This Is Someone's Life I Feel Sick To My Stomach 💔

Okay but imagine a song fic with Marcus Acacius or Harry Castillo and his younger assistant

𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠

summary: jack abbot really needs to stop overhearing conversations that he's not a part of.

author's note: here it is!! my first ever jack abbot fic ♡ thank you to everyone who has been reading the little paragraphs so far! hope you all like it!

word count: 9.7k

warnings/tags: virgin, fourth year med student reader and attending jack. age gap relationship. loss of virginity, oral sex, lots and lots of praise kink <3 normal hospital lingo and descriptions of procedures.

jack abbot knows better than to listen to the nurses gossiping. he does—because listening to them never leads to anything good. if he’s caught eavesdropping, he gets dragged in. loses money that was never meant to be spent on the bets—and seriously, the employees of this hospital have a gambling problem. 

other times he hears things he really wish he hadn’t heard. it’s just not relevant to him, he doesn’t want to know things about people that he’s not meant to know. maybe it’s a military thing, but he can’t really explain it. maybe jack is just used to keeping secrets and minding his own business. 

and the last thing that jack really doesn’t like about overhearing gossip is that sometimes, rarely and reserved only for special information, it gets trapped in his brain and becomes the only thing he thinks about for the rest of the shift. 

this is one of those times. 

he knows better—that’s what keeps coursing through his mind when he stands on the opposite side of the nurse’s station at central. keep his ears shut, eyes down, because the last time he was standing here unarmed, he learned about a pregnant technician upstairs and the married surgeon who was the father. information that he did not, does not, want to know. nor did he want to learn about the surgeon’s wife who was a nurse in the pediatric ward, or the technician’s boyfriend who is on a work trip in florida.

he thinks that was child’s play compared to this conversation. 

when jack glances up, he sees you on the other side of the desk, leaning forward on your elbows, smiling and laughing with the nurses. 

you’re a fourth year—he should let you smile and laugh while you can. you’re in that perfect, peaceful transition period between your audition rotations ending and finding out where you’re going for residency. it’s supposed to be an enjoyable time—there’s no exam prep waiting for you at home, no stressful surgery rotation coming up next week. 

jack didn’t know too much about you—you’d mostly been on the day shift for the duration of your rotation. that was normal, keeping all the students together when the majority of the doctors were there too. made it a little easier to manage.

you were a little different though. just a little. you’d specially asked to try out the night shift for the rest of the time you’d be at the hospital. it’s not the weirdest request they’d ever heard, but just unusual. fourth years cherish sleeping and spending time with family and boyfriends and organizing their life before being thrown head-first into intern year. 

(at least, that’s what jack thinks you’d cherish. the little he knows about you has been transferred from robby and a comment from the residents every now and then. all good things, and when he’d told you the night shift was your chance to prove all the good things he’d heard about you, you had beamed at him.

a smile so bright he had lost his train of thought and had to walk back to what he’d even said to begin with. he tries not to think about it when he sees you smiling like that to your patients or the nurses, like you are now. but it’s not the same one, he can tell. the one you smiled at him had been a little different, something in your eyes had lit up too, you had stood up straighter, like a current had made its way through you at the compliment. or something like that.)

and you had definitely been proving yourself. jack had learned maybe last week that you had applied emergency medicine. it made sense then, why you wanted to try out night shift, since first year interns eventually do night float. it was just practice for the future. which was great, and very exciting for you, but just not what he had expected. 

you were just so… happy. patient. you had seemed disappointed on your first day to learn that most of the emergency docs only wore black scrubs. you made up for it in other ways—a pink stethoscope, colored pens, a badge reel with a little cartoon on it. 

even looking at you now, fiddling with the pulley on your badge, listening intently to whatever the nurse was telling you, and then smiling in that reassuring way that he’s seen you do, you look like you shouldn’t be here. he briefly considers finding that surgeon’s wife, the pediatric nurse, to take you up there for a couple of hours. jack doesn’t think you would want to come back down, but, well, what does he know about you?

certainly not much. even if he had noticed the way you are with your patients—filled with an abundance of caring, a melodic tune to your voice, trying your hardest to comfort, repair, heal. he had seen you fetch cups of water and sandwiches yourself, not wanting to bother nurses. every sentence had a please and thank you attached. it didn’t take long for you to win over the patients. then the nurses. then the residents, and the attendings.

it seemed that your goal was to win over all the attendings. 

jack is still staring at you. but you’re so focused on your conversation with the nurse that you don’t even notice. and he has to stop before someone else notices, forcing himself to look down at the chart in front of him, trying to remember why he’d even come over here in the first place.

and that’s when he hears it. 

“-but i would have never guessed. you’re so pretty!” the nurse says, and he knows she is talking about you, because, well, who else would she be talking about? 

you are pretty, as unprofessional as the thought feels even entering his head. you’re very pretty, and the way you talk to everyone like they’re the most important person in the world to you only makes you prettier. 

jack almost clears his throat, before realizing that he is, in fact, eavesdropping. he can’t interrupt a conversation he’s not even a part of. and much to his chagrin, realizing that he is terrible at this, he tunes back into your conversation. 

“yeah, but it’s not about that,” you say, and you sound a little different. like you’re flushed. the words come out hesitantly, quietly. “it’s about... finding the right guy, right? i didn’t want to rush it and then regret it.” 

he hears the nurse laugh, and you laugh a little too, followed by a little groan. “i guess it is embarrassing,” you continue, before stopping, interrupted by the nurse. jack looks up briefly—you’ve got your head resting on your forearms, leaning down against the counter. he keeps looking until you bring it back up.

“no, it’s a good thing. especially in hospitals. keep your legs closed otherwise you’ll end up like that pregnant tech upstairs-”

“but that’s so horrible. his poor wife works here. and she has a boyfriend, how do you do that-” 

he keeps listening, his own face a little flushed. he both wants to and absolutely does not want to hear the rest of your conversation, but even through the fog, he thinks about how your only reaction to that bit of circulating gossip was how bad you feel for the wife. his heart beats a little faster.

“well don’t worry about that, you won’t have to deal with it as long as you stay a virgin-” you and the nurse laugh, and the phone starts ringing, and the charge nurse answers. 

she calls out, yelling for dr. abbot, and so lost in his thoughts—in your thoughts—he doesn’t even hear his own name being called for a couple of car accidents that were incoming. when he turns back to look, you’re already gone.

he needs to shake off whatever you’ve just done to him. his feet automatically take him to the trauma bay, gearing up for whatever is coming, but when he gets there, you’re standing there, waiting. a yellow gown already on you, gloves pulled. and in your hands, another gown and set of gloves—extra large, he can tell from the color. the ones that he wears. 

“dr. abbot,” you say, handing both items to him. “i heard from bridget, is it okay if i assist?” 

“yeah, sure, kid-” he thinks for a moment that he hasn’t felt this way in a long time. and how the hell is one tiny piece of gossip enough to have his head spinning like he’s some teenage boy? how does that work, when he’s never cared about workplace rumors or any of the other hundreds of medical students he’s worked with before? 

you beam up at him again, saying thank you. eager to prove your worth like always. you disappear behind him, and jack is confused for half a second before he feels your fingers on the skin of his neck—briefly, just another half of a second. you’re tying the gown for him.

how is that you’re this kind, this pretty, and you’ve never had someone to take care of you the way you take care of everyone else? that can’t be right. that can’t be fair. 

oh god.

jack wants to tie the back of yours, thinks that maybe twenty years ago he’d be a lot quicker on his feet to do what he wants with the information he’s just learned. but instead he hears the ambulance sirens pull up, and he sees the back of your head while you rush out to meet them, and he actually, for the first time in years, has to force his feet to move. 

you were so close behind him, he could smell it. not perfume, that would wear off quickly with how much they run around. it was your soap and your shampoo. clean and sweet and something like strawberries lingering in the air after you’ve taken off.

but he’s stood next to you before—how is it that this is the first time he’s noticed?

half way outside, you turn around, realizing jack’s not right behind you.

