#nearest er

[lighthouseas]

.

[snarp]

"Oh, I know how you feel - going to the doctor or ER is like playing Russian roulette..."

- doctor telling me to go to the ER

[choclilies]

"And just so you know, Frater.....Cardi, I've always called him Cardi."

"See...I'm actually his aunt, but he grew up with my husband and I basically being his parents."

[gay--dog]

want this so bad but its 40 dollar and theres only 9 left... might have to pull the "drawing my sona in a shirt i want to cope with not having it" move again chat

[frostedturquoise]

...I love it how the second i literally fucking accidentally queued that post life got in the way. I genuinely did not get distracted i just had no laptop access for nine hours because something fucking happened and it feels on brand for it to be either getting distracted, not having brain power to tag shit, has ran short on time....or...or having to suddenly be there for a friend because shit happens. Potential jokes i could make about the situation aside i could of queued so much fucking shit in the last four of those nine hours but i absolutely detest using Tumblr on my phone.

But! Fingers crossed after i get some sleep i get the time and energy if i do not wake up too late. I have like fuck man, i have so many fucking posts in my drafts xD I might queue a few up, but i definitely wont be able to tackle much of it right now. I love ti how it sounds like i make excuses so often when half the time my life can be comparable to a soap opera level bullshit.

[traumaone]

Immature

pairing: Michael Robinavitch x Senior Resident!Reader

wordcount: 1.8k

warnings: angst, reader is purposefully petty, mentions of robby being an asshole, age gap, mentions of injury (care pile up, car crash), mentions of death

synopsis: Robby loses his temper on you, and you're not quick to forgive, then tragedy strikes, and Robby's not answering his phone

note: some of you may notice that I took down the smut drabble I posted yesterday, I wasn't happy with it, so I took it down, but please accept this in its place. there will be a part two!!

!! not proofread so apologies for any mistakes !!

I’m your attending, and you’re my resident. Act like it.

Robby had spoken those words over a week ago.

It had been in the middle of a close to mass casualty event, a blood soaked emergency room crowded with victims from one of the worst car pile ups you’d ever seen.

You had never performed an emergency c-section before, especially not on someone who had been actively bleeding out. It would’ve taken too long to call an attending in for help, so OB walked you through it over the phone, Garcia assisted, and both the mother and the baby had made it through (relatively) safe and sound. It had been a victory, a save worthy of celebration in the form of too many cocktails, until Robby found out.

He’d given you the grace of scolding you away from prying ears, but that hadn’t lessened the burn. 

Robby had been too harsh, way too harsh.

You lacked discipline, didn’t respect the chain of command, didn’t respect him. When it came down to it, you were too much of a cowboy, too flexible with the rules of medicine. You were ‘too much like Abbot in the worst ways’.

Tears had threatened to spill, burning and insistent, but you’d blinked them back. 

You had avoided his eyes when you’d told him that you had saved more patients today than any other doctor, that you had been the one to pick up the slack when others had faltered, that he had no right to pick and choose when he thought you were qualified enough to handle things on your own.

You had successfully avoided him for the rest of your shift.

Day One

Meet me out front before your shift. Please.

The message comes through just as you leave your apartment building. 

You scare the living daylights out of a flock of pigeons with how hard you slam your door.

You don’t respond to his messages, but you do wait outside the doors to the ED, ten minutes early to your shift, pacing back and forth like a mad woman.

Robby walks up five minutes later, headphones in and sunglasses on. Usually that sight would make your heart flutter, but in this moment, it infuriates you.

“Do you need something, Dr. Robinavitch?” You keep your voice clip, painfully professional.

He flinches, but tucks his sunglasses into the front of his hoodie. “I owe you an apology.”

“Yes, you do.”

Robby sighs. “Tensions were high, I was struggling to keep it together, and I took it out on you. It was completely unfair, and I’m sorry.”

It’s completely genuine, almost heartbreakingly sincere. Somehow, you still don’t completely forgive him.

“Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate it.” Not really. “I guess I’ll see you inside.”

You brush past him before he can get another word in.

Robby follows you through the ER, hot on your heels, but you don’t turn around. You ignore the strange look from Lupe, let the door almost smack him in the face on the way through, skip past your usual morning debrief with Dana and head right towards the nearest patient.

You should forgive him, you know you should. It’s not reasonable to stay so angry about something that had been spoken in the middle of a crisis, but in this moment, you don't care.

You were beyond capable, better than most that had come through this program. Abbot had known that the moment he’d met you, and you thought Robby knew, but maybe he didn’t. He deserved to be ignored, shown the error of his ways, at least for the rest of your shift.

Maybe it’s cruel, but you’re feeling cruel today.

Day Three

He walks through the door with two coffee’s. One completely black, his order, and one with two creams and two sugars, your order.

“Abbot told me you came in early this morning, figured you didn’t have time for a coffee.” It’s a casual lie, an excuse to talk. You never drink coffee before noon.

“Thank you, Dr. Robinavitch.” You don’t take the cup from his hand, don’t even look him in the eye.

Once again, it’s cruel. But you’re still feeling hurt, inadequate. 

Robby pushed his way between you and your desk, nudging your chair back just far enough to step between your knees.

“What can I do to earn your forgiveness?” His eyes are unbelievably warm, and it’s almost enough to make you crack.

“You’re forgiven.” You shrug, reaching around him to grab your coffee. “I’m just working on my ‘respect problem’ you had so much to say about.”

“Buttercup, I-”

“It’s Doctor,” You interrupt, pushing up from your chair till the two of you are almost nose to nose. “or my first name, or nothing. Respect goes both ways”

Robby doesn’t back down, and neither do you. It’s tense, probably awkward for many of the nearby bystanders, but it’s the closest he’s been to you in days. He smells incredible, spices, leather, and the slightest hint of antiseptic . He always smells good, but something about being upset with him seems to elevate it.

“Pull it together, you two.” Dana calls out, a phone pinned between her ear and shoulder. “Incoming trauma, two minutes out.”

“On it.” Robby responds, his eyes not once leaving yours. “Buttercup’s leading.”

You all but stomp towards the ambulance bay, annoyance weighing down your shoulders.

“Am I actually leading this, or are you going to take over the minute the patient comes through?”

“Oh, this is all you.” Robby hands are harsh as they tie the back of your gown. “I’m not even gloving up.”

“Let's see how long that lasts.”

Robby, surprisingly, stays true to his word. He hovers by the door, hands behind his back, and doesn't question your decisions. You stabilize the patient in record time, handing them off to the nurses with a strange sense of satisfaction boiling in your stomach.

You turn towards Robby, a cocky smirk on your lips as you tear off your gloves. “See how incredible I am when I’m not being pestered by questions?”

Robby laughs, rough and deep. 

“Believe me,” He whispers under his breath, his eyes locked on you as you practically strut out of the trauma room. “I’m well aware of how incredible you are.”

Day Five

“I’m covering Parker on the night shift for the next couple days.”

Robby pauses. “And who’s going to be covering you?”

“You have Langdon, Collins, Mckay, and Mohan, not to mention King, Santos, Javadi, and Whitaker. You don’t need me here.”

“Sure, but I want you here.”

You frown. “No you don’t. I’m not being nice to you this week.”

“No, you’re not,” Robby agrees. “But that doesn’t mean I want you gone.”

“I appreciate that,” You do, really. “But I want to be gone for a little bit.”

“If Abbot were here he’d be telling us to talk out our problems.”

You laugh. “Then let’s be glad he’s not.”

Day Seven

Two days later, you’re somehow back where you started, covered in blood, surrounded by patients in need of treatment, but Robby’s not there, unreachable, actually, and it’s driving you insane.

Abbot tells you a transport crashed through a nearby cafe, decimated the entire building and grievously injured around thirty people. You ask the name of the cafe out of pure curiosity, and Abbot says The Filter. It’s ridiculously overpriced for drinks that aren’t even that good, but it’s Robby’s favorite.

Every sunday night since you met him, Robby has sat in one of the window seats of that cafe, drinking a cup of expensive tea, and decompressing before heading home. And tonight is sunday night, Robby  just handed his patients over to Abbot, and bid you both goodbye before heading for the same cafe that had just been taken out by a transport, and he’s not answering his phone.

You’ve been unbelievably immature all week, taken out your frustrations on him, and now he might be gone. He might’ve died thinking you hated him.

Medical work is done through deep breaths and the threat of tears. You check every patient's face for too long, hoping not to recognise his features beneath the blood and debrief. He doesn’t come through the ambulance bay, and he doesn’t call.

Once all the patients are stable, Abbot sends you out for air and you don’t fight him. You shed your gown and gloves, slipping your sweater back on, and wander through the maze of gurneys till the fresh air hits your face.

Your throat is so tight you can hardly breath, and still, the screen of your phone is blank. No missed calls, no texts, not even an email.

You can hear the sound of feet scuffing on pavement, but you don’t look up. It’s probably a paramedic returning to their rig, a nurse coming out for a smoke break, a-

“Did you guys get everything handled, or do you still need help in there?”

It’s Robby’s voice, rough, and warm, and so familiar it makes you want to cry, and you do.

“You’re…” Your voice breaks. He’s in front of you, standing tall and completely intact, his brows furrowed in concern and confusion when he catches sight of the tears streaming down your face.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

You can only respond in sobs, your chest aching as the tears you’d been forcing back all night finally come free. Robby pulls you against him, his face buried in your hair as he whispers quiet hushes. You cling to him, press your head to his chest and cry even harder when you hear the steady beat of his heart.

“I thought you were dead.” Your words come out in a hoarse whisper, muffled against the fabric of his shirt.

“Why would I be dead?”

“The transport crashed through the cafe you go to every Sunday, and you weren’t answering your phone.” You choke back another sob, desperate to get your words out. “I thought you were going to die thinking I was mad at you.”

“Oh… Oh, I'm so sorry.” He holds you tighter, running a hand through your hair in an attempt to calm you, but it only makes you worse.

“You have nothing to apologise for, I was being ridiculous.” You pull away, wiping your nose on your sleeve.

“That’s not ridiculous, I would’ve gone down the same road.” Robby keeps his hands on your shoulders, reluctant to let go of you.

You look up at him, tears brimming your eyes, but you blink them away. “I’m sorry.”

Robby smiles, far too fondly for how you’re guessing you look right now. “I know.”

You stare at each other in a few seconds of comfortable silence before speaking again. “Everything’s mostly handled inside, we just have to get our shit together and prepare for the rest of the night.”

“I’ll come inside and help.” 

“You don’t need to.” You try to argue, but it’s half-hearted.

“I know,” Robby nods, his hand lifting to wipe a few stray tears from your cheek. “But I want to.”

[nerdygirlramblings]

did someone say omega!soldier? here you go

previous

The next two hours are a complete whirlwind. You find yourself back in front of Adam, who has the most shit-eating grin, being officially and properly introduced. He holds out his wrist for you to scent, and as you finally tell him your name, you hold out your hand to him. Price passes him your transfer papers and tells Adam to pull together everything he needs to make sure the transfer goes through smoothly. He makes you sign releases for your service records, so your skills can be paired with those of the other 141. His smile freezes momentarily when he apologetically says, "You're going to have to re-qualify on your weapons and do another PT check."

Price cuts in and says, "I'll make sure we get that squared away, Adam. Ye'll have 'er new quals within a fortnight."

Adam also makes you release your medical records. "Need to know anything that would be necessary if you're injured on an operation and can't get to base medical."

You're pulled into a virtual standing meeting with Laswell who was apparently anticipating this and promises to pass this news up the chain of command on her end as well. Price also has you record a quick introduction for him to send along to Farrah and Ale, names that mean nothing to you yet, whom he says are members of other military units who often work closely with the 141 in certain areas of the world.

You're given a tour of the task force's barracks by a grinning Soap who tells you, "Noo tha' you're part 'a the team, you're welcome here whenever ye want."

You end the day walking with the 141 into the mess for supper. The conversations quiet when you walk in after Ghost with Gaz at your back. Hushes comments spreading from the tables nearest the door to further back in the room. It's not like half the base didn't see you with them yesterday, but there's something different now. Yesterday they met you there; walking in together, everyone knows a dynamic has changed.

As you pass by the alpha whose nose you broke, there's the scent of burning ozone wafting from the table, and you hear someone mutter "fuckin' slag."

Before you even register what's happened, you're overwhelmed by the acidic scent of burning rubber. Ghost leans over, grabs the offending soldier by the scruff of his neck, and slams him into the table top. You're standing close enough to hear Ghost when he growls in the other man's ear, "I ever hear ya fuckin' disrespectin' a member 'a my team again, I'll kill ya." Ghost then shoves the man back into his seat and glares around the now silent mess. "Eat," he commands, and heads get quickly buried back into meals, conversation ticking up to cover the oppressive anger still radiating off Ghost.

He stalks silently to a table in the back of the mess, the rest of the pack and you following in his wake. None of the others seem surprised or fazed by Ghost's behavior. You're a little disturbed, in part because you've never been on the receiving end of such protective behavior. Your omega, however, is preening over the alpha's display.

You're sat between Soap and Gaz again, but this time it's Price and Ghost who collect food for the table. You watch them head for the line, their eyes constantly scanning the room, pointing at little pockets of soldiers. You turn to ask Gaz what it means only to find him glaring at other tables, seemingly at random.

When Price and Ghost get back, you're quiet throughout the meal, trying to follow the conversation that clearly picks up threads of things you know nothing about. You perk up when Ghost rumbles your name. "Yer wi' me on the range tomorrow mornin'," he says. "Hear Adam needs new weapons quals." He glances at Price, who nods. "Gunna see wha' ya can do."

You blink at him for a moment. "Er, yes, sir. Er, half five, sir? Or does earlier work better?"

The pack shifts a little. Soap tilts his head quizzically while Ghost asks, "Wot? Why on earth would we be on the range so bloody early?"

You feel a ripple of shame work its way down your back. "Er, I usually go early. Before it gets too crowded." Now Price is looking at you, too. You can see he's trying to guess what you're not saying.

Ghost huffs, grasping things quicker than Price. "Ya mean, ya go before ya piss off alphas simply by being an omega wi' a good eye." You shrug in response, eyes on the table. "Fuck 'em if they can't handle 'ow good ya are." He looks at you, and you can feel his stare burn your cheek. When you can't take it anymore, you glance at him. He catches your eye and says, "Oh eight hundred, sharp, yeah? Ya show me if yer as good as Garrick keeps sayin'."

