were too personal. Until the night you went out with Santos and Whitaker.

You and Trinity dragged Dennis to a karaoke bar one Thursday night after he revealed he’d never been to one. Several rounds of drinks and a group performance of Espresso later, you found yourself swaying on your barstool.

“You good?” Trinity asked, smirking at you in amusement.

“I’m fine,” you sighed wistfully, the latest round of tequila shots taking command of your composure. It was becoming painfully clear you couldn’t keep up with the 20-somethings anymore. “But I kinda wanna go home.”

“Home?” Trinity mused. “As in, to your condemned apartment, or to Dr. Robby?”

“Robby’s apartment is really nice,” you babbled. “I love the exposed brick. And he somehow manages to keep it so clean. And he buys the good ice cream, not the shitty generic brands.”

Trinity snorted. “That all you like about Dr. Robby’s place?”

“No,” you said dreamily, clearly too drunk to notice your whimsy state. “I like hanging out with him.”

“Yet neither of you has made a move yet,” Trinity noted.

“Oh, please,” you laughed. “That’s never going to happen. Robby is way too mature to be interested in me.”

“Dr. Robby is a single, straight man,” Trinity said. “Trust me, he isn’t worried about your age gap. It’s not that bad anyway. No one has a problem with Mohan and Abbot.”

“But this is Robby we’re talking about,” you insisted. “He’d never be interested in me.”

“You’re joking, right?” Trinity groaned. “Please don’t tell me you really think he’s out of your league or some self-esteem bullshit. You are way too hot to be talking like that.”

“It’s not that,” you sighed. “I just… he just…”

“You like him way too much,” Dennis cut in. “You like him so much, you’ve built him up in your head and now you think he’s unattainable.” You and Trinity both blinked at Dennis. “What?” he asked with a shrug. “I observe things.”

Trinity laughed. “Who knew Huckleberry was so perceptive.”

You walked back to Robby’s apartment well past midnight, and much later than you’d planned to be out. You treaded quietly when you approached the door, assuming he’d already be asleep on the couch.

When you entered, the lights inside the apartment were still on and the TV was airing an old rerun of Bar Rescue. Robby was seated on the couch, an open pizza box on the coffee table. He clearly had nodded off.

Your plan had been to tiptoe to the bedroom without waking him. But your inebriated brain couldn’t quite compute the proper distance between your body and the furniture, meaning you bumped clumsily into the back of the sofa.

“Fuck!” you hissed at the sharp pain that surged within your hip, and at the sight of Robby stirring. He blinked a few times before his gaze found you. “Hey,” you giggled. “Did I wake you? Sorry.”

“S’alright,” he mumbled. The sleepy look in his eyes made you want to climb him like a tree.

“Didn’t mean to get in so late,” you continued. “But Whitaker was really into it. Guy’s a big Kesha fan.”

“Who?”

“Nevermind.”

You eyed the pizza sitting on the table and the tightening in your stomach reminded you it had been hours since dinner.

You should have walked away, taken yourself straight to bed. Solitude inside the sanctity of Robby’s bedroom would have been the safe choice, where you couldn’t get yourself into any trouble.

Instead, you sank into your side of the sofa and reached for a slice of pizza.

“So, was it just you, Whittaker and Santos?” Robby asked. You nodded as you chewed.

“Mohan was supposed to come, but bailed. I saw Abbot had the night off so I suspect he spent it on her,” you said.

“Thank you for that visual,” Robby muttered.

“Don’t be a hater,” you giggled. The laughter made your head spin. The room tilted and you decided it’d be in your best interest to be horizontal. You let yourself flop over until you were flat on your back, your head in Robby’s lap.

His spine straightened immediately.

“I think Samira and Abbot are great together,” you babbled on. “And he’s absolutely obsessed with her. Not in a creepy stalker way, but he clearly adores her.”

“You don’t think it’s weird?”

“Weird? Why is it weird? Two people with undeniable chemistry falling in love? Do you think it’s weird?” You stared upward at Robby curiously, your pulse spiking in anticipation.

“No, I don’t think it’s weird at all,” Robby responded. “I think they’re great together. I just wasn’t sure how you felt about your friend dating an old guy.”

“Aren’t you older than him?” you laughed.

“By one measly year,” Robby noted.

“Why do people get so hung up on age?” you rambled on. “It’s not like she’s a teenager. It’s not like he’s Leo DiCaprio. If two consenting adults want to be in a relationship, they deserve support, not judgment.”

“Hey, I’m with you,” Robby agreed. “I’ve just never heard you talk about Mohan and Abbot. Wasn’t sure how you felt about them.”

“I think they’re lovely together. And I think most of us could only be so lucky to find that kind of connection.”

The silence that settled between you rang in your ears, a screaming signal that you should say something, or better yet, take your ass to bed. But instead, you merely blinked up at Robby, who peered down at you with a soft smile.

“You’re right,” he said. “They seem to make each other very happy.”

“Exactly. That’s all that matters.”

The warmth in Robby’s eyes made your pulse race. Maybe it was the curiosity in them, or maybe it was the alcohol surging through your bloodstream, but you were finding it hard to swallow the words that threatened to spill from your lips.

“What about you?” you finally asked, the liquid courage taking command. “When are you going to settle down?”

Robby laughed, but you noticed his smile didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I don’t know if I’ll ever do that,” he said.

“Why not?” you asked innocently. “Marriage and kids not your thing?”

“I didn’t say that,” Robby replied. “I just haven’t had the best luck. Most people don’t understand what this job entails. It’s hard to convince anyone to stick around for very long.”

You nodded in understanding. “It is hard,” you admitted. “It’s a commitment and a sacrifice that rarely returns any favors.”

“See, you get it,” Robby said.

You couldn’t help but pout at him, the alcohol tempting your thoughts with more truths.

“But do you want to find that?” you pressed. “You know, your person?”

Robby shifted slightly, causing your head to bobble in his lap. If he felt it, he did a hell of a job of hiding it.

“Of course, I do,” he answered simply. “But I’m not holding my breath. I spent a lot of years pushing people away when they got too close. My opportunities may have run their course.”

“I’m sure you will,” you said with far too much honesty. “I mean, of course you will. You’re too…”

Robby rose an eyebrow at you, urging you to continue. “Yes? Too what?”

Your eyes bailed, shifting toward the wall in a cowardly attempt to appear nonchalant. But your tongue continued to betray you.

“You’re too… everything,” you blurted out. “Too handsome, too brilliant, too good of a person. You’re far too good of a catch to miss out on your person.”

A flush crept across your face as you spoke, drawing another smile from Robby.

“Handsome and brilliant?” he mused. “You should go out drinking more often.”

You scowled at him in faux annoyance and he laughed fondly at the way your face scrunched.

“Watch yourself, old man,” you threatened. “I know where you sleep at night.”

“Says the lady who’s taken over my bed.”

“You offered me that bed.”

“And you’d better stop calling me old man unless you want me to take it back.”

You managed to swallow your thoughts before they could take on the form of words that would surely embarrass you. You wanted nothing more than for him to take his bed back, as long as you were still in it.

Instead, you continued to pout at him.

“Would you really put an innocent person out on the street?”

“No, I’d send you to go live with Mohan and Abbot.”

“That’s even worse.”

“I know.”

You shared a laugh that made your body bloom with more warmth. It sprawled over your skin, from the pit of your stomach outward to your toes and fingertips.

“And what about you?” Robby suddenly asked, his eyes studying your expression with far too much focus for your comfort. “Do you plan on finding your person?”

“Of course,” you offered with a bit too much gusto. “But it’s hard to weed out all the douchebags in bars and impatient idiots who don’t respect my career. Like you said, few people really get it.”

“Can I ask you something?” Robby blurted out. You tried not to tense, in case he could feel it. That question always had a way of unsettling you. “Why’d you date Shen?”

You shrugged in amusement, a drunken giggle threatening to surface. “I don’t know, honestly,” you answered. “He really isn’t a bad guy. He just needs to grow up a little. I’d like more conversation and less video games.”

“Sounds about right,” Robby muttered.

The silence that followed was more comfortable this time. You let your eyes fall shut, the sleepy stage of your drunken night out taking over. When you finally cracked them open again, Robby was staring at you. Though you felt like you might vomit your heart up, you lifted your head from his lap to sit back on your elbows. You were no longer in physical contact, but your face was much closer to his.

“Sleepy?” he asked as he held your gaze. You were certain you were going to drown in his irises.

“Very,” you breathed. The air inside the apartment seemed to hitch, as if the walls pulsed with a heartbeat of their own. They were waiting with bated breath for something, anything to happen.

Instead, you smiled softly at Robby and sat all the way up, your hair falling in tangled tresses down your back. You rose to your feet and paced toward the hallway, stopping to linger in the archway as you turned to look back at Robby.

“Goodnight.”

You crawled into bed and wondered how close you had just come to discovering the side of Robby you’d only envisioned in solitude. He went to sleep wondering why he stopped himself.

Three weeks became four and you began to wonder just how long you could get away with being Robby’s roommate. As much as you cherished all of the alone time you had with him, you felt guilty. The poor man had begun complaining of back pain, and though he’d never admit it, you knew it was from sleeping on the couch.

Finally, you received a call from your building manager informing you your building would reopen in a week. Your relief clashed with your disappointment.

Meanwhile, Robby found himself clashing with Gloria, per usual.

She cornered him in the ER one morning to remind him he hadn’t returned his RSVP for the hospital charity dinner. Robby swore under his breath.

“It’s non-negotiable,” Gloria warned. “You’re the head of this department and all department heads are expected to attend. The only reason I came down here to remind you to RSVP was so that we can add your plus-one to the list.”

“My plus-one,” Robby deadpanned.

“Yes, as in your date,” Gloria replied as if it were obvious. “Ask a date, rent a tux and don’t forget to return the RSVP.”

Robby muttered a string of curses as Gloria left.

When he returned home after his shift, he found you chopping bell peppers in the kitchen, wearing earbuds that were undoubtedly playing 90s music given the way you danced around.

He couldn’t help himself. He paused in the doorframe and watched, smiling softly to himself. It had become impossible to ignore the surge in serotonin he felt whenever he was in your presence. And this – this was too perfect; you, dressed in a skimpy pair of track shorts, your hair pulled back into a high ponytail as you hummed to the Spice Girls. It was a masterpiece mounted on canvas in Robby’s mind.

He watched as you began to chop another pepper and approached you with caution, reaching to remove your left earbud as he loomed behind you.

“Hey.”

You flinched and nearly dropped the knife. “Asshole!” you hissed, though the laughter in your voice negated your anger. “You can’t sneak up on people like that. I have a knife, for fuck’s sake.”

“Sorry,” Robby chuckled. “Didn’t consider the fact you might be capable of murder. What are you making?”

“Fajitas,” you said happily as you removed your other earbud. “We’re celebrating.”

“Celebrating what?”

“My building manager called. He says I can move back into my apartment in a week.”

“Oh.” Robby forced a smile and silently prayed it was convincing. “That’s great.”

“He said there was no significant damage to my unit, but they still need to treat the entire floor for smoke damage,” you continued casually, searching his eyes for something, anything that indicated disappointment. You thought you caught a glitch in his stare, but convinced yourself you were merely seeing what you wanted.

“Great,” Robby said, turning to fetch a beer from the fridge. “I’m glad they’ve got it all straightened out.”

“Me too.”

You weren’t sure what you were even hoping for. For him to beg you not to go, to please stay forever? That was ridiculous and unhinged and you knew it. But the disappointment sat heavy within your stomach, so much so, you no longer wanted any fajitas.

You both picked at your dinner in excruciating silence, your legs dangling nervously from your barstool at the counter. Robby could sense your shift in mood. It mirrored his own.

He decided the past few weeks had been too good to give up on. You’d be moving back home, so he might as well find a way to craft another memory with you.

“Hey, are you going to the hospital charity dinner gala bullshit on Saturday?” he finally asked.

“Oh that,” you said with a fake laugh. “No, I’m not going. Dr. Meadows in neurology brought it up, but I told him I couldn’t make it.”

“Meadows asked you out?”

You nearly jumped in your seat at the sharpness in Robby’s tone. You blinked up at him, taken aback.

“Yeah,” you answered slowly. “But I told him no. I figured I’ve got too much going on with my apartment and whatnot.”

“Oh.”

“...Are you going?”

“Don’t have a choice,” Robby sighed. “Gloria says it’s non-negotiable.”

You couldn’t help but smirk. “Maybe that’s just her way of getting you in a tux. Rumor has it she’s on the hunt for a new man now that her divorce has been finalized.”

“Can’t imagine why she of all people would be divorced,” Robby muttered. You snorted.

“I’m sure the dinner will be… nice,” you offered.

“Nice,” Robby deadpanned. “Nice and miserable.”

“Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad. You get to fill up on shrimp cocktail, schmooze the donors and pretend like people give a shit about supporting the American health care system.”

“Easy for you to say, you aren’t required to be there.”

“Eat some shrimp in my honor.”

“Actually, I was thinking,” Robby started. Your mouth became cotton as you waited with your breath held. “Maybe you could come with me. Then you could eat all the shrimp you want.”

You pleaded with yourself to stop from fucking this up – even if he was only asking out of what you assumed was convenience. You knew Robby. He’d likely hoped he could get out of attending the dinner and failed to ask anyone to be his date. Now, you were his only viable option.

But you liked spending time with Robby. And if you were going to be moving back home soon, you wanted to take advantage of whatever time you could get. Even if it would inevitably worsen your feelings for him.

“I don’t have anything to wear,” you noted. “All of my clothes probably reek of smoke.”

“So then we’ll go shopping.”

You quirked an eyebrow at Robby. “What are you, my sugar daddy?” you couldn’t help but joke.

“I thought you said you’d knock it off with the old man jokes.”

“Never.” He was waiting, watching you intently for an answer. Even if you hadn’t wanted to go, you wouldn’t have said no. “Alright fine,” you finally said, not that you needed convincing. “I’ll go. But I can buy my own damn dress. And I get to make double the old man jokes.”

Two evenings later, you dragged Samira and Trinity to the mall after your shifts. Normally, Trinity would have needed to be tranquilized or bribed to go dress shopping, but given the circumstances, she was elated, and you were grateful for style advice from your younger friends.

“I still can’t believe you’re going on a date with Dr. Robby,” Trinity teased as the three of you combed through racks of formal gowns.

“It’s not a date,” you insisted. “I’m going as his date. There’s a difference.”

“You’re full of shit. It’s a date.”

“No, it’s a convenient agreement between two friends,” you said tactfully.

“A what?” Trinity snorted.

“He forgot to ask a date and I was around and available, so he asked me,” you said simply as you eyed a blue gown.

“Please don’t tell me you think that low of yourself,” Samira said. “We all know Dr. Robby wanted to ask you to begin with. He was just too much of a coward to do so and got lucky that you happen to be living with him, which gave him the perfect excuse.”

“Not for much longer. I can move back into my apartment in a few days,” you noted.

“Well then, sounds like you and Dr. Robby had better seal the deal soon,” Trinity said with a smirk. You rolled your eyes and disappeared into the fitting rooms.

By the time Saturday night arrived, you were certain you’d be better off flinging yourself from the roof of Pitt Trauma. You began to wonder if you were making a mistake, if you were setting yourself up for a disastrous freefall. But as you applied a coat of mascara and checked yourself in the bathroom mirror for the millionth time, it became painfully clear that you’d already tumbled too far deep into the point of no return.

Robby was standing in the kitchen when you emerged from the bathroom. When you appeared, your heart jumped into your throat as you watched him do a double-take. His eyes scanned you with excruciating intensity, though his expression remained stoic.

“Wow,” he blurted out. “You look… Wow.”

You stifled the urge to squeal. Instead, you eyed him back. His tux fit him surprisingly well and you made a mental note to ask him why he had such a nice suit tucked away in his closet later.

Though you felt incredibly confident and sexy in the dress you’d picked out, you wanted nothing more than for Robby to rip it off.

You failed to notice the way he dragged a palm across his face in agonizing lust when you turned to fetch your clutch, presenting him with another view of your very backless dress.

“You look wow, too,” you said simply when you turned around again. “Langdon insisted you don’t own a suit. Guess I should’ve bet him on it.”

By the time you arrived at the dinner, which was taking place at the Rivers Casino Event Center, you were certain you were going to pass out from nerves.

The walk into the ballroom was more daunting than your med school graduation, your first day of residency and your senior prom combined. The realization seemed to creep over the room like a slow surf, breaking and sprawling until it felt like all voices had fallen to a hush and all eyes were on you.

Neither of you spoke but as you swapped a glance, it was clear you and Robby were thinking the same thing: the rumor mill was about to spin at full force. But despite the inevitable gossip, you couldn’t help but swell with pride to be Michael Robinavitch’s date. Standing next to you, he was even prouder.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting from an evening as Robby’s date. You assumed you’d spend much of it on your own, chatting with random colleagues while Robby engaged in performative pleasantries next to Gloria.

But he was astonishingly attentive to you. He fetched you flutes of champagne from the bar. He included you in every conversation, even the ones with the hospital big-wigs who would surely forget your name the minute they stepped away. He even held your clutch so your hands would be free to eat hors d'oeuvres. And every once in a while, you could feel his hand gently find the small of your back as he spoke, leaving traces of unbearable heat from his fingertips.

The only time he wasn’t at your side was when you excused yourself to the restroom. While you were gone, Robby waited patiently at the bar.

“You lucky bastard,” Frank mused as he leaned against the bar next to him, a sly smirk across his features.

“Gonna have to be more specific than that, Langdon,” Robby sighed.

“Oh, come on man,” Frank said. “You brought her? It was about time. But Jesus Christ, you’re making the rest of us look bad.”

“I know you aren’t objectifying my date, are you, Dr. Langon?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m certain I don’t.”

Frank shook his head and clapped Robby on the back. “Whatever you say, man,” he said as he walked away. “But we’re all happy for you.”

You could tell Robby was ready to leave by 10 p.m. He stopped trying to mask his annoyance with Gloria, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in aggravation each time she dragged him into conversation with another person of importance.

When he finally managed to slip away from her, you offered him a sympathetic smile.

“Want me to fake a seizure or something?” you offered as you stood in front of the room’s large floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Ohio River. The reflections across the water’s surface seemed to dance and shimmer with the music playing behind you.

“You’re in a room full of doctors. They’d catch on in a heartbeat.”

“Want me to pull a fire alarm?”

“Pretty sure that’s a misdemeanor.”

“Wouldn’t be my first.” You cackled with laughter as Robby turned to look at you in bewilderment. “In all seriousness, if you need an excuse to leave, I’ll help you create one.”

“No,” Robby sighed. “I’m fine. Shouldn’t be too much longer before Gloria’s had enough wine to make her forget I’m here. By the way, I apologize for her calling you my girlfriend when she introduces you to people.”

“I’ve been called worse.” Robby couldn’t suppress a smile. “But you still haven’t asked me to dance,” you continued.

“Yes, because I value your physical well-being,” Robby answered. “Trust me, you don’t want to dance with me.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I’ll make it up to you later.” The words spilled before Robby could think to stop them. You tried to conceal your reaction, your eyes threatening to widen and lips tugging toward a nervous smile. Your brain began to short-circuit as you scrambled for a smart reply.

“Thought you couldn’t make it.”

Oh, fuck. You recognized the voice of Dr. Cooper Meadows behind you.

“Cooper,” you said warily as you turned to face him with a nervous smile. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s a surprise to see you,” Cooper said dryly. “Thought you said you were busy tonight.”

“Well, I kind of am, right?”

“Right.” His eyes flickered toward Robby. “I guess we have different definitions of busy.”

“Look, Cooper, I’m sorry,” you sighed. “I genuinely wasn’t planning on coming tonight, but-”

“But what?”

But Robby needed a favor. That’s what you were going to say. That was the honest, surface-level truth. But the deeper truth was you wouldn’t have come with anyone else.

“But I twisted her arm until she agreed to come with me,” Robby cut in.

“Figures,” Cooper muttered. “Another senior attending throwing his weight and authority around to chase younger tail. Thought you were better than that, Robinavitch.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” you cut in. “What the fuck, Cooper? Robby’s got nothing to do with this.”

“Bullshit. You know, I am so sick of the higher-ups at this hospital walking around like they’re gods,” Cooper continued, narrowing his eyes at Robby. Robby blinked at him and Cooper’s glare shifted back to you. “But how very stereotypical of you. The psych who needs to fix the miserable old senior attending just because he crashed out during an MCI last year.”

Robby opened his mouth to reply, but you were quicker. “Fuck you, Cooper,” you snapped. “You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about. I’m here because I want to be. I turned your miserable ass down because I was waiting for Robby to ask me. Just because your brain is too tiny to fathom the fact that someone is interested in someone other than you doesn’t mean you get to throw strays. Now fuck off so I can get back to my date.”

Cooper’s lip curled. He was clearly debating whether to keep pressing you, but finally rolled his eyes and stalked off. You swallowed in an attempt to ground yourself, too pissed and too embarrassed to look at Robby yet.

But he was looking at you intently. “Well, I think this night’s just about done,” he said. You thought you could detect a hint of amusement in his tone, but chose not to acknowledge it.

“Sorry,” you sighed, your eyes still refusing to meet his, mortified over your admission. “I forgot he’d be here. Though I didn’t think he’d be that much of an asshole.”

“He’s in neurology,” Robby mused. “Of course he’s an asshole.”

“I’d hate to hear what you say about psych.”

“Perhaps another time. You know, when you don’t look like you’re contemplating murder charges.”

“Can’t charge me if they can’t find the body.”

Robby chuckled and you felt his hand graze the small of your back again. You fought the instinct to tense. You didn’t want to tense. You wanted to melt to the floor so that Robby would scoop you up and carry you home.

“Are you ready to get out of here?” he asked. You nodded, your eyes registering one final glance out the window.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “Best leave before causing any more scenes.”

“At least we got some entertainment,” Robby offered. His hand was still on your back. Why was his hand still on your back? Nervous tension simmered through your body, rising into your skull until you could practically feel it pulsing in your hair.

Langdon caught Robby’s eye and raised a very suggestive eyebrow as the two of you headed for the door. Robby, still guiding you with his hand on your back, shot Frank a sharp look before he snuck a glance at you to ensure you hadn’t seen.

Instead, you were staring determinedly straight ahead, fearful your knees would give out.

Something was happening. Something had changed, a shift in the current between you and Robby. Its usual push and pull, the back and forth that had always kept you hopeful yet hesitant, now felt smoother; a free flow of high-charged anticipation. It made your insides twist and your palms sweat, a clash of uncertainty and excitement.

But what if it was all in your head? What if your delusions were crafting a foundation built on frail glass? Or what if the two of you were one act of bravery away from getting exactly what you wanted?

By the time you were climbing into the front seat of Robby’s SUV, you were gnawing at your fingernails. Robby, of course, noticed from the driver’s seat but said nothing.

“You enjoy yourself tonight?” he finally asked. Streetlights whizzed past your window and you tore your gaze from them to study him as you spoke.

“I did,” you said assuringly. “I ate more shrimp and shook more hands than I can count.”

“Yeah, it’s a lot of socializing,” Robby sighed. “Worst part of the job.”

“Gloria seemed pleased with you.”

“Gloria is never pleased with me.”

“Really? I would have thought a night of ass-kissing would do the trick.”

“You’d be surprised.”

A silence fell over the car as street signs swished past, but your mind raced faster. Were you and Robby really toeing a boundary, on the brink of leaping into something new and uncharted? Or were you merely making things up in your mind? Either way, the more you studied Robby from the corner of your eye, the clearer it was that you were already tripping over the unspoken line.

“Thank you for coming with me tonight,” Robby said quietly. You flashed him the prettiest smile you could manage, even if his eyes were on the road.

“I appreciate the invite,” you said. “Even if it was only to please Gloria.”

“Can we please stop talking about pleasing Gloria? It sounds… wrong.”

“Fair enough,” you laughed.

“I didn’t ask you because I needed a date,” Robby pointed out. “You know that, right?”

“Oh.”

“I’ve gone to those damn fundraising events solo countless times. I asked you because I wanted you to be my date.”

“Oh.”

Robby cast an uneasy glance your way. The whoosh of a passing car roared in your ears, though it may have been blood rushing to your head. The air conditioning inside the car was on, but you felt flushed and flustered as you willed yourself to respond with poise – something, anything to give yourself a fighting chance.

Instead, you shifted in your seat. Robby’s eyes darted toward you, then downward for a fleeting moment at your exposed thigh in the high slit of your dress. You watched him flex his hand around the steering wheel.

Your quick, shallow breaths stretched into torturous seconds of silence. You had a choice, you decided, and you wanted to choose Robby.

“Well, I’m glad you asked,” you said carefully, steady enough to convince Robby of your sincerity. “I didn’t want anyone else to ask me anyway.”

“Oh.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his response. “Yeah,” you continued. “The feeling was mutual… or is mutual.”

“Oh.”

You held your breath as you waited for his next move; a chess match between two people who had no desire to play in the first place. Neither of you wanted to continue your dance around the glaringly obvious. You didn’t want to play games. You were tired, needy and looked too damn good to waste your time on any more uncertainty.

“Well, I’m glad it worked out for us both then,” Robby finally continued. You both snuck a glance at the same time, your eyes meeting for a flash. It spiked your pulse and made your pupils dilate.

And finally, Robby’s hand slowly reached for the top of your thigh. The motion was smooth, as if his hand was always meant to be there. It was a dizzying juxtaposition – Robby’s large and rough, calloused hand against your smooth, soft flesh. Your knee stilled, as if moving it in the slightest would force his hand away. You wanted it to remain there forever.

Both of your eyes remained glued to the road straight ahead. Oasis played quietly from the radio.

The walk from the parking garage to the elevator inside Robby’s apartment building seemed to extend from mere feet to miles. When the elevator doors snapped shut, you held your breath again, eyes still fixated forward as Robby stood behind you. In the doors’ reflection, you could see his eyes clinging to your form.

The dip in the back of your dress, the pieces of hair that had fallen loose from your updo, the scent of neroli and jasmine from your perfume; it was all pulling Robby to a vexing place where he was torn between his desire to stop resisting you and the vulnerability required to do so.

The clack of your heels echoed through the hallway towards Robby’s apartment door, a steady tick-tock that counted you both down to the moment of truth. When you reached the door, eyes clouded with desperation, you shared one final glance. Robby’s eyes darkened with hunger.

He wanted to be gentle, wanted to be careful and sweet. But all of his suppressed cravings breached their dam, spilling from their confines in the form of primal dominance.

The sharp click of the lock felt symbolic – unlatching years of what-ifs. Robby entered the apartment first, tossing his keys on the counter before he whirled around. Before the door could fall shut, he had you pinned against it. It latched when it met the force of your back, concealing the two of you from the outside world with a quick thud.

Robby held your face in his hands as he kissed you. It knocked the breath you’d been holding for weeks from your lungs in the form of a pitiful whimper. The kiss was deep but sensual, fervid but sophisticated, giving yet demanding. It continued until you were gasping into his mouth, desperate for air and desperate more. When he finally pulled away, his hands lingered, still cupping your face as he studied the reaction in your wide eyes. You stared back, your chest rising and falling as you caught your breath.

You didn’t blink. You didn’t move. You refused to do anything that could be misinterpreted as anything but your desire to stand right there in that moment.

Robby kissed you again. This time, your hands snaked over his arms until you were sliding his suit jacket off. You only removed your lips from his to shift your focus to his tie. Once you loosened the knot, he pulled you toward himself this time, one hand pressed flat into the small of your back as he kissed you.

He dared to step forward, pressing his body against yours until he had you backed against the edge of the counter. Your fingers worked over the buttons of his shirt until you could skim your palms over his chest. You could feel it rising and falling beneath them as Robby’s breathing became more ragged.

Once his shirt was off, he raised an eyebrow at you.

“How come I’m the only one getting undressed?” he murmured. You offered him a pointed blink.

“I don’t see anyone stopping you from helping me out of this dress,” you replied matter-of-factly. Robby couldn’t argue with that.

You expected him to make a hasty move for your dress, but instead he hooked an arm around your waist to pull you in for another kiss. This one was slow and deliberate. Your teeth grazed gently against his bottom lip, desperate to pull more from him. Your arms clung to his neck until you were damn hear hanging from him, thankful for his sturdy frame.

You could feel his hand glide from your hip to the slit of your dress, his fingertips caressing over your thigh. His lips found your neck, first pressing a tender kiss there until he dragged his lips toward your collar bone. A low moan hummed in your throat. His touches were tender and deliberate. The ache between your thighs burned to your core.

Robby’s hand disappeared inside the slit of your dress and your breath hitched as he finally swiped a finger against the fabric of your thong, relieving some of the agonizing tension. The slickness pooling at your entrance was a dizzying paradox to the heat that scalded your nerve endings. Robby inched two fingers inside your panties and groaned at the sensation of your arousal clinging to them. And before you could beg him to continue, his index and middle fingers skimmed your folds. They met your clit and pressed until a whimper escaped your throat.

Robby leaned with one hand on the edge of the counter, the other dragging against your sacred flesh until your knees threatened to give out. Your head tipped back, your eyes squeezed shut as you silently thanked every higher power you didn’t believe in for granting you the privilege of crossing paths with Michael Robinavitch.

His lips found your neck again, ghosting hot breath against your skin that sent goosebumps peppering across the surface.

You inhaled sharply as Robby sank a slow finger inside you until you could feel the heel of his palm pressed against your clit. It quickly became clear that Robby knew what he was doing – not that you had expected anything less.

The obscene sound of his rhythmic hand pulling you toward the edge echoed around you, your labored breaths its only rival. You whimpered over the mounting pressure within your walls, tightening them until Robby groaned again.

“Robby,” you panted with a desperate plea. He curled his fingers and you choked out a moan. The coil inside you tightened as Robby’s hand hastened its pace, his fingers pulling against your front wall until they dabbed your sweet spot. Your fingers clutched at his bicep, nails pricking at his skin as your body tensed.

Your hips jutted forward and a pitchy whine rose in your throat until the coil inside you finally snapped, sending your climax pulsing through your core. Your hips rolled as you rode it out around Robby’s fingers, your clit grinding against his palm until your high subsided, leaving you slumped against him.

You didn’t speak – hell, you couldn’t – but Robby eyed you in quiet satisfaction, grunting in arousal as he removed his fingers from your soaked cunt. Your chest rose and fell as you caught your breath, head still cloudy in its post-orgasm haze.

Finally, you felt Robby’s arm squeeze around your torso as he lifted you up, your feet dangling in the air as he supported you on his shoulder.

“You know, I’m perfectly capable of walking,” you noted from over his shoulder.

“Really? Because I seem to recall you nearly falling in those heels no less than five times tonight,” Robby replied.

“I thought you wouldn’t notice.”

You could feel Robby’s body shake as he chuckled. He carried you toward the bedroom and you became certain he could feel your heartbeat rattling within your ribcage. When he set you on your feet again, he studied you with pensive eyes, as if he were waiting for you to change your mind.

You shimmied your arms from the straps of your dress, revealing your bare chest. Robby stilled.

“Jesus,” he hissed. “You are… so fucking beautiful.”

Words were failing you so you licked your lips in anticipation. Robby lifted a slow hand to guide your dress downward until it pooled in a heap at your feet. You stepped out of it and kicked your heels off, widening your height difference. You tilted your head backward to peer up at Robby, urging him to act.

He leaned into you for a long kiss, his hand roaming from your waist until it was cupping your breast. His thumb brushed over your nipple and you could feel his erection pressing against your stomach, triggering your impatience. You fiddled with his belt until it clinked apart.

Once you managed to shove Robby’s remaining clothing to the floor, he stepped from his shoes and you chewed at your bottom lip. It’d been weeks since you had sex, since before you moved in with Robby. And it’d been ages since you had sex with someone that big. You swallowed a laugh as you realized Myrna was right.

The groan Robby released when your hand curled around his cock sounded like it had been stifled for weeks. Of course, that had been exactly the case.

“Fuck,” he rasped as you stroked him, his jaw clenching at your touch. You could practically feel his cock twitching in your hand.

Your patience waned until you were practically dragging Robby toward the bed. He tugged your thong down and kissed you hard, his hand tangling itself in your hair while the backs of your knees met the bed frame.

Robby eased you onto your back, his knee between your thighs as he planted a trail of kisses from your neck, across your collar bone and to the swell of your breasts. The ache returned between your thighs.

You held your breath as his kisses drifted downward past your navel to your hip bone, then across the tops of your thighs. You could feel them tensing, squeezing together in an attempt to relieve the throbbing between them.

Robby smirked against your skin. His hands gently parted your thighs and you sucked in a sharp breath when you felt his tongue find your clit. Your hips grinded upward, desperate for more until you were fisting his hair. It spurred Robby on, leaving his arms hooked around your thighs. The sight of your soaked entrance ignited an invigorating surge of avidity in him. He’d fling himself from the roof of Pitt Trauma before he allowed anyone to deny him a taste.

His tongue flattened against your clit, pressing and prodding until your legs were shaking. Your eyes fluttered shut and Robby hummed against you in approval of your taste.

“Jesus Christ, Robby,” you breathed, unsure if you could withstand the sensitivity. But the way your hips were jutting upward, pressing your entrance against his tongue, told him you wanted more.

He drove his tongue harder against your clit, forcing it in swift, short swipes until your feet were kicking from the pleasure swelling inside your nerve endings. You ground yourself against his tongue in slow, sweeping motions, desperate for more friction.

Robby received the hint. He sucked on your clit, lips pulling it against his rigid tongue. It was a tactical assault of unwavering pressure. Your cries chorused higher until you issued a rapid succession of whimpers, one after another, as you climbed toward your climax.

Robby applied more force and held his tongue in place until your body seized, your nails sinking into the back of Robby’s neck as heat sprawled across your cunt, its ripples triggering a blissful shriek from you. It left you boneless, your head void of all coherent thought.

But Robby’s desperation peaked. He crawled on top of you, his eyes dancing with a raw greed you’d never seen before. He leaned down to kiss you, his lips slow and assuring as if the two of you were exchanging an agreement to stop withholding from one another.

Robby’s eyes locked on yours when he pulled away to position himself between your legs. Your heart hammered as he held your gaze and lined the tip of his cock against your entrance. The air in your lungs screamed for relief as you held your breath, your fingers pressing into the mattress in anticipation.

He sank into you slowly, groaning at the squeeze of your tight heat. Your teeth chewed at your bottom lip as you willed your walls to stretch around him. The friction was dizzying as he filled you. Robby clenched his jaw so hard, his teeth threatened to crack.

Once he’d reached the hilt, a clarity settled within your skull and your senses became hypersensitive to every movement, every breath and every agonizing second that Robby wasn’t driving you into the mattress.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Robby rasped. His voice was strained, as if he was in pain. In truth, he was merely fighting his final threads of self-restraint.

Robby was torn. The sight of your folds swallowing his cock was beyond anything he’d imagined, a vision he wanted burned into his mind forever. But he also felt a desperate longing to be close to you. He wanted to shower your face and lips with kisses while he whispered passionate prose in your ear.

“Robby, please,” you begged. As arousing as the power was to Robby – the pitiful whine of your voice, the plea in your eyes, the way your body twitched in response to his cock – he didn’t make you beg again.

Robby’s hips retreated and snapped forward, driving his cock within your plush walls. You issued a low, guttural moan in response. Robby’s hands reached for your hips, pulling you into him in contrast to his thrusts. Together, your bodies composed a symphony that was approaching a grand coda.

“You feel so fucking good,” Robby groaned. You bucked your hips in response, his praise heightening your arousal and your desperation to learn how it would feel to fall apart around his cock.

You squirmed beneath him, each panting breath signaling your impending orgasm. You squeezed your cunt tighter around him and your eyes clamped shut as you focused on the friction within your core. Robby shifted until he was directly above you, supporting himself with one arm as his shaft dragged through your walls and his tip pressed into the deepest part of you. The bedsheets clung to their corners for dear life.

