nellbookmarks

[nellbookmarks]

vaquero(s)

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader x michael robinavitch

warnings: age gap, jack calls reader kid, cuckold, big dick robby, voyeurism, male masturbation, unprotected sex, oral (m), smut (18+)

summary: consequences of stealing a cowboy’s hat.

note: the remix of the song vaquero inspired this no pressure tags: @superhoeva @ozarkthedog @robbyology @ovaryacted @flofaiiry

gif by @/tomcriuse

“you got your hands full with that one, huh?”

the rodeo bar is loud, not because of the music. no, it’s the screams cheering you on.

jack scoffs at robby’s words, “you have no idea, brother.”

denim shorts that leave little left to imagine ride up your thighs with every roll of your hips.

one hand on the fake bull’s neck and the other swings the cowboy hat that jack stole in the air. your hand does little to keep you on the bull, instead your thighs do all the work.

cheers erupt from the crowd when they see your hips roll faster as the bull moves unpredictably.

in a weak attempt to make you fall, the bull spins. this time giving the men a look down your shirt.

despite the spinning, you manage to adjust yourself. with your upper body loose, you follow the bull’s manic movements.

placing the cowboy hat back on your head, you cheer along with the crowd. securing yourself thighs around the bull you throw your hands in the air with a bright smile.

the action causes your shirt to ride up, give both attendings, along with everyone else in the bar a glimpse of your lacy bra.

there’s an undying blush on robby’s cheeks when you unexpectedly fall forward when the bull tilts forward. only you’re not facing the crowd, curtesy of the worker controlling the bull, your ass is.

then a deep groan from jack when your ass shakes, a result of the frenzied bull.

two pairs of eyes feast on the new angel, one familiar with the view, the other thankful for the lights on you so he can see.

it’s subtle, but jack catches the way robby’s hand lands over his crotch as he excuses himself to the bathroom.

just a few seconds after he leaves the loud cheers turn into groans when you fall off the bull.

playfully bowing to your audience, you quickly rush to pull on your matching cowboy boots and walk to a very lonely jack.

“put on quite the show, kid.”

breathless, you ask, “where’s robby?”

your hands wrap around his neck and his hands fall to your waist before falling down to your ass. fingers slip into your back pockets before giving your ass a harsh squeeze. you giggle but quiet down when jack’s lips brush against your ear.

“after that little ride, he needed a restroom break.”

“no!”

jack only smirks at your gasp and shrugs as he sits down.

“can’t blame him,” he sighs, his eyes dropping to his crotch.

the crotch that sports the same erection robby left to take care of. your skin feels hot when you see jack widen his legs, an invitation to sit on his lap.

usually not one for pda, you walk to the man who sits on the weirdly place couch. your back to his chest, and ass on his cock you smile when you hear his next words.

“if you wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.”

you laugh at his words turning to face him, “as if i wasn’t already going to, vaquero.”

a hand that was on your waist travels to your jaw and squeezes your cheeks which make your lips pucker. it’s degrading how he forces your head to turn to the view in front of you.

robby stands tall, with a blush on his cheeks.

“hat’s not mine, kid.”

robby’s hands are tucked over his belt buckle, foreshadowing what’s to come. sleeves of his flannel are rolled up that showcase his forearms.

“it’s mine.”

your neck strains when you turn to look at your boyfriend, jack, who’s sitting on a chair in the corner of your shared bedroom. you raise your eyebrows at him, a silent ‘are you sure?’ to which he nods.

jack smirks, “i’m just here to watch.”

mimicking your actions from earlier, your hips roll against robby’s crotch. your denim shorts are long gone and you’re only left with your black thong and robby’s cowboy hat.

“what’s that?” his eyes glued to where you grind against him, clearly distracted.

you only laugh, eyes finding jack’s, and only laugh harder when you see him shake his head.

your knees straddle robby’s denim-covered thighs and it isn’t long until you’re reaching for his belt buckle. the metal clinks when you throw it to the floor, joining the puddle of clothes on the ground.

hooking your fingers on his jeans, you tug the denim down to immediately find a dark patch of hair. with raised eyebrows you find robby hiding yet another blush. you tug until his cock slaps against his belly, twitching already.

“fuck,” is all you say when you take the base of robby’s cock in your hand.

with wide eyes, your other hand wraps around his cock. still, the tip of his cock peaks from your hold, leaking from your new attention.

“he’s huge, jack.”

jack’s eyes fall to your grip on his friend’s cock. from his angle he can see the way the head of robby’s cock stands just below your bellybutton.

“nothing you can’t handle, right kid?”

with a soft ‘uh huh’ you repeatedly drag the tip along your slit to collect some of your wetness and jolt every time he nudges your clit. lining robby’s cock with your entrance, you slowly sink down his cock, taking inch after inch.

robby stretches you wonderfully and jack watches it all.

overwhelmed by the way your pussy spasms around his cock robby’s hands leave your waist and cover his flushed face. a muffled groan fills the room when you envelop him fully, sitting on his cock til the dark hairs brush your clit.

“‘m so full.” the words are filthy when you let them out with a whine.

the doctor beneath you groans loudly, while the one in the corner drops his hand to his crotch, massaging his throbbing cock.

“come on robby, look at her.”

for a man that gives orders all day, he’s surprisingly good at following them.

the hands that covered his face fell to your hips, gripping it painfully tight. a puff of air unexpectedly leaves him when your eyes meet and your hips roll against his. steadily, you start a rhythm, nothing like the bull you rode earlier that night.

no, you’re careful.

more mindful of the fullness in your belly. a fullness that comes from riding your boyfriend’s closest friend and coworker.

your hands that balanced yourself on his hairy chest trailed down his shoulder then to his hands. guiding his hands to your breasts, you give him the confidence to touch you despite jack reassurance the night before.

holding his hands to your tits, you silently beg for more. eyes closing from bliss when he finally gets the hint.

a soft moan of his name escapes your lips when robby’s thumbs at your hardened nipples. rolling your hips faster when he rolls the nubs between his fingers and gently tugs.

“put your mouth on her,” jack groans out.

before you know it, robby’s tongue licks your nipple, then the other. it’s wet when he wraps his mouth around one - like he wants it to be messy. pulling away from your nipple with a ‘pop’ he does the same to the other, all while you bounce on his cock.

“just like that.”

robby expects the words to come out of your mouth, but they come from your boyfriend.

your eyes find jack’s and you whine when you see him, unknowingly grinding yourself harder on robby’s cock.

you watch as the hand that’s wrapped around his wet cock slides up and down, matching your pace. with your eyes on him, he puts on a show.

rising the palm of his hand to his mouth and licking a wet stripe before wrapping around his cock. his eyes threaten to close when his thumbs swipes over the tip of his cock.

“jack-”

“don’t look at me, look at him.”

not strong enough to look away, robby’s hand grips your face and forces you to look at him, similar to the way jack did at the rodeo bar.

“eyes on me.”

you nod so fast the cowboy hat tilts forward.

eyes locked on robby’s, you work on chasing your orgasm. bouncing on his cock until your heart and lungs threaten to give out.

“robby, man, help her out.”

dizzy, you barely register the way robby plants his feet into the mattress and lifts his pelvis. it isn’t until he grips your hips and lifts you up and down his cock that you cry out his name.

with the new angel, his cock is even deeper, hitting that sweet spot - over and over.

“‘m gonna come.”

robby doesn’t stop.

your eyes fall shut so you don’t get to watch the three fingers that slip into his mouth. you have no clue those wet fingers reach between your thighs until they swipe side to side over your clit.

the combination of his cock buried deep inside you and him rubbing your clit has your head falling back, the cowboy hat following suit.

you can feel jack’s stare and it’s enough to make you come.

your nails dig into robby’s shoulders as you come on his cock. walls spasming around his cock have him groaning your name but jack is quick to shut it down.

“not inside.”

robby nods, holding off his orgasm as you use him to ride yours out.

when you’re satisfied, you slide off his cock and kneel on the bed so your mouth hovers over his cock.

with your knees at the edge of the bed, you arch your back and give jack the perfect view of your glistening pussy. almost immediately your ears pick up on his loud moan.

not wanting robby to wait any longer, you wrap your lips around his cock, your hands jerk the rest. with just a few strokes, he’s spilling into your mouth with a groan.

with robby’s cock still in your mouth, you hum in surprise when jack suddenly stands behind you.

you wiggle your hips, an invitation for anything. to which he chuckles at. a hand falls to your waist, while the other grips his cock and lines himself up with your entrance.

“it’s my turn, right, kid?”

borders by @/saradika-graphics

[nellbookmarks]

Reader with a breeding kink 🤝🏻 Jack who’s had a vasectomy

[nellbookmarks]

Hi lmk why the only thing plaguing my mind is hooking up with Jack and he cums inside you and all is fine and dandy till realization hits that no contraceptives were used and it’s stupid of them bc he’s an attending and reader’s a resident and they preach about safe sex all the time but obviously they aren’t listening to their own gospel and Jack being the gentleman he offers to go get the reader a morning after pill before their shift and guess who he bumps into at the pharmacy? His best friend Robby! Now Robby is giving him the third degree and wants to know who he’s fucking and why is he fucking without a condom and later when he sees Jack handing it to reader in the locker room, why is he fucking his resident?

I was gonna make this longer, but I’m very eepy. Maybe I’ll expand on it. You’ll see why and should not be surprised that I took it in a different direction lmao

The pieces fall together all at once, and while Robby is happy for his best friend, he can’t help but feel a little sick to his stomach.

‘Cause you’re his resident. Yeah, you’ve worked a fair few night shifts, but it’s Robby who’s been teaching you, taking you under his wing, keeping an eye on you, maybe a little too closely.

Yet, it’s Jack who you…

Hazel eyes drifting over your shoulder, Jack sees Robby, lips pressed into a thin line, fingers gripping the frame of the entryway hard enough to make his knuckles go white.

Shit, he knew he was stepping a little out of line, getting involved with you, but Jack hadn’t thought—well, he didn’t think Robby would look at him like this. It isn’t anger, nor is it disgust. No, it’s just empty. Forced apathy.

Clearing his throat, Jack nudges you to turn around. He doesn’t want you to defend the situation; he just wants you to see what he’s seeing so that you aren’t blindsided.

You stiffen at the sight of Robby, nearly crushing the little box in your hands.

“Hey, um…”

Robby stares. And stares. And stares.

“Birth control is more reliable. You should get on it.”

Curt, almost like a scoff, then Robby turns and walks away.

When you look back at Jack, it’s with a certain desperation, and he gets it. He knows you’ve adored Robby since you started working here. It’s actually one of the things that’s endeared you to Jack—how much you care for his best friend.

So, with an affectionate squeeze of your hand, he tells you, “I’ll talk to him,” confident that he can make this right.

this turned into a series

[nellbookmarks]

HERO 4 HIRE | Chapter One { nice to meet ya }

masterlist — the pitt x avengers crossover masterlist

Pairing: Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch x former avenger!reader.

Summary: There's a new regular in The Pitt, a woman prone to stumbles and misfortunes. She always comes when her wounds need stitching and wearing fading bruises, to the point Robby's getting worried. Until her face is all over the news: former avenger tears down crimelord and political connections.

tags: strangers to lovers; violence; injuries; mature; romcom.

a/n: got a bit carried away with the drama, but I hope you guys enjoy this first part! oh, and a special thank you to @jupitersmoon167 for helping me choose reader superhero name!

word count: 4.9k.

— this fic is dedicated to my bestfriend @faethbees luv ya 💜

You showed up one morning, in the quiet period between chaos and the first wave of people from the waiting room. Whitaker came closer to the nurses’ station to find Robby, a worried expression on his face and asking for help evaluating a case. There’s something off, he whispered, don't think she's telling the truth about how she got hurt.

Entering the room, Robby came face to face with a dislocated nose, a cut on the eyebrow, a busted lip and hand with scratches. Adding the old purple bruise in the right eye, it was hard to believe a word you said. A clumsy person that's trying to make big on the fighting ring. It was odd, but they couldn't do much. You were lucid and calm, despite the tiredness, you didn't show any behavior that could confirm their suspicions. So they discharged you like any other patient, quickly forgetting what happened.

Until you showed up again two weeks later.

With a new black eye starting to swell and bruised knuckles.

Then just two days later.

Bruised ribs and a concussion.

And then again one week later.

Sprained foot, bloody knuckles and bloody mouth.

After almost four months of collecting small injuries that required at least three stitches, you officially became a new regular. And with each passing day, Robby became even more worried. To the point where he started thinking about you even outside of his work hours.

He went to work every day wondering if he would find you still alive on his next shift.

The worst part? It seemed like only he cared about your wellbeing, struggling to maintain a professional approach while you kept flirting with him. You were friendly, an extrovert, almost like an orange cat – not a golden retriever, there was a dangerously craziness energy in you, not a silly playful one.

You always showed up around the same time, between the waves of patients, sometimes even carrying a bag full of food for the ed team – something Robby could never understand how you could get it. Other times, you brought coffee especially for him, followed by a ‘you’re the only one, handsome’ or something like ‘just a thank you for your magic hands last time’.

So you talked and flirted, and seemed to quickly know everyone within the department. You gossiped with Perlah and Princess as if you were long-time friends. Even Myrna knew who you were and had a special scandalous nickname for you (Baby Maso).

You were everywhere, but no one seemed to know any deep information about you or your life.

You were an enigma.

A puzzle he couldn't figure out.

A beautiful riddle that he wanted to get his hands on and solve.

Sometimes he had to fight the desire to shut you up with a kiss.

And that's a big damn problem.

“Your Rocky Balboa is here," Jack said as a greeting when he saw Robby approaching.

Robby sighed. "How bad is it this time?"

"Well, stitches on forehead, stitches on right cheek, stitches on left arm, stitches for a stab in the hand. And one dislocated right shoulder.” Jack enumerated. "I must say, looks like gang shit, brother."

Nodding slowly, Robby sighed again. "I know, but the police disagree."

Jack looks at him with raised brows. "For real?"

"Yeah, some detective came here. I reported her on the second visit, y'know?" Robby rubbed his face, already feeling tired and his shift hadn't even started yet. "The detective took her, said he'd keep an eye on her. Then, when I called him again, he said she was telling the truth and just to patch her up."

"Not at all suspicious." Jack whistled low, then got his backpack and threw over his shoulder. "Alright, I'm out. She's on her usual spot, sleeping."

Robby nodded, sighing for a third time. "Thanks, brother. Rest well, see you later."

He slowly made his way to the nurses' station, Dana nodded her head pointing somewhere behind her.

"Don't even bother going to see her. She's gone."

Robby blinked at her slowly. "What the hell?"

"Yeah, Whitaker went there to offer coffee and found the bed empty." Dana said, a knowing smile on her lips, sliding a paper towards him. "She left this, though."

Grabbing the piece of paper, Robby looked for a long moment, then looked to the ceiling as if he would find the answers there.

'See you soon, handsome. I'll bring coffee next time.'

You showing up during the night shift for the first time was a sign from the universe that Robby didn't catch. The following visits to the Pitt were before sunrise, and your injuries got progressively worse.

And whatever you were doing was starting to get to you. Emotionally and psychologically, as if physically wasn't enough. It was easier to notice your exhaustion, like you didn't get a chance to relax properly for just one minute.

“I'm telling you, man, I saw her somewhere before.” Shen insisted, after the ninth time you crashed into the night shift. “I think I've heard her voice on the news.”

Ellis rolled her eyes. “Why would she be on the news?”

“Dunno, can't remember.” Shen shrugged, attention returning to bed 13, where Jack was stitching you up. “Is she sleeping?”

“Yeah, think so.” Ellis answered, a bit of wonder on her face.

“Broken arm and broken fingers? A sprained foot, bruised ribs and several cuts? She's part of a fight club like Brad Pitt.” The younger attending conspired, crossing his arms as he took turns looking at the board and bed 13.

“Dr. Robby is going to flip tomorrow.” Ellis stated.

That night, Jack thought for a fleeting moment to report you again. Worried about what you got yourself into, but mostly important, worried about the effect you had on Robby's life. In the end, he didn't call anyone. Not even Robby. He let you sleep once again, waking you up before the day shift came. At least, both of you agreed that sometimes Robby didn't need to see how in bad shape you were.

Smiling in gratitude, you walked out silently and disappeared discreetly. No hesitation, even with all your injuries. Jack knew that kind of walk, that kind of behavior. He's seen this before, and deep down he wished to be wrong.

You were back to the ER two weeks later, during the day shift. It was a curse and a blessing. Limping, the cast on your arm shattered, busted lip and a nose bleeding. Dana was the first to notice you, but Princess was the quickest to move to search for Robby.

“Welcome back to the living hours, darling.” Dana greeted, meeting you halfway and turning you to room 8. Her trained eyes quickly evaluated you from head to toes. Nodding to herself, the charge nurse declared, “Robby will be here soon.”

You frowned. “Can't you call, I dunno, Samira?”

“No can do,” Dana shrugged. From where she was standing in the doorway, she could see Princess pointing in her direction and soon Robby was striding over with a worried expression on his face. “Your doctor is already here.”

“Dana, please-”

The charge nurse ignored your call and left you behind, with no time or route to escape, soon enough you were staring into a pair of sad brown eyes. You don't say anything, keeping your mouth shut for the first time since meeting him. Robby let out a shaky breath, trying to compose himself. Then his eyes roamed over your body, categorizing each wound by priority level.

“Dr. Santos, since you're here, get the necessary supplies to take care of the patient.” Robby ordered, his eyes still locked on you.

You arched an eyebrow, surprised for not having noticed the younger woman's silent approach, but incapable of breaking Robby's stare. Without saying anything, he stepped closer and reached for your face. His touch was gentle, tilting your face to assess the bleeding from your nose.

“Does it hurt?” Robby asked quietly.

His somber expression made you swallow your sassy comment, and whisper cautiously, “No, not anymore.”

He nodded, but you knew he didn't believe you. Robby shifted his eyes lower, narrowing as he noticed the rip in the right thigh of your cargo pants. “And your leg?”

“Fell down funny, but nothing broken or needing stitches.” you answered trustfully, holding back the need to shrug because you knew Robby wouldn't appreciate it.

Letting his hands fall off your face, you instantly missed his touch and warmth. Robby stepped back when Santos returned to the room. He watched the intern arrange the material and put the gloves on, then turned away, declaring a simple, “Dr. Santos, let me know when you finish her treatment. I'll see how the others are.”

“This was as good as a trainwreck,” Santos stated bluntly.

You snorted humorously. “I shouldn't have come.”

Santos didn't comment right away, choosing to wipe the blood from your face. When you were clean and she deemed the bleeding had actually stopped, she muttered closely. “He's always worried about you, y'know? At least when you come, he's sure you're still alive.”

You didn't need to ask her who she meant, it was clear enough. And it made you feel guilty for creating such a deep bond with him. At first, it wasn't anything, just you being silly and trying to distract yourself a little in the middle of the chaos you were in. Of course things quickly changed, there was a spark and connection. You felt greedy coming to The Pitt to get a little dose of Robby. Maybe you were being only selfish in the end.

A voice startled you from your thoughts. “Why can't you listen to me for once, troublemaker?”

Your head snapped towards the voice at the same time Santos turned around. Leaning on the doorframe was the detective responsible for you. You groaned. “Francis, what are you doing here?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Take a guess, silly.”

“He called you?” you shouldn't feel offended nor sad about the fact, but something inside you didn't like it one bit.

Santos whistled. “Trainwreck.”

You looked incredulously at her. The intern didn't look back, focusing on renewing the cast on your arm.

“He wasn't ratting you out, in fact, he asked me why I wasn't doing my job properly.” Clint had the audacity to snicker, but composed himself after seeing your glare. Clearing his throat, he stated. “I'll give you a ride home.”

Saluting with two fingers, Clint walked away, probably to make a fool of himself to the nurses.

Nine minutes later Robby was back. An unreadable expression on his face and gloved hands. He watched Santos finish the cast on your arm in silence. A tall imposing figure at her back. And when she moved to see your thigh, Robby stopped her.

“Dr Mohan needs help to speed up the treatment of the patients.”

Santos opened her mouth like she was going to say something, but decided against it in the end. Nodding, she glanced at you before leaving in hurried steps.

There's a short pause.

“Do you want me to take off my pants, doc?”

“Jesus Christ,” Robby exhaled shakily, sliding a hand across his face.

“It's fine, I'm wearing lace.” You said softly, giving him a flirtatiously smile.

Robby squared his shoulders, stepping up and standing dangerously too close. His ears and neck turned red. He warned huskily, “Behave.”

You nodded and stayed quiet. Realizing that you would obey his warning, he checked your thigh with a feather-light touch. Robby sighed after noticing the angry bruise.

“I'm sorry for making you worry all the time,” you said, trying to keep your voice casual.

Robby took a breath, nodding once. His brown sad eyes staring at your soul. “Are you ever going to tell me the truth?”

Of course he would ask that. You knew that everyone in that ER pretended to believe in your lie (because they couldn't think of a loophole thanks to Clint coming to rescue you). Unfortunately, you couldn't risk telling him what you were really doing in Pittsburgh. Risk him. It was safer for him to think you were a gang member. Or a lunatic. He'd never survive if he knew the mess you were trying to clean up.

So you decided on a promise, you owned him at least that. “Yes, Michael.”

“But not now.”

“No.”

Not wanting to push, he excused himself. “I'll prepare your discharge papers.”

Robby didn't return with the papers.

Clint was the one to come get you, papers in hand. When you got out of the room, Robby was nowhere to be found. So you accepted defeat with a heavy heart, and left without looking back.

Meanwhile, Robby was sitting alone in the break room, cup full of coffee to try and drown his worries.

“She's gone.” Dana declared as she opened the door, raised eyebrow and a knowing look in her eyes. “Thought you'd wanna know the coast is clear, so you can stop hiding.”

“I'm not hiding,” Robby lifted the coffee he was holding. “See, I'm taking five to recharge.”

“The detective is handsome, right?” Frank joined them at the break room, a little smirk on his lips. “Blonde, fit, husky voice, blue eyes…”

“Came running to her rescue like those movie heartthrobs.” Dana sassed.