You swallow quickly, throat bobbing, as you reply, "Yessir. I'll be there."

next

series masterlist | main masterlist

[edenspoem]

blehh thinking about making lunches for jackson!ellie before she goes on patrol :P fluff warning. faggot shit. ramble blurb.

being loser!jackson!ellie's obsessed-over crush (i mean, take a gander at her personal journal—duh!) means making the first move. and, without coincidence, you did: she's a terrible omitter, and her friends (being jesse, dina, and if you want to—count joel in; he was the one with the gall in his guts to approach you and regale wide tales of his taken-in daughter and about her little "problem", being her inability to find it within herself to "talk to the girl she likes" that happened to be “a, er, relative neighbur'.” but with all the gossip to account from dina, you figured it be yourself—the relative neighbor in question) are no help on her behalf.

shit, now she cracks her blinds open every morning to the ritual phenomenon (how she would describe it: with disengaged self-perception and a faux-disgruntled attitude, because she pretends she doesn't have it hot for you, therefore assumes a callous notion about whether she should be so eager.) that is you walking through joel's yard, up to her garage—plastic container in hand.

she was simmering when the door opened. “hey, ellie! brought you your favorite.” you were a breath of fresh wind; something out-bound this wood-penned cradle in the mountains. brought something in she couldn't stop smiling about. a real, genuine attitude, perhaps? her head cocks limp to a side, reaching for the container. “thanks, dude.” her head shakes once, and she glances for a moment; scorning herself for calling you "dude" instead of, well, something more endearing?

you cared not one bit.

she did; a retrace visible in her features. a glitch. “so, um—what trail were you assigned?” though, if ellie had slept proper the night before, she should've noticed that you weren't outfitted for patrol at all. “i'm off, thank fuck.” you countered, knocking on the nearest flight of wood. she carefully laughed herself to countless bits. “yeah, maria's got a soft spot for me, so she gives me all the assignments she fuckin' can,” and ended in a louder tune. clears her throat to thwart the arising tension pulling, pounding her heart. “what's my favorite?” she holds the almost-opaque container up and eyes it; even for her picky appetite, she has a multitude of safe dishes she can whip up and take to-go. also—she doesn't expect someone to mind that much attention to a person to remember their preferences so soon, and for someone you're not even—ah, you get it! “buttered noodles.” the plain color made sense, then. “cause i know you have the palette of a five year old.”

ellie's brows prick downwards at the inner-edge. “ouch,” she expresses in synthetic offense, reaching to close the door. “rude.” (but if we're being honest she'd pretend your words struck her like a stake in the heart just to drive you insane and thief a pampering out of you—if you were dating; she imagines all this bullshit instead of sleeping.)

[writingsforfandoms-multi]

bullet graze | michael robinavitch x reader

summary: reader gets caught up in an armed robbery and ends up in the ER

warnings: mention of bullets and robbery

It was a miracle you were only grazed by the bullet. 

You were at the gas station on your way home from work when a gunman came in to rob the register. The gunman panicked when he heard the sirens, not realizing the owner had pressed the police button on his side of the register. In the chaos of everything going on, his gun misfired in your direction. It was a miracle the bullet only grazed your shoulder, if you had moved even just an inch it would have been life threatening. you were taken to the nearest emergency department even though you insisted you could drive yourself, you weren’t even really bleeding and your vitals were fine, but the cops and paramedics insisted they transport you. 

When you arrived at PTMC, you were placed in one of the rooms and after a few minutes you heard a knock on the door and were seen by Dr. Mkay, “I have a medical student with me if that’s alright with you,” the doctor nodded toward the student who came in with her as she put on gloves. 

“Yeah that’s fine, I don’t mind” you responded and with that Javadi took off the gauze covering your shoulder. 

“Ouch, what happened?” Dr. Mkay asked, reaching for the measuring tape by the computer and passing it to Javadi 

“I was at a gas station and someone came in with a gun to rob the place and he got spooked by the cops and misfired in my direction” you said with a wince as Javadi touched the surrounding area 

“Wow, you got very lucky then” Javadi said 

“Yeah, I did” you laugh slightly under your breath

After Javadi cleans up the wound, they give you instructions on wound care and tell you a nurse will be by in a few minutes with your discharge papers. At least you didn’t need stitches. 

You knew your boyfriend, Michael, was working tonight, but you hadn’t seen him in the few minutes you were being wheeled into the room. You thought about texting him, or asking Dr. Mkay if she could get Robby for you, but you didn’t want to make it a big deal and figured you would tell him what happened when he got home later tonight. 

You didn't even think about the possibility of Robby seeing your last name and first initial on the patient screen above the nurse’s station with a room number next to it. 

You were on your phone when suddenly the door opened. you looked up expecting the nurse with your discharge forms, but were surprised to see Robby, staring at you with his mouth slightly open in surprise 

“Hi babe, what are you doing here?” you try to joke, but it's like he didn't even hear you as his eyes zero in on the bandage on your shoulder. 

“Sweetheart what happened? Are you okay? Why didn’t you tell me you were here? You could’ve told whoever treated you to come get me” he stresses, his eyes sweeping over you looking for other injuries 

“I didn’t want you to worry. Besides, the bullet only grazed my shoulder. Very gently, I might add” you say as his eyes widen

“I’m sorry, you were shot!?” he nearly shouts, his thoughts going a mile a minute as he dons on a set of gloves.

“Gently. I was gently shot” you emphasize as he uncovers the bandage 

“Jesus honey, what happened?” he asks as he replaces the bandage and takes a look at your vitals

“Well I stopped by the gas station next to work, like I always do on fridays” you start 

“For your after work sweet treat” robby nods, familiar with your routine

“And a robber came in with a gun. I honestly blacked out everything that happened until I heard the sirens, and then the guy got spooked and his gun misfired in my direction.” you say with a shrug and robby takes the stool seat beside you, grabbing your hands in his. 

Maybe it was the adrenaline of what happened wearing off or being comforted by your boyfriend that allowed all the emotions you were bottling up to come to the surface, but tears started welling up in your eyes. You looked up at michael and saw his eyes soften when he saw a tear slide down your cheek. his palm cups your cheek and he wipes the tear away with his thumb, “its okay to cry about what happened honey” he says, he could tell you had been trying to downplay the whole situation

“I was so scared” you said softly as your bottom lip started to tremble. You felt silly for crying. Yeah you were hurt, but it’s not like you were actually shot. But for a split second after you saw the guy had a gun, you thought you were done for. You didn't know his intentions, didn't know if he was actually gonna use the gun or if it was just for show, you were terrified. Your brain disassociated until you heard the sirens, and even then you were still in fight-or-flight mode.

Robby stands up from the chair and takes you into his arms as your tears come faster and faster, placing a kiss on the top of your head. He holds you tight in his arms, his heart racing with the thought that he could’ve lost you tonight. 

“Will you wait for me to take you home? I don’t want you walking by yourself or taking an uber” he says, placing a kiss on your forehead 

You nod against his chest, “you read my mind, I was gonna park myself in your break room until you were finished” there was only about an hour left in his shift anyway 

“You can sit at the nurse’s station if you want, I know dana will be happy to see you” he says, his arms still wrapped around you, dana was the only one who knew about your relationship along with Jack. “do you want me to bring Kiara? If you want to talk to someone?” he says hesitantly 

You debate for a moment, “no it's okay, thank you though” you give him a small smile, “I’ll sit with dana at the nurse’s station” you nod, you haven’t talked to her in while it’ll be nice to catch up. 

You pull away from robby, but before you get too far he pulls you back in and cups your face, “I love you” he says softly and before you can respond, he crashes his lips against yours.

----

requests are open!

the pitt masterlist

[goodboysweatertm]

all's fair in love and medicine

Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Dr. Robby teases you with some well aimed dirty talk before work and the two of you struggle to keep the building sexual tension from revealing your relationship while on the clock.

Word Count: 5,053

Warnings/Tags: Established Relationship, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Creampie, No condom but reader has an IUD don't worry, Dirty Talk, "Good Girl" is used liberally, Praise Kink, Slight Degradation Kink, Breast Play, Aftercare, one single spank

Not Beta Read

Note: Expressive Aphasia = a neurological condition where individuals struggle to produce language, even though they understand it.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Torture. That’s how you would describe this shift. 

Usually, you get lost in it. The never ending ebb and flow of the emergency department. A wave that carries you from one patient to the next, from one test of your knowledge and skills to another.

But today, all you can think about is what Robby whispered to you this morning when you were still half-asleep and tangled up in each other.

“Be a good girl today and I’ll fuck you so good tonight.”

It rattles around your skull as you walk between trauma rooms, as you sit at a computer charting, when you stop to take a sip of water. The silky grate of his sleep-ridden voice. The warm press of his lips on the slope of your neck. And the heat of his hard body leaving you cold and wanting in bed when he so viciously got up to start the coffee machine.

The seconds feel like minutes, the minutes like hours. There’s a hum beneath your skin, a coiling tension that seems to build and build no matter how hard you try to throw yourself into your work. 

Because he’s always there. His dark eyes finding yours across the room. The electric trail of his fingertips sliding across your back as you pass each other on the way to opposite trauma rooms. The stifling heat of his presence beside you as you assess a new patient. 

You’ve always worked so well together. Both of you are so quickly able to leave your relationship at the door, to focus on the work. Today, however, you can hardly think of anything but getting home and jumping his bones.

A couple hours into the shift he has the absolute gall to ask you, “You doing okay? You seem a little tense.”

As if he isn’t the reason you feel like crawling out your own skin. Or shoving him into the nearest on-call room and having your way with him. But you can’t do either and so you settle on giving him a taste of his own medicine.

You lean in close, closer than you should out in the open of the ER like this. And you whisper, sickly sweet, “I’m being a good girl, aren’t I?”

You pull away from Robby, and look up at him with the most innocent eyes you can muster. The change in his demeanor is instantaneous and almost imperceptible. He’s hyper aware of the fact that you're surrounded by watchful eyes and yet he can’t help but be affected. You can see it in the rigidity of his spine, the slight tick of his jaw.

You don’t even give him the chance to respond, turning on your heel and away from the nurses’ station. His hand reaches for you before he can stop it, before he remembers himself. You feel Robby’s eyes boring into your back as you stride down the hallway, turning over your shoulder for a brief moment before the hall bends to find him standing exactly where you left him.

The next time you see each other is in the heat of a code. You’re climbing on top of the hospital bed, focused solely on the rhythm of your compressions. The room is a flurry around you and Robby breezes into the chaos to ask what he can do to help. But you’ve got it under control. The patient’s stats are rising, rhythm returning to that steady and all too familiar beep. There’s a chorus of exhales and nurses and doctors shuffle out and onto the next. 

Robby reaches over to help you down from your position straddled on the bed, the warmth of his hands seeping through the sharp cotton of your scrubs. Before you know it, you're the only other people left in the room. A now stable patient seemingly in the hands of two very capable doctors. 

Save for an unconscious woman, it's the first time you’ve been alone since you arrived to work this morning. At separate entrances and 8 minutes apart, like always. 

The quiet of the room is deafening. You wonder if he can hear the pounding of your heartbeat. Neither of you say anything, the air thick with want.

You’re standing too close but you don’t move. You don’t dare look at his face, eyes focused on the string of his hoodie that trails down his chest. Scared of what you might do, what he might do now that you’re alone.

Robby fingers the hem of your scrub top and laughs, but there’s no humor in it.

“You’re not playing fair,” he grits out. You bite your lip but don’t say anything. He fists the hem of your top now and pulls you closer to him.

“Look at me,” he says, his voice low and dark. Your eyes snap to his, spine alight with anticipation. You know that voice and what it means. As much as his words read like a command, you can see the pure desperation in eyes. He’s a man hanging on by a very thin thread.

“I’m not the one who started the game,” you bite back. Raising your chin and baring your neck in the process. An invitation, a supplication.

Robby’s hand releases your top and presses into your waist, trailing upwards until it rests just beneath your bra. So close and yet so far from where you want it. You open your mouth, a plea on the tip of your tongue when Dana bursts in. 

“Incoming trauma. Two teenagers pulled out of a burning building,” she calls out.

You’re angled away from the door and you know that she can’t see where Robby’s hand rests. But she can see how close you stand and you can hear the mirth in her voice at finding you both in this position. 

“We’ll be right there,” Robby responds, his eyes never leaving your face. The door swings shut behind her and his jaw ticks as he shakes his head. He steps back and massages the bridge of his nose for a moment. When he opens his eyes once again they’re burning hot with need.

“You’re killing me,” he whispers. His hands placed on his hips to keep himself from reaching out for you again.

“How do you think I feel?” you ask, shifting between your feet. Wanting to move closer and further away at the same time. The decision is made for you when a stampede of nurses and doctors pass by the door, pulling you from the quiet tension of the room and back into the fray.

It’s not until there’s only two hours left in the shift that you actually have a chance to think again. And of course Robby is there to fill every open millimeter in your mind. You stand on opposite sides of the nurses’ station and he hasn’t quite noticed your arrival, stuck in conversation with an intern. 

The doctor turns to go and Robby reaches his hands up to clasp them, bending his arms at the elbows so his fists rest between his shoulder blades for a deep stretch. The movement causes his sweatshirt and scrub top to ride up, revealing the skin of his soft lower belly and the wiry happy trail that disappears into his cargo pants.

Your mind goes blank, flashes white hot with pure desire. You absent-mindedly lick your lips and when you finally tear your eyes away to his face, you find he’s already looking at you. You’re caught.

His eyes are unreadable but dark and Robby all but prowls around the station to reach you. He relaxes his back against the counter beside you, one arm bent to rest on the vinyl surface and the other one, the one closer to you, hangs down between your bodies. 

There’s a beat of silence before he speaks. His voice is low, and his words burn through you.

“I don’t know if you’re being good enough, honey,” he murmurs. Just barely loud enough for you to hear over the room around you.

You try not to react and you think you’re successful besides the way your knees wobble for a brief second. You think maybe you’re delirious and the shift is getting to you because he couldn’t possibly be saying this to you right here, right now. But Robby continues.

“I was gonna make you come on my tongue at least twice before I gave you my cock. But now, now I’m not so sure,” he says, voice as even and neutral as if he was telling you his lunch order. He doesn’t look at you and you don’t look at him. 

You gulp and your lips part but no words come out. He fills the silence anyways.

“Maybe you shouldn’t get to come tonight,” he whispers. “I’m not sure you deserve it after you’ve had me half-hard this entire shift.” 

Your eyes flash to his at that and you swear you can see glowing embers in his irises. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from begging.