Your nails sank into Robby’s shoulder, leaving tiny half-moon divots. If he felt them, he said nothing. Instead, he grit his teeth at your slick passage, his cock nudging you closer to the edge with each snap of his hips until you were certain the force would drive your heart straight into your throat.

Heaven couldn’t feel this good and hell couldn’t feel this hot.

“Oh fuck, Robby,” you moaned. The sound of his name spilling from your lips became his new favorite song. “Robby, I’m close.”

The desperation in your voice instilled a sense of urgency within Robby; a demand for deliverance that could only be rivaled by the high pitch of a flatlining patient. But this wasn’t loss of life; this was rebirth.

Robby rocked back to a kneeling position, his eyes glued to your joint union as he drove his cock upward. It speared your core’s pressure point until your toes were curling.

Your cunt clenched tighter, beckoning your release. It mounted within your walls, swelling until it surged. You unleashed a sharp, ringing cry that filled the bedroom while your back arched off the bed and stars filled your eyes. Robby maintained his pace as your cunt convulsed, sending spasms searing through your nerve endings.

The end of your high marked the beginning of Robby’s. The vision of your mouth hanging open, breasts bouncing, dripping cunt swallowing his cock, was far more than he could handle. He swore loudly as his cock twitched. He yanked your hips flush with his as he spilled himself inside you, his fingers pressing hard into your flesh.

Robby stilled when it was over. He released your hips and collapsed on the pillow beside you, his arms snaking their way around your torso as he pulled you close. You, however, were incapable of any movement. Your fucked out frame was limp and weak, but you couldn’t remember the last time you were this satisfied.

Faint traces of the morning’s first sunlight leaked through the curtains of Robby’s bedroom when you awoke. He slept with one arm flung across your torso. You studied him quietly as he slept. His peaceful breaths were a soothing contrast to his serious demeanor.

Then he snored so abruptly, he jerked awake. You bit back a laugh.

“Hey,” you said softly. Robby rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms and offered you a crooked smile.

“Hey.” Robby studied you with such intensity, you could feel the familiar flush threatening to creep over your cheeks. “You sleep alright?”

You nodded. “You?”

Robby cracked another smile. “I did, considering it’s the first time I’ve slept in my own bed in weeks.”

“And whose fault is that?” you laughed with faux indignation. “I seem to recall offering to let you have the bed.”

“I only wanted it if I could share it with you.”

You swallowed your heart back down to your chest. “Well you left that minor detail out,” you quipped.

“Well I wasn’t aware it was an option,” Robby replied. You chewed at your bottom lip, unsure how to respond and annoyed at yourself for the lack of confidence. But in all fairness, it'd only been mere hours since the man had absolutely ruined you by turning you into a pitiful, whimpering, moaning mess. “But in all seriousness,” Robby continued, the amusement in his eyes shifting to something much more serious, “You do understand that I didn’t want for this to be a one-time thing, right?”

“You didn’t?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“But if you do want it to be a one-time thing, it’s alright,” Robby continued. “I just… you just…” His eyes scanned the ceiling as he decided on the right words. “Just tell me, okay?”

“I don’t want it to be a one-time thing, either,” you said immediately. Normally, you’d have practiced more restraint, more poise, played it cool and nonchalant, but this felt too raw and honest to hold back.

“You don’t,” Robby repeated as if he needed confirmation.

“No.”

“Okay, good.”

You shifted to rest your head on his chest, the warmth of his body enveloping you with comfort.

You couldn’t believe that, finally, you got what you wanted. Now it all seemed so simple; you and Robby made sense and it shouldn’t have taken so long for the two of you to reach that mutual understanding. But now, you were too giddy and too relieved to dwell on the past.

“The ER’s going to have a field day about us,” Robby muttered. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m pretty sure they’ve all had their bets placed for quite some time,” you said.

“We don’t have to tell anyone if you don’t want to,” Robby said carefully. “But I don’t want you to feel like we have to be a secret. You’re not a secret or something that I could ever be ashamed of, but I understand if you want to keep this under wraps.”

“I’m not ashamed either,” you said with a frown. “Robby, I’ve wanted this – wanted you – for as long as I’ve known you.”

“Oh.” Robby seemed genuinely surprised by your revelation. He dragged a palm across his face and grimaced. “Guess we both wasted the past few years then.”

“Guess we’ll have to make up for it,” you said, drawing a grin from Robby. “But maybe to start, we just let everyone at work figure it out on their own.”

“Wanna bet on who’s the first to figure it out?”

“Oh, I’ll put $20 on Mohan,” you said confidently.

“I’ll put $20 on Dana.”

“Deal.”

A quiet moment fell over you, and you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by the momentous change that had just taken hold of your life. Just 24 hours ago, you were single and pining hopelessly for the senior attending you thought couldn’t be bothered with any interest in you.

“I’m going to make some tea,” you declared, sliding out of bed to pull your bathrobe on.

Once you were alone in the kitchen, you couldn’t help but grin to yourself. You gazed around the kitchen, now wondering how often you’d spend time there in the future. Sure, you’d move back to your apartment in a few days, but you couldn’t help but feel like you were in your second home.

The sudden buzz of your phone on the counter pulled you from your daydreams.

“Hey,” you said, accepting a Facetime call from Trinity.

“Goooood morning,” she said in a sing-song tone as Samira peered over her shoulder. They were clearly at work, standing at the nurses’ station. You’d never been so grateful for you and Robby to have a mutual day off.

“Good morning,” you said carefully, your tone cheery but not too jubilant.

“How’d it go?” Samira asked eagerly.

“Wait,” you said with a frown. “Samira, didn’t you work last night? Why are you there?”

“Working a double,” she responded breezily. “Now quit deflecting. How was the charity gala?”

“It was good,” you offered casually, propping your phone up on the counter against the backsplash so you could retrieve your tin of matcha from the cupboard. “I had a good time.”

“A good time,” Trinity repeated blankly.

“That’s what I said,” you hummed.

“Oh, come on,” Samira whined. “We need details. Did anything happen?”

“Define ‘anything,’” you replied as you filled the tea kettle with water.

Trinity rolled her eyes. “You’re really going to hold out on us, after all we’ve done for you.”

“What exactly did you do for me?” you laughed.

“We helped you pick out that stunningly sexy dress that Dr. Robby was supposed to tear off of you,” Samira answered matter-of-factly.

“You two are insane.”

“And you are an asshole,” Trinity retorted. “Come on, give us something. You really can’t tell us that nothing-”

Her voice stopped abruptly and you watched her eyes widen at something behind you. You turned to look over your shoulder, where a shirtless Robby had appeared.

“Hey, Dr. Robby!” Samira called out merrily. Meanwhile, Trinity’s jaw was hanging open.

Robby blinked, his hair still a tousled mess. “Good morning,” he said, stepping closer to peer at your phone. “Everything alright?”

“Everything is splendid,” Trinity answered. Even through your phone screen, you could see her eyes glinting with glee.

“Is that Dr. Robby?” Dana’s face appeared in frame and you sighed as you watched her expression react to seeing her senior attending standing in nothing but sweatpants behind you. “Well good morning to you both!” she mused with a knowing smile.

“Fuuuuuck,” Robby groaned from behind you.

You glared daggers of annoyance at your friends. “We’re hanging up now,” you said.

“We’re hanging up?” Trinity mused. “You hear that? She’s already referring to them as ‘we.’”

“Goodbye!” you sang as you ended the call. Behind you, Robby was rubbing his temples.

“Sorry,” he sighed.

“It’s fine,” you said, more amused than annoyed. You’d known all along your secret would be short-lived. You crossed the kitchen to slide your arms around Robby’s torso, tilting your head backward to smirk up at him.

“Guess you technically owe me $20, though.”

By the time you turned onto your parents’ street, your nerves had you anxiously drumming your hands on the steering wheel. You tried to play it cool, to keep Robby from worrying more, but the closer you came to your childhood home, the more the knot in your stomach tightened.

When you pulled into the driveway, you could see your mom peeking from the living room curtains.

“Ready?” you asked as you put the car in park.

“Ready,” Robby said with a surprising air of confidence. You couldn’t help but raise a curious eyebrow at him. “Look,” he continued. “I want your parents to like me, obviously, but I’m also too old to think that their opinion of our relationship is going to make a difference. How they feel about us isn’t going to change how I feel about you. They love you, and so do I.”

You offered him a smile, your heart swelling over how fucking lucky you felt.

“You’re right,” you agreed, reaching to the passenger’s seat to give his knee a gentle squeeze. “Regardless of what they think, it’s still you and me.”

The glance exchanged between your parents when you introduced Robby wasn’t lost on you. You knew what they were thinking — they were surprised you’d brought home an older man. But as the evening progressed, you found yourself seated at the dinner table, smiling to yourself at the warm conversation that unfolded. You felt silly for doubting your parents. Sure, they could be a bit conservative and too concerned with keeping up appearances, but by the time your mom was cutting the pumpkin pie for dessert, they had embraced Robby with fondness.

“And you really doubted me,” Robby murmured into your hair as you cuddled up to him in bed that night.

“I didn’t doubt you,” you pointed out, turning to peer at him through the lenses of his reading glasses. “I doubted them. And I guess I shouldn’t have.”

“That remark your mom made about grandkids was a bit alarming though.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” you sighed. “But at least she likes you enough to grant you permission to make her a grandparent.”

“She does know any child of mine will be raised a Steelers fan, right?”

You smacked him with a pillow.

You woke up early the next morning and crept quietly into your parents’ kitchen, leaving Robby to sleep. Your mom was already up, drinking coffee in her favorite armchair by the front window.

“Morning,” she chirped, motioning for you to sit on the sofa. When you obliged, she smiled at you. “Robby seems really nice, honey,” she said. “He seems like a hell of a doctor. And he really seems to care about you.”

“He’s brilliant,” you agreed. “And he’s a far better person than I could’ve asked for.”

“Do you think he’s the one?”

“I hope so,” you answered. “Because even if there were two of him, he’s the only one I’d want.”

By the time Robby woke up and strode into the living room, you and your mom were watching the latest episode of 90 Day Fiance. Robby shook his head at you and headed toward the kitchen for coffee.

“Sorry I don’t have any tea for you, honey,” your mom apologized. “I always forget that you don’t drink coffee.”

“I have tea.” Robby poked his head back into the living room. “I brought your matcha. It’s in my backpack.”

From across the living room, your mom smiled at you in approval.

#I love him your honor #mr fic rec #the pitt fic rec #michael Robinavitch x reader #michael Robinavitch x you #dr robby x reader #michael robby x reader #michael robby x you #the pitt x reader #the pitt x you #q

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honeysrecs · 25 days ago

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Summary: You meet Jack Abbot during a terrible shift as a nurse in labor and delivery.

Notes: After a really shitty shift, this is my coping mechanism. All similarities are coincidences, this is not an actual patient/situation that I have had but rather a mix of many. This is a separate storyline from the Robby series!!

Trigger/content warning: perinatal/intrapartum loss, loss of a child, infant loss (trying to tag/mention words appropriately so that people who have it filtered don’t see the post; the content warning only applies to the first few paragraphs)

You needed air, you needed out of the unit. Your chest felt heavy like you couldn’t breathe and you couldn’t lose your composure right here. Ultrasound techs, residents, other nurses from the postpartum unit, and your coworkers were all gathered around in an attempt to debrief what had just happened.

You were a part of the worst day of someone’s life, the day they lost a child, and that always weighed so heavily on you, but this one, this one didn’t make sense. Baby was fine until she wasn’t, you rushed her mom to the OR to get the baby out, but the NICU team worked her for an hour and never got a blip of a pulse. A complete concealed abruption was the cause.

“Need a minute,” You said suddenly and got up out of your chair and headed out of the unit, you felt eyes on you but you didn’t care. You took long, quick strides towards the staircase and up the stairwell onto the roof, your vision getting blurrier by the second. By the time you were crossing the roof, tears were streaming down your face. You ducked under the railing and sat parallel to the roof’s edge, pulling your knees to your chest. The cold air stung your lungs as you sobbed, able to let go now that there was no one around. You don’t know exactly how long you cried for, but when the tears stopped flowing you rested your head on your knees, looking out over the skyline. Your back hurt and you were starting to shiver, it was 4 am in Pittsburgh in November, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move. You contemplated staying up here until your shift was over at 7, but surely someone would come looking by then.

You didn’t so much as move as the door to the roof opened, you were composed enough now to deal with your coworkers. You stayed in the same position, you weren’t ready to go back in just yet.

“Must be that kind of night,” A man said from behind you, leaning forward on the railing from the opposite side. Not a voice you were expecting. You turned to look at him briefly. He was older, salt and pepper curls and a black scrub top mostly hidden by a black zip up hoodie, you turned back to the skyline.

“A really fucking shitty one?” You countered

“A really fucking shitty one.” He agreed.

“Labor and delivery isn’t supposed to be shitty,” You said, not to him or to anyone in particular, really to just get it out of your system.

“Yeah, but when it is, it’s really shitty…” The man trailed and you were both silent for a moment. “How long have you worked L&D?” He asked.

“Five years. It’s been sad at times, for sure, but what just happened literally doesn’t make any fucking sense.” Your voice broke on ‘sense’ and you laid your forehead on your knees, willing yourself to keep it together. You had the patient volumes, you had seen some real shit, but this one was hard. You felt warmth over your back and arms, he had taken his jacket off and draped it over you.

“I’m really okay,” You said, starting to shrug his jacket off.

“I can see you shivering from here.” He retorted. You paused and closed your eyes, taking another deep breath. His jacket was warm and it smelled heavenly, it was comforting. Coupled with the fact that you didn’t have the capacity to fight with anyone right now, you stayed silent. He leaned on the railing for several more minutes then ducked under the railing and sat down in front of you, your feet inches from his thigh. He stretched his feet out to almost touch the edge of the roof. He leaned back on one of the poles of the rail and he was staring at you when you finally looked back up at him.

“You alright?” He asked. You just barely nodded your head.

“I will be.” You rested your chin on your knees, taking in the man in front of you. You were both silent for a beat, the hum of the city a soft soundtrack from the roof.

“I’m Jack,” He stuck his hand out and introduced himself. You gave him a halfhearted smile and introduced yourself, shaking his hand.

“Thanks for not letting me freeze, Jack. Where do you work?” You could see his badge clipped on the neckline of his scrub top but couldn’t quite make it out in the dim lighting.

“ED,” He responded. You let out a soft laugh.

“Props, I could never.” You said, shaking your head. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Eh, it’s not all bad…” He trailed off, looking out to the skyline. He cocked his head to the side after a moment.

“Just most of it.” He deadpanned. You let out a small chuckle at his crack and he smiled at you.

“Gonna go back in?” He asked, nodding towards the door. You sighed and sat up to stretch.

“We could just hide out here until 7?” He suggested, pulling himself up to stand, you laughed.

“Though I’ve truly considered it, I figure it’ll probably be in my best interest to go back in at some point. Can’t give away our hiding spot, and they’ll definitely come looking.” You said with a slightly more relaxed smile. This night sucked, but the company you were in helped. He was sweet, genuinely concerned.

“Of course, gotta protect the hiding spot.” He said with a small grin. His face changed, a look of genuineness washed over his features as he extended a hand to help you up from the concrete rooftop.

“I’m sorry your night sucks.” He said, his voice soft. You gave him a tight lipped smile and took his hand, pulling yourself up. “Anything I can do for you?” He asked. This man was genuinely so sweet and seemed to care a lot about someone he had just met. The genuine kindness made your stomach flutter.

“No, you’ve actually already helped a lot, thank you.” You said with a small smile. “I’m sorry your night sucks too, but it was nice to meet you.” You added.

“It’s been a pleasure, come hide with me again, yeah?” He asked with a smirk, his tone almost playful.

“For sure, but under better circumstances next time.” You said with a grin and gave him a wink. You let your smile fall and let seriousness fall over your features again.

“I hope your night gets better.” You said softly.

“You too,” he said with a tight lipped smile.

After a moment, you ducked under the railing and started towards the door, turning to look back at him one more time. You caught him watching you walk away and smiled, immediately turning back around and ducking your head so he didn’t see you blush. You tucked your hair behind your ear and opened the door to the stairwell, heading back to your unit.

By the time you swiped your badge to enter the unit, the slew of people had dispersed, which you were grateful for.

“You good?” One of your coworkers asked as you passed her in the hallway. You nodded,

“Better, thanks.” You said with a small smile. “Hey, do you know wh-“

The shrill sound of the staff assist alarm cut you off. You spun on your heel and sprinted in the direction of the alarm. When you got to the patient’s room, she was obviously post-seizure and disoriented. She was combative and screaming about someone trying to kill her.

Two nurses were working on putting her in soft restraints, you took the place of another younger nurse who was frozen in place, asking her to go get medication to help calm the patient down and to call the doctor. You turned to look at the patient when you felt a sharp pain around your eye socket. The patient had slipped out of one of the restraints and you were at perfect height for her elbow to collide with your eye in the midst of her flailing. You staggered backwards, your vision immediately blurry, and fell to the floor.

“Fuck,” you groaned, your hand reaching to cover your eye. You touched something wet and looked at your fingers. Blood.

“Oh, shit.” you heard, and in a flurry, everyone was around you. You were put into a wheelchair and wheeled out of the room. Someone at some point handed you an ice pack. You hissed as you put it to your eye.

“You have to go down to the ER,” someone said from behind you.

“I’ll take her,” another person volunteered.

“No, I’m fine.” You objected. Your head hurt like a bitch but other than that, you were good.

“I already called a code medic, they’re on the way” Another voice chimed in.

“Oh fuck me,” You groaned and leaned your head back. “I’m really fine, tell them to go away.” You insisted, closing your eyes.

“Oh, I’m gonna pretend my feelings aren’t hurt,” a familiar voice said. Your eyes snapped open to Jack crouching in front of you, already assessing. Two things dawned on you in that moment: you were still wearing his jacket, and he was a doctor.

Nothing was wrong with being a doctor, but they usually weren’t as kind or as caring as Jack had been to you on the roof. Most of the doctors you worked with were real dicks to the nurses.

“Lemme see,” He said softly, gently taking your hand with the ice pack away from your eye. His thumb brushed your brow bone and you flinched.

“You’ve got a cut that I think needs a couple of stitches but I can’t tell for sure. I need to get you to the ED to clean you up and look with better light,” He said. “You also gotta have a head CT, that was a hard hit.”

“I’m really fine,” You said, he shook his head.

“Don’t fight me on this,” He warned, “Let me make sure you’re good.” He shined a pen light in your eye and you flinched again. He raised an eyebrow at you, the look on his face told you everything you needed to know.

“Okay, okay. Can I at least walk?” You asked, he laughed and unlocked your wheelchair, already pushing you to the ED.

“Does this answer your question?” He said as he continued walking and pushing your chair.

“Don’t make me roll my eyes, it hurts.” You said with a small smile. He pushed your chair into the elevator and swiped his badge for the ED.

“I didn’t mean to steal your jacket, I honestly forgot I had it on until I saw you,” You filled the silence. Not being able to see his face was making it hard to gauge his reaction. He sighed.

“I wasn’t gonna ask for it back, though you could have used that to see me again instead of taking an elbow to the eye,” He ribbed.

“Oh, yeah, should have thought of that first,” You said sarcastically. He wheeled you into a room and offered a hand for you to stand up. You took it and sat on the stretcher. He turned the overhead light on. You shielded your eyes.

“Jesus Christ,”

“Sorry, give me just a sec, I need to get sutures and lidocaine.” He said, your eyes widened.

“You weren’t kidding about the stitches?” He chuckled and shook his head, starting out of the room. He turned to look back at you in the doorframe.

“Not at all. Keep the ice pack there, I’ll be back in a few. I’ll put you next for a head CT. Any chance you’re pregnant?” He asked, you scoffed.

“Not at all,” You responded. He tapped the doorframe and nodded, disappearing into the hallway. Minutes passed and he was back with a handful of supplies. He sat down on a stool at the side of the bed and laid the head of stretcher back. He set up his workspace and drew up medicine.

“Lidocaine stings like a bitch,” he said. You nodded, closing your eyes.

“Be gentle,” You warned, he chuckled.

“One, two, three, little pin prick and lots of burning.” You did your best not to flinch but hissed as the stinging started.

“Motherfucker…” You winced.

“It will be better in a second.” He said, taking the needle out. A few seconds passed and you felt him touch the skin around your eye gently, you jumped at the initial contact. “Just relax,” He soothed. “I’ve got you.”

Jack set to work on the sutures, it only took about four before he cut the thread.

“All done. CT is ready for you,” He said, sitting the head of the stretcher up and offering you his hand again. You took it and sat down in the wheelchair.

“Now I’m starting to think you’re the one that wants to spend time with me,” You teased. “Hey, do you accompany all your patients to CT or am I just special?” He handed you your ice pack back with an eye roll and pushed you out of the room in the wheelchair.

“You went through such great lengths to see me again I figure you might as well get what you wanted.” He said playfully with a squeeze of your shoulder. You put your hand on top of his as he wheeled you down the hall.

You took a sharp left into CT and he locked the wheels, helping you up onto the table.

“Thank you,” You said softly. He nodded.

“I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

The whole scan only took a few minutes, he wheeled your chair back into the hospital room and helped you sit.

“It’s clear, but you need to go home and rest. You need to stay home for at least 48 hours. You probably have a concussion. Do you have someone that can come pick you up?” He asked. You chewed on your lip and shook your head.

“I can uber?” You asked. He shook his head at you.

“Not a chance, I can take you home.” He said. You laughed.

“Seriously, I get off in half an hour anyway. Stay here, I don’t want you driving.” He pressed. Your head really hurt and you honestly weren’t sure if you had the reaction time to be able to drive in Pittsburgh morning traffic. You nodded once, laying back on the stretcher and closing your eyes.

“I’ll be back in a few and we can go,” He said, flicking the lights off. You weren’t sure how long he was gone, you had dozed off. He woke you by gently rubbing your arm.

“Hey, you ready?” He asked softly. When you opened your eyes, he was staring at you. His eyes full of tenderness and caring, he helped you off the stretcher. He linked his arm with yours as you walked with him.

“Careful, Dr. Abbot. People are gonna get the wrong idea,” You teased with a smirk.

“Just to steady you, can’t have you falling.” He said with a wink. Your stomach did a flip and your cheeks flushed. Headache be damned, this hot ass doctor was flirting with you. You got to the physician’s parking lot where his truck sat and he opened your door and helped you climb in. He started the truck and handed you his phone.

“Type in your address,” he said, putting the truck in reverse. You chewed on your bottom lip.

“Are you sure this isn’t too much? What about my car?” You started to worry. Not that Ubers weren’t plentiful in Pittsburgh, but it seemed pretty out of his way to do this for you.

“I don’t mind, I’m only a phone call away if you need me for anything.” He said. You nodded and typed in your address on his GPS app on his phone and handed it back to him. He took one look at the screen and let out a snort.

“Yeah I think I can handle that.” He said with a smirk. He closed the app off of the phone and started to drive. He wasn’t using the directions and seemed familiar with the surroundings.

“You live close by?” You asked after a few minutes of driving. He nodded.

“You could say that,” He answered. “What apartment number?” He asked as he pulled into a space and put the truck in park.

“417,” You said, gathering your things. He nodded, the corner of his mouth tugging up and got out, rounding the truck and coming to your door. He took your backpack from you and slung it over his shoulder, offering his hand to help you out. You took his hand and slid out of the truck, wincing as your feet hit the ground.

“Thank you for doing this,” You said again.

“Anything to help a neighbor out,” He quipped. You did a double take.

“You live here too?” You asked, your eyes wide. He let out a laugh.

“Not just here,” He responded as he linked his arm with yours again, walking you to the elevator. He pressed the ‘up’ button and the elevator started to descend.

“How’s your head?” He asked, you sighed.

“Honestly? Really fuckin’ hurts,” You grimaced as the loud ‘ding’ of the elevator signaled that it was at the ground floor. Jack stepped on the elevator with you.

“I have Tylenol though, I’ll take some when I get in, hang on, let me get my keys,” you said, unzipping the backpack that Jack had slung over his shoulder. You dug your keys out of the bag.

“So, you gonna tell me which apartment is yours?” You asked, getting off the elevator when it stopped at your floor and walking down the hall to your apartment. He chuckled and shook his head.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” He said.

“Try me,”

“That one,” He pointed at the door marked ‘414’ as you passed it. You stopped in your tracks and turned to face him,

“You’re fucking with me,” You said, studying the look on his face. “There’s no way, I would have seen you before,”

“Okay yeah I’m fucking with you,” You rolled your eyes and scoffed, turning away from him and continuing to walk towards your apartment.

“But you’re still not going to believe me when I tell you.” He said.

“I’m not playing that game twice,” You said as you unlocked your door.

“317,” He said. You spun on your heel as you pushed the door open.

“You live directly below me?” You asked skeptically.

“Honest to God,” He said, fishing his keys out of his pocket and showing you the key engraved with ‘317’. You laughed and looked up at him.

“Do you hate me, just a little bit?” You asked, still in disbelief.

“I’ve honestly never been annoyed, more concerned?”

“I do drop things quite often, sorry,” You admitted sheepishly. You held the door open for him and he walked inside. “It’s kind of a mess, work has been kicking my ass lately,”

“I get that,” He said, taking in your apartment.

“Thank you for everything you did for me, Jack.” You said softly, taking half a step closer to him. He locked eyes with you and nodded.

“Anytime. Can I put my number in your phone, in case you need anything?” He asked.

“That’s incredibly sweet but you don’t have to,” You said, taking your phone out of your back pocket and unlocking it.

“I know, but I want to,” He said, taking your phone out of your hand and typing in his number. “Though I guess you could stomp really loud and I would hear it,” He added, handing your phone back to you with a smirk.

“We can figure out something about your car later this week, or I can drive you to work whenever you’re well enough to go back?” He offered. You nodded.

“That sounds good, thank you again.” You said. He nodded.

“I’m just a phone call away, or a good stomp, if you need me,” He said with a wink, turning to leave. You laughed as he walked out the door.

“Have a good day, Jack.” You said, holding the door open with one foot.

“You too, get some rest. Call me if you need anything,” He said, turning to walk away. You closed the door behind him, and then realized you still had his jacket on.

You contemplated opening the door again, but you opted to keep it for now, he could get it back later— right?

#the pitt #the pitt fic rec #ja fic rec #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x you #q

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honeysrecs · 25 days ago

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As Above, So Below : Masterlst

"Quod est superius est sicut quod inferius, et quod inferius est sicut quod est superius." -- That which is above is like to that which is below, and that which is below is like to that which is above. It based on the notion of Hermeticism; the idea that God was a magician. The religious and philosophical idea that the universe is broken into the Macrocosm (the universe), and the microcosm (the individual). That which is above, corresponds to that which is below in order to accomplish the miracle of one thing. In simplest terms—whatever happens in the spiritual world, also happens in the physical world, and vice versa. Your spiritual and physical world existed on two equal and opposite sides; day shift and night shift.

Two very different shifts Two very different paces, senses of humor, and inside jokes Two very different attending doctors And you were vying for the attention of both of them.

Pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Fem!Reader and Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader Warnings: Talk of mental illness and other psychological things, violence, dark humor, angst, sad boy jack abbot, suicidal ideation, a platonic friendship with John Shen, and some smut along the way :) A/N: I couldn’t decide between Robby and Abbot, so I present you with BOTH. Tag list is open!

Masterlist

Chapter 1: I'll Tell You Everything Is Copacetic

Chapter 2: Phantom

Chapter 3: The Oceans Grew Hands To Hold Me

Chapter 4: Souvenir

Chapter 5: Choked up

Header belongs to me

Divider is Saradika-graphics

#this has me in a mf chokehold i s2g #jack abbot fic rec #ja fic rec #the pitt fic rec #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x you #the pitt x reader #the pitt x you #q

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honeysrecs · 25 days ago

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take a break pt. 2 — michael "robby" robinavitch x fem!reader Months after Bali, you're finally back in the US, staying with your sister in Pittsburgh. You just have no idea who lives there, too. take a break pt. 1

warnings: age gap, cursing, inaccuracies of how the ER works, angst, misunderstanding trope, reader has a sister named Jenna—who gets mildly hurt, not proofread, mentions of miscarriage (not the reader), minors go away, 5.2K words masterlist I am overwhelmed with joy at how the first part of this got so much love, thank you all, I'm so glad you liked it ❤️

"You’re telling me," your sister says, blinking like she’s trying to process it while trying not to get angry, "you spent an entire week with a guy who's decades older than you??"

You sigh. Of course she’s only focusing on that part.

"Just one decade and a half—"

"What were you thinking???" She’s pacing now.

You roll your eyes. "Look, I know how it sounds, okay? But it wasn’t like that."

She stops, arms crossed, and gives you a pointed look.

"I’m serious. What happened in Bali… it was different. I’ve never met anyone like him."

Jenna takes a deep breath a few times and sits beside you. The sharp voice softens. "I just don’t want you to get hurt again."

"Too late," you murmur with a bitter smile.

She sighs and pulls you into a hug. "Of course it is."

For a moment, neither of you say anything. Your phone sits on the table, still open from showing her a photo of you and Robby, sun-kissed and smiling. Jenna squints at it.

"Well," she says, "he is stupid handsome. Those sad-boy eyes? Come on."

You let out a laugh, some of the tension slipping from your shoulders.

"And he’s a doctor?" she adds, scoffing. "Girl."

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you. She’s trying.

After months of traveling, your lease ended, so you're staying at her place in Pittsburgh for now, just until you find a new apartment. Your sister's been your rock since you were kids. If anyone bullied you, or if you needed any help with friends, math, you name it, and she'll be there for you. She's the most reliable big sister you could ever have, so you don't blame her for trying to protect you.

She's also trying to balance being the protective sister, and the fun one. It doesn't always work.

"So what’s stopping you from looking him up?" Jenna asks suddenly.

You hesitate.

"He’s one Google search away," she nudges. "Don’t even lie."

You suck in a breath. "I know. I just… what if I find out he’s moved on? What if it really was just a vacation fling for him? And what if he lives in New York or something? I mean, we didn't reveal our hometowns for a reason. We could've easily shared our phone numbers, but we didn't."

Jenna frowns. "Okay, first of all? If everything you told me is true—and judging by those photos and the way you talk about him—it wasn’t just a fling. And second, so what if he’s in New York? That’s like a 90-minute flight. You work remotely. Things could actually work out."

You don’t say anything right away. You just look down at your hands and bite your cheek, the way you do when you’re unsure. Jenna bumps your shoulder gently.

She adds, "Look, I’m not saying go camp outside his hospital with huge cards, Love Actually style. But you should at least give yourself the chance to find out. What if he’s been thinking the same thing all this time?"

You barely say anything before Jenna snatches your phone off the coffee table.

"Wait—Jenna, no!"

She's already typing.

"Just a little digging," she says, her fingers working fast on your phone.

You lunge for the phone, but she twists away, standing up. "Give it back!"

"Nope, you had your chance and you blew it. Plus, you know you won't actually do this. I'm doing you a favor."

"Jenna, I’m serious—"

"Aha!" She exclaims, stopping in her tracks. "Michael Robinavitch, MD. Trauma Attending at—"

Your eyes are wide as you stare at Jenna. Her face shifts. Something unreadable—then disbelief. She scoffs and meets your eyes. "You're not gonna believe me."

Robby sighs as he slides through the ER doors once again. Like yesterday, like the day before, like how it will be for the rest of his life, probably. Dana's already at the nurse's station, looking at the board, phone in hand.

"You know, every day you walk in here, and you look even more like shit." Dana frowns. "I thought you just had a vacation, you’re supposed to look refreshed, not like you got dumped in the ocean and left for dead."

Robby huffs. "Well, good morning to you, too, Dana."

And then something in Dana clicks. "Oh my God. You got dumped in Bali."

He lets out a dry laugh. "I didn't get dumped in Bali. I just…"

"Wait, did you dump someone in Bali?"

"Can we not do this here?"

"I mean… I just expected you to come back tanned and smug, not pining like some sad indie drama lead." Dana lets out a little laugh at her own joke.

Robby exhales slowly, a tight smile on his lips. "It was a vacation. Nothing more."

Oh but it was so so much more. He hasn’t stopped thinking about you. Let’s just get that out of the way. Your laugh, your perfume, the way you fell asleep on his chest like you were meant to be there. He swears he still smells you sometimes, and it’s driving him insane. He’s off his game at work, can’t sleep at home, can’t eat without thinking of the dinners you shared by candlelight and crashing waves. So yeah—he looks like shit. Forgive the middle-aged man for wearing his heartbreak on his face.

"What's her full name?"

Robby pauses. "What?"

Jack shrugs like it’s the most casual thing in the world. "I know you keep checking the board for any new incoming traumas to see if it could be her." Jack continues, "You feel guilty for it, but you're still doing it. So tell me her name—I’ll keep an eye out on nights."

Jack knows it's a way to ease Robby, even just for a little bit.

Robby presses his palms to his eyes, just for a second. Long enough to see your face behind his lids, then mutters your name. He doesn’t want to see you on a stretcher. God, no. He doesn’t want to see you bleeding, unconscious, coding. He hopes you never have a reason to come through those ER injured, ever.

But the truth is, the ER is where estranged people meet. And though he hates himself for it, a small part of him still hopes one day you’ll walk through that door again—alive, healthy, maybe even smiling.

"Okay." Jack nods, then smirks. "How about a picture?"

"Jack." Robby warns.

"Backing down, backing down," Jack raises his hands in surrender, "Just testing the waters."

"She must've been something, huh?" He adds, "You haven't stopped thinking about her, and it's been months. You might be really screwed, brother."

Robby doesn't say anything. He knows.

[flashback]

You're both soaked.

It started with a walk along the beach. Then a splash. Then a challenge. Now you're standing in the shallows, dripping wet, and Robby is grinning like an idiot because he 'won'.

"You cheated! You said you wouldn’t grab me!"

He shrugs. "I said I wouldn’t splash you. Technically, dragging you into the water doesn’t count."

"You’re impossible."

"You're slow."

You gasp and lunge toward him, but he takes off running down the beach like a damn teenager. You chase after him, heart pounding, laughing so hard it burns. Eventually, he slows just enough for you to catch him, and you both tumble into the sand.

"I should’ve let the jellyfish have you," You pant.

"I think you'd miss me too much."

You roll your eyes. "You’re so full of yourself."

His voice drops just enough to make your pulse skip. "Am I wrong?"

Then he leans in and kisses you, slow and smiling, like he knows he’s already won. When you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against his.

"You're the worst."

"Then you've got terrible taste."

[present day]

You linger outside the sliding glass doors for longer than you’d like to admit.

You'd gotten the same rosé you both shared in Bali, with a nice bow wrapped around the neck, and a letter you'd hand-written. It's very cliché, but it felt necessary. And now you feel stupid.

Fuck it.

Part of you is excited to see him, see his reaction, would he run to you? Hold you in his arms? Kiss you right there in front of everyone?

You're smiling nervously now as you walk past the doors. The emergency room at PTMC is busier than you expected, the front desk doesn’t pay you much attention, which is good, they're probably thinking you're visiting with what you have in hand. You’re not sure what you would’ve said anyway.

You ask quietly where to find him. They point you toward the consult rooms, and you murmur a quick thank-you, the gift bag tucked at your side.

You spot him almost immediately through the narrow strip of glass in the door to Consult Room A.

Your heart stops.

Robby is inside. He’s really here. Still tall, still impossibly handsome, and especially in his scrubs, exhaustion clinging to the curve of his shoulders. You almost burst through the door—when you realize he's not alone.

Another doctor is sitting on the exam bed, bent slightly forward, elbows on her knees, one hand cradling her stomach. Her eyes are red. Robby kneels beside her, not quite touching her at first—then gently, cautiously, he places his hand on her knee. She covers it with her own.