“Fuck.” Robby groaned, standing up and swiftly walking between them to get back to work.

Frank called after him, “Just saying!”

Like other times, you didn't come back to the follow-up care. However, Robby felt in his gut something was definitely wrong. The detective didn’t answer his calls, but sent an ominous text saying you were fine and staying low, whatever the hell that meant. The routine in the ER continued, forcing Robby to focus on patients and the chaotic rush of managing residents, interns and students. The worst part was when he was home alone. He tried to drown his thoughts and worries about you with housework and sleep.

You were gone for two months. Robby wasn't sleeping well, he felt like a ticking time bomb. And it got worse with Dana and Jack constantly asking if he was okay. He definitely wasn't. Detective Francis came by once during the night shift, handed over a note signed by you. Robby asked Dana to read it first, his heart clenching in his chest as he waited for the worst. He was always expecting the worst. When he heard Dana laugh, he felt his shoulders slump in sheer anxiety.

'Broke my old phone. And then noticed that I never directly gave my number to you. I'll be quitting my job soon. So let’s go out on a date, okay? I’ll wear something nice just for you.'

You were trouble. So much trouble. You’re gonna be the death of him. But that stupid note made him smile and feel like he was his stupid 20s something all over again. He texted you a simple ‘behave’ and kept smiling for the rest of the shift. Robby didn't even mind Dana and Jack teaming up to make fun of him. He went home making planes, thinking that maybe, just maybe, everything's going to finally work out for him. After almost one year of you turning his mind upside down, he should known better.

Night shift was finally slowing down around midnight, only two patients were staying until morning. Jack was updating the charts while Shen and Ellis bickered over some dumb shit they saw online when the radio crackled to life. Woman with multiple trauma, in her 30s, crashing down. ETA 3 minutes. The team was quickly to move.

Shen and Ellis went outside to help the emts with the victim. Jack stood back to prepare the trauma bay with the rest of the staff. No one was prepared to see you on the stretcher, completely covered in blood, unconscious and at death's door. Jack felt like he had been thrown back to when he was out in the field saving soldiers years ago.

“Bridget, call Robby now!” Jack yelled, his voice hard and determined.

Jack always knew this moment would come, at least it was him taking you to the OR. And he knew that whatever happened there, Robby needed to be here too. Robby would never recover if he wasn't by your side at a critical moment like this. Would never forgive himself. In the mean time, Jack would gladly take the burden of opening your chest, to stop the internal bleeding, search all the bullets, cauterize all your wounds, fix your broken bones, make your heart beat with his own hands. It took hours, but Jack wouldn't lose you at that table.

Robby arrived in the ER like a raging river. Bloodshot eyes, hyperventilating, trembling hands, messed hair. He didn’t hear or see anyone around him, no one was capable of preventing him from reaching the OR. The worst part? He didn’t scream or cry out loud, his legs just gave up right there at the door.

He watched silently as Jack, Shen, Ellis and Walsh worked together with the rest of the team to save you. Rocking back and forth, Robby covered his ears but was unable to look away. There was so much blood. It was as bad as Pittfest, maybe worse, because all that blood covering the floor was just yours.

“Please. Oh, God. Please. Not her too. Not her.” Robby repeated in a weak voice, drowned out by all the chaos.

It wasn't until he came face to face with Jack that he realized you were no longer at the table. He felt all the air escape him, heart in his throat. There was a ringing in his ear, he couldn't understand what Jack was trying to say. Robby closed his eyes, trying to breathe through the nose. Then, he looked into Jack's eyes for answers.

“She’s fine, brother. She’s alive. Breathe. We’ve got her.” Jack repeated over and over, waiting for Robby to come to his senses.

He sucked in a breath, hands clasping on Jack’s shoulders. “She’s safe?”

“Yeah, brother.” Jack nodded, watching him closely. He held Robby by his arms and helped him get up. “We took her to the pedes room, for privacy and safety. She’s gonna stay with us.”

“What the hell happened?” Robby questioned, dragging his hands on his face before looking around the now empty OR.

“I don’t know, man.” Jack shook his head, at loss. Then added, “I asked Shen and Ellis to find out, thought. Let’s get out of here. Wanna see her?”

“Yeah,” he answered softly.

Jack accompanied him to the pedes in silence. When they stopped walking, Jack looked at him carefully. “She’s sleeping now, so stay as longer you need and then meet me at the hub.”

Left alone, Robby took several deep breaths before finally opening the door and getting inside the pedes room. You were right in the middle, lying in bed with an oxygen mask and wires connecting you to the machines. He slowly came closer, standing beside your bed. His eyes analyzed every bruise, every detail. with trembling fingers, he caressed your face and brushed away the hair that had fallen into your face. You were gone for two long months and now you were there. He almost lost you on the same day his heart had filled with hope of having a chance with you. A broken laugh escaped him, the overwhelming turmoil of the situation catching him once again.

“Shit, sweetheart.” Robby whispered wrecked, eyes still wet from all the tears and voice raw of emotion. He leaned over to place a kiss on your forehead. “You have no idea how much you mean to me.”

He didn’t linger. Opting to search for Jack and get answers. He took one last look at you and carefully closed the door behind him. He found Jack and the others with one of the tv of the hub turned on the news. Frowning, Robby hurried his steps.

'Former avenger member known as Shrike tears down crimelord, and brings to light political corruption and executives connections linked to the growing wave of violence and crime in Pittsburgh. Witnesses at the scene helped the hero who was seriously injured in the aftermath, but no one knows where she was taken. What we know is that Shrike's face is all over social media for the first time after bravely using her helmet to disarm a criminal who was holding a child hostage–'

“Oh Lord,” Robby gasped, the world around him tilting down. He closed his eyes tight, hands supporting his weight on the nurse’s station.

“I knew it!” Shen squealed somewhere behind him, voice full of enthusiasm. “I said I heard her voice on the news!”

“Shut up, Shen.” Ellis elbowed him hard in the stomach. Shen let out a faint grunt of discomfort but fell silent.

Jack came closer, standing beside him and squeezing his shoulder. “She’s gonna be okay, brother.”

“I could have lost her and I wouldn’t have know.” Robby whispered, mind still reeling trying to process all the situation. “All this time I thought-”

“Does it matter now?” Jack tilted his head, trying to make eye contact with his friend, a serious expression on his face. “You can't blame yourself for a disguise she created for safety.”

Suddenly, rushing through the ambulance area, Detective Francis materialized in front of them. No, not detective Francis. Clint Barton, the avenger Hawkeye. He was still dressed in his suit, but he was carrying the famous purple bow and arrows. Robby was glad that the ER had reached a lull, with few patients to witness the situation.

“How is she?” Clint asked, pushing his sunglasses to the top of his head and squinting his eyes because of the bright light. “Got held up finishing the cleaning.”

“You.” Robby hissed.

Clint raised an eyebrow, scratching his chin unperturbed. “Yeah?”

Jack sighed. “She had surgery and is under observation. She lost a lot of blood, we removed seven bullets. Her right arm was broken in three places, had a deep cut on her temple and head trauma.”

“Well, it could be worse.” Clint nodded, shoulders relaxing. He offered a crooked smile, “She’s had worse, actually. But thank you for taking care of her stubborn ass.”

“He's so cool,” Shen whispered to Ellis, but loud enough to be heard.

Everyone ignored Shen’s comment.

“I'll take you to where she is,” Jack offered, hand pointing to the path in invitation. “I think it's best not to draw any unwanted attention right now.”

“Right.” Clint sighed, starting to follow Jack. Stopping abruptly to face Robby. “For what it’s worth, she took your safety into consideration. It's personal to her.”

The hero then followed Jack's footsteps again, disappearing down the hallway to the most secluded and discreet room in the ER.

Robby let out a shaky breath, leaning forward again, tense shoulders and head in hands. He felt like shit. Emotions and reason at war inside him. He kept repeating in his mind that she's alive, she's alive, she's alive, she’s alive like a mantra. But he remained afraid that he would wake up at any moment and be told that she had died on the trauma table.

Jack found him a few minutes later, at the ambulance entrance, sitting against the hospital wall. Knees close to the chest, arms resting on his legs and hands holding his head. Getting closer, he noticed that Robby had tears on his face, but he wasn't crying desperately like before. Jack stopped beside him, leaning against the wall, and drew in a long breath. Looking at the watch on his wrist, it was already two in the morning.

“She’s awake,” he informed, an incredulous huff escaped him. “The cut on her temple is superficial now.”

Robby snapped his head up, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“The little shit has a slight better healing metabolism, according to the hawkguy.” Jack shook his head, still not believing everything that happened. “Not like the crazy dude called dead something, or like Captain America, but there’s something. That’s what he said.”

Throwing his hands up, Robby cursed softly. “It just gets better and better the emotional rollercoaster.”

“Go home, brother.” Jack said, after looking at his friend for a long moment. “Try to rest a bit before your shift.”

Robby nodded once, slowly getting up from the ground. “Yeah, guess I’ll need all the rest I can get.” Glancing at Jack, he smiled faintly. “Thank you for calling me.”

“See you in the morning.” Jack replied, tilting his head in acknowledgement.

Rest was forced due to exhaustion. Robby barely touched the bed and passed out, everything that happened that night catching him as a wrecking ball. Four hours of sleep later, he was re-entering the ED grounds. The place bursting with energy more than normal, night shift and day shift staff completely agitated.

Dana approached him before he could reach the hub, her expression a mix of seriousness teetering on the edge of mischief. “Glad you decided to join us. Your circus has been on fire for too long already.”

Confusion settled onto his features, “I didn't get enough sleep to deal with any shit before clock in.”

“Oh, you're going to want to get involved in this one.” Dana snickered with a smirk. “Pedes room rings you a bell?”

Robby straightens up at that, glancing worriedly at the nurse charge. When she didn’t elaborate, he changed his route. Hurried his steps towards the pedes, throwing his backpack in the locker on the way. Jack was already there, standing at the pedes’ door with Shen and Perlah.

“What’s going on?” Robby asked, worried eyes trying to catch a glimpse inside.

Jack held up a hand to stop him, “She’s awake and has visitors-”

“I should make a birdcage and lock you two in there! That's not being careful!” a male voice boomed inside the room, making Jack fall silent. Despite the volume, the voice sounded more worried and exasperated than anything. “That's why I created your fucking suit, to avoid shit like this!”

“What the fuck?” Robby muttered.

Shen giddly chimed in, “Tony Stark in the flesh, dude.”

“He came from the roof not even twenty minutes ago.” Perlah informed dutifully, arms crossed.

“It's time enough,” Robby muttered.

The door opened suddenly. Tony who was about to leave stopped abruptly. He looked from Jack to Robby, and then Shen and Perlah, before his focus returned to the two senior attendants.

“I’ll be contacting the hospital for a donation to the ED as a thank you.” Tony declared simply, he glanced inside the room towards the bed before fixing Robby with curious eyes. “Take good care of her, that's my only warning.”

Without missing a beat, you hissed behind him. “Tony!”

“That’s my cue, I know the way out.”

And just like that Tony Stark, the famous IronMan, passed like a hurricane. Clint was the next to come to the door, a tired expression on his features. “Thanks again, guys. I’ll be going too for now. Gotta sleep.”

“You were drooling not even half an hour ago!” You retaliated, arms crossed petulantly.

“She’s all yours, man.” Clint said, clapping Robby’s shoulder and ignoring you. He then turned to Jack, “Can you help me gather everyone of the night shift? Wanna know everyone’s names.”

It was obvious why the hero was asking that. So Jack just nodded, and tilted his head for Shen and Perlah to go with him. The four of them quickly left Robby alone with you. He remained rooted in the doorway, staring at you on the bed. Looking breathtaking. As if you hadn't given him a terrible panic attack out of fear of losing you forever before he even had the chance to hold you.

“Are you going to stand there forever?”

You asked, eyes full of vulnerability. He didn’t answer out loud, just crossed the threshold and closed the door. He came closer with careful steps, taking one of your hands into his. You stared at each other in silence, then Robby brought your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles.

“Please, don’t scare me like this again.” he pleaded. “I thought I was going to lose.”

You drew a sharp breath. “Michael-”

“I know you had to do what was necessary, sweetheart.” He cut you off softly, kissing the palm of your hand before bringing to his face. “I’m proud of you, don't get me wrong. But you’re important to me.”

“So,” you started, using your hand holding him to tilt his face down towards you, nose brushing against his. “You already know everything?”

“That you’re the amazing Shrike? That I want to know you inside out? Date you? Love you?” Robby whispered on your lips, almost touching. “Yeah, I already know.”

You closed the distance and kissed him, heart fluttering overwhelmed with emotion. His arms held with care, but he kissed you back all-consuming. Months of pent up emotions and tension pouring into the kiss. He licked hotly into your mouth before breaking the kiss. He rested his forehead on yours, sighing deeply in contentment.

“What do you think about home-cooked meal on a first date?” Robby breathed, one eyebrow shooting up in amused curiosity.

“If it's you, Michael, then it's perfect.” You whispered sweetly.

“Good, because you’re not leaving my sight anytime soon.”

Your laughter echoed through the room, making Robby smile goofily. Yeah, maybe, just maybe everything's going to finally work out.

Thank you for reading and supporting my writing 💜 Let me know what you think! Comments, likes and reblogs are welcome and appreciated!

There's no taglist, but you can follow this story (and the other crossovers) through the tag #avenger!reader x the pitt!

[nellbookmarks]

I'll be right there. 1/2

CONTENT WARNING: Mentions of suicide, talks of self-harm, Reader attempted suicide. Jack Abbot x F!reader, Neighbor!Reader, Medical inaccuracies, blood, car trauma, mentions of Abbot's time in the military, brief descriptions of bruising, blood, and stitches. Angst with an ambiguously happy ending. Summary: Jack Abbot's new neighbor ends up in his Trauma rooms for all the wrong reasons. Can he break through to her before it's too late? Author's Note: Some real self-indulgent angst. I highkey love a reader insert with a tragic backstory to lean into. This is part 1, I'll be posting part 2 later this week! Part 2 will definitely be more fluff and smut than this, so no hard feelings if you'd like to read it later. Let me know your thoughts. All the kindness from the other piece is keeping me upright. Enjoy the self-indulgent angst!!!

The lights were too bright. It was stale in the cavernous halls of the PMTC’s emergency department. The smell of blood and cleaning fluid never fully left your nose, and the sounds of someone’s lowest moments seemed to echo out eternally.

Jack loved the chaos that working in the Pitt brings him, it’s grounding. After spending better part of a decade on the front lines, returning to civilian life was more than monotonous, it was dehumanizing. Jack had understood himself well in the thick of the battlefield, he worked quickly without hesitation or fear. He had a carefully built self-image that hinged on his ability to be useful to someone in crisis.

After losing a portion of his leg, being honorably discharged, and sent back to retire he had lost the only structure he’d ever known. He couldn’t figure out how to be useful in the stillness, where no one was crying out for loved ones or God-like figures to save them. He was aimless without the chaos.

So, he loved The Pitt, and its never-ending line of incoming traumas. He appreciated his role in the machine that cogged overhead, happy to do his part and keep moving. Some days were harder than others, some cases left him feeling threadbare and worn thin, but the silence that greeted him when he walked home left him more haunted than anything he’d seen at work in the past few years.

So, all in all, Jack didn’t complain about the work the way the rest of his team did. He never minded the patients that would kick and scream at him, nor did he care much when there were far too many people packed into the waiting room. Yes, in a perfect world none of this would happen, but he enjoyed that it kept him moving forward. He needed the momentum desperately.

On an off night, however, he can’t seem to get the itch scratched. They had breezed through most of the day-shift’s leftover cases, discharged who they could, and moved onto the next. All of his cases were being monitored, the chairs had slowed down significantly, and it was approaching the Night-shift lull.

He was starting to get antsy, and after the third lap checking in on his team, he collapsed into a chair next to his Charge Nurse, Bridgit.

“Don’t get too comfortable soldier.” She looked down at him from the top rim of her reading glasses. Jack only smirked, she quirked an unimpressed eyebrow back at him.

“Oh, you know me,” He leaned back into the chair, putting the lumbar support to the test. “I’m not comfortable unless I’m elbow deep in traumas.” He passively spun his chair side to side, looking less like the Emergency Department Attending and more like a teenage boy stuck at the family barbeque.

“More like elbow deep in trauma, period.” She shoots back, tapping him with her clipboard the way a teacher would readjust a student. That was Bridgit, she was the one really running this place, and Jack had no issues submitting to her power when she pushed him around a little. She opened her mouth to say something, when the phone behind her lit up. It only took a few hushed words before turning back to him, “Look alive kid, we have incoming, ETA 3 minutes.”

Jack springs up, walking away as she finishes gathering the troops. He’s outside in a flash, prepped and sterile before the sirens could even be heard in the distance. Ellis not more than three steps behind him, already gloving up ready to take on whatever she needs. Jack tilted his head back and gave a calm thumbs up as they see the flashing lights come up and over the horizon.

When the ambulance pulls up and the gurney is wheeled out, he sees a young woman, bloodied, bruised, but semi-conscious. He begins his medical assessment and taking the reins from the EMTs. He doesn’t get a glimpse of her face before he begins spouting orders.

“Let’s get her set up in Trauma 1, I don’t like blood loss here, prep to intubate but let’s see if we can’t assess the head trauma before we sedate her.” He led as Ellis trailed along the other side, following his orders exactly. “Hi there, I’m Doctor Jack Abbot, I’m a doctor at the Pittsburg Trauma Medical Center, we’re going to take good care of you.” He heard a small groan as the patient slowly turned their head towards him.

He saw you then, he’s shocked he hadn’t recognized you sooner, on the gurney laid out before him. His sweet, albeit quiet, neighbor who had never given him any trouble. His breath caught in his throat as your eyes seemed to recognize him, before rolling back in your skull and everything went dark.

--

Pittsburg was a bitch in February. The weather was unrelenting, and frost bitten. No one wanted to be outside for more than five minutes, let alone lug box after box up the small stairwell into the dusty old apartment upstairs.

So, when Jack, who snagged a rare weekend off, noticed his new upstairs neighbor was moving in he had no excuse not to help. That’s just the kind of guy Jack was, he wasn’t going to let a new neighbor move in without at least offering. He was thankful you had sense enough to hire movers, rather than try and do it yourself the way the last tenants had. (He had the pleasure of trying to sleep through three college aged guys try to carry a sectional up the stairs two Septembers ago.)

He didn’t fancy himself too much help, but the next trip he saw you coming down he poked his head out.

“Oh!” you squeaked, nervous to catch one of your new neighbors off guard, “I’m so sorry I didn’t see you come out.” You clarified.

“it’s no worries.” Jack stepped out and extended a hand, “I’m Jack, I’m in 1B.” He pointed his thumb back at the door that was clearly labeled behind him. You only smiled shyly and let out a polite laugh offering your name in return.

“I’m 2B, so I guess I’m right above you.”  You spoke softly. “Is the moving too much noise? I’m so sorry, it was the only time slot the movers had left.”

Jack shrugged, he hadn’t really thought about it, with his sleep schedule being as backwards as it was. This was early for him if he was being honest.

“Not for me, no. I’m night shift at the hospital down the road.” He noticed your fidgeting, trying to keep an eye on the movers without being too rude. You were young, far too young for him, but it didn’t stop him from admiring your face. He especially noticed the crease that developed between your eyebrows when you saw the movers drop a box boldly labeled fragile.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to keep you, just wanted to see if you needed any help.” He conceded. Your head shot back to look at him, wide eyed, and a flush creeped up your spine.

“No, I’m sorry, I’m so distracted. The move’s been pretty chaotic.” Your shoulder slump, letting the weight of the moment hang heavy before taking a deep breath and regaining composure. You shoot him a smile, but he notices how it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “But I think we’re ok! And I don’t want to steal your night away.” She brushes off the comment.

He doesn’t reasonably believe you, but hey, moving can be tough and he doesn’t want to keep you longer than necessary.  So, he throws a friendly smile, catching your eyes with an open intensity. “No problem, but if you ever need anything I’m down here.” He watches his words land, and you pause a moment before nodding again.

“Thanks Jack, and uh- “you peak back through the open front door to watch the movers for a moment, “same here. If you ever need anything at all.”

And that was the first and last time he’d spoken to you, until now. Until you were wheeled into his trauma room, covered in blood, multiple broken ribs, and an unidentified head trauma.

Jack was a talented doctor, a master at compartmentalizing in high stress environments, and acting fast in situations going south. He was a steady hand in an earthquake, proving his actions time and time again, both in the field and out of it. He was a good doctor, but seeing you laid up before him had his throat dry in an instant.

He couldn’t reconcile the shy neighbor he met only a few months ago is the same girl bleeding out on his table, and the last thing she heard was him promising to take good care of him.

For a moment, half a moment maybe, as your eyes slide shut, he lets the chaos around him rumble away, it couldn’t touch his shock. He let the nurses bark SATs and Ellis call out questions.

For a brief moment he allowed himself to be Jack Abbot, 1B, who just wanted to make sure his new neighbor was safe. Jack Abbot, 1B, who would always take her mail dropped into his box by accident up to her door and ring the bell. Jack Abbot who wanted to get a second chance at a first meeting, because he’s sure that if he could just be slightly more charming, he’d have gotten a chance to carry a box up the stairs and into your new home. That he would have a chance to leave you better than he found it. The Jack Abbot that was selfish, wanting a woman who was younger than him, who’d only ever spoken to him the once, but had never left his mind.

It wasn’t until one of the nurses brushed past him with a bag of O-Neg that he snapped out of it.

“Fuck, we need to get her intubated-“He announced, reaching for the tube, and before he can allow himself to think any further about what could happen to you, his mind shuts and he becomes Dr. Abbot again.

The first thing you feel when you come to, is a dull ache in your left side. Everything hurts, actually, but your left side outranks the rest by far. Your eyes don’t open right away, too heavy to try lifting them. You let the sounds of the monitor to your right keep time, beep… beep… beep. It would be comforting if the sheets didn’t itch, and your feet weren’t so cold, or if there wasn’t the sounds of people dying outside the doorway to your room.

When you opened your eyes, you immediately regretted it, your head blooming in fresh pain from the intensity of the lights. Immediately shutting them closed and letting out a groan. The lights shining overhead had you spinning, sending waves of pain down your body. It was never supposed to end here.