“Maybe I won’t even touch you,” Robby rumbles. “Make you watch as I—” 

Your hand darts out to grab his wrist so fast it’s almost a reflex. Nearly your entire body is tense now. The thought of spending the night without his touch to ease the tension that has been building for hours is too much for your fried brain to handle.

“Robby,” you grit out. “Please. ”

The corner of his mouth quirks up, self-satisfaction evident in his face.

“Ah there she is,” his voice carries praise now. “Guess my good girl came to work after all.”

The words wash over you like honey, the sparking fire in your belly replaced by warm, ambling lava. Your shoulders finally relax and Robby’s hand pulls his wrist from your grip so that he can interlace your fingers and squeeze. After a second they slip away.

Your eyes narrow at him.

“You, Doctor, are inhibiting my work,” you admonish now that the moment has passed. 

His grin is full and he pushes off the counter with his palms up as a peace offering. 

“Guilty as charged,” he admits as he backs away.

You pick up your discarded tablet and try to remember what you were looking for when Robby interrupted. After a moment, Dana comes to stand in front of you.

“What was that all about?” she questions, eyebrows quirked over her glasses.

“Oh, just discussing a patient,” you lie through your teeth, hoping she can’t see the way your skin still burns.

“Sure kid,” Dana relents, a knowing smile on her face. “Whatever you say.”

She departs, fielding questions as a couple of residents return from their patients. You blow a deep breath out and glance at the clock. 1 hour 53 minutes left in the shift. You roll your shoulders. You can do this.

The promise of sweet relief finally comes in the form of Jack Abbott marching through the emergency department doors. His arrival means that shift change is thankfully upon you, and not a minute too soon.

The night shift shuffles in behind him, their rested and renewed faces a stark contrast to the dozen or so hours you and all your fellow day-shifters wear.

You make your way to the nurses station to return your tablet and find Robby and Abbott embraced in what can only be described as a “bro hug.” As you put the device back on the charger you overhear the two talking.

“Okay, so that’s all for me. I’ll see you in 12,” Robby finishes recapping the shift. You can almost hear the way he shoves his hands into his zip-up pockets from his voice alone.

“You’re eager to get out of here,” Abbott remarks, and as you turn around you see the way his eyes dart between you and Robby. “Got a hot date or something?”

Robby looks over to meet your gaze for a moment, and you see the promise of what’s to come in them. 

“Something like that,” he laughs, taut and almost painful, as you turn and make a beeline for the locker room.

You’re practically shoving your belongings into your tote, suddenly filled with renewed energy despite the draining shift you’ve endured. Robby enters the room as you’ve just about finished and doesn’t even check to see if he has everything in his backpack, just pulls it from the locker and slams the door shut.

In an uncharacteristic move, you make your way out of the emergency department together, forgoing the usual staggered exit by unspoken agreement. You’re so close your fingers brush with nearly every step but you don’t dare move further apart. You think the effort of doing so might actually kill you.

The silence between you stretches all the way to the car. Both of you a razor-thin edge away from losing control and knowing that if you break now, there’s no way you would make it out of this parking lot without scandalizing at least a couple of your coworkers. 

Robby still opens the passenger door for you and slips your tote off your shoulder to place it in the backseat with his backpack as he always does.

The car ride is silent too, the quiet before the storm. At a red light you lock eyes and can’t help but smile at each other. He leans over to press a kiss to your forehead. A tender moment in the eye of the hurricane.

When you finally make it home, he carries your bags up the steps as you unlock the front door. The buzzing under your skin returns in full force now. Sweet anticipation crawls up your spine as you watch him hang your things in the entryway.

“Shower,” Robby bites out, breaking the tenuous quiet. He takes a step towards you.

“Alone,” you add and he stops, his eyes nearly begging. You know what will happen if you take one together and you want him in the warmth of your bed. For hours. 

“Don’t even think about deep conditioning, Robinavitch,” you warn him and he struggles to bite back a smile as he scratches the back of his neck. You want, no need , to wash off the day but that doesn’t mean you can wait a second longer than you absolutely have to.

“Yes ma’am,” he agrees and you take off in opposite directions through the house, grateful for the guest bathroom in a way you never have been before.

You’re clinical and efficient as you scrub your body in the shower, not even waiting for the water to warm to your preferred temperature before jumping in. You barely towel off and definitely don’t bother to squeegee the glass shower door before you make your way to your bedroom, a robe haphazardly tied around you.

Robby is already there, pacing in just a towel tied loosely around his waist. The outline of his cock pushes against the fabric, half-hard, just like he said. Your eyes flick up from his waistline and you don’t bother hiding the smirk on your face.

“Guess you weren’t kidding,” you tease and relish in the tightening of his jaw.

“Jesus,” he groans and shakes his head, “You think this is funny or something?” 

He stalks towards you and his fingers tangle in the tie at your waist.

“Maybe a little,” you bait him, and he falls for it. Robby rips the robe open and off your shoulders. His considerable hands settle on the soft skin of your hips. He grips them and pushes you towards the bed, somehow gentle and insistent all at once as he lowers you down onto it. 

He follows a rivulet of water as it cascades down the slope of your tit with his thumb and quickly follows another with his tongue, deviating course to trace your nipple. You can‘t help the gasp that escapes you, and your back arches, pushing your body towards his open mouth. He gruffs a laugh out against your skin and now his whole mouth closes around your nipple.

He pops off one tightened bud and places open mouthed kisses across your sternum to reach the other. He doesn’t dare leave either wanting, his palm massaging whichever is neglected by the wet heat of his mouth.

It’s too much and not enough at the same time. You’ve been aching for him all day and he’s barely scratching the surface of the pure need inside you. You try to reach for the towel, hoping getting him all the way naked might speed things up. But he just swats your hands away.

“Greedy,” Robby mocks into your chest. He pushes up from your body and you feel the loss of him keenly. You buck your hips up into his but it doesn’t sway him.

“Good girls know how to be patient,” he chides as his thumb leisurely trails across your abdomen. 

“I need more Robby, please,” you whimper. You can’t control the shifting of your hips or the tight grip your fists have on the comforter beneath you. 

His hand trails further down your body, two fingers finally sliding down to your cunt to swipe through the pleasure dripping from you. 

“Oh she needs more does she?” Robby taunts. He can see your expression begin to shift before it even happens, that pout you get when he makes you wait. You’re on the edge and he can tell. 

“Okay honey,” he says and he gives it to you. Thrusts two thick fingers into your pussy without any warning and watches from above as your body arches obscenely off the bed, a moan pulled from deep inside you. The pace he sets is unrelenting and it’s exactly what you need. His other hand comes up to grip the back of your neck, grounding you. You grip his wrist. 

Without ceremony he adds another finger, not stopping to give you a moment to adjust. The burn is delicious, pushing you towards a long-awaited peak. He curls his fingers inside you.

“Fuck–uh–uh–uh,” you hiccup. “Yes. ” 

“My fingers feel good, baby?” he asks, breathless right alongside you.

You nod your head and don’t stop as his thumb moves to circle your clit. It’s the final push you need, your climax fast approaching.

“Was I good?” you whimper, thighs pressing together around his hand inside you. “Are you gonna let me come?”

You’re not sure you could stop it even if you tried but you don’t have to worry. Robby’s pace picks up, somehow, and the thumb on your clit presses down harder.

“Perfect,” he whispers, reverent. “You’re perfect.”

And that sends you over the edge. Robby swallows your scream with his mouth, your kisses messy and tactless but filled with aching passion. He keeps his rhythm through the aftershocks, working you through it as the pulses around his fingers taper out.  

He pulls away from your mouth with a final press of his lips and you pant into the warm air. His fingers slide out of you with a squelch and you whimper at the loss. Robby brings his fingers to his mouth, eyes closing as his lips do, as if savoring the taste.

You hum and your arms reach out for him but his mouth moves down your body, like he’s searching for more, for the source of you. He’s gentle as he bends your legs to rest your feet on the bed, settling between your open thighs with his wrists around your ankles. He descends on your cunt without preamble. His mouth moves between your clit and your hole with ease and precision. It feels good, amazing, but it’s not what you want.

“No, baby, ” you cry out through the pleasure. “I want you.”

Robby doesn’t stop. His tongue curls into you, around your clit. 

“I’m right here,” he murmurs when he comes up for air. His eyes peer up at you as his mouth continues its assault.

You push up onto your elbows and reach a hand down to thread through his hair. You tug his head back, pulling him off of your dripping pussy, mouth still hanging open and beard slick with you.

“No,” you command. “Inside me.”

That gets Robby moving, wiping your slick from his mouth on the inside of your thighs as he moves his body up yours. Your feet push at his towel, unraveling it from around him. He tosses it to the ground, careless.

He settles his weight over you. His lips press into your collarbone, into the slope of your neck, across the apple of your check. Finally he kisses you fully, deeply. The taste of you remains on his tongue. 

There’s a shift of Robby’s hips as he notches his thick head into your aching hole and then he’s pressing inside. Wide and heavy, and almost too much to bear even with the slick that eases his entry. The inches keep coming, stretching you open in a way that feels indecent.

When you’ve finally taken every delicious inch and the tip of him presses into that spongy spot inside you, his head collapses into the juncture of your neck.

“So fucking good,” he mumbles into your taut skin.

You wiggle your hips, searching for more. His hands press them down into the bed with a huff. You whine and Robby lifts his head to find your eyes.

“Just give me a sec,” he pleads, completely undone by the feel of you. You’d be smug about the fact that he’s struggling not to come from just pushing inside you if you could feel anything beyond the raw and unadulterated stretch of him.

You’re trying to be patient but every second he’s not moving makes it harder and harder not to chase the pleasure that simmers beneath your skin. You sneak your hand down between your bodies to circle your clit. You get maybe two desperate swipes before Robby shoves your hand away and pulls out of you.

He thrusts back into you so hard and fast you think you might actually see stars. The noise that leaves your mouth sounds inhuman even to your own ears.

“Nu-uh honey,” Robby tuts, as he sets a pace that has you gasping with every thrust. 

“Mine.” 

The word is gritted through his teeth. Your hands come up to grip his biceps. Your nails dig into the thick muscle, looking for something to ground you.

“You just lie back and be good,” he rumbles. The words send warmth rushing through you. You can do that. You can be good for him.

Your hands glide across his shoulders, down his chest, and to his back. You pull his body closer to yours. The friction between your nipples and the hard and hairy lines of his chest sends sparks of pleasure coursing through you.

You’re almost at the peak of another orgasm and he can feel it with the way your walls are beginning to close in around his aching dick. Robby’s hand hooks under your right knee and hoists it up and past your hip, pressing it into the mattress and opening you up even more for him.

It feels ridiculously good and the sensation of being so stretched open has you babbling. A string of whiny pleases and whimpering moans followed by a singular plea.

“Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop.”

Robby’s thumb traces over the knee he holds hostage. His tender and soft touch, a juxtaposition to the way his cock slams into you.

“Wasn’t planning on it, sweetheart,” he teases and leans down to kiss the furrow between your brows.

Your orgasm explodes through you, feet kicking out and head tossed back with the sensation. Robby’s pace doesn't let up, just carries you through the waves of pleasure washing over you. Only when he’s wrung out every last squeeze of your cunt does he slow to a stop inside you.

He peppers kisses across your cheeks and nose and forehead as you pant and return back to your body. His tongue darts out to cull the droplets of sweat gathering at your hairline. Your moans are content as you bask in the afterglow.

“Good?” Robby asks as he noses at your ear.

You nod and mumble an affirmation.

“Soooooo good,” you sigh, words slurring. 

He chuckles and suddenly you’re reminded of the fact that he’s still rock hard inside you.

“That’s my girl. I’m not done with you yet,” he rumbles as he pulls out of you, sticky and wet. 

You whine. Didn’t he just say he wasn’t done with you.  

Robby shushes you and he’s careful as he maneuvers you over and onto your knees. A warm palm on your back pushes your chest into the bed and you settle your cheek on a cool patch of sheets. Your spine stretches out as you relax into this new position.

“Just like that, baby,” Robby groans, settling behind you with a grip on your hips. “I’ve been waiting for this all fucking day.”

“Yeah? All day?” you ask, mirth back in your voice as you turn over your shoulder to look at him.

His jaw ticks and he presses his hard cock against the curve of your ass.

“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” he grits out.

“Actually,” you taunt as you push back against his cock. “I think you’re the one who’s a pain in my aa –”

Your banter is cut short as Robby pushes into your wet and waiting cunt. You think you should be used to it by now but the stretch of him always catches you by surprise, has white hot bliss spreading through you like wildfire.

“That’s what I thought,” he hisses as he pumps in and out of you. “All I gotta do is put my cock in you and you can’t even speak.”

You try to respond but all that comes out is a gurgle of moans. He picks up his pace and his thrusts have you moving up the bed a couple inches.

“Guess I should have done this when you were mouthing off to me at central,” he huffs, panting with the effort of the tempo he’s set.

“Asking me if you were a good girl in front of the entire ER.” His palm comes down with a smack across your ass. 

You keen and push back to meet his thrusts.

“Bet you would have liked that,” he laughs. “Come on baby, tell me what we look for when a patient presents with expressive aphasia.” 

Is he seriously fucking quizzing you right now? That smug bastard. Your brain struggles for the answer. It’s on the tip of your tongue but every time you get close to the answer his cock hits that spot inside you that has your brain going blank.

“R-Robby, I can’t…I don’t–” you whimper into the bedsheets.

“I know, honey,” he coos from above you. “Maybe you’ll remember how much of a mess my cock makes you next time you want to be such a fucking tease at work.”

You clamp your cunt down around him. He grunts and his pace stutters.

“You s-started it,” you cry out. You squeeze around him again.

Robby’s tempo turns erratic and you know he’s close. You can feel yourself riding the edge of a third orgasm and you want him to come with you. You know just how to get him there.

“Dr. Robby,” you plead, voice breathy and sweet. You feel the way his fingertips dig into the plush skin of your lower back.  “I want you to come inside me.”

He moans, breathes out a trail of curses. The way you say his name like that, the way you beg for his cum when you know it drives him fucking wild. Robby can no longer think of anything else.

“Please. I need it.” you beg.

With a final, brutal thrust his orgasm slams into him, and you shatter right alongside him. He spills deep inside you, warm cum coaxed from his impossibly hard cock by the fluttering of your tight cunt. Your name is a stuttered moan on his tongue.