“dr. abbot?” you question, taking half a step towards him, the opposite direction. 

“yeah, coming,” jack answers and he follows you outside.

-

the mvc’s weren’t in the worst shape jack’s ever seen, but still bad enough that he needed to snap out of it. he doesn’t even want to think about how bad the rumor mill would be if word got out that he lost a patient because he couldn’t stop staring at the twenty-something medical student. (though it is hard to stop staring. how the hell did robby ever work with collins? how did he get anything done?) 

it’s not like jack is going to find out. you are strictly off limits. 

he tries to do what he always does—asks you questions. how many milligrams should you give the patient? what are the three things you should be the most worried about? the patient’s got a broken wrist from trying to brace for the impact but that’s the least of your worries, so how do you deal with it for now? 

the first one gets stable pretty quickly. the second one is where there’s more concern. he comes in, ellis saying something about the patient’s crashing and there’s a big piece of debris jammed in his chest. 

jack goes in there and he spares a glance at you. the intensity of the situation is enough to make you a little flushed, even though you’ve done an emergency rotation during third year and two auditions already this year. but it’s a good thing—you take every case as seriously as though it’s your first. worry about each patient like they’re your own family, like each step is your responsibility. 

he calls you over, asks you what medications you would give if you had to intubate. 

“uh, etomidate a-and rocuronium?” it comes out like a question, like you’re still a little uncertain, even though you’re right, like you don’t believe in yourself enough to say confidently.

he’ll have to change that. help you work on that. he can think of it now—maybe you would learn best if you had some kind of a reward system. you seem like the kind of girl who would benefit from that. maybe if he asked the questions from between your thighs and your reward was—

“dr. abbot?” the sound of your voice snaps him out of it.

“yeah. good. very good,” jack says, and he turns his head just slightly, just so he can see you beam again. “you heard the doctor. let’s get prepped for the intubation.” you move out of the way for ellis to come in, when he stops you. “no, you’re going to be doing it.” 

you pause, uncertain eyes staring up at your attending.

“a-are you sure? don’t you think you should-”

“i think you’re perfectly competent to intubate.” “you guys got this,” ellis says, taking her stethoscope around her neck and heading out. the nurse tells you that they’re all set up. you hear the blare of the heart monitor, another nurse reading off the vitals, all the way to the pulse-ox that’s too low. 

“i’ll be here the whole time,” jack says, and you really, really wish he hadn’t said that. he’s close to you, handing you the laryngoscope. 

in moments like these, you realize why you were always meant to do this. you pick up the scope, carefully lowering it into the mouth and the top of the patient’s throat.

“don’t make any sudden movements. you don’t want to break his teeth,” jack instructs, his voice a gentle guide. you do know how to intubate, you must have done it a hundred times on the dummy in the skills lab. but you’ll never get over how different it is when it’s a real patient, how scared you get even when you shouldn’t be, because the doctor should never be scared like that.

but then you hear dr. abbot’s voice again. quiet, maybe even quiet enough that the other people in the room can’t hear. 

“i-i don’t see the cords-”

“take a breath. use your hand to extend the neck, get it straighter.” you listen to his instructions, hands moving by themselves to comply. “try again.” you’re looking down, and the nurses are looking at the video, and jack is looking at you. “past the epiglottis.” you push the tube a little further. “past the larynx.” a little further. “and cords.” 

you take a breath like you’ve never taken one before. the capnometer turns yellow and you finish out the steps, the rest feeling like muscle memory before handing it over to the nurse. the patient’s going up to surgery, but you make it outside the trauma room taking deep breaths to ground yourself.

“you okay?” dr. abbot asks from somewhere behind you. 

you turn to see him taking off the gown and gloves, the ones you had handed him. maybe you’d never noticed it before, but he’s got freckles over his forearms. maybe he spent a lot of time in the sun as a kid. when you don’t reply, thoughts trapped in your head and words not forming, he speaks again.

“come here,” and he guides you to the empty corner between the trauma room and the hallway. his hand hovers over the small of your back as he leads you there.

you’re going crazy—there’s no way you could feel his body heat through your scrubs. and yet the sensation lingers. he faces you, and you look up, blinking quickly. you don’t think you’ve ever been close enough to dr. abbot to see the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, or how the hair along his temples is more salt than pepper. his eyes bore into yours, and you stare up, forgetting the reason that you had even needed to speak to him. 

“are you sure you’re okay, kid?” he asks again, and you nod quickly.

“yes. yes, i’m sorry, dr. abbot.” you turn to look at the trauma room, looking at the nurses hovering over the patient you had just intubated. when you turn back to look at your attending, you realize he’s staring, just like how you were staring. 

“what are you apologizing for?”

“i-i forgot the steps. you-you had to talk me through it. i should have known,” you try to explain, though words and sentences become harder to form with each passing moment. 

“you’ve done how many of those, now? a handful? less than ten?” you nod. “you don’t have to be perfect here. you just have to try. and keep going, which you did.” you release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. “good job, doctor. you saved the patient.” 

“thank you dr. abbot.” you smile, beaming again, just not in the way you usually do. you’re still not that proud of yourself, jack can tell. 

the voice in the back of your head tells you that you should have been better, faster, more confident. you can’t imagine that ellis or shen or even your attending had been this hesitant as a medical student. 

“it’ll come with time, you know. no one’s perfect when they start out.” 

“did i say that out loud?” you question seriously, confusion spread all over your pretty features.

“no.” 

you’re so stupid—but maybe being so close to your serious, yet growing kinder by the millisecond attending was getting to you. the attending that you really want to impress, for reasons still unbeknownst to you. you want him to like you, to take you seriously, to think that you’d be a great candidate for their intern class starting in july. 

and then you lose your train of thought, staring at his eyes. it’s been too long, people are going to wonder where the two of you went.

but his eyes aren’t actually brown, like you thought. they’re hazel. 

“yeah,” he says, with a laugh. “they are.” 

your own eyes go wide like coins, and then you run straight to central to find a patient to preoccupy you from the embarrassment that is seeping out of you, leaving jack abbot laughing to himself in the empty corner between the trauma room and the hallway. 

the rest of your night shift is surprisingly uneventful. you had heard it was a bit calmer, but you didn’t expect such a drastic difference. but maybe it was just one of those nights. ellis wouldn’t let shen say the actual word, but you were all thinking it. it was kind of quiet tonight.

and normally, jack appreciates a quiet night. it’s like a little peace offering from god, akin to a slap on the back and a ‘thanks for your service’. he needs one every now and then, it’s the way only way to make sure for certain that he doesn’t end up on the roof a step closer than the last time.

though, staring at you from across the emergency room, watching you drink from your colorful water bottle and smile at shen and ellis, thanking them for their help while you work on notes, is certainly another way to make sure that jack abbot doesn’t think about that roof.

it’s only three in the morning though. there’s always time for the night to get worse. they’ve got four hours left, and he knows you’re off tomorrow.

well, he knows that he’s off. and then he took a peak at the schedule in one of his many free minutes tonight to see where you’ll be. he hopes the answer is at home, sleeping and eating and letting your body recover from the damage night shift does to your circadian rhythm. 