He says something you can’t hear. She nods. And then, quietly, she leans forward and presses her forehead to his, smiling, tears in her eyes.

You freeze.

All the warmth in your limbs rushes away. You feel like someone's just completely taken your lungs away and you can't breathe.

You recognize her—Dr. Collins. You’ve seen her on the PTMC staff page, probably one of the first names you found when you searched for Robby.

You take a step back, slowly, like you might disturb the moment if you're not careful. Then another.

It seems like Robby has moved on.

You're not sure what to do. You feel fucking stupid. Of course, he has moved on. It was just a fling, nothing more. Tears blur your vision as you take short breaths, the rosé now clutched tightly to your chest, and you hurrily walk back down the hall. You don't want him to see you. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Collins exhales shakily, then squeezes his hand one last time before standing.

"I'll be fine." she says, voice hoarse but steady.

"You sure?"

She gives him a small smile. "Yeah. Go save someone who’s actually dying."

He watches her walk out, her back straight even though her world just cracked in half. They’ve been through a lot, he and Collins. It was never romantic—not really—but there were late nights and shared griefs. A handful of near-misses. People who endure together sometimes blur lines. But whatever they were, that part’s long behind them.

A nurse knocks gently on the doorframe. "Dr. Robby?"

"Yeah?"

"There was someone here asking for you," she says, "I told her you'd be out in a minute but I think she left. She didn't leave a name, she had a gift bag with her though."

Robby blinks. "Okay, thanks."

People drop off things sometimes. A patient’s family, a resident trying to get on his good side, a pharmaceutical rep hoping to buy his time. He doesn’t think too hard about it. He heads back out into the chaos of the ER, unaware of the gift that nearly reached him—or the woman who had.

[flashback]

"So what happens after you leave?"

Robby doesn't answer right away. He drags a finger through the sand. "Get on a plane, go home, back to work."

"You know that's not what I mean."

He sighs. "I know."

You wait and Robby finally meets your eyes. "I don't want to ruin this."

"This." You repeat. "This… fantasy? Or us?"

His jaw shifts slightly, he’s trying to choose his words carefully. "I mean the part where I don’t have to think about how complicated this would get if we tried to keep it going."

You nod, lips tight. "Right." Complicated.

"I'm not saying I don't want this. Us." He says quickly, "I just... I don’t know how."

You know he's right. It just hurts to hear it. "Yeah… me neither."

You glance up, and there’s a long, quiet look between you. "So, let’s not make promises we can’t keep?"

Robby nods, but his hand finds yours in the sand. And he doesn't let go.

[present day]

You've been sitting in your parked car for ten minutes after leaving the entrance.

Your hands still tremble a little.

You’d come here with hope burning in your chest, you ignored all of the doubts because you wanted to believe what you had with Robby was real. Because maybe despite not sharing phone numbers, there was something there. You hoped he also regretted not continuing what you had. But seeing Robby with her, the way he touched her, the softness in his expression… it had knocked the wind out of you.

Still, you can’t bring yourself to throw the gift away—or bring it home. Or the letter. So you decide to rewrite the letter. As a goodbye. You slip it inside the gift bag and get out of the car.

This time, you don’t go to the front entrance. You spot a woman smoking near the ambulance bay, leaning against the wall like she’s on break.

You approach her quietly.

"Hi. Sorry to bother you—do you work in the ER?"

She squints through the smoke, "Yeah, why?"

"I, uh, could you give this to Dr. Robby? I…have an errand to run, so, I can't give it to him myself." You offer her the gift bag.

She eyes the gift bag warily. "You trying to sell him something?"

"No, no, nothing like that. I just want to thank him. For everything he's done for me." You hesitate. "You can tell him it's from Ove."

She hesitates, then shrugs, taking the gift bag. "Yeah, sure."

You just offer a small, grateful smile. "Thanks."

Robby's sitting on his desk, busy charting, when Dana drops a gift bag in front of him.

"And this is…?"

"Rosé delivery, apparently." Dana chuckles. "Someone wanted to thank you, so she told me to give you this. Said it's from 'Ove'."

His heart stops. He snatches the bag like it might vanish, scanning the pink-gold bottle, the smooth ribbon, the familiar handwriting he could recognize anywhere.

You were here.

He bolts.

"Wait—" Dana calls behind him, "There's—!"

But Robby’s already sprinting down the hallway, dodging a gurney, ignoring the startled nurse who calls his name.

He jogs a little down the street, scanning every face. A couple arguing near the bus stop. A woman in scrubs checking her phone. But not you. His breath fogs in the cold air, and something in his chest twists painfully.

He missed you.

"Fuck." He keeps repeating, "FUCK!"

"Robby!"

He turns at Dana’s voice.

She’s outside now, waving something in her hand. "She left a letter."

Hi Robby, I'm sorry I didn't give you this letter and gift myself. I know it probably seems cowardly to leave a letter like this instead of talking to you face to face, but honestly… I don’t think I could’ve done that without crying. Or jumping into your arms. Or kissing you… Or all of it. There’s so much I wanted to say, but maybe this will have to be enough. I’m happy you’ve found someone who makes you happy. I really am. I hope she’s good to you. I hope she sees what I see in you—your terrible jokes, your gentleness, the way you care too much and try to hide it. I hope she knows how lucky she is. Take care of yourself, doc. And thank you for all the memories. You deserve someone who makes coming home feel like peace. – Ove

Robby reads the letter once. Then again.

He’s standing in the hallway outside the break room, half-shielded by the open door, fingers curling around the page like it might explain itself differently on the third read.

You were here. At the hospital. He missed you.

His eyes skim the line again—the one about how you couldn’t face him without crying, or kissing him. Jumping into his arms. His heart clenches. It’s so you. Honest. Brave and terrified at once.

Then he hits the sentence that makes him stop cold.

I’m happy that you’ve found someone who can make you happy.

His brow furrows. Found someone?

He glances up like the hallway might have an answer. What are you talking about? There’s no one. There hasn’t been anyone. Not really. Just that moment with Collins—but even that... that wasn’t what you think.

His chest tightens. You thought he was with someone. That he moved on.

You thought he was happy.

He leans back against the wall, one hand dragging down his face. A deep exhale pushes from his lungs, but it doesn’t take the ache with it.

"Ove," he says aloud, the name barely a breath.

He lets out a quiet laugh, one that almost breaks halfway through. Of course you'd sign it like that.

Now you're leaving him rosé and a goodbye that read like a love letter sealed in regret.

His chest tightens. There's a stinging behind his eyes he doesn't want to name.

Dana watches him from the nurses’ station, saying nothing. She doesn’t need to. Robby just shakes his head, pressing his lips together.

"She was here," he says again, like he still doesn’t believe it.

"Yeah," Dana replies softly, looking at him sympathetically. "She was."

The letter is still in his hand. He folds it carefully, like it's something sacred. Then he tucks it into his jacket pocket and takes a breath.

He should have been faster.

He should have found you.

But now… now all he can do is stand here, holding the words you couldn't say out loud.

A few days after that, you're back to apartment hunting. Somewhere outside of Pittsburgh. You haven't told your sister, but you have a feeling she knows. She's been quiet in that careful way, watching you drift through nights of old movies and whiskey. Not rosé—never rosé. That would taste too much like him.

You're on the couch, laptop warming your thighs, when you suddenly hear a scream from the kitchen.

"Jenna!" You scramble.

Jenna had bought one of those aesthetic looking pots made of glass, and of course it shattered. Another sound—glass crunching, followed by a strangled yelp. You race in to find her on the floor, clutching her arm, shards of her new glass pot glittering across the tile. She must’ve slipped. Her forearm is red, swelling fast.

"I'm okay—" She groans and winces, "Okay, OW OW OW—No, I'm not okay."

You turn off the stove, moving quickly to help her up, careful not to step on the glass. "Let's get you to the hospital. I'll get a cab."

She’s quiet in the ride over, cradling her arm, the towel now damp from melted ice.

"I'm so stupid." She hisses. "It's not even that bad, it just hurts."

"You're not stupid," You say, "But it looks pretty bad. The glass shattered everywhere. You're lucky it didn't cut you anywhere else."

She lets out a breath that sounds more like a groan, then presses her head back against the seat.

"Are you sure you want to come?" She asks after a beat, always worrying about you first. "We're going to that ER. After everything that happened…"

You glance out the window, swallowing down the familiar ache that tightens in your chest at just the mention of it.

"Jenna." You cut her off gently. "None of that matters right now. You’re hurt. We’re going."

She bites her cheek, clearly reading more in your silence than you want her to. But she just nods. "Okay."

It's not that late yet, and the ER is still as busy as ever. Due to the level of Jenna's injury, you get in fast. You push through the double doors with Jenna leaning on your side, her towel-wrapped arm clutched to her chest. You follow the nurse down the familiar hall, heart tightening with every step, and help Jenna settle into a curtained bay. She gives you a strained smile, trying to act tough, but she looks worried.

"I'll go get a doctor for you, it'll be quick." the nurse says.

You sit on the edge of the plastic chair, elbows on your knees, trying not to breathe too deep.

Then the curtain rustles. "Okay, let's see who we have here."

You look up and freeze—just for a second—until you realize it’s not Robby. You exhale quietly, chest unclenching. "You're Jenna?" the doctor asks, flipping through the chart.

Your sister nods.

The doctor nods back, "I'm Dr. Abbot, and this is…" He motions to you.

"My sister," Jenna says, giving your name.

That’s when you see it—Dr. Abbot's face changes. He repeats your full name under his breath, eyes narrowing like he’s connecting dots in real time.

Something clicks in his head. Then, without another word, he steps back. "I'll be right back." He’s gone before either of you can ask anything.

"What the fuck was that?"

"Robby!"

Jack whisper-screams down the hall, catching Robby just as he’s about to exit through the staff doors. Robby slows, eyebrows raised in surprise as Jack jogs up to him.

"Jack, I really just—"

"She's here."

Robby stops mid-step.

"She was," he corrects slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "a few days ago. I couldn't catch her—"

"No, Robby." Jack cuts in, breathless. "She's here now. With her sister. Bay 5."

Robby's eyes go wide. "…A-are you sure? Wait, is she okay??"

"Well I mean you wouldn't show me a picture of her so—"

"Jack—"

"Right." Jack says, "She’s fine, she’s accompanying her sister. Just stay in the consult room. I'll bring her over, tell her she can wait there."

Robby feels like his world is spinning again. He doesn't want to get his hopes up. He still has your letter tucked in his jacket pocket.

He nods nervously. "Okay."

You’re still staring at the curtain, blinking like maybe it’ll open again and explain whatever just happened. But it stays closed. Jenna glances at you, then at her arm, and mutters, "Well, that was weird."

"Yeah." You frown.

You’re still thinking about the way the doctor said your name like he recognized it—like it meant something. Before you can say anything else, the curtain swishes again. Dr. Abbot reappears, breathless, like he’s jogged half the ER to get back. "Um, do you mind waiting in the consult room? There's… not a lot of space here, so…"

It's an odd request, but Jenna says she's okay, so you reluctantly go with the nurse who'll show you where the consult room is.

As soon as you’re gone, Jenna raises an eyebrow at Dr. Abbot. He’s still standing there, watching the curtain fall closed behind you like it just told him a secret.

"…Do you know something?" She asks. Vague, suggesting.

Dr. Abbot turns slowly and squints at her. "I don't know. Do you know something?"

Jenna tilts her head. "I might."

He tilts his head back at her. "Then I might too."

The nurse doesn’t say much. Just a polite smile and a gentle hand on your back as she guides you down the hallway.

You pass a few curtain bays, a trauma room, and then she stops at a door with Consult Room B printed in small white letters.

"Just wait in here," she says gently.

"Wait for—"

"—OK." But the door closes before you can finish the question. You blink. Turn. And that’s when you see him.

Robby.

He’s standing at the far end of the room, one hand braced on the counter like he might be holding himself up. He's still in his scrubs, navy jacket with his sleeves rolled up, and he looks like he’s seen a ghost.

You freeze. He sees you.

For a second, neither of you speak. Neither of you even breathe.

Robby braves himself to step closer to you.

"Robby," you finally say, voice barely more than a whisper. You swallow, shifting your weight, arms folded like a shield. "I didn't know—the nurse just told me to—"

You break eye contact and step back as he steps closer. You can't look in his eyes, because you know you'll break. You're already fighting the tears that are about to fall.

He watches you for a moment, trying to find his voice. "You okay?"

You nod. "Jenna—my sister—she burned her arm. Slipped on glass. I just… went into autopilot."

He steps closer again, slower this time. "Is she alright?"

"Yeah. She’ll be fine." You bite your lip, still not looking at him.

"You left me a bottle of rosé," he says, gently, still stepping closer. "And a name."

You try to smile. "I thought you’d figure it out."

"I did," he says, now only inches away from you, "and then I read the letter."

Your breath hitches, just slightly. There’s a pause as you nod, your hands tighten over your elbows, fingers pressing into your sleeves. "Right."

"Are you ever going to look at me?"

You try to hide the sob escaping you and back away a little, but Robby reaches out, placing both hands gently to cup your face, brushing away your tears. You finally meet his eyes, and the sight wrecks you.

Why is he crying?

He steps closer, trapping you within his frame, and leans in. His lips press gently to yours, careful—as if asking permission, checking if you still want this, if you still want him. Your hands clutch his scrubs, holding on like a lifeline.

You pull away first. "This is wrong." You whisper.

Robby’s brows knit together in confusion until he sees the guilt in your eyes. You think he's with Collins.

"You…" You sniff, "You're happy, Robby. You—You can't ruin it."

"Look at me," His voice is firm, "Do I look happy to you?"

"I—"

"I'm not with Collins."

You look at him. "What?"

"The woman you saw with me a few days go," Robby says carefully, "she had a miscarriage. I was just… trying to be there for her."

You stare at him, breath caught. Your lips part, but nothing comes out. Then, quietly, "Oh."

You look down, heart thudding, face hot with shame. You want to disappear into the floor, you feel even more stupid now.

He asks, a little broken. "You really thought I'd move on that fast?"

You shake your head, blinking fast. "I didn't know what to think. I thought maybe it wasn’t as real for you as it was for me."

"And what? Were you just going to leave?" He frowns. "You weren't even gonna let me say goodbye. Not even one last look at you."

You shake your head, eyes glossy. "I thought it would be easier on you," you whisper. "Like Bali."

Robby's expression shatters. "That was not easy on me."

"You left before I woke up."

"I thought you wanted me to." His voice catches. "You were quiet that whole last day. I figured you didn’t want me to make it harder."

"Because I didn't want to say goodbye!" You cry out, "I didn't want it to end. But I got scared, because what if you don't like the version of me outside of Bali? Because Bali was good, so good, and back here—" you sob, "—back here I'm not as confident. I'm nobody. I'm a mess."

Robby's heart breaks a little. He sees you, truly sees you, and realizes the irony: that’s exactly how he feels.

"You think I don’t get that? You think Bali wasn’t the first time in years I felt like myself again?" He swallows hard. "I was afraid, too. Afraid I’d already messed it up. Afraid if I said goodbye, it would feel real. Final."

You close your eyes, a tear slipping down your cheek.

"You’re not nobody," he says, softer now. "You're the person who saw me when I was at my lowest. Who laughed so hard on that motorbike I thought I'd crash us into a rice field. Who made me believe I could want more than just work and sleep and going through the motions. Whose letter I still keep in my pocket. You're the person who lent me your book."

You chuckle at that, still sniffing.

He cups your cheek again, thumb brushing away the tears you’ve stopped trying to hide.

"And you don’t have to be confident all the time," he murmurs. "You don’t have to be the Bali version of you. I want you. All versions of you."

You try not to cry again, nodding your head. "…I want you, too."

He exhales—like he’s been holding his breath for days—and his forehead presses to yours, gentle and grounding. "I'm no picnic, either. I overthink everything. I push people away when I should let them in. I’ve spent most of my life trying to act like nothing gets to me."

"But you do." His thumb brushes under your eye. "You got to me."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"The worst." He smiles a little.

"Then you've got horrible taste."

He chuckles. "I believe what I said was 'terrible' not 'horrible'."

You share a laugh and there's a long, quiet pause. You’re both holding your breath, holding each other like the other person could disappear, like this might be a dream.

"Robby…" you murmur.

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to make promises this time?" You ask, hopeful once again. "Ones we'll try our best to keep?"

He smiles. "Yeah. I do."

He leans in again, brushing his lips over yours. Your fingers tangle in the navy fabric of his hoodie, like you're scared he’ll vanish. But he doesn’t. He just holds you tighter, steadier. And it’s everything you’ve been aching for. No longer a memory of Bali. No longer a what-if. Just you and him.

You take Robby’s hand gently and guide him towards where Jenna is to introduce them. You thought she'd be asleep, but you hear chatter from behind the curtain. When you swing it open—you see her and Jack, gossiping like two teenagers, her wounds wrapped up long ago.

"Oh hey~ We were just talking about you two," Jenna smirks, "So, Dr. Abbot, how long did you say Dr. Robby here has been broody?"

"Well, I think since birth, really, but he became worse after leaving Bali."

You roll your eyes and glance at Robby, who's blushing like a tomato now. You try to soothe him, while Jack and Jenna share a subtle fist bump, quietly whispering to each other.

"We did that."

"Hell yeah we did."

hope you guys like it! side note, lowkey loving Jack and Jenna's interaction and thank you to all of you in the taglist for being so excited for this 🥰 ily, and im so sorry if i missed anyone, it is really not on purpose. I hope you enjoyed!

taglist: @biggestsimponhere @thesnugglingduck @qardasngan @lol-im-done @daisydark @onlyrealjoy @sabrinaselina55 @borbalalikesdocs @livingavilaloca @evans-dejong @thinemineours @marvelousmissmaggie @maiamore @hagarsays @evermoresivy @capj-1437 @beebeechaos @obfuscateyummy @omgbrianab @honestlystop @jazzimac1967 @msdariaknight @cozyfanficnook @wowitsafemale @princessjayll @heyysolsister @mcuwhore7 @1mverstappen @aryacoulson @the-one-with-the-grey-color @ravenouswild @littlezee80 @gardeniarose13 @bitchy-bi-trash @breemary05-blog @arrowswithwifi

#mr fic rec #the pitt fic rec #michael Robinavitch x reader #michael Robinavitch x you #dr robby x reader #michael robby x reader #michael robby x you #the pitt x reader #the pitt x you #q

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honeysrecs · 25 days ago

Text

take a break — michael "robby" robinavitch x fem!reader Robby is finally on vacation in Bali. He can't quite turn off the part of him that stays alert, but then he meets someone who somehow silences all the noise.

warnings: angst. smut 18+, minors go away. this feels very romantic to me. i loved writing this. i never intended to include smut in this actually, i find it challenging, but it felt like a great addition to the story. pls be nice :") [p in v sex, no protection—don't do this kids, oral!fem receiving, fingering, swearing] not proofread. 4.4K words -- i think this is also the longest fic I've written so far masterlist

It just finished raining, and the air feels sticky with heat and flowers. Robby's on his third day of vacation in Bali, and he's yet to do anything on this island they call paradise. No tours, no yoga by the beach, not even a swim.

It's beautiful here—almost painfully—but he keeps checking his phone like someone might page him. Old habits. No one’s paging him. Time zones are a buffer, and besides, he’s on the other side of the world. What could he possibly do?

He’s halfway through drinking from his coconut, perched on a wooden lounge chair by the beach, when he hears a voice beside him, amused and warm.

"You look like you’re trying to solve a math problem with your drink."

He looks up. You’re barefoot, sun-kissed, wearing loose cotton pants and a tank top, your hair a little wild from the humidity.

Robby blinks. "Is it that obvious?"

You motion to the seemingly permanent frown on his face.

Robby's seen you around the resort before. Always by yourself, with two books in one hand and a drink in the other. He thought about saying something multiple times, but always chickened out. Something about you felt... unapproachable. Not in an intimidating way, more in a you’re living fully and I’m not sure how to do that so I don't want to possibly ruin it for you way.

Now you both sit in silence, while Robby continues to check his phone again and sighs. That's when you hand him your book. "Here."

He blinks down at the cover. A Man Called Ove.

"One of my favorites. You should read it." You say, "Better than constantly checking your phone and regretting it a second later."

Robby snorts. You have a point.

"You lend books to strangers a lot?"

"If they look like they've been through some rough shit, yes."

That startles a laugh out of him—genuine, low, a little rusty. "I’m Michael. Robinavitch. You can call me Robby."

You offer your name in return, then nod toward the book. "Give it a chance. Let me know what you think."

"What makes you think I'll give your book back?"

You smile, stepping toward the path back to the resort. "I've seen you around the resort. And if you don't, I'll hunt you down."

You're feeling particularly exhausted today. One, because you just went out surfing for the entire day yesterday, but also because today, you were supposed to be walking down the aisle with the most beautiful dress, about to marry the love of your life. Instead, you're in a hotel room halfway across the world, alone, and feeling like shit.

Well, you suppose the day wasn't half bad. You finally managed to talk to the broody, quietly handsome guy who looks like he’s seen too much and somehow still comes off calm and steady. A smile tugs at your lips. He’s more charming than you expected.

Bali was not a place you thought you'd visit alone. You always imagined you'd be here with your ex-fiancé, drinking and watching the sunset. So you decide it's time to take care of yourself, wear that sundress you've been saving for a special occasion, and head to the resort's bar.

You sit down at your table, putting your book down and picking up the menu, when someone clears his throat, standing next to you.

Robby.

"This seat taken?"

You try to hide your smile. "Be my guest."

He smiles and sits across from you, putting his your book down on the table. He looks good—too good. He’s traded his usual loose t-shirt for a navy polo that clings in the right places, and linen pants that make his long legs look impossibly relaxed.

"You clean up nice." You say.

"You look beautiful." Robby counters, "Can I ask what's the occasion?"

You chuckle nervously, not ready to share the sad part of your life yet. Thankfully, you're saved by the waiter coming to take your order.

"Do you drink Rosé?" Robby asks after ordering your meals. And you nod, surprised. "Great, let's open a bottle of dry Rosé." He says to the waiter.

You raise your brows once the waiter leaves. "Didn't take you for a wine guy—let alone a Rosé? You're full of surprises, Michael."

"You sound like my mother when you call me like that." He groans.

"'Michael'?"

"Yes, and she also mocks my drink choices."

You laugh. "So what's the story?"

"A friend gifted me a dry Rosé one time as a joke. I didn’t want to waste it, so I drank it. Turns out, I liked it more than I wanted to admit. But keep that between us."

You hum, "Ah, yes, can't have you ruin your naturally broody aura."

"Me? Broody?" He snorts like it's ridiculous. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You absolutely are."

With the food almost immediately devoured, you're left with wine and each other's company. The ocean hums in the distance, with the breeze prickling your skin. Robby’s gone quiet, admiring the view, the half-full glass of rosé resting loosely in his fingers.

"So, how do you like the book so far?"

He exhales, tipping his head back. "I wasn’t ready to love it. But it... got to me."

You grin. "Ove grows on you, doesn’t he?"

"Yeah," Robby murmurs. "Grumpy bastard made me feel things I wasn’t in the mood to feel."

You laugh. "That's the point. He's angry at life, but still shows up for people. Even when he doesn’t want to."

Robby nods, quiet for a second. "I think I know what that feels like."

You glance at him, surprised by the honesty. His jaw is tense, but his eyes are soft. You wonder if you should ask—but something tells you this moment is already fragile, and curiosity might crack it too soon.

Instead, you wait.

"I'm an ER doc." Robby swirls the wine in his glass absentmindedly. "Lots of chaos. Long hours. Lots of traumas, deaths… I used to think I was built for this line of work. The pressure, the adrenaline... the fixing things. And sometimes I still do. But lately…"

You don’t speak. You let him go on, because he needs to.

He takes a deep breath. "Lately I’ve been wondering if it's all catching up with me. Like—I walk around carrying everyone else's worst days, and I don’t even notice the weight until I sit still." He continues. "I’ve seen kids come in with gunshots. Mothers who collapse from exhaustion. People screaming for someone to save them, and you just have to keep moving like it doesn’t get to you. Like you’re above it. But you’re not. Not really."

Robby then takes a sharp breath. "Sorry. I'm not usually this..."

You offer him a small smile. "Broody?"

That earns a faint smile, but it doesn’t erase the weariness from his expression.

You figured it's only fair you share your story, too.

You put your wine glass down, your finger tracing the rim. "I was supposed to get married today."

That catches him off guard. His eyes widen, gently. "Oh. Today? As in—today today?"

"Yeah," You laugh under your breath, "Booked the venue and everything. Until 6 months ago, I found out he was cheating on me with one of my bridesmaids. Classic."

"Prick," Robby mutters.

"Right? So I pulled the plug on the wedding, and I've been traveling the world ever since. Running away, I guess. I was so caught up in the relationship that I think I lost part of myself." You sigh. "So now, I'm re-finding myself. Yay."

Robby chuckles. "And how's it going so far?"

You smile, "Let's just say I'm glad I'm not spending today alone."

He mirrors your smile, lifting his glass to cheer. "Me too."

"Walk with me?" you ask, gesturing toward the beach after you've finished your wine.

Robby doesn’t hesitate. "Lead the way."

You both kick off your shoes by the beach entrance and walk slowly along the shore, the water brushing your feet gently. You can feel the wine in your system now. The salty air hits your skin and lets your hair flow freely. Robby has never seen anyone more beautiful. He's glad it's dark out now, or you would've seen him blush.

You glance at him, and he’s already looking at you. Half-lidded, faintly flushed from the wine and maybe something more.

"I don’t usually let myself relax like this." He murmurs.

"And yet here you are, walking barefoot on a beach with a stranger, wine-drunk and poetic." You laugh lightly.

"Stranger?" He repeats, stepping in front of you gently, making you stop.

"No?"

"Feels like I've known you longer." He smiles lazily.

Your heart kicks up a notch, not sure what to say, so you just smile, turning to look towards the sea. The breeze has picked up, cooler now that the sun has long dipped below the horizon. You cross your arms, trying not to shiver, but the goosebumps along your arms give you away.

Without a word, Robby steps behind you. You feel his warmth before you feel the touch—his hands gently brushing your arms, then slowly wrapping around your waist. His chest is solid and steady against your back, and you let yourself lean into it, just a little.

He’s quiet, but you can hear the soft rhythm of his breathing, feel it where your shoulders meet his. The sea hums in the distance, but all you can think about is how your heart is racing—and how you can feel his breath on your skin.

"You're unlike anyone I've ever met." He says.

You chuckle and glance up at him, suddenly meeting his eyes. "That's the Rosé talking."

"Maybe," he says, almost to himself. "Or maybe I just really want to kiss you."

Your breath catches. That weightless feeling flutters in your chest, and the world seems to narrow to just the space between your mouths. He waits for your permission—doesn’t lean in right away, doesn’t push. Just watches you, his fingers still resting lightly on your waist.

So you give in. You lean up and close the space between you. It's slow, exploring new ground, like you're testing the heat between you. Robby’s lips are soft, warm, and his beard grazes your skin in the most deliciously distracting way. His hand slips around your waist, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss, and you find your fingers brushing the edge of his jaw.

The kiss lingers on your lips even after it ends, like you don't want it to be over. Robby pulls back just enough to look at you, still hazy, still drunk on the moment. His hand is still snug at your waist, like he’s afraid to let go too quickly.

"I don’t want to overstep," he whispers, "But if I asked you to come back with me… would that be okay?"

You hesitate for a second, because something about this feels different than just a vacation fling, but you can't talk about it yet. You don't want to.

"I was hoping you’d ask," you murmur against his lips.

That earns you a smile and another short make-out session that leaves you breathless.

"Are we leaving or what?" You ask in between kisses.

He chuckles, "So impatient."

He takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours, and you walk together barefoot, tipsy, and a little giddy from everything that’s happened tonight. The resort glows softly in the distance, lanterns swaying with the wind.

Once inside his room, you walk in slowly as if it doesn't look exactly like yours. The mood shifts. Robby closes the door behind you, and for a second, neither of you says anything. You just look at each other in the dim light, the tension from earlier about to snap.

Robby takes the first step closer to you, dragging his finger to lift your chin so he can kiss you again. And again. And again. And you sigh into his arms, hands on his broad chest.

"You can stop me any time."

"I won't."

He kisses you again, deeper this time. His hands slip around your waist, then your back, and up to where the straps of your dress rest. You can feel your heart flip when he hooks it on his finger, slowly peeling it off your shoulder, as if giving you time to push him away, but teasing at the same time.

You let the strap fall down your arm, and the other one soon follows. Robby’s gaze follows the motion like he’s watching something sacred, like he's not sure if he's allowed to want this but can't help himself anyway.

His fingers trail over your now-bare shoulder, and you shiver, goosebumps forming on your skin.

You take his hand and slowly make your way towards the bed, sitting down and placing your hands on his waist. You tug at his shirt, hinting you want it off, and he obliges, the shirt gone in one swift motion.

"You’re beautiful," He groans as he leans down to lie on top of you. "God."

You memorize the feel of him: warm skin, a strong chest under your palms, the steady rhythm of his breath stuttering slightly when your hands roam lower to reach his belt. He lets you undo it. Lets you unbutton his pants and pull them down as he peppers kisses throughout your body.

You let out a soft moan when his hand trails up your naked torso, hesitantly, ever so gently caressing your breast, teasing your nipple with his finger, while his mouth makes its way down to latch onto the other.

"Fuck, Robby." Your hand goes up to tug on his hair, earning you a lustful groan, while your other hand grabs onto his arm as an anchor.

Your head is spinning, and something is itching. You buck your hips up to meet his, and now his hand is pinning your waist down.

"You really need to work on your patience." He teases and stops kissing you.

"Can you really blame me?" You daringly take one of his hands, resting it on the slick heat between your thighs.

"Fuck." Robby closes his eyes, pressing his thumb to where he can feel your clitoris is, the sensitive bud poking out and pushing against your panties.

You throw your head back, hips bucking against his hand.

Robby slowly slips the little piece of clothing off, and you watch as his fingers smooth over your slit. He keeps his eyes on you as he lowers himself. You swallow as you anticipate what he's about to do.

"So fucking wet." He murmurs, leaving kitten licks on your clit.

You can only moan while he has his way with you. His hands are holding your thighs open for him, and you try your best to keep eye contact, but it's only making you falter faster. His eyes are dark, lustful, hungry, and you feel like you could cum just from watching him.

He gently sucks on your swollen bud, and you lose your mind when he inserts one finger. Then two. Your slick makes it easy for his fingers to move around and find your sensitive spot, he found it almost immediately, he can tell by the way your eyes roll back and how you clench around him every time.

"Robby—" You sigh with pleasure—a warning, bucking your hips again, and this time he lets you, feeling you're close to the edge. His fingers move expertly in and out of you, curling just at the right spot. Your breaths become erratic, following the pace of Robby's fingers. "Come, sweetheart." He says, almost as a command, and your body arches moments after, breath catching in your throat as waves of pleasure crash through you.

Robby doesn't immediately stop. He pumps his fingers a few more times until you're trembling away, and with a proud smirk, he pulls his fingers out, licks them to taste you—making sure you're watching—before hovering on top of you to kiss you.

You can taste yourself in his mouth, and you whimper, feeling him pressing against your cunt. You're still sensitive, but it feels like you're desperately hungry for more. More of Robby.

Robby tries to pace himself, he doesn't want to rush. He wants to cherish this, drag this out, because he doesn't want this to end. He wants to keep feeling your plush lips against his, your soft touches, your hands in his hair, your body pressed firmly against his.

"Robby," you whisper, your voice barely more than air, "I want you. Please."

And he loses all of his resolve.

Robby bites his lip as he sees your disheveled state. Lips swollen, hair a mess, hooded and hungry eyes, how can he say no to you?

He takes his boxers off, freeing his cock and letting it spring back up to his stomach. You gasp at the sight. He's gonna kill you. First with his gentleness, second with his cock, because you don't think you can handle that.

"Fuck off." You unintentionally comment.

Robby lets out a laugh. "Relax."

"Are you kidding?"

He just shakes his head and hovers over you again, but this time you push him over so he's sitting and you're on top, your sopping wet cunt sitting on his aching cock.

"Sweetheart, you're killing me." He closes his eyes and groans as you drag your hips along his length.

You decide neither of you would last any more teasing, so you take him in your hands, covered in your wetness and his precum, and push him against your folds. Your walls squeeze him as he bottoms out inside you, and you have to hold still for a while.

Robby's hands grip your waist and you're sure it'll leave marks in the morning, but you don't really care. You lift your hips slowly, leaving just the tip before slamming yourself back down, eliciting a moan from both of you.

You're set on a pace, slow, steady, allowing you to have control, but it's not enough. You groan and bury your face in Robby's neck. "Robby…"

"Hm?" He teases, like he knows what you're about to ask for.

"Please," You whisper. "I need…"

He pulls you from hiding your face, a confident smirk on his. But he decides to be merciful this time. Chuckling, he moves so you're now flat on your back again, legs tucked up and pressed onto your sides.

"Tell me if you want to stop, okay?"

You manage to let out a giggle. "Robby, don't worry—" your words are immediately cut off when he reinserts himself, the position makes it feel completely different from before. "—Holy fuck."

Robby starts slow, letting you fully adjust before feeling you clench around him, and he picks up the speed. You feel like the air is knocked out of your lungs, only able to take short breaths as Robby brutally drives into you, making you feel all of him.

You can't even moan anymore, your mouth just hangs open as you put your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss you can't properly do. Strings of fuck—Robby—so deep—fuck—you feel so good are the only things you can muster as you feel your high approaching again.

You couldn't even warn him when your orgasm hits you. Your nails just dig into his shoulder as your eyes roll back, back arching as far as it could go, and walls spasming around him. He grunts, nibbling on your neck as his hips stutter, not expecting you to get so tight.

"Fuck." He moans as he spills inside you, staying still for a minute to catch his breath and make sure you're okay.

You're still panting and twitching under him, eyes still closed, but your hands draw small circles on the back of his head.

"'M gonna pull out now." He warns and you hum, moaning again when he does.

He stands up to get a towel to clean you up, "Don't go anywhere." He jokes.

You chuckle. "Don't think I can."

The room is quiet now, only the sound of the AC and the steady rhythm of your breaths can be heard. You're both tangled in the sheets, your leg draped over his, skin still warm from everything that just passed between you. Robby lies on his side, one arm wrapped around your waist, fingertips gently grazing your back in slow, absent-minded strokes. You’re tucked into his chest, your head resting in the curve of his shoulder, your fingers drawing lazy circles on his chest.

Eventually, he presses a kiss to your hair, his lips lingering there.

"You're kind of amazing," He mutters.

"Kind of?" You raise a brow.

He huffs a quiet laugh, "I’m trying not to let it go to your head."

You shift, propping your chin on his chest so you can look at him. His hair is tousled, his eyes soft, still heavy-lidded. "Too late."

He smiles and presses another kiss to your lips.

"Do you always kiss like that on vacation?" You tease.

He chuckles, "Only when I meet someone who gives me their favorite book."

"Pretty exclusive club."

"You're the only member."

You nuzzle closer into him, smiling into his chest. "I'm not gonna lie," You start, "This all feels a little surreal. I never thought I'd meet someone like you. You make all of this feel… right."

"I feel the same way." He admits, "I want to pause everything and just stay in our little bubble."

The silence stretches comfortably for a moment. And then, you get a gut-wrenching realization. "Oh. Right. You said you're only here for a week."

He nods, voice tighter, his hand still tracing along your side. "Yeah."

"So we’ve got, what… four more?"

"Mm-hm." He pulls you close to him, perhaps it's a way so you can't see his sullen expression. "Four more days in the bubble."

And it's hardly enough time.