He collapses on top of you, teeth finding purchase in your shoulder as you float back down to earth together. Robby eases his bite with a soft press of his lips and he’s tender as he rolls you onto your sides together. His hand slides up from your hip to splay across your belly and he nuzzles into the back of your neck.

You both hum when Robby slips his softening cock from you, his spend spilling out and down your thighs. He pulls you back into him as you stretch your legs out beneath you.

After your heart rates settle, Robby pushes up from the bed and stumbles into the bathroom. Knowing that if he’s done his job right, and he has, you won’t be able to walk over there by yourself just yet.

Warm and sated, you hear the tap run. And then he’s back, sliding a warm washcloth between your legs. You sigh at the care with which he cleans you, all the delicacy and precision of the incredible doctor you know him to be.

He settles back onto the bed beside you and pulls a blanket over your intertwined bodies. You nestle into Robby’s chest and his hands come to thread through your still damp hair, brushing it out behind you.

“I’m way too old to be trying to hide a boner at work,” he laughs into your hairline. You giggle and pull back so you can look in his beautiful, brown eyes.

“And whose fault is that, hmm?” you tease and the corners of his mouth quirk up. His thumb comes up to trace along your cheek. He leans in to press a soft kiss to your lips. 

“I wish I could say I was sorry,” Robby smiles, “but fuck baby, you drive me crazy.”

“Ditto, old man,” you agree and he rolls his eyes. “Next time, save it for a day off, or at least shift change.”

He grins and pulls you closer. 

“Yes doctor, right away doctor,” he sighs, always the theatric, in between kisses across your face. Now it's your turn to roll your eyes.

Bliss. That’s how you’d describe this post-sex cuddle in the bed you share.

_

Thank you for reading! This work is also posted on AO3

dr. robby save me.

...dr.robby.

save me dr. robby.

[argentinesunshine]

compare this to jack & flav

the awkwardest shit

the nail in the coffin

that pic of flavio and franco looks like they just put their clothes back on. Jack Doohan, I’m gonna hold your hand when I say this…lets try looking on indeed dot com mamas

[starkenobi]

HI!! I'm seated for your the pitt avengers crossover!!!!!!!!!1 while we wait, can I ask for some jack abbot x reader drabble? Maybe reader is a firefighter and flirts with him? Do it as you wish, just happy if you do it!!!1

masterlist

Hello, honey! As a thank you for your support, here's a little something. 💜

pairing: Jack Abbot x firefighter!reader

summary: it was supposed to be just a simple rescue, but some casualties force the fire crew to make a stop at the Pitt.

warnings: reader is a worried bean, but no description of injuries or medical procedures.

It was supposed to be just a simple rescue, but things got out of control as quickly as the fire. Two of her men got injured, not for lack of attention but for reasons beyond control. Like a broken fire hydrant and explosion out of nowhere.

The sirens seemed louder than usual, but maybe it was because she wasn't used to riding in the ambulance. She looked at Eddie, the rookie of the firehouse, still unconscious on the stretcher. Carlos, sitting beside her, was conscious but got injured pretty badly too.

She tried not to blame herself. At least she reacted quickly and took the lead in rescuing Eddie, Carlos following her steps as her right-hand. It was hard not to keep thinking about the what ifs, Eddie was her responsibility as the rookie. The whole team was. It was difficult not to feel like she disappointed them.

"We're here, lieutenant." one of the emts said.

And just like that, Eddie was taken by the ER nurses, and then she was being ushered in by the emt. She could still hear the shrill of sirens, looking dazedly at the ambulance to check, but her attention quickly turned to the huge emergency room when someone yelled her name.

Dana.

Oh, right. The Pitt was the nearest hospital.

"Honey, are you with me?" Dana asked, a frown on her face. She nodded, blinking a few times to focus on Dana. "Robby's taking care of your boy. Have you been checked?"

Her eyes followed the movements of nurses and residents, and it didn't take long to find Robby in the center leading the treatment. Averting her eyes off the scene, she found Carlos being attended too. She took a deep breath and collapsed into the chair that Dana had pulled out for her to sit.

"I'm fine." She finally answered, opening her coat while trying to regain control now that the adrenaline was wearing off. "I barely got a scratch."

"You're worse than Abbot." Dana lamented, getting a weak chuckled off her. "Oh, speaking of the devil. Ei, Abbot, this one here's for you!"

Before she could even grasp Dana's words, Jack Abbot was standing in front of her. Backpack forgotten on the chair next to her. His hands held her chin, turning it carefully from side to side, checking for injuries. Attentive eyes hypnotizing her for a brief moment.

"C'mon, sweetheart." Jack urged, a soft murmur. He turned to the charge nurse, nodding. "I'll take from here, Dana."

He didn't wait for any reaction, holding her by the shoulders, he took her to a room. Closing the curtain to give them privacy, Jack helped her take off her coat and made her sit on the gurney.

"Your coat looks like shit, sweetheart." Jack said, a frown on his face. He came closer, deft hands moving around her body looking for any sign of injury. "No burns, but you have some scratches and a cut on your face. Did you inhale smoke?"

"I'm fine, but you can always kiss it better, y'know?" She retorted with a sigh, closing her eyes when she felt his lips on the top of her head. "Not what I meant."

"I spoil you too much," he fires back. Stepping away briefly to get the material needed to patch her up, he pulled the chair and sat between her legs. "You saved that boy's life. He's here thanks to your quick response."

"It could be worse," she said – a little statement she always repeated to herself in difficult times. Opening her eyes, she stared at Jack in silence, enjoining the peaceful moment and support she was having with him. She was glad that, at least, he was there with her.

"What?"

"Breakfast tomorrow?" was what she said out loud instead, offering him a tired smile.

Jack arched a brow, his lips automatically matching her smile. "Sure, I'll bring your favorite to your place."

After another momet of comfortable silence as he finished his work, she said a quietly thank you that meant so many things she couldn't express out loud. And Jack answered with a kiss on her lips, a promise that it was just another day and everything was going to be alright.

comments, likes and reblogs are welcome and appreciated! thank you for reading and supporting my writing 💜

[twohearts-hs]

Dove & Captain: 6 - Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader Series

Words in Total: 6.1k

Pairings: Dr. Jack Abbot x fem!reader

Synopsis: She's his Dove. The ER nurse who is the definition of chaos, trauma and humour in scrubs. He's her Captain, gruff, emotionally guarded war veteran with a prosthetic leg and completely in love with her. Six years together, a mortgage, four dogs and the ability to conquer anything. This is a story of their life in one day. He is 49, she's 30. This is one day of their life based on the 15 episodes of 'The Pitt'. There will be little imagines of their relationship over the years.

Warnings: Swearing, Age Gap, Trauma, Medical Language/Procedure, Pregnancy, Miscarriage, etc.

A/N: This is a complete series of ~60k. I will post a few snapshots of their relationship over the six+ years they've been together.

Hope you enjoy :)

Series Masterlist

-

1800

Y/N was checking in on her patients when she heard over the intercom, “Code Triage, Emergency Department now.” She glanced up from what she was doing and looked around. Mass casualty. There was a mass casualty incoming.

            “What does that mean? Has that happened before?” she heard next to her. Glancing over, she spotted Santos saying that.

            Y/N met her eyes, and she sighed. “Incoming mass casualty,” she simply said. Everyone looked over to her.

            “Hey, what’s going on?” McKay asked.

            “Mass casualty at PittFest,” Robby said.

            Y/N walked over, hearing that, crossing her arms. “Holy fuck,” she muttered. “What do you mean mass casualty? Like a shooter?”

            Robby just stared at her and Y/N just nodded.

            “How many victims?” Mohan spoke up.

            “We don’t know. Expect the worst,” Robby replied.

            Just then Robby cleared his throat, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Ok, everybody listen up!” All eyes went on Robby. “There is an active shooter at PittFest. As the nearest trauma centre, we are going to be getting the majority of the victims. We don’t know yet how many we are getting, but we are instituting hospital-wide emergency protocols. We need to move every patient out of here. They either go home, they go upstairs, or they go to family medicine. Call your loved ones now if you need to. I can guarantee you, cell service will soon be overwhelmed. Eat something. Stay hydrated. Use the bathroom while there’s time, and meet back here for a full briefing in five minutes,” Robby explained.

            Y/N noticed a figure walking up behind him. Instantly, a smile came to her face, but she shut it down. Jack glanced at her, seeing her standing there with her hair down now, cardigan gone but exhaustion on her face.

            Robby then turned to see Jack. “Brother, I’m so fucking glad to see you,” Robby muttered, walking over to Jack and bringing him in a hug.

            Y/N pulled her phone out, sending a message to Beckett that dinner would be cancelled tonight as Jack and Y/N will have to work later due to an emergency.

            “I heard it on the police scanner,” Jack muttered as Robby pulled away. “How is she?” he asked, nudging at Y/N who was looking at her phone. “Did you figure out what happened with her this morning?” he asked, trying to get information.

            Robby just stared at him. Knowing well about the pregnancy, the miscarriage and how Y/N threatened him to never tell Jack.

            Robby didn’t answer right away.

            Jack narrowed his eyes. “Robby,” he tried, eye contact full on glaring.

            Robby exhaled through his nose, jaw tight as he shook his head. “She’s fine. Focus on the incoming, Jack.”

            Jack didn’t buy it. He knew Robby, knew the way his voice clipped when he was holding something back. But now wasn’t the time. He’d pull it out of him later.

            Across the room, Y/N was already moving – snapping into high-function mode. All serious now and all action. She tucked her phone away before starting to command the team to clear beds. Her exhaustion was shoved down, buried beneath adrenaline and instinct. She moved like someone who needed chaos, thrived in it.

            Jack watched her. His stomach twisted. He could see it – she was too quiet, too still in the eyes. Normally, she would’ve walked up to him by now.

            “You tell me if something’s wrong. I mean it,” Jack said lowly. “It’s Y/N. She’s my life,” he muttered. Robby just nodded, patting him on the back.

            “I know. Tough day, all I’m saying and it’s just getting tougher,” Robby replied. “But she’s fine.”

            Robby nodded.

            Y/N just went straight to work, pushing everything aside. Y/N moved patients alongside her coworkers.

            Y/N walked back up to the nurses’ station where Jack, Robby, Garcia and Dana were. He glanced over to her and sent her a small smile.

            “Hi,” she whispered.

            He nodded. “Hey, Kid,” he muttered. “I’m taking Primary ER.”

            “Have at it,” Robby replied. Y/N crossed her arms.

            “Who’s taking Primary Surgery?” Jack asked holding the vest and binder. He held it up, looking over at the crowd.

            “Heavy is the head that wears the crown,” Walsh replied.

            “Dr. Walsh,” Jack replied handing her the kit.

            “Anaesthesiology?” Jack asked.

            “Gladden will be down. He’s got four in place, more on the way,” Dr. Walsh replied.

            Y/N was grabbing a gown, some gloves as Jack started assigning roles to everyone.

            “Ok, this is yours,” Jack said, handing Robby an emergency belt of supplies.

            “Thank you. What do you got in there?” Robby asked.

            Y/N walked back over, next to Jack. “Got some goodies, Captain?” she asked, smirking. Jack’s backpack was filled with emergency supplies.

            He looked at her for a brief moment before looking back at Robby. “A couple of CAT tourniquets, hemostatic dressings, LMAs.”

            “We got plenty of that stuff,” Robby replied.

            “Butterfly ultrasound works off a cell phone,” Jack said, opening up the kit. Y/N leaned over to look at it.

            “Wow, all the bells and whistles,” she hummed.

            “Very cool,” Robby replied. “But we’re gonna send all the unstable chest and belly straight up to the OR.”

            Jack nodded. But as he was showing the ultrasound kit, Y/N spotted something that made her heart drop. He was wearing his wedding ring. The one he had when he was with Grace, his last wife. She stared for a second, blinking a few times before pushing that thought aside.

            He only wore it when he was having a bad day. Missing her. Y/N didn’t mind it. She was very supportive with his grief. However, today was not the day he should be thinking of Grace. Y/N miscarried today. Sure, Jack did not know yet, but he was grieving his last wife while Y/N went through something traumatic. Additionally, he only wore it while at home, never to work. He must’ve totally forgotten that we were wearing it when he left the house.

            Y/N forced herself to refocus, pulling her eyes away from the ring. Now wasn’t the time to spiral. Now wasn’t the time to feel anything.

            Robby turned to the crowd as everyone was gowning and prepping. “Ok, everyone. This is how it’s going to work. Our ambulance bay is now our Triage. EMS will be overwhelmed,” he began.

            “Go stand over there, Kid,” Jack said, leaning into Y/N as he pointed to where everyone else was standing, looking at Robby and Jack. Y/N nodded, walking over.

            “Most will probably arrive by car, several victims per vehicle. For all you newbies that don’t know, Dr. Shen is our night shift attending,” Robby said as Dr. Shen walked over and Robby patted his back. “John, I’m gonna put you on Point Triage.”

            “Cool,” Shen replied.

            “Triage will decide who goes where depending on their injury,” Robby stated, looking over at them.

            Y/N nodded, crossing her arms as she listened. Jack crossed his arms over his chest, biceps bulging.

            “Every department will have a designated primary who will oversee their staff. If you need someone, look for the vest. We’re all going to have walkies. We can get you whatever you need,” Jack explained, voice low, authoritative as he glanced over the crowd.

            “No patient goes into a room unless it’s a trauma bay, and they will have four patients each. We need to keep everybody out in the open so we can keep an eye on everything, ok? Triage is gonna assess and assign every patient to a specific zone with a coloured slap band,” Robby explained, gesturing to things. Then he pulled out a belt bag with different colour slap bands. “Patient who comes in with a red slap band,” he slapped it on his wrist, “goes to the Red Zone, which is the trauma rooms with overflow out here. These are the most critical patients who will die without immediate attention,” Robby stated. “Samira, where are you?”

            Mohan raised her hand.

            “You are here with Dr. Abbot, me and Y/N,” Robby stated. “Jack’s gonna run traffic.”

            Y/N nodded, meeting Jack’s eye, who sent her a curt nod. He knew she could do this. He taught her more than she needed to know as a nurse. She could perform like a doctor, and with two senior residents down, they needed Y/N. Then a smile came to Y/N’s face as she knew she was allowed to play doctor today.

            Jack just raised a brow at that smile, a silent facial expression of ‘Don’t get ahead of yourself’.

            “We have five minutes to try and stabilise the reds. After that, its OR, ICU or morgue,” Jack said, voice powerful, low but calm. Arms still crossed as he glanced around the room.