(he needs to cut it out. attendings have no business wondering what their bright eyed and bushy tailed fourth years are doing on their days off.)

but god if it doesn’t plague him—the fact that unlike what he thought, there’s no boyfriend waiting for you at home. no one to hear about your stressful day at work, the intubation that you did—perfectly, just with a little help from your overbearing attending, all the patients that you helped, and the great impression you made on the night shift. how he sees you answer every nurse carrying a question from patient with all your energy, even in the middle of the night. how you fill up a cup of ice chips for the patient waiting to go up to surgery, comforting them while knowing it’ll be sunlight outside when they’re finally taken up. 

and then he sees you sit down, taking a breath like you need to remind yourself to breathe sometimes. 

it’s just a little bit wrong. whatever he’s thinking, before he’s even thought it, it’s wrong. but how is it that you have all these things to be proud of, and no one at home to be proud of you? jack can sense it in the way that your smile grows every time you find out someone has something kind to say about you. every good job and well done is catalogued somewhere in your mind, and you wait ceaselessly for the next one, like an addiction. 

jack would spoil you, he thinks, for other people. for other men. he would praise you. he would tell you how perfect you are so many times that you wouldn’t be able to forget, that you would never doubt yourself again. that’s what you need waiting for you at home—the thing that can make it all better. 

and as wrong as it is, he knows he could do it for you. 

you look around the room and find hazel eyes staring right at you. your heart thuds in your chest. 

you smile at dr. abbot, and then look back down your notes. a minute later, you look up again, and he’s still looking. smiling. and now you can’t look away either. you had heard about the eye contact thing from other residents, it’s just a habit, they had said. you try not to flatter yourself that your attending is looking at you like he knows everything about you, including the things you don’t say out loud.

why does he have to be so nice to you? why does he have to laugh and smile even when you’re making an idiot of yourself? you should go up and apologize for that bit about the hazel eyes, though you think you might collapse into a puddle and melt into the ground if you have to bring it up again.

but you’re on for six more night shifts before the audition ends, and you ranked ptmc pretty high on your list—which may have been a mistake if you can’t stand in the presence of one of your attendings without turning into a flustered mess.

he hasn’t even done anything besides be nice to you. of course it’s that easy to unnerve you. you keep looking, watching the nurse who stopped to ask dr. abbot a question, how jack turns to talk to him, making eye contact that you were just at the receiving end of.

when the nurse walks away, jack turns back, looks right at you again. you can feel your face heat up like you just ran a mile. is this one of those things that’ll go away when you’re not a virgin anymore? that’s a heavy question for three-thirty in the morning.

here’s another one—how is every person in this hospital not in love with him?

you fluster and turn, breaking eye contact and keeping your head firmly staring at the computer screen. he laughs to himself again, walking off to check on a patient from earlier. the next time your eyes look up, they automatically go to the counter where jack was. you turn back and finish your notes.

“hey,” shen says, sliding into the empty seat next to you a while later. he opens the drawer under the desk, lifting up papers and pulling out a packet of goldfish from underneath. “forget what all these other people told you. your first rule is eat when you can.” you smile at that.

“noted. that’s a good hiding spot. inconspicuous.”

“that’s the goal. don’t tell the day shifters. it’ll be empty in an hour.” 

“i won’t. promise.”

“is your mvc still waiting for surgery?” 

“i think so, yeah,” you sit up a little straighter. you have this fear that you’ve done something wrong, that it’ll all be revealed in time.

“don’t worry, that’s normal this time of the night. i’d go check on him like once an hour and report to abbot. just because it’s-well, i’m not gonna say it.”

“right. got it. will do.” you get up, feet stumbling a little. it is pretty late. your watch says four-thirty, but you’re not tired. you’re just anxious.

you make your way to the patient’s room, the nurse filling you in on the updates in the last hour. there’s not many, thank god. you stare at the pulse-ox on the monitor for way too long, going over and checking to see that he is, in fact, still breathing. it’s silly. you know it is.

the nurse says she’ll be right back, and you look at the chart for another minute or so, trying to formulate the words you’re going to say to dr. abbot now so you don’t have to form them on the spot—god only knows how that might go.

you turn to head out, looking at the notes on the tablet in your hand, when you run into a brick wall.

“oh my god-” you almost drop the ipad, clutching onto it while it nearly tumbles out of your grip. jesus, how tired were you? walking into walls? but then the wall brings a hand to your shoulder, and that voice that’s been haunting your thoughts all night speaks.

and for what can only be the hundredth time that night, dr. abbot asks you if you’re okay.

you stare up at him. 

“you okay, kid?” 

“yes. i’m so sorry, dr. abbot. i was coming to find you.” 

“i figured. how’s your patient?”

“stable. waiting for surgery. i-i… nevermind.”

“you what?” he asks, gently taking the ipad from your hand and reading. he uses one hand to wipe his eyes, like he can take away the tiredness that way, and then runs a hand through his hair. you put your trembling fingers to your sides. he brings his eyes up from the screen to look at you. you really wish he wouldn’t.

“i was just making sure he was still breathing.” 

dr. abbot smiles at you. you smile back, but it’s half-hearted. your chest is thudding so loudly you can hear it in your ears. but his smile fades when he catches a glimpse of your shaking fingers.

“have you eaten today?”

“i had some coffee. and some water.” 

“the patient looks great. he’ll be fine. let’s get you something to eat.” 

you shut your eyes tightly, but your brain is so tired you don’t even know what you’re thinking. you’ll have to get better at this if you want to keep working here someday.

mindlessly, you follow dr. abbot. 

“between five and seven is the hardest part of the shift,” he says, opening up another drawer, different from shen’s. he hands you a protein bar. “and too much coffee is a bad thing. we don’t want your hands shaking if you need to put in a chest tube or thirty sutures at six am, do we?”

you shake your head, taking the protein bar from his hand. your fingers brush for all of two seconds. jack feels like he just touched a live wire.

“eat,” he says, and you listen. “you’re doing good, you know. it’s not supposed to be easy.”

“thank you,” you say, though your mouth is full. you lift your hand to cover, because even though it’s five am, you cannot embarrass yourself any further. “sorry about the hazel eyes thing.”

jack laughs and you smile. he has a really nice laugh, the kind that can make you calm down and forget what was bothering you all night. it really is a wonder that everyone here isn’t in love with him. you don’t even know how much longer you’ll be able to last.

“that’s okay. you’re tired.”

“everyone’s tired,” you clear your throat, sitting up straighter. “i think i’m just going crazy.”

“yeah, why’s that?”

“because i can’t stop thinking about you.”

well. looks like that’s about how long you were able to last.

you put the protein bar down on the counter. hands trembling again, mouth dropped open.

“dr. abbot, i am so sorry-” the words come out in a shaky breath, but when you look at him, when he finally moves his gaze back to your eyes, like he’s been doing all night, you see that he’s not mad. he’s not even upset.

“that’s okay-”

“no, no that is so not okay,” you blubber, words and sentences becoming harder to find by the second. “i am so sorry. that is so unprofessional.”

“well, i-”

“b-but it’s not like it’s just my fault, you’re being so nice-” 

“it’s not anyone’s fault, kid, it doesn’t work like that-” “if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s yours,” you say, unsure of where you’re finding these words. “you keep staring at me. what am i supposed to do?”

“have you tried looking away?” he quips, and you laugh at that. jack thinks for a moment that it’s a really beautiful sound. he doesn’t get to hear it often enough. maybe he can change that.