If you told yourself a year ago you ended up in the emergency room tonight, she’d probably laugh in your face.

It all started with your fiancé, or ex-fiancé, who couldn’t seem to decide if they loved you or not. Or at least that’s what they told you last December while you were picking out wedding cake flavors. It wasn’t that they didn’t love you, per-se, the reality is they didn’t love you enough to stop fucking their coworker. So, wedding is called off, which you lament but move on.

It's not until he kicks you out come January, with nothing but enough cash to stay at a shitty motel for a few weeks that things start to weigh you down. The small attic apartment in a townhouse in the heart of Pittsburg is a refuge. It takes most of your paycheck every month, and you have barely enough furniture to call it livable. It’s completely yours, though, and that’s not something you’ve ever had.

So, you keep going through the motions. Then you get fired from your job. Budget cuts, layoffs, restructuring is uttered. You suspect it has more to do with the Senior Manager that’s sporting the engagement ring that was yours just a few months prior. That’s when the spiral really begins.

You reach out to whatever family you have left and are met with cold indifference. They’re not unsupportive, but you aren’t the only one with problems. Any attempts to reach out to old friends lost to time are met with similar tepid support.

The dismissal is enough to keep you firmly bottled up for years.

You’re not really sure what the final straw was but looking up at the steep steps of your apartment building, you can’t bring yourself up the steps. Not when you know the only thing waiting for you is a stuffy apartment devoid of all life. You contemplate, for a moment, knocking on the downstairs neighbor’s door, but decide against it. You’re not sure what kind of doctor he is, but he always looks so tired when you catch him coming up the sidewalk in the mornings.

But after a long shift at your new dead-end job, you just decide it’s not worth it anymore. You couldn’t spend another night thanking your lucky stars to be living a life you despise. For the first time in a long time, you feel nothing at all. No sadness, no pain, just intense clarity. You turn on your heel, walk out into the cold, and hardly flinch when you take a step out into the busy street. The last thing you remember is the bright light of the oncoming traffic consume you.

You were never meant to end up here. You never meant for any of this. You open your eyes again and reach out for the call button.

You were by no means a medical expert, but you thought the button was more for Nurses rather than doctors. You hadn’t expected for Jack to poke his head into your room, but of course he had. Of course, Jack was an ER doctor, and of course he was in your room. Lest we forget what sick karmic luck exists.

“Hey there sleepy head.” He was calm, but you could feel his eyes racking down you with medically trained precision. How mortifying for your neighbor to be your doctor after a night like this. You want to curl up and hide, he reaches out for your hand.

“How are you feeling?” he tilts his head down at you.

“Hurts.” You manage to choke out, throat sore and rough, like sandpaper. He presses his lips in a tight line and nods his head gently.

“Understandable, you were in a car accident.” He reached over, fiddling with the equipment. “I’m adjusting your meds. You should feel less pain here in a minute.” You resist the urge to let out a chuckle, the physical pain was hardly the main concern, and you had a feeling by the unwavering gaze jack was giving you- he already knew that.

“Thank you.”

“No need to thank me.” He takes a seat on your bedside. “I spoke with some of the officers on the scene,” He fiddled with the thin paper sheet below you. “And they’re pretty concerned about you, kid.” He dropped his hand on top of yours, and you felt your whole body react.

His eyes boring holes into your skull as you try to squirm out from under his gaze. The pain meds slowly trickling in your system do little to help as you try to adjust. You cry out in pain when your skin, bruised and swollen, is stretched to its limit along your side.

“Easy there, you’ve got stitches.”  Jack, Dr. Abbot, has his arms around you in an instant. He helps you turn until you’re lying on your side, and you allow yourself the comfort of curling up in protest.

“That better?” He asks, and you only nod. “Good.”

Jack makes no motion to move, he just sits with you, watches you like you’ll disappear any second. He opened his mouth a few times but ultimately spent the next few moments watching you.

It was a shameful feeling, to know your low got that low and now you’re sitting with your neighbor who probably thinks you’re totally insane for walking into oncoming traffic. He was some hotshot ER doctor. You were just some random person who’d come swan diving into his life headfirst and knocked themselves out on the bottom of the pool.

You couldn’t bear the agony of waking up without meaning again, and you don’t understand why this man, who owed you nothing, was sitting here with you. Your body begged you to say something, do something, anything, but your mind was numb.

You burrowed deeper into your own hands, and it wasn’t until you felt Dr. Abbot’s own hands petting your hair, that you realized you were crying. You felt your whole body sink into the thin mattress below you, like a faulty tire finally siphoning the last bit of air. Your body shook and your muscles ache around the constricted breaths.

“I know, let it out.” He encouraged, scooting closer to you.

“I can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore.” You finally admit. In a strange way it feels better saying it to someone other than your own reflection. You can’t look at him, you don’t want to see the look in his eyes when he thinks it. You’re completely insane.

You don’t know how long he sits with you, letting your body heave its sobs. He stays, ignoring other patients, to sit with you. One hand on your head the other fiddles with the chain around his neck.

“I lost a leg, in Afghanistan in 2009,” His voice is calm, almost matter of fact, but waivers off like he’s reliving it. “And I thought that would be the hardest thing I ever had to experience.” He moved his hands away from you.

“I moved back home, thought about retiring, thought about working at a college as a professor. I liked teaching enough. I thought, the worst is behind me, just gotta move on.” He clears his throat, and you peak through to look up at him, lost in his own story. “I had a wife, I was going to settle down and figure out how to be there for her, but it wasn’t that simple. I had lost myself completely over there.

“I was a soldier my whole life, I trained to be a soldier first, medic second. I don’t think I remembered what civilian life really was. We used to sit around at base camp, talking about what we’d do when we got home, but once I was there it meant nothing to me anymore.” You took a shuddering breath, and he looked down at you, “I came back, and I had some really dark nights. I couldn’t move, I had no purpose, I was a soldier first, medic second, person third. I couldn’t be a soldier, I wasn’t cleared to be a medic, and I had no idea how to be a person anymore.

“There more than a few nights where I begged for everything to stop. I prayed for there to be an end to that feeling. So, I get it. Hey, I really do, but this is not the way out you think it is kid.” He put his hand on yours, and you felt his fingers curl around yours tightly, like he was holding onto something that was just on the brink of slipping him by.

“I don’t have anything,” You admit to yourself, “It’s not just things, I don’t have a life, I don’t have anything.”

He lets out a shaky breath, “You have me.” He tilts his head again trying to catch your reaction. Your breath gets caught in your throat, and distantly you hear the heartrate monitor increase. He only chuckles and reaches past you to turn the monitor off. “I mean it, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”

“You don’t know me at all.” You sound like a petulant child, but he lets you get away with it.

“But I want to.”

And when Jack puts it that way it’s so simple. He makes life sound easy to rebuild, and you want to yell and scream that it isn’t that simple. You want to shake him until he understands the wreckage he’s standing on top of isn’t just a broken-down building, it’s a radioactive wasteland.

“Here’s what I want to do, and you tell me if this is alright.” He stands, crossing his arms, then looking down at you. “I’m going to have a doctor come talk to you, and he’s going to set you up with a therapy program that’ll be a good fit for you. Might even get you on some medicine if they feel like it’s the right fit. I’m also going to give you my phone number, and I’m going to check on you before I leave for work and when I get home for a few weeks. I’m going to give you the number for my charge nurse as well, in case you can’t reach me.” He runs a hand down his face, and you can see the exhaustion pulling him down. You don’t offer an argument.

“I know it’s scary.” He admits to you, “To choose to get better, but you can, and I’ll be right here, alright?” He nods, and you nod with him.

“Okay,” you concede, exhausted form your own emotions.

“It’s rude,” He pats your shoulder, “to end up in a trauma on your friend’s shift you know.”

“Are we friends, Dr. Abbot?” You question.

“We are now.”

[nellbookmarks]

fix you up

the pitt masterlist main masterlist

pairing: trinity santos x f!reader

a/n: LISTEN i know the whole “significant other shows up in the ed” fics are everywhere but have u ever stopped to think that they’re everywhere because the trope is GOOD and PERFECT!?!? no? well they are. thank u to everyone who has written one and here is my contribution

lightly a continuation of mistaken identity but you don’t have to read that to get it

warnings: blood, injury (not very serious), medical inaccuracies, language

Once upon a time, you had thought that dating a doctor and hearing the plethora of gory stories she loves to tell when she gets home would make you less sensitive to blood. Especially now, you had even thought, that you live with your doctor girlfriend and the stray dog med student she had brought home on her first day as a resident.

You’re wrong, it seems. Dead wrong.

“Uhh, can I come in?” Dennis tries from the other side of your bedroom door.

You’re sprawled on your front, just barely regaining consciousness and in no shape to answer, let alone really even hear, his timid voice.

“Are you okay?” he tries again.

You groan, the first sensations coming back to you being the blinding throbs of pain coming from your face.

“Okay,” he says more resolutely, “I’m coming in.”

Dennis opens the door to find you still sprawled out, but moving slightly as you fight to hold on to anything other than your face pain.

“Oh my god,” he panics, running to your side and crouching down. “What happened?” he asks.

You groan in pain again, now clutching your nose. That’s when he sees the sewing scissors sticking out of the back of your thigh.

“Ahhh!” he yells in surprise. “What did you do?!” he asks in a panic.

“Sat on ‘em” you manage to say, even though talking is pulling on all the wrong facial muscles. Blood is running down your face from your nose and into your mouth, and down the back of your thigh.

“And?” he prompts.

“And then I passed out when I saw it.” you mumble, embarrassed.

“Okay, can you stand up?” he asks.

“Let me lay here, Dennis.” you tell him pitifully.

“No, we need to get you to the hospital, come on.” he encourages, a soft hand on your shoulder trying to get you off the floor.

“Nooooo,” you whine, “You’re a doctor, you do it.”

“We need to see if you broke your nose and you might need stitches on your leg,” he says gently, peering at the scissors still sticking straight out of you.

You sigh, thinking about how mad Trinity would be if you didn’t seek medical attention about this.

“Fine,” you agree, unsteadily standing up with Dennis’ support.

“Can I drive your car?” he asks you sheepishly.

So here you are, in the most embarrassing position you think you have ever been in in your life.

Face down (as down as it can be while not touching it to anything) and ass up on a gurney, scissors sticking out of your leg and blood probably all over you. You’ve probably ruined your favorite pajama shorts.

Not to mention that all of your girlfriends coworkers had flocked to your room when Trinity high-tailed it there when she saw Dennis with blood on his hands and a panicked gleam in his eyes, motioning for her.

“What the fuck!” is the first thing Trinity said to you.

“Don’t embarrass me, Trin!” you yell back at her, hearing laughs from behind you.

You wish you could bury your face into this pillow.

“What did you do?!” she asks.

You turn your face to the other side of the room, not looking at her.

“Whitaker?” she asks harshly.

“She said she sat on her sewing scissors and then passed out when she saw the blood.” he answers.

“Her sewin- oh my god!!” she yells, now noticing the scissors still sticking out of you.

“I was making your quilt, Trinity, this is your fault!” you yell.

“I told you not to leave those fucking scissors laying around!” she returns.

“Okay, okay,” a new voice enters your ears.

A person steps into your line of sight, on the side of your bed opposite Trinity and Dennis.

“Hi Dr. Robby,” you greet with a bloody smile.

“Hey, kid. Looks like you lost a fight with some scissors.” he comments.

“I was trying to make my girlfriend the Kermit the frog quilt she wanted but she’s not even being appreciative!” you throw out.

“Don’t tell them about that!” she says from behind you.

“What’s bothering you more,” Dr. Robby asks, “the scissors or the face?”

“My face,” you whine.

“Okay, so we’ll get these scissors out of you, stitch you up, and then get you in line for a head CT.” he tells you with a smile. “Dr. McKay will take great care of you.” he assures.

“I want to do it!” Trinity complains.

“You know the rules,” Dr. Robby shrugs and exits the room, leaving you with your angry girlfriend, a cowering Dennis, and a doctor you’ve never met with a shit-eating grin on her face as she sits in a rolling chair near your head.

“Hi, I’m Dr. McKay,” she introduces herself to you.

“Hi,” you greet back.

“Like Dr. Robby said, I’m just going to take out these scissors and give you a few sutures, it will barely take any time at all.” she tells you.

“Okay,” you agree hesitantly.

“Trinity,” you say, turning your head around again to her side.

“Hey,” she greets, much calmer now at the pitiful tone of your voice.

She squats down at the top of your bed, pitting her face right in your sights.

“Hold my hand?” you ask with a pout, holding out your hand towards her.

“Yeah, yeah, I got you.” she agrees, pulling up another rolling chair and taking a seat by your head, grasping your hand and giving it a quick kiss before settling it in her lap.

You think the door is probably still open, since you can hear the general hubbub of the emergency department behind you. If you could feel anything other than fear at the impending pain, you would think about how cute it is that she’s being all soft with you with an audience of her coworkers. Dennis doesn’t count.

“Okay, first is some numbing,” Dr. McKay speaks up, “a few pricks and some burning,” she warns.

You squeeze Trinity’s hand as you feel just that.

“Ow,” you whine.

“Sorry, all done,” Dr. McKay says.

“Do you have any embarrassing stories of Dr. Santos that you want to share?” she asks.

“No!” Trinity yells. She leans down on her chair so that you’re face to face again.

“Please, no.” she says, her face a few inches from yours.

You laugh at the panic in her eyes.

“Sorry, Dr. McKay, mommy has forbade it.” you tell her.

She cackles out a laugh at your statement, and you hear more laughter from outside.

“You fucking freak,” Trinity glares, her face bright red.

“Ah!” you yell at the sudden feeling of the scissors being pulled out of you. It kind of hurt, but was so unexpected.

“You want these?” Dr. McKay asks, holding them up towards you.

Trinity snatches them before you can say anything and throws them in the nearest trash can.

“My scissors!” you yell.

“You’re on a craft hiatus.” she tells you.

You glare up at her.

“Fine, it’s your quilt,” you mutter.

“So, Dr. Santos specifically requested Kermit the frog?” Dr. McKay asks, getting started on the sutures.

“Yeah, she looooooooves Kermit the frog. You should hear her impression; really good.” you tell her.

“Can we get an anesthesiologist in here?” Trinity asks Dr. McKay. “For my sake I think she needs general anesthesia.”

“Shut up,” Dr. McKay laughs, “I’m getting to know so much about you.” she teases.

“Tell me more,” Dr. McKay encourages.

You do, spilling more about Trinity as she blushes and tells you to shut up periodically.

“And she was so mad at me,” you laugh borderline hysterically, “that she made me in the sims,” you say struggling to speak around the words, “and then she drowned me!”

“You watched our show without me!” Trinity defends.

Dr. McKay laughs as she finishes her last knot.

“How long have you two been together?” she asks you.

“Almost 6 years,” you tell her with a smile. “We met in our undergrad feminist theories course.” you tell her.

Dr. McKay must give her a look, because Trinity responds with “What? I was premed and I have a Women and Gender studies minor.”

“Because she’s gay,” you add, for comedic effect.

Trinity sighs.

Dr. McKay laughs again.

“Well, I’m all done here, so you can flip over if you want, and we will come and grab you when it’s time for the head CT.” she says with a smile, snapping off her gloves.

“Okay,” you agree. “Do you have to go back to work?” you ask Trinity.

“No,” she says immediately.

“You sure?” you ask skeptically.

“I’m sure. All my coworkers will be coming in here to say hi and I’m not leaving you alone with any of them.” she says.

“Ugh, you hate me.” you groan. “Where did Dennis go?” you ask, just now noticing he wasn’t still in the room as you flip to your back.

“I don’t know, he dipped.” she tells you.

“He’s worried you’re mad at him,” you fake-whisper to her.

“Why would I be mad at him?” Trinity asks.

“I don’t know, you know Denny, always worried about making us mad.” you wave her off. Dennis is always worried about upsetting the two of you, probably because he feels like he’s imposing by living with you, but you love having him there.

“I’ll talk to him,” she assures.

While you wait for your scan, your room is a revolving door of Trinity’s coworkers. The ones you’ve met say hi again, the ones you haven’t introduce themselves.

All of them join you in laughing at little anecdotes about Trinity, to which she glares with a poorly hidden smile.

A couple of hours later, you’re free to go with three stitches and a broken nose that luckily doesn’t need surgery or a splint.

Dennis is back, looking much lighter but still a little guilty, and ready to drive you back home. Trinity is gently helping you stand up and looks around.

“Huckleberry, where are her shoes?” she asks.

Dennis doesn’t respond but gives a wide eyed look that tells all.

“You didn’t make her put on fucking shoes?!” her voice trails through the ED, and all of her coworkers cover their laughs with their hands.

tagging: @celiacallsitcausal <3

[nellbookmarks]

mistaken identity

the pitt masterlist main masterlist

pairing: trinity santos x reader

warnings: none!

read the next part here!

You're about to walk out of your shared apartment - running early enough to stop for a coffee for once - when you notice the brown paper bag sitting on the kitchen counter, labeled with a quick scrawl of a sharpie on the side.

Whitaker.

Seeing the lunch bag sitting on the counter, you immediately know that your plans for a slow morning are dashed. Quickly checking your maps, you scoop up the lunch and head towards the hospital briskly. You're not jogging, but if you want to make it there and to work on time, a fast walk is called for.

Flushed and embarrasingly out of breath, you arrive at the emergency department; the pitt, as those close to you so lovingly call it. Even at 7:45 in the morning, the waiting room is packed and you patiently wait in line to speak to the person doing intake. As patiently as you can as the minutes tick higher and higher, closer and closer to you being late to work. The blonde woman in line in front of you turns her face into her sleeve and hacks up a lung. You take half a step back and hold your breath. You make a mental note to pick up some laundry sanitizer; you can't believe you hadn't thought about the germs that must have been brought home from this place.

Finally, you get called up to speak to the woman behind the glass. You hold up the lunch bag so she can see.

"Hi! Dennis forgot this at home, I was wondering if there was a way to get it to him?" you ask.

Her once detached and professional expression flickered as she glanced between the bag and your face. The corners of her mouth lift slightly.

"Oh, you can go on back, honey, ask anyone back there where you can find him," she grins.

"Oh- I just, I have to run, I thought maybe someone could-" you stammer.

"Sorry, we're swamped, you just go on back, okay?" she reassures, pushing a button on her desk and gesturing towards the doors to your right.

"Okay" you agree softly, mostly to yourself, and turn and walk through the set of double doors.

Immediately you are overwhelmed. The florescent lights beat down, the smell of antiseptiic fills your nose, and you hear what sounds like 30 overlapping voices all speaking with urgency.

You take a few steps forward, desperately searching for anyone who isn't looking busy.

"Excuse me," you start, catching the attention of a man walking by in scrubs and looking at the tablet in his hands. He pauses in his walk and looks at you.

"Yeah, what can I do for you?" he asks with a smile.

"Um, I have Dennis' lunch, he forgot it at home. I just," you stumble, "is there a fridge I can put it in for him?" you ask.

"Dennis? You mean Whitaker?" he asks, doing a double take.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry, I just-" you begin, only to be cut off.

The man, whose badge says Mateo Diaz, looks over his shoulder towards the center of the room.

"Hey, Dana!" he calls. A woman with short blonde hair looks up over the rim of her glasses.

"What?" she responds.

"We've got someone looking for Whitaker! Says that he left his lunch at home." he explains, his voice taking on a conspirational tone you don't quite understand.

"For Whitaker?" she calls, taking off her glasses and walking across the room towards you.

"This is for Whitaker?" she asks as she comes to a stop in front of you.

"Yes, yeah, he left it, and I thought I would bring it." you explain again.

Dana smiles with a glint in her eyes.

After a moment of silence, you begin again.

"I don't- I mean, I can't stay, I thought I could just drop it off?" you propose.

"Yeah, yeah, we'll get you out of here quickly, hun. Let's go get Whitaker so he can say thank you." she decides, grabbing you by the shoulder and steering you deeper into the pitt.

You pass various people in scrubs, and you wrack your brain for all of the names and characteristics of people who you have heard about, trying (and failing) to pair flashes of faces to names.

It seems like, for every person who glances at you, Dana explains, "For Whitaker," before urging you further in.

"Robby!" she calls as she stops you behind the big desk in the middle of the room.

A tall, bearded man in cargo pants looks up, right at you cowering behind a lunch bag.

Now, Robby is certianly a name that you're familiar with.

You've heard complaints about him, you've heard the singing of his praises, not to mention how intimidating he is.

"Yeah? Who's this?" he asks, putting his glasses into his pocket and coming closer.

A second later, you realize that Dana isn't answering for you and that Dr. Robby is looking right at you.

"Oh! I, um, this is Dennis' lunch. He forgot it. I just, I thought I would drop it off." you explain, yet again.

Dr. Robby looks behind you, most likely at Dana, and sighs, rubbing his hand over his face.

"Yeah, yeah, he's definitely around here somewhere. I'll go grab him." he agrees before turning and walking towards a room.

Dana once again grabs you by the shoulder, this time urging you into a chair while she stands in front of you.

"So you live with Whitaker, yeah?" she prompts, smiling.

"Oh, yeah, he um, he moved in a couple of months ago." you reveal.

"Yeah?" she asks with a smile, "is it going good?"

"Yeah,' you confirm, thinking the question is slightly odd, "he's been pretty easy to live with. No complaints," you joke, pulling a chuckle from Dana.

"Yeah, he's a peach, isn't he?" she asks.

"For sure, I'm- he's very nice." you reply lamely.

"Nice? That's all I'm getting? You're killing me, kid." Dana chuckles.

Before you can clarify, Dr. Robby is returning with a sheepish Dennis trailing behind him.

"Hey, thank you so much, you really didn't need to bring it all the way here," he thanks.

You stand up as he approaches, holding out the lunch for him to take.

"That's okay," you deny, "I was running early for once anyway," you chuckle.

"Well," he pauses, "I appreciate it," he smiles.

You return his smile, the stale air between you starting to feel awkward. With a quick glance around, you spy at least 4 other nurses or doctors watching the interaction intensely. Dana and Dr. Robby hadn't left, also watching you.