            “The south and central common area over there will be the Pink Zone,” Robby said, holding up the pink slap band. “That is for patients who will die under an hour without treatment. McKay and Javadi, you are over there, with help from incoming night shift and surgical staff.” Y/N glanced around before going back to Robby. “Yellow Zone is the North Corridor. Those are gonna be mostly extremity wounds, good vitals, talking,” Robby explained holding up the yellow band now. “Mel, you’re gonna run point there with Santos and Whitaker.”

            Mel looked frazzled. “Uh, what if…what if there’s a pulseless extremity?”

            Jack stared at Mel for a minute, then hummed. “Oh, if you can’t feel a pulse, check for Doppler flow with this,” he said, grabbing onto the butterfly ultrasound machine. “It’s a mini-ultrasound. Follow the screen prompts,” he told her, handing the machine over, eyes glaring into Mel’s. It was as if he was handing her his greatest possession, a subtle glare of ‘take care of this’. Y/N just smirked.

            “But yellow can change to a red if they go south. You got to stay on top of them, even if they seem stable,” Robby explained.

            “Ok, yeah,” Mel mumbled.

            “You got this, Dr. King,” Robby stated, nodding towards the resident. His eyes focused back on the crowd. “Green…minor lacs and sprains. They got to Family Medicine. Black and white bands are DOA, imminent death. Pedes is now our morgue. Let’s hope we don’t get too many of these,” Robby explained, looking over to Jack.

            Jack nodded, then looked back at the crowd now. “We’re a MASH unit now. There’s no charting, no electronic medical records, no board,” he said before pointing to the board.

            “How do we document treatment?” McKay asked, brows furrowed.

            “Oh, you’ll all get Sharpies, and every patient has a wrist chart to document treatment and procedures,” Jack stated, pointing to the wrist chart that Robby was holding up. “You run out of room, write on the patient’s forehead.”

            A snicker came from Y/N.

            “Really?” Javadi asked.         

            Jack stared at the med student for a second. “Yeah, really,” he stated.

            “Each wrist chart has a unique mass casualty incident barcode and patient number. That’s how the patients are gonna get identified,” Robby explained, holding the chart up.

            Jack nodded. “This is no-frills combat zone medicine. No ultrasound, no X-rays, no CT, no labs. Assess based on mental status and pulse strength. Every critical patient gets an IO, intubation, a unit of blood and a chest tube if needed. Everything you need…blood, drugs, bandages…everything will be in the Behavioural Health rooms. That’s our supply depot,” Jack stated, eyes glancing over the room, using his military, authority voice. “Um,” he muttered, thinking, “oh! Keep a couple of 11 blades in your pocket.” Jack leaned down to grab one, which was indeed in his pocket of his cargo pants. “Goal is to resuscitate ASAP so they’ll make it upstairs for definitive care.”

            “Trauma surgery and neurosurgery will decide who goes up to the OR immediately and who goes to the ICU for further treatment and evaluation,” Robby finished before looking over to Jack, who was looking at him. “Communicate. Ask for help if you need it. Trust your attendings,” then Jack and Robby fist bumped. “We will get through this together.”

            “Damn right we will,” Jack replied, nodding.

            Then they were dismissed. Y/N walked up to Jack, who was grabbing supplies. “Jack,” she called out, and he turned to her.

            “Yeah,” he muttered.

            “Tie me, please,” she said with a small smile pointing to her gown. He nodded as she turned her back to him. Jack’s hand came to her neck, pushing her hair aside.

            “Can I have a hair band?” he asked, and Y/N gave him one. Gently, he twirled her hair around, making a small bun before tying it. Then he tied the gown. He leaned into her ear. “How are you doing?” he whispered.

            “I’m fine,” she said, turning around. “You?”

            He shrugged. “Fine.” Though she knows his eyes were saying something else. They stared for a moment. “Are we still going to talk tonight?” he asked, voice low.

            She nodded. “Yeah, of course. But we need to get through this first, ok?”

            He nodded. “Just hate when you keep things from me.”

            Y/N nodded again. “I know. You will know soon.”

            A slow nod came. “So, there is something,” he stated, raising a brow.

            Y/N just stared at him for a minute, mouth opening slightly. “We will talk, ok?” she muttered, voice low now. “When I’m ready,” she added.

            Jack nodded, knowing not to fight her. “We’ve got this, Kid,” he muttered, fist bumping her. “Just keep your head on, listen to my orders and don’t pull anything stupid.”

            Y/N tilted her head and raised a brow. “When have I ever pulled something stupid?” He went to open his mouth to respond. “That ended up with the patient dying…” He shook his head, mouth closing. “Exactly.”

            “Listen, though,” he muttered, hissing tone.

            “Yes, Captain,” she replied, smirking.

-

The first patient was here. Jack and Y/N were in one of the trauma rooms as they worked around one another. It was as if they were back on night shift together, working like a well-oiled machine. Jack was wearing the orange vest that stated, “Primary Emergency MD”.

            Jack was intubating a patient. “I’m in,” he stated as Robby entered the room. “Kid, bag her,” he called out, and Y/N was already doing it as Jack glanced up.

            “O-neg is pouring in,” Y/N stated as she stood there, holding the blood bag and the oxygen bag.

            He nodded to her. “Good.”

            “Stronger pulse,” someone said. “I’ll take her up.”

            “Dr. Mohan, that kid came in with his mom. She says he’s deaf,” Robby stated.

            “Write that on his chart,” Y/N called out.

            Jesse came back in with a blood bag. “Ready with the O-neg.”

            “Wait, wait. Stop,” Robby called out from assessing injuries. “O-positive for males over 13, women over 55,” he stated as he walked over. “O-neg for everybody else.”

            “Hook me up,” Mohan called out.

            Jack came back over, placing an IO in. “IO’s in. Go with O-pos,” he stated. “When there’s no time, bone marrow infusion is as good as an IV.” He worked beside her. Then glanced over to Robby. “Robby, stabilise for the flip.”

            Robby came over as Y/N rounded back to help them flip the patient over to look at the wounds. “He’s got a wound on both sides,” Y/N muttered, looking it over.       “He’s gonna need two chest tubes,” she said, looking over at Jack, who just nodded.

            “Yeah,” he muttered.

            Robby agreed as well. “Need a hand?” he asked.

            “Hell no. I got two hands,” Jack replied before looking up, “and Y/N.” Then Robby was off. Jack started reciting orders to Y/N as she grabbed supplies and helped insert chest tubes with Jack.

            Robby came back over, looking over Jack and Y/N as they worked. “Not a lot of test tube output here,” he said.

            Jack held up a tube. “Looks like this one’s renal,” he said.

            “Golden ticket, directly to surgery!” Walsh called out. Y/N moved to pull the bars up on the gurney, unclicking the brakes.

            “That’s three out of four ORs down,” Robby stated.

            “Another four about to open and all 25 will be ready by the time we need them,” Walsh replied.

            “We could be buried by then,” Robby responded. As Jack, Y/N, Robby and Walsh started to move the gurneys out of the trauma room.

            “No, you won’t. We’ll blast through these, tying off bleeders and slapping on vacuum dressings. We’ll finish the job in a day or two when the dust settles,” Walsh replied as they moved.

            Then they jumped to the next patient. Y/N was already grabbing the oxygen bag, pumping oxygen through the tube.

            “Gunshot to the head,” Jack spoke.

            “Through and through,” Robby responded.

            “Yeah, we still got a strong pulse,” Jack replied. “This one can make it because the intracranial bleed can decompress through the bullet holes.”

“Wash, neurosurgery in house?” Robby called out.

“Yes, send him to the neurocrit ICU. They’ll triage from there,” Walsh replied.

Then they pushed the gurney off to surgery before jumping onto the next one.

-

Jack and Y/N were working, jumping from patient. Some stabilised, some to surgery and some died. Y/N wasn’t thinking about it, just getting her hands bloody and following orders.

            “Listen up!” Dana called out. Jack and Y/N glanced to her before back to their patient. “Central 7, 8, 9 is now the blood donor centre. Anyone who’s O-neg or O-pos, we need you to donate now. Hands where I can see them.” Dana threw her hand up while glancing around. People placed their hands up. “Ok, let’s do this.”

            Jack looked at Y/N. “Go donate, Dove,” he said before looking down. “You’re O-pos,” he stated before going back to the patient. “I’m going to do it soon,” he added.

            Y/N stared at him for a moment, swallowing. “I can’t donate,” she muttered, squeezing the oxygen bag.

            Jack’s brows furrowed. “Why can’t you donate? Have you already donated?” he asked, continuing to work.

            “No, I just can’t donate right now,” she responded.

            “Another nurse can take over. Go donate,” he said, voice gruff.

            Y/N sighed. “Jack, you’re not hearing me. I can’t donate,” she said again. However, she couldn’t donate because she was pregnant hours ago and had a miscarriage. People who are pregnant or who have had a miscarriage within six weeks can’t donate as she was less than 12 weeks pregnant.

            Jack finally looked up from the patient.

            “Why not?” he asked, brow furrowed, tone still clipped from the adrenaline. “You’re not sick. You’re not on antibiotics. No blood-borne diseases. What’s the issue?”

            Y/N kept her eyes on the patient, hand steady as she continued her job. But her face had gone pale, lips pressed tight.

            “I just can’t, Jack.”

            He paused, eyes narrowing, not because he was angry, but because she wasn’t telling him something. She never snapped like that unless something was wrong. Really wrong.

            “Dove, he said more quietly, leaning toward her. “What’s going on?”

            “Nothing,” she muttered quickly, eyes flickering from his and looking back at the patient. He didn’t buy it. Not for a second.

            “Y/N, look at me,” he hissed, voice low, not mad, but stern.

            Y/N glanced up at him. His whiskey-coloured eyes, jaw tight as he stared at her. His gown was covered in blood, hands were too with safety glasses on. They stared at one another. He raised a brow. “Why?” he asked, voice low. “Tell me now.”

            She stayed quiet for a moment. This was not how she planned on telling him, but she couldn’t lie. He’d stiff it out.

            “Y/N,” he said again.

            “You can’t donate blood within six weeks of miscarriage if you were less than twelve weeks pregnant,” she mumbled, looking back down.

            His gaze was still on her. Jack remained motionless. The world around them kept moving – monitors beeped, staff shouted vitals, the ER was pulsing with pressure and blood and trauma, but for Jack, everything stopped as he narrowed down at her.

            “What?” he said, not loud…flat. Disbelieving. Like his brain had frozen for a second and needed her to rewind. He was a careful listener. Never since she had known him was he someone who asked people to repeat things.

            Y/N swallowed hard, her gloves slick with someone else’s blood. She didn’t look back up.

            “You heard me. So, drop it,” she whispered. Then she went back to her work.

            Jack didn’t move. “When did it happen?” he asked.

            “I said drop it,” she responded.

            Jack’s chest rose slowly, like he was trying to control something deep, rage, grief, panic, all of it slamming into him at once with no space to release. He took a half a step back, jaw clenched as he stared at her.

            “Dove–“

            “Not now, Dr. Abbot,” she said. “We have patients–“

            “When were you going to tell me?” he asked.

            Y/N groaned, rolling her head back. “Tonight. I was going to tell you tonight.”

            His brows furrowed for a second, brain calculating, then he whispered, “You miscarried today, didn’t you?” he asked. “You were late this morning. Off. Blunt with me.”

            Y/N stared at him. “I was going to tell you tonight. Everything, ok? Everything. But, I will be honest, you coming in here wearing the ring she put on your finger as you said vows made me not want to tell you tonight because you only wear it when you’re not doing ok.”      Jack stood there, eyes locked on hers, his chest still rising too slowly – like every breath had to be forced. His jaw twitched once. Then again.

            “That ring’s not about her,” he said, voice low, thick. “It’s about loss. It’s about what I couldn’t fix. What I failed to keep alive. I rushed over here once I heard about this on the police scanner. Totally forgot it was on.” Y/N just stared at him, and he stared back. “You should’ve told me this morning, Dove. I literally pulled you aside and–”

            They stared at one another. “You have no right to be mad, Jack.”    

            “I’m not mad, I’m disappointed,” he said lowly. “Because we made this clear that we are in this as teammates, partners, and we don’t hide things from one another. We don’t suffer alone. We don’t debate about telling the other something because you’re being petty about something from my past. We’ve been together for six years, Y/N. You know better.”

            Y/N stared at him. Wide eyes as those words came out. She shook her head, then called out for another nurse. “Fuck you, Jack,” she muttered, handing the oxygen bag to Holly and she walked away.

            “Y/N!” he called out, but she continued to walk away from him. “Jesus,” he muttered before jumping back to his patient.

            Robby glanced over, seeing them, looking over at Jack, then Y/N as she went to a different patient. Why were they ending their normal teamwork? Was Robby’s question.

-

Y/N was with Dr. Mohan, trying to stabilise a patient. It might’ve been fifteen minutes since Y/N walked away from Jack. She could not think about that now. She needed to get through this without thinking about her personal problems. She was at work. This was the time to think about work.

            “Need some help with an airway!” Mohan called out as Y/N held the intubation tube with one hand and pressed a gauze on a wound with the other.

            “What is it?” Robby asked, coming over.

            “GSW to the neck with expanding hematoma and distorted anatomy – can’t intubate him. Probably hit the carotid,” Mohan explained as Robby jumped in. Y/N removed the gauze so he could look at it.

            “Ok,” Robby muttered.

            “I’ll do the airway,” she heard that distinct voice behind her. Closing her eyes, she glanced to Jack who looked at her for a moment before grabbing his pen light to check the pupils.

            “Ace, give me a 6.5 and a bougie,” Robby called out and Y/N moved, grabbing supplies.

            “I got the bleeder,” Jack said, flashing the pen light into the patient’s eyes. Then he looked up at Y/N. “Kid, Foley catheter with a 30 cc balloon,” he said, voice low and stern.

            “Are you donating?” Mohan asked as Y/N came back.

            “O-neg, yeah,” he muttered before looking at Y/N who gave him the supplies. She glanced down at his leg, the left one (which was not his prosthetic) had a bag attached to it with bandage holding it to his leg.

            Y/N scoffed, shaking her head.

            “It’s too bloody to see a bougie,” Mohan replied.

            “Not for this. Three-step process. Step one, scalpel,” Robby replied, slicing the patient’s neck. “Step two, finger. Step three, bougie.” Robby said as Y/N handed them supplies when asked for.

            The balloon inflated on the device once inserted.