“am i?” you ask, after a small silence. “going crazy?”

“no. you’re not,” he replies. 

“oh. that’s good, at least.”

the two of you stay like that for a moment, shoulder to shoulder against the counter, your protein bar long forgotten. jack’s looking at you and you’re looking anywhere but him.

“dr. abbot?” you say, but before he can answer, there’s a phone going off. he hears it in the distance—mvc, truck driver, incoming, five minutes out. 

“come on,” he says, doing that thing again, guiding you but not really. even if anyone noticed through the haze of five am, he finds that he doesn’t really care right now. you wear the same flustered, confused, guilty expression until he ties the gown behind you this time, which makes you a smile.

a real one this time.

“what do you think about breakfast?” jack asks, snapping on his gloves and heading outside to meet the ambulance.

“i like breakfast,” you answer, not nearly as hesitantly as you thought you would.

“great. i’m of the belief you should always eat breakfast after night shift. there’s a place down the street.”

“do they have french toast?”

“i’m sure they do. you like sweet things?” and you can’t believe the conversation is still going, the paramedics are opening up the doors in front of you. you turn to jack, nodding to answer his question. “makes sense. alright, what’d we have?”

mouth still open, you follow him out to the bay. 

-

an hour later, both of the drivers from the accident are stable. you’re yawning at central, saying goodbye to the nurse you were chatting with earlier, and without even looking, you know jack is looking at you.

you’re too tired to be anxious. all you want is to go to breakfast with him and figure out what the hell happens after breakfast post night-shift with your attending who knows that you can’t stop thinking about him. 

he brings over a cup of coffee for you. you look up quizzically. 

“i thought you said no more coffee?”

“it’s decaf. but you need something to get you to breakfast, right?”

“shouldn’t i have a coffee at breakfast?”

“no, because then you won’t be able to sleep after.” the way he talks, you believe everything he says. you smile at him. someone from the other side of the room calls him over. 

“i’ll, uh, be right back.”

“dr. abbot?” you say, right before he leaves.

“yeah?” “thank you for the coffee.”

the last hour drags. particularly, six to six-thirty. the second half of the hour, the day crew rolls in slowly, one by one. the day shift counterparts take over patients and beds, get their debriefs. you follow around behind the residents, inform the other medical student about what you had done throughout the evening.

and around seven-fifteen, you pull on your jacket, grab your backpack, and wait for jack. you don’t know who else has left yet, who else might see you two together, but you don’t really care.

you walk to the breakfast place together, your eyes stuck anywhere but on your attending, and now it feels weird, because you can’t get his name to come out of your mouth. the idea of saying jack rather than dr. abbot feels inherently wrong.

the place he takes you to is quaint. it smells of espresso and bacon, and you smile brightly at the waitress when you order a latte, not decaf. 

“what did i tell you, huh?” jack asks, and you bring yourself to finally look back at the hazel eyes that started this whole thing.

“i never said i was sleeping after this.” 

in hindsight, the coffee was a great idea. the food would have made you sleepy, and you would have missed out going back home with jack. he lives in a nice brownstone, much nicer than your tiny apartment.

it also gave you just enough nerve to ask jack if he wanted to try your french toast. to hold his hand on the walk back. to lean against his chest while he opens the door. 

“i can still walk you home, y’know,” he says, but you shake your head, watching him get his keys out. 

“unless you want to meet my roommate, i don’t think that’s a good idea.” and inside jack abbot’s apartment is everything you had been imagining for the last twelve hours. shelves filled with records, big windows, a couch that looks tantalizingly comfortable. but you have ulterior motives today. 

you keep looking around, perusing through his records while he takes a seat on the couch. you inspect with a tilted head, warmth spreading through your chest and radiating out at his music taste. such an old man, you think briefly, looking back at him sitting on the couch in his civilian clothes. your old man.

you pick one out, the first album that’s familiar to you, and bring it over jack on the couch. you sit next to him, thighs touching, resting your head on his shoulder.

“are you gonna put on music?” he laughs, and you can feel his chest vibrate with the noise. this close, you can feel his heartbeat if you place your head just right. every word that he says, you can hear the rumble first. it’s so soothing, you’d fall asleep if you weren’t so wound up.

“how are you not tired?” he questions, and you look up at him.

“i had a latte, remember. you had coffee too. how are you still tired?” you go silent for a moment, trying and failing to conceal a laugh.

“don’t even say it,” jack says, and he’s laughing too.

“i didn’t say anything.”

“you’re thinking it.”

“i’m not tired enough anymore to believe that you can actually read my thoughts.”

“i can’t read your thoughts.”

“that’s a lie-”

“no, promise. i can’t. i can just tell.”

“how is that possible?”

“you want me to teach you?” you prop yourself up, leaning against his forearm while you do it. his skin is warm, and somehow despite everything you two went through the last twelve hours, he still smells good.

“if you’re not too tired, old man.” jack shuts his eyes, groaning. you laugh again, biting your cheek, wondering what he’ll say when—

he opens his eyes.

“i was gonna go easy on you, kid. but you’re in for it now.” 

“yeah?”

“yeah.” 

“promise?”

jack makes another noise—something in between a groan and a sigh. and then before you can think about it again, he takes your face in between both hands and kisses you.

and you’ve been kissed before. not well, but you know what it’s supposed to be like. after a date once you think, a date that had been pretty mediocre. you felt a spark a hundred times stronger in the last couple hours with jack than any date you’ve been on in your life.

at least—you thought you knew what being kissed was supposed to be like. as it turns out, while kissing jack, you realize that you didn’t know shit.

the way he kisses you leaves your lungs void of any air. he doesn’t pull away, not once, and you don’t either. you don’t want him to pull away, you think you might die if he does. he moves his hands slightly, one on your cheek and the other on the back of your head, holding you in place, firmly, gently. and he kisses you like he wants you to forget what being kissed is like, as though you should have no memory besides this one. 

your hands rope themselves on his arms, hard muscles tense under your touch. you move them up and down, brain so empty after the night you’ve had that you don’t know how to signal to him that you want him to take his shirt off. so you pull on his short sleeves and feel his bicep strain against your palm until you give up. you’d rather go at his pace than make any decisions at all, and somehow, you know that jack abbot won’t let you make a single decision, not if you don’t want to. he’ll decide everything, he’ll know what’s right for you, just like he has all night.

your hands finally leave his arm and wander to his hair, fingers working their way through the salt and pepper that you’ve been admiring for so many hours. his curls are messy, and you’ve ruined them, you’re sure, but you can’t stop. 

you don’t know how long it’s been since either of you came up for air, but then you hear the record drop to the ground and you pull away quickly, turning your head to see where it went.

jack doesn’t stop kissing you. his mouth is hot and his touch is lava, moving to your cheek and your jaw and then down the column of your neck. 

the moans you’ve been singing into his mouth are now out in the air, noises sweet like honey coming back to his ears.