The next few days blur in sunlight and ocean breeze, you take Robby on winding motorbike rides, wild ATV tours through the jungle, surfing lessons where you both wipe out laughing, and quiet moments snorkeling with whale sharks. You try to make as many memories as you can, all the while masking the dread of his departure. And at night, it’s always the same—his touch like a promise, your body moving with his in the dark, like you're both pretending the end isn't coming.

You both made the silent decision not to say where you’re from. Maybe if you find out he lives just hours away, it’ll make this too real. Too painful. Better to keep things suspended in this bubble, this almost-fairytale. Better to let it end on a hopeful note, instead of a practical-hurtful one.

You’ve told yourself this is just a fling. That some people come into your life for a reason, and maybe Robby was never meant to stay. Maybe he’s just a beautiful lesson in loving deeply and letting go.

You try not to cry in front of him. You want to make the goodbye easier than it feels, to shield him and yourself from the ache that's already blooming in your chest. You try to seem light, even when it’s breaking you.

It’s not easy for Robby, either. If he could, he’d offer you his world—just to wake up beside you every morning and fall asleep with you tucked against his chest. But it wouldn’t be fair. He could never ask you to upend your life for him, no matter how much he wants to.

And maybe that’s the hardest part, he wants to do this right. He wants to believe this is more than just a vacation high. But what if his reality—grueling shifts, emotional exhaustion, his work-life imbalance—ends up driving you away? There’s so much he wants to say, but maybe silence is the merciful choice.

It's the night before he leaves, and you can't say goodbye. But it’s there, hanging unspoken in the humid air between kisses, in the way you cling to each other just a little tighter. You talk quietly about nothing at all, and everything at once—movies you haven’t seen, food you miss, a joke about whale sharks that makes you both laugh a little too hard at 1AM.

At one point, while tracing lazy circles on his chest, he asks, "Should I go before you wake up?"

You don’t answer right away, but then nod. Robby can see your lips quivering slightly.

He pulls you closer to him, but neither of you falls asleep quickly. You make love again, slower this time, as if trying to memorize each other’s skin. As if trying to stretch the hours. You fall asleep tangled together, heartbeats in sync.

By the time the soft blue of dawn creeps up, Robby’s already awake. He moves quietly, getting dressed in the soft light, careful not to wake you. Before he leaves, he pauses by your bedside. You’re still curled under the covers, looking peaceful and beautiful.

He looks at you like he’s trying to remember everything.

Then he pulls something from his bag—a folded piece of paper—and tucks it gently into the book you gave him. His fingers linger on the cover for a beat too long.

He leaves without a sound.

You wake hours later to an empty room, your chest already aching before your mind catches up. You sit up slowly, the sheets cold beside you. You scan everything in your room, maybe Robby had left something behind that you could keep as a memento.

Then you see the book. You open it to find the note inside:

"You changed something in me. Thank you for letting me be yours, even just for a moment."

And that’s when you finally let yourself cry.

------

part two for a reunion is out!

#mr fic rec #the pitt fic rec #michael Robinavitch x reader #michael Robinavitch x you #dr robby x reader #michael robby x reader #michael robby x you #the pitt x reader #the pitt x you #q

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honeysrecs · 26 days ago

Text

FIRECRACKER

Part 2 of REBEL COWBOY

18+ account - minors do not interact

GIF found on @patrick-stewart jack abbot x f!reader Word Count: 11k (don’t look at me! grab a snack!) Rating: E

Summary: You are a lawyer representing Jack after a patient's mother files a lawsuit on claims of misrepresentation and ethical misconduct. Initially, your focus is solely on ensuring that your client’s reputation remains intact. However, over time, the lines start to blur between your objectivity—and personal attachment to your client. Part 2 Summary: After the fax is received, everything changes for you and Jack.

Warning: minor spoilers for 1x4-1x7 (Kristi—teen girl medical abortion storyline), mentions of abortion, workplace stress, angst (emotionally constipated jack), reader is friends with Frank (they have known each other since college), we meet Abby (fake backstory of course lol), implied age gap, yearning, sexual tension, language, alcohol use, mentions of breakdown of a previous relationship (infidelity), fluff, mutual pining, flirting, feelings, pet names, reader has brief insecurity (don’t worry our jack gets her out of her head), size kink? (jack has a big dick, I don’t know how else to put it) dirty talk (filthy jack—I need him your honor), praise, oral sex (f—receiving), unprotected p in v sex, I think that’s it?

A/N: I’m so fucking nervous, but here is part 2! I had so many people request to be tagged in this next and final part so I would love to hear what your thots are via comments & reblogs <3 Thank you to @stellamarielu and @letsgobarbs for holding my hand and letting me talk through the smut for this part.

Jack Abbot Masterlist

Gloria: Meet me in conference room 4492. Your lawyer is here. The hospital chair wants to see you.

Jack glanced at his phone, the ominous message lingering in his mind as he swiftly scrubbed his hands. His brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of unease crossing his face. The adrenaline from the surgery still coursed through him, but now a different tension settled in.

Gloria’s request felt weighty.

Serious.

His scrubs were slightly rumpled from a long shift.

He knew he probably looked exhausted, the kind that came from hours of intense surgery.

As he turned a corner, he bumped into Robby.

"Hey, Jack," Robby started. "Got a patient case I wanna run by you. Think you got a minute?"

Jack, already glancing at his watch, gave a quick shake of his head. "Can’t chat now, Robby. After," he said, his tone brisk but not unfriendly.

Robby's eyebrows raised in surprise. "After? Like, when?"

Jack glanced at his phone, then back at Robby with a hint of urgency. "I need to go meet with Gloria. Some stuff I gotta handle." His voice was clipped, the weight of the day pressing down on him. Without waiting for a reply, Jack pushed past Robby.

Robby watched Jack hurriedly walk away, then called out, "Hey, let's meet on the rooftop after?" His tone was casual but carried an undercurrent of concern, as if sensing the weight Jack was carrying.

Jack paused for a fraction of a second, then turned around and nodded subtly in acknowledgment.

Robby lifted a hand in a small, reassuring wave.

Jack quickened his pace toward the nearby elevator bank. He pressed the button, the metallic chime signaling the arrival of the elevator. As the doors slid open, he stepped inside, pressing the button for the 4th floor. When the doors opened again, he stepped out into the corridor, moving swiftly down the hall toward conference room 4492.

He paused just outside, his hand hesitating on the doorframe as he took in the serious expressions of those inside through the glass windows. The weight of Gloria’s message still lingered in his mind. With a deep breath, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Inside, the hospital's main legal counsel sat stiffly at the table. Seated next to him was the hospital chair, whose expression was equally grave. Gloria stood silently in the corner, her arms crossed, but her eyes attentive.

Jack’s eyes locked onto yours, and for a fleeting moment, he was struck by a jarring realization—your face held an expression he'd never seen before, and so he studied your features, trying to find the usual signals he knew so well.

He focused on the small details—how the faint creases at the corners of your eyes, which he’d associated with concentration or irritation, weren’t present now. The way your nostrils flared slightly when you were annoyed, or the quick twitch of your brow when caught off guard, was missing. Instead, your face held an unyielding, almost mask-like calm that he couldn’t quite place.

He remembered the times you’d been visibly stressed—your eyes darting anxiously or your lips pressing into a thin line when frustrated.

But this moment was different.

You sat there.

Composed.

Yet undeniably distant.

Almost unnervingly so.

The more he looked, the more he realized—this was a new kind of quiet, one that demanded even closer attention to the smallest, most particular details of your perfect fucking face.

The hospital chair cleared his throat and leaned forward slightly. "Dr. Abbot. We received a fax last night from Eloise Wheeler and her attorney. It appears both your legal counsel team and ours received it simultaneously. We believe you are aware of its contents."

Jack shook his head.

"I’m not."

He reached into a folder and pulled out a document, sliding it across the table to Jack.

The uncertainty prickled at him—an unfamiliar vulnerability that made him acutely aware that whatever he was about to read was about to change everything.

Jack’s hand trembled slightly as he reached out, hesitating for a moment before carefully sliding into the chair next to yours. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves, then accepted the document with a tentative nod.

Holding it loosely in his hands, Jack’s eyes scanned the crisp, typed words addressed to your boss, who was the partner on the case:

Date: May 28th, 2025 To: Jorge Castillo at Summit and Sterling— Case No.: 2025-CV-785431 Fax Number: 412-555-7890 Subject: Notice of Withdrawal of Claims – Kristi Wheeler Dear Jorge Castillo, This letter serves as formal notice that Eloise Wheeler, on behalf of her minor daughter Kristi Wheeler, hereby withdraws and drops any and all claims, lawsuits, and allegations previously filed against Dr. Jack Abbott and Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. We acknowledge receipt of the relevant documentation and information pertaining to the ultrasound and medical procedures conducted on Kristi Wheeler. After careful review and consideration, Ms. Wheeler has decided to cease all legal actions related to this matter. Please consider this letter as a full and final withdrawal of any claims. We appreciate the hospital’s cooperation in resolving this matter amicably. Sincerely, Robert Nguyen Attorney at Miller & Carter 1334 Justice Avenue Pittsburgh, PA 15213 Phone: (412) 659-7294 Email: [email protected]

Jack let out a slow, almost disbelief-laden breath, then blinked several times, as if trying to process what he'd just read.

All the claims were dropped.

Eloise wasn’t even trying to go after a settlement.

Gloria’s arms uncrossed, and her face softened, a faint, genuine smile breaking through her usual guarded expression. She gave a small, almost imperceptible nod as if affirming the good news to herself.

Jack looked around at everyone. "I… I didn’t expect this," he murmured, shaking his head slowly.

The hospital chair, who had been tense earlier, leaned back in his seat. "It’s over, Dr. Abbot. It’s finally over."

Gloria reached up to wipe her forehead with a slight, relieved chuckle. "Well, I think we can all breathe easier now."

Everyone in the room nodded or murmured in agreement, a collective exhale of relief filling the space. Jack finally let out a long, steadying breath, his shoulders relaxing fully now as a weight he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying for so long was lifted.

You finally glanced at Jack, grinning at him.

Something about the way you were looking at him made him forget how to breathe.

You always had that effect on him.

Without a word, under the table, you reached out and gently squeezed his knee. The gesture was simple, and entirely non-verbal—meant to convey congratulations.

Yet—he felt his cock twitch.

Jack’s eyes darted to you, pupils dilating slightly, his breath catching in his throat.

The hospital chair leaned forward, turning his attention to you, a rare smile flickering across his usually stern face. "We’re so grateful. It’s been a tough process, and your expertise made all the difference. You and your firm did a wonderful job representing Dr. Abbot."

You raised an eyebrow, a sassy smirk curling your lips. "And in a way, your hospital, too, since your legal counsel didn’t really do anything. It’s almost like I provided free services to the hospital."

Jack and Gloria exchanged a quick glance, and she mouthed softly, 'I like her,' to which Jack silently mouthed back, 'Me too.'

The hospital chair’s face flushed slightly, caught off guard by your boldness. "Yes, well," he stammered, trying to recover. "Is there anything we can do? We’d love to take you out to dinner to celebrate."

You gave a dismissive shake of your head. "I don’t need dinner. But, actually, there is something you can do."

The hospital chair’s jaw tightened as he nodded slowly, a forced politeness masking his discomfort. His eyes flicked nervously toward his legal counsel, who shifted uneasily in his seat.

"It’s been brought to my attention that there’s a ten-year-old girl—Aaliyah Owens. She needs heart surgery. The hospital… well, you’ve refused to pay for it. Said there just aren’t enough funds."

"There aren’t." the hospital chair replied.

"I’ve spent months and months doing discovery at this hospital. Don’t disrespect me by lying to my face. This hospital has the pro bono funds. I know it. You know it," you shot back, your eyes locking onto his.

Jack’s pulse quickened at your unwavering stance.

Your voice was steady.

Leaving no room for argument.

The legal counsel’s jaw twitched, and he opened his mouth to speak, but you didn’t let him get a word in. Instead, you pressed on, tone firm and commanding. "While I can’t legally represent this family because of the conflict of interest—thanks to what I uncovered during this case—I’m still more than happy to recommend them to the best lawyers in Pittsburgh and suggest they sue this hospital for tort of deceit."

The hospital chair raised his eyebrows at you and gave Gloria a disbelieving look.

Jack watched—completely captivated by you.

You shrugged. "Or, better yet, you could just pay for Aaliyah’s surgery and recovery. Think of the great PR you’d get. Saving a kid’s life? That’s a win for everyone."

The hospital chair’s face flushed with frustration. He clenched his jaw, then finally spat out, "Well, aren’t you a firecracker?"

You smirked.

"If this case had gone to trial, it would’ve cost your hospital millions. This surgery? A drop in the bucket. So, here’s my advice: you can do the right thing, or you can keep playing these games. Either way, I suggest you get this done."

His eyes darted between his legal counsel and you, weighing his options. After a tense moment, he heaved a sigh. "We’ll think about it."

You reached into your folder and pulled out a document, setting it on the table. Your voice turned icy with finality. "Well, don’t think about it too hard. You can sign this dotted line by 5 p.m. today. Or not. But I recommend you do."

The legal counsel reached out swiftly, grabbing the document from the table with a brisk nod. "Thank you, counselor."

The hospital chair slowly pushed himself to his feet, and extended his hand toward you. "Thank you," he said gruffly, his grip firm but brief. You reciprocated, clasping his hand briefly, and he gritted out, "Have a nice day," before turning to follow his legal counsel out of the room.

As they exited, Gloria approached, offering a genuine smile. She held out her hand, and you shook it, returning her gesture. "Thank you for everything," she said softly. "I’m not the biggest fan of lawyers, but I think you might’ve just converted me."

You chuckled.

Gloria stepped closer to Jack, reaching out and gently placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch firm yet reassuring. With a soft, sincere smile, she nodded toward him and said, "I’ll let you two celebrate. Congratulations, Dr. Abbot."

She squeezed his shoulder gently once more before stepping out of the room.

As soon as the door closed, you stepped forward and reached out, your arms opening in a quiet invitation. Jack responded instinctively, his arms wrapping around you.

It was the first time you two had hugged—or ever held each other like this.

Jack’s arms tightened slightly around you, feeling the softness of your back, the warmth of your body pressed against his. He kept his eyes screwed shut, and he could feel your eyelashes tickling his neck.

He breathed you in, as if he could bottle you for later.

It was grounding.

Comforting.

The kind of smell that instantly anchored him.

A calm he wanted to cling to.

Maybe his scrubs would trap your scent. He really hoped they would.

You hesitated just a moment before stepping back. Your arms lowered slowly, and you looked up at him

"You know," you said, your voice impossibly small, his heart squeezing in his chest at how sweet you sounded. "Gloria’s right. We should celebrate. Go out for dinner. Make it official—celebration and all."

You bit your lip.

"And don’t worry—I’ll pay. Considering your retainer probably cost more than what most people earn in a year, I think I owe you a night off," you added with a wink.

Jack ran a hand through his hair.

"Look, I want to apologize about yesterday," he shifted uncomfortably, "it was wrong of me to—say what I said and—to uh insinuate—uh—well you know. I’m sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?"

Concern knit at your brows, and Jack wanted to gently smooth the creases with his fingers.

"Because you're my lawyer."

Jack swallowed when you ran one of your hands slowly down his arm.

“Well… I’m not your lawyer anymore. I mean, technically, we still need to close out all the remaining items and sign off on everything, but I won’t be your lawyer anymore in a couple of days."

For some reason, panic seized his throat.

"Once the paperwork's finalized—the case is officially closed," you finished, your gaze flickering from his eyes to his lips, making your intention crystal clear.

Without a word, you gently reached up, fingers brushing his jaw as you leaned in, your lips parting softly in anticipation. Your eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment, leaning in to close the gap between you.

But just as your lips were about to meet his, Jack suddenly shifted, tilting his head aside. His body tensed as he gently dodged your kiss, turning his cheek to you.

Confused, you pulled back slightly, opening your eyes wide. "Oh, that's fine," you said softly, a small, uncertain smile forming. "We can go on our first date once everything's official and cleared." Your voice was gentle, trying to keep things light despite the sudden shift.

Jack started to shake his head slowly, his brow furrowing as he looked down, avoiding looking at you. "I don't think we should go on a date."

"What?" you said, your voice cracking a bit. “But yesterday, you said—"

"I know what I said," he cut you off. "I know what I've been saying. But we can’t."

You looked crushed and completely shattered.

He was handling everything all wrong.

And now you were confused and hurt.

And he hated himself for that.

"Why?"

He simply didn’t deserve you.

"I just can’t," he grumbled.

"That’s not a real response," you said, a tear sliding down your cheek.

His heart clenched painfully at the sight of your hurt, and he hated himself even more for being the cause of it.

You wiped another tear away with the back of your hand.

"Why are you pushing me away? I thought you wanted this. I thought you wanted—me."

Of course, he wanted you. Anyone in their right mind would want you.

He swallowed, the lump in his throat tightening painfully. "Trust me, it’s better this way."

You inhaled a shaky breath and dropped your chin to your chest. "And you get to make a unilateral decision without talking to me about it?"

He cursed under his breath and tried not to yank his hair out at the root. "I’m sorry."

You blinked and shook your head, stunned. "Jesus, who the hell am I even talking to right now?"

You began gathering your papers, folder, and personal belongings. "Summit and Sterling will send you the final bill," you said evenly, zipping your laptop bag shut. "I’ll send you an email in a few days closing out everything."

Jack opened his mouth—but no words came.

You turned away, heading for the door, your posture upright and composed. As your hand reached the doorknob, Jack finally managed to utter your name.

But you interrupted before he could finish. Without turning back, you simply said, "Goodbye, Dr. Abbot."

ONE MONTH LATER

The backyard was a whirlwind of chaos and color, a far cry from your typical backyard party. Abby never just threw normal get-togethers.

She loved this shit—turning the mundane into a celebration of nothing and everything all at once. It was the start of summer, and she’d declared it a day to just be happy, to revel in the simple joy of good weather and good company.

As you stepped through the gate, the scene before you became immediately clear: waiters weaving between tables, expertly balancing trays of exquisite food—small plates of charcuterie, vibrant salads, and tiny desserts that looked almost too pretty to eat. Kids squealed with delight on bouncey playhouses, their laughter ringing through the yard, while others zipped around with carefree energy, some parents lounging nearby with drinks in hand. Off to the corner, you spotted Frank hunched over a grill, making hot dogs and burgers. He didn’t quite share the enthusiasm for this kind of scene—Abby had come from money, with fancy parties and elegant dinners—he grew up with backyard barbecues, paper plates, and cold beers.

Abby and Frank were like night and day—polar opposites in every way. Abby thrived on the chaos of a bustling scene, on the beauty of tiny details, and the art of making everything feel special. Frank, on the other hand, was rooted in simplicity and practicality.

They argued about everything from the music to movies, but somehow—they just worked. Despite their differences, or maybe because of them, they just fucking fit together.

You moved slowly, saying quick hellos to the handful of people you recognized—mutual friends, some from here, others from your undergraduate days at Johns Hopkins. A few of the Baltimore crew, including you and Frank, had moved to Philly or Pittsburgh over the last few years.

As you made your way through the crowd, you realized so many of the Pitt staff were there. It was unexpected to see so many people from the hospital. Frank didn’t usually mix his personal and professional life when he hosted events—you really hadn’t met his colleagues until the lawsuit.

Your heart started pounding a little faster.

You scanned the crowd.

Searching for someone.

Jack.

You wondered if he was here, but you didn’t see him. He was probably going to work the night shift, pulling the late hours as usual.

It hurt to think of him if you were being honest.

It was almost like a pattern you had come to expect—this feeling that once you started to relax with a man, to believe in something real, the universe had a way of pulling the rug out from under you. Maybe it was because you had been burned too many times before, or maybe because deep down, you were afraid that trusting someone again meant risking more pain.

Your last serious relationship ended two years ago, and it left a scar that was still tender.

He cheated on you.

Lied.

Betrayed your trust.

Shattered the fragile hope you had built around what you thought was real.

After that, you swore off the idea of genuine romance, settling instead for casual encounters, mediocre sex, and fleeting moments that didn’t demand much but also didn’t require you to be vulnerable.

And then Jack came along.

For the first time in a long while, you genuinely felt like you could open yourself up again. It was the way he looked at you, the way you could talk without filters, the way he seemed to understand parts of you that you had buried deep. For a moment, it felt like maybe, just maybe, there was hope for something real.

You let your guard down with him.

And then—bam.

He somehow broke your fucking heart.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you spotted Dr. Robby approaching you through the crowd. His face lit up with a warm smile as he recognized you. He walked over, and before you could even say a word, he pulled you into a friendly hug. You instinctively called him "Dr. Robby," as you always did, but he chuckled softly and loosened his grip.

"Please," he said, with a grin, "just call me Michael."

His smile faded suddenly, the warmth in his eyes shifting into something more guarded, more serious. He took a step closer, lowering his voice. "Listen, I know what you uncovered about me during this case." He paused. "And I want you to know, I appreciate what you did. I didn’t deserve your discretion, and I want to thank you."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," you said, playing dumb, a slight tilt to your head as if you genuinely didn’t understand.

He studied you for a moment.

The corner of his lips twitched, yet he nodded and took a small step up towards you.

"Jack was right about you," he said softly, and the words hung in the air, leaving you momentarily frozen.

What did that mean?

He could tell you were confused.

Michael took a slow, deliberate breath, then offered a small smile. "Jack said you’re an amazing lawyer because you actually care about your cases, not just the facts, but the people involved. It’s what makes you good at what you do," he paused for a moment, "you're compassionate, it’s why he—it’s why he—um—respects you."

Your eyebrows snapped together.

Before you could respond, Frank raised his voice, drawing the attention of everyone. "Can I have just a moment?" he called out, his deep voice cutting through the chatter and laughter. The crowd gradually quieted, turning their heads toward him. "I know some of you might have to head out soon—night shift waits for no one," he added with a small smile. "But I just want to say a few words."

He paused for a beat, scanning the group. "Abby and I would like to thank everyone for coming here tonight. As some of you know, the hospital was recently sued, and it was a tough time for all of us. But I want to take a moment to recognize someone very special today.” His gaze fixed on you, and he gestured broadly. "This lovely person right here—" he pointed at you—"was instrumental in making that lawsuit go away and in protecting our hospital staff. And I just want to remind everyone" he pointed at himself, "that I recommended her."

The Pitt staff erupted into applause, some hollering words of appreciation. Hands clapped loudly, a few even whistled, and others nodded in recognition of your effort.

The energy was warm and genuine.

But to you?

It felt overwhelming—like a spotlight suddenly shining on your chest.

"And on top of that," he added, a broad smile spreading across his face, "She’s just made partner at Summit and Sterling. That’s a fucking incredible achievement and something you should be so proud of. I’m so proud of you."

The crowd erupted into more applause.

Your cheeks heated, and you instinctively looked down, feeling embarrassed. You tried to open your mouth to say something, but no words came out. Instead, you managed a small, exasperated gesture, mouthing the words 'I hate you' to Frank, and flipped him off. You knew he did it on purpose, knowing how much you despised being the center of attention.

He grinned.

The crowd chuckled along, but then Frank’s expression softened.

He cleared his throat. "But in all seriousness, you introduced me to my favorite person in the world." He gestured toward Abby, who was watching him with a gentle, loving smile. "You were the best man—well, my best woman—at our wedding. You stood by us, made everything feel right, even when it was fucking chaos. And you’re the godmother to my two favorite tiny humans. You’re my best friend, and I’m so lucky to have you in my life."

You felt your vision blur slightly, and a slow, steady ache settled in your chest.

The gentle "aww's" from the crowd echoed around you. Without thinking, you closed the distance between you and Frank.

You reached out, wrapping your arms around him in a tight, genuine hug. As you pulled back slightly, you saw his sons approaching. Without hesitation, you bent down and scooped Tanner onto your waist, feeling his tiny arms wrap around your shoulders.

Frank, reached out and gently took his other son into his arms, holding him close.

You made your way towards Abby, shoulders brushing past laughing, chatting, and the occasional high five. Tanner was on your hip, his bright eyes scanning the scene. As people offered their congratulations—some pats on your back, a few knowing smiles—you smiled politely. When you finally reached Abby, she was grinning from ear to ear, her arms open wide for a hug. You stepped into her embrace.

"Hey, Partner," she said, pulling back just enough to look at you with her bright eyes.

You smiled, a little overwhelmed by everything.

"Thanks," you muttered.

Suddenly, Tanner’s eyes locked onto a familiar face near the crowd—a tiny friend, waving eagerly with a wide grin. Tanner’s little face lit up with recognition, and he shifted slightly, squirming in your hold.

"Auntie, I wanna go!" Tanner chirped suddenly, his voice filled with excitement. He reached up to tug at your shoulder. "Can I please be down? I wanna see Joey!"

You gently eased him away, lowering him onto the ground, pressing a soft kiss to Tanner’s little forehead, "Have fun, sweetheart," you whispered. Tanner’s face lit up with a wide smile as he wrapped his arms around your leg. "Bye, I love you!"

Abby hooked her arm through yours, practically dragging you toward the drink station. The table was lined with bottles of spirits, mixers, and her signature margaritas.

Strong enough to knock you on your ass if you weren’t careful.

"Here," she said, handing you a margarita.

You accepted, taking a sip and savoring the flavor. Abby then grabbed her own drink, but instead of a margarita, she reached for a can of Coca-Cola from the cooler nearby, popping it open with a satisfying fizz. She held it up playfully with a grin.

You raised an eyebrow.

"You know how it is," she said, shrugging. "Hosting and all—I’m trying not to get too drunk."

"Last time you hosted a party, you were doing shots with everyone. What are you talking about?"

Her eyes darted away, avoiding you for a moment. Her smile faltered just slightly, and her cheeks flushed a little. You observed Abby closely, trying to pinpoint what might be causing her strange behavior. You caught the hesitation, the subtle shift in her expression, and suddenly it hit you.

"Oh… my fucking god," you said, voice dropping with realization. "Are you pregnant?"

Her eyes widened just a fraction, and she quickly looked away, pretending to check something behind you—anything to avoid your eyes. The silence stretched for a beat before she finally muttered, "Maybe…" her voice barely above a whisper, but her eyes gave her away.

Your jaw dropped.

"You have two kids under four!"

"I know, it’s not like this was planned!"

"Does Frank know?"

“Of course he knows! He knew before I did. One day, I came home, and he handed me a pregnancy test.” Abby’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, and she looked a little sheepish as she finally admitted, "Remember when I told you I wanted a Birkin?"

"Yeah?"

She hesitated for a moment, then chuckled nervously. "Well, I didn’t expect him to actually get it for me. A few weeks ago, I came home and there it was. I had been joking, really. Just kind of mentioning it in passing. I didn’t think he’d actually go out and buy one. I mean, it’s a ridiculous luxury, right? And I kind of just—jumped him. Or, he jumped me? I don’t know, all I know is suddenly, he had me spread out on the kitchen counter—"

Cringing, you cut her off. "Ew, please, just skip to the end."

Frank was like a brother to you, so even though you knew he was conventionally attractive, you could never talk to Abby about their sex life.

It was too weird.

Abby rolled her eyes and sighed. "Well, one thing led to another," she said with a shrug. "And that was pretty much the night I was wrapping up my antibiotics, so I think my birth control didn’t exactly do its job."

"So, wait, your future kid was conceived because Frank gifted you a Birkin?"

Abby couldn’t suppress her grin.

"The most expensive way to get pregnant, huh?" she said, barley containing her laughter.

You snorted. "Who knew that a designer bag could be such a powerful fertility aid?"

"We're not really telling anyone right now, okay? This stays between us." She wiggled her eyebrows, then made a quick zip-lip motion, finger across her lips, signaling secrecy.

"Lips are sealed," you said softly, mimicking the gesture. "Congratulations on getting knocked up. Again."

"I mean, have you seen my stud of a husband? Frank’s definitely got the looks to go with that big—"

You immediately groaned, raising your hand in protest. "Please, stop."

—heart.” She winked. "And now that you know I’m pregnant, I really need to pee—this kid’s been attacking my bladder all day. Be right back."

"Sure thing," you replied, and then scanned the bar as you continued to sip on your margarita.

You felt a hand on your shoulder.

"I almost didn’t recognize you with your clothes on," you heard a man say in a low voice in your ear.

Except it wasn’t any voice.

It was a voice you absolutely recognized.

You whipped your head around to find Jack scratching the back of his neck, and the corner of his lips tipping up.

The door to Abby’s office clicked softly behind Jack as he stepped inside, casting a tentative glance around the space. It was a small, cluttered room—papers stacked on the desk, a few framed photos of family and friends, and a cluttered bookshelf.

He had asked you if he could speak to you in private, and you had led him to this room.

You’d never seen Jack out of his scrubs—right now it was just him in plain clothes. He was wearing a simple black T-shirt that hugged his broad shoulders and sculpted chest perfectly, the fabric stretching just enough to hint at the strength beneath. His cargo pants sat comfortably on his hips, pockets bulging slightly with who knew what. The casual wear made him look even more real—impossibly attractive in a way that made your stomach flip.

It was the first time he was seeing you 'outside of the office' so to speak as well. You were wearing a tight green short-sleeved long knee-length shirt dress. It didn’t feel like a revealing outfit at all, but the way Jack was looking you up and down made you feel like you were on display.

He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, shoulders hunched forward as if trying to shrink himself.

Several tense, quiet moments passed. You opened up your mouth to speak, but your thoughts were still too chaotic to put into words.

"Congratulations," he finally managed. "On making partner. That’s... that’s a huge deal. You deserve it."

You looked at him, frustration crossing your face.

Seriously? Congratulations?

You wanted to roll your eyes. Instead, you took a breath, steadying yourself. "Thank you, Dr. Abbot," you said curtly.

He flinched.

"How have you been?"

“Fine,” you said, all cavalier, like this conversation didn't even matter.

He cocked his head to the side. "Oh, so it's going to be like that?"

You couldn’t help but snort.

"I haven't seen or spoken to you in a month. And now you think is the perfect time to make small talk?"

He held your gaze.

Unbothered.

"Look," he started, voice strained, "I’m not good at this."

"Not good at what?"

"At sharing my feelings without sounding like a damn mess. And last time… I got scared."

You crossed your arms, your tone colder now. "You got scared?"

"Of course, I got scared. You make me feel things that I didn’t know I could feel. No good comes from caring this much about someone."

You watched his throat bob as he swallowed nervously.

"I’m older than you. I’m missing a goddamn limb. I have PTSD. I listen to a police scanner on my days off because I’m probably fucking insane. So yeah, I’m not exactly a shining example of emotional stability."

He let out a short, dry laugh.

"Since the war… sometimes I feel like a puzzle. Some of the pieces are on fire. And some of the pieces are just fucking missing—" his voice cracked, "and so…in what world, does a person like you end up with a person like me?"

You could see the conflict in his face.

You were fighting the tears that were beginning to spring up.

Your heart hurt for him.

"Jack, I’m not going to pretend I know what you’ve been through, because I don’t. I can’t begin to imagine the things you’ve seen, the things you’ve carried with you. And I don’t want to pretend I understand the weight of all that. But what I do know is this—you don’t have to be perfect or 'fixed' before you’re allowed to be happy. You deserve good things."

His mouth was set in a hard line.

"I’m not worth your patience. You deserve better. You deserve someone else."

"How about you let me be the judge of that?"

Jack let out a harsh breath. "You’re stubborn."

You sighed, frustration flaring as you stepped back, creating distance between you. "You know what they say—you can't catch fish if you don’t cast your line. So, maybe you’re just not craving this."

His fingers wove into his hair, tugging at his curls.

He huffed out a breath.

Suddenly, he looked like the hungriest man in the world.

"You have no idea how much I crave it," he said, like he couldn’t believe you just said what you said.

Jack stepped closer, his hazel eyes piercing into yours. Without a word, he reached out, gently but firmly guiding you backward until your ass hit the edge of the desk. His hands settled on your hips, steadying you as he leaned in slightly.

He reached out to trace your lower lip with his index finger. "What do you want?"

He was so close now that you could smell his cologne, which was mingled with his natural musk.

It had created an intoxicating blend that was uniquely his own.

Fuck, he smelled good.

"You already know what I want," you replied, a little breathless. "So, tell me—what do you want, Jack?"

"I want you," he said simply, voice thick with emotion. "I want to be with you. I want the good, the bad, and everything in between." Jack gently placed his hands on either side of your face. "And…even though you’ve made the questionable decision of being a Baltimore Ravens fan—I want all of it, with you, and only you, in all your glorious, unpredictable, wonderful entirety."

A wave of emotion washed over you.

Unexpected and relentless.

You couldn’t hold back anymore.

Your laughter bubbled up first.

Bright.

Raw.

And entirely involuntary.

Salty tears followed, slipping down your cheeks.

You hiccupped a little, trying to catch your breath between the tears and the laughter. "Well," you managed to rasp out, “I want it all with you, too.”

Without hesitation, he reached up, gently brushing his thumb across your cheek to wipe away the wetness. His lips pressed softly against your temple, then your cheek, lingering there for a moment.

"You’re fucking gorgeous," he whispered, voice trembling with honesty. "I don’t know how I got so lucky, sweetheart."

He then bent down and brushed his lips against yours.

The kiss was slow.

Cautious.

So soft and gentle.

Tender.

You melted into his touch.

His hand, still resting on your cheek, tightened slightly, grounding you as the warmth of his lips deepened.

The softness gave way to a quiet hunger, a silent invitation that made you want more.

You responded instinctively, leaning into him, your breath hitching as your lips parted just a little more, craving the connection. His lips moved with a tenderness that grew bolder, his tongue tentatively exploring your mouth.

The heat pooled low in your belly, and the kiss turned desperate, your fingers finding their way into his hair, tugging gently, and he groaned softly as the kiss deepened. His lips were much more insistent than before as his hands explored your waist, your hips, your ass.

They were fucking everywhere.

His tongue kept crashing into yours, and it was messy and hurried, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t stop kissing him, and somehow your legs had fallen open. Instinctively, you pulled him closer, feeling his cock pressing against you, grinding against him with an animalistic urgency.

Then his mouth started traveling down your throat, the scrape of his teeth pressing into your pulse.

One of his hands went underneath the fabric of your dress, and you knew what he was about to realize.

"Christ," he said in a voice that didn’t sound like anything like the way he usually did. "You don’t have any fucking panties on?" he muttered.

He looked like his brain was buffering.

"I didn’t want any visible panty lines," you gasped as you felt him slide his fingers between your legs, soaking up the wetness that had formed there.

He inhaled slowly, his chest rising and his lashes fluttering against his skin with his lips slightly parted. It was like all of a sudden, he realized what was happening.

That you two were basically dry-humping like teenagers in Abby’s office.

Where anybody could walk in.

"I can’t believe the first time I’m touching you is in fucking Langdon’s house."

You giggled. "Maybe we should relocate… literally anywhere else."

He tilted his head down, kissing your bottom lip.

"I might spontaneously combust if we don’t," he said, pulling his hand from underneath your dress. You watched him lift his hand to his lips, slipping his fingers into his mouth with his wet tongue, his eyes never leaving yours.

He hummed and grunted like it was the best damn thing he had ever tasted in his life.

"All I want right now is to hear you screaming my name, so you better say your goodbyes to everyone before I fuck you right here." he growled.

Your answer was a breathless nod.

The drive to Jack’s townhouse had been a blur. His hand never left your thigh, fingers kneading into your flesh with deliberate pressure.

His thumb moving in slow, thoughtful strokes.

Rough and warm.

As if he needed to remind himself you were real. That this was happening.

His hand was impossibly large—how had you never really noticed that before?

It all made you feel small and cherished at the same time.

By the time you arrived, the door closed softly behind you, and the sensation of Jack’s hand swallowing your thigh was still tingling on your skin.

His place was a reflection of him.