            “Ok, railroad in the tube,” Jack muttered.

Y/N grasped the tube, helping insert it further.

            “Ok, bag him,” Robby called out as he grabbed the bag.

            “Dressing off,” Jack muttered. “Foley’s in. Blow up a balloon.”

            “30 cc’s in,” Mohan replied as they worked.

            “Clamping,” Jack said as Y/N took the bag from Robby, slowly starting to squeeze it to give oxygen. “Look at that,” Jack replied, smirking as he looked up to his audience. “Dry as a bone.”

            “Woohoo!” Robby replied, smirking as well. Then talked about the logistics of moving the patient to the OR.

            Once wheeled away, Jack stood in front of Y/N. They didn’t say anything, but she could tell through his eyes that he was sympathetic. He walked up to her, leaning in and whispering, “I love you. Ok?” Y/N nodded. He didn’t say it a lot. A man of few words when it comes to feelings, but he shows it in ways. So, to hear that, her heart warmed. “Come. Help me. You’re my sidekick,” he stated, nodding to the next patient.

            Jack walked over to his backpack, the camo one he brought everywhere with him. He was looking for things in it while Y/N stood next to him. “I found out yesterday,” she whispered. He looked over. “That I was pregnant.”

            He nodded. “Dana was the one who suggested it. Never crossed my mind,” she began to whisper as he continued to look in his bag. “So, I haven’t been keeping this from you for a long time. I worked the day shift yesterday, you came in for the night shift. I went home, saw you this morning. I just haven’t been able to see you one-on-one and I know you, Jack. You wouldn’t want me to tell you at work.” He nodded. “I miscarried around two p.m. today. Twenty-four hours, all it was between finding out about it and losing it.”

            Then he glanced over at her, seeing her leaning against the nurses’ station while he was fishing for supplies in his bag. He bit down on his lip. “Ok, we will talk more at home. Just,” he sighed, “don’t suffer alone. Ok?” She nodded. Then Jack spotted Robby and Mohan with a police officer patient. “Come,” he said, brushing her arm and pulling her to him.

            “You’re doing a crike?” Jack asked as he stood next to the gurney.

            “Yep,” Robby replied. Y/N came over, taking over for Princess so she could go help another patient. “No skin hooks, no bougie…old school,” Robby added.

            “I got a tactical airway in my bag here,” Jack said, looking up and smirking as he brought out the kit.

            “What is that?” Mohan asked.

            “Fun. It’s a kit of fun,” Y/N muttered, chuckling. Jack and his emergency medicine supplies he kept at home…

            “It’s a control crike kit,” Jack said as he began to unpack it.

            “Oh, that’s perfect,” Robby replied. “Use that on the battlefield.”

            “Works in the pitch-dark when you’re under fire,” Jack replied pulling the supplies and starting to use them. “I can do these with my eyes closed.” Then he started to show Mohan how to do it. “The knife leaves a trach hook behind, so you can’t miss, right? Just,” he mumbled, inserting the knife and hook, “good. You slide in the introducer.” Jack was perfect at it. Absolutely perfect and he looked up to Y/N then back down. “Feel the tracheal rings. Good. Bob’s your uncle,” Jack said, pulling away. The crike was performed.

            Y/N smirked, chuckling and shaking her head.

            “That was incredibly fast,” Mohan replied.

            Jack glanced up and just shrugged as if it was nothing, no big deal.

“Ballon is up,” Robby muttered.

“Why don’t we stock these?” Mohan asked.

“No room in the budget,” replied Robby.

Y/N looked at Mohan. “They are like three hundred bucks for a kit,” she said, shrugging, connecting the tube to the bag so the patient could get oxygen. “Yellow on end-tidal,” Y/N muttered, looking up.

Everyone smiled and gleamed when Y/N said that.

“It’s ok now?” the officer behind her asked. The patient was a police officer on the table.

“Yeah,” Jack responded, nodding.

“Thank you, Dr. Abbot,” Robby hummed, smirking. Fist bumps went all around. “Ok, let’s pack the oral cavity with Kerlix and see how fast Head and Neck can take him up to the OR,” Robby said to the team. “Great job everybody.”

They all nodded and Robby stepped away.

Mohan looked at Jack. “What else do you got in your go bag?” she asked, grinning, impressed with his tricks and tools.

“Oh, just wait and see,” he responded with a hum before Mohan walked away.

Y/N looked at him as she continued squeezing the bag. “Impressive, Captain,” she whispered, and he looked at her, shrugged.

“You know how to do it,” he responded, “could’ve done it, Kid.”

Y/N stared at him. “You’re telling me now?” she whispered, yelled. “You seriously would’ve let me use your emergency crike kit on this patient?” Her voice was full of excitement but also disappointment because she missed her opportunity.

“Yeah, but you didn’t ask,” he hummed. “All my late-night date night teaching gone to waste,” he joked.

“You didn’t suggest it!” she scoffed. He just smiled at her wickedly. “Fucking tease.”

            However, before Jack could retort, someone screamed “Gun!” multiple times. Instantly, Jack’s hand was on Y/N’s back, commanding and pulling her down with him to the ground. His hand stayed there, glancing over at her, but she was more focused on seeing what was happening. She tried to look, but Jack pulled her back.

            “Stay down,” he hissed, looking straight into her eyes. Y/N just nodded.

            The SWAT team went over, grabbing the gun from the patient who had it strapped to his foot.

            “All clear,” Langdon called out.

            Y/N and Jack slowly stood up again.

            “Fucking hell,” she muttered before walking to another patient.

-

Y/N was with Jack when Leah came in, Jake’s girlfriend. Y/N was still working alongside Jack. “Jake’s here,” Y/N muttered to Jack. “With his new girlfriend, Leah. They went to PittFest together,” she told Jack. Jake and Beckett were close. Jake was seventeen and Beckett just about to hit twenty. The five of them – Jack, Y/N, Beckett, Robby and Jake have gone to events and or even camping trips together.

            Jack glanced up to look at Robby who was helping Leah.

            “Doesn’t look good,” he muttered to Y/N.

“Do you want me to go over there?” she asked him as he worked around her. “To Robby?”

            Jack looked at her, shaking his head. “Too many bodies, stay here,” he stated, then gave her commands on what to do.

            They continued to work together, but both would secretly look up to check on what was happening to Leah in the distance. However, it did not look promising.

            Jack glanced up at Robby. “What’s your next move, boss?” he called out.

            “Platelets, another unit. And then we can transfuse her with her own blood from the Pleur-evac to get ahead,” Robby called out. “Hang the cell saver.”

            Jack and Y/N met eyes and shook their heads together.

            “Squeeze all this in?” Dana asked.

            “No. Three-way stopcock on a 60-cc syringe,” Robby replied to Dana. “I’ll push-pull.”

            “Jack, this,” Y/N tried, but Jack nodded.

            “I know, Kid.” Then he looked over to Robby. “Not exactly in our mass casualty game plan,” he called over to Robby while squeezing a bag of blood into his patient.

            Robby continued to do compressions, and Y/N just shook her head.

            Minutes later, they overheard how Leah still didn’t have a pulse, compressions were still going, and several units of blood had been used. Jack muttered something under his breath. Something about Robby not being able to divide the work with the personal in this situation.

            “Jack, that’s his stepson’s girlfriend,” Y/N tried to reason as they worked.

            “I know,” Jack replied. “But if this were any other day, all good. But right now, we are in a mass casualty, and this is going against the plan. She is using up supplies,” he told her, briefing looking at her.

            “What if it was Beckett and he had a girlfriend–“ Y/N tried. Jack had been in Beckett’s life since he was fourteen. Y/N raised him since he was four after her mother ditched them. Beckett was like Jack’s son.

            “We are not playing ‘what if’ right now, Kid,” he stated. “This is not the time for that game. So, I’m not going to be answering that question.” Dana walked over to grab more blood from the cooler. Jack noticed. “Four units,” he muttered. Then he called out, “Blood is for the ones we can save.”

            Robby replied instantly, “She is right on the edge. One more can make the difference.”

            Y/N and Jack finished stabilising their patient. “O-neg. Monitor the pulse. She’s stable for trauma ICU if an OR’s not ready,” he called out to the nurse who was taking their patient away now.

Y/N crossed her arms over her chest as she looked at Dana. Jack then glanced up. The couple were looking at the charge nurse, raising a brow. Dana just shook her head. Jack instantly removed the safety glasses and came over to Leah. Y/N followed.

He stood next to Robby. Y/N kept her distance. “How many units so far?” he asked.

Robby took a deep breath, but didn’t answer.

“Four, plus the cell saver,” a nurse said.

“Last one?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know,” Robby muttered, shaking his head. “Dana, why don’t we try a little TXA? 1,000 milligrams of TXA might help her clot,” Robby spoke up.

“Got it,” Dana replied.

Y/N kept standing there, behind Jack. Her hand reached out but then pulled away. She took a deep breath.

“Bullet tore through her heart,” Jack muttered before looking at his friend. “Anyone else with a wound like this is pronounced dead in the field. You can’t keep up with the blood loss. If she were our only patient, we’d do a thoracotomy, maybe ECMO. But even then, I doubt we’d get her back,” Jack continued, voice low.

“Robby, we’re gonna lose ten other patients if you put all your efforts into saving this girl,” Y/N spoke up.

Jack glanced over his shoulder. “Exactly. Kid’s right,” he muttered.

Robby glanced over his shoulder, looking at the scene. Y/N’s eyes darted between Jack’s and then to Robby.

“Got the TXA,” Dana replied.

Robby looked back over. “Ok, push it fast, and we’ll do another pulse check. And then can you get me a vascular Doppler too, please?” Robby asked, looking at Dana.

Jack placed his glasses back on, looking at Y/N. She stayed quiet.

“GSW to the chest, faint pulse,” someone called out, and Y/N instantly turned, grabbing gloves and walking over.

“Jack,” she called over her shoulder.

Jack broke his eye contact with Robby to the incoming patient. “Intubation, IO, chest tube, and a unit of blood,” he called out.

“On it,” Y/N replied, then Jack came over.

They were working when Santos appeared in front of them. Y/N glanced over as Jack kept focus.

“Where’s Robby?”

“In BH-2 with the possible shooter,” Princess replied.

“Can you guys take a new patient?” Santos asked.

This made Jack look up to the intern. “Not right now. What do you got?” he asked, looking at her briefly before going back to his work.

“Hypotensive pelvic bleed,” Santos replied.

“Transfuse two units. We’ll get to it,” Jack replied. However, then Langdon called for Jack.

“Abbot! I got a carotid injury, popped a clot!” Langdon called out.

“I’ll be right there!” Jack replied, then he looked at Y/N. “Kid, take over. You know what to do,” he said, patting her on the back and leaving. Y/N jumped in.

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@samanthadegaro

@meowmeowyoongles

-

Hope you enjoyed. xoxo

Send in imagine requests for Dove & Captain!

Ava <3

[snail-day]

Rotations

Sum: You're a rotating nurse but you somehow became the emotional support toy for two department heads.

Yan! Shoko x Reader x Yan! Utahime

TW: Yandere Behaviors, Hospital AU, Noncon/Dubcon, Medical play, Power Imbalance, Blackmail, Overstimulation, Toxic Relationship, femdom, Crying during sex, Squirting, Dead Dove Do Not Eat. MDNI.

WC: 3.5K

a/n: Bruh, what is up with me and baby trapping lately? Anyways, Utahime has a breeding kink <3

Now, you’d think being a nurse has its cons, and yes, there’s the obvious ones. Like how it’s basically working at an airport where everyone is screaming because they missed their flight and somehow it’s your fault the weather is dogshit. Add in a little sprinkle of constant piss and vomit, and ta-da! You've got Healthcare! 

You could deal with that.

What you can’t deal with is being the rotating nurse caught between a couple that should’ve signed divorce papers five years ago. Maybe even a restraining order. 

To be fair, this isn’t your first rodeo. You already peaced out of one department after some white-haired freak and his husband couldn’t take a damn hint that your pussy only gets wet... for, well, pussy. Bless their hearts, though,  at least they didn’t drop the tired “you just haven’t met the right guy yet” line. No, they were polite. Courteous, even. Just a hum and “You know where to find us,” before the dark-haired husband sauntered back to running the psych ward. 

Which is how you ended up bouncing between two fresh levels of hell: Pediatrics, Utahime’s territory,  and ER, Shoko’s battleground.

You don’t have a favorite. Because both are nightmares in their own way.

Pediatrics? Sure, you’ll take the screeching parents, because at least they’re scared for their kid. That you can handle. What you can’t handle is the department head who stares at you like she’s already decided where the nursery’s going. Utahime doesn’t ask. She grabs. Pulls you into whatever broom closet nearest, slams the door, and chucks her pager somewhere into the abyss of trash bags and paper towels. Her lips are soft as they clash against yours, already tugging at the cartoon kittens on your scrubs as she breathes, “Aren’t the babies so cute? God, you’d look so good pregnant.”

It’s easier to pretend with her. To arch into her warm palm, to whimper when her fingers swirl against your clit, to whisper a mangled “I love you too,” because it’s the only thing that gets her to slow down, to kiss you like you’re real.

You're always relieved when her pager goes off. Thanking the universe or whatever higher power has granted you mercy. Watching her pretty pout as she pulls away, whispering she'll "make it up to you later." Honestly, you’d rather she didn’t. Because you’re left there alone, trying not to cry in a supply closet while people outside are praying their babies make it through the night.

It’d be rather pathetic to cry over your little situation, you’d think. So you better suck it up buttercup and make it through another day in the levels of hell. 

Now, Emergency,  that’s a different beast. You’re too busy to get laid most days. Shoko, at least, has the decency to admit the job sucks. Death. Blood. Screaming. She doesn’t sugarcoat it.

She just slips a little candy into your pocket with a scribbled note: Meet me by the smoking area.

And when you get there, she’s already waiting, smoke curling from her lips, eyes narrowed like she’s about to scold you for being late. But the second she sees you, she moves. No hesitation. You're slammed against the concrete wall before you can speak, her mouth ghosting over yours, cigarette still smoldering between two fingers as her free hand slips between your legs, pressing hard through your scrubs.

"You looked so sexy elbow-deep in that guy’s chest," she hums, coffee colored eyes half-lidded, voice smooth. "Bet you’d be even prettier cumming against my hand."

You barely manage a whimper before she’s moving in earnest, tight, punishing circles that leave you gasping and twitching. Your nails scrape down the wall, desperate for something to hold onto, splintering against the concrete as she keeps going.