“y-your record, i-i dropped it,” you get the sentence out in gasps. jack has his mouth over the place where your carotid pulses. he sucks hard on the skin there and your eyes shut instantly, the record leaving your mind as quickly as it had come in. he makes his way back through your cheek, back to your mouth. 

and you could almost die at the sight—jack abbot, lips red and swollen, darkened eyes looking at you like he’s going to make you pay for that ‘old man’ comment, though you can hardly remember what you had even said.

this time you lean back in to kiss him again, and he lets you control the pace for all of thirty seconds. you kiss him until your lips hurt, until your tongue is tired—but then again, so is every part of your body. but it doesn’t matter, not when you’re so close to getting what it is that you want. 

you don’t actually know how you got to his bedroom. you would have been content on that couch, or on the rug on the floor. against the door or on the countertop in the kitchen, but you guess you’ll have time for all of those things one day. 

there’s black out curtains in jack’s bedroom. they’re not shut all the way, so you look around while he stands in front of you, pulling off his shirt in one motion. your eyes are big, heart thudding while you take it in. his room is simple, just like you had imagined. the sheets are soft under your skin and everything smells good, like linen and sandalwood. you bring your gaze back, bringing a hand up to touch his chest, like you need to make sure that he’s really in front of you. 

jack takes his hand and puts it on top of the one you’re touching him with, pinning it above your head while he hovers over you. you bring the other one up voluntarily, letting him clasp it down, while he leans in to kiss you again. you keep moaning, not sure of how loud you’re being and not entirely sure if you care anymore. 

and then he stops. pulls away from the kiss, unpins your hands. you whine in frustration, shut eyes opening quickly to meet his.

“you sure about this, hm?” he asks, bringing his lips to your jaw again. he hovers there too, not pressing down enough for it to be a real kiss. you can feel his stubble rubbing against you. 

“i’m sure,” you whisper back, eyes shutting again. jack’s hands roam down, wandering over your waistband.

“there’s no going back,” he says, just as quietly as you had.

“jack, please—” and for the first time that morning, you hear dr. abbot break.

“oh fuck. say my name again, angel,” and you comply, repeating the syllable once, and then twice. it tastes weird on your tongue—like you’d get in trouble for saying it.

the thought makes you laugh. you keep giggling, unable to stop. you hear jack breathe into your neck, laughing with you.

“what’s so funny, hm?” he brings himself back over you, noses almost touching. you look straight into hazel eyes, bringing your hand to his cheek, running your fingers over the short hairs there.

“a couple hours ago i was calling you doctor abbot. now i’m in your bed.”

“you want me to stop, baby? i can. we can just go to sleep,” and you shake your head quickly. 

“no, please don’t stop.”

“well, since you asked so politely.” he starts again, kisses up and down your neck, hands pulling off your bottoms. his fingers tease over the hem of your shirt and you raise your arms so he can pull that off too. his eyes rake over your entire body and unlike what you’d imagined, you don’t feel the need to hide. you don’t want to cover yourself up, or feel embarrassed, or anything else. you want jack abbot to keep looking at you like he’s looking now, like he can’t believe what’s in front of him. you can’t believe it either.

and somehow, this is even funnier. now you’re naked in front of your attending, the very one who has been making your heart race since you met him during your third year rotation. you laugh again, before clasping a hand over your mouth.

“i think you might be a little too tired for this,” he says, and you regret your laughter right now.

“no, no, i want this. i’ve been waiting so long for this,” the last part comes out as a whisper. you tilt your head up, pressing in for another kiss. jack’s hands—hot like every other part of him—roam the bare skin of your hips and waist, all the way up to your ribcage and then back down. 

“yeah? how long?” he asks. his kisses go lower now, down your neck, onto your collarbone. he goes down to the smooth skin above your breasts, between them. everywhere except where you need him. you can feel the anticipation thrumming under your skin. “i asked you a question.” he pulls away, waiting for his answer.

“s-since i met you.” 

“i think it’s been longer than that, hasn’t it?” 

you look at him confused, but then the bastard actually smirks at you. and suddenly you’re back to ten o’clock last night, when the nurse was telling you to keep you legs closed—sorry, couldn’t help myself—and you saw someone in the corner of your eye but you didn’t want to be rude and look away, but when you left for the incoming trauma, you had seen—

“you dick-” you yell, sitting up in jack’s soft sheets. “you heard that whole conversation?” jack’s laughing and you start laughing too, taking one of his pillows and smacking it across his chest. 

“not-” you get him with the pillow again and he grabs it, wrestling it out of your hands. you realize how much stronger he is than you for a split second in that moment. “not the entire thing. just the important bits.”

“well at least now i don’t have to figure out how to tell you,” you reply sheepishly, feeling particularly vulnerable. you bring your knees in to your chest, watching jack in front of you with big eyes. “do you feel weird about it?”

“weird about what, sweetheart?” he asks quietly, placing one of his warm hands on your knee and rubbing the skin there.

“the virgin thing. do you not-”

“hey,” he says, and with so much caring behind his voice that you feel whatever’s left—if there even was any—of your resolve break. “we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. we can shower and go to sleep. i can take you home. whatever you want. and we can pick up where we left off when you’re ready.” 

“yeah?” you ask. 

“yeah.” 

you move back towards him, shutting your eyes and leaning in for another kiss. this time you crawl into his lap, feeling his hands roaming all over your body again. you can feel him under you—rock hard, pulsing, incredibly hot even through his pants. your hips move on their own while your hands fiddle with the tie before he takes over, undoing it for you. you hear jack groaning in your ear, and you’re positive that you’re wet enough to leave a wet mark on him. the noise is so exhilarating to you that you have to stop yourself from doing whatever it takes to get more out of him.

jack keeps one huge hand on your back, keeping you steady while he kisses you. you lock your arms around his neck, not letting go incase he tries to pull away. he flips you over in one motion—you on your back, and him hovering over you.

you don’t like this nearly as much—you want it back, the insanely rough pleasure of grinding yourself down on him. you whine again, but he murmurs one word in your ear over and over again—patience.

you’ve waited this long. you think you can be patient a little while longer.

jack goes back to whatever was on his long list of things he wants to do to you. he starts with pinning your hands down, locking you in place so you don’t flail around too much. he starts at your chest, his hot mouth working down to your nipple. he takes one in his mouth and you arch up off the bed, making saccharine noises that no one besides him has ever gotten to hear. that no one besides him will ever get to hear. 

“jack, jack,” you say his name over and over again, like you’re worried he’ll disappear if you don’t. your body reacts just like he thought you would, only taking what you’re giving, waiting patiently for more. 

“you’re being so good, sweetheart,” and he thinks the words alone are enough to make you come. he switches over to your other nipple, and he hears you curse, the swear ripping from your mouth.

and he hasn’t even touched your cunt yet. but he knows already that he’s going to drag this out, that he’s going to make sure you can never forget it. that he’ll spent the rest of his life trying to top this moment, give you something to compare to forever.

hot kisses down your stomach while your chest heaves. he watches from his position between your thighs, hands reaching out to play with your tits while he finally does what he’s been thinking about since that trauma yesterday night. 

he moves your hands for you, putting them to work, making you tease your nipples while he spreads open your legs further. 

he stares up again, watching you comply with his instructions wordlessly, being such a good girl without even needing to be told. he needs to tell you, but he doesn’t want you to come until you’re coming on his tongue.

without waiting, jack licks the length of your pussy and makes your entire body tense up, back rising off the bed again. he uses one hand on your stomach to keep you pinned down, to make sure you keep taking whatever he gives you. he can’t talk like this, but he’ll talk you through it when he makes you come all over his dick. 

that’s what he’s thinking about while he starts to stretch you out. one finger, then two. your cunt is soaking wet, leaking down and making a mess of your thighs and his sheets and his face. he teases your clit more than he should, but how can he not? when you thrash so hard that you’d fall if he wasn’t holding you down? when you have no choice but to take it, to lay back and feel jack’s tongue on the most sensitive part of your body, the part that no one but him has ever gotten to touch? 

two fingers become three, stretching you out for him while he sucks on your clit hard, finally giving you what you’ve been begging for. 