"Okay, well, I have to go before I'm late to work," you say, inching towards the door. "I'll, um, I'll see you later." you say as you turn away.

"Yeah, bye!" he says.

"You're not gonna walk her out?" Dana prompts, looking between the two of you.

"No, no that's okay, he's probably busy," you deny with a flush on your face. Why are all of these people staring at you?!

Feeling wigged out, you turn quickly around and walk towards the door, giving a slight wave to the group before you slip through the doors.

As soon as the doors click shut behind you, you let out a deep breath, shaking your head to clear it as you walk out into the cool morning air.

"Who was-" Dr. Santos asks, looking in the direction that all of the eyes in the room are staring, catching a quick glimpse of your profile before the doors close. "What's she doing here?" she asks, looking at Whitaker.

"She brought Dennis his lunch, isn't that sweet?" Dana coos.

Dr. Santos sighs, "You've got to stop forgetting that, man." she reprimands. "I'll tell her not to bring it again, this is way out of her way to get to work."

"Hey, I didn't even ask her to, I didn't even realize I forgot it!" he whines.

"Whatever, whatever," she waves him off, "but if you make her late to work and give her asshole boss an excuse to yell at her, I'll kill you, okay?" she threatens.

Whitaker nods stiffly.

"Stop stealing my girlfriends' precious time, you do enough of that at home when you hog her to talk about Star Wars." Dr. Santos scoffs before picking up her adandoned tablet and walking towards her next case.

"Wha- girlfriend?" Dana stutters, "hers?" she asks.

Dennis gives another short nod and walks away as well, happy to be out of the awkward situation.

Dana and Dr. Robby share surprised looks.

After a beat of silence, he asks.

"Did you know that Whitaker and Santos lived together?"

I looooooove trinity santos with my whole heart, kisses to every person on here who was written about her muah muah mauh

that being said she deserves so many more fics about her!!! justice for dr santos!!!

let me know if you like this, i would be more than happy to write more if you want!!

[nellbookmarks]

[nellbookmarks]

SHIFTING ✭ DRABBLE

When witnessing you "flirting" with Robby, Jack attempts to cope with the way you, or the feelings he has for you, are changing him.

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

THE LENGTHS PART ONE

PART ONE DESCRIPTION: Jack meets the new nurse Robbie's been fawning over, only to then take the next couple of nights to pathetically cope with what he's feeling for the peppy, sunny young woman he's just met.

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

Think of Jack Abbott not being able to help the man he's becoming because of you. There's almost a point where he wants to blame you, but he'd never do that. He could never do that. But there's the problem, as capable and beautiful as you are, he shouldn't think you're perfect. Or innocent. Even in love. Even when he can finally accept the way his bones tense and his blood rushes around you, even when he becomes brave and secure enough in himself to almost feel entitled to the way he thinks and feels about you. He shouldn't look at you with a reverence you'd only reserve for...God. Or Jesus. Either one.

This is not the man he is. Even when he's falling for someone. What exactly are you doing to him?

"You're biting your lip again. That's your "I'm about to yell at Robby through the margins of the chart" face. What is it?"

There's nothing like sound mechanical symphony of beeping monitors and overhead pages to aid in witnessing you flirting with Robby yet fucking again. It would've been a month ago that Jack's annoyance would've been chalked up to the slight unprofessionalism of you two distracting him and other staff, but Jack can...possibly admit it now, he thinks it's flirting, and it's getting to him.

It's just that, even if he likes you, why is it getting to him so fucking badly?

"Excuse me, I never yell at you through the chart. And I am also...just now...communicating feedback."

"...No. You never have. But I'm sure I'll agree with your passive-aggressive, very legible "feedback."

"I've been told my handwriting is perfectly readable and bubbly."

"Much like yourself. I agree."

You laugh, nudging Robby with your elbow. Dr. Robby to you. Always professional in name, even if you're practically turning Jack's best friend into mush.

Jack squeezes the clipboard in his hand when he stops hiding behind the corner. A month ago, even if your peppy conversations with others spread like wildfire over his chest, the guy would've never actually have stopped behind the wall to eavesdrop on said conversation...to collect more material to get pissed at.

He's not the same man he was a month ago, and he's certainly not the guy he used to be before he met you. But he guesses that's the point, every time you meet someone, you'll never be the same person you were the second before they walk through the door.

And every time you catch his eye and offer that blinding, casual smile, Jack has no choice but to think the person he's regressing into is worth it if it means he has you. You. You. You.

Awfully capable and genius and horrifically beautiful.

But still, Jack hates the twitch of his jaw when he realizes that smile you're giving him right now is a shared one. Not completely his. That it would've been if you just stuck to night shifts like he suggested.

"How’s that post-op gallbladder doing in 9?"

You salute him. Robby smiles something at him that's almost an amused disbelief. But why are you amused, brother? You know her so well, you work together in ease as if you've known her more than the four months she's been working in the Pitt.

"Stable. Labs are improving. I already rechecked his hemoglobin, too—holding steady."

"Good. Let me know if his belly gets tense or he spikes again. No heroic discharges."

"Wouldn’t dream of it."

Jack nods. Starts to walk away.

"That’s her way of saying, 'Don’t micromanage me, old man.' Am I on the nose or--”

Jack blinks to the floor when you laugh. He stops mid-stride and turns slightly.

"Stop, you’re gonna get me reassigned to nights."

Just enough to let his eyes linger on his best friend. The closest man he's ever known. One of the best doctors he's ever seen. Jack could hope that if you were another pretty and sickeningly wonderful girl, the grip of his fists would be just as tight as it is now, because the ridiculous hellfire of his pangy-fucky-jealousy wouldn't be the result of you and you alone. It'd be on him.

It'd be on the type of man he becomes when he...when he...

“What was wrong with your night shifts?”

“…Nothin, Dr. Abbott. Just riffing.”

"Well. Glad you two are enjoying yourselves."

...When he falls in love. Fuck him.

But this is not him. The way his voice goes flat and casual is not him, but it's what he says and what he feels because of you and you and you--this sunny little nurse who knows too much for her own good.

There’s a beat. A weird silence. Robby furrows his brow. You straighten instinctively, and Jack almost feels guilty, but that held confidence in his sharp, accusing quip is also who you're making him become. And maybe he'll be sorry for that.

"We are, yeah. Helps the shift go by faster."

"Right. I'll see you."

Jack walks off without another word. Sure. Maybe he'll be sorry for that tonight. Maybe he won't be when he gets home, because he'll be too close to blaming you when he thinks of every time you've smiled at him today, and he wonders--no, he thinks that you have to know.

"Did I miss something?"

"No… I mean, I don’t think so."

And Jack could be sorry when your voice betrays the uncertainty...when it almost sounds...hurt. He can't because he isn't there, but if he were-- if Jack saw how his comments spiked you, maybe he'd actually try to stop himself from the man he's becoming.

But he doesn't. So. He'll act like this all over again tomorrow. He's very proud of himself.

"Did you see her handle that psych hold last night? You know, when I was a kid, I was a huge fan of WWE...for some reason, and that's what it was. He was swinging that chair like he was in WWE and she--"

Jack pauses at the sound of your name.

"She kept her cool. And he was handled like that. I would've cried. Maybe."

"Enough with the goo-goo talk, Mel."

"You would've cried."

Mel says her statement to Santos in a way that isn't unkind, just flat.

"I--no! I would've been the last person to bawl. But...yeah, it's almost resent-able, the way it's like she's made of chamomile tea and ten hits of morphine."

"Um...I don't think, maybe--that resent-able's a word?"

"It’s wild, isn’t it? I know she’s a nurse, but every newbie follows her around like she’s an attending. It’s kinda hot."

"Um. I wouldn't say hot--"

"Work with me, Mel. Please. You're brilliant and no, HR is not right around the corner."

Jack can see Mel smile from where he's standing, as if it's worn with an "Oh, yeah. I can do this."

"Just be careful. I have a mind to think that, possibly, Dr. Robinavitch is already interested in her. Please don't tell anyone that I even think that. I don't--really even think that? It's more so an observation that could totally be misconstrued as--"

"Yeah, well...he probably wouldn't be the only one."

"...Who are we referring to?"

The girls leave with singular laughter, but Jack doesn't move. And again, he'd never linger on a conversation just to make himself...twitch, and get tense.

But here he is, his face calm with a breathing that's steady--but shallow, sharp. He stares at the floor as if trying to reason with himself. It’s nothing. They were joking. It was just talk.

But the words—not the only one—they keep echoing.

Who else? Who else but Robby and everyone fucking else?

His mind flashes to how you laughed with Robby earlier in the day, tossing a roll of gauze at his head. How you snuck a granola bar into Perlah's and Mohan’s scrub pockets, or the way you called Santos "Santi" while you patched her up and got her tested when she got stuck with a needle.

Everyone loves you. Everyone's drawn to you. But before, that would've only been an observation, something to tease you over. Not something to turn make his fist bleed.

He bled for people before, got his leg blown up for them. Killed for them, in a different life. But that was for country, and even though that’s a lie in itself, that made sense. There was purpose he found in that for a moment.

How is his rage and blood and...entitlement over you purpose? Even if he could ever...ever actually love you mutually? How could this all be worth something?

Who else?

"Abbott! What--what happened? What the fuck happened?"

Jack opens his fist. He didn't realize he was dripping onto the floor, that thin line made by the depths of his nails. He blinks at his wound, and barely at Dana.

"Jack, you alright?"

"...I guess it's time for sutures. I didn't mean to--wow. Did not mean to color the floor. Sorry, Dana. I'll call Ahmad, I think he's on tonight."

"...Jack--"

Jack begins to walk away, he can feel their charge nurse follow and fail to.

"Do not clean this up. That's not your job. Hell, it's not Ahmad's. I'll be back with towels."

Is that it? Would it feel any more...worth it if he did have you? Would he be easier on the man he's becoming if he had you? God, hopefully not. Hopefully he'd get his fucking act together, because look. Apparently, it's dangerous. Bloody.

Either way, he'd have to become worthy of having you in the first place, and that's never gonna fucking happen.

[nellbookmarks]

✭ THE LENGTHS ✭

PART ONE: GUILTY CUBICLES

DARK(ISH) JACK ABBOTT x READER

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

You don't know the lengths to which he'd go.

Jack finds you. You're a new nurse working the night shift for the first time, and even though his introduction to you is you dead asleep at your desk, his time stuck with you and your eccentric, peppy behavior doesn't stop him from realizing your capabilities that are beyond what you should be able to do. With that, there's something about you that manages to grasp onto him despite what Jack knows best, to the point where even he's not willing to let you go for the sake of staying sane. For the sake of staying himself. It's an all-too-close work friendship that, again, for the sake of staying sane, he denies is anything more than a healthy and professional relationship with you. But when he can finally get rid of his degrading thoughts referring to him as an old sad fuck who doesn't deserve the sunshine of the E.R? When the two of you experience the tension and bond that only the walls of the Pitt can close in on?

You tell him you have a boyfriend. But even in the sudden anger and disappointment over this, Jack knows there's something about the claim that isn't adding up. Others believe, at first, that it's only Jack attempting to cling to you without admitting it, but when situations arise with their sunny, resilient nurse becoming someone they can't recognize, they find they have no choice but to let Jack protect you.

But what happens when the protection consumes him? There's no telling.

PART ONE DESCRIPTION: Jack meets the new nurse Robbie's been fawning over, only to then take the next couple of nights to pathetically cope with what he's feeling for the peppy, sunny young woman he's just met.

WORD COUNT: 7.9K || SLOW(ISH)BURN!! EVENTUAL SMUT (p in v sex, rough, unprotected) graphic depictions of violence, assault, death, and blood. Abuse (Not from Jack) Jealousy, obsession, possessive behavior, Dr. Robby x Reader if you squint like there's no tomorrow. Age gap (the reader is just younger than Jack, you can decide by how many years). Mentions of suicidal behavior. Manipulation (is it manipulation if Jack really believes what he's saying??). Delusional behavior (That Jack is very much aware of and hates himself for, but delulu be deluluing). Very inaccurate depictions of the healthcare system and medical terminology. This is probably my one and only Jack Abbott fic, if his characterization is off I'm sorry...let's just chalk it up to him being too much in love like how he does here <3

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

Robby, my brother.

I don't even know where the fuck to begin. But I am so, so sorry. For everything. Please. Take care of her.

————————————————

Although there is solace in the darkness, that doesn’t mean there aren’t monsters hiding in it. It almost feels too fucking childish for him to think like this, but it’s too easy. 

This night tempts harm. It tempts Jack to hold himself too tightly, or to hide his tension away in his anger. He already readies himself for the slight guilt he’ll feel when he’s too harsh and quick in correcting mistakes while taking too long to give credit when it’s earned. But tonight? The few outwardly kind things about his soul can’t make their way to his bones and eyes…but what’s the truly awful thing about this shift to make Jack feel as if there’s violence and internal misery around every corner of the hospital? 

“Oh, Abbott, I was wondering–” 

“Sorry, not now.” 

No patients have died. No patients are near death. Jack has failed no one yet, and yeah, thinking that staying true to his vows of medicine as the most terrible thing about tonight is shitty, so fucking shitty that it goes against the said vows that have consumed his instinct to work and manage the ones who need help, but to him, he just remembers the worst about what’s steady about him. That sometimes he’s not steady, that even on good shifts and quiet nights, his pain will make its way back to him.

This is trauma. It’s never new, but sometimes wordless, nameless in the feelings that are brought to a boil, like now, and there-fucking-fore, it’s much easier to hide in the dark as it waits for Jack to get comfortable in his skin. Apparently, this is progress according to his therapist. That it’s good that his trauma finds way into even the best of shifts because that means he is comfortable enough to let it in on the good days, that he’s not beating the worst of his emotions into a little box he’ll save for opening up on a shit shift as he makes his way up to the rooftop. Well, sure as hell doesn’t feel like progress, but he has to trust the therapist he pays 120 dollars an hour. 

“Abbott, the patient in room three, the elderly man with a breath like death, is there a possibility-” 

“Sorry. Not now. My bladder is turning against me.”

“...Didn’t need to know that.” 

“Okay. Sorry, I’ll never make a quip as long as I live.” 

“Not now” is his phrase for the next ten minutes, and he’ll feel a slighter slight guilt in how he’ll take a breather in the bathroom, or next to the vending machine, because there is a job to be done and it’s not hiding in the dark with his monsters. But Dr. 240-bucks-for-80-minutes says these breathers are needed for Jack to be the best at his job. For others. Something like that.

Unfortunately, Dr. 240 bucks for 120 minutes is right. Jack tries not to choke on the breath he can’t let go of. He tries to stay strong because he’s here at his job, so he tries to keep the walls standing up right and unblurred, which he should be able to do on good days. Easily.

It’s almost a strong stride to the bathroom until the nurse's station. Jack slows in his step, brows slightly furrowing as he looks around. Only by eyes, not by the turn of his head. 

And like that, under the scene of unprofessionalism, the way he feels is no longer unbreathable. So.

Thank you for that.

He doesn’t notice how quick he is to turn his sights back on you. This girl. No, this woman, just a younger woman…a nurse he’s never seen before.

You’re dead asleep. He means dead asleep. There’s no other name for the way your body leans its weight onto your swivel chair, head lifted back, breath deep.

It’s the 3rd most unprofessional thing he’s ever seen.

Jack lets out a breath. He takes one in. Let’s that one out, and it’s continuous as he studies the way you almost snore. He must’ve found it easier to breathe in standing instead of indulging his restlessness by pacing all over the trauma center. Makes sense. Makes a hell's lot more sense than this newbie who’s taking a nap on her shift. And Jack allows for the slight hand of his anger to curl. You are sleeping on the job without a care in the world, and considering that he’s never seen you before, you’re probably doing this while new to the crew. 

He ignores the ten seconds of the way he watches you almost-snore before he knocks his fist on your desk to wake you. 

“I’m up! I’m…I’m up.” 

You rub your eyes as you force yourself to sit up straight. Jack continues to stare as you collect yourself. 

Jack's eyes slightly narrow when he notices you're beautiful, but he doesn't think it, not when there’s a lecture to be had. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Jack tilts his head forward in a way that’s curt. 

“...I am glad you are. Considering that you’ve taken the hours when you’re on the clock as hours to have naptime, it’s good that I can see you’re apologetic.” It seems that you truly are in the way your brows twist in the soft lines of your face, as you scratch your nose.

Jack looks away. He puts his arms behind his back, squeezing his wrist because it feels right to do here. “That’s not what we’d consider professional. Or safe. For the patients we’re watching, I mean. I hope you know that?” 

“I know, I know. I promise you, sir–I’m not as stupid as I look right now. I think.” You pull on your scrub top, fixing the sleepful parts of you. “I arrived maybe ten minutes ago? I’m covering for…Princess.” 

“...I don’t think she was supposed to work tonight.” 

Jack blinks when you put your head in your hands, rubbing your temple.  

“I don’t even know, this is my first time working a night shift ever. I woke up to being called in, so here I am.” 

Jack blinks again when you spin in your chair. Not once, but twice in the way your voice goes high at the end of your sentence. 

Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine?

You drop your smile when he doesn’t say anything, and yeah, it’s because you deserve to be a little uncomfortable with your mistake, but also…Jack doesn’t know what to say. 

“It won’t ever happen again, sir.” 

“No. Not if you keep to the day shift.” 

“Oh. Hopefully.” You swallow with a small smile, twirling a pen in your hands. “No offense to you night owls.” 

Jack doesn’t look away when your smile reaches him with your eyes on his. Why would he? 

The only other question to ask is why he knows his chest would feel less hot if he did. 

“Not everyone can find the dark shifts fun enough to stay up for.” 

“No, I enjoy a healthy sleep schedule too much–” You break your words with a yawn that you try to stop. Literally. It’s like you try to wave it up and out of your little neck. “...for that.” 

Jack’s brow furrows down with his eyes going slightly wide. You’re an oddball who’s pissed him off a little, and he wonders if this charming, sunny banter is purposeful to get him off your case. 

“Anywayssss, sorry for keeping you off duty, sir.” 

He won’t give you that satisfaction, because you aren’t supposed to be sleeping on the job. You won’t get away that easily. He means, he’ll quit when he sees a properly embarrassed pout, or something that can prove to Jack that you’re serious about said embarrassment…

Yeah. That’s why he doesn’t walk away to spend his last free minutes in the bathroom. You seem alright…bright, but if you’re new, you simply need to learn. It’s not against you, that’s just the way it is. 

“You decided to prioritize a healthy sleeping schedule before or after nursing school? Or did you realize how much you love to sleep when you decided to become an E.R nurse?” 

Jack lowers his eyes to where your elbow rests on the table as you let your chin fall into your palm. Is that purposeful too? The softness of it all? 

“Ha ha. I try my best, which is why this is my first night ever. I’m surprised I made it this far without taking up…what the darkness offers.”

…Should he kill himself for noticing the way you’re soft? Maybe. It isn’t professional how he notices, and it’s a bit intense, like he’s a schoolboy who can’t control the way he oogles. Whatever's going on with your face shouldn't make a different.

"...Sir?"

He’s not oogling, really. He’s noticing you’re pretty, and you’re lit in the way you’re pretty. He doesn’t know you, but with the way you smile even though you’re being snarkily reprimanded, with the way you tap your pen, with the way your hair shifts with every head tilt…that’s not on him. That just means you’re pretty. He’s not reacting to what he’s seeing. Besides, even if he was, killing himself would probably be the more unprofessional and intense thing, right?

Besides, a pretty face doesn't mean anything here. Not to him. Blood sprays far and wide.

“...Yeah. Well, if I find you again and I report you to healthcare management, you’re not making it further than tonight.” 

The way Jack says it, he’s pretty sure it was supposed to be serious in reprimand, maybe not, but it comes out weak in that context. He doesn’t know why it falls on his tongue like he’s joking with you. But really…he can’t keep up when you laugh. 

“So, I’m assuming I can’t eat at my desk either. Alrighty.”

Why can’t he keep up when you laugh? And how does he stare and turn away when you do? 

Why does the sound and look of you sear him at the skin and chest?

“Just–don’t knock yourself out on the clock again. You hear me? Not cool.”

Jack doesn’t care how he realizes then, when you nod curtly with your smile under your soft and blinking focus, he really doesn’t care for it…how he doesn’t have to ask for eye contact with you.

Even more so, he’s the one to look away first, as if he has to if he doesn’t want to feel the heat of the sun hurling towards him. That bit of Jack is lost and replaced with something unlike him, because why? 

“Can do.” 

This could be something he never has to think about again if he just leaves at that, if he continues to walk to do what he planned on doing five minutes ago, but for some reason, he’s willing to face whatever insecurities this introduction is brewing, because…despite all his flaws, his many, many flaws, acting like a shy and flustered little guy at the first sight of someone like you isn’t one of them. 

It takes ten seconds for you to look up at him again when you realize Jack hasn’t moved. 

“What’s your name?” 

Your smile drops. 

“Sir, please don’t report me to healthcare management–or Dana! God, no! I came in ten minutes ago, and I close my eyes for a minute and–” 

Jack goes to put the palms of his hand on the counter, but it’s a movement he decides against before putting his hands behind his back again. Well. One hand. The other makes a fist at his hip.  

“That was a joke. As long as you’re not kicking patients out their beds to use them, I wouldn’t risk this hospital losing nurses. It was a joke.” 

It became one, didn’t it? Your eyes close with your sigh. When they open, you take to looking at the tile.

“Hey. I was joking. I think.” 

This is familiar, the way he leans his head forward, slightly demanding your sight on him. This is him, and he deserves to be himself, apparently. Or, it’s good that you know he’s not a flustered stumbler if you’re gonna stick around. 

“I’m definitely going to take your word for my sake. Okay.” 

You stick out your hand with your name greeting him past your lips. Jack nods, and he doesn’t take his eyes off yours when he takes your palm firmly

He shouldn’t be proud that he does this without surprise, smacking him across the face, but he is when your name fully registers in his head. He’s heard about you before, as people hear about new people before they get the chance to meet them first. 

You’re the new nurse who showed up about three weeks ago.

You’re the new nurse. Robby’s nurse.