Meticulous.

Clean.

Precise.

A sanctuary that suited his no-nonsense, guarded nature.

Every book, every object, had its place.

The living room was sleek but lived-in, with an air of calm efficiency. On the coffee table, a cluster of medical journals lay stacked with precision, their covers crisp and pages well-thumbed. The bamboo base of the table added a touch of unexpected warmth to the space.

In the corner, a vintage Wurlitzer piano sat quietly.

It made you smile—of course he played.

A record player was softly spinning some Motown, the soulful melodies filling the room with a nostalgic hum. Above it, a striking Jimmy Hendrix art piece—a bold, colorful portrait of the guitar legend—added a splash of something to the otherwise controlled environment.

Jack’s hands were gentle but firm as he guided you into his bedroom, the softness of his touch contrasting with the raw hunger that flickered behind his eyes. Once inside, he pressed you backward, the backs of your knees hitting the edge of the bed, and he leaned in close from behind. His lips were warm and relentless, pressing kisses along your jawline, then trailing down your neck.

His mouth barely left your skin, lingering as he left small bites along your pulse point and jaw, his breath hot against your neck. It was as if he was trying to memorize the way you tasted, to savor the moment before plunging into whatever came next. His hands came up to rest on your waist, fingers curling softly into the fabric of your dress.

But he was careful.

Deliberate in his restraint.

As if he were handling something fragile.

Instead of tearing your dress off or throwing you onto the mattress like you thought he would, he lowered you down carefully.

Like you were made of glass.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your mouth before guiding you down onto the bed, his body hovering protectively over yours. His hands cradled your face, thumb softly tracing your jawline as he looked into your eyes.

It was embarrassing how wet you already were.

Jack’s breathing grew ragged as he hesitated for just a moment, his eyes darting down your body.

His hands trembled slightly as they reached for the zipper at the back of your dress. With a low, almost strained groan, he slowly unzipped the dress, completely drunk on you.

As the zipper finally slid down, he let out a shaky breath, his lips parting as he carefully eased the dress down your shoulders. You were wearing a sexy satin black bra, and he paused for a moment, his eyes admiring before gently slipping the dress past your arms.

He studied you as if trying to memorize every inch of you, the way your body curved beneath him, how your chest rose and fell with each breath.

All your little noises.

It was driving him crazy.

Once the fabric was sliding past your arms, Jack’s grip tightened slightly—his desperation mounting.

He reached out to gently remove your bra, and your perfect fucking breasts were finally on display for him.

God, he couldn’t stop staring.

He almost ripped your dress the rest of the way off.

His lips pressed a desperate, feverish kiss to your shoulder and collarbone as he pushed the dress down your body, his hands now on your hips, guiding the material over your thighs, your legs, with a relentless, trembling need, throwing your dress on the ground.

He inhaled sharply when your legs fell open, admiring your glistening cunt.

Jack’s eyes were glued to it.

Your arousal was dripping down your thighs since you had spent the last hour clenching around nothing. It all started back in Abby’s office, and he somehow had reduced you to an incoherent, whimpering mess.

"So wet for me already," he mumbled in awe.

He paused for a heartbeat, chest heaving, eyes dark and clouded with longing and something more primal.

His voice was hoarse when he finally muttered, "God, you’re so perfect," before leaning in to dip his head and take one of your nipples in his mouth. His tongue caressed it softly, and as he released it, a strangled moan escaped your lips.

The sound you made had every ounce of his blood roaring to his cock.

He switched to the other, leaving a wet trail before he started to suck on your nipple and you gasped out in pleasure.

With a sudden boldness, you tugged at his shirt, your fingers struggling against the fabric as you wanted to see more of his body. "Off," you demanded, feigning authority even as your cheeks warmed with excitement.

He chuckled and pulled himself from your chest. "Yes, ma’am," he teased, pulling back just enough to rid himself of the shirt with a fluid motion.

"Pants too,"

He paused.

Jack’s fingers lingered briefly at the waistband of his cargo pants as he hesitated for just a moment, then slowly pushed them down past his hips. The fabric slid smoothly, pooling around his ankles as he shifted slightly on his bed to kick them off. He felt a flash of nervousness tighten in his chest as you finally saw his prosthetic below his knee.

He searched your face and expected you to be uncomfortable or at least see it flit across your face before you composed yourself—but you didn’t.

Instead, your gaze softened as your eyes traced the contours of his body, and your expression remained calm.

You traced a finger down his torso, marveling at the way the muscle tensed beneath your touch. "You’re so handsome," you breathed, mesmerized by the sight before you.

"You’re not too bad yourself," he said, moving down the bed, dragging soft kisses down your stomach, running his hands up your thighs.

"So, fucking pretty," his face was suddenly between your legs, his hands pushing your thighs apart, and exposing you fully to him.

His eyes were fixated on your pussy.

"You don’t have to do that," you mumbled, sounding shy.

"You don’t like that?" he asked softly, lifting his head slightly, eyes searching yours.

"No… um… I do. I just know a lot of men don’t like doing it, and some just offer to be polite," you admitted, feeling your cheeks heat up.

"I’m not those other fucking men," he growled, completely offended that you thought he wouldn’t want his face trapped between your thighs. "I’ve been thinking about your pussy for the last six fucking months," his eyes skated up and down your naked body, studying every inch of you. "Dreaming about it. Dreaming about smelling you on me for days."

His words made your mouth pop open. You felt the ache between your legs become stronger.

"Really?" you squeaked.

Jack’s eyes lingered on you, still heavy with desire, but a flicker of surprise crossed his face.

It was odd, seeing you lose the typical confidence that you had.

You were usually such a firecracker.

He felt the need to remind you of your worth beyond the courtroom.

He wanted you out of your head.

Now.

"You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about my mouth on you with my hand around my cock," he admitted.

"Yeah?" you breathed, your voice caught between arousal and disbelief.

"Yes. I need to taste you, baby. So, are you gonna put me out of my misery and let me make you feel good?"

You nodded weakly.

"Need to hear you say it," he encouraged. "Tell me."

"Please," you begged. "I want you to make me feel good,"

Jack pressed his lips against your inner thigh, and you felt the drag of his scruff along your skin as he sucked a mark into your inner thigh.

"Marking your territory?" you teased.

He smirked looking up at you, probably enjoying how desperate you were for him right now. "I don’t like to share."

You bit your lip thrilled at his comment as he focused his attention back to your pussy and continued his exploration, planting hot kisses along your skin before inching closer to your dripping core.

"I think she’s flirting with me."

You let your head drop into his pillows, trying to hide your embarrassment. No man had ever spoken to you like this before.

You realized…you liked it.

A lot.

"Hang tight, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice a deep rumble. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, and then he dove in and feasted on you, burying his face in your pussy.

Jack was fucking relentless.

Refusing to hold back.

His tongue drove you insane with every flick and suck, your fingers instinctively threading through his hair as you pressed yourself against him, urging him on. You moaned loudly as his tongue found your most delicate spot. He flicked his tongue against your puffy swollen clit, teasing and tormenting you, and you couldn't hold back the whimpers escaping your throat.

"Jack!" you mewled. His scruff burned the inside of your thighs, and you hoped you would feel it in the morning.

A reminder.

The sounds filling the room were obscene as he hungrily continued to lap and suck at your hole until you were a whimpering mess, his moans vibrating through your core. He then shoved two fingers inside of you to continue working your sweet spot as he continued to lap against you. You were already getting close, and your body was twisting and trembling, trying to get away from him and trying to get closer all at once.

"Please, don’t stop," you begged, your voice betraying the madness building within you. He was so good at this. He was too good at this. You had never had a man go down on you like this.

Not by a fucking mile.

Nobody had ever groaned against your cunt in pleasure as if getting you off was just as enjoyable for them.

As soon as Jack heard your request, he sucked your clit harder into his mouth while his fingers continued to curve inside of you in a way that felt impossibly right. Your breaths were coming out in short, ragged bursts as he held you firmly in place. Each flick of his tongue sent you spiraling closer, and you could feel the wave building, crashing over you in a way that had your body screaming for more.

"Jack, I’m—I’m so close," you breathed, shakily.

A cry escaped you as he intensified his pace, keeping his concentration solely focused on your pussy. He was a man on a mission, and he was so lost in your pussy.

"Come on, baby. Let go," he urged.

You moaned and brought your hands to your breasts, squeezing, and pinching at your nipples. Jack groaned at the sight and his tongue flicked faster at your clit, and in that moment, you couldn't hold back any longer. With one last cry of his name, you let the wave break over as your vision blurred and your ears started ringing in your head.

"That's it. That’s it, pretty girl," he encouraged, his voice punctuated by the delicious sounds of your release. "Let it all out for me."

You felt yourself tremble as the final waves of bliss coursed through you, Jack’s fingers and mouth still working you through your orgasm, drinking in every sound you made.

Finally, as the world slowly faded back into focus, you let out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering open to meet his.

"Taste so fucking good," you felt him lift your legs and settle between them, your core still pulsing and sensitive. "I could do this all night," Jack said smugly, licking his mouth as he rose up to meet your gaze.

Still catching your breath, you smiled at him, feeling tingles throughout your entire body. "You should definitely consider it," you replied, as you looked at his face that was covered in your wetness on his scruff, his chin, and his lips.

"Trust me, I intend to." he said with a grin, lowering himself against you, lips finding yours once more.

You kissed him deeply, relishing the taste of yourself still lingering on his lips, and wrapped your arms around him.

Then, just as you were getting lost in Jack again, he pulled back, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. Before you could fully process what was happening, he flipped you over, sliding his prosthetic away, placing you on top so that you were straddling him, with your knees pressing down on either side of his hips.

"Need to be inside of you," he breathed, his hands resting on your hips as he looked up at you.

You leaned down, brushing your lips against his in a long, tantalizing kiss. You slowly began to grind against him, feeling his hard cock beneath you, and a grin spread across your face at the look on his face. You leaned back slightly, relishing the way he looked beneath you—wild and eager.

With a fluid motion, he reached down to his waistband and slowly peeled off his boxers. Your eyes widened as he revealed himself, clarity cutting through your arousal when you saw his cock spring free.

He was… massive.

The reality of his size left you stunned.

"Are you still with me, sweetheart?" he asked, breaking through your thoughts.

Swallowing hard, you nodded, but you couldn’t shake the nervousness creeping up on you. "I—uh, you’re so… big," you stammered, heat flooding your cheeks as you tried to regain your composure.

Jack couldn’t help the twitch of a grin appearing on his face.

"Don’t worry, you can take it." The confidence in his voice made you blink rapidly.

You nodded, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as a mixture of anticipation and nervousness coursed through you. While the prospect of him inside you was exhilarating, you couldn’t shake the reminder of how long it had been.

A year. Give or take.

He must have sensed your hesitance because the look in his eyes softened slightly. "You just let me know if you need me to slow down, alright?" He stroked your thigh reassuringly.

With a deep inhale, you nodded again and positioned yourself above him, your heart thumping as you lined yourself up with his leaking cock, your nerves flaring once again.

He guided you gently, the tension in his body easily translating into patience. As you slowly sank onto his thick tip, you felt him stretching you, filling you inch by inch, and a moan escaped your lips as you watched him disappear into you. There was a slight tinge of discomfort that quickly morphed into something hotter. You bit your lip, your eyes fluttering shut as you focused on adjusting, relishing the way he filled you.

"You okay?" he checked in, his voice deep with concern, his hands caressing your thighs gently.

"Yeah," you panted, realizing you were slick enough to take more of him.

With a small, encouraging smile, you began to lift your hips, experimenting with the rhythm. It felt so fucking good, and as you rocked back and forth, Jack mirrored your movements, his hands gripping your waist guiding your motions.

"That’s it, baby," he encouraged softly. "You’re doing so good."

Bolstered by his words, you picked up the pace as you adjusted to the size of him and pressed your palms onto his chest, riding him harder, faster. You focused on the way he filled you and the burning stretch of him. You felt a tightness in your stomach, building and begging to be released. Each time you sank down onto him, his cock brushed against that sweet spot inside of you.

"So fucking tight," Jack grunted, as he watched you take him deeper, his hands moving to your back, gently urging you to arch into him.

"Fuck, Jack," you gasped, nails digging into his back. "More. Please,"

Jack’s hands tightened around your waist as he took control, and in one swift motion, he lifted his hips sharply, driving his cock deeper into you, nearly knocking the air out of your lungs.

"You’re taking me so well," he growled, his voice low and throaty. The sound of skin smacking against skin filled the room as he started fucking up into your used cunt so brutally.

As you closed your eyes, lost in the overwhelming pleasure, you heard Jack’s deep voice. "Keep your eyes open for me. I want you to look at me." His demand cut through the haze, and you could feel the intensity of his gaze on you even with your lids shut.

You slowly opened your eyes, locking onto his. He put his forehead against yours, and in that moment, the world around you melted away, and it was just the two of you.

Flesh.

Heat.

And—raw desire.

With each thrust, he drove deeper into you, and the intensity in his eyes was carnal.

"Fuck," he cursed. "You look so beautiful like this. Full of my cock," he said, his voice slightly hoarse. You were lost in the crazed, blown-out look in his eyes, and he stole a kiss from you that had you chasing his tongue.

You inhaled sharply, the heat of his body against yours igniting every nerve ending. "Jack," the breathless syllable escaped your lips. You felt your jaw go slack, and your eyebrows pinched together at the way he watched you, the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered at that moment. His sounds and touches made you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

You dropped your chin to your chest, and he brought his hand to his mouth, licking the tips of his fingers to move it down to your clit, rubbing circles over it as he continued. Your moans were louder now, and Jack moved his other hand to your ass, pulling you harder against him.

"That feel good?" he hummed, snapping his hips into yours, and hitting a spot deep inside of you that you didn’t even know existed.

Your body responded immediately. "Yes, Jack! Right there," you gasped, your breath coming in short, desperate pants.

He felt so thick.

So devastating inside of you.

Your legs were shaking now.

With each deep thrust, the coil in your stomach wound tighter and tighter, and you could feel your body responding to him. "I’m going to—oh fuck," you panted, fighting to find your voice.

You almost closed your eyes again.

"Don’t look away. I want to see how pretty you look when you come for me," he insisted, each word heavy.

"J-Jack," you sobbed. "Oh, my fucking god, I—"

"Come on, baby. Let me have it. I can feel you, you’re so fucking close," he coaxed, his hands gripping your waist, anchoring you to him as he thrust upward. "Give it to me. Give me what’s fucking mine."

His encouragement sent you over the edge. The tension snapped like a taut string, and you cried out, your body convulsing around him as waves of pleasure crashed over you. You could feel yourself gushing around his cock, screaming his name, and seeing stars as he continued fucking you through it.

You couldn’t look away.

It was so intimate.

And you were completely obsessed with the way Jack was looking at you as he kept pounding into you.

"Yes, just like that," Jack gasped, his own breaths growing ragged as he felt you tighten around him and watched your face with his mouth hanging wide open. He admired the way you fell apart for him while his eyes locked with yours. "Good girl," he praised. "So, fucking beautiful."

Your thoughts were incoherent as his pace was becoming fast and sloppy, and you realized he was trying to chase his own release.

"Where do you want me, baby?" he desperately asked you.

Then it hit you, you two weren’t even using protection. You had been so lost in the lust of it all that you didn’t even think about a condom. You were usually so religious about condoms, but you realized that you wanted to feel him, and for some reason, you weren’t scared because he made you feel safe.

"Inside."

"You sure?"

"I’m on the pill."

He groaned at your words, the sound deep and primal as he shifted beneath you. "Thank fucking god," he managed, his hands gripping your hips tighter. Jack surged up, driving himself deeper into you with a newfound urgency that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

With a final, deep thrust, Jack let out a throaty moan as he spilled into you, burying his face in your neck, his spend covering your walls, cock pulsing as he finished. The sensation of him painting your insides made you feel claimed somehow. You could feel the mix of both of you running down your thighs, soaking Jack’s lap, and probably ruining his sheets.

You collapsed against him, both of you panting heavily, the weight of what just happened settling in around you. The room was filled with a comfortable silence, aside from the sounds of your breath mingling together. Jack still held you tightly, his arms wrapped around your waist as if he were afraid to let go.

"Wow," you breathed, your heart still pounding from the intensity of your shared moment.

"Yeah," Jack murmured, brushing a few strands of hair from your face. His fingertips lingered on your cheek. "You okay?" he asked, breathing heavily through his nose.

You nodded slowly, trying to catch your breath. "More than okay," you whispered.

A smirk played on his lips, "Good. 'Cause I’m not done with you yet."

With that, he rolled you both over, shifting the weight until you were beneath him.

"Like I said," he murmured, brushing his fingers along your cheek as you leaned against him. "I could do this all night."

It was early, the light filtering through the blinds of Jack’s room. You stirred, feeling the warmth of Jack’s bed and the faint scent of last night’s shared intimacy lingering in the air. As your eyes fluttered open, you realized Jack wasn’t in bed beside you. A faint noise drifted in from outside his bedroom, piquing your curiosity.

Quickly, you reached for a casual t-shirt that was draped over a chair and slipped it over your head.

It was huge on you.

You tugged at the hem absentmindedly.

It hit you mid-thigh.

Stepping out of the room, the house was quiet except for the faint sounds of clinking dishes and muffled footsteps from the kitchen.

The daytime made you notice details you hadn’t before: framed pictures lining the walls, snapshots of family and friends that brought a smile to your face. You paused for a moment, your gaze falling on a picture of Jack holding a toddler, his face lit up with a gentle smile. You wondered if this was a picture of his niece—the one he had mentioned a couple of months ago.

As you moved toward the doorway, you saw Jack in the kitchen, dressed in workout clothes, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He looked up as you stepped out, catching your eye. Before you could say anything, he leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead, but a faint frown creased his brow.

"I was trying to get back in bed before you woke up," he murmured.

“That’s okay. How long have you been up?”

"Went for a run at 6."

It was 8 AM.

Of course, Jack went on runs at 6 AM on his days off.

He reached for the pot of coffee he had brewed, pouring himself a black cup. Then, turning to you, he handed you your mug, adding creamer and some brown sugar—just the way he knew you liked it.

Jack set his mug down on the kitchen island, then smoothly eased himself onto a nearby stool. Without hesitation, he reached out and gently pulled you onto his lap, his hand instinctively settling on your thigh. As you settled into his embrace, a devilish grin tugged at his lips when he caught sight of your relaxed state—just his t-shirt draping over your frame.

Jack’s fingertips traced a slow, deliberate path beneath the hem of his shirt, skimming over your thighs— his fingers feeling the hot slick that was already pooling at your entrance before he crashed his mouth hungrily over yours, his tongue teasingly dipping into your mouth.

You tasted the faint bitterness of the coffee on his tongue, and felt him tug you closer so that you could feel his erection trapped within his workout pants. Your eyes slid shut, and a soft whine escaped from your lips when Jack began to drag his mouth down the column of your throat.

"You know, I should probably head home and find a pair of panties," you teased.

His expression softened into a pout.

"Hopefully not anytime soon?" he coaxed, voice hopeful.

The fact that Jack wasn’t pushing you away, that he actually wanted you to stay, made your heart race in the best way.

He wanted you in your space.

He was actively choosing it.

It was a rare kind of comfort, and it was making your thoughts whirl.

You leaned in to press a tender kiss to his lips. "Not anytime soon," you murmured. It was Saturday—perfect for lingering a little longer.

After finishing your coffee, Jack gently helped you off his lap. "Come on," he said softly, taking your hand. "Let’s go back to bed."

As you brought your mug to the sink, your eyes caught sight of a letter stuck to the fridge with a magnet. Curious, you paused and read the words.

Dear Dr. Abbot, I’m not really good with words, so I’ll try to keep this short and sweet. I just wanted to send a quick note to apologize for my mother’s actions. I can only imagine how stressful this has all been for you, and I’m truly sorry. The truth is, my mother and I hadn’t been speaking much because of everything surrounding the case. I was worried about how things would turn out, but I’m glad to hear that she has dropped the lawsuit. It’s a relief, and I hope you can start to move forward from here. I hope she and I can move forward from this as well. I also wanted to share that I’m in my senior year of high school and applied to Penn State on a whim—out of state, no less—and surprisingly got in. I think all the recent changes and the chaos might have been what led my mom to file the lawsuit. It probably felt like everything was happening so fast for her between my abortion and me applying to colleges far from home. It took me some time, but I have finally accepted my scholarship to Penn State and will be starting there this fall. I just want you to know—you changed my life. Because of you and PTMC, I get to go to college, and I’ll never forget that. Thank you for everything. -Kristi

Jack noticed you reading the letter. Kristi had sent it about a week after the lawsuit had been dropped.

But for Jack, none of that mattered right now.

His focus was entirely on you.

The firecracker in his kitchen.

The firecracker who took a chance on him.

and… the firecracker he was madly in love with.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

That’s it for our Rebel Cowboy and our Firecracker!

Also, some people asked me, and I pictured the reader to be 33 and Jack to be 44. Ever since they’ve said Dr. Abbot is ‘40’s, handsome, with an edge’ —my brain is like well he looks good AF, so why can’t he be in his early 40’s? I don’t know how realistic becoming a partner at 33 is, but reader is a badass so let’s not question it.

TAGLIST: @sikayeto. @ay0nha. @insidethegardenwall. @flofaiiry. @princesssunderworld. @melsunshine. @sillymuffintrashflap. @runawaybaby3. @letstryagaintomorrow. @milzcivic. @sinpathyforthedevilish. @rosiepoise88. @sleepingalways. @pear-1206. @chuckles2much. @charmedkim. @qardasngan. @traumaanatomy. @losers-club6. @bitters-n-sweets. @professionally-crazed. @la-vie-est-une-fleur29. @queenslandlover-93. @ryalvintage. @professionalpromqueen. @xxxkat3xxx. @saaamsayshi. @peggyofoz. @nothere2478. @crescentqueenxxx. @summitmeadowyosemite. @iluvbeingdelulu4evaaa. @reader142. @patheticgirl127. @sophreakingfunny. @flowersandall. @houseofodd. @honestlystop. @18lkpeters. @penguin876. @aaronhtchnrs. @iambatman115. @secretmoonphantom. @foolishseven. @isthistoniche. @jeanie2k17. @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff.

#jack abbot fic rec #ja fic rec #the pitt fic rec #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x you #the pitt x reader #the pitt x you #q

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honeysrecs · 26 days ago

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The Pitt Masterlist

Sugar Baby Reader: who puts an ad out on a website for the first time.

Sugar Baby Reader: who gets many requests from older men, but after meeting them, believes they are not the right fit for a sugar baby/sugar daddy lifestyle.

Sugar Baby Reader: who was about to give up when she got two messages from two very handsome, doctors.

Sugar Baby Reader: who couldn't help but go out the both of them and quickly agree to go with both of them.

Sugar Baby Reader: who didn't tell either one that there was another sugar daddy in her life, as she was finally making it ahead on her bills, and saving up to move out of her crappy apartment.

Sugar Baby Reader: who fell on her way to her minimum wage job, and twisted her ankle. Her co-worker insisted on taking her to the hospital.

Sugar Baby Reader: who got to the hospital just as shift change was happening, and that is when she saw her two sugar daddies looking concerned as they made their way over to her.

"Are you okay?" Jack asked her as Michael looked over her ankle. Michael knew from the tone of Jack's voice that he knew the woman.

Sugar Baby Reader: who was getting treated by Princess, could see that the two handsome men were talking to one another.

Sugar Baby Reader: who wanted nothing more than to leave as she was left alone with the two of them.

Sugar Baby Reader: who tried to go into an explanation of why she agreed to be with both of them but Michael just held up his finger, indicating her to stop. "We understand, and we are not asking you to choose."

Sugar Baby Reader: who is confused, asks what they mean. Now it is time for Jack to speak.

"We both agree to continue what the three of us are doing, but it may change at some point. Now, we will not elaborate on that as I must get home, and Dr Robby has to get to work. You will be taking work off until your ankle heals."

Sugar Baby Reader: who still knew she needed the job, as she didn't want them to spend even more money on her. "Do not worry about money. We are here to help you." Michael said after seeing the panicked look on your face.

Sugar Baby Reader: who was discharged and was about to call an Uber, when she noticed Jack was still there. "I am taking you home with me. You need to stay off of your ankle and I know you live alone. Now when I go to work tonight for my shift, Robby will be picking you up to go to his place."

Sugar Baby Reader: who knew from the tone of his voice that there was no use arguing with either one of them.

Sugar Baby Reader: who was sitting in the passenger seat of Jack's car, wondering how far this will go between the three of them.

smut coming soon.

#jack abbot fic rec #ja fic rec #the pitt fic rec #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x you #the pitt x reader #the pitt x you #mr fic rec #michael Robinavitch x reader #michael Robinavitch x you #dr robby x reader #michael robby x reader #michael robby x you #q

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honeysrecs · 26 days ago

Text

REBEL COWBOY

18+ account - minors do not interact

jack abbot x f!reader Word Count: 6.5K Rating: E

Warning: minor spoilers for 1x4-1x7 (Kristi—teen girl medical abortion storyline), slow burn (forbidden romance vibes?), mentions of abortion, workplace stress, reader is friends with Frank (they have know each other since college), implied age gap, frustration with healthcare system, angst (emotional argument), yearning, language, alcohol use, mentions of masturbation (f), mutual pining, flirting, feelings, did i mention sexual tension?

A/N: This is going to be a quick 2-parter. The amount of research I had to do to write this was actually insane. Reminder, I am not a lawyer, so blame Google if any of this is inaccurate. A lot of people always say that they were fascinated by Jack fudging the numbers for the teen girl, and I thought writing a fic about the aftermath could be interesting. Lastly, I know those episodes are about a sensitive and controversial topic between the debate on medical ethics and whatever a viewer's feelings may be about abortion in general—so my intention was to handle this with the utmost care and respect. However, feel free to just keep scrolling if this just ain’t it for you because of the topic at hand.

Forehead smooches to @ozarkthedog, who made this story possible with gifting me the above GIF.

PART 2 — FIRECRACKER

Jack Abbot Masterlist

IN THE UNITED STATES DISTRICT COURT FOR THE WESTERN DISTRICT OF PENNSYLVANIA

Eloise Wheeler, Plaintiff, v. Dr. Jack Abbott, M.D., and Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, Defendants.

Case No.: 2025-CV-785431

COMPLAINT FOR MISREPRESENTATION AND ETHICAL MISCONDUCT

Eloise Wheeler, on behalf of her minor daughter Kristi Wheeler, alleges that Dr. Jack Abbot, a physician employed at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center engaged in misrepresentation and ethical misconduct concerning the medical diagnosis and treatment of Kristi. Specifically, Kristi was pregnant, and ultrasound measurements conducted at the facility indicated that she was past the gestational limit for medical abortion procedures in the State of Pennsylvania. Despite this, Dr. Abbot purportedly falsified or manipulated the ultrasound data for the medical abortion to proceed. The plaintiff claims that these actions constitute a breach of medical ethics, patient trust, and professional standards, and have caused significant emotional distress and potential health risks to Kristi Wheeler. The lawsuit seeks appropriate remedies for the alleged misconduct, including damages and injunctive relief.

"Would your firm pick up this case?" Frank asked you, taking a long swig from his beer as you both sat at your usual booth at his favorite dive bar.

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at the thick stack of papers in front of you. "Frank, I need to finish reading this. The complaint’s about a million pages long—give or take."

Frank rolled his eyes slightly, a hint of impatience crossing his face. "That’s not answering my question."

"Why this case? You’ve told me about lawsuits at the hospital before, but never once have you come to me about my firm providing legal representation for anyone."

He shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, I know. It’s just… this guy, Dr. Abbot, he’s a good guy. I’ve known him for years, and he’s my mentor’s best friend. But I’m worried hospital leadership might throw him under the bus if this blows up. I don’t want him to get ruined over this."

You took a sip from your beer, considering.

"Well, if this complaint is accurate, then Dr. Abbot could be liable for misrepresentation, ethical misconduct, and medical malpractice. And the hospital might even be vicariously liable for his actions. That’s a serious situation, Frank." You paused, your tone turning more analytical. "If the allegations hold up, there’s a lot at stake for this guy."

"Come by the hospital tomorrow. Just…meet him and the board."

You hesitated.

"Frank, I need to review all the details first. I can't just jump into anything without knowing the full scope."

He nodded, sensing your reluctance but eager to push the point. "I get it, I get it. Just… consider it. No commitments, okay? But the sooner, the better. This thing’s moving fast."

You took a deep breath, weighing your options.

"Alright, I’ll come by tomorrow. But I’m not promising anything,"

"Next round’s on me," he said, pushing his chair back with a slight groan.

You watched him go, then reached into the folder of papers in front of you. Carefully, you began flipping through the twenty-page complaint, your eyes scanning the detailed allegations.

Lowballing measurements to help a teen girl get an abortion?

Well, you couldn’t lie—you were definitely intrigued.

Count I: Fraudulent Misrepresentation

A week had passed since that night at the bar, and you had taken the case after meeting with Dr. Abbot and the hospital board. You had gone through the complaint thoroughly.

Every detail.

Every allegation.

"Dr. Abbot," you began, sitting across from him in some hospital conference room, "I want you to know I’ve reviewed everything. The complaint is structured into several counts, but for now, I want to focus on the first one." You paused, making sure he was following. "This count alleges that you provided falsified ultrasound data indicating a smaller gestational age, thereby enabling Kristi to qualify for the medical procedure. Therefore, her mother is claiming the falsification of your data led to Kristi receiving an abortion under false pretenses."

He nodded slowly.

"Now," you continued, "her mother, has demanded a trial by jury on all issues so triable. I’m going to fight like hell to make sure that doesn’t happen. But, if it does. That means this case is heading toward a full courtroom confrontation, with witnesses, evidence, and the chance to challenge every aspect of the allegations." You paused, letting that sink in for him. "So, we need to prepare for a serious fight, especially if a jury is involved."

"A jury, huh?" he said nonchalantly.

You leaned forward slightly, your elbows resting on the table, giving him a no-nonsense look.

Sharp.

Direct.

Eyes locked on his.

"Dr. Abbot," you said, voice measured but unwavering, "before we go any further, I need to remind you of client-attorney confidentiality. Everything you tell me is protected under law. It’s crucial for me to do my job right. So, I need honesty—full disclosure. Now, tell me—was the ultrasound data manipulated?"

He hesitated, his brow creasing.

Thinking.

Weighing.

You didn’t rush him.

Just kept your gaze steady, the kind of look that left no room for games.

After a beat, you pressed gently but with purpose. "Remember, clear and honest communication is what gets you the best defense. I need the truth."

Finally, he looked up, eyes cautious, "Yeah," he said softly. "That’s what happened. What she’s saying is correct."

"Good," you said, my voice level and confident.

He blinked, puzzled. "Good?"

You gave a small, deliberate smile—nothing showy, just enough to let him know you meant business. "Yes, I’ve had clients who lie, and it doesn’t work if you lie to me. Transparency is key. We can only build your defense if I know exactly what went down."

He exhaled slowly.

"Start from the beginning," you said, reaching into your bag and pulling out your laptop. As you powered it on and typed, you kept your focus on Dr. Abbot, whose words began to flow. His hands rested on the table, fingers tapping lightly—almost subconsciously—as he recounted what happened.

His posture was upright, shoulders squared, a stance that spoke of discipline—a trait no doubt honed during his military service. Every now and then, he glanced down briefly, eyes narrowing in thought.

You kept your fingers moving swiftly over the keyboard, capturing every detail, every nuance, every flicker of emotion that flashed across his face. You noticed his features—strong jawline, high cheekbones, and a hint of stubble—he was handsome in a way that was almost distracting. In fact, at one point, you didn’t realize that he had finished speaking.

Dr. Abbot took a steadying breath, his Adam's apple bobbing as he cleared his throat softly.

"So… what do you think?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for some sort of reassurance. Then, with a hint of concern, he added, "Am I in complete shit here?"

You bit your lip. "I think… you didn’t intentionally falsify ultrasound data—any discrepancies could be due to genuine measurement errors or technical issues."

He raised his eyebrows at you.

You continued. "And we can present expert testimony from radiologists or medical professionals who can testify that ultrasound measurements can vary and that any inaccuracies can occur—unintentionally."

He looked at you.

Really looked at you.

With eye contact you had never really experienced before.

The attention was driving you crazy.

"In fact, I think you acted in good faith, believing your measurements were accurate and within legal limits."

He fell silent, and you could tell that he was gathering his thoughts and planning his words carefully.

"Are you being sarcastic?" he said maintaining, eye contact.

"No. I’m being your lawyer. And the strategy here is that you relied on standard medical procedures and that any conflicting data was a result of an honest mistake, not ethical misconduct. You have historically shown adherence to hospital policies—" he scoffed when you said that, "and you acted within the scope of your authority and professional standards."

He muttered something under his breath.

"What was that?"

He smirked. "That’s an interesting interpretation."

"Well, things aren’t always black and white, Dr. Abbot. You should know that better than anyone,"

"Jack’s fine, by the way," he grunted, his eyes never leaving yours.

You decided to break the tension with a bit of lighthearted honesty. "You know, Jack," you said, tilting your head with a small smile, "I feel like doctors usually prefer when people use their titles. Like, it’s a sign of respect or something."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah," you nodded. "When Frank graduated from medical school, he was insufferable about it. Still is. He loves telling everyone he's Dr. Langdon."

Jack chuckled softly, a warm sound that didn’t quite fit the serious tone of the conversation. "Well, I only need my patients calling me that." Then his brows tilted slightly, his gaze shifting away, and he swallowed nervously. "Fuck, they may not be calling me that by the end of all of this."

"You’re not going to lose your medical license," you assured him. "That’s not going to happen."

He opened his mouth to speak, then annoyance flickered across his face.

"And, how do you know that?" Jack finally asked, breaking the silence.

"Because I’m damn good at my job. Didn’t Dr. Langdon—" you rolled your eyes, "tell you that."

The corner of his mouth twitched.

"So, how do you know Langdon?"

You closed your eyes and thought back to the first frat party you ever attended, and the moment you came face-to-face with Frank for the first time.

"Since freshman year of college. Frank kind of… helped me out when one of his friends asked me to do a keg stand," you snickered.

"Well, did you do the keg stand?"

You couldn't help it, you giggled. That hadn't been at all what you were expecting to share about yourself. "No, I was too chicken shit." You admitted.

He lifted one shoulder. "Or maybe you were just smart,"

A few moments of awkward silence passed as you stared at each other. Your heart rate had slightly picked up now. You looked away while your fingers traced a pattern on the surface of the table.

Jesus, this man was good-looking.

"You know, I shouldn’t say this—" You swallowed tightly, "But, I wish more people were more willing to challenge the status quo," you whispered. "Kristi traveled from another state, likely due to restrictions, lack of resources, or limited access to reproductive health services. And you chose to prioritize Kristi’s autonomy and well-being. You helped a patient in a vulnerable position. That’s fucking brave."

As the words left your mouth, a subtle pause settled between you and Jack. The room seemed to hold its breath for a moment, the weight of your admission lingering in the air.

His eyebrows twitched, but he didn’t speak, his tongue running over his bottom lip.

"The line between right and wrong often blurs. And sometimes, the hardest part is accepting that. It’s an uncomfortable reality. But—" you stopped yourself short and cleared your throat awkwardly before continuing, "you’re a good man."

Jack’s eyes burned holes into you. "I’m fucking not."

You frowned and pursed your lips. "You are."

Jack’s eyes searched yours, as if trying to decipher whether you were offering him sympathy, understanding, or perhaps a shared sense of the moral gray area you’d just acknowledged.

Count II: Ethical Misconduct and Medical Malpractice

A few months had passed since your initial consultation with Jack, and during that time, you had been meticulously building your case. You knew that a straightforward motion to dismiss on the grounds of insufficient evidence would likely be too weak—especially given the gravity of the allegations and the stakes involved. Instead, you completed a comprehensive investigation: interviewing hospital staff, reviewing medical records and policies, and securing expert testimony to support Jack and the hospital's claims.