one of your hands makes its way down to his hair, pulling on it while the other stays on your breast—you want to have both in jack’s hair but you can’t just ignore what he told you to do. 

you don’t know what the punishment would be, even though you’re sure you’d enjoy it. but that’s going to be saved for another day.

right now, you were so close to cumming, so close that you could feel yourself hurtling over the edge, and then you pull on jack’s hair harder than you meant to and he moans around you.

it’s something entirely different—the vibration from his mouth and the fact that he’s moaning while he does this to you, and whatever the combination is, you feel it split you apart. the electric current that you felt earlier when you brushed hands with jack is nothing compared to this, lightening coursing through every part of your body, head to toe, inside and out. the white hot tension in your stomach snapping makes you cry out against jack’s pillows, toes curling while he keeps going all the way through it. you can hear him, and it only makes you cum harder, encouraging you, telling you how good you’re doing, how good you’ve been all this time. the only thing you can hear after it stops is your own heart inside your ribcage, bursting like it’s going to come out.

you let go of jack’s hair, bringing your exhausted hand to his shoulder instead. he comes up to where you are, meeting your eyes and leaning in for a kiss that leaves you breathless and thoughtless all over again. 

“thank you, jack,” you whisper, too tired to say it any louder. jack laughs against your skin.

“you tired, sweetheart?” the answer is yes and no at the time, but you shake your head. you move closer to him, bringing your hand to his boxers, palming him. you can tell he’s big—big in the way that’s going to hurt, big in the way that his fingers can’t compare. big like you’re going to have trouble walking tomorrow.

“please, jack?” you say, and honest to god, how is he supposed to say no to that? even in your post-orgasmic state, tired as you can be, every muscle probably screaming at you to let you sleep, you’re so sweet in your request, so polite. just like always. he can’t say no to you even if he wanted to.

jack positions himself on top of you. this is it—what you’ve been waiting for. the result of one harmless conversation half a day ago. 

jack brings your knees to your chest, and you loop your arms around them, holding yourself in place. his arms cage you in, and you look up, meeting hazel eyes. and even though you should probably be nervous, you’re not, not at all. because you know jack will take care of you. 

he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, making your eyes shut.

“you ready, kid?” the nickname makes your heart flutter. you open your eyes, nodding again. “take a deep breath for me,” jack says, and you comply. and when he pushes inside of you, you swear everything in your body stops working for a second. 

every thought leaves your head, every muscle goes lax. your eyes rolls back, mouth dropping open. there is nothing left to think about, nothing to feel except jack abbot inside of you. 

“breathe for me,” he instructs, and you have to remind yourself to listen to him, that he knows what you need in this moment. jack abbot knows everything about you—even the things you don’t know.

you hear him—groaning and whispering things that you’re sure would make you pass out if you were in a state of mind that could understand him, but you’re not. so you wait for his kiss, take another breath, and feel him push inside of you all the way.

“jack,” you cry out, toes curling and head spinning. “jack, jack, jack-”

“i know, i know,” he says, and gives you another kiss. “you’re doing—fuck, you’re doing perfect.” he pulls out and thrusts back in, and the stretch is enough to make you cry out again. he’s going slowly for you but you don’t know how to tell him that you need more, that you might die if you don’t get more. but then again, you don’t have to tell him anything. 

he picks up the pace, eyes stuck to where he’s filling you up. he can’t stop watching, seeing inch after inch disappear inside you, like you were made for him, because fuck, you were. your hands claw at his back and you pull on his neck to kiss you again, and when he does, you moan into his mouth. but he can’t just let you take it like this, he needs to tell you, all the things he’s been wanting to say.

he pulls away from your mouth and you make another noise, upset. he smooths down your hair and kisses your forehead, working down to your temple and then your cheek and to your ear. 

“you’re being so good for me,” those six words that you love hearing so much make your entire body tighten up, including your cunt. you pulse around him as he pauses for a minute, taking in how you react to it. you moan against his skin, crying out when he resumes. 

“so perfect for me. you’re taking me so well, baby. like you were made for it.” another moan, more crying. but he knows—knows there’s something else still.

you had once thought your first time might be gentle, candles and flowers. you don’t think you would trade jack abbot and his bedroom and his half-pulled black out curtains for anything in this world.

he keeps fucking you, brutally and deliberately, each thrust telling you something different. you squeal out his name like it’s the only word you know. but it’s when he starts speaking again, when you clench down against him, pulsing so tightly, that he knows he’s figured it out.

“good girl,” jack says, and you have to press your mouth against his arm to stop from screaming out loud. “you’re doing so good, so perfect. my good girl, aren’t you?” 

“j-jack, jack, jack, i’m gonna-” 

“come on, angel. come for me. i want you to come around me. can you do that for me?” you can’t answer, though it’s on the tip of your tongue, and then it happens again—the lightening, white hot, running through you. even stronger than the first one—it rips through you. jack’s in your ear  and you can understand him this time—good girl. so perfect. you did amazing. 

you don’t think you can feel your legs. your eyes want to flutter shut but you still feel the aftershocks each time jack thrusts inside of you—and when you open your eyes to stare up at him, you lean up, silently asking for a kiss. 

he complies, pressing his lips against you. you don’t let go, keeping it going, until you whisper against his lips. 

“thank you doctor abbot,” and that seems to be the last straw for him. you wish you could engrain it into your brain forever, how jack sounds when he cums. you’ve been listening to him all morning but this, this was different. a real moan, wrangled from the back of his throat, from his chest. as good as he’s made you feel, now you get to help him, your cunt clenching around him while he finishes. you press back for another kiss, and jack deepens it, until he pulls out.

you suddenly feel so empty.

he collapses next to you, ushering you onto his sweaty skin. you’re sure that you’re drenched too, and you can feel the back of your head where hairs have stuck to your neck. 

you find jack’s hand, holding onto it like letting go might make all of this disappear. he presses a kiss to your forehead, fingers rubbing the skin of the dorsum of your hand.

“you okay?” he asks again, and you nod against his chest. glancing up for a moment, you catch hazel eyes looking at you already.

“are you okay?” he gives you another kiss to your forehead.

“you need to get some sleep.” 

“i’m not tired,” you lie.

“yes you are. why do you keep thinking you can lie to me?” he asks, still staring into your eyes. you want to look away but you don’t think you can. you lay down against him, so you don’t have to look away.

“i’m not lying.” you take a pause, take a breath. “do i still have to call you dr. abbot at work tomorrow?” jack laughs. you can feel the vibration on his chest. it makes you smile.

“close your eyes, kid. i promise we’ll talk about everything in the morning.”

“jack?” 

“yes?”

“you wanna go again?”

♡

THE YEARNING OMG

Companionship | pt. 6

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: Venting, take-out and unsaid feelings. What a golden combination.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: double update because you guys are great! 😭

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: age gap, foul language, hospital inaccuracies, mentions of patients, mention of an overdose, alcohol, mild angst/anxiety, feelings angst, slowburn

not beta read

Thoughts still reeling from the night only a few days ago, you had vowed to lock away your feelings, find some hole and bury them. It was not good to keep thinking about him in the way you were — he was in your thoughts when you were going to bed, his voice in your ear at your desk at work. It was not good to be so caught up on someone so unattainable. So forbidden.

It still warmed your belly to think about.

Erin watched the way you hovered around your phone, eyebrow raised and smirk forming. You ignored it, trying to focus on your coursework. Marsi had already tried to check in about it — about your “totally not boyfriend” boyfriend, she had said.

“That’s a new laptop.” Erin observed.

Your cheeks blazed. “So what?”