It hasn’t even been a month and in the chances he gets to spend his moments talking with Robby in the handing over of shifts, Robby's mentioned you way too fucking much. With your name in the squeezing of your smaller hand, Jack knows too much about you. He guesses that if you’re as capable and talented in your duties as Robby says you are, then it’s warranted. But still, he was happy to know the nursing shortage was challenged by the Pitt gaining a competent addition to the team at first, but in every other conversation, your name just happened to pop out of Robby’s mouth. 

“She’s just–it’s not just about having no complaints about her and her abilities. She’s great.” 

“...I gathered that, Robby. These past weeks, I’ve been a gatherer of information for our new nurse. Besides the last story and the last story, just tell me, does the sun shine out of her ass? 

Robby smiled a smile that was almost as bright as yours, even though Jack didn’t really ask it as something to laugh at, his words were dead in the pan.

“Medically speaking, yeah. You know, man–could just be that you’re expecting a good nurse and you end up with a great one who’s knowledgeable in a way that’s beyond her paygrade.” 

“All nurses are underpaid.” 

“I’m meaning…that she’s basically a third-year resident and a nurse combined. I don’t give her the tasks of a resident, but it’s like, like…if it came down to it, I could trust her with it. The tasks.”

“...Hopefully you’re not projecting this professional infatuation onto her, because the last thing I need is a cocky-connie trying to run my shifts.” 

And Robby gave him a look, as if their conversation was no longer banter. 

“Cocky-connie? That's just something you made up right now, and it’s not infatuation if she’s that fucking good, man. It’s just the truth. But you don’t gotta worry, she’s humble. She doesn’t wallow in self-degradation, but she’s just humble.” 

“Oh. Good. I’m wondering how I haven’t met the savior of Pittsburgh's nursing community.” 

“Yeah, she kinda makes sure to leave right when her shift’s over. Which is a shame for you, all her baked goods are gone in an hour.” 

“...She bakes?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

“...Okay. Robby?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Everything you’ve claimed her to be in the past half-month has been invalidated just now.” 

“What??” 

“The baked goods have gone to your head. I can’t trust your recommendation.” 

“Oh, come on, brother! People can have multiple talents, and this place can benefit from all of it.” 

“...Sir?” 

Jack blinks himself sober. “Sorry. Nice to put a name to the perpetrator.” He squeezes your hand again. “Jack Abbott.” 

You’re the first one to let go. 

You blink, mouth parting slightly. 

“Oh! Dr. Abbott, it’s so nice to finally meet you!”

…He guesses Robby told you about him, or maybe it’s just the perpetual gossip that exists in the walls of this hospital that’s led his reputation before him. For a second, the tenseness of his hands begs the question, what have other people said about him to you?

Another question is begged at the curl of his palms, why the hell does he care?

“Robby’s told me so much about you. Dr. Robby.” 

Jack could scoff. There are things Robbie didn’t mention about you, and he’s assuming that was for a reason. 

“Good things? Or do I have to beat on him?" 

“I thought when we’d be introduced, there’d be light trailing you.”

Jack’s head shakes once. What?

“...What?” 

“You are apparently so, so badass. And also good at your job. I guess the latter is more important, or you’re badass because you’re so good? Anyways.” You scoot your chair in closer. “Excuse my language, I’m just surprised the sun doesn’t shine out of your ass with the way he talks about you.” 

…Huh.

Jack nods as if this is an expected thing to hear, because if he doesn’t, he’ll notice the way his face has gotten hot, and if he does, he’ll find a one-way ticket to the rooftop a reasonable thing to joke about. Ha-ha. 

“...Yeah, yeah. That’s good.” 

Apparently he’ll never make a quip as long as he lives.

“Yeah.” 

“...Yeah! Well, I guess I should actually do my job. Again, nice meeting you, Dr. Abbott.” 

Jack watches you get up from your chair and away from your desk. You nearly brush shoulders when you do. 

“Yeah. Nice meeting you.” 

He scratches the back of his ear as you walk away. 

“I better not find you knocked out in a supply closet.” 

His words almost echo, and he almost smiles when you throw a thumbs up without looking his way. 

When he turns back to the nurses station, whatever’s on his face drops immediately. 

“Dana?” 

“...Nothin’. See you met our new girl. She's smiley, ain't she?”

"I didn't notice."

"...I'm gonna let that one slide."

"What--"

"I'm taking my smoke break."

…Alright. The bathroom. The bathroom, right? Jack takes his way there. 

You’re alright, and he doesn’t know if he’ll see your capabilities tested tonight, but you’re alright. They’re lucky to have a new addition to the center to make the days…and nights easier, but he wouldn’t mind if it were a night. Singular.  

He wouldn’t mind if it were in the plural, either, he guesses. In the end, what he’s felt tonight are the bits of him that aren’t him, the unusual – and he’s allowed to be unusual when he’s meeting someone who can be that cheery and mutually quippy five minutes after waking up from the dead.  He’s allowed to feel confused about what he felt in his chest as much as he’s allowed to ignore it, and he’ll ignore it because it’s nothing. Nothing but a funny, pretty nurse who knows how to get out of trouble and make Robby go...gooey. If he ignores it…well then, he can take advantage of your talents without a problem. 

That and your possible baked goods. That he'll take advantage of.

Other than that, he’s sure the night will keep the distance between the two of you. Not that he isn't capable of doing that himself.

Not that he even has to, and that's nothing against you.

————————————————

Jack moves quicker when he sees you running towards him the next night. His brows rise with widening eyes. 

“...Well.” 

You look up at him with that same smile that finds the pit of his stomach, and when it happens, he almost doesn’t register the seven pudding cups in your hands. 

A surprise night two and he’s already seeping with…ridiculous, unnecessary ardor. If he can even call it that. But he’s not gonna blame you, you can’t be at fault for something that’s supposed to be nothing. Unless you know how unbaringly bright your smile is, and he’s not gonna create an issue for the suckers up in H.R just to ask a stupid fucking question. It doesn’t matter if you do or don’t, because there shouldn’t be a faltering on his end just from a smile and a laugh and some banter from the new nurse. There’s not.

But still, Jack kinda wonders if you do know. 

“Hey! Lookey, no need to sound Reveille for me.”

…No need to sound Reveille? 

“How much did Robby tell you about me?” 

“You’re too cool to keep a secret. But why? Did I say something–” 

“No. No. But…lookey indeed. You got lost in the dark to the point you couldn’t find your way back to the day shift?” 

Your smile softens with a sigh. “Yep, you and any other night-preferred physician are stuck with me for the next five days.”

His head gestures to the pudding cups. “Do I wanna know? Wait, rephrase. Do I have to know as your attending physician?” 

“Not really. Lucky you, Dr. Abbott.” 

Jack allows what's almost a smile to creep on his face, because this is sorta funny, and you know what? He’s glad to see you again, despite what’s seeping in against his best interest. Which is nothing.

He crosses his arms. 

“We’ve got you for the week, why?” 

“I was covering for Princess last night. She has COVID, and her mandatory five-day stay away from the world has me covering for her. So, if you’re empty-handed right now, there’s a man in room six desperate for a doctor to guide him through the motions of taking the light bulb out of his ass.” 

You’ve allowed yourself comfortability with Jack already. Even he wasn’t like this with Robby in the early days of their friendship. 

Maybe you don’t know how you smile or tilt your head or fiddle with your body language, because if it’s everyone that can see it, maybe they’re not purposeful or even impulsive decisions outside of what you usually do, it’s just who you are. Who the fuck ever knows who they are? 

Besides, if they were uncommon, purposeful movements, why would you choose to do them towards him? That’s where it seems pretty fucking impossible. 

“I was told you always leave exactly when your shift is done, and that seemed true last night.” 

It is. You took off the minute your time in the Pitt was over. But your smile faltering isn’t purposeful, Jack thinks. Here, he shames himself for yesterday, the way he was secretly relieved he didn't see much of you or you as a nurse during the shift. The begged questions wouldn't do him any favors with the night he was having. But the sun came up, and you were gone before anyone knew it.

He doesn’t know you, but for once, there’s almost something of a…serious nature on the lines of your face and lips. Just like that. 

“Yeah…yeah, you were told right. Responsibilities in the world outside our castle stop me from going above and beyond as a nurse. If there’s ever a moment, day or night, when I have to work overtime, I will definitely, but you know. Life.” 

“...Okay. For Pittsburgh's sake, let’s hope it never comes to that." Jack scratches his ear.

The name-dropping from his mouth is natural, he thinks. Acceptance at what's been given to him, turning fatigued lemons into banter-full lemonade, because you know what?

At the end of the day, he cares for the group of people he's partnered with. The people he teaches, the people he saves others alongside with. But none of them have ever made him feel likes he's bits of a newer, flustered-fuck of a man on the first day of meeting them. They don't affect him that way. You shouldn't.

He can play with them on occasion and is more than cordial. He should be no different with you.

"Am I able to look to you first for nursing assistance if I need it tonight, sleepy?

He crosses his arms when he can hear your footsteps halt past him. Saying it nearly dead-panned was purposeful.

“I cannot be given a nickname from a five-minute mistake. Please, Dr. Abbott.” 

“I’m not giving you a nickname, I haven’t known you long enough to deserve that kind of bullied affection. It’s just…” Jack delivers his word deadpanned, he turns to you with your face already pleading. His eyes shift quickly to the floor, then back to you with a curt nod or two. That’s purposeful. That’s feigning thought. 

He’s in a better mood tonight, he doesn’t know why. “It fits.” 

He can tell you stop yourself from rolling your eyes, because you’re probably smart enough to know where to tow the line when it comes to dry-humored conversations with a senior attending you barely know. 

“Are you saying I have to earn your professional friendship to earn your harassment?” 

“Let’s not use the word harassment, sleepy. Healthcare management has eyes everywhere.” 

“You know what, Dr. Abbott?” You ready a pudding cup in your hands, swinging it like you’re about to throw it. “Challenge accepted.” 

“Hey! Don’t–”

You throw the pudding cup that was never gonna be hard to catch. Still. 

You've accepted this easier than Jack would've thought. Sure, you're obvious in your light and...medical pep, but you're willing in play already.

Well. That reaction really shouldn't effect him either.

“Don’t throw objects in the walkways.” 

You begin walking backwards. 

“And don’t walk backwards.”

“If that name reaches the day crew, you’re in for it.” 

“...Excuse me?” 

And like that, you’re gone with a light jog when Jack can hear a voice screaming “Nurse!” throughout the curls of the halls. 

The strangeness of you found questions in Jack, too many for a night that’s tolerable. It would be too much for Jack and Jack alone, really…because maybe those feelings can be chalked up to what you claimed, a professional friendship, and despite the parts of his bones that are hardened, guarded, and whatever else his therapist accuses him of being, he’s not entirely closed off. Being closed-off doesn’t make a good doctor or caretaker; it doesn’t help anybody, especially not himself, if he somehow does deserve help by the end of the day. 

Nobody knows the whole of themselves, but these are the few things Jack is sure of, and with that, you're about to be what everyone else is to him: A person he can get along with. What more is needed?

————————————————

Dr. Jack Abbott is a nice man. A cool guy. And you’re glad you trusted Dr. Robby’s word on him. He is pretty badass. Even though there hasn’t been much chaos in the two shifts you’re partnered with him on, you can tell he’d be able to thrive under it. 

And he’s funny. He’s a person you can find yourself comfortable with easily. Although…it’s been a long time since you were yourself that you’re not sure if you should be giving credit to Dr. Abbott or to yourself for that, but–

“Sleepy.”

You jump when Dr. Abbott is just suddenly in front of you. 

“...Hey. I didn’t mean to make you jolt out of your seat, but…hi.”

But he’s gone now. You have more than enough time to figure who you are without him hurting you. 

“No–no. What’s up?” 

Dr. Abbott puts his hands at his sides. “Tonight’s the night you take me up on my offer. A lady’s in room seven with what looks to be a non-critical issue. Diaz was gonna check her in, put down the vitals and lab sheets for me, but with it being a slow night on your minor rotation…and with what I’ve heard about you,” His hands make his way up to the counter, one palm lies flat. “Am I allowed to put your skills to the test? Or should I let you take another nap?” 

You smile with your heart speeding in its beat. He’s funny. You think he likes you, or maybe he’s the person here that can be easy with others, make others smile. But, either way, the night shift isn’t looking to be so bad, after all. 

It doesn’t hurt that he’s so handsome either, not that that matters. But it’s…you’re in a place where it can and you won’t be hurt for it. You’re in a place where you can get along and care for others and you can exist for other people, people who you can tell are already great at their jobs, great at being. 

You can exist for others and not be bruised for it. That’s how it should be, your therapist says. It’s valid to feel guilty after how long you were with him, what he forced your mind to learn, but this is how it should be. 

“Of course.” 

…Even though you’re suddenly terrified. Still, you keep your smile along your face.

You are confident in your capabilities as a nurse, you have to be if you’re gonna be working with emergency patients, but you trust Dr. Abbott to be a great doctor, and even if he isn’t, he’s obviously a superior, and putting your skills out there for anyone to observe is terrifying, especially when you’re newer, you want to impress everyone, and that feeling is intense, the anxiety that comes at the idea that you won’t is even worse. 

But you’ve been through worse. You’ve felt worse. 

“Room seven, you said?” 

“Yep. I have some charts to finish, another patient to check on. When you’re done, come find me and give me a debrief.” 

“Alrighty, Dr.” 

You throw a salute at him. Dr. Abbott only confuses you when his brows go low with a stare. 

“...How much did Robby tell you about me?” 

“I don’t know what I’m saying that you would ask that.” 

“...Just get on the patient, please.” 

You do. She’s a 57-year-old woman named Lillian. She’s nice enough.

“What happened to that young Hispanic man? I was looking forward to being examined by him.” 

It’s the not worst sexual harassment you’ve ever witnessed or have received from a patient, but even in the shameless comment, you can tell she’s pale and uncomfortable. 

“I hope my face does just well enough, ma’am. You’re stuck with me. So, what’s exactly the matter, tonight?” 

You find that what’s been the matter with the patient for a while is that she was previously healthy to only come in with intermittent chest tightness, dyspnea, and a dry cough with a bit of lightheadedness. No on COVID. No on the flu, but most of her concern is how every hospital before yours claims it’s only a cold as her immune system weakens into old age. 

“Don’t worry, ma’am. We’ll try our best to stop you from feeling like this.” 

As you slowly make your way to Dr. Abbott at the nurse’s station, you do more than you’re supposed to in your head in thinking about her symptoms. You are a confident nurse. You’re proud to be one…even if it wasn’t your first career choice, but still, you do know you’re not supposed to be the one to make the conclusions. You can suggest, offer, assist, but you cannot allow your confidence to lie in the things you’re not allowed to do. 

Still, there’s something wrong here. It’s more than all the things that have been ruled out, and even though you know there is risk of seeming pushy or out of your depth at bringing up your theory to Dr. Abbott if he comes up with it first, but for the sake of the patient, you have to. The wellbeing of them outrules…the rules. 

This is not about seeming impressive to him…or to anyone, but if it does, you wouldn’t mind the emotional benefit of that. 

“Dr. Abbott.” 

Dr. Abbott turns around, stern in the movement…strong in the arms. You wonder if you’d noticed that before. 

“You’re done already?” 

“Mhmm.” 

“I was told to be expecting a mystery illness.” 

“Yeppers,” You hand him the chart and he’s quick to flip through it, studying it with a practiced eye. “She’s been two primary care doctors and urgent care before going to another E.R in Philly.”

He continues his study, and this is really the first time you’re able to see Dr. Abbott doing his job, and although he’s literally just looking at a chart, his focus is natural. Admirable.

“Normal ECG, troponins are slightly elevated but not screaming at us. Is the echo still pending?” You nod. “Labs are not gonna be for another couple of hours.” 

“Mhmm. But if it’s the same as the last department, they’ll probably run clean. Still,” 

“Mhmm. What?” 

“...Did you just mock me, Dr. Abbott?” 

“Mm-mm. What is it?” 

You stop yourself from rolling yourselves with the rush of blood against your arms. The way his jokes come out as if they’re fact, as if he’s not joking. 

The night shift isn’t so bad. And Dr. Abbott is more than a good man, he’s much too likeable already. 

“I’ll wait on the echo before I suggest anything.” 

Dr. Abbott looks up. He blinks before his eyes slightly narrow. 

“Alright. I suppose it’s my turn to examine her now, and whatever comes from my assessment, you’ll sit with me on the next patient after.” 

“Alright.” 

Your word is not unkind, but curt in a slightly lowered voice. 

You try to not let your smile get so wide when Dr. Abbott points a low finger. 

“I’m just going to state my rules, well, my preferences. I couldn’t have specifics rules for a nurse, I’m not your superior, Dana Evans is–” 

“Damn right.” 

It’s Dana flying past, covered in a fluid you will not ask about.  

You turn back to see Dr. Abbott’s eyes on you first. You suppose he’s more used to Dana or any nurse or fellow attending or resident covered in fluid. 

“If you’re gonna take to the night shift, I’d rather not have you mock me. But I’ll be in room seven with…” He takes his sights back to the chart before handing it back to you. “Lillian.” 

You wait a few seconds before Dr. Abbott’s away from you.

“Right back at ya.” 

You smile when Jack stops in his tracks. He takes two seconds to turn and takes seconds to stare at you when you blow a finger gun. His brows raise. His eyes go small. 

“You are so strange.” 

Your smile keeps at his simple statement, despite the fact that you’re shocked at his easy bravery. You suppose you’re glad he can already feel comfortable around you to bully, that makes for good teamwork. That seems to be the truth for your time with Dr. Robbie, and his little group of residents and students you’re trying to get to know. 

He turns back, and for the next twenty minutes, he’s gone. 

Dana’s suddenly next to you, chair against chair. She sighs shakily.

“People need to stop shoving shit up their anuses. At the very least, the country needs to make a law against it. Why is it that every nurse that has been and is to be will encounter butt stuff?

“I don’t know about lawmaking, Dana. That won’t stop anyone.” 

The blonde woman smiles thinly, but sweetly before it fades slightly. 

“How’s the night shift treating ya, so far?”

“Alright, actually.” 

“...How’s Abbott?” 

Dr. Abbott? “He’s great. For a conversation where I’m bullied, I mean. But he’s a pretty good doctor, yeah?” 

“One of the best, don’t tell him I said that. Tell him I said he’s good. Just enough praise to situate confidence, but not enough to build an ego. Same goes for Robbie.” 

You chuckle at Dana’s rightful plan, chin resting on your hand when you squeak your chair closer to her. 

“...How do the others like him?” 

You already regret the question when Dana’s brows raise, but you don’t know why, it’s just a question where you want to see if the others you’re getting to know like him as much as you do. 

You like him. And that’s okay. You can exist around him and it’s not a crime. 

Nothing about the way you feel deserves punishment. Remind yourself of that if you want the way you smile and the way you want to make others laugh and feel good feel real. If you want to be yourself. 

“In this department, with his ability? He’s easy to like and learn from. He’s not sunshine in a can like you, but you’ve obviously seen he’s able to…appear like he has a will to live.”

“...Sunshine in a can?” 

You’re completely confused in the way you blink quickly. 

“You’ve been here for almost a month and one would think we suddenly have a teddy-bear rotation. The fact that I have not come to resent your constant smiling or surprise granola says something about you.” 

“...Dana–” 

“Take the compliment, sunshine. If I have to hear our Mckay bitch about the lack of brownies since you’ve been put on the night shift, that means you belong here.” 

You smile small, and you’re smile being small doesn’t mean it’s any less genuine, but the idea of people perceiving you, or at the very least, your charge nurse perceiving you as someone who already belongs here makes your heart unbelievably shy. 

You’re glad that the person you can finally be is a person others like, but even in the confidence you need to relearn, you’ll keep that thought down for the sake of being humble. 

“Tell Cassie the day shift will have assorted scones ready for them when I come back. And speaking of my sunny absence, how’s you with the double shifts?”

“It’s probably my 15th anniversary of double shifts tonight. Maybe you can join me for once this time. Stop running for the door the minute your shift is done.” 

You try to smile.

"Hey, it's your one flaw, I'll take what I can get--"

“Sleepy,” You and Dana both look up at Dr. Abbott in front of you two, arms stretched out, palms flat on the counter. “On your feet, we’ll leave Evans to take a nap she actually deserves. Seriously, slugger, you running back and forth tonight worries me.” 

You almost moan when Dana’s mouth parts with a scoff readied on her tongue. “Sleepy? Oh, sweetie, that’s much better than sunshine.” 

You only burn when Dr. Abbott looks at you, then Dana, then you again, all with a stiff head and unblinking eyes. 

“Let’s go.” 

And you can only mouth “why?!” at Dana as you walk backwards behind him. 

“Stop doing that, please.” 

You stop walking backwards. 

“Thank you.” 

Before you know it, you’re standing alongside the newly introduced attending in the intake bay. A patient’s chart rests in his hands, and there. He’s focused again. 

His face is beautiful in his stern, simple sight, and the only issue is your instinct to blush instead of teasing him about it, so you try to focus on what must be the rare reprieve of the night shift, no drunk college kids or wounds from bar fights, right? The fluorescent light hum you know this place for is almost enough to not notice the way Dr. Abbott scratches his leg, and when he does, the pant leg pulls up by a few inches. 

And what’s underneath is metal instead of flesh and bone. Another life that’s built into him. 

Oh. To sound the reveille. The salute. The leg. Or lack thereof. That’s probably a cruel thought to have. You’re sorry. 

He must be a vet, and although you like him, and you want to get to know more of him, you feel like knowing that now without Dr. Abbott’s own words feel wrong. But you can’t think like that. 

These simple things do not deserve punishment. 

You clear your throat, dropping your body on a wheeled stool to spin. And spin. 

Dr. Abbott doesn’t look back down when he looks up at you.

“What are you doing?”

“You look like you’re trying to decode the Zodiac letters.” 

The small, clueless smirk you pressed your lips together for fades when Dr. Abbott puts the chart to his chest, and his face is plain, but already, you can tell by his eyes that he doesn’t find the joke in this. 

You stop spinning. 

“You must be very good at baking. Good on you.” 