Shoko's not the type to kiss you. Well, not during quickies like these. Doesn’t let you catch your breath. She doesn’t coo or soothe or give you anything soft.

She just works you over like another procedure, fast and efficient, done right the first time. No mistakes allowed. Just her fingers buried in your tight pretty cunt that sings for her. Leaving you only with that clinical detachment in her eyes, like you’re nothing more than a body on the table.

Her pager goes off again. She doesn’t even glance at it.

"Come on, sweetheart." Her voice is calm, almost bored. "If you take too long, that man’s gonna die. I could be there right now cracking open his ribs. But you had to come find me, huh?"

You try to apologize, try to speak, but she only tuts and presses harder, grinding her palm against the soaked fabric like it’s your fault she’s doing this.

"Jesus," she mutters, half-laughing now. "You’re already dripping. Don’t act like you didn’t want this."

And when you finally cum, hard and far too messy, crying into the crook of her neck, she only pulls back to flick her cigarette to the ground and pick up her pager.

"There we go," she says, slapping your ass once as she straightens her lab coat, already tucking her pager back into her pocket as if she didn’t make you cum against a wall in under ninety seconds. "See? That wasn’t so hard. Now let’s go save a life."

So yeah. Work is its own flavor of hell. It’s not like you haven’t tried going to HR about it. You have. Multiple times. Every time you walk in there, bright-eyed and shaking, it’s the same damn story.

"Well… they’re really respectable individuals!" "Been working here for years, you know!" "They’re married, actually! That’s sweet, right?" "No, no, it’s not that we don’t believe you - "

But their voices always trail off. Replaced by the sound of glances. The kind that say we don’t get paid enough for this.

There’s always a long pause. Then a wince from the intern behind the desk as he leans over and mutters to his mentor, “She’s crying. Should... we go?”

As if you’re the problem. As if the tears pooling in your eyes are the inconvenience, not the fact that Utahime left bite marks on your chest this morning and Shoko made you cum so hard your knees gave out ten minutes ago, between codes.

Because apparently, it’s hard to take a victim seriously when the predators have tenure and a joint tax return.

You sniffle, wiping your mascara with the back of your hand, smearing it more than anything. Your throat aches from holding it together. You’d rather be elbow-deep in shit and vomit, dealing with feral patients and hysterical family members, than sit through one more condescending HR meeting where your trauma gets filed under “miscellaneous.”

So you do what you always do. You drag your aching feet toward the locker room to clock out after your sixteen-hour shift. Your spine’s screaming, your heart in shambles, and your skin still smells like antiseptic and vomit.

You just want to go home. Take a shower. Pee. And go to bed.

But of course, there's only so much luck a person can have; they’re there.

Shoko and Utahime, mid-argument near the lockers, voices hushed. Shoko’s in her usual low drawl, arms crossed, while Utahime’s biting back fury with a tight jaw and flared nostrils. It’s nothing new. They’ve been circling each other like this for weeks.

Maybe it was just the fatigue. Maybe it was the quiet hum of fluorescent lights. Maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t eaten a real meal in two days.

But you break. Full-body, shaking sobs right there in the entrance to the locker room with the door shutting behind you. A foreign sound ripped from your throat, something you’ve been holding in since your first shift.

And Utahime is on you in seconds.

No longer in her bright hot pink scrubs, now dressed in something civilian, motherly perhaps, given the sweater. Slender hands move to cup your face, swiping away your tears with the pads of her thumbs. Ignoring the snot and the harsh cries echoing in the room.

"What happened?" she coos, voice sugar-sweet. "Shoko and I aren’t arguing, baby." (They were.)

She strokes your cheek, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. Murmuring gentle nonsense into your hair, acting unaware that she is part of the actual problem.

Meanwhile, Shoko zips up her bag in front of her locker with all the emotional investment of someone tossing out biohazard. Her scrubs hit the bottom of the bag with a dull thud, still stained at the cuff from whatever last trauma she patched up, and her voice doesn’t so much as waver as she mutters without looking your way:

"What’s wrong? Worried we’d find out about your little HR complaints?"

Utahime shoots her a glare so sharp it could slice. You’re being mean, she mouths, tight-lipped and furious. Voice softening again the second she turns back to you. Hushing your hiccupping sobs gently, guiding you down to sit on the bench by the steel-grey lockers, her hands never wavering from your skin. You feel yourself go limp under her touch. Sometimes its better to be tended to bare it all yourself.

She moves between your legs and crouches in front of you, knees hitting the floor, perfect posture as always, warm palms sliding up your thighs. Those soft brown eyes blink up at you, too wide and warm, like she’s never done a cruel thing in her life.

"I think you’re a little overwhelmed, baby," she murmurs, her voice like honey melting in tea. "Not everybody’s built for days this long. But it’s okay. Shoko and I can take care of you."

Her voice shakes slightly at the end, not with fear, but barely restrained eagerness. You can feel it in her grip. That tremble, that quiet thrum beneath her skin like she’s thrilled. Behind the blurry shimmer of your tears, you can almost see the smile tugging at her lips. That little spark behind her lashes at the thought: You. At their place. Safe. Caged. Loved.

You glance over at Shoko.

She smiles at you, that lazy half-smirk she always wears post-shift, her tired eyes softer now that the chaos of the ER is over. She looks calm. Pleased, even. Right before she tilts her head and drawls,

"It’d be a shame if the authorities found some... really secure medication in your pockets on your way back to your apartment."

Your breath catches, but Utahime doesn’t even flinch. As if this was what they were arguing about. What to do with you.

She just hums, warm and low, and moves her hand closer to the tender heat between your thighs. Again. What was this now? Your third orgasm of the day? Maybe fourth? It all blurred together at this point.

You shift uncomfortably, trying to squirm away. "I’m too sore," you managed to mumble, voice cracking at the edges. A broken sound.

Utahime hushes you gently, her tone almost maternal as her fingers begin peeling your scrubs down your hips with gentle care.

"Shhh, baby," she coos, folding the fabric like she’s tucking in a child. "Just getting you ready to go home."

But her eyes fixate on your panties, the pretty pink rose in the front, slick with arousal. She leans in, slowly and spreads your sore legs from standing on your feet all day wider. Her pretty pink tongue drags a slow, delicate stripe over the pink cloth, circling your covered clit with cruel, experienced swipes. Dampening the cloth. Her perfectly manicured nails dig into your thighs when you try to close them. Barely hard enough to break skin, leaving pretty crescents for later when you cry in the bath looking at them.

Meanwhile, Shoko speaks casually, as if you’re not gasping from her wife's mouth.

"We got a notice from HR today," she says, nudging your chin up with two fingers. "They wanted to fire you, you know. Said you’d been a real problem lately - all that whistleblowing. But we were kind. We made sure our pretty girl was leaving on a good note... contract-wise."

You whimper as Utahime's tongue presses harder, your panties soaked now, fingers tangling into her hair, dragging against her scalp, as your hips buck without thinking. More. Your body doesn’t care that it hurts. That you’re raw. It just wants.

"We told them the whole thing was a cry for attention. That you weren’t being harassed, you were just trying to get between us. Trying to ruin our marriage."

You try to shake your head. Try to deny her. Try to say something, anything, but all that escapes is a wrecked little moan when Utahime finally hooks her fingers into your sopping panties and drags them to the side. Her breath flutters against your folds, watching you twitch and squirm as she moves to dip in. Kissing your sweet little bundle of nerves softly. Lips brushing against your folds, savoring every little taste of you. Ignoring the musk as she swirls her soft, teasing tongue over your clit.

You jerk when her thumb pushes your folds apart, the humid press of her breath causing your thighs to tremble during her first lick. A long stroke against your entrance, slow and savoring before pushing in.

The thick muscle invading your tight walls as you clench around it. Hips bucking to get her to move faster, alas, she's cruel and keeps a slow pace. A broken sob breaks through your throat. A hum vibrates against your folds, low and sweet, as she laps at you with that gentle insistence that makes your thighs forcibly close. The only thing preventing them is her death grip. Those gentle hands, holding your trembling thighs wide open as you try to writhe away from how good it feels.

A good that should feel wrong.

Your walls pathetically flutter around her tongue, helplessly clenching with each slow press deeper. She wiggles it, twisting just enough to make you gasp, and then does it again. And again.

And again.

You let out another broken, pathetic sound - high and choked - as your head falls back against the wall. Your hips try to jerk forward, trying to ride her mouth as Utahime pulls aware with the sweetest giggle. Using the back of her hand to wipe her mouth.

Shoko lets you writhe and whine for a moment before she reaches out and pulls you into her lap, arms cradling you like a doll. Her legs force yours wider, your body trembling as her slender fingers spread your delicate folds open, keeping you exposed as Utahime presses in again. Her tongue pushes into your fluttering, soaked cunt, fucking you lazily with obscene wet sounds echoing in the sterile locker room.

Shoko leans in, her lips brushing your ear.

"So?" she whispers, grip tightening. "How are you going to save our marriage?"

You can't answer.

Your back arches instinctively, helplessly, as Utahime sinks two fingers deep inside your pussy, knuckles flushed to your slick folds, her wrist working unforgiving strokes into your already sore heat. She’s not speaking anymore. Just watching. Lips parted slightly, sweat beading at her temple, eyes locked on the way your cunt sucks her in, greedy and twitching despite the overstimulation.

It’s too much. You’re raw. You’re pulsing. Your body keeps going even when your mind wants to shut down.

Shoko brushes a stray tear from your cheek with the back of her finger, so sweet you might almost forget what her and her spouse are doing, until she speaks again, voice thick like poison.

"So?"

You don’t answer again. Not even when you try to mutter a please stop. Not when Utahime curls her fingers just right, dragging across your most sensitive spot, and your whole body jolts.

Shoko chuckles softly. Shifts beneath you, keeping you cradled in her lap, her long legs spread wide to hold yours open, while her wife treats you like a patient splayed out on the table.

"I asked you a question, dove," she murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "How are you going to fix what you did?"

Utahime’s pace quickens, her palm slapping softly against your pussy with every cruel thrust. It’s wet. Messy. Loud. Resting her cheek on your thigh, not even wincing at the juice spluttering out of your leaking cunt.

You try to answer. You really do. But all that comes out is a pathetic little whimper, your voice catching as your hips jerk forward. Your hands scramble for something, anything, gripping Shoko’s sleeve, clawing at Utahime’s wrist, but neither woman falters.

"Mmm… that’s not a very good apology," Shoko sighs, fingers trailing down your stomach, pressing just above where Utahime’s knuckles disappear into you. "You lied to HR. You embarrassed us."

"Come on, baby," Utahime whispers against your inner thigh, voice trembling, "show us you’re sorry. Let us feel it."

Shoko reaches between your legs, slipping two fingers around your clit and circling slowly, not to help, but to control the rhythm. Your legs kick. Your head tilts back with a sob.

"There she goes," Shoko purrs, grinning as she watches your eyes roll back. "Sweet little slut’s finally ready to make things right."

And when you cum - again - it hits harder than it should. A scream caught in your throat, muscles clenching down on Utahime’s fingers like you’re trying to trap her inside. The world goes fuzzy around the edges.

But they don’t stop. Utahime pumps you through it, still pushing deep, still chasing the next orgasm like it’s her reward for keeping you.

Shoko leans close again, breath warm on your ear.

"That’s a start," she whispers. "But you’ll have to do better than that if you want to keep your job. Or your apartment. Or your sweet little life."

Your hips are shaking , maybe from exhaustion or even from the orgasm still echoing through your nerves. You barely register the shift until you feel it: Utahime’s third finger pushing in slow, knuckle by knuckle, joining the other two already buried deep inside your fluttering cunt.

You release a sharp gasp, a plea of sorts, and Shoko tightens her hold around you, arms banded over your chest, chin resting on your shoulder as she watches your soaked pussy stretch around Utahime’s fingers.

Utahime just grins. Not the soft smile you’re used to. Not the gentle, nurturing head-tilt of the Pediatrics department head.

No, this smile is hungry.

A little wild.

A little too pleased.

"Oh, look at you, baby," she coos, voice thick with delight. "Taking three fingers like such a good girl."

Her pace slows into a more gentle, not to give you mercy, but to make you feel every inch of her boney fingers. The slide. The stretch. The way her palm presses tight to your clit with each drag back, her wrist rolling just right.

"Didn’t think you could handle it. Thought you were sore, huh?"

You try to answer, but it’s impossible not when your mouth refuses to work work, your brain fizzed out somewhere between her second orgasm and this one.

Shoko clicks her tongue above you.

"If she passes out," she says casually, "that’s consent to take her home, right?"

You twitch, whimper, body arching between them, Utahime’s fingers pushing deeper, rubbing a spot that makes your eyes roll back.

"Mmm. Don’t worry," Shoko murmurs, brushing your hair back, "we’ve already got a room ready. Soft sheets. Bottles prepped."

Utahime doesn’t stop fucking you. Doesn’t even slow down. Her other hand rests possessively on your thigh, keeping you open, spread, obedient.

"We’ve been wanting kids for a while now, haven’t we?" she muses aloud, eyes fixed on where her wife's fingers disappear into you. "Neither of us really had the time… but maybe we just needed the right girl to stay home for us."

You shake your head weakly, but it’s useless when your cunt’s tightening, pulsing around her fingers, slick dripping to the floor with every sloppy thrust.

"Shh," Utahime whispers, listening to the way your cunt sings for her. "No need to think so hard, sweetheart. You’ll get all the rest you need when you're carrying."

All you can manage is a choked moan as you gush around her fingers, body trembling, vision blurring at the edges. You hear her giggle with excitement just before your eyes start to flutter shut.

"You're going to be such a good mommy for us"

[leyavo]

| Symbiosis | 4

Summary: Bug and Roach find themselves in the Captain’s office after a physical altercation. (Harassment)

PART 4 of 🐞 previous parts > [Bug masterlist]

Men, they loved to talk shit. Especially in the military, saying the most misogynistic shit and brushing it off as a joke. Half the time when it was directed at you, you’d ignore it. The other half? Ask them if they’d ever been loved by their mother, because they’re obviously lacking in something.

You didn’t get a chance to react to the latest shit this guy was spewing though. A blurred figure appeared out of nowhere, shoving the guy against the nearest surface, a truck.

Thick with dirt, the guys face pressed into the mud, but no matter how hard he thrashed against the other’s hold he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Roach! What the fuck,” you gasped. He doesn’t acknowledge your presence, too focused on the guy in front of him.