Everything was going well… until it wasn’t.

After Dr. Collins interview, you realized that you needed to explore settlement options with the opposing counsel.

She disclosed that her fetal measurements did not match the measurements recorded by Jack.

This was new fucking information to you.

You had reviewed Dr. Robby’s ultrasound images and logs, which corresponded closely with Jack’s original notes—suggesting that Dr. Robby’s independent measurements aligned with the official data.

Yet, given Dr. Collins’ discrepancies, it strongly implied that Dr. Robby’s re-measurements were performed specifically to confirm or 'fit' the official reports that Jack had previously documented.

Which meant that Dr. Robby had committed an illegal act.

If this went to trial—he and Dr. Collins would be put on the stand.

And, lying under oath just wasn’t a fucking option.

So, you were engaging in negotiations with opposing counsel aimed at resolving the dispute amicably, seeking to avoid the uncertainties of a courtroom.

Opposing counsel was being downright stubborn, refusing to budge on the settlement and insisting they were ready to take this to trial. Their refusal to consider a reasonable resolution was making your stomach knot up—every day that dragged on felt like walking a tightrope, and you were starting to feel the weight of the stress piling up.

Honestly, you were fucking overwhelmed.

You had never cared this much about the outcome of a case before.

Why did this one matter to you so much?

The pressure to handle this delicately, to avoid a disastrous courtroom showdown, was getting to you. So, you found yourself at a bar after work, just trying to drown out the chaos for a little while. Frank was there, chatting away, asking questions about the case—probably trying to get a sense of what was really going on. You had to remind him, firmly, that you couldn’t tell him anything.

You couldn’t tell Frank that his mentor had committed a crime, too.

Fuck.

So, it didn’t take long before you were back to pounding back drinks and stressing over what the hell was going to happen next.

"Abby wants a Birkin for her birthday," Frank told you, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

A smile tugged at your lips. "Birkin bags have an average annual increase in value of 14.2%, outperforming the S&P 500."

He sighed. "I could buy a small island with that kind of money, or at least a really nice used car."

You glanced at your watch, the faint glow of the dim bar light reflecting off the face. It was already nearing 11:00 PM. You grimaced slightly, realizing you had an early meeting tomorrow, and the last thing you needed was to drag yourself into the office exhausted.

"Alright, dude," you said, pushing your chair back and gathering your purse. "I should probably head out. Got an early start tomorrow."

You reached for your wallet, sliding a few bills across the table to cover both your drinks. "On me tonight. You need to save up for a Birkin," you teased.

He grinned as you gathered your things. "You good? You don’t usually drink this much."

"I’m fine. Just tired, that’s all. Nothing to worry about," you quickly waved him off, a little too casually.

You didn’t feel drunk.

Tipsy at most.

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. Instead, he nodded and gave you a quick hug. "See you at Tanner’s birthday this weekend, then?"

"Definitely," you replied, forcing a smile.

As you stepped out of the bar, the cool night air hit you, and you instinctively reached into your purse for your phone to order an Uber. The city hummed softly around you—distant car horns, footsteps on the sidewalk, the faint glow of streetlights. You were just about to tap your screen when a voice stopped you, and you heard your name.

You blinked, turning toward the sound. Standing a few feet away was Jack. He was dressed in his black scrubs.

Your eyes narrowed slightly, a little surprised to see him here, especially at this hour. "Jack," you said, "What are you doing here?"

He didn’t answer you.

Instead, he took a slow, steady step closer, his tone even and calm. "How’re you getting home?"

You gestured to your phone. "Uber. I’m just waiting for the ride."

He studied you for a beat.

"I’ll drop you off."

"No, that’s okay. I’ve got it—"

He gently raised his hand, cutting you off.

"Let me take you home," he said softly but firmly.

You hesitated, glancing at his scrubs, then back at him. "You just got off—"

Jack reached out, his hand taking yours.

His grip was firm but not aggressive.

It was reassuring.

His eyes met yours. "Let’s go."

Without waiting for a response, he motioned with his head toward his car—a sleek, clean vehicle parked just a few feet away. He was already walking ahead. When you followed, he opened the passenger door smoothly and gestured for you to get in.

"Thanks," you mumbled, climbing into the seat.

Jack closed the door gently, then moved around to the driver’s side with a composed grace. He slid into his seat, his eyes already focused on the road ahead. As he started the car, he looked over with a slight, smirk. "So, where do you live?"

You gave him your address.

As Jack navigated the car through the dark streets, he cleared his throat softly, a subtle but deliberate sound that drew your attention. He glanced over briefly, his eyes flickering with a hint of hesitance before he spoke.

"You look nice," he said. There was a pause, and then he added. "Were you on a date?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. A slow, genuine laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it. "A date?" you echoed, shaking your head with a chuckle. "Come on, Jack. I don’t really have a life like that. How would I even find the time?"

You looked down at your outfit—business professional, as always—your blazer, crisp blouse, and tailored skirt. For a moment, a wave of insecurity washed over you.

Did he think you dressed like this for dates?

Or was it just habit?

You couldn’t help but wonder if he thought you were boring.

Predictable even.

Your cheeks warmed slightly as you shifted in your seat, your eyes briefly dropping to your clothes again. Maybe he thought someone like you was the kind of person who’d wear this kind of outfit out on a romantic evening.

Or maybe he just thought you never had fun.

Why did you care what he thought?

"I was with Frank."

Jack scratched his chin, his gaze scanning in front of him.

"Langdon's been pretty concerned about you," Jack said softly, glancing over. "He told me you’re up for partner. Said he thinks you’re running yourself into the ground."

"What?" you snapped, a surge of anger rising. "He told you that?"

"Yeah. He’s worried about you. I’m worried about you. You’ve been pushing too hard, working crazy hours, not taking care of yourself."

A flicker of bitterness crept into your chest as Jack’s words sank in. His concern sounded genuine, but it felt hypocritical coming from him—especially knowing how often Jack worked long, grueling hours. He was always at the hospital, late into the night, running on empty, just like you.

Your jaw tightened. You feel a flicker of something—hurt, maybe, or frustration. "So that’s your way of saying I look like shit?" Your voice cracked slightly, bitter. "What, you think I don’t see it? You think I don’t know I’m burning out?"

His eyes widened in alarm. "That’s not what I’m saying—"

You cut him off sharply, voice rising. "Then what the hell are you saying? Because I know what’s running me into the ground. This fucking case. Because Frank tells me about the shit you’ve been doing recently in the OR—bending rules, cutting corners, doing whatever the fuck like some arrogant man. I just don’t get it. Why? You literally have a fucking lawsuit on your hands."

He pulled the car to a stop in front of your house. The engine idled as he turned to face you fully. "Look—"

"No," you cut him off again, voice sharp. "You don’t get it. You’re worried about me? Well, when you’re deciding to play 'rebel cowboy', it just makes my job harder. If this case goes to trial, they are going to analyze everything you’ve done. They will scrutinize everything—everything that happened before Kristi’s case and everything that came after. They’ll dig up every mistake, every misstep, every questionable decision, in an attempt to find anything they can use to disqualify you or pin something on you. They won’t stop until they’ve torn apart your record and left you with nothing. So right now, you need to be doing everything strictly by the fucking book."

You were breathing heavily.

Your head was throbbing.

Your chest ached.

Your throat felt tight.

His brows knit together like he was in pain, and it broke your heart a little. "Look—if you’re telling me to stop being a doctor, I can’t do that."

"That’s not what I’m asking. I’m telling you, there’s a way to push back against the system, to challenge it, while still respecting authority and the law and—"

He scoffed, frustration boiling over. "That’s bullshit. You either follow the rules or you don’t—there’s no in-between." His voice was sharp, angry now. "You think the system cares about fairness? About justice? All they care about is making sure they win—by any means necessary. Just last week, I had to tell two parents that their insurance wouldn't cover the surgery their daughter needs to stay alive. A simple procedure that could save her life, but the hospital won’t do it pro bono, and the insurance company refuses to pay."

Jack’s eyes suddenly grew glossy, the shimmer of unshed tears gathering at the edges but never spilling over. His gaze flicked away for a moment, as if he couldn’t bear to meet yours fully. Then, voice trembling with quiet despair, he whispered, "That little girl is going to die. And I can’t fucking do anything about it."

He paused, swallowing hard. "So…if sometimes I 'bend a rule' or 'cut a corner' when I can, it’s because I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut.

Jack was a man who’d weathered storms and still stood tall.

"I’m sorry," you said after a long, tense moment. "I’ve been drinking tonight. My outburst was totally uncalled for."

"Don’t apologize," he said while licking his bottom lip. "Even though, I have to admit, there's something about seeing you all riled up that’s really entertaining," he said with a playful tone, causing your cheeks to flare with heat.

"Well, I’m glad you find this side of me entertaining. Maybe I’ll have to show you more of it sometime," you replied with a sly smile.

"I would love that," he breathed. His expression suddenly was unreadable, his eyes dark and intense. "Listen, if this goes to trial—then it goes to trial. I’ve made my peace with that. I did what I did, and I would do it all over again."

"Aren’t you nervous at all?"

You looked into Jack’s eyes, a mixture of curiosity and vulnerability flickering across your face.

He smirked, leaning in just a little closer, his hand lightly brushing against your arm. His voice was confident but teasing. "No," he replied with a grin. "I’ve got a damn good lawyer, haven’t you heard?"

You smiled back, a little shy but flattered by his words. He grinned wider, leaning even closer, his hand now gently pushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his fingertips lingering briefly against your cheek, and he looked like he was about to kiss you.

But just as that moment seemed to tip toward something more intimate, a wave of clarity washed over you. Your senses sharpened, and reality snapped into focus. You gently placed your hands on his shoulders, your breath catching in your throat as you steadied yourself.

"Wait," you whispered, your voice filled with longing yet tinged with regret. Your eyes searched his, pleading silently for him to understand. "We can’t do this. You’re my client."

He paused, a flicker of disappointment passing over his face. His hand slowly rose, fingers gently clasping yours, "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, voice heavy with frustration, as if he too knew that crossing this line was dangerous.

He breathed roughly, lifting one of his hands to your cheek. "You know at first, when Robby told me Langdon had a recommendation for a lawyer, I didn’t think much of it. Just another name to add to the list. But then you walked into the room."

He paused, a small smile tugging at his lips as he remembered.

"The moment you stepped in, I swear, I thought, god, who is that beautiful woman? There was something about you—how you carried yourself, the way you spoke with confidence but also kindness."

His eyes softened, and he pinched your chin between his fingers.

"And I realized it was more than just beauty. You’re incredibly smart—sharp as a fucking blade. You listen, you think, and you don’t just speak to fill the silence. The hospital board, they were visibly intimidated by you. Their egos—mostly male, of course—couldn’t handle someone like you challenging them, questioning everything. They tried to keep you at bay, but you just pushed through, unshaken."

His voice grew warmer.

"You know, it might sound crazy, but one of the reasons I don’t regret what I did—what I had to do—is because it led me to you. And honestly? That’s a fucking privilege. Just having you in my life, even amidst the chaos and the mess, it means more than I can put into words."

You felt him hum, the sound rumbling against his broad chest. "You’re not just someone I hired. You’re someone I want to get to know better. Someone I want to trust with everything. And I hope I get that chance one day."

Then he was silent.

His breath slowing, chest rising.

It was the nicest thing somebody had ever said to you.

And you knew he meant it. Every single word.

It was the first time you had ever seen him look truly vulnerable—just in that achingly human, overwhelmed way that made you want to kiss every inch of him.

Even though you didn’t say a word in response.

You could feel the weight of his words lingering between you.

Your silence wasn’t indifference.

It was an acknowledgment.

A silent understanding that his words had reached you deeply.

You traced his jaw with your finger, your touch delicate and loving, and his muscles tensed like he was bracing for something catastrophic.

You leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "Goodnight, Dr. Abbot."

Jack’s eyes lingered on you. He nodded softly, a small, genuine smile curling his lips. "Goodnight, counselor,"

You stepped out of the car, the cool night air brushing against your skin. As you closed the door behind you, you hesitated for a moment, then turned back toward him.

Your eyes met his across the distance. The sight of his flushed face and heated stare had you feeling something down there, and it took every ounce of strength you had to not invite him inside.

"For the record," you called softly. "I want to get to know you better, too."

A slow, hopeful smile spread across Jack’s face as he watched you walk inside your home.

Count III: Breach of Medical Duty and Standard of Care

The room was tense.

Eloise Wheeler and her lawyer, Robert, sat stiffly around a long conference table at the hospital.

Jack was right there beside you.

Quiet but alert, like a coiled spring.

Frank had been correct—in the beginning, the hospital board was trying to throw Jack under the bus. They fucking sucked. You reminded them that the hospital was being sued for vicarious liability. That meant, at the end of the day, the hospital was responsible for Jack’s actions. So, instead of trying to distance themselves from him, they needed to support him. Because if they didn’t, they were only hurting themselves. The allegations were about more than just data manipulation. They were also about the health and emotional well-being of Kristi.

"Objection," Robert said, cutting in, voice a little too quick. "That’s irrelevant to this case."

You shot him a sharp look, cutting him off before he could get any more snippy. "With all due respect, Robert, what’s relevant is the way Kristi’s health risks aren’t being communicated. You refuse to let us speak directly to Kristi or consult independent medical experts who can testify about her current condition. That’s telling—it’s retaliation, plain and simple. This isn’t about Kristi’s health; it’s about punishing Dr. Abbot."

Robert's eyes narrowed slightly, and his tone hardened. "Kristi hasn't been seen because she's choosing to keep her distance. She’s a minor, and she's under a lot of emotional distress right now, and I think we should respect her privacy."

Jack stared straight ahead, patiently waiting for the argument to settle.

"You don’t want us to speak with her because you know she’ll say that Dr. Abbot and this hospital did nothing wrong." You turned directly to Eloise. "Eloise, I have to ask—what is your end goal here? You say you’re concerned about your daughter’s well-being? Yet, you’re blocking access to unbiased medical opinions. Why? Is it because acknowledging that Kristi is healthy, alive, and safe, because this hospital performed a procedure you approved, undermines your narrative of misconduct?"

Before Eloise could respond, Robert quickly raised his hand, signaling her to hold back. "Eloise, I advise you not to respond," he said sharply.

"This case isn’t about medical malpractice—it’s about control… and regret," you pressed on.

Eloise’s eyes narrowed, and she opened her mouth to respond. "My concern is for my daughter’s well-being. We’re concerned about possible risks—"

You quickly interrupted. "Risks that you refuse to fully understand or disclose. Kristi made her choice, and Dr. Abbot followed the standard protocols designed to safeguard her. Unsafe abortions happen across this country every day—women seek them, sometimes in dangerous, unregulated environments. Kristi trusted this hospital, trusted her doctors, and she made her decision with your consent. Now, you want to tear Dr. Abbot down because you’re unhappy with her choice?"

Eloise finally broke.

Shouting at Jack with raw emotion.

"I want my grandchild back!"

The room plunged into an unsettling silence.

Her words hanging heavily in the air.

For a moment, not a single sound broke the stillness, and everyone in the room seemed to freeze.

Even Jack.

His gaze was fixed on Eloise as if trying to process what she’d just said.

Robert’s eyes flicked to hers, a sharp warning flashing in his gaze—she had said too much. He quickly straightened, standing up abruptly. Gathering his papers, he cleared his throat, his tone firm but tinged with urgency.

"Eloise, that’s enough. Don’t say anything else." Robert said, voice steady but commanding. "We’re done here. We’re leaving," signaling them to gather their things. Without waiting for further discussion, he turned and strode swiftly toward the exit.

Jack slowly pushed himself to his feet, his eyes on Eloise as she hesitated in the doorway. With a quiet, expression, he looked at her and softly said, "I'm sorry."

Eloise, her cheeks streaked with tears, reached up with trembling fingers to wipe them away.

Then she simply nodded once and exited the room without a word.

You watched Jack carefully, then rose to your feet as well. He turned toward you, concern shadowing his face. "Are you okay?" he asked gently.

You paused for a moment before replying, "Shouldn't I be asking you that?" Frustration edged into your voice as you continued, "Also, why did you apologize? Apologizing shows fault."

He took a slow step forward.

"Just because I don’t agree with her," he said, "doesn’t mean she isn’t hurting. She’s allowed to feel what she feels. Sometimes, the most honest thing we can do is just acknowledge that people are hurting, even if we see things differently."

You felt a strange flutter in your chest.

The sudden quickening of your heartbeat caught you off guard.

He was so genuine.

Unguarded.

You just stood there, realizing how rare and precious that kind of understanding truly was.

His hand twitched subtly, a telltale sign that he was holding himself back from acting on an impulse—perhaps from reaching out, touching your arm, or closing the space between you.

"Want to grab lunch?" he asked.

You glanced at your watch. “I wish I could, but I’ve got to get back to the office.”

He nodded.

But it was clear he was disappointed.

It had been a few weeks since he dropped you off after what almost happened. You hadn’t intended to be standoffish. But you had been less frequent in stopping by the hospital, fewer phone calls, less of the casual contact that once felt so natural. It was just... easier to keep a bit of distance.

That night, after he almost kissed you, you did something you honestly hadn’t done in a while. You laid in bed and dipped two fingers inside of you as you touched yourself and circled your clit. You fell off the edge quickly because you imagined his fingers inside of you. Coming down from your orgasm, you realized that your feelings for Jack were dangerous.

Engaging in any form of sexual activity with a client was a violation of professional conduct.

His unrelenting gaze seemed to size you up. "Haven’t seen you in a while."

"I’ve been busy," you said, looking down at your shoes, unable to look him in the eye

He clicked his tongue, frustration flashing in his expression. "You’ve been avoiding me."

You looked up and were overwhelmed by his stare.

Blood pounded in your ears. "I’ve just been busy," you repeated.

His expression hardened, anger flashing in his eyes. "Bullshit."

He slowly closed the distance between you. His tall frame loomed over yours, each step deliberate, almost predatory. The room seemed to shrink around him, the air thickening with unspoken tension.

You could barely breathe. You needed to say something, but unfortunately, he spoke first. "Give in already."

His face was just inches from yours now.

You hesitated, your breath hitching as your mind screamed at you to resist, to keep your professionalism intact. You knew if you did what you wanted, there would be no going back. But the pull was undeniable, and your lips parted slightly as you considered his words. Your body tensed, then relaxed just a fraction.

"Just give in," Jack pleaded, his eyes dark pools of lust. "It’ll feel good."

You opened your mouth to respond—maybe to push back, maybe to accept—but suddenly, a sharp, commanding voice cut through the charged atmosphere.

You heard your name as the door swung open. Standing in the doorway was the hospital’s legal counsel, a composed figure in a tailored suit, clipboard in hand. "How did it go?"

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard, then quickly composed yourself. "It went well," you said, clearing your throat. "I think there’s a very good chance we can negotiate a settlement after today's events. The hospital and Dr. Abbot’s position is strong, and I believe we’re on the verge of resolving this without going to trial."

The legal counsel nodded, extending a hand. "Good to hear. I’ll let the hospital chair know. Thanks for the update."

You shook his hand briefly, then looked around, realizing Jack had already stepped back from you, his posture reverting to neutral, almost as if nothing had happened. You caught a fleeting glimpse of the door closing behind the legal counsel as Jack exited the conference room without looking at you.

You drove to work with hot tears finally trailing down your cheeks.

You couldn't shake the ache of frustration that settled deep in your chest.

It felt so unfair.

Why him?

Why Jack Abbot, with his intense eyes and his dangerous charm?

You hated how easily you’d been drawn in, how your mind replayed his words, his touch, as if they’d etched themselves into your memory with cruel precision.

You wondered why he couldn’t just be some guy you met at a bar.

Someone ordinary.

Why couldn’t he be a stranger in a crowded room, someone you wouldn't have to analyze, second-guess, or worry about?

He was chaos and complication.

You remembered your mother once telling you that sometimes feelings could sprout in the most unlikely, inappropriate places.

And no matter how much you wished it, you couldn’t unfeel what had already taken root.

You stepped out of your car, your heels clicking softly against the pavement as you headed toward the building. Going up the elevator, you pressed the button and waited briefly, then greeted the janitor along the way with a friendly smile. Upon reaching your floor, you stepped out and made your way down the corridor, and pushed open the door to your office.

Inside, you settled into your chair, sighed deeply, rubbing your temples as you scrolled through the latest updates on your cases. As you sat amidst the clutter of papers and flickering screen, your mind drifted to another case that had been weighing on you all day—you needed to check in with Alex, your junior associate on the case.

Frowning slightly, you reached for my phone and pulled up his contact, then tapped the message: Hey, just wanted to confirm you filed the paperwork for the Johnson case. Let me know when it's done.

A few moments later, your phone buzzed with a reply from Alex: Yes, I submitted the paperwork this morning. All set on my end.

You read the message and nodded slightly, feeling a bit of relief. You quickly typed back: Thanks, appreciate it.

With that confirmed, you turned your attention to the upcoming court prep for another case. You pulled out the relevant files, spread them out on your desk, and began reviewing your notes.

A few hours later, the office was almost deserted. The only sound was the quiet tapping of your fingers on the keyboard. Just as you were about to wrap up, there was a soft knock on your door. You looked up, blinking tiredly.

"Come in," you called out.

The door opened, and your boss, stepped in. He was also the partner on Jack’s case, and he was holding a piece of paper in his hand. His face was serious but controlled.

"Hey," he began. "I know it’s late, but I wanted to let you know—Wheeler’s lawyer just faxed over something. Thought you’d want to see it before you headed out."

You sat up straighter. "A fax? Who even faxes anything anymore?"

He smirked faintly. "Apparently, some people still do. Anyway, you probably want to look at this."

He handed you the piece of paper. You took it, glanced at the top—your eyes narrowed as you read the hurriedly typed heading. Then, you unfolded it and started reading, your brow furrowing deeper with every line.

"Holy fucking shit," you whispered under your breath.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

#jack abbot fic rec #ja fic rec #the pitt fic rec #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x you #the pitt x reader #the pitt x you #q

1K notes · View notes

honeysrecs · 26 days ago

Text

Get your sparkle on

parings. jack Abbot x Cheer-Coach!reader

summary. Jack's wife take a visit to the er after an eventful a.m. practice at her gym and trouble ensues with her gaggle of cheerleaders.

warnings. age-gap (jack late 40s reader late 20s/early 30s), reader gets hurt, hospital setting, nothing too serious or punchy, not so secret marriage, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. as an ex-cheerleader I loved writing this! cheer!mom and cheer!dad jack for the win, he's a lovable grump in this one.

wc. 2500+

You hadn’t expected your morning to end in the back of an ambulance, but, well... here you were.

It started like any other day — early practice at the gym, you in your cropped pink zip-up and leggings, hair in soft curls and an iced coffee in hand, helping the senior stunt group clean up their tosses. You were walking one of the newer flyers through a cradle when suddenly she fell on you.

A sharp pop, blinding pain, and suddenly you were on the mat clutching your leg, trying to smile so you wouldn’t scare any of the girls.

Now, laid out on a stretcher with your cheerleader Grace glued to your side, you were trying not to wince as the paramedics wheeled you through the sliding doors of PTMC.

Your badge reel—pink, glittery, and proudly reading Head Coach in sparkly letters—was still clipped to your hoodie. A nurse clocked it as you passed, raising an eyebrow but saying nothing.

Grace, on the other hand, was vibrating with nerves. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” she kept saying, gripping your hand with both of hers. “I mean you’re not, like, okay-okay, but you’re conscious, and you’re not dead, and Jack is totally gonna fix this—”

“Grace,” you said gently, voice calm despite the ache pulsing through your leg, “I’m fine. I promise. You don’t need to panic.”

“But I am panicking,” she whispered urgently. “And Jack’s gonna panic even harder when he finds out they didn’t get him immediately. Should I tell them? I should tell them.”

You gave her a look—the same one you used when the girls got too rowdy during warm-ups. “We talked about this. No, babe.”

“But—” she lowered her voice, glancing around the ER. “They don’t even know you’re his wife. Shouldn’t someone know? You’re in pain, and he’d want to—”

A nurse appeared with a wheelchair, her eyes flicking between you and Grace.

“She’s with me,” Grace said quickly, defensive and fierce. “She’s not just some random patient. This is really bad.”

The nurse gave her a polite smile and helped transfer you gently. “We’ll get her seen quickly, don’t worry.”

“She needs Jack,” Grace added, her voice cracking.

The nurse paused just slightly. “Jack…?”

You exhaled slowly. Here we go.

“She means Dr. Abbot,” you said, trying not to wince as you shifted. “He’s my—he’s… we know him.”

You really weren’t ready to deal with the full explanation right now. Not when your leg was screaming and you were trying to maintain some semblance of dignity in your glitter-covered socks.

The nurse’s brows lifted just slightly but didn’t push. “Let’s get you to a bed, then we’ll go from there.”

The ER was still waking up—lights bright but not blinding, a few residents gathered around the central station with coffee cups and clipboards. Your name hadn’t reached the gossip chain yet, and for now, that was a gift.

Grace hovered nearby like an over-caffeinated hummingbird. “Should I text him? Can I text him? He’s probably already here, right? I could just yell for—”

“Please don’t yell,” you groaned.

She fidgeted with her phone, visibly vibrating. “You don’t get it. If I don’t say something and he finds out we didn’t, he’s going to be all scary. You’ve seen him. You married him.”

The nurse’s head turned at that, but you closed your eyes and didn’t respond.

You were halfway through the triage when one of the residents popped his head in, chart in hand. “You’re the coach, right? Cheer gym injury? I’m Dr. Shen,”

You nodded. “Sounds about right.”

“Looks like they flagged ortho already,” he said. “But you’ve got some swelling, maybe a fibula fracture. We’ll get imaging, but I’ll do a quick exam.”

As he moved toward your leg, you heard Grace mutter under her breath, “This is taking too long.”

You gently grabbed her wrist. “Deep breaths, babe. I’m okay. I promise.”

She nodded quickly, eyes glassy. “You can’t promise that.”

And before you could stop her, she spun toward the hallway something (or someone) clearly catching her eye and called out, voice loud and panicked:

“Dr. Abbot! Jack!”

Several heads turned. A nurse dropped her pen. One of the younger med students actually gasped.

The resident paused mid-exam. “Wait, did she just say—?”

You groaned, throwing your arm over your eyes. “Yup.”

And like clockwork, heavy footsteps pounded down the hallway. Voices called after him—probably someone trying to tell him to slow down, but he wasn’t listening.

Then he appeared, scrubs wrinkled, expression somewhere between murder and panic.

His eyes found yours instantly. “You okay?”

“Jack—” you started, but he was already at your side, checking your vitals, his hand on your wrist like he needed to feel your pulse himself to believe it.

You could feel the stares. The whispers. The dawning realization.

Grace, finally satisfied, sat down next to your bed and crossed her arms. “Told you.”

Jack didn’t even look at her. He just leaned down and brushed a kiss to your forehead.

“I told you not to stunt without spotters,” he muttered.

“And I told her not to make a scene,” you replied, lips twitching.

He glanced around and finally noticed the stunned silence.

“What?”

No one answered.

You closed your eyes again, cheeks warm. “They didn’t know.”

“Oh.” He straightened, suddenly aware of the audience. “Well… now they do.”

You were trying not to laugh at the awkward silence hanging in the air.

Jack had one hand still loosely wrapped around your wrist, like he couldn’t stop checking your pulse — despite the fact that a monitor, a nurse, and an extremely flustered resident were already doing the exact same thing.

You cleared your throat gently. “Jack… they kind of need to examine me. Officially.”

“I am examining you,” he said, like that somehow settled the matter. “You’re in my ER. You’re my patient.”

From the chair in the corner, Grace scoffed under her breath. “That’s not how it works and you know it.”

Jack glanced sideways at her. “Grace.”

She blinked innocently. “What? I didn’t say you’re doing a bad job. Just that you're being a little overdramatic with the heart rate check. That monitor has it covered.”

“You want to go monitor something? Are you a doctor?” he asked, dry.

She threw her hands up. “Fine. I’m quiet. See?” She sealed her lips with an invisible zipper and sat back, but the worry in her eyes didn’t fade.

You smiled faintly at the whole scene. The tension in your leg was awful, a hot ache pulsing up through your thigh, but the comfort of familiarity made it all a little more bearable.

Jack turned back to you, this time softening slightly as he brushed his fingers lightly over your hand. “Pain level?”

“Six,” you said. “Seven when I move it. I think I heard something pop.”

“Not surprised.” He gave you a once-over, eyes sharper now. “You look pale.”

“Fluorescent lighting is no one’s friend,” you muttered. “And I skipped my second coffee.”

He raised a brow. “You were spotting girls on one coffee?”

“I didn’t plan to get hurt, Jack.”

Behind him, Grace made a wounded noise. “She didn’t even flinch when it happened. Just said, ‘Huh. I think I’m hurt.’ Like it was no big deal. We all thought she was fine until she couldn’t walk.”

Jack looked over his shoulder. “And you brought her in?”

“I called 911,” she said, defensive. “And I rode with her. And I told them like six times that she’s your wife, but they acted like I was crazy!.”

Jack snorted. “Can’t imagine why.”

She gave him a pointed look. “You probably never talk about her at work. You could’ve warned people.”

“I thought we liked keeping it private,” he said, glancing at you again.

You smiled up at him. “We do. You just outed us by kissing me.”

“They were taking too long,” he muttered.

From her chair, Grace nodded solemnly. “That’s what I said.”

Jack ignored her, stepping aside as a nurse rolled in the portable ultrasound to check for swelling. A med student followed behind, clearly trying to avoid staring but failing spectacularly.

Jack caught the lingering gaze and turned, tone clipped. “Yes, we’re married. Yes, we kept it private. No, I’m not answering questions. Go page ortho again.”

The kid turned tail so fast you almost felt bad for him.

Almost.

Grace waited until he left, then leaned forward with wide eyes. “Can I please be the one to break it to the rest of the team?”

“No,” you and Jack both said at the same time.

She slumped. “Worth a shot.”

Jack gave your chart a once-over, then carefully shifted the pillow beneath your leg. “We’ll confirm with imaging, but it’s probably your fibula. Hairline, best case.”

You winced. “Ugh. That means no gym for—?”

“Two weeks minimum,” he cut in firmly. “Longer if ortho’s being conservative.”

Grace perked up again. “But you can still come sit and yell at us, right?”

“We’ll see,” Jack answered for you. “She’s going to rest first.”

“She can rest and yell. Comp season is starting soon..”

“Grace.”

She sat back again, muttering something that sounded like, “Overprotective, overachieving power couple,” under her breath.

You gave her a fond look. “Thank you for staying with me.”

She shrugged like it was nothing, but her voice was quiet when she answered, “You’d do it for me.”

Jack glanced between the two of you, and something in his expression shifted — that deep-down kind of respect he rarely showed unless he meant it.

“Hey,” he said, aiming it at Grace. “You did good this morning.”

She perked up. “Really?”

“Really. You almost atayed calm, made the right call, got her here fast.” He looked at you briefly. “She’s not an easy one to boss around when she’s being stubborn.”

Grace nodded solemnly. “No, she is not.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling.

Just then, a nurse came in with your chart and glanced between you and Jack. “We, uh… need an attending on record. Someone not married to the patient.”

Jack finally stepped back, his hand lingering for one more second before dropping to his side. “Dr. Shen’s on call. I’ll send him in.”

“You really didn’t act like ‘just the husband,’” Grace whispered as he turned to go.

He didn’t answer, just shot her a knowing look and disappeared into the hallway.

You leaned back into the pillow, exhaling as the hum of the ER filled in the quiet again.

“Coach?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time, we should just call him first.”

You smiled at her, soft and full of love. “Only if you promise not to freak me out like that again.”

She squeezed your hand gently. “Deal.”

Now, a few weeks later you had barely made it halfway down the bleachers before your girls spotted you — which meant you’d barely made it halfway down the bleachers before you were swarmed.

“Coach!”

“Oh my god, did you see us?!”

“Grace hit the stunt and didn’t fall this time!”

“Wait, are you okay? You’re not supposed to be walking—JACK!”

That last one was, of course, shrieked by Grace, who was already bounding up the stairs two at a time. She reached you first, wrapping you in a hug like she hadn’t seen you in warm-ups just two hours ago. Jack steadied your other side as she pulled back, eyes wide.

“You really came,” she said, looking between the two of you. “Did you see everything?”

You smiled. “Every second.”

The rest of the team wasn’t far behind—a slightly more graceful stampede of ponytails, ribbons, and metallic jackets. They closed in fast, voices overlapping with the kind of energy that could only come from hitting a near-perfect routine.

“Coach, our pyramid hit—did you see it?”

“We didn’t drop anything!”

“My heel came loose halfway but I saved it—did you notice?”

Jack was trying to fade back into the bleachers, but you hooked a gentle hand through his elbow to keep him in place.

“Yes, we saw,” you said with a warm laugh. “You were all incredible.”

“She cried,” Jack added, totally betraying you.

“I teared up,” you corrected, swatting at his arm. “There’s a difference.”

“She definitely cried,” he said, dry as ever.

Grace grinned and looped her arm through yours. “Honestly? Valid.”

Someone finally noticed Jack.

“Dr. Abbot’s here!”

“Wait—he really came?”

“Can you check this bruise? I landed kinda weird—”

You raised your hand, cutting in before things spiraled. “Alright, easy. He’s here as my husband, not your medic.”

“But he’s both,” someone muttered.

Jack sighed. Loudly. “Why do you all know me?”

“You wrapped my ankle last winter,” one girl said brightly.

“You yelled at the urgent care nurse for me,” another added.

Grace nodded, clearly proud. “You fixed like half our ponytails that day too. So like… you’re practically part of the team.”

“And I resent that,” Jack mumbled.

But he didn’t pull away when one of your flyers handed him a glittery “PSE” sticker. He peeled it carefully and stuck it right on the inside of his jacket, just above his heart. You squeezed his arm affectionately.

You caught a few of the girls exchanging glances, and Grace turned to you with a knowing look.

“Did he cry too?”

“No,” Jack said immediately.

“Yes,” you and Grace said at the same time.

He gave you both an unimpressed look. But there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You settled back onto the bleachers as the girls dispersed, your crutch beside you and leaned into Jack’s side as the awards staging call echoed across the venue. Before the chaos of the impending awards resumed. You let your eyes sweep across the mat again, replaying the routine in your mind — the synchronized tumbling, the sharp formations, Grace’s flyer holding steady with laser focus.

“They were really good,” Jack said quietly, his voice close to your ear. “Like... actually impressive.”

You looked up at him. “Yeah?”

“I’ve seen a lot of broken legs from this stuff,” he replied, ever the ER doctor. “But that routine? That was clean.”

You smiled, proud and soft. “They worked hard.”

“They’ve got a good coach.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder. “You’re being sweet.”

“Don’t tell them,” he muttered.

Too late. Grace was already back, handing you an iced coffee and grabbing your clipboard like it was a baton.

“Staging’s happening now,” she said, already ushering the team into motion.

“Can Jack come with us to awards?” someone asked as she passed.

“No,” Jack said automatically.

“He can,” Grace whispered, smirking. “She’ll make the eyes.”

“I’m literally right here,” you said.

He gave you a look. “You want me to sit through cheer awards?”

You smiled up at him. “I broke my leg for this team.”

“…Fine,” he muttered. “But if someone tries to glitter me again—”

“No promises,” a voice called out.

You kissed his cheek, just under the jaw. “You’re the best husband.”

“I’m the only idiot who married you,” he said, voice dry.

Grace grinned. “So… team dad?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Too late,” a chorus of voices echoed.