You blink. “Oh! My reputation precedes me. And I am, if I do say so myself…” You blink again. 

Is he saying what you think he’s saying? 

“Dr. Abbott, if…my attempts–if I ever get too much, you can tell me. Whatever you’ve heard about me, I can assure you, I’ve definitely caused eye-rolls before.” 

Dr. Abbott gives you no reaction. You can’t know if that’s a good or bad thing, but the way he simply looks back down at the chart strikes you. You swallow. 

Impress. Make do. Make people feel good. 

“Let me guess–non-traumatic, vague abdominal pain, vitals are stable, and the labs could bore you?” 

Dr. Abbott looks up and holds the chart over his legs, his head slightly lifted, but his eyes only on you. 

“There’s nausea, some lightheadedness. Minor tachycardia but not sustained. He says it gets worse after meals. Negative for ulcers. No fever. Nothing glaring at us in the CBC or BMP. You’ve ever caught smoke with your bare hands?” 

You shake your head. He blinks. Oh. 

“Of course you haven’t.” You try not to smile when he shakes his head. “I’d say it feels pancreatic, but the clarity on that isn’t as clear as I’d like it to be. Could be early gallbladder, but the imaging’s clean. I could go get Dr. Shen, or leave it to Robby in the morning for a second opinion but…I don’t know, sleepy.” 

“Can I?” 

You point to the curtain and Dr. Abbott doesn’t take a moment to nod, he only crosses his arm and narrows his head. 

You end up glancing through to see the patient. He’s mid-thirties, male. Seemingly alert and coherent, annoyed but not in distress. 

“May I?” 

Your hand gestures to the chart in Dr. Abbott hands and he gives it to you to study. Here, you wonder what it is he’s trying to do with you exactly, other than figuring out the situation with the new nurse he’s only met yester-night. 

…Is he challenging you? Trying to disprove what others believe? It makes you wonder what’s exactly been said about you to the point where Dr. Abbott or anybody else would think you’re more capable than the average nurse (and the average nurse is nothing short of God here in the Pitt, you think). 

And then you wonder what it is about the other parts of you that might make it harder for him to believe you are what you are, which is a nurse that knows more than she should. 

You can’t blame Dr. Abbott exactly, considering you were just playing spinsies on the chair two minutes ago. Still, the answer to his problem comes to you easily, and you can’t help but wonder what face he’ll make when you tell him. 

“I’m seeing he started a new ‘clean eating’ thing two weeks ago?” 

“No red meat, high fiber, the load of raw veggies.” 

You nod thoughtfully after he drags out the word load on his tongue. “Did you palpate the LLQ?” 

Really. You try not to smile when Dr. Abbott makes no face, but only shifts his crossed arms to folding his knuckles over his stomach. That says enough. 

“Yeah. He winced. No rebound, but no rigidity.” 

“And what about percussion on the sigmoid? Or the gas pattern?” 

And even though you’re not looking, you can feel his eyes watching you, asking a question. 

How the hell do you know exactly what to ask?

“...Some distension, but nothing dramatic. You…what are you seeing in this chart that I’m not?” 

You smile something that all too quickly turns into a smirk. You hate to break down your humbleness the way you do when you hand Dr. Abbott the chart.

“I’m thinking, and only thinking, not diagnosing–that’s your job. But…it could be acute colonic pseudo-obstruction.” 

You lean against the wall, growing taller on your tippy toes and dimples coming along wide. 

Dr. Abbott flips through the chart. 

“He’s ticking all the boxes, don’t you think? Sudden dietary shift, high fiber, gas buildup, some mild nausea. It’s rare, so I don’t mean to think of zebras instead of horses, but if the labs and tests are coming up empty with more common illnesses, you can claim it’s not impossible in a younger patient, you know? The imaging’s not gonna catch it, and even if it did, no one thinks to look for Early Ogilvie’s in someone his age. 

You let the Dr. blink in the moment of silence. 

He puts the chart down on the counter before leaning against it. 

“You’re serious.” In the moment, you’re almost thankful for him taking his sights off you to watch the sterile glow over the tile, but when he looks back up at you, there’s something new in his eyes. It’s odd, you try your best to be confident in the way you talk, the way you comfort patients and your colleagues, but you don’t think you could be as confident with your eyes as Dr. Abbott is with his, but you hope your confidence has the same effect as his focus. 

That it puts trust in others. 

“Ogilvie’s?”

You shrug before leaning into Dr. Abbott’s space, you only do it for dramatics as you whisper. “Just a theory, but I’d put my money on it. You, good sir, could ask for KUB focused on his distal colon, or maybe a contrast if you want to go fancy. But you probably already know that, because if everyone thinks you’re great, well…what can I do but follow?” 

You think that after this, you have to keep looking in his eyes, because what’s the point of proving yourself to him if you can’t appear confident in your proof? Still, you’re thankful that he’s the one to look away first. 

“If you’re right, excellent job.” 

And there it is again, your veins and bones trying to sit still when it faces a compliment. 

“...Thank you–” 

“Excellent.”

And they possibly can’t when you realize that Dr. Abbott is truly serious in his words. Almost…breathless, but that must be how he sounds when he’s not facetiously bullying you. Still, you have to stop the corners of your brain close in on its believability. 

Impress, but relearn how to accept the praise when you finally do. 

But here…it’s different with Dr. Abbott, and you couldn’t know why, but it’s easy for your system to accept his praise, and maybe it's because it wants it badly enough that it’s willing to ignore his voice. His words. 

“If you’re wrong, I will call on Evans to severely reprimand you.” 

“I’ll start a betting pool when you walk off to order the imaging.” 

Dr. Abbott nods before lifting himself away from you and your sights, and it’s only a matter of this being a calm shift that you’re able to sit next to Dana again. 

You only regret when you meet her knowing look. What could she know? You wouldn’t.

“Aw, shit. You glowing from your diagnostic confidence or from Abbott’s praise when you did whatever the fuck it is you did this time?” 

“...I’m allowed to be proud of when I’m right.” 

“Mhm-hm.” Whatever it is that Dana’s unconvinced about, you can tell she is still when she stands up with two pats to your shoulders. “Sure.”

And when she walks away from you, she’s only more unconvinced when she meets Abbott in the walkway. 

“Her. What is with her? How do…others like her?” 

And Abbott’s only as confused as you when Dana snorts.

————————————————

It was just all...so different in my head.

[nellbookmarks]

PROLOGUE

BUYING SILENCE

NEW MONEY: A ROMAN ROY X READER SERIES

MASTERLIST WORD COUNT: 5k

“I don’t think ‘hesitation’ is the right word,” you say, your voice drier than you’d expected. You didn’t mean for it to sound bitter, but it slips out like venom through a cracked lip. “I said no.”

Warnings: Succession canon themes including but not limited to: Mentions of SA in the cruises scandal, marijuana, swearing, corporate jargon, etc.

Authors Note: Ahhh finally posting the prologue of my Succession fic !!! Hopefully y’all like it as much as I enjoyed writing it. This one is a little action-less as it’s establishing backstory and setting up the rest of the fic but let me know what you think in the comments!

The cold in upstate New York wasn't as brutal as his hometown of Toronto, but the temperature inside Greg Hirsch's beat up Mitsubishi rental car would fool any Canadian they were back home. He had the heating set to the highest temperature possible as he drove from his roadside motel to the BrightStar Adventure Park through the early morning fog. Despite the bass in his speakers rumbling from the radio and whatever volume he’d turned the music up to, the vibration of the cracked plastic slats in the air vents always seemed to be just that little bit louder. He mumbled the melody of the song gently whilst he parked a healthy distance from the theme park's entrance. He knew that what he was about to do could be quite unsavoury to any potential witnesses.

Reaching into his pocket Greg pulls out a small box and a slender pipe, which resembled a standard tobacco cigarette to the untrained eye. He scooped up some of the pre-chopped marijuana from the box, gently pushed it into the pipe with his finger and placed the metal stick between his lips. A sense of dread filled Greg as he leant his head back against the car seat — the last thing he wanted to do at this ungodly hour of the morning was to be surrounded by screaming children and sycophantic corporate drones.

Fucking management training. What a joke.

With a few clicks of his lighter, he guarded the flame with his free hand and took a few short puffs to start. He felt the smoke venture its way down into his lungs as he inhaled deeply, before the tingling sensation of the weed scratched at his throat once he exhaled. Smoke wafted delicately throughout his car, swirls of pale grey dancing around his head as he hummed the melody of whatever radio chart topper was playing when he pulled up.

Driving into the parking lot and stopping just a stones throw away from the entrance, you hopped out of your Uber. Pulling your long winter coat tighter around your body to fend off the icy wind, you thanked the driver again for stopping at a drive-thru so you could get coffee. Five stars. You promised. Greg watched innocently whilst taking slow drags of his pipe, observing you sip from your takeaway coffee cup as you stood quietly with a few other ‘future managers’. Almost using the drink as an excuse to not have to talk to anyone else around you. Smart move, he would’ve done the same thing.

You looked young. Around his age, maybe slightly older. Greg wasn’t great at picking people’s ages (especially women) but you were obviously closer to 30 than the rest of the program’s cohort who were easily pushing above the 40 mark.

He rolled his heavy head to the side as he noticed movement in his peripheral vision. More and more cars were arriving to the previously desolate car park, prompting him to check his phone for the time. Realising he had just seven minutes before the session started, he rushed to smoke the remaining dregs of his weed and coughed out the smoke as he quickly leant over the passenger seat to retrieve his backpack. As he pushed the car door open quickly, a gust of the brisk air hit his face, causing a shiver to run up his spine and an involuntary ‘fuck’ to slip from his lips at how cold it was outside.

Climbing out of the drivers seat, he slung each of the backpack straps over his shoulders and waved his hands haphazardly around him in attempts to flush the thick smoke out of the car. It was only until the completion of his smoking that he realised two things: the first being he most certainly could not smoke inside a rental car, and the second was that he had forgotten about the McDonalds hash brown he ordered on the way there sitting idly in the paper bag. Greg quickly held the now lukewarm hash brown between his teeth, pulled the hood of his green anorak jacket over his head and jogged across the lot to join them.

He approached the turnstiles with his corporate access pass and inspected it to determine which direction it should be inserted. All the while holding the hash brown in between his teeth. Fumbling to stick the paper ticket into the metal slot, he huffed as the machine spat the ticket back out for being entered backwards.

Groaning to himself, he took a bite of the hash brown and pulled it away from his mouth, "Fuck, why can't- Why can't it just work both ways?"

His tall slender build pushed past the silver turnstile and he sighed in relief. He’d only gotten lucky with inserting the ticket the right way up two out of the five days this week. And it was only the first of six dreaded weeks.

“Five days here and you still haven’t figured it out?” You smiled playfully.

Looking up at you all flustered from the fact you’d watched him struggle with the ticket, he simply just smiled and shrugged in response. You’d waited for him. How kind. “It’s just- We’re one of the biggest companies in the world. Why are we still using old-school turnstiles? Why can’t we scan a QR code or something?” He groaned.

“Should suggest that as an idea, future leader,” you laugh, noticing his glassy red eyes. “Are you…” you trail before pinching your finger and thumb together near your mouth to insinuate he was high.

“Huh? No, I just- I’m still waking up. Super tired from this crazy busy first week, y’know.”

You nodded slowly, not believing a word he was saying. You knew a stoner when you saw one. “Sneaky wake and bake, I respect it. Don’t worry, I won’t rat you out.”

His eyes widen, “Wait, what? Shit, is it really that obvious?”

You shake your head and tell him it’s just because you were up close and knew what signs to look for. He took the last bite of his hash brown and gave you a close mouthed smile, chewing the pretty much cold-now potato.

"Breakfast of champions right? Weed and greasy fast food…" He smiled, pulling the back of his hood down before you both entered the building.

Like the previous few days, you both walked into the foyer, picked up your name tag, pinned it to your jackets and stood around for fifteen minutes as the trainers waited for everyone to arrive. Greg liked that you weren’t as 'corporate-y' as the rest of the training cohort, that you didn't whip your figurative business dick out to compare sizes with everyone as they competed for attention. Everyone seemed like they were desperate puppies begging for cheap praise from trainers who were probably paid much less than all of them. Greg was possibly the only person in the room who didn't want to be there, but at least he had you to commiserate with.

A wall-mounted television played a dated corporate video on loop, explaining the basic overview of Waystar Royco, the parent company in which they were all a part of. Logan Roy, the nearly 80 year old media magnate introduced his conglomerate, his fervent yet icy voice echoing through the tinny speakers. The Roy family held somewhat of a monopoly over multiple different industries. In Waystar’s eyes, they basically controlled the news in the United States and across international borders; the information that society had access to, and what information they didn't. Unless you were a snowflake who watched PGN. They were America’s largest cruise line, but when it came to theme parks, those happy-go-lucky mousey fucks had them beat. Fucking Disney.

"Waystar Royco is a family. A family that spans 4 continents, 50 countries and 3 divisions. Entertainment, news and resource," narrated Logan Roy.

You try to hide your yawn by turning towards Greg's shoulder, holding your hand over your mouth politely as he stifled a chuckle. Starting an early morning with a boredom inducing video narrated by an old man wasn't your preferred way to wake up and neither was his. Especially when it played on loop every fucking morning. Throughout the week you’d had shared a plethora of sarcastic quips with each other about how thrilling this training was, both of you in allegiance knowing how cringy this all was.

His second eldest child, Kendall Roy, appeared on screen next speaking obviously from a script on a teleprompter with a chilling stare down the barrel of the camera. He was in his late thirties, yet held himself like a sixty year old congressman, a cold, jaded and bluntly direct man. Zero on-screen personality. Greg drifted in and out of focus, leaning back in his chair as he watched the final scene of the training video: a group of hired extras dressed in suits jumping up in the air and yelling the slogan "feel it" with forced excitement.

“I’d kill to be a fly on the wall at one of their family dinners,” you mumbled to Greg under your breath.

Greg chuckled nervously, “Ha, yeah…”

For the previous few days of sessions and training modules, the cohort of managers-to-be had completed a myriad of cheaply printed pages of role play scenarios, basic questionnaires and mock presentations. The first week heavily focused on customer facing hands-on training to understand the "heart and soul of Brightstar" — mostly through the degreasing act of making their employees don various mascot suits.

The six weeks of training were always hosted at one of the several BrightStar Adventure Parks in the country. Waystar had invested most of the parks funding into the international locales, so the theme parks in North America were starting to look a little worse for wear. It was torturous, really. The only perk was getting to attend an all expenses paid 3 day cruise to the Bahamas on completion. You’d taken a bunch of their cruises as rewards for being a top performer in your office, for smashing your KPI’s and winning various awards. It wasn’t all that exciting for you but hey, you’d take the extra days off and the free all-you-can-drink package.

Greg had been coaxed into signing up for the management training program by his mother in attempts to 'get his life together'. Much to his dismay, he agreed to fly to upstate New York for the next available course, kindly paid for and organised by his Uncle Ewan. There were two arms of the Waystar Royco Management Training Program; either Entertainment and Leisure or Print and Broadcast Media. You and Greg were in the Entertainment and Leisure program, which had cohorts of about 50 people twice a year.

If you worked for ATN or any of the traditional media arms of the business you would be enrolled in the latter biennial program which only accepted 20 executives for each cohort. It was dubbed the ‘boring’ track because it was so heavily corporate and lasted 12 weeks instead of 6 but they got to travel internationally. That’s why they only ran it once every two years.

Instead of sitting in an old seminar room in Buffalo, the executives started their training in New York City at Waystar Royco’s headquarters, where ATN, NCN and LNN were based as well as their top domestically run newspapers; The Correspondant and The NY Globe. That was about 5 weeks. Then they’d fly up to Canada to do a week out of the Journal Quebecois office before flying across to Europe for an additional 6 weeks. You saw on LinkedIn that last years cohort went to the Les Temps de Paris office in France, then the Deutschland Heute office in Germany and finished in London at the London Journal office.

Lucky bastards.

"Good morning, my smart and capable superstars! And happy Friday!" Chimed one of your instructors enthusiastically. "Congratulations on almost finishing your very first week of management training. We've learnt the theory, so now let's put those skills to the test!"

She explained that after they watched a quick introductory video, each of you could line up outside in the next room to collect your assigned character costume. She also insisted that the day would be 'fun' and an 'enlightening experience' for them all, yet her pep talk failed to inspire the group to share her excessive enthusiasm.

"Are we all ready to give these kids the best day of their lives?!" The management coach grinned, advising the group that they could now collect their costumes. Greg was one of the last to stand up, slumped in his seat as he stared into oblivion. However, he snapped out of his daze when the instructor clicked her fingers in his direction, bringing him back to reality.

"Hey, are you in the room?" She smiled politely.

"Yeah, yeah I'm just, still waking up. Big week, lots of learning," he stuttered, standing up and joining the rest of the group in line.

One of the theme park employees pulled a large brown animal suit from the rack and passed it over to Greg, apologising that it was the only costume that could accommodate his staggering 6'7" height. He nodded gently and thanked the woman before she caught him turning on his heel.

"Don't forget the head!" She trilled, holding out an oversized dog head that accompanied his costume. In his head, Greg had thought he did a good job at holding back a disappointed groan as he walked back to the benches but the amused face on your face proved otherwise.

"Ha-ha, laugh it up. What'd you get?" He sighed, sitting down and kicking his shoes off.

"I have to make sure you don't trip over a trash can or fall into a lake or something," you joked, holding up the familiar orange Brightstar staff polo shirt and khaki pants.

"What? Are you shitting me? I- How come you get to escape the torture?" Greg whined, looking down at the inevitably heavy and claustrophobic suit he'd been given: Doderick the Dog.

"No, no I don't escape anything. I'll be wearing one of those dumb things later this afternoon don't you worry," you laughed.

Once dressed and semi-adjusted to the restricted vision and lack of fresh air from the costume head, Greg followed her through the park. He yawned as he began waving to the various squealing children excited to meet their favourite talking dog. Approaching a group of eager kids Greg stopped for photo opportunities, parents beaming ear to ear as they encouraged their kids to stand next to the dehydrated, sleep deprived and still heavily stoned man in the suit.

As the younger kids waved goodbye to Doderick, another group of slightly older children decided to throw their small fists towards Greg, hurling their plastic toy swords into his side and swinging plush toys at his torso. As disoriented as he felt already in the suit, spinning to try and face the children directly deemed a harder task that he initially anticipated. His field of vision was restrained to the large cartoon eyes of his costume, which felt like using binoculars without the zoom. The children laughed at his despair whilst deciding to pull his arms in a clockwise direction, spinning him around despite your polite efforts to make them stop.

"Fuck- Get off me! Stop!" Greg groaned underneath the suit, his words barely audible from the amount of material shielding his face.

Despite the very strict rule that staff were not allowed to have their personal phones whilst on duty, you pulled out your phone and started filming before sliding it subtly into the front pocket of your pants. You knew that after this all ended, Greg would laugh at the fact he was getting tackled by small kids in a god damn dog outfit.

He grew dizzier with every spin, the effects of his breakfast marijuana coming back to bite him in the ass as he grew nauseous. The sickness became overwhelming and the faint feeling in his head consumed him before he realised what was happening. Suddenly, vomit burst from his mouth and splattered against the inside of his costume.

The kids around him screamed in horror as their beloved pooch Doderick had warm bile spraying out from his eyeballs, the thin mesh of the costume allowing vomit to escape at an immense force. You hurried to his side as he fell onto his hands and knees, vomit still flowing from the dogs head.

As security guards swarmed around Greg, his state of delirium still prevalent, they lifted his limp body. You followed behind with concern, telling a young girl that Doderick had been fed some out of date kibble and that they had to take him to the vet to get better. Nice save, you thought. Greg groaned as the security guards took him back indoors to the locker rooms to finally unzip the head from his costume.

"Jesus Christ," one of the men said in disgust, looking at poor disheveled Greg hunched over. The other guard passed him a bottle of water from the staff fridge, whilst their training instructor came over in a flustered hurry.

Requesting that you continue your shift in a different area of the park, the instructor smiled and thanked you for helping remove Greg from the public eye in his current state. The number one rule at theme parks was to never de-head your costume in front of children. As you waved goodbye to Greg and wished him a speedy recovery, you heard their instructor sympathise for him.

You found herself standing in front of one of the many theme park maps plastered along winding pathways after being instructed to support a different management trainee named Phil who was dressed as 'Dirk the Turkey' on the other side of the park. Quickly you pulled out your phone and looked around for the closest bathroom, knowing that theme park staff weren't allowed to be seen on their phones. You darted into a cubicle and locked the door behind you, sitting on top of the closed toilet seat to check the footage you’d gotten of Greg. Skimming through the video, you found the point where Greg was taken away and cropped it to the juicy part.

It was shaky, the camera often in awkward angles given the position of your phone but on the whole, you had captured the sidesplittingly hilarious footage of Greg throwing up out of Doderick's eyes and being escorted away by security. You chuckled to yourself as you locked your phone again and left the cubicle, washing your hands chuckling to yourself.

This would totally go viral on the internet.

6 WEEKS LATER

Sitting in a meeting room across from a stranger in an expensive business suit didn’t feel completely unfamiliar to you, but the reason for today’s meeting was wildly new and uncomfortable. His expression was unreadable, protected behind thinly veiled corporate diplomacy as he sat in silence. He’d introduced himself only as ‘Sam’, thanked you for coming and sat across from you at the table without uttering another word. He barely even moved a muscle. He simply just watched you. It was unsettling really, sitting without so much as a laptop or a phone to distract you. He didn’t seem to be the type for small talk or pleasantries, and rightfully so — there was nothing pleasant about the subject of today’s meeting.

“We’re just waiting on one more,” he says calmly, conscious that you were bouncing your leg under the table from nerves.

From a distance you heard shoes clicking on the marble floor behind you like a metronome counting down to the inevitably unpleasant shit show. The door slides open and you stand to shake the woman’s hand. She was older, maybe in her 60’s and dressed immaculately in a sleek black blazer, white blouse and a skirt that matched the jacket. Expensive, but not performative. Classy.

“Gerri Kellman, General Counsel. Thank you for meeting with me today,” she says smoothly, sliding into a chair next to you. The man you’d previously sat with quietly stands, and leaves the room without so much as a goodbye.