“Did he get you that? Very nice.”

You looked away from your friend.

“Must’ve been like $900.”

Wide eyed, you looked up, “You think so?”

Fuck. That was over twice what he gave you in a month.

“I know so.” She said, with a wide smirk. “Good for you. Slept with him yet? I can see you want to.”

You choked on your saliva, sputtering an intake of breath. “No, oh my god. No!”

Erin looked satisfied before getting back to her studying.

It was impossible to do any of your work after that, moving instead to tear through your refrigerator looking for a snack. Or really something to get you away from Erin’s very perceptive gaze.

Erin offered to take her out for celebratory drinks, but you turned it down. It felt like a bad way to drown out your feelings — but parking yourself on the couch to watch mind numbing tv only seemed slightly better.

Before you could stop yourself, you were clicking on Michael’s contact, staring at your text conversation. Typically he texted first, and it was usually only to set up a time for a phone call.

You clicked call without thinking about it.

Was it really crossing a boundary if the line had already gotten blurred?

It barely rang once before he picked up, “Is everything okay?”

Ten points to me for not even thinking about what to say, you thought.

“Oh, I’m okay—oh, I can see how—yeah, yeah, I’m okay.”

He let out a long breath that almost sounded like relief.

“I just wanted to see if you wanted to talk.”

“I’m actually still at the hospital—”

Embarrassment crawled up your neck to rest at your cheeks.

“—but I can call you on my way home?”

There was only slight ease at his words.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll talk to you later.”

—

Michael was now itching to get off his shift, watching the time tick away painfully slowly, even after seeing countless patients. He nearly sped out of the ED as soon as he gave report to Abbott.

Only a block away from the hospital, he pulled out his phone and clicked on your contact. He briefly wondered what you had wanted to discuss, or if you truly were okay, or if you were just looking for an excuse to talk to him. No, definitely not that last one.

It rang twice.

“Hi, Michael.” You said, your voice soft, lower than usual.

He swallowed thickly, “Hi, you sure everything’s okay?”

You hummed, “Yeah, I’m sorry. I just wanted to talk to you.”

A smile formed on his lips, “It’s good to hear your voice. We had a pretty rough one today, so this…this is nice.”

It was true. A teenager had come in from a fentanyl overdose and there unfortunately hadn’t been anything they could do for her; she was braindead.

“Do you wanna tell me about it?”

He chuckled, “You called me. Did you want to talk about something?”

“Nothing in particular, honestly. But I was thinking…maybe we could get take-out and watch the Penguins game on Friday? If you’re off, that is. And if you actually want to.”

His face lit up, grin stretching across his face at the thought of simply hanging out together.

“Yeah, I like the sound of that.”

“Great! I mean, yeah, awesome. I’ll meet you at yours with pizza or something?” You offered, tone light and breathy.

His grin got impossibly wider, “Pizza is good. Puck drop is at 7:30, so just come by before that.”

You knocked on his door at promptly 7, which startled him — moving around his apartment and ensuring everything was tidy. He took a long breath through his nose wondering why the hell he was so nervous.

He opened the door quickly, taking in your features. You were wearing jeans and a pretty mauve-y colored sweater. You looked remarkably beautiful.

“Let me take that.” He said, taking the pizza box from your hands. It smelled delicious, making his stomach rumble.

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I got half regular and half pepperoni.”

“Can’t go wrong with either.” He said with a smile.

Michael moved into his kitchen to set down the box and grab some plates. You had moved to that spot in the corner with the large windows overlooking the city. He watched your figure a few moments before turning away quickly, feeling like a creep.

“Still just water, iced tea and wine.” He told you, grabbing two cups from his cabinet. “I’ve got beer this time, though.”

“Iced tea, thank you.” You said, turning to look at him. “I really love this view.”

“It came with the apartment.”

You snorted out a laugh, “Was there a fee for it?”

“Only a small hiccup.” Michael said, grinning, “Nosy neighbor a floor below me.”

You pondered it for a moment, looking back out at the darkening sky. “I’d say it was totally worth it.”

You both settled onto the couch with your plates just in time to watch the puck drop. You each made a few comments here and there, mostly about the game, but it was hard to focus with you sitting so close to him.

During the first intermission, Michael found himself complaining about hospital administration.

“You know, they keep threatening to sell if we don’t get our numbers up. They have for a while, and I don’t think they actually will, but satisfaction scores at other places are better. Whatever the fuck that means.”

“It just sounds like they’re shifting accountability.” You said beside him, turning your eyes to glance at him. “I can see them not wanting to spend the money to hire the appropriate amount of staff, so you’re forced to work with what you’ve got. I get budget constraints, trust me, but I know administration usually looks for the cheap, easy solution. It always has been easier to blame someone else.”

He felt incredibly seen, nodding at you. “I feel like none of the talks I have with them actually go anywhere. We’ve had a need for increased security, too, but all my requests get denied.”

You frowned, “That’s bullshit. It’s like they’re setting you up to fail.”

Right before the second period started, Michael grabbed himself a beer, fully relaxing in your company now — his shoulders feeling lighter. The Penguins thankfully had a much better period, scoring a point and tying the game.

It was in the second intermission that the mood slowly shifted, a tension building. Truth was, it had been there from the moment you stepped into his apartment, but he had been successfully ignoring it.

You reached to grab your drink on the coffee table the same moment he went to reach for his beer, your hands brushing. Your face noticeably heated and his heart sped up. Leaned forward, your faces were right next to each other.

Michael looked into your eyes, finding you watching him and not moving, hand still outstretched. You smelled like lavender.

Each second that passed could have easily been an hour. If he moved just a little, leaned down just enough, then—your eyes flickered down to his lips.

Fuck it.

—

Fuck it, you thought, taking in the sight of his brown eyes — wholly captivating. You heart skipped a beat when you looked down to his lips.

His lips were on yours in the next breath, surprising you, but you melted completely into it. You moved your hand quickly to rest along his shoulder, while his came to cup your jaw. It was chaste in its intensity, but not in its length.

He was warm, and his beard scratched against your skin in a way that sent your thoughts racing. His hand was gentle, the other moving to your knee as he moved slightly to fully face you.

You came up for air first, breathing quickly and looking over all the features of his face. You noticed just the lightest touch of freckles along his cheeks and the softest glint of a gold chain around his neck. His face was more relaxed than you had ever seen it, and the smallest hints of a smile touched his lips.

A look of doubt crossed his face in the next breath, and he started to lean away. You chased him to kiss him one more time, just wanting to savor the feel of him before the bubble around you burst.

He accepted it, his hand moving to slip behind your head and hold you to him. As his lips encased your bottom lip, your tongue darted out to meet him. That seemed to be the thing that pulled you both back to their senses.

You stared at each other for a while, so many things unsaid resting between you. The sounds of the third period starting did not even pull your attention away from each other.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to ruin tonight.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, “You didn’t ruin anything.”

Michael’s eyes lingered on your face, back to your lips before he frowned.

You stressed, “No, I enjoyed tonight.” I’ve enjoyed the glimpses of you.

He just watched you, and you could see the gears turning in his head. You felt desperate to know what he was thinking. Had you overstepped? Sure, he had kissed you first, but you had accepted it.

“I did, too.” was so quiet, you missed it at first.

You felt like you were suffocating under all your thoughts and you stood abruptly.

“I had a good time,” you said, hoping he might catch the hint, make you stay.

Make you discuss it.

“...but I should go.”

He cleared his throat, “Yeah, okay, yeah.”

Michael let you walk out the door, and once you were in the elevator you could not bring yourself to turn back around, run back to him.