And as they herded you both toward the staging area—a little whirlwind of adrenaline, glitter, and unfiltered joy—Jack followed close behind. Sticker still on his jacket. Hand still in yours.

And when someone dragged him into the team photo after awards, you caught the smallest, most reluctant smile on his face.

Not that he’d admit it, of course.

mercury-glow 2025

#jack abbot fic rec #ja fic rec #the pitt fic rec #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x you #the pitt x reader #the pitt x you #q

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honeysrecs · 26 days ago

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sacraments of healing

dr. robby x f!attending!reader masterlist content: 18+ mdni, ANGST, swearing, no real medical stuff in this one besides a single cut and some sutures, family trauma, complicated mother/daughter dynamic, sibling death, grief, childhood trauma, mentions of physical/emotional childhood abuse, age gap (reader is about 34 i had to do the math to get the timeline right as you'll see, robby is probably like 53-54 here) words: 8.7K synopsis: loosely inspired by episode 2x06 of the bear (fishes) so if we have any bear stans here hi how are ya! reader is an attending at the pitt, did her residency under adamson, a fellowship in boston, and now has been back at the pitt for roughly two years. her and robby have been dating for the entirety of those two years, but have been working together since she was a resident (with the exception of her fellowship). robby insists on meeting her family when her mother reaches out to him via facebook and a nightmare ensues!! a/n: hi! thank you for all the love you've given but i stayed anyway, truly means the world to me. i hope you enjoy this one, tho i feel it is a bit niche so no worries if not!! please please note the content warnings and don't read if you think it'll bother you. ok talk soon.

“So,” Robby parked himself next to you at the hub while you looked up at the board, “Christmas Eve, are you picking me up or should I come get you?”

You frowned and turned to him, ��What are you talking about?”

“The Feast of the Seven Fishes. At your parents’ place.”

You choked out a laugh and started walking towards a patient room, iPad in hand, “Right. You will not be attending that.”

“Ah, but I will. I already told your mother I’d be there.”

You stopped cold, forcing Robby to walk into you, and then turned to face him, “Since when are you in contact with my mother?”

He shrugged, that mischievous grin on his face, “She friended me on Facebook a few weeks ago.”

Oh, this could not be happening. This was your worst nightmare come to life. “Okay, well. Please block her and I will inform her that you won’t be coming.”

He gently reached out to grab your arm and pulled you to the side before you could walk away again, “Not happening. I want to meet your family. I will be coming. It’s not up for discussion.”

You could feel the panic rising in your chest, “Robby—“

“Baby, we’ve been dating for two years. You’ve met my family, dozens of times now.”

“Yes, well, your family is lovely. And normal.”

He smiled down at you, “And your family raised you. So they can’t be that bad.”

You closed your eyes and shook your head, “You have no idea what you’ve agreed to.”

“I’ve agreed to meet the people who made the woman I’m in love with,” He said tenderly. You were angry and scared out of your mind, but when he said that, you found yourself wanting to give in.

But you knew what would happen the second he met your family. You’d been through it before. Many times. Steeling your face, you walked around him.

“Look,” He said, walking in front of you again, “If you really don’t want me to come, I won’t, but then consider us done.”

Your eyes locked on his. There was no smile, no flush to indicate he was lying or teasing.

“You don’t mean that.”

He nodded, “I do.” He sighed, “I’m sorry, I can’t keep watching you build these walls up around yourself to keep me out and then pretend like everything’s fine.”

You laughed flatly, “Oh, that’s rich coming from you.”

“I did the work,” He said quietly, “For you. It’s your turn now.”

And then he left you like that, alone in the middle of the ER.

***

It was about a year ago when you had gone to Robby to request a day off from work. It was late February, still in the dead of winter. The city couldn’t quite shake off the snow.

“Hey, I wanted to see if I could take next Thursday off?” You asked as casually as you could manage, “I can find another attending to cover if you need—“

“No, it’s fine. I can manage by myself,” Robby looked up from his workstation, perching his glasses on his head, “What’s going on next Thursday?”

You opened and closed your mouth a few times, and then sighed, looking down at your hands, “It’s just, it’s the anniversary of my brother’s death so I just have a hard time being in the ER that day.”

“Oh,” Robby said, clearly caught off guard, “Sweetheart, I’m… so sorry I had no idea.”

“It’s fine,” You said quickly, uncomfortable with the attention and the sympathy, as you always were, “It was a long time ago.” You cleared your throat, “I have to go check on a patient.” You said and were gone before he could follow.

But you had felt his eyes on you for the rest of the shift. Sure enough, as soon as the two of you were out in the cold winter air, he brought it up.

“You never mentioned your brother died.”

You slowly inhale through your nose, “I don’t like to talk about it. It was over a decade ago.” You shrugged, as if the time had made it hurt less. It hadn’t, not exactly. The hurt was just different now. You had learned to live with it, bargain with it, figure out ways to work around it. But it was always there.

He nodded slowly, “And he died in an ER?”

You weren’t sure how much longer you could indulge this line of questioning before you were likely to snap at him. It was absolutely fair of him to be asking, you had talked him through Adamson and Jake’s girlfriend, Leah, more times than you could count.

But it was true what they said about doctors being terrible patients.

“Congenital heart failure, undiagnosed. He went into cardiac arrest during a half marathon. They got him back for a little bit in the ambulance, but he had been down a while, so.” You shrugged, concentrating on your foot prints through the snow so you wouldn’t see the way he collapsed, still a half mile away from you. You wouldn’t remember the way you had hopped the fence and sprinted to him, knees buckling when you got there. “We were nineteen.”

“Your twin?” He asked, voice soft.

You only nodded, “And before you ask, I’ve been tested. I don’t have it.”

“I bet that felt very unfair.”

No one had ever said that to you before and it nearly stopped you in your tracks. But it was true. You had spent many years, not being sad that your brother had died, but being absolutely furious with him for leaving you here, perfectly healthy, to carry on.

And when every test came back proving that you were healthy, everyone told you how lucky you were. Only it didn’t feel that way. It felt as though he had abandoned you.

The tears burned the back of your eyes, but you had grown very adept at keeping them at bay. You breathed through it until you thought it safe to speak again.

“He wasn’t supposed to go anywhere I couldn’t follow.” Despite your best efforts, your voice wavered and Robby heard it.

He reached for you, you felt his hand on your arm. It was likely he was pulling you in for a hug, but you shrugged him off.

You didn’t look at him, so you weren’t positive, but you could guess he had looked hurt by your dismissal. You kept walking, listening to his boots crunch in the snow next to yours. Reassurance that no matter how you pushed him away, he’d still be there.

After a few minutes of walking in silence, you cleared your throat, “There’s this ramen place a few blocks from your house I’ve been meaning to try. Do you want to order for dinner?”

“Sure.” He said after a few moments of silence.

It was a ceasefire agreement, disguised in take out ramen and letting you pick the movie to watch on his couch that night. He wouldn’t ask again about your brother. Not for a while. But it was only a temporary and tenuous peace, never meant to last.

And the clock was ticking.

***

“I suggest we Uber to my parents’ place.” You said the next day as you looked over a chart, “You’ll want to be drinking, I assure you. And I certainly will not be designated driver as I need to be absolutely smashed to get through the Feast.”

Robby bumped his shoulder into yours, “Ah, so we’re going then?”

“You didn’t give me much of a choice.”

He slipped a finger beneath your chin and tilted gently upwards until you were looking at him, “You always have a choice.”

You forced a smile and looked away. He didn’t understand that it was a false choice. No matter what you chose, you would lose him. You would lose him if you didn’t let him come, you would still lose him if he came.

Robby was smart. Every fault, every break in you, you had carefully glued together, disguised as something else so that he could love you. But there would be no hiding all the ways you were jagged and damaged once he saw your family. Once he understood.

You had seen it so many times before. Partners insisting they wanted to meet your family, despite your warnings. And you would watch as the night went on. They’d get quieter. Their fake laughter less convincing. The way their eyes deadened by the end of the night. They’d kiss you goodnight and roughly a week later, you’d get some bullshit excuse about why it wasn’t working. None of them ever admitted it was because of your family, about the future they saw for you written on the walls, but they didn’t have to.

And now, despite all the careful planning you had done, Robby would follow in their footsteps.

***

You looked up at your childhood home with Robby by your side just as the Uber dropped you off.

“Do you mind if I smoke a cigarette before we go in?” You asked.

Robby looked at you, eyebrows raised, “You don’t smoke.”

“I do when I’m here.” You took out a fresh pack and a lighter and started opening them, “Do you want one?”

He scratched his head, “No. I don’t think you should, either.”

You lit up the cigarette between your lips and took a drag, “Look, you wanted to come here. This is who I am when I’m here.”

“There she is! Our big shot emergency doctor!” Your older brother, Luka, threw his arms around your shoulders from behind, “Hey, what the fuck?” He took the cigarette out of your hands and threw it on the ground, “I thought you quit?”

“Jesus, Luka,” You pulled out another cigarette, “Can’t you mind your own fucking business for once?”

He smirked, “It’s good to see you too, Ace.” He kissed your hair and then looked at Robby, “Oh, and this must be the boyfriend, Robby, is it?” He reached a hand out to Robby, which Robby took, “It’s nice to meet you, finally.”

“Same here,” Robby smiled.

“What’s Robby short for, Robert?”

“Uh, no, my last name is Robinavitch. I go by Dr. Robby or Robby in the ER. My first name is Michael.”

Luka nodded and then turned his attention back to you, “Just so you know, she’s in rare form today. She’s been drinking wine since noon.”

You bit your lip and nodded, “Oh, you mean like last year, and the year before that, and the year before that—“

“Come on, don’t be a brat about it, okay? Tommy’s got it under control, he’s handling it.”

This time you really did laugh, “Oh, Tommy’s handling it, is he? You mean he’s enabling her?”

“Look, Tommy’s had a tough year with the… broken engagement as you know. Just go easy on him, okay?”

You stared at your second cigarette as if it would transport you to another dimension if you thought hard enough, “Yo, Ace, did you hear me?”

“Yes, I will be super fucking kind to Tommy.” You said, annoyed at the use of your childhood nickname, “Where’s your wife, by the way?”

“Oh, she wasn’t feeling well, she’s at home with the kids.”

You laughed and shook your head at Luka, “Good for her.”

“What? She really is sick.”

“Mhm,” You put out your cigarette, “I bet she is. No, really, I’m happy for her Luka. From the bottom of my heart.”

Luka looked up at the house, “You coming in or what?”

“Yeah,” You sighed, “In a minute.”

Luka walked off toward the house and you sighed heavily before looking at Robby, “Last chance to turn back.”

He smiled at you, “I’m not afraid of your family, baby.”

You cracked your neck to one side and then the other, “Well, that makes one of us.”

And then you led him inside.

***

Immediately, as you enter the house, everyone is shouting rather than talking at normal volume. You can hear the range hood going in the kitchen and your mother shouting over it. The unmistakable sound of the men in the living room, yelling about sports.

You were already regretting not preemptively taking ibuprofen before coming here.

“Look who has decided to grace us with her presence. It’s nice of you to come home and visit us humble folk, huh Ace?” Your mother shouts as soon as you walk through the entryway and you sigh heavily.

“Ma, this is Michael, Michael, this is my mother.”

“Call me Deb, sweetheart it’s so good to meet you.” She engulfed him in her arms, kissing his cheeks, “Oh, you’re so handsome, too.”

Robby reddened under the attention of your mother, “Please, it’s my pleasure. Your daughter is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You felt the flush in your cheeks at Robby’s words and looked around the room with feigned interest, avoiding eye contact with either of them.

Your mother dramatically put her hands to her heart and looked at you, “Did you hear that, Ace? He thinks we did a good job with you.”

You frowned, “Interesting. That’s not what I heard.”

Robby put his hand on your waist and squeezed lightly in warning. You badly wanted to push his hand off you, but held back, knowing it would upset him. And though you thought it a lost cause, you were still going to try to keep him tonight.

Your mother ignores your comment, “How old are you, Michael?”

“Mom.” You admonished immediately.

“What?” She asked, feigning casual, “I think it’s a natural question it’s is no secret he’s older than you.”

Robby smiled and laughed, hanging his head self deprecatingly, “Yes, I am… much older than Y/N.”

You looked at him, apology in your eyes, but he only shook his head slightly.

“Well how much older?” Her smile was strained.

“Ma, please.” You hissed, but she ignored you, continuing to stare at Michael.

“Uh,” Robby also gave a tight smile, clearly uncomfortable, “About twenty years.”

Your mother’s eyebrows flew up, “Well,” She looked back to you, “I guess that’s a no on having kids, then.”

“Oh my God,” You sighed and squeezed your eyes shut.

“What? It’s true, I mean he probably already has kids, right?”

Robby shook his head, “No. I have someone I consider to be like a step son, but no children of my own.”

Your mother stared at him silently for a few moments and then shifted her attention back to you, “Well your father loves you very much, so I’m not sure where this choice came from.”

This couldn’t be happening. They had been in the house all of five minutes and already, you were sure Michael was going to break up with you as soon as you left. Maybe sooner, if it kept going like this.

“Did you just invite him here to insult him?” You asked, voice raising.

“Baby, it’s okay.” Robby whispered in your ear.

“No, it’s not okay.” You said, “If you can’t be nice for one night, then we’ll leave.”

Your mother laughed airily, “Oh relax, Ace, you’re so sensitive! I’m only teasing!” She looked to Michael, “I’m only teasing, sweetheart, you gotta have thick skin if you want to be in this family.”

Robby managed a smile and put a hand over his heart, “No offense taken.”

God, he was so kind and perfect. They were going to fucking ruin him. “I really think we should go,” You whispered so only he could hear.

“Oh, come on. You think I wasn’t prepared for your family to take a jab at my age?” He lowered his head slightly so he could look in your eyes, “I want to be here. With you.”

Your mother turned back to Michael, beckoning you both to the kitchen, “What do you drink, honey, help yourself, there’s beer in the fridge, wine— HEY, WHO TURNED THE HEAT UP ON THE GRAVY? Oh for CHRIST’S SAKE it’s bubbling over everywhere— ACE WOULD YOU GET OVER HERE AND HELP YOUR MOTHER?”

You sighed heavily, “Jesus Christ,” You mumbled and then headed for the fridge, taking out two beers, you used the fridge magnet that doubled as a bottle opener to open them both, letting the caps clatter to the floor and leaving them there. You handed one to Robby, “You should stay away from the kitchen, it’s a war zone in there.”

“And what’ll you do?”

“What I always do,” You took a long swig from the beer, “Fix everyone else’s mess.”

“ACE DID YOU HEAR ME?”

“I’m coming Ma, one sec!”

“What’s with the ‘Ace’ thing?”

You sighed, “It’s a stupid nickname. Our family plays a lot of cards, they’re really superstitious. My grandma once got a full hand of aces while I was helping her play when I was, like, five. So they started calling me Ace. It got so out of hand, they wouldn’t let me sit at the table anymore. Claimed it was cheating to have me within a five foot radius of a game”

He laughed, “That’s cute.”

Just then, the sound of shattering glass came from the kitchen along with the hysterical shrieks of your mother. “Okay,” You said slowly, “I’m gonna go handle that. You’ll be okay out here?”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about me, go.” He kissed you then, and even in your hopelessness you felt loved and safe, for just a second, “I love you.” He said, and you nodded, looking down at your beer bottle, “Hey,” He said and you looked up to meet his eyes, “I love you.” He said again slowly.

“Yeah,” You nodded, his words bringing you back down, “Yeah, I love you.”

“ACE, COULD YOU GET YOUR ASS IN THE FUCKING KITCHEN, PLEASE? CHRIST!” That was Tommy’s voice now and you sighed heavily.

“You’re sure you’re not regretting this yet?” You asked softly.

“Not even a little.” Robby said.

You nodded and stepped away from him. The night was still young.

***

Robby made his way to the living room, beer in hand, and was inundated with people he didn’t know and who barely spared him a glance as he entered the room. Not much in the mood yet to begin introducing himself to everyone, he found himself drawn to the mantel and the pictures perched above it.

He smiled a bit to himself as he noted pictures of little you with whom he assumed was Benji. He could tell, even from the pictures, just how close the two of you were. And his heart broke all over again imagining you having to watch him die.

“Are you Ace’s doctor boyfriend?” An older man came to his side, admiring the pictures as well.

Robby smiled, “What gave me away?”

The man shrugged, “You have the same nervous energy as she does. Always looking for a problem to solve. I’m Frank, her father.”

Robby shook the man’s hand, “Michael. It’s great to meet you, sir.”

“So how is she?”

Robby frowned, “She’s just in the kitchen, you could ask her yourself.”

He shook his head, “No, no, she won’t want to talk to me.”

Robby looked back at the photos, “She’s good,” He said, “She’s a fantastic doctor. We’re lucky to have her.”

“I already knew that part,” He smirked, “But outside her work?”

Robby inhaled deeply, “To be honest with you, sir, I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”

Her father nodded, “Yeah, me too. I’ve been trying to figure her out ever since Benji died. Just to know if she’s okay. I’m pretty shit at it, though.” He laughed.

Robby looked back at the photos, “I am very sorry for your loss.” He paused, “Could you… tell me more about Benji? She doesn’t talk about him much, but I can tell it still weighs on her.”

The man, Frank, was silent for a moment as he looked at the photos. “Her and Benji were inseparable. They did everything together. They had the same friends, everything. Applied to all the same schools and went to the same one. You never had to worry about them because even if they never came to us, they always had each other.

We were always very busy with four kids. Never a break. And there’s this home video I think about a lot, even now. It’s Christmas morning, they’re about five or six, opening their presents. Their mother and I are helping one or both of the other boys with something. And there’s a good thirty seconds or so where she's holding a gift that she needs help opening, a doll or something, and she repeatedly calls for her mom. Over and over. She never gets upset, she’s very calm, no crying. And nobody turns. I watch it now and I can’t understand how neither of us heard her. But of course, Benji hears her, and he goes over and grabs a pair of scissors and helps her open the package. That’s how it always was with them. They didn’t need us.”

He sighed, “And then when Benji died it was… Well, it was like she went adrift and we had no idea how to even begin to try to anchor her. Benji would have. I remember her crying that day in the hospital, hysterically sobbing by the time we got there. And then never again. I never saw her cry after that. She was the one who made all the funeral arrangements, picked out his casket, picked out a plot at the cemetery. She fundraised so we didn’t have to worry about the medical bills or funeral costs. She put together slide shows and picked out music. She picked the restaurant we went to after the burial. And I don’t think any of it was because she wanted to do that. We didn’t give her much choice. Her mom and I fell apart. Neither of us could get out of bed. And I think she heard Benji calling for us, like he heard her that Christmas morning.”

He shook his head and sniffled, “Her mother doesn’t like to see it that way, but I think out of all our kids, I think we failed her. And I don’t blame her for not coming home.”

Finally, he looks at Robby, “I’m not sure why I told you all that. I guess maybe I’m hoping that you’ll figure out how to anchor her. That she won’t be lost at sea the rest of her life.”

Robby looks down at his beer bottle and sighs before looking back up at the man, “I’m sure as hell trying.”

***

“So, the new boyfriend is also a doctor?” Tommy was perched on the counter, sipping a beer. Their mother was stirring various things on the stove and shoving things in and out of the oven while shouting at people to get out of the kitchen. You were mopping up some sort of sauce from the floor and throwing out shattered pieces of glass.

“Yes.” You said, “He’s not new though, we’ve been dating for two years now.”

“Well he’s new to us because you never come home.” Your mother interjected.

You looked back down at the floor, “God, grant me the serenity,” You murmured as you threw larger pieces of glass into the trash.

“Mom’s right, you know,” Tommy said, “Ever since Benji died you basically abandoned us.”

Your hands stilled for only a moment and then you were moving again, “I was in college, and then medical school, and then residency, Tommy. What the fuck did you want me to do, drop out and wallow in my misery like the rest of you did? Let it fucking eat me alive?”

There was sweet, blissful silence, for just a moment and then— “Maybe you should have instead of acting like a goddamn robot after he died. Might’ve done you some good. Might have bonded you with the rest of your family.” Your mother said.

Oh, you were so tired of all of this. Of the criticism of every little thing you had done since Benji died, down to the way you had grieved. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I had been competing in the grief olympics.”

“Come on, Ace, she didn’t mean it like that—“ Tommy started.

“Yes she did.” You said, “Didn’t you, mom? You don’t think I grieved correctly, isn’t that right? What was it you said to me just fucking weeks after he died? ‘Do you even miss him?’”

She continued stirring, “I don’t remember it that way.”

You scoffed and returned to picked up glass, “Un-fucking-believable.”

“Ace…” Tommy said in warning.

“It’s fine, Tommy. I’m fine.” You said.

“Yes, your sister is always fine.” Your mother said, “The picture of composure, unlike her nuthouse of a family that she can’t stand to be around.”

You threw the last piece of glass into the trash harder than was necessary, “I need some air.” You murmured and then left before anyone else could say anything.

You ran into aunts and uncles and cousins on your way outside, forcing smiles and quick hugs until you hit the cold December air. You breathed in shakily as you pulled out your pack of cigarettes, lighting another.

As if he had been summoned, Robby appeared next to you, “You doing okay, Ace?”

You made a face at him, “Please don’t call me that.”

He smiled and put an arm around your shoulders, pulling you to him, “I saw some pictures of you and Benji when you were little. You were adorable, as expected.”

You hummed, cracking a small smile, “The only reason those are still up are because Benji’s in them. You’ll notice there’s no pictures up of me by myself. There’s barely any of Tommy or Luka either. It’s hard to compete for the favorite child when one of them is dead.”

Robby was quiet for a few moments and you thought you could actually hear the gears in his head turning. He took the cigarette from your hand and took a drag before handing it back to you, “I was talking to your dad, he’s very proud of you.”

“He said that?”

Robby nodded, "More or less."

You scoffed, “Well, nice of him to say it to you.”

“He’s never told you?”

You shook your head, “We’ve barely spoken since Benji. He looks at me and all he sees is the son he lost.”

“I’m sorry.” He said quietly.

You took a step away from him, “Why are you sorry? This is what you wanted, right? Why you wanted to come? So you could see up close and personal why I’m so fucked up?”

He shook his head, “Come on, don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Lash out at me after you were just vulnerable. You do this all the time. It’s fucking exhausting.”

You scoffed, “What’s exhausting is you bringing us here when I fucking told you it would be a disaster. And now, on top of everything else,” You gestured wildly to the house, “I have to walk on glass around you too in a surely doomed attempt at making you want to stay.”

He shook his head sadly, “Baby, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You want to argue, but you feel the burning in your eyes and you can’t cry right now. So you turn away from him, breathing slowly, and finish your cigarette.

The front door opens, and with it, the sound of the stereo playing Christmas music and the competing of a dozen voices to be heard over it. The sound quickly vanishes when the door closes.

“Hey, Ace, mom’s looking for you, said she needs your help with the lasagna.” It’s Luka’s voice.

You sigh, “Why the fuck is she making lasagna for a feast of fishes?”

“You know no one eats the other shit,” He puts a hand on your shoulder and squeezes, “You okay?”

You sigh heavily, frustrated that this check in from your older brother had increased the wetness in your eyes that you were actively fighting. You shrugged off his hand, “I’m fine.”

He nodded, but you knew he wasn’t convinced, “It is really good to have you home, Ace.”

You barked a laugh that sounded almost like a sob, “Don’t know why, all I do is piss off mom more than she already is.”

“She loves you,” He said quietly, “You know that.”

“Oh, fuck off, Luka.”

“What? I love you. We all love you. Hey, fuckin’ look at me, would you?” He grabbed you by the shoulders forcefully turned you, but his eyes darted to your hand and he frowned, “Are you bleeding?”

You looked at your hand that was holding the cigarette and found that you were, in fact, bleeding from a cut in your palm. You must have cut it on the glass in the kitchen when you were cleaning up.

“Ah, shit.” You sighed and put out your cigarette.

“Let me see?” Robby said instantly and reached for your hand.

You allowed it, him taking care of you even though you were capable of evaluating the wound yourself. It calmed you almost immediately, his touch as he focused on your injury.

“Do you guys have a first aid kit inside?” He asked.

Luka sighed, “Probably some bandages and rubbing alcohol, but I don’t know that you’ll find much else.”

“Robby, it’s fine, it can’t be that deep I didn’t even feel it.”

“I can’t tell with all the blood and it’s too dark out here,” He started leading you back to the house, “Come on, we’ll rinse it off and take a look.”

You rolled your eyes in Luka’s direction, who smirked and followed you both back inside.

With all the cooking going on, reentering the house felt akin to walking into a sauna. Combined with the noise level from all the shouting and music, you were instantly overwhelmed again. You allowed yourself to be led, Robby’s hand gently tugging on the wrist of your injured hand.

“I’ll go find those bandages,” Luka called out before disappearing upstairs.

Robby tugged you into the kitchen, which was the last place you wanted to be.

“Oh, finally, we’ve been looking for you—“ Your mother stopped when she saw your hand, “Well how the hell did you manage that?”

“Excuse me, Deb,” Robby said politely, “Could we use your sink?”

“Oh, of course,” She stepped out of the way and let Robby by. He turned the water on and started temperature checking it with his free hand, waiting for it to warm, “Must be nice having an emergency doctor as a boyfriend, especially for Ace, she’s such a clutz.”

You closed your eyes, “I’m an emergency medicine doctor, too, Ma.”

“Oh, but you’re just a student! You’re in your, what do they call that, when you’re practicing after med school, but not really—“

“A resident?” Robby offered.

“Yes!” Your mother snapped her fingers, “That’s it, you’re in your residency, dear.”

It was taking everything you had not to sigh. Robby pulled your hand under the water and you winced at the sting to your cut, “I finished my residency four years ago. I’m an attending now. Just like Robby.”

She was quiet for a moment, “No, that… That can’t be right. You were doing your residency at PTMC—“

“Yes, and then I did a fellowship in Boston and then I came back to PTMC. As an attending.”

She frowned, “You were in Boston? You never told me that.”

Robby pulled your hand out of the water and you felt his fingers near the wound again.

“Yes, I did. You just don’t listen to me unless it’s something that pertains to you.”

The room got quiet. Robby turned off the water.

Your mother laughed, breaking the silence, and poured herself another glass of wine, “Well, anywho, it must be nice to have someone to look after you. You were so clumsy as a kid!”

“Was she?” Robby asked, still laser focused on your wound, he was applying pressure with some paper towels. Luka had returned with supplies.

“Oh, yes! One time, I remember, she was helping set the table. She picked up this beautiful eggplant parmesan I had made, fresh out of the oven with her bare hands! And immediately dropped it, of course. Burned her hands. Whole dish shattered and cut her up. She has the cutest little scar on her leg.”

You almost laughed and you found the silence of your brothers very telling. Robby was wrapping gauze around your palm now, having cleaned out the wound, “You’ll need stitches, but I can do them later tonight. I have a suture kit at home.” He said quietly.

But you barely heard him over the roaring in your ears.

“That’s not how I remember it.” You said, deathly quiet and calm.

“What?” Your mother said, smile still on her face.

“The cut on my leg, that’s not how it happened.”

“Ace…” You heard Luka behind you, the warning clear in his voice.

“Oh, fuck you, Luka. I know you know it too you were there.”

Your mother laughed, “Well, what happened then, hm? Enlighten us.”

Tommy was shaking his head at you from behind your mother. Please, don’t. It said.

But you were so fucking tired of it all. The disappointment, the subtle jabs disguised as teasing, the rewriting of history.

You picked up Robby’s beer from the counter behind him and took a long drink, “What I remember is that you and dad were fighting and I said something that pissed you off, similar to most things I’ve said tonight, and as I was walking away, you flung the eggplant parmesan in my direction. When it shattered, the glass ricocheted off the floor and cut me, which is why the scar is on the back of my leg. Not the front.”

Tommy hung his head behind your mom. Nobody else moved, but you thought you could feel the tension radiating off Luka just behind you.

But after a few moments, your mother laughed, loudly. The sound was grating and you nearly winced. “You always did have such a wild imagination, you and Benji both.”

“I didn’t imagine it, that’s how it happened.”

“What was it that Benji used to say? Oh, that kid was so clever. He used to joke that if you weren’t so good at science you’d be a New York Times Bestseller with all the crazy stories you came up with!”

Your mother laughed more loudly this time, but everyone else in the room was quiet.

“Well, it’s too bad Benji’s not here.” You said coolly.

Your mother’s laugh died out. The only sound was of the range hood and the Christmas carols that were still blasting from the living room.

“And whose fault is that?” She said viciously.

In a way, it felt like a relief to hear her say it. All these years, you knew she blamed you. Probably resented that it was you who was with him when he went. She almost definitely wished it was you who was dead and not him. Well, she could get in line.

But mostly, you felt as though you couldn’t breathe. Your brothers were yelling around you, but you had no idea what they were saying. Robby had carefully placed himself in front of you. You thought maybe he was trying to break up the yelling. In another lifetime, perhaps, you would have found it funny that he was trying to break up a fight in your childhood home the same way he would break one up in the ER.

Quietly, you slipped away, passing your father in the hallway who called after you. Likely to ask you what the fuck was going on in the kitchen.

But you passed without a word and headed up the stairs.

Second door on the left, you could have found it with your eyes closed. The door creaked when you opened it, as it always had.

Closing it behind you, you reveled in the quiet first. The rest of the house was muffled from up here.

You trailed your fingers over the dusty sports trophies on their shelves, the CDs in a pile by the stereo.

You laid down on the navy blue bed that still, impossibly, smelt like him and stared at the popcorn ceiling. Glow in the dark stars stuck there. He had tried to pry many of them off when they became teenagers, but he could never get them all. Remnants of glue still stuck to the ceiling.

“I don’t understand why you have to fight with her so much.” Benji’s voice echoed in your head, “It’s easier to just placate her. We’ll be out of here soon anyway.”

“You don’t understand,” You had said through tears, “I’m the only girl. She has astronomically higher standards for me than she does for you. Or Luka or Tommy.”

“What does it matter?” He said, “Look, you’re way smarter than any of the rest of us. You’re going to get everything you’ve ever wanted, not because of her, but despite her.”

You shook your head, “And what if all I’ve ever wanted is for her to be proud of me? To be enough, just once?”

Benji had sighed and rested his head on yours, “Then I’ll be so stupid proud of you that you won’t even notice she’s not.”

Silent tears rolled down your face into your ears as you recalled the memory. You took his pillow and pressed it over your face.

***

Robby was beginning to understand it, now. Why you had been so afraid of bringing him here, of letting him in. He had thought all of it had been wrapped up in the grief of losing your brother, your twin, but this was clearly heaps and bounds more complicated than that.

He had expected maybe some tension and small tiffs, he had not expected learning that you were likely emotionally neglected as a child at best and physically abused at worst. He hadn’t expected to hear your mother outright blame you for your brother’s death. And he hadn’t expected to have to physically insert himself between you and your family for fear of a fight breaking out.

“Hey, that’s enough!” Robby shouted over the yelling, and they all turned to look at him in shock. But they were quiet, “What the fuck?” He said breathlessly, and looked straight at your mother.

“She’s fucking impossible, sometimes.” Your mother said bitterly, “I’m sure you know.”

He looked behind him and noticed that you were gone. Likely you had slipped outside for some air. He turned back to your mother, “Your son had congenital heart disease, as I understand it. There was nothing anyone could have done to save him. Especially not a nineteen year old girl.”

Deb was shaking her head, “She didn’t call us until he was already gone. We didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to him because of her.”

Robby sighed and shook his head. This was a resentment that was more than a decade old. There was nothing he could say to make this better or make her see that you weren’t culpable for what happened to Benji. And it broke his heart that you had carried this for years, silently and alone. Never talking about Benji, likely because you didn’t feel you deserved to. If your own mother blamed you for the death of your twin, it was unlikely you didn’t blame yourself too.

While he was talking to your mother, Luka had swiftly left the room. He heard the sound of the front door opening and shutting, and then Luka was back.

“She’s not outside.” Luka said to Robby.

“Where else would she go?”

Tommy and Luka shared a look, Robby looked to and from both of them, “What?” He asked, impatiently.

“Benji’s room.” Luka said, quietly, “She’s probably with Benji. Upstairs, second door on the left.”

Robby nodded, “Thank you.” And headed up the stairs.

***

There was a knock at the door and you removed the pillow from your face. You weren’t sure you wanted anyone else to know you were in here, but judging by the quiet knock and the absence of someone yelling at you, you suspected it was Robby. Still, you hesitated.

“It’s me,” He said finally, “Can I come in, please?”

You sat up and put Benji’s pillow in your lap, “It’s open.”

You watched Robby enter the room, looking around first, before looking to you. You looked a bit like a vulnerable child in here, sitting on the tiny twin bed and legs crossed in front of you. Your eyes were bloodshot and your cheeks glistened wet with tears.

And when your eyes locked onto his, your face crumpled.

He pulled you into his arms immediately and was shocked when you didn’t push him away, but pulled him closer. He didn’t say anything, but rocked you gently and kissed your hair until you quieted.

“I would hope this would go without saying, but your mother was way fucking out of line.” He tightened his arms around you slightly, “But I know you and your tendency to blame yourself. I’ve watched you do it since you were just an intern. And so I wonder if all these years you had thought it was your fault and your mother repeating it back to you almost felt affirming.”

You didn’t say anything for a few moments, focusing on getting your breathing under control. You knew you had to have this conversation with Robby, there was no way to get out of it without losing him. He had seen everything you were so afraid of him seeing, and still he had come up here and held you. He hadn’t shied away from any of it.

“I know that rationally, there was nothing I could have done. But it doesn’t really make a difference. What if I had run a little faster? What if I had been CPR certified when he collapsed? What if—?”

“You’ll kill yourself thinking like that. You were nineteen. You were just a kid.”

“So was he. And every fucking birthday I’m reminded of how much he was shorted.”

Robby’s quiet for a moment, running a hand through your hair and gently wiping the tears from your cheeks, “How do you think Benji would feel if he knew you’d been carrying this around for fifteen years? That you never celebrate your shared birthday because you’re too busy playing the what if game?”

You looked around his room and sniffled, “He’d probably tell me I sound like our mom making everything about me and to get a fucking grip.”

Robby chuckled, “I think I would’ve liked your brother.”

You hiccuped and looked up at Robby, a sad smile on your face, “He would’ve liked you, too.”

He cupped your face in his hands and gently kissed you. The taste and smell of him was so familiar and comforting to you, you were sure your heart rate must have slowed back to normal rhythm while he kissed you.

When he pulled away, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, “I think we can get out of here now, what do you say?”

You balked, “Seriously?”

He nodded, “Yeah, is Chili’s open on Christmas Eve? I think you’ve earned a five dollar margarita.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s Happy Hour anymore, but it’s the thought that counts.” You laughed, “You’re sure? You were really adamant about coming here.”

“Yes,” He nodded, “and it resulted in you smoking, slicing your hand open, shotgunning at least four beers, and hysterically crying all in under two hours. Not to mention, I’m not going to force you to be polite to your mother after she blamed you for Benji in front of everyone.” He sighed, “I wanted you to let me in and you have. I’m sorry that I pushed so hard, I didn’t think—“

“No, it’s okay. You were right. I would’ve just kept pushing you away and then I would’ve lost you. So thank you, for pushing.” You took a deep shaky breath, “I’ve never spoken to anyone about Benji dying, what it felt like. Not even my brothers. I was always afraid it would be… too much.”

Robby shook his head and pressed more kisses to the side of your face, “Not too much. Never too much. I’m honored to know you, every piece.”

You inhaled shakily, “Well, you ready to go tell them we’re leaving?”

He allowed you to climb out of his arms and rise to standing, “I have no issue telling them exactly why we’re leaving. I don’t think it’ll come as much of a surprise.”

You huffed a laugh, “Yeah, well, you underestimate my mother’s ability to gaslight and manipulate, then.”