What the fuck, you thought. Why was that Sam guy even there in the first place? Talk about a glorified babysitter, you wondered how much he got paid to sit and stare at people if he had a Rolex and a suit that cost more than your rent. Jesus.

Gerri clears her throat, her tone clipped and sharp. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?” She asks, and you shake your head. You knew that putting anything in your stomach right now would just come back up.

You’re not trying to be rude, but it takes conscious effort just to keep your jaw unclenched and sit here without recoiling from her presence. Even though Gerri hasn’t done anything to you. Not directly. Still, her tailored suit and corporate calmness feels like an extension of them. You fold your hands in your lap under the table so she doesn’t see them shaking.

“I understand that prior to today, legal parties acting on behalf of Waystar Royco offered you monetary compensation to sign a non-disclosure agreement. They’ve made me aware of your hesitation to sign, so today I’d like to understand what reservations you might have and see how we can reach a mutually beneficial solution.”

“I don’t think ‘hesitation’ is the right word,” you say finally, your voice drier than you expected. You didn’t mean for it to sound bitter, but it slips out like venom through a cracked lip. “I said no.”

“You declined the first figure,” she corrects, civil yet razor-edged. “Understandable. An offer like that in exchange for brushing your assault under the rug is insulting. I agree.”

You look at her, really look at her this time. The calm mask. The expensive watch and pearl necklace. The expression you’ve seen on a dozen executives’ faces when they’re trying to pretend to be human. And you wonder if she believes a single word she’s saying or if she’s just really fucking good at this. Most likely the latter.

“Thank you for saying that. But with all due respect Ms. Kellman, I’m a little surprised that I’m now meeting with yourself rather than the legal team Waystar previously sent to speak to me.”

“I believe that a case like this… Needs someone of a certain calibre. And naturally that someone would be myself.”

“General counsel,” you whistle, looking at the full glass of water you’ve refused to even sip yet. “They’re sending in the big dogs, huh?”

“Actually, I requested to lead this. I don’t believe a team of testosterone ridden drones would understand the gravitas of what happened to you. They lack the human empathy needed here. And on that note, I’d firstly like to deeply apologise for what happened to you.”

You nod in response, god knows how many executives had uttered those words to you over the past two weeks.

“Genuinely. Woman to woman, reading your previous legal transcripts made me sick to my stomach. Which is why I’ve personally ordered the dismissal of the man responsible, and he’ll be out of Waystar Royco by close of business today.”

You raise an eyebrow, “The lawyers I spoke to earlier said that his termination would need a full investigation to prove he actually assaulted me. Why go in all guns blazing now?”

“Because I believe women.”

“Sure,” you nod. Unconvinced.

“I also read the medical report. There’s no denying you were assaulted.” She pauses, then leans forward slightly. She looks at you like she’s trying to figure out how someone so young pulled off such an advanced play. “Quite frankly, we both know you wouldn’t be sitting here if you weren’t open to a negotiation.”

“Ms. Kellman, I can’t count on both hands how many employees I know by name that have been victims of assault by whilst working at BrightStar. And that’s only during my 6 year tenure. The fact that my manager, a victim of Lester McClintock himself, told me not to come forward about this only speaks to the deep rooted culture of fear and abuse within Waystar.”

Gerri’s lips press into a thin line. Not from discomfort, but from acknowledgment. The name Lester McClintock has an echo effect long after his retirement. You spoke without so much as a single stutter, your expression a masterclass in neutrality matched only by Gerri’s — so she knew your threats were far from empty.

“The cover ups didn’t magically stop because Bill took over in the early 2000’s and cleared out the old guard. They just got quieter. So I imagine the last thing either of us want is to see those crimes see the light of day on the Senate floor. And trust me, it wouldn’t be hard for me to do.”

“I’m not unaware of your political connections,” She says clearing her throat and crossing one leg over the other in her chic tailored skirt. “Your father is one of the longest serving Senators in the country and his support and allegiance to ATN does not go unnoticed. I’d even go as far to say he’d be proud of how you’re holding yourself today, standing your ground.”

Of course she knew about your family. You weren’t a public figure or anything, most people wouldn’t have even known your father had kids at all, but she’d gotten Rat Fucker Sam to run a background check on you. The same Sam who sat with you before, unbeknownst to you. Apart from the fact you were a model employee and couldn’t find anything substantial enough to use as blackmail, Waystar knew they couldn’t treat you like the other victims.

You were a real person in their eyes, which made you a highly complicated case. Far too complicated to outsource to an external legal team, that’s for sure. Which is exactly why Gerri came to Florida to meet with you personally.

The threat of a public scandal tied to an already morally corrupt cruise division? With a high-profile political tie-in? A senator’s daughter exploited by the same machinery they’ve worked so hard to bury, well fuck. That’s not a stain they could wash out of the media cycle. That was a goddamn reckoning.

“I reviewed your counter offer, and I have to say I’m surprised you stipulated wanting to stay employed at Waystar...” Gerri says before narrowing her eyes slightly. “You had some pretty damning things to say about the company just now.”

You laugh to yourself, “What’s that line our PR team always preaches? Blame the individual, not the corporation?”

She chuckles before settling into a calculated yet comfortable silence. It’s thick though. The kind that proves she knows you’re not bluffing.

“I’m not going to insult you with another counter that wastes either of our time. We’re prepared to give you compensation for emotional damages, the transfer to New York and a promotion within Parks and Cruises. We’ll also provide a relocation fee to help you settle in, a rental subsidy for the first three years and a clause in your employment contract that guarantees security against non-performance based dismissal.”

There’s something different in her tone now. Not kindness or sympathy, not defeat or fear. It was recognition. Respect from someone who’s watched countless women with far less courage become devoured by the system. You might have come here today as a liability, but you were leaving something much more akin to an asset.

She offers the folder to you. Inside was the finalised NDA, a formal employment contract for your promotion, relocation paperwork, and details around the various legal terms she’d outlined. She takes a deep breath before telling you she’ll be in Florida for 48 hours for you to mull it all over.

You nod slowly, analysing her composure. So precise, so poised, like the deal was already done and she was just delivering the final line in a well-rehearsed monologue. But you’re not nodding in agreement. You’re nodding because, in some twisted way, it’s almost impressive how neatly Waystar has packaged your pain. Bullet points for trauma. Line items for silence.

You lean back slightly, the leather chair creaking under your weight, and you open the folio to the first page of many. You look at the document outline, seeing the relevant sections and take your time flicking through the pages and skimming over the legalities.

She’s not trying to play hardball anymore. She’s not even trying to charm you. She’s offering terms. That’s all this is. A surrender with style. It’s not justice. It never will be. But the fact that they’re offering this much means they know what you could do if you wanted to. If you opened your mouth in the right room, to the right person, with the right name behind you.

“I don’t condone what happened to you, and I don’t like that this is how we fix things here but between you and I, I’m glad you didn’t take their first offer. I’ve seen far too many women in my time crawl away out of fear and a quick buck.”

Her eyes meet yours. Perpetually tired, constantly sharp, yet still sincere in that quiet Gerri Kellman way. She knew you’d sign once you saw how much they were offering you, you’d be a fool to say no.

“Can I just ask, out of curiosity… Why didn’t you lawyer up for this? You’re a smart girl, I thought you’d fight fire with fire.”

You flip through the pages slowly, deliberately. Not to read everything now of course, but to remind her that you’re not someone who could be rushed. Even though she’d said she was only in Florida for 48 hours. But you didn’t have to give her answer by then, she was just staying in town out of hope you’d sign quickly. Each turn of the page was a silent assertion that you weren’t afraid of escalating this though. You knew they couldn’t buy your silence as easily as the other victims, you were simply deciding whether their offer was enough to stay quiet.

“People only hire lawyers out of convenience or fear. They hire professionals to take care of the shit they don’t want to deal with, or to handle the shit they’re scared of. But I’m not scared. This is between me and Waystar.”

Finally, you close the folio, fingers resting lightly on the cover. You don’t smile. You don’t thank her. You just meet her gaze with the same calm detachment she once reserved for you.

“I’ll let you know.”

[nellbookmarks]

Matching

Michael Robinavitch x Reader

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ MINORS DNI, blowjob in the bathroom, anxiety and panic attacks

Description: The Reader is accidentally trapped in the bathroom with Robby while he reels from a panic attack, and it's up to her to calm him down.

Michael Robinavitch Masterlist

—

There wasn’t really a dress code in the Pitt. A lot of people wore black, navy, or gray scrubs. But that just wasn’t you. If you had to work in a place as dark as an underfunded emergency department, then you were going to bring joy where you could. That included wearing fun color scrubs. Pink, green, sky blue, and on and on. But today you wore your lavender scrubs, and they were no match to the blood that stained the fibers while stabilizing a gunshot wound to the chest. The patient came in so fast, and you had no time to grab the yellow PPE apron to protect your beloved scrubs.

After the patient was stabilized and surgery had been consulted, you walked to the lounge, hoping that you had remembered to pack an extra pair of scrubs. You didn’t want to do the walk of shame to the vending machine like Whitaker did the other day.

You snatched your backpack from the cubby and bolted towards the bathroom. Your backpack revealed a spare pair of scrubs in pale pink. Perfect. You usually matched your bra and panties to the color that you wore to work that day, just for fun, but lavender and pale pink go together pretty well.

You pulled the bloodied scrub top over your head and tossed it on the ground. It couldn’t get any dirtier than it already was.

Then the bathroom door swung open. Shit. You forgot to lock the door. You froze where you were, hands on the drawstring of your scrub pants. In walked Dr. Robby, with a hand over his eyes, rubbing his temples. The door shut behind him, and he reached to lock it with his free hand out of habit.

Fuck. Your attending was in the room with you. While you were half naked. What were you supposed to do? Say hello? Scream?

But you stayed silent and still, like a deer that doesn’t know the gun is pointed at her forehead. Robby had leaned against the bathroom door, taking in deep breaths, with his face in his hands. Sweat was dripping down his neck, and his signature hoodie was missing. His large biceps threatened to bust through the sleeves of his black scrubs, and you could almost see…oh, a new tattoo? Maybe it wasn’t new, but you had never seen it before. You squinted to focus your eyes, trying to read the script on his skin when a booming “JESUS, FUCK!” snapped you out of your concentration.

Robby was staring at you with wide eyes, and he had stumbled back into the corner where the sink and mirror were, arms spread back on the wall to catch himself from falling.

“I-I am so sorry, Dr. Robby. I think I forgot to lock the door, and you just came in so fast, and I didn’t think to…to…” You rambled, but then caught his reaction.

His face was red, flushed all the way to his ears. And now it was his turn to be frozen. His eyes swept up and down your body, and his breathing became more labored.

You took a step forward to him, with your hand out, like you were trying to calm a wild animal. “Are you okay?” You asked with concern.

Robby slowly lifted his eyes to meet yours, eyebrows drawn together. He licked his dry lips like he was going to speak, but the words wouldn’t fall out of his mouth. His junior resident was topless in front of him. What was he supposed to do? Run? Fall to his knees?

His breathing wasn’t steady, and he began to sink to the ground slowly. You ran to kneel in front of him, grabbing his shoulders to establish a physical connection.

“Dr. Robby. Are you having a panic attack?” You asked, but you knew if he was in his right mind, he would have chastised you for the silly question instead of a proper patient encounter. But this was different. “Robby, it’s just you and me.”

Robby hung his head, trying to get a hold of his breathing, but you could see he was getting dizzy from hyperventilating. You grabbed his face, tilting it to meet your eyes, and then took his hands. You brought one hand to your bare chest, his calloused hands rough on your soft, supple skin. Then you brought his other hand to his own chest, and you could feel his heart racing.

“This is my heartbeat. Let’s try to get yours to match mine, okay? Let’s slow it down.” You said with the same gentle touch that you use with pediatric patients.

Robby’s eyes stayed on yours like they were the only lifeline he had. Those beautiful, sad brown eyes were all yours in that moment. You stroked circles with your thumb on this back of his hand that pressed against your chest.

“I’m right here with you, Dr. Robby.” You promised. His breathing wouldn’t slow down, and your mind shuffled through calming techniques for panic attacks. “Michael.” You finally said.

Robby’s face changed. His furrowed brow relaxed slightly. You had never called him that. Nobody ever calls him that.

“Michael.” You said again. “That’s a sweet name. You look like a Michael. I think your parents were onto something.”

Robby’s lips cracked a small smile. His breathing began to slow. You felt his heart rate decelerating with the breaths.

“Is it a family name?” You asked, with genuine curiosity.

Robby nodded. He licked his dry lips again, but this time he was able to speak. “My dad’s name. And his dad’s.”

You smiled. “I like that.”

Robby matched your smile in full this time. His breathing had calmed, and he laid his head back against the wall. He just stared at you through low eyelids, but kept his hand on your chest and the other on his own. Soon your heartbeats found the same tempo, pumping in near synchronicity.

“How’d you do that?” He asked.

You shrugged. “I have panic attacks, too. I spent a lot of time finding ways to ground myself.” You replied.

Robby nodded, then smirked a little. “Teachers never stop learning either.” He said.

You giggled and shook your head. “I’m glad I could help. Let’s just stay here for a second. Get you back to earth.”

He made no protest, even though you knew he wanted to get back to work. So he decided to change the subject.

“Do you always match them?” He asked.

You tilted your head. “Match who?” You asked.

Robby’s fingers traced your skin to the silky fabric of your lavender bra, which also had been stained with red from the blood that soaked through your scrubs.

Your face flushed, and now it was your turn to struggle to speak. “O-oh. Um…yeah.” You laughed breathily. “I have them in every color of my scrubs.”

Robby chuckled, but his fingers continued to trace across your bra, almost mindlessly.

“Even those bright green ones that you wear on Saint Patrick’s Day?” He asked.

You laughed and nodded. “Yes. But those are more lacy.” You replied.

Robby raised an eyebrow. Oh, he was having a good time now. “That can’t be comfortable.” He mused.

You shrugged. “It can be a little itchy. But it looks really cute. Plus, you never know. I could end up in a car crash, and I’ll want to look good before an autopsy.” You joke, but decided to push it farther. “Or end up in a bathroom with my attending.”

Fuck. Robby’s smile faltered a bit. You shouldn’t have said that. “I am so sorry. I-I shouldn’t have said that. You just had a panic attack, and that was very inappropriate of-“

Robby grabbed your wrist tightly and shoved your hand down to his crotch. Oh. He was rock hard. You swallowed anxiously. You didn’t even know what to say, but your hand was subconsciously rubbing the outline of his cock through his pants. Way bigger than your dirty thoughts during long hours at work had ever imagined. Without a word, you pulled at the drawstring of his pants, undoing them with ease.

Your eyes looked up to Robby’s, asking for permission, and he reached into his pants, pulling out his pulsing cock. Veined and thick, precum beading like pearls on the head. Your mouth watered at the sight.

You lowered your head, and you let the saliva from your mouth drool onto his cock, lubricating it thoroughly. Robby shuddered at the unexpected sensation and gave himself a few strokes, pushing more drops of precum to the head. You puckered your lips and delicately sucked the fluid off his tip, indulging in the salty taste.

Robby groaned lowly, and you felt your pussy pulse against your will at the sound. You looked up to him, and he unraveled at the sight of your doe eyes next to his dick. “You’re so much bigger than I imagined.” You said.

“You-you’ve thought about this?” He stuttered.

You smiled innocently and shrugged. “Probably more than I should.” You said.

And with that, you licked a slow stripe from the base of his cock to the very tip. Robby dropped his head back and sputtered out explicatives. You repeated the action, over and over, feeling every vein that your tastebuds glided over. You finished one final lick, and without warning, you sank your mouth down over his entire cock, shoving it down your throat.

Robby’s entire body flinched, and he snatched a handful of your hair in fist, struggling to be still. You pulled up, letting his cock fall out of your mouth. You grabbed his free hand, pressed it to your throat, and dropped your head down again. Robby could feel himself in your throat as you bobbed up and down, taking him all in every time. You didn’t bother hiding the gargling and gagging sounds of his cock choking you.

“Fuck, baby girl…” He mumbled. “If you keep doing this, I’m not gonna last much longer.”

You took that as a challenge. You wrapped both of your hands around his cock, stacking them on each other, twisting them as you sucked. Unholy sounds fell from his lips. Your jaw began to ache from his large diameter, but you were not going to be deterred.

Robby tightened the grip he had on your hair, almost forcing your head up and down with your rhythm. “I’m-I’m gonna cum.” He said as a warning to you.

But you weren’t going to stop. You kept your pace exactly the same until you felt his cock twitch, shooting hot cum into your mouth in a pulsating pattern. The sound of him whispering your name as you gently pumped out his orgasm was heavenly. You waited until his cock pulsed for the last time before you swallowed everything that he had emptied into your mouth.

Robby pulled up on your hair, and you sat up to be eye level with him. He pulled you in for a first kiss, tasting himself on your swollen lips. You ran your fingers through his beard and thinning hair.

“Was that okay?” You asked, feigning innocence.

Your attending chuckled and stroked your cheek with his thumb. “How about you come home with me tonight, and I’ll let you know my answer?” He said before capturing your lips in another lazy kiss.

--

A/N: I’m in a writing frenzy right now. And tomorrow is my birthday so this is a present to myself. This one will almost certainly have a part 2, but not sure if I will write it next or move to another prompt. Thank you for all the suggestions and ideas! They are being filed away for future reference.

[nellbookmarks]

pairing: dr. jack abbot x reader

sum.: you have a one night stand with an extremely attractive older man, but it doesn’t seem like you’ll see him again. fate has other plans, it seems.

warnings: age gap (jack is late 40s, reader is 23) unexpected pregnancy, light smut, reader and jack have both been drinking but are very eager/consent is definitely there. MDNI

notes: i am still working on former stripper!reader, but this came to me and i had to get it out. i think this will be a series of smaller drabbles, instead of a full one shot, but idk, what do you guys think/prefer? unedited. any feedback is extremely appreciated, especially reblogs/asks!

wc: 1.3k

next

You meet Jack Abbot in a dark bar on a Thursday. You, drug out by your friends, begging you to just let loose for once. Him, alone, on his last night off for the week, mentally preparing to go back to work the next day.

You caught his eye from across the room, and feeling brave, and of course egged on by your friends, you make your way over to him.

The first thing he does is ask you how old you are, to which you give a cheeky response of old enough. At the unamused look you receive, you tell him you’re twenty-three.

Jack nearly choked on his drink at that, and nearly tells you that you’re too young for him. But the pretty and cheeky smile you give him makes a small smirk appear on his face, so he doesn’t.

The second thing he does is order you a sweet fruity drink and a double shot of whiskey for himself.

One round turns into two which turns into three. You laugh a lot, and he laughs at your laugh. Jack tells you briefly about his time in the army, and in turn you tell him about your evil boss that you just know is out to get you.

I’m an ED doctor, he mumbles in your ear after you ask what he does for work

An eating disorder doctor? He snorts at your question.

“No, emergency department, like an ER,” You blush as he laughs at you, nearly choking as he downs the rest of his whiskey in one go.

You don’t even realize that you had effectively abandoned your friends and had been talking to Jack the entire night until one of them comes to ask if you’re ready to go.

You look at Jack, sheepish smile on your face and a glint in your eyes.

You end up at his place, his mouth on yours and calloused hands pawing greedily at your tits under your shirt before he even gets the door closed.

“Your skin is so soft,” He mumbles as he leaves open mouthed kisses from the corner of your mouth to your neck and back up again.

You moan, “I like the way your hands feel on my skin,”

Your hands tangle in his hair as you force his mouth back on yours, teeth clashing as his tongue fights yours for dominance, ultimately winning when you distract yourself trying to get his shirt off of him.

As quickly as his shirt comes off, he has you topless, your shirt and bra tossed somewhere in his living room.

The rest of the night is a blur, but you know he fucked you in some way, shape, or form on nearly every surface of his home, from eating you out on the couch, to fingering you until you managed to squirt all over his countertops as he made you drink water to stay hydrated, to fucking you dumb on his cock in at least six different positions on his bed, and once more pressed against the shower wall before putting his shirt on you and holding your body pressed up against his body while you slept the entire night.

The next morning the two of you chatted over breakfast. No awkwardness, he goes out of his way to make you laugh over his disgusting coffee, as so affectionately deemed it.

He doesn’t ask for your number, so you don’t ask for his. You kiss the side of his mouth as you leave him.

Jack goes to work, business as usual, but he thinks about you every day for the next eight weeks. Wondering if your boss ever let up on you or if you tried that new Italian place you were wanting to eat at.

You spend the next eight weeks stressed beyond belief. Work eating at your soul and consuming your entire life. You do think about Jack almost every day, contemplating going back to that bar just to see if he’s there.

But you don’t ever get the time, and your next meeting is an unexpected one to say the least.

Slipping on the wet floor in a grocery store was embarrassing, but hitting your head on the way down was mortifying. You were going to have to find a new grocery store.

The situation just keeps getting worse as the paramedics show up, telling you they have to take you to the emergency room since you show signs of a concussion and your nose is bleeding.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Mohan. I hear you took a bit of a fall?” The doctor is pretty, and her smile seems genuine as she talks to you.

“Uh, you could say that. This all could’ve been avoided if they had a wet floor sign out at the grocery store, though,”

She laughs, “You would be surprised how often we see that here,”

She starts going through the usual string of questions you get at the ED. You answer them all until she gets to the last one, “And when was the date of your last period?”

All of a sudden, your mind is blank. Surely you’ve had it, right? You had to have.

“I-I guess I don’t remember,” It comes out a whisper, and your brow is furrowed as you try and try to remember. You know you had it.

Dr. Mohan senses your inner turmoil, “No worries, we can do a blood test,”

She takes your blood and tells you she’s going to go order a CT for your head, “just sit tight.” With a mind smile, she’s gone.

You sit there, trying to rack your brain. There is no way you’re pregnant. No fucking way.

It takes what feels like an hour for Dr. Mohan to come back, ultrasound machine in tow, “So, I have your test results, and it does appear that you are pregnant. We’ll have to do an ultrasound to confirm how far along you are, but after that we should be able to get you to CT,”

“What the fuck.” Is all you can manage, eyes wide as you look at her, “Are you, like, certain?”