One simple word, “apologise,” Roach snarled, his eyes softened as he glanced back to you. He’s not in his usual tactical gear, a navy pair of jeans and a black hoody draped over his shoulders, Roach printed across his upper back. The grey mask looks off without his goggles and helmet, you have to do a double take. The guy obviously didn’t recognise him, otherwise he wouldn’t have been so brave.

He’s not one for words, rarely speaks to you or the task force, but when he does it matters.

“What’s going on ‘ere.”

You tense at the firm, deep voice at your back. Lieutenant Riley living up to his call-sign, ghost. The only way he’ll announce his arrival is if he wants to be heard. You don’t get a choice.

There’s something off-putting about him, you’re still trying to figure him out. Lieutenant Riley you understand, Ghost and whatever personality he has as a civy you have no idea.

Ghost pries Roach off the guy, but he doesn’t let him scurry away. No, the lieutenant grabs him by the scruff of his shirt and gives him the once over.

“Sergeant Haines,” Ghost reads the patch out loud, brown eyes flitting to Haines and then you. He lets go of his shirt, patting the creased fabric from his grasp. More of a slap in warning. “137, huh? Captain Reynar will be waiting for you. Now go.”

You’re still staring at Roach, wondering what exactly he heard or how much. He won’t glance your way though, no he’s watching Haines retreat. Face hidden, no tells to inform you of what he’s feeling other than anger.

“Come on you two,” Ghost barks, nudging his head to the main building. You don’t protest, just fall in line with him and Roach.

The pounding in your head increases with each step you take. You just want to run off to your room and stay there till you forget the whole thing. Hopefully Roach will keep his mouth shut.

You catch up with Roach, tugging his arm. “I can look after myself, don’t need you…” you muttered under your breath, head dipping as Ghost glanced over his shoulder at you.

“Save it for the Captain.”

Fuck, the captain. You don’t want this to drag out, don’t want to repeat the words Haines said to you about them. If Roach hadn’t got involved, you’d have easily got on with your work and tried to dodge Haines around base. Now you’ll be forced to say something you’re not comfortable saying to them.

You follow them through the building, down the narrow corridors. Bodies parting like the Red Sea as soon as they spot Ghost walking in their direction. He knocks on the Captain’s door, making you both stand outside whilst he gives John a heads up of what’s going on.

⋆⋅ꕥ⋅⋆

“Why is it, that you two are in my office two days in a row?” The captain says, leaning back in his chair and scratching his moustache. It’s rare to see him without a hat, short clipped hair brushed back.

In your defence yesterday was unlucky, a faulty flash bang going off in the armoury and the two of you were at the scene. Your eyes still stung and head throbbed from the aftermath.

“Sexual harassment, Captain.” Roach said, quick and to the point as if he’d been asked the time.

“Oh, now you talk.”

“Bug,” ghost interjected, he’s leaning on the edge of the desk like a scary gargoyle leering over a church. His arms folded over his chest, gaze fixed on Roach who’s glaring back at him.

The Captain stares at you though, of course you’re the newest recruit. Must be your fault. And it’s very out of character for Roach to lash out.

You’d never seen Roach lose it so quickly. His frame still trembling with rage as he sat in the chair, back straight and fists balled up on his knees. Even during an op he hadn’t displayed this much rage. Maybe before you joined the 141, but you’d never witnessed it till now.

“He didn’t touch me, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Well Roach didn’t give him a chance to, twisted the guys arm before he could and slammed him against the side of the nearest truck.

Not that it would have gone that far, you’re good at ignoring and walking away from those pricks. Capable of standing up for yourself too, without Roach’s help.

Price sighs, glancing between you and Roach. “So what happened then?”

You really didn’t want to do this, either way you don’t win. If it’s not you telling them, it’ll be Roach.

“He said I only got on the task force so you could all pass me around,” you mumbled, embarrassed to say it out loud to your captain and lieutenant. You’d heard a lot worse about yourself and others, advised by other women to ignore it and silence them by climbing the ranks. Warned to never date someone in the same line of work.

And you’d climbed the ranks, joined the task force. Your hard work still getting overlooked by the simple fact of being a woman. There’s no way you got it alone, must have done favours for men in high places (which you did not). It made you sick.

Just saying it out loud made you feel like an object, dirty and used. A tiny part in the deepest pit of your mind hoping they don’t laugh it off and tell you to toughen up, hand on your thigh.

Silence. You rose from your chair, if you’re moving they won’t try it. Brush it off before they can.

“It isn’t the first time and it won’t be the last. Roach just needs to grow thicker skin, Captain.” The same thing you were told when you complained to your superiors when it happened the first, second and third time. You didn’t bother trying to report them after. Knowing the only person in your corner was you.

“I’ll talk to his C.O,” the captain said, clicking away at his keyboard. No doubt, compiling a useless report. You don’t know why he’d waste his time.

If anything Haines would get a slap on the wrist and a warning, but you. You’d be labeled too sensitive and emotional, not fit for the military. What are you going to do if you’re getting interrogated? That question always thrown at you.

You scoffed, “What so they can have a laugh? Pass the joke around like you all pass…”

“Bug!” Roach snapped, you’d never heard him yell. His chair tipping over as he stood up. The clang of metal making you back up a couple steps.

As calm as ever, Ghost placed a hand on Roach’s shoulder and steadied him.

If anything it should be you raging, not him, but you’re tired of letting the opinions of others control you so much. What’s your anger going to do? Other than tear yourself apart. No you’ll just push it down and deal with it when you get back home.

“Why don’t you go cool off, Roach.”

Ghost is on his feet, “I got it,” he says over his shoulder as he goes after Roach. He closes the door behind him, the sound bothering you more than it should. Just the thought of being alone with the Captain setting you on edge.

The Captain points to the sofa, he’s rounding the desk and coming for you, but you return to the uncomfortable metal chair you were seated in before.

He doesn’t question it though, just sits on the sofa as you turn the chair to face him.

You cross your arms over your chest and slouch in your seat. “I’m not emotional,” you mumbled, staring down at your scuffed boots.

“I didn’t say you were.” He’s quick to reply, brow raised at your words.

“I know how this goes.”

“How does it go, Bug?” He shifts on the edge of the sofa, leather creaking with his movements. His hands clasped together in his lap. Head tilting in attempt to meet your gaze, but you’re looking at his fingers twitching.

“You tell me I’m being sensitive, that I shouldn’t report it. There’s no need to ruin a good man’s career and reputation. What else do you want me to do?” Your heart hammering in your chest, hoping the Captain doesn’t ask something of you. Hoping he won’t give you some boring task like cleaning the rec room and saying how you’ll be able to think whilst you do it.

“I want you to help me fill out a report.” And right on time, the ancient printer spits out a piece of paper. He plucks it off the filing cabinet beside him and offers it to you.

You scan the black text, the paper still warm between your grasp. “I don’t…”

“Task force 141 and I, do not take any type of harassment lightly. We’d never treat you like that, ever Bug. You hear me?”

You nod, unable to find the words.

“I’m angry, but not at you Bug.”

[Next Part]

[blairxbear]

MHA Characters Getting "The Talk"

Warning: awkwardness ahead. This is pure stupid crack.

Inspired by a JJK version of this on tiktok by @ matt_the_curtin

How do the guys react to recieving 'the talk'

Featuring: Izuku Midoriya, Toshinori Yagi (All Might), Katsuki Bakugo, Best Jeanist, Fumikage Tokoyami, Keigo Takami (Hawks), Tamaki Amajiki, Fatgum, Tomura Shigaraki, Toya Todoroki (Dabi), Hitoshi Shinso, Shota Aizawa (Eraserhead), Shoto Todoroki, Enji Todoroki (Endeavor)

Izuku Midoriya – Getting "The Talk" from Toshinori Yagi (All Might)

Toshinori Yagi sat across from Izuku Midoriya, looking extremely uncomfortable as he clasped his hands together. Sweat dripped down his face as he tried to find the right words.

"Y-Young Midoriya," he coughed. "I… uh… I feel that, as your mentor, it's my duty to, er, educate you on… certain aspects of life."

Izuku blinked. "Oh! Like hero strategy? The importance of recovery time after a big battle?"

"No." Toshinori's face paled. "I-I mean… relationships. Love. And… physical intimacy."

Izuku turned bright red. "OH GOD."

"YES, EXACTLY!" Toshinori shouted, dramatically pointing at him. "GOD HELP US BOTH!"

There was an awkward silence.

Toshinori cleared his throat. "Ahem. So. When two people care for each other very much—"

"PLEASE STOP."

Toshinori held up a shaky finger. "No, no, listen, Young Midoriya. I must do this! It is my responsibility!" He inhaled deeply. "It is much like a United States of Smash—except instead of destroying an enemy, you are—"

"OH MY GOD, PLEASE NO!" Izuku covered his ears, mortified. "DON’T RUIN SMASH ATTACKS FOR ME, SENSEI!"

Toshinori’s gaunt cheeks turned red. "S-sorry."

They sat in silence for a moment.

"...Do you have any questions?" Toshinori finally asked.

Izuku stood up. "I HAVE TO GO STUDY FOR A TEST!"

"But there’s no test!"

"THERE IS NOW!"

And with that, Midoriya ran.

Outcome: All Might is traumatized. Izuku never looks at him the same way again.

Katsuki Bakugo – Getting "The Talk" from Best Jeanist

Best Jeanist sat elegantly in his chair, hands clasped, posture impeccable. Across from him, Katsuki Bakugo slumped aggressively, arms crossed, looking seconds away from combusting.

"Katsuki," Best Jeanist said, his voice smooth. "It is my duty as your mentor to educate you on a matter most delicate."

Bakugo scowled. "If this is about ‘being a proper gentleman,’ I’m out."

Jeanist exhaled through his nose. "No, my unruly pupil. This is about intimacy."

Bakugo's eye twitched.

Jeanist continued. "Love is a fabric that must be woven carefully. Each strand—trust, respect, communication—is vital. And much like a fine pair of denim—"

"NO." Bakugo stood up. "NO DENIM ANALOGIES, YOU WEIRD STRING BEAN!"

Jeanist ignored him. "A strong foundation is crucial, lest one suffer a wardrobe malfunction, if you understand my meaning."

Bakugo’s hands literally sparked.

Jeanist smiled, unfazed. "And of course, protection is important. Just as one would not step into battle without proper armor, one must also ensure—"

"STOP TALKING!" Bakugo turned completely red. "I’M OUT! I’M DONE! I’M NOT LISTENING TO A GUY IN A DENIM TURTLENECK TALK ABOUT CONDOMS!"

And with that, he exploded through the nearest window.

Outcome: Best Jeanist remains unbothered. Bakugo needs therapy.

Fumikage Tokoyami – Getting "The Talk" from Hawks

Hawks leaned back in his chair, casually tossing popcorn into his mouth. "Alright, kid. So. Birds and bees talk. Let’s go."

Fumikage Tokoyami stared at him. "...I already know about birds."

Hawks grinned. "Not like this, you don’t."

Tokoyami sighed. "This is unnecessary. My path is one of solitude and darkness. I have no need for such knowledge."

Hawks waggled his eyebrows. "Yeah? Well, when your Dark Shadow isn’t the only thing rising at night, you might wanna reconsider."

Tokoyami froze.

Dark Shadow: "BRO, WHAT THE HELL?!"

"HAWKS." Tokoyami gripped the edge of the table, visibly trembling. "DO NOT SPEAK OF SUCH MATTERS!"

Hawks chuckled. "Relax, Bird Boy. I got your back." He tossed a condom at him. "Use that if you ever wanna fly south for the winter, yeah?"

Tokoyami practically flew out of the room.

Outcome: Tokoyami becomes celibate. Dark Shadow is scarred for life.

Tamaki Amajiki – Getting "The Talk" from Fatgum

Fatgum grinned as he placed a giant plate of takoyaki in front of Tamaki.

"Alright, bud! Let’s talk about the big stuff!"

Tamaki, already nervous, started sweating. "B-big… s-stuff?"

"Yup!" Fatgum nodded. "The ol' horizontal tango! The whoopee cushion shuffle! The bibbity boppity boink!"

Tamaki looked like he wanted to disintegrate.

Fatgum laughed. "Aww, c’mon, kiddo! Ain’t nothing to be scared of! Everybody’s gotta learn how to get down to business eventually!"

Tamaki: "I don’t."

Fatgum patted his shoulder. "Ah, it ain’t so bad! You just gotta be confident, communicate with your partner, and—"

Tamaki teleported out of his chair.

Outcome: Fatgum laughs it off. Tamaki moves to another city.

Tomura Shigaraki – Getting "The Talk" from Dabi

Dabi leaned against the wall, arms crossed, smirking.

"So, you and relationships. That’s a funny thought."

Shigaraki scowled. "Tch. Whatever. I don’t care."

Dabi chuckled. "Alright, well, let’s say you do care. You meet someone, they actually like you—miracle, by the way—so what then?"

Shigaraki crossed his arms. "Then I’d… tell them they’re mine?"

Dabi sighed. "Alright, well, if you don’t wanna accidentally dust your date mid-kiss, you should probably learn some control, champ."

Shigaraki looked away. "...Tch. Whatever. I have control."

"Yeah? What about when your emotions get wild?" Dabi grinned. "Or if they kiss your neck?"

Shigaraki turned bright red. "SHUT UP."

Outcome: Shigaraki refuses to speak to Dabi for a week.

Hitoshi Shinso – Getting "The Talk" from Aizawa

Aizawa sighed, rubbing his temples. "Okay, Shinso. We need to talk."

Shinso sipped his coffee. "About what?"

Aizawa: "...Sex."

Shinso immediately choked.

Aizawa sighed again. "Look, it’s nothing complicated. Just be respectful, communicate, use protection, and for the love of god, don’t use your Quirk in bed."

Shinso: "WHY WOULD I—WHAT—NO! WHY WOULD YOU EVEN THINK THAT?!"

Aizawa shrugged. "I don’t know. Gotta cover all the bases."

Shinso buried his face in his hands. "I hate it here."

Outcome: Aizawa doesn’t care. Shinso wants to disappear.

Shoto Todoroki – Getting "The Talk" from Endeavor

Endeavor sat across from Shoto, arms crossed, his face burning slightly brighter than usual.

"Shoto. We need to talk."

Shoto blinked. "About?"

"...Procreation."

Shoto immediately stood up. "I’m leaving."

Endeavor grabbed his wrist. "SIT."

Outcome: Shoto literally escapes through a window.

Ko-fi / Masterlist

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