Sure enough, as they went downstairs to gather their coats and things, your mother waxed poetic about all the food she had made that would go to waste and how she never got to see you and how could you leave so early?

You had warned him, but Robby was still shocked at the way your mother pretended to have no idea why you could be leaving. To position herself as the victim in this scenario. She hadn’t even tried to apologize since you had padded back down the stairs.

“Thank you for inviting us, Deb, but it’s pretty clear that there’s a lot of open hostility between the two of you that is not conducive to the holiday spirit.” He grabbed your coat and helped you into it, rubbing down your arms soothingly once it was on, “I’d rather not see a physical fight break out between my girlfriend and her mother on Christmas Eve.”

Your mother looked at him incredulously, “Are you talking about earlier?” She laughed and playfully patted your arm, “Oh, that was nothing. We have little tiffs like that all the time. Or we used to, when she made time for us. Isn’t that right, Ace?”

You were staring silently at a spot on the wall and Robby noted that it seemed like you were dissociating. The more minutes that passed, the worse he felt for forcing you to come here, “If that was ‘nothing’ to you, then that just affirms my decision to remove us from the circus,” Robby said, forcing a smile and reaching behind the two of you to open the front door, “I would say it was lovely meeting you, but I’m not a very good liar.”

Once outside in the frigid night air, you immediately fished out your pack of cigarettes. Robby decided once you were home, he would toss them in the trash. Maybe buy the both of you a pack of nicotine gum for the foreseeable future. Just that one drag earlier coupled with the hectic nature of your childhood home had him craving a smoke.

“Hey, Robby!” It was one of your brothers who ran out of the house after the two of you. The older one, Luka, if his memory served him correctly.

He looked over Robby’s shoulder at you, lighting a cigarette, before focusing his attention back on Robby, “I just, um, wanted to say thank you for having Ace’s back in there.” He said softly, “I wish it was me who had the backbone to stand up for her.” Luka’s eyes shone with unshed tears in the moonlight, “Benji always took care of her and I think all the time how disappointed he would be that I don’t. It’s hard, with how our mother is to… to stand up to her sometimes. It’s stupid, I’m an adult now, but. She’s still my mom.”

He sighed heavily, “Anyway, sorry, I’m rambling, I just… Ace has brought a lot of men home over the years. Never more than once. They tend to disappear after seeing what a mess we all are. None of them ever had her back like that so I hope you stick around.” Luka smiled then and clapped Robby on the back, “Take care of my baby sister, please?”

Robby nodded and gave Luka a small smile, “Of course.”

Luka nodded back and then walked towards you, still smoking a cigarette a healthy distance away, “Hey.” He said softly.

“Hi,” You said as you exhaled cloud of smoke.

“I’m sorry about what mom said. She didn’t mean it, she’s drunk—“

“Don’t defend her.”

“I’m not.” Luka sighed and scratched his head, “Fuck, I don’t know, maybe I am. Whatever. The point is, it’s not fuckin’ true. Any of it. You did your best when Benji died, we all did. You were just a fuckin’ kid who took on way more than you should have. And I’m sorry that I never helped lessen the burden. I should have. As your older brother, I should have protected you.”

At this, you looked up at him and gave him a watery smile, “Thanks, Luka. But just so you know, I never blamed you or Tommy. For any of it.”

“I know.” He said, and pulled you into a one armed hug, kissing the top of your head, “Let him take care of you. Robby. You deserve to be taken care of for once.”

A tear slid onto your cheek, “Okay.”

He released you and started backing away from both you and Robby, “See you next year?”

At that, you laughed, “Only if you’re paying for my therapy bills.”

He laughed and then waved before turning back towards the house, hands in his pockets.

***

Back at Robby’s house, full of too many Southwestern Eggrolls and margaritas, you sat at his kitchen counter with your wounded hand unwrapped and cradled in both of Robby’s hands. You watched as he carefully sutured you, filled with so much tenderness for him after the night you’d had, you thought you might burst with it.

“Luka mentioned that the boyfriends you've brought home tended to leave after meeting your family.” Robby said as he worked, “Was that why you were so afraid to bring me?”

“Yeah, that was a big part of it. I also just didn’t think I was ready for you to see all of me, like that.”

He finished up the last suture and cut the excess. Then began wrapping your hand again. “You know, when you first started your residency, I used to talk with Adamson about how you were the only resident I ever met who never, ever seemed phased by anything that happened in the ER. You never had that adjustment period everyone else has, of figuring out how to adapt to the chaos. You operated like the chaos was all you’d ever known. I wish I could tell him that I finally figured out why.”

You chuckled at that, “I think he knew, actually.”

Robby looked up at you, “Really?”

You nodded slowly, “Well, I had to tell him about Benji when the anniversary came up so that I wouldn’t be scheduled that day. But, early in my residency, there was one day I kept getting repeated calls from my mother. He overheard when I picked it up. I don’t even remember what she was upset about, just that I had to spend a few minutes talking her down from the ledge. The way a parent would to a child. And when I hung up, he said he didn’t know I had kids.” You laughed now, recalling the memory, “Anyway, when I explained, humiliated, that it was actually my mom calling, he didn’t really say anything. But he had that look on his face, you know the one, when he’s finally solved a puzzle he’s been working on for weeks.”

Robby smiled fondly. It was lovely to see him reminisce about Adamson in a joyful way. He had had to work really hard for that, you knew. You hoped you’d get there one day yourself.

He gently patted your hand after a moment, “Well, wound is taken care of. You ready for bed?”

You yawned, “Yes, please.”

You crawled into sheets that smelt like Robby and curled up into his side. You felt a bit silly now that you had ever been afraid of him meeting your family. You had watched him manage an emergency room for years, near flawlessly. To him, your mother was just another irritable patient. And he was really, really good at managing irritable patients.

“Thank you,” You said softly into the dark, “For taking care of me.”

He hummed and lightly scratched at your scalp, “Of course. I’ve got you,” He murmured, “Always.”

#I fucking love this #mr fic rec #the pitt fic rec #michael Robinavitch x reader #michael Robinavitch x you #dr robby x reader #michael robby x reader #michael robby x you #the pitt x reader #the pitt x you #q

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honeysrecs · 26 days ago

Text

All that glitters

parings. jack abbot x nurse!reader

summary. jack isn't a materialistic man, and you try your best not to be spoiled—but when your man gets flirted with, maybe it's time to flaunt the rings?

warnings. typical pitt setting, hospital drama, age gap bc i make the rules in this house (Jack late 40s, reader late 20s early 30s), secret marriage trope but the don't really try very hard to hide it, jack gets flirted with, sassy jack, reader that has hair long enough to be in a ponytail, other pitt characters, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. love love love jack and younger reader who he loves to spoil—i'll make them my mark sloan/lexie grey dream. sorta follows the stereotype of nurses getting married young with a big phat rock on their finger and reader is living her best life fr, today she's giving health icon realness! like always feedback is very much appreciated and i love all of you!

wc. 1500+

all that gleams (18+)

There were very few perks to working night shift in the ER, but your coworkers were definitely one of them. The vibe was calmer, looser. You could play music low, crack jokes in between traumas, and snack on protein bars and green juice in peace without an intern hovering at your elbow asking if this was the “bad kind of blood.”

More importantly though? You didn’t have to deal with as many junior staff mispronouncing meds or asking you if “NPO” was a hospital in another state.

Not that you were that far off from their age. You were only a few years ahead of most of them, and honestly? You didn’t always look like someone who belonged in the ER. You were the compression jacket-wearing, Pilates-going, smoothie-before-shift, electrolyte-during kind of nurse. Hair always in a claw clip, nails always clean and glossy, scrubs perfectly tailored and paired with a cute fleece half-zip. Your badge reel had glitter. Your tumbler was filled with ice water. You had a favorite lip balm and two glosses.

And somehow, you were married to Jack Abbot.

Not that most people at PTMC knew that.

Jack—hardass, sarcasm-laced, gruff-charm Abbot—wasn't exactly wearing a “taken” sign on his back. And you weren’t shouting it from the rooftops either. You both liked the privacy, liked having something all to yourselves in a place where everyone seemed to know everyone else’s business.

Still, the diamond on your finger didn’t exactly scream subtle. It was flashy. Big, clear, and set in a gold band that sparkled aggressively under the hospital’s harsh fluorescents. People noticed it. You’d caught more than one resident blinking at it mid-sentence.

Jack noticed it too, especially when you wandered over to where he stood, leaning casually against the wall near the trauma bay—arms crossed, mouth in a flat line, giving you that look he always did when you showed up a little too put together for the ER at 2 a.m.

You sipped your icy water and tapped your fingers against your cup. “Slow night.”

He didn’t even glance at you. “You trying to get us all booked?”

“Oh come on, I didn’t say the actual Q-word.”

“You said ‘slow night,’ which is the Q-word’s passive-aggressive cousin. We’re totally fucked now, hope you’re happy.”

You smiled sweetly, resting an elbow on the nearby table. “I brought chia pudding for later. Want one?”

He side-eyed you. “I don’t even know what the hell that is.”

“It’s gut healthy, Jack. There’s fruit in it too,”

“I don’t trust anything that you find on TikTok.”

You giggled, which only made him more suspicious. Jack’s gaze dipped to your hand as you fiddled with the straw in your drink, the ring practically glowing.

“You’re really wearing that thing tonight?”

You blinked innocently. “What, this old thing?”

He snorted. “You know it’s blinding under these lights, right? Someone’s gonna seize just from the glare.”

“Well then I’m technically doing my job,” you said, smiling. “Keeping you on your toes.”

“You’re gonna give the interns a complex. They think you’re single, you know.”

Your eyes widend in fake horror. “You don’t think I’m flirting with anyone, do you? Frank gets really chatty before he leaves for the night,”

He raised an eyebrow. “With how much you like to bug me, I wouldn’t have noticed.”

“That’s rich coming from you, you like to hover too.”

“I do not.”

“You do.”

Jack tilted his head. “Okay. A little. I’m just makin’ sure my girl’s all good.”

You gave him a light shove and took another sip of your water, just in time to hear the trauma pager start going off.

MVC. ETA six minutes.

Jack stood up straighter like someone flipped a switch, already reaching for gloves. You grabbed your own pair from your pocket, gently removing your ring and placing it onto the accompanying chain around your neck. It’s something you and Jack had agreed to when it came to your wedding rings, minimal gore around them—”up or off” he liked to call it. He had his own of course, though most of the time he just kept his ring on the necklace while at work.

You started bouncing lightly on your toes to get the blood flowing, not having had any action in the time since you had arrived.

“Try not to trip over your own sparkle out there,” he muttered.

You gave him your sweetest smile. “You love it.”

He looked at you for a beat longer than he needed to. “Unfortunately.”

Unfortunately, your ass—he picked that ring out himself.

As the trauma team assembled, you took your place beside him, the two of you syncing without needing to speak. He passed you a gown without asking. You tied the back of his before he even turned around.

If anyone noticed how in step you were, they didn’t say anything.

Jack’s hand brushed against yours as you moved into the trauma bay, just long enough for you to know he saw you. Always did.

After your first success of the night, the adrenaline had faded from the area like mist burning off in Pitsburgh morning light. You were perched back at the nurses' station, sipping from your oversized pink tumbler once again and tapping notes into the EMR system, your high ponytail somehow still intact after the trauma call. You’d already changed into your backup hoodie, the pale blue one that matched your compression socks.

A little style, a little lip gloss, and a whole lot of not here for nonsense.

Things had quieted enough for Jack to finally emerge from the trauma bay, only for him to be flagged almost immediately by a patient coming in from the waiting room. She was maybe late twenties, long hair, fresh manicure, a barely-there scrape above her brow. Her chart said “fall on concrete.” Her strappy heels said, fall caused by attention-seeking behavior.

You glanced up briefly, watching Jack walk her to a curtained bay. She was smiling too much. Laughing too loud. He was wearing that look—the one he got when he knew a situation would be annoying and had already mentally detached from it.

“I swear,” the patient was saying, voice high and sweet, “every time I wear these I end up in trouble. Guess that teaches me for wanting to be cute on a Wednesday night.”

Jack didn’t even blink. “Sounds like unfortunate planning.”

You tried not to smirk, eyes drifting back to your screen, but your ears stayed tuned.

Inside the curtain bay, the flirting only ramped up.

“You’ve got great hands,” she continued. “Like, really strong—Are you a surgeon or something?”

“Or something,” he muttered, clearly already regretting every life choice that led to this moment.

A moment later, you stood, casually collecting a folder from the rack. You strolled over, your walk unbothered, the slight shimmer of your clear gloss catching in the overhead light. You didn’t need to announce anything. You just stepped in like you belonged there—because in reality you didn’t.

“Oh—sorry, just grabbing this,” you said lightly, nodding toward the folder tucked on the side cart.

Jack’s eyes flicked to you briefly, then away. But that flicker said a lot. You were his safety net, his distraction, his gentle way out.

The patient looked between you and Jack, then caught sight of his chain. His ring where it should be—resting loosely around his neck, the soft shine of the gold band catching the overhead lights like a quiet announcement.

She blinked. “Oh... You’re married?”

Jack didn’t miss a beat. “I am.”

You turned just slightly, giving a small, polite smile. “He’s got great hands, right? They open all my jars and everything." shifting your own necklaces ever so slightly to show off your own ring.

The patient made a noncommittal noise. You gave Jack a subtle tap on the arm—nothing big, nothing dramatic—and slipped out without another word.

Back at the nurses’ station, Dr. Shen had just walked up, sipping his Dunkin’ coffee and looking comfortable as ever. He glanced at you, then at Jack still behind the curtain.

“New patient?” He asked.

“Minor trauma,” you replied, eyes still on your chart. “Potential for eye strain, though. A lot of eyelash batting happening in there.”

Shen raised one brow. “You jealous?”

You gave a soft laugh, sliding your tumbler closer. “Nope. Just observational.”

Jack appeared a second later, walking past with his usual quiet swagger and that look of can everyone please just not say something dumb, but paused near Shen.

“Patient’s stable. Probably fine to discharge with wound care instructions and a lesson on appropriate footwear.”

Shen nodded. “Noted.”

As Jack passed you, he muttered, “You know that folder wasn’t yours, right?”

You didn’t look up. “You’re welcome.”

He leaned in slightly, dropping his voice. “You’re ridiculous.”

You smiled, too sweet. “She was hitting on you.”

“I noticed.”

“She said you have surgeon hands.”

“I noticed.”

You leaned into him just enough for your perfume to tickle his nose. “You do, you know. Big, capable. Very sexy.”

“Don’t weaponize nice compliments.”

You grinned and rested your cheek on his arm for a beat. “You’re just mad you’re the one getting teased.”

He shook his head with a sigh, then mumbled under his breath, “Married a menace in $98 leggings, and I’m the one being told off.”

And you didn’t even argue—because you absolutely are… and you did buy the leggings in two colors.

mercvry-glow 2025

#something about this scratches my brain and I LOVE IT #jack abbot fic rec #ja fic rec #the pitt fic rec #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x you #the pitt x reader #the pitt x you #q

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honeysrecs · 27 days ago

Text

MDNI means MDNI.

it doesn’t mean “16-17 year olds are welcome”. literally fuck off

#AHEM #q

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honeysrecs · 27 days ago

Text

TWO HEADS ARE BETTER THAN ONE...

PAIR⁀➷ dr. jack abbot x fem!reader x dr. michael robinavitch

WC⁀➷ 3.9k+

CONTAINS⁀➷ 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, threesome (i know that's right), dub-con themes because you're drunk, dirty talk, p in v, drunk sex, vaginal fingering, teasing, so much porn, so little plot, age-gap, reader is in her late 20s and jack and robby are... how old they are..., unprotected sex (they would never, but i certainly would), alcohol consumption, multiple orgasms happening simultaneously, slight weird vibes, but we persevere, ooc i fear, but still hot, power imbalance (they're attendings and you’re a resident,) & no use of y/n.

ANON ASKED⁀➷ hi bb! could we pretty please get a robbyxabbbtxyou where the boys take you home after the monthly resident bar crawl. they both wanna make sure you get home safe, but all bets are off when they get in your apartment...

AUTHOR'S NOTE⁀➷ i love you anon... thank you for making my dreams of this two man come to life. you’re a real one! i actually need these men carnivorously and also like why have one when you could have two? anyways, enjoy this horny mess!

Jack and Robby take such good care of their best resident...

The small bar, the third one of the night, felt sweltering, with bodies dancing and sweating, creating a foggy atmosphere.

The music was deafening, and the floors were slightly sticky from what you assumed were remnants of spilled beer and forgotten shots.

Your head was pounding, and you could feel the blood rushing through your veins as you sat on the edge of the booth next to Frank, across from Samira and Mel. The cool leather of the seat offered some comfort as your fingers curled around its edge.

It was perfect.

"Safe to say, I'm a god," Frank said confidently, taking a sip of his beer. He winced when you elbowed his side, and you rolled your eyes at him.

"Might want to wipe the spit off your chin from sucking your own balls, Frank," you commented, watching as Samira and Mel burst into laughter.

"Ha, ha. So hilarious," Frank replied sarcastically, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head from side to side with mock laughter. He then looked around the room, scanning it clearly for someone. "Where the hell are Robby and Abbot? I'm outnumbered here," he sighed.

“I didn’t know they were coming,” you say through a fit of laughter that makes Samira giggle.

“They said they were,” Frank shrugs as his lip quips at your apparent drunkenness. “Sober up, will you. They’ll get mad at me for letting their favorite resident get shit-faced,” he gruffs.

You cock a brow, face warm. “Shut up. I am not their favorite,” you protest, unable to believe it.

Frank lets out a chuckle. “You definitely are,” he says, adding a touch of humor.

“Frank, you are full of shit,” you retort, pushing his shoulder in.

He looks across the table. “Samira? Mel? Care to chime in?”

You look at them, eyes hazy, to see an awkward smile grow on Samira’s face while Mel avoids eye contact. “Is it true?”

Samira tries to evade the question before Frank urges her. “Yeah… I’d say so.”

You narrow your eyes in thought, trying to adjust to the bright lights hanging above you and look at Mel. “Mel?”

She avoids your gaze, focusing instead on the ketchup bottle on the table. “Look, there are five grams of sugar in a single serving of this ketchup,” she remarks while reading the label.

“Mel?” you prompt, hoping to steer the conversation back to the original topic.

She sets the bottle down with a slight huff. “Frank’s… right.”

“It’s not a negative,” Samira assures you, her voice calm and soothing. “Just an observation.”

You don't know how to express that you didn't take it negatively.

In fact, you wanted it to be true.

Jack and Robby were two of the most experienced and exceptional doctors you had ever encountered. Each of them possessed a unique set of distinguishable qualities and strengths.

It didn't hurt that they were also among the most attractive doctors you had ever met.

You often heard the new interns and nurses gush about them, and the idea that they might favor you over the other residents sent a thrilling chill down your spine, even with the alcohol coursing through your system.

"Robby, Jack! Over here," Frank called out, gesturing his hand out to signal them to come over to you all.

You look up to see them approaching, and you could vomit, and not just from the alcohol.

"Be right back. Restroom," your words are slightly slurred as you stumble up and to the bathroom.

Once you reach the single bathroom, lock the door behind you before stumbling further into the room. You opt to lean against the inside wall, gently sliding down it to sink onto the ground, your skin blistering to the touch.

You don't know what's come over you.

Your thoughts are a jumble, unable to form a coherent train of thought, and you're fixated on Jack and Robby.

The new revelation of being their favorite doing more to your psyche than you’d like to admit.

You hear a faint knock on the bathroom door across the dimly lit room, the sound echoing off the walls. With a sigh and determination, you stand, almost tripping over nothing as you head to the wooden door, carefully unlocking the door before pulling it open to see Robby.

“Robby?” you ask, voice hoarse.

“Came to check on you,” he shrugs, observing your dilated pupils and disheveled hair.

You take a gulp, your vulnerability palpable. “I’m… I’m alright.”

“You look drunk,” he shakes his head, raising his brows knowingly.

“We’re at a bar,” you say. “What the hell else am I supposed to be?”

“Safe, for one,” his eyes flick between yours. “How much did you drink?”

You roll your eyes with an irritated sigh; your frustration is evident. “Not enough, apparently.”

"Are you upset?" he prompts lightly before his eyes go dark. "Did something happen?"

"No," you immediately assure, feeling slightly embarrassed. "It's… nothing," you shake your head fervently. "God, I need another drink," you try to take another step past him before you trip over nothing. His arms reach around you with ease, helping you stand.

"Yeah, no. You’re going home and going to bed," he gruffs, gripping you tighter.

"I'm off the clock, Robby," you slur, trying to escape his grasp. "I'm not yours to boss around."

"What's going on?" Jack's voice comes from around the corner.

Of course.

When one lingers, you can count on the other being shortly behind.

"I would like you to get home in one piece, so right now, you are," Robby says with frustration as he holds you still.

You shake your head, feeling your head spin, which makes you think he's definitely right, but you would never give the satisfaction. You manage to shake out of his grasp, attempting to go back around the corner before Jack's hand comes out to gently grab your forearm as you slump against him.

"Come on, just listen to him, kid," he tilts his head to the side.

"Oh… Jack," you look up at him. "Do you ever get tired of riding Robby's dick?"

“It’s good exercise,” he mutters, curious eyes boring into your stubborn ones. He wanted to catch you off guard and keep you on your toes. He levels with you now that he has your attention. “Now listen, stubborn,” he starts, eyes flicking, between yours. “Let us take you home. Make sure you’re safe. Get you to that bed, yeah?” He nods as he speaks, eyebrows raising.

You nod in agreement after a moment, too drunk and tired to put up a bigger fight you know you’d lose. Plus, his offer of your bed sounded too enticing to pass up.

“Can you walk for us?” Robby questions, reaching for your other hand to try and steady you.

“I think I might break my nose if I tried,” you breathe out, grasping Robby’s hand with your own, not bothering to acknowledge the swarm of butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

“Easy steps,” Robby mumbles as you move off of Jack to stand by yourself.

You grab Jack’s hand with your other hand and take a step forward. “Atta girl,” Jack praises, which makes your skin burn up even hotter. “Let’s get you to the car.” You nod, taking small steps until you manage to make it around the corner until you reach Frank, Samira, and Mel.

“We’re taking her home,” Robby raises his brow, which makes Frank’s lip quip.

“My purse,” you murmur as you rest your cheek against Jack’s arm.

Before Robby has to ask, Samira hands over your purse, which he holds with the tips of his fingers. They issue their goodbyes, and you manage to mumble a goodbye of your own before they haul you to the door to leave.

"See, I told you!" Frank yells as Jack pushes open the door for you to step through.

You roll your eyes, but you can't help the cheeky smile that spreads across your face as you feel the warmth from their helpful gestures.

It got worse when you finally settled into the car, and Robby leaned over your lap, pressing into your lower stomach to secure your seatbelt.

You felt a deep ache from where he had laid on you the entire drive home.

You craved more—a taste of what your body throbbed for, what it pleaded for.

A voracious hunger within you that couldn't be satisfied by just one touch.

“You’re both just… going to leave,” you mumble as Jack gets your front door open with the key you handed him, and you lean against Robby for stability.

“That’s the plan,” Jack mumbles before an irritated sigh slips through his mouth at the key in the keyhole, which seems to be stuck. “Jesus. This fucking door. I’ll come by tomorrow to fix this,” he says with intent, giving the key a hard twist, making it unlock before pushing it open.

Your heart sinks as it opens, already feeling the loneliness consume you which makes you sober up slightly. “Wait. I just, ah, remembered my sink has been giving me problems,” you say quickly as Jack turns around. “Do you guys mind checking it out?” Your eyes flick between them as they glance at each other. “Pretty please?”

Robby gazes down at you, his resolve wavering. He looks up and nods towards Jack, a silent command for him to enter. Jack complies, swinging the door open wide, allowing Robby to slip inside with you by his side.

“Which sink?” Jack asks once Robby slips you down on your couch.

You sit up, your face a mix of surprise and confusion. “What?”

Jack’s eyebrow arches. “You said there was a problem with your sink? Which one is it?”

Your mouth drops open a little in remembrance. “Oh. Shit. Yeah, sorry. Uh, the kitchen one,” you hurriedly say, hoping he doesn’t see the crack in your facade.

He nods, moving towards it.

You’re not sure what you’ll say when he doesn’t find any problems, but you’re hoping you’ll have them both in bed before then.

"So… that was some bar crawl, huh?" you chuckle, trying to break the silence with a playful jab.

"Didn't really get to enjoy it because we had to drag your ass out of the one bar we could make it to," Robby gruffs, though his tone carries a hint of amusement.

You look back at him, his hands over his chest, as Jack kneels to look under the sink. "I'm excellent company," you assure, putting your hand over your chest. "Plus, a little birdie told me I was both of your guys' favorite resident," you lay your cheek on your arm, pressed onto the top of the couch, still looking at him. "So it couldn't have been that bad."

Jack lets out a deep chuckle, his voice echoing in the cabinet. "Yeah? Who told you that?"

"A little birdie," you confirm, a mischievous glint in your eye as you look at Robby, unwilling to reveal who told you, adding to the mystery. “Am I your favorite, Robby?”

“Don’t answer that, Robby. It’s a trap,” Jack snickers, still occupied with the pipes under the sink, unaware that you have moved from off the couch and now stand in front of Robby, leaning against the sofa, a seductive edge in your tone.

“I… you’re an excellent doctor,” Robby tries to keep his tone steady.

“Yeah… I think you’re a good doctor, too. One of my favorites,” you move forward, seeing his brown eyes widen in surprise, and yet he doesn’t step away from you, his breath catching in his throat instead.

“Rude,” Jack voices, moving to stand up, finally facing you and Robby. He tilts his head back as he sees you so close to Robby. “What about… me?” He finishes his sentence, his mouth dry.

“I said one of my favorites. You’re my other favorite. I would never leave you out, Jack,” you assure, flicking your finger across Robby’s chest, a mischievous glint in your eye as you playfully tease Jack.

Jack crosses his arms over his chest, rocking on his heels. "What kind of game are you playing?" His voice is rough, lower than usual.

You throw your hands up, neglecting the spin of your head as you let go of Robby. "No game," you say honestly. "Just… thinking."

"Thinking about what?" he asks, watching a drunken smirk play on your lips as you glance at Robby in front of you.

You purse your lips, tilting your head towards Jack and then to Robby. "You boys ever share?"

"What are you getting at?" Jack narrows his eyes.

"I think you should stay… both of you," you lick your lips.

"You're drunk," Robby finally voices, his tone a mix of concern and frustration.

"You think I wouldn't fuck you sober?" You laugh. "The alcohol just gives me more courage.”

"We're your superiors," Jack shakes his head, his voice carrying a weight of responsibility. "This is messy territory."

"Nothing's fun unless you get a little dirty," you say, flicking your nail across Robby's chest again, making him shudder. "Isn’t that right, Robby?"

Robby's eyes drift to your glistening lips; you only pull your eyes away from him to look at Jack, his voice echoing around the room.

“Both got scrubs older than you, sweetheart,” Jack reasons, though you can see a slight crack in his resolve.

“Is it supposed to deter me?” You prompt, edging close to where he stands. “Because that just makes you both even sexier in my book,” you stand toe to toe with him, so close he could smell the sweet wine coming off your breath.

“This is inappropriate,” Jack mutters, his voice a low whisper as his eyes flick to your tongue, licking your lips.

You lean in closer to him, hovering your lips over his ear. “Tell me to stop, Jack,” you begin, your hot breath fanning across his skin. “Tell me you don’t want a taste of me,” your tongue darts to run across the helix. “Or a feel of me squirming on your cock,” your hand drifts to rest on his erect cock confined by his jeans. “If you don’t want it… tell me.”

Jack’s head lulls back at your touch as he releases a shallow breath.

“The poor girl is starving, Jack,” Robby mumbles from where he stands. “Don’t leave her hungry,” he tilts his head back, eyes hanging lazily when you look over your shoulder at him.

You turn to face Jack, and before you can speak, he leans in, pressing a deep kiss to your lips, his frustration rolling off him in sheets. You can feel his body close to yours, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours.

He’s hungry, too.

“Knew you needed it, Jackie,” you mumble into his lips. His hands move to grip the fat of your hips, his lips humming against yours with an intensity you yearned for.

You can hear Robby release a sharp breath before you hear his steps on the vinyl edging, closing in closer and closer until he stands behind you. His fingers move across your neck, fanning the hair away so he can press his lips to your skin.

“Taste so sweet,” Robby mutters into your skin as his tongue skims across your flesh, leaving a strip of saliva in its wake. You shiver at the feeling as Jack nips at your lips, coaxing your mouth to open.

Jack’s tongue slips into your mouth, prompting a small whimper to escape your mouth as he lets out a groan at the taste of the sweet liquor coating your tongue. “Mhm. He’s right. Taste so sweet,” Jack gruffs, hands greedily pressing into your lower thigh.

“Should we… move this to my room?” you ask, as Jack’s hand massages one thigh and Robby massages the other.

Robby pats your thigh lightly. “Lead the way, baby.”

It takes everything in you to pull away, but you do only because you know the reward that lies just ahead. You fidget with your fingers as you walk through the hall and shove open your bedroom door, Jack and Robby hot on your heels.

“Cute,” Jack comments as he sees various knick-knacks and trinkets displayed all around your room. He moves over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “You’re sure about this?”

“I am,” you bend up to press a sweet kiss to his lips. “I need you both.”

Jack lets out a dry laugh, holding you tighter. “Greedy girl.”

Robby slides behind you, eyeing Jack. “You heard the girl, Abbot,” his hands slide down your back before he squeezes your ass. “She needs us.”

You release a shallow moan that makes Jack’s pupils dilate. “Need it now, Jack,” you moan as Robby’s hand moves up to grope your breast. Instantly, Jack surges forward, his hand gripping your chin to kiss you needily before he walks backward, his hands still on you, to the edge of your bed, where he sits.

You stand in between his legs with Robby to your side. You pull away slightly, but Jack’s fingers find your belt loops on the front of your denim shorts, pulling you back towards him. “You come on me, yeah?” His voice is low, rumbling.

You can feel warm arousal already pooling between your thighs at his command, a soft swirl of your stomach as you nod. He shakes his head, unsatisfied. “Use your words,” he says, fingers tight around your belt loops.

“Yes,” your voice comes out as a strained moan.

He nods along, glancing at Robby. “You want to get her ready, or should I?”

“You do it, Abbot. She’s taking a liking to your theatrics,” the rumbling laugh Robby lets out shoots straight to your core. “Aren’t you, sweetheart?” he asks, moving behind you, his breath fanning across your neck. “Can see you squeezing your thighs every time he breathes. You got it bad for him, huh?” His lips press against your skin as your head rolls to the side, giving him more access.

“You got it bad for me?” Jack teases, fingers moving to unbutton your denim shorts, slipping them down with ease. “Think Robby’s got it bad for you.”

“How could I not?” Robby mumbles, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt before he slips it off your head. “Good God, look at you. So fuckin’ perfect,” he curses as he leans over you to get a look at you.

“Robby, you were right. She’s fuckin’ soaked,” Jack’s fingers drag across the wet spot already formed in your panties.

“Jack,” you mewled, body aching forward at his touch.

Jack tilts his head back cockily. “You like that?” He sucks his teeth before his fingers press back into you.

“Fuck, yes,” you brace your hand on Jack’s shoulder, reaching behind you to grab Robby’s hand to rest it on your stomach.

Jack gives you a lazy smile, pulling your panties down with a swipe, leaving you bare. “Barely touched you, and you’re glistening,” Jack remarks, catching Robby’s eyes as he presses his fingers into your soaked cunt.

You squirm on his fingers, cursing Jack when he pulls them out.

Robby runs his fingers up your stomach before picking his hand up to brush his fingers against your pouting lips. “Don’t torture the poor girl, Jack.”

Jack’s lip quips quickly, brushing your arousal, his finger on his jeans before he slips them down, along with his boxers, making his cock spring up. “Turn around,” he instructs, giving himself a nice tuck.

You oblige, Robby’s hand moving down to rest back on your stomach, helping you spin around. Jack pulls you back, slipping his fingers across your slit from behind, making you arch towards Robby. “Open up for me, sweetheart,” Jack mutters, beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he nudges himself into your slit.

He hisses as you sink down on him and lets out a loud moan, gripping Robby’s shoulders for support. “You alright?” Jack asks, gripping your waist tight.

“Yes,” you choke out, turning your head to rest on your shoulder to look at him.

“Don’t look at me. Look at him,” Jack groans, grabbing your chin and turning your face to look at Robby, looking at you through half lids.

“Robby… take your, take your pants off,” you manage to sputter as Jack pounds into you.

Robby unzips his pants and slides his boxers off in a smooth motion. Your greedy hands reach out to stroke him as Jack holds onto your waist tighter, sliding into your deeper.

“Shit, sweetheart,” Robby chokes as your hand tightens around him, stroking with his purpose. His hand threads through your hair, massaging your scalp. “That’s a good girl.”

You moan at the endearment and rock yourself against Jack to stimulate your clit.

“Robby,” Jack pants, still moving inside you.

“Yeah.” Robby doesn’t even have to ask. He brings his fingers to his tongue, coating them in a slick layer of his salvia before he presses them against your clit, giving you more stimulation. “Didn’t even need the spit, huh? You’re drenched,” he rasps as you pump faster, tossing your head back at the hoard of stimulation.

You don't have any breath in you to retort. You can't even think straight, and not even just for the alcohol. Hell, you're sure Jack fucked the booze out of the system. The sheer amount of pleasure running coursing through your veins leaves you almost paralyzed by pleasure, and with each pound of Jack's cock and swirl of Robby's fingers, you're sure you're going to lose it.

Lose yourself.

"Fuck, Abbot," Robby curses, watching you squirm, glossy eyes and jaw wide open, his head tipping back as he feels himself edge closer to release. "She's gonna lose it."

Jack lets out a dry laugh, grabbing your jaw. "That true, sweetheart? You want to come?"

"Please! Fuck… I'm so close, Jack," you can feel the heat rushing to your stomach, an impending orgasm looming over your head.

"Come, sweet girl," he murmurs as he feels his body release.

Your body convulses on his lap as a raging orgasm takes over. Robby grunts as he comes not too far behind, head hunched forward as his finger moves directly across your clit, easing you through your climax.

Jack gives you no time before he taps your thigh, signaling for you to stand. "Let me taste you, sweet girl." You're breathing hard as you stand, grabbing Robby's helping hand to lay on the bed as Jack leans down, licking a stripe of your cunt, collecting your sweet arousal on his tongue. You arch your back, going threading through his curls.

"Mhm. Sweet," he comments, tongue gleaming. "Come on, Robby. Give our girl a taste."

Robby nods, leaning down to lick your cunt, making you tip your head back, shutting your eyes promptly.

"She's sweet, alright. Think she wants a taste, Jack?" Robby glances at Jack, chest still heaving, his come still fresh on his cock.

"Let me ask her," Jack says, voice low, eyeing you. "You want a taste, baby?"

Your head flicks up to see their hungry eyes on you. You lick your lips, nodding eagerly.

Jack shakes his head. "No. Tell him."

"I want to taste you, Robby," you pant, chewing on your lip.

Jack gives you a nod of affirmation as Robby gives you a lopsided smile. You muster up the force to move and bend forward, sitting on your knees and carefully swiping your tongue across his cock, his come coating your tongue and the corners of your mouth.

“Christ,” Robby and Jack both mutter.

You pull away from him, swiping your tongue to clean the corners of your mouth.

“You’ve ruined us,” Jack shakes his head, admiration written all over his face.

“Maybe that’s what you needed,” you retort, looking between them.

“Maybe it is,” Robby mumbles.

MINI AUTHOR'S NOTES⁀➷ i never claimed this would be character accurate, but it was hot, right? dividers by @saradika-graphics

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