She places a hand on your own, squeezing in a comforting manner, “The ultrasound will be to confirm, but blood tests are rarely wrong,”

She gets you situated and pulls the gown up so she can rub the probe over your abdomen, “I am hopeful we won’t have to do this vaginally,”

She quickly places the cold jelly on your abdomen and runs the probe over it, trying to find a fucking baby. You feel like you might throw up.

“And there they are,” There’s a smile on her face and she shows you.

“Oh my god,” You think you’re in shock “I think I’m gonna throw up,”

“Oh!” She quickly steps into action, grabbing a bucket and rubbing your back while you vomit.

“I think this is the worst day of my life,” She gives your shoulder a squeeze.

“The vomiting could be due to the fall you took,” She bites her lip, “CT is pretty backed up, let me go get my attending to see if he can take a look and find something that can get you moved up the list. I’ll be right back,”

She quickly walks out, and you feel tears building quickly in your eyes. How the fuck could you let this happen?

And now, you’ll have to awkwardly face Jack and tell him your passionate night has resulted in this situation.

He didn’t even ask for your number for crying out loud.

Your downward spiral is interrupted when Dr. Mohan returns, with the last person you wanted to see right now.

“This is my attending, Dr. Abbot.” She gestures to him. “Dr. Abbot, I have a twenty-three year old female, approximately eight weeks pregnant with a possible concussion,”

You don’t hear another word that passes her lips, eyes glued to him, and he looks just as shocked and horrified as you feel.

[nellbookmarks]

Pain Relief Pt. 4

Jack Abbot x chronically ill f!reader

series masterlist

synopsis: reader's flaring, and keira calls the only person who can help

warnings: jack's past as a combat medic, reader has pots, pain/chronic illness, pills, language

words: 1k

a/n: kinda self indulgent because i'm having a bad pain day, and it got me wondering how jack would comfort reader. hoping y'all like it!

A few days after your painting date, you had Jack over for lasagna. He and Keira hit it off well, both making jokes at your expense, and although the food wasn’t great, Jack ate it all. Three days after that, the two of you took a stroll through the park, gossiping about Jack’s co-workers and sharing book recs. 

Things were good. Scratch that, things were great.

And then your body had to fuck it all up and shut down on you. Again.

You had another date planned - a trip to the movie theater to watch the newest horror film - but the second you woke up, you knew there was no way you were getting out of bed.

After an hour of laying on your stomach with your hands tucked under the pillow to reduce the sensation in them and sequentially the pain, you sighed and grabbed your phone, sending Jack a quick apology and cancelling your date for that afternoon.

By noon, you still hadn’t moved out of bed. At ten, Keira waltzed in with pancakes and cranberry juice and set a tray on your bedside table. Thankfully, you’d set up all your meds in the top drawer of said table, and although it was late, you took all the pills you needed that morning and shovelled the pancakes down. 

You immediately regretted that.

Now you were not only fatigued and in pain, but you were nauseous. You were hot - so hot - and although you remained stagnant, your head was spinning.

But you really had to pee.

Deciding to risk it all, you lifted yourself slowly to your feet and clutched onto the table to stabilize yourself. You made it all of two feet before the world went spinning and you stumbled to your knees before laying flat on the floor.

Hearing the thud, Keira threw the door open to find you in a snow angel position. “That’s it, I’m calling Jack.”

“No,” you cried out. “I’m fine. It’s fine.”

Keira quirked her brow at you. “Okay, then stand up.”

You tried, you really did, but despite all your effort and determination to keep Jack from seeing you like this, you couldn’t move a muscle.

“I’m calling him,” Keira announced, snatching your phone and unlocking it. You’ll have to ask her later how she knows the password. Holding it up to her ear, Keira hardly had to wait before Jack answered. 

You could barely make out what Keira was saying, your head was so fuzzy. You decided to let her handle it and shut your eyes to quell the growing migraine behind your eyes.

It felt like hours went by before you heard voices in the hall. Keira was saying something as she and Jack headed towards your room, and you steeled yourself for this confrontation. 

The door opens, and Jack walks in. He’s got those scrubs on again, his signature scowl wrinkling his eyes and forehead as he lowers himself to his knees beside you.

“Hey,” you say weakly.

Jack just stares. He stretches his legs out, slides onto his back, and lays on the floor exactly like you are.

“That’ll hurt your back,” you tell him with a frown.

“Yours too.”

You shut up real quick.

Jack sighs as he watches you. “Bad pain day?”

“Yeah.” 

“Did you take any painkillers?”

“I took a Tylenol, but it didn’t do anything.”

He nods softly. “Do you need to go to the ER?”

You shake your head frantically and moan at the pain the sudden movement brings on. “I don’t want my first time meeting your friends to be over barf bags and morphine.”

His eyes crinkle. “I wish you told me you weren’t feeling good.”

“I never feel good,” you scoff dryly. “Besides, if I called every time something hurt, you’d have to start silencing notifications.”

Jack frowns at this. 

“I’m sorry Keira called,” you say. “You were probably busy saving somebody’s life.”

“Hey,” he says sharply, taking your face in his hands, “don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make yourself feel like you’re a burden.” He squeezes your jaw briefly to emphasize this. “Because you’re not.”

Your heart breaks. “Jack,” you croak out.

“What can I do to make it better?”

“Can you get me back in bed?”

Jack smiles at you softly, and then he’s standing, bending over, and scooping you up like you weigh nothing. He sets you down on the bed gently and shifts his feet awkwardly as you situate yourself.

You pat the spot next to you, and he’s instantly there. He’d do anything for you, he realizes. Anything to take your pain away and help you feel a moment of peace.

“Can you hold me?” you ask weakly, turning to your side to face him. “I need the compression…and the comfort.” If you weren’t in so much pain, you’d be blushing.

Jack tilts his head down at this, because for some reason he’s prone to flushing around you. But he nods and takes you into his arms, pulling you close and applying just the right amount of pressure.

He breathes in the moment, inhaling your shampoo and burying his face into your hair. He rubs circles into your sides. “I told you I was a combat medic?”

You nod.

“I saw a lot,” he says. “Most men out there hid when things got bad or cried when the bullets began to fly. But some of them were strong.” He pauses, pulling back to look at you. “You’re strong.”

You smile at him and nuzzle closer. “Do you need to take off the leg?” you ask quietly.

Jack flushes at the thoughtfulness. Here you are, in such excruciating pain that you can’t move, and you somehow worry more about him than yourself. 

“I’m fine,” he says into your hair. “This is about you.”

You don’t know how to respond to that.

Before you know it, you’re finally falling asleep, Jack pressing a featherlight kiss to your temple before letting himself follow.

Taglist:

@miraclesabound @qardasngan @mads198-9 emma8895eb @celiacallsitcausal @interestellarprincess @kmc1989 @wisps-writes-fic @queerroyalty58

[nellbookmarks]

Pain Relief Pt. 3

Jack Abbot x chronically ill f!reader

series masterlist, pt 4

synopsis: jack immediately regrets asking you to paint him when you leave him a blushing, stuttering mess

warnings: fluff! some angst? reader has chronic illness, jack lost his leg in the war, suggestive

words: 1.2k

a/c: i was going to write this tomorrow but got too excited. let me know what you'd like to see next!

“Nice place.”

You blush as you step aside so Jack can enter. “Thanks.”

“I’m serious,” he says, taking off his shoes as you lock the apartment door. “It’s a nice area.”

Nodding, you take his jacket and hang it on the coat rack. When you turn, you take in Jack’s appearance. “No scrubs today, huh?”

He shrugs, looking down at the white t-shirt and loose pair of jeans. “It’s my day off.”

“Oh,” you realize that of course it is - he usually works at this hour. “Well, thanks for choosing me to spend it with.”

“Anytime,” he smiles, studying the way you squirm under his gaze and taking in the pale blue button-down you’re wearing, the way it falls over your shorts, spotlighting your legs. When he tilts his head back up, slowly, you’re smiling so brightly it lights up your eyes.

“What?” he asks, crossing his arms self consciously.

You bite your lips to hinder the smile. “Nothing.”

A door further in the apartment shuts, and a woman about your age with light brunette hair struts out. “So you’re the famous Jack,” she says, stuffing her phone into her purse and plucking her car keys from the key bowl. 

“Keira?” Jack guesses.

She nods and slips on her shoes. “I gotta go out, but we have to invite you over for dinner sometime to chat. I’ve heard lots of good things.”

You blush, and Jack grins. “I sure hope so.”

“I’ll make lasagna,” Keira decides, scooting between the two of you and heading out the door, but not before telling you to “Have fun, Lovebirds” and winking goodbye.

You lock the door behind her, bracing your back against it like you’re fortifying a wall.

“She seems nice,” Jack says, still grinning.

You chuckle, pushing yourself from the door and past him. “She’s a terrible cook. I’ll order a pizza or something.”

Jack chuckles, following as you give a tour of what you call home. The living room is spacious despite the massive couch taking up space across from the tv, and the kitchen, while small, is pristine and homey. “You’ve caught me on a good day,” you tell him. “I did the dishes and everything. Very productive.”

When you lead Jack to your room, he gulps with anticipation as you push the door open.

It’s very you, and Jack means that as the biggest compliment. Your room is welcoming, artsy, and decorated by various posters and figures representing your interests. 

“Welcome to my humble abode,” you say nervously, holding your arms out like you’re Tony Stark. “This is where the lovemaking happens.”

Jack startles, and you bend over with laughter. “I’m just joking,” you assure him, wiping tears from your eyes and moving to riffle through the art materials at your desk. “Where are you most comfortable?”

“What?” he chokes, looking up from the floor.

You nudge your chin in the direction of his leg. “Where do you want to sit? My bed’s got a super fluffy mattress, so maybe the chair out in the living room? It’s a lot sturdier. But my desk chair is higher and stiffer if you want the support.”

Jack blinks. He’s not used to being accommodated like this. “I should be fine in the living room,” he decides, watching in awe as you collect your tools, oblivious to his staring. 

“Alright,” you say, dropping your stuff onto one of the chairs beside the couch before heading back to your room for an easel. Jack takes the seat across from you as you come back.

“Full body or just head?” you ask, and Jack chokes. You’re setting up your canvas, watching him expectantly. 

Oh, to draw. “What’s easier?”

“Do you want to take your leg off?” You’re very to the point with your questions, and Jack feels like you see directly through him.

“Is it okay?” he asks shyly.

You nod like it’s obvious. “I want you to be comfortable.”

He softens at this, and then he’s leaning down to pull up his pants leg and take off the prosthetic. You watch silently as he sets it to the side, massaging the skin it was once attached to. 

Jack looks up at you, scared of what expression you’ll have on your face. Pity? Disgust? But he is met with nothing but love and understanding. “Full body or just head?” you ask again, and Jack understands the deeper meaning. Is he ready to accept that this is who he is and let you paint all of him in his vulnerability? Meeting your soft gaze, Jack makes his decision. “Full body.”

You smile at him, almost proudly, and pluck a paintbrush from your pile. “Sit however you want. But remember you can’t move.” Your eyes flicker mischievously. “Or I’ll have to tie you down.”

Jack blushes, looking down at your hands as you take out several paints, waiting patiently. He moves into a position that feels right and nods that you can start.

You’re quiet as you paint, the brushstrokes against paper lulling him into a daze. Jack watches your face as you concentrate, noting every time you scrunch your nose or squint your eyes. When you meet his gaze to study him back, he blushes. This repeats several times before you’re speaking up.

“If you keep blushing, I’ll have to add more contrast,” you note. Your voice is monotone, but you’re grinning.

Jack can only nod.

You call for a break after forty minutes. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Water will do just fine,” he says, adjusting in the seat and pulling out his phone to see a text from Robby.

How’s the date going? Is she painting you like one of her French girls?

Shaking his head in exasperation, Jack puts the phone back down just as you come back in. You hand him a glass of cold water, and he drinks it gratefully before setting it on the coffee table. “Can I see it so far?”

“Not until it’s finished! Don’t rush perfection.”

Jack huffs, but there’s a smile on his face. He settles back into position and lets you do your magic.

Twenty five minutes later, you proudly set your brush aside and step back to check for any errors. “I guess it’ll do,” you decide, standing to approach him. “It doesn’t capture all of that handsome ruggedness you’ve got going on, but it might just be one of my best works.”

Jack takes the canvas from you, and his jaw drops when he slides his reading glasses on so he can see your painting. You’ve detailed him and the chair with such care and precision, blurring the backdrop like Jack’s all that matters. As he stares in silence and awe, Jack realizes that this is how you see him. And he looks good. When Jack lifts the canvas closer to his face, he sees the worshipping way in which he looks back at you.

Jack’s falling for you, fast. And he doesn’t want to ever stop. 

Taglist:

@miraclesabound @qardasngan @mads198-9 emma8895eb @celiacallsitcausal @interestellarprincess @kmc1989 @wisps-writes-fic

[nellbookmarks]

Pain Relief Pt. 2

Jack Abbot x chronically ill f!reader

series masterlist, part 3

Synopsis: They finally go on that coffee date

Warnings: language, pills, reader has pots and other unnamed chronic illnesses, eader is an artist

Words: 0.8k

A/n 1: It's finally here! I am so incredibly grateful for all the love and support and am so thrilled that people wanted this to be a series because I'm having so much fun with it! Writing this is so healing for me. Hope you love it! <3

“How have you been doing?” 

You look up from your hands - you’d been fiddling with them for the past ten minutes - as Jack slides into the seat across from you. “Much better,” you smile. “Thanks to you.”

He leans back with his arms crossed, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Y/n, I’m already here. No need to butter me up.”

You laugh, and he swears it’s the most heavenly sound he’s even heard. “You’ve been taking your Midodrine?” he asks.

Rolling your eyes, you set your hands on your lap. “Yes, Dr. Abbot.”

His eyes gleam with witty desire. It’s been seven days since your visit to the ED, but the two of you had exchanged countless texts over that timespan. He was relieved to finally conversate face-to-face.

“I didn’t order yet,” you tell him, taking your sweater off and setting it next to you, revealing a black, v-neck top you’d found shoved to the side of your closet earlier, waiting for the day you finally go out and party - or, in this case, go on a date with a hot ER doctor. 

Jack feels underdressed in his scrubs, having come straight from work, but you’d assured him earlier that you didn’t care what he was wearing as long as he came.

Jack nods. “I’ll go-”

You stand before he can. “I can go get us drinks,” you tell him, sliding from your seat. “You’ve been on a twelve hour shift. I know your leg is killing you; give it a breather.” 

The chivalrous part of him wants to argue, but the other part is aching. His leg is killing him. He’s hardly sat down since his shift started. “Alright,” he caves, giving you his order and insisting you take his card to pay. You depart with a curtsy, leaving Jack chuckling quietly.

When you come back, sliding him his cup, Jack peers over at the label on yours. “You listened,” he says with the inkling of a smile on his face, nudging his chin in the direction of the drink. 

You look down and laugh. “Yep. I even got green tea because it has less caffeine than black.” You stir. “I’m doing research and everything; you should be proud.”

He nods, takes a gulp from his coffee. “I am.” 

Jack glances outside - (the sun is just starting to rise) - before turning back to you. He takes another gulp this time, but it’s to stomach the butterflies fluttering about as he studies you. “You look nice,” he manages.

You smile, looking down at your top. “Thanks. You do too. Love the outfit.”

Jack laughs at this, straightening out his scrub top. “This ol’ thing? You’ll never guess where I got it.”

You’re giggling again, and Jack flushes. “Spirit Halloween!” you guess jokingly.

Jack hides his smile behind his cup as he takes another drink. “You never told me what you do. For work.”

Beaming, you whip out your phone and begin to tap furiously at the screen. When you put it on the table and slide it his way, Abbot looks down to find a stunning painting of a woman looking out a window. 

“I’m an artist,” you tell him and then point at the women in the painting. “That’s Keria. She made me take a photo to reference after like thirty minutes because she was getting bored.”

Jack picks the phone up and surprises you by whipping out a pair of reading glasses. Your cheeks heat when he puts them on, watching him in all his dilf glory as he zooms in and out. 

When Jack gives your phone back, he looks almost…proud. “You’re really good.”

“Really?” Your smile is bright. You put your phone away. “I don’t know, I feel like I could’ve mixed the colors a little better.”

Jack nurses his cup. “Don’t sell yourself short. That’s pretty damn good.”

All you can do is smile and shyly gaze down at your cup. “I’ve submitted some pieces to a few art galleries.”

“That's awesome.”

You nod, finally meeting his gaze. You flush at the way he’s looking at you - almost in wonder. “Thanks. 

Jack takes another sip. “Would you paint me?”

Your jaws drops. “Really?” you stutter.

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “My flat’s pretty bare right now; I’ve been looking for some art to put up.”

He can’t be serious. “You’ve only seen one of my pieces. How do you know the rest is good?”

Jack leans forwards, setting his cup down. “How do I know it’s not?”

You turn away with an awkward cough. “How was your shift?”

“Fine. Would you paint me?”

“You’re unbelievable!” you guffaw, swiveling back to face him. 

He’s leaning even closer now. “Would you?”

“Ugh….fine!” you groan, throwing your hands up in defeat. 

He finally leans back, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “How’s next Saturday?”

You’re still in disbelief. “I’ll give you my address.”

It’s official: Jack Abbot is going to be the death of you.

A/n: Let me know what you want to see next for these two! I have a few things planned (like how the painting date goes!) but am interested in any feedback. Sending love!

Taglist:

@miraclesabound @qardasngan @mads198-9 emma8895eb

People I thought to Tag (let me know if you want me to continue tagging you):

@codewren-main @thedeviloffics skyyellie

[nellbookmarks]

Pain Relief Pt. 1

Jack Abbot x chronically ill f!reader

series master list, part 2

synopsis: reader with pots isn't taken seriously by a student doctor. jack steps in.

warnings: language, student doctor is an asshole (original character), drugs

words: 850

notes: as a chronically ill girly, i need me some self indulgent the pitt fics

You couldn’t believe it. Well, actually, you could. By this point, you were used to doctors underestimating your disabilities, but it still hurt none-the-less. Your chronic illness was identified five years ago, thank God, but still no one took it seriously. Especially not the male doctors. And of course that’s exactly who you were stuck with: a male student doctor. Student, you scoff. He outta learn some goddamn manners.

“Trust me,” you say. “I wouldn’t be here unless I absolutely had to.” You shift on the bed and wince at the pain it brings. “I’m in a lot of pain,” you continue. “My pulse is higher than usual, which says a lot, and last time I came here they gave me fluids and morphine. I just…” you flinch at a sharp pain in your chest. “I need some help here.”

The doctor - Student Doctor Howards - crosses his arms. “Look, lady. I know a faker when I see one. I’ve been trained to look.” He moves his hand to his eyes to mirror binoculars. “I’m gonna write you a note and send you home to whatever alleyway you crawled out of.” He squints at you. “Go buy some cocaine like a normal person.”

“Are you serious right now?” You scoff in disbelief. No way in hell were you gonna let some kid talk to you like this. “I’m not a drug addict, but I do have dozens of prescribed pills at home for a serious medical condition. Ever heard of POTS?” The kid laughs and shakes his head at you. “You’re on some pot, alright.”

You open your mouth to retaliate when the curtain to the room rips open. Towering behind the asshole in front of you stands a silver fox. Screw a knight in shiny armor; you’ve got a silver fox in scrubs. His arms are crossed, flexing his biceps, and he has a scowl on his face as he fixes an icy glare on Student Doctor Howards. “Out,” he barks.

“She-” the kid starts, but the attending cuts him off. “If you looked at her chart,” he says with a collected cruelty, “you would have seen the list of medically confirmed health conditions. And if you read her notes, you would have realized that she fainted in chairs - which is why she got back here sooner than the standard weight time.”

Your mouth drops. “I think I’m in love,” you say aloud. 

Your savior shifts his eyes to meet yours, and if you weren’t already lightheaded from the pain and fatigue, you would be now. “Out,” he orders again. You barely notice the student doctor leave.

“Asshole.” The doctor slides the curtain shut and sits in the sliding chair across from your bed.

My thoughts exactly. You wiggle into a more comfortable position for your aching limbs. “How long was I out for?”

He checks his watch. “Fifteen minutes. It wasn’t serious.”

You sigh in relief. 

“I’m Dr. Abbot,” he introduces, and you smile, giving your name back although he probably already knows it.

“I didn’t want to come,” you explain. “I’m used to it at this point.”

He tilts his head. “Used to what?”

“My body shutting down on me.”

Dr. Abbot nods solemnly as you continue. “The pain got really bad yesterday, but I just pushed through. But then I started passing out, and that only happens when things are really bad. My roommate Keira drove me here; she panics easily.”

“Is she in the waiting room?” he asks. 

You shake your head. “She had work. I wasn’t going to get her fired because of a little fatigue.”

He nods in thought. “I’ll push some fluids. Where does it hurt?”

You let out a dry laugh. “Everywhere.”

He nods again. “Did you take any pain relievers?”

“Like eight hours ago. I don’t really like taking that many pills.”

“‘I’ll go get some morphine.”

When he gets back and gives you your fluids, you relax in relief. “Thank you. This is the worst flare I’ve had in a while.”

Dr. Abbot offers a small smile of understanding. “I know what it’s like.” He pulls up his pants leg, revealing a metal leg. 

“I’m sorry,” you offer. “I’m sure it hurts…in more ways than one.”

He lets the pants fall back down. “I’m sorry too. Especially about Dr. Howards. Trust me, he’ll be restricted to surface wounds from now on.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Is that a punishment?”

He grins. “Totally. He’ll be bored within an hour.”

You grin back. You didn’t want him to leave. Just as he starts to go, you speak up. “If you ever want to give your leg a breather,” you say, and he turns back to face you, “maybe we could go sit for a coffee sometime?” 

He takes a moment to respond, and you’re terrified you’ve made a mistake. Just as you’re about to apologize, a lazy grin spreads across his face. “I’ll go, but only if I’m the only one who has any coffee. Caffeine isn’t good for inflammation.”

You beam at him. “Bossy. I like it.”