Even though that was all you wanted to do.

[ Next ]

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Companionship Taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @clementine111002 @virgomillie @emily-b @kaygilles @lt-jakeseresin @imonmykneessir @kniselle @cannonindeez @gabsgabsvaz @rosiepoise88 @calivia @holdonimwalkingmysnail @valhallavalkyrie9 @blahkateisdone @shadowhuntyi @fuckalrighty

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the long awaited kisssssss

YOUR HONOR THEY LOVE EACH OTHER 😭🤌🏽

Companionship | pt. 12

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: You and Michael have an honest conversation about your insecurities and expectations. The sexual tension comes to a head.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: this chapter was not as fleshed out in my outline as the others lol sorry it took so long! Thank you for all the likes, comments and reblogs💜💜

note to self: need to up the word count? add smut lol

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: age gap, mild angst, foul language, mild jealous!Robby, fluff, SMUT (MINORS DNI), afab!reader, fingering, p in v, light praise kink, pet names (sweetheart, honey, baby)

not beta read

In the dates that followed, a contentment settled. You felt like you would be able to forgive him for the harsh words he had hurled at you, and build the relationship based on mutual trust in time. You took it slow, usually going to restaurants or the museum, and he only ever kissed you goodnight, though he always lingered just enough to steal another.

Days bled into weeks, dates into quiet nights in. The holidays came and went, though you spent them separately. Michael worked several holiday shifts, while you spent time with friends and family. “Next year, we’ll spend them together.” and that was good enough.

Marsi kept pressing to meet him, which Erin would echo, and it became increasingly difficult to fend them off. You were enjoying your time with Michael, and did not want to rush anything. The feelings twisting around in your chest had other plans, however, tangling deeper with every day you spent together.

Michael paid for your utilities that month, as “a late holiday gift” and then paid for the CPA review course as “a graduation gift”. He then splurged and took you out to the fanciest restaurant in Pittsburgh, to celebrate.

It made you feel like you were taking advantage of him, but part of you also felt massive relief that those bills weren’t on your shoulders. It also stirred something in your stomach at being spoiled, something you had not quite experienced before.

“I appreciate it a lot, Mike, just…” You sighed, flipping the chicken in the pan.

He watched you expectantly, setting his wine glass onto the counter.

“That’s not why I’m here.”

He smiled gently, “I know that, trust me. I paid off my loans some years ago, so I understand how stressful it can be. If I can help, I want to.”

“Thank you.” You said softly, “Feels like something a boyfriend might do…”

“Aren’t I?”

You looked over at him in surprise, blinking a few times. “I knew we were exclusive, I just didn’t realize we had given it a name yet.”

He cupped her cheek, “Then, would you like to make this official and be my girlfriend?”

Your cheeks heated, and you grinned at him, looking at him through you eyelashes. This still felt slow, easy, but the title made you feel more secure. It felt like a breath of relief.

“I’d like that a lot, yeah.”

“Label or not, it’s you and me?”

“You and me.” You agreed. “But I like the label.”

He smiled, “Me too.”

He leaned down to capture your lips and you savored the kiss, tasting the wine on his tongue. He ran a thumb over your cheek before pulling away.

It was easy enough to guess how Marsi had tricked you into meeting Michael. An offhanded comment about going to a bar with Michael, and a coy, “have fun!”, and then there they were in the bar waiting for you.

You paused at the door, Michael nearly walking into the back of you.

His hand found your arm, “You alright?”

“Well fuck me.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I’m going to say this in advance: I’m so sorry.”

“What?”

Erin approached first, “So you must be Michael.”

Michael’s eyes looked over to Erin, taking in her smirk and carefree expression, though her eyes were subtly assessing him. Marsi, next to her, was being less subtle.

“Michael, these are my friends, Erin and Marsi.” You introduced, looking up at Michael with an apologetic smile. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Erin grinned back at you.

Michael offered a careful smile, “Nice to meet you.”

Marsi hummed, while Erin clapped her hands together.

“So glad you’re here! Drink?” Erin grabbed your hand and pulled you to the bar.

Michael followed dutifully.

“What the hell, Erin?” You hissed lowly. “I mean, seriously?”

Erin smiled innocently, blinking her eyes at her, “What? We like this bar too, you know.”

You groaned, “You completely blindsided me. He deserved a warning.”

Marsi scoffed, “He’ll be just fine.”

You let out a long breath of air, and ordered a drink. Michael slid in beside you, ordering a beer.

You leaned in to Michael to whisper, “This was not my idea, I’m sorry.”

He smiled easily, “Don’t fret. I’m glad I’m able to meet some of your friends.”

“You don’t think it’s too soon?”

“Not at all, I’m your boyfriend. I expected to meet them soon, anyways. We can plan something with some of my…friends, if that makes you feel better.” He offered.

Butterflies filled your stomach, nerves rattling around your bloodstream, but you nodded. “Yeah, yes, please.”

He smiled.

—

Erin and Marsi were pleasant — though Marsi was not-so-subtly grilling him. Each question made you hide behind your hand, mouthing “I’m sorry” to him. He brushed it off and grabbed your hand.

With his hand on your lower back, he began to notice the eyes. It made him bristle, removing his hands from your skin. You noticed his shift in mood easily, raising a simple eyebrow to ask what your were likely thinking. He only offered a small smile to answer that he was fine.

He was not fine. It felt like the bubble around them had finally burst — letting in all the outside judgements that had been lingering the entire time. He tried not to care, but it made him self conscious. You were very clearly younger than him, even in the low lighting of the bar, and he could feel other men circling like sharks.

When you excused yourself to get another drink at the bar, Erin and Marsi departed to dance, and heat rose to his cheeks. He felt out of his depth, sipping his beer at the table they had secured, alone and yet, completely occupied by his racing mind.

Could he truly do this to you? Tie you to him and ruin your youth? He always tried to be a gentleman, but wasn’t the noble thing to do to let you go? His stomach churned, mind and heart battling it out.

He wanted you, in every way a man could want a woman, for as long as you would have him. The warm, fuzzy feeling swaying around his chest made a hard fight against the guilty, self deprecating thoughts.

They all screeched to a halt when a man approached you at the bar, hand on you back to whisper something to you. He watched, frozen to his chair, as you scrunched your nose at him, shifting out of his hold.

How could he blame the man? You were gorgeous. Stunning. Beautiful in mind and body. Smart, so incredibly smart, with a laugh that eased all the haunting feelings in his chest.

Your eyes meeting his across the bar and he was out of his seat, making his way over to you. Your eyes softened when he approached, the man’s back still facing him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Michael said, getting his attention.

The man only glanced sideways at Michael, “Get lost, old man. Trying to have a conversation here.”

“That’s my boyfriend, asshole.” You snapped before Michael could even open his mouth again.

Michael smirked, looking back at the man. His voice lowered closer to something dangerous, “She likes her space, so disrespectfully, you get lost.”

The man raised a questioning eyebrow at you, disbelief flashing across his features, before he must’ve decided it wasn’t worth it. Michael slid closer to you, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Was that jealousy?” You asked with a playful eyebrow raise, sipping your drink. “Can’t say I hated it — it was kinda hot — but, still. I could’ve handled that. I’ve chosen you. Random men aren’t going to be able to change that.”

“Kinda hot?” He raised a teasing eyebrow.

You chuckled, “Of course that's what you got out of what I said.”

“No, no, I heard you. Just wanna revisit that bit.”

You rolled your eyes playfully.

He pulled you close and kissed the top of your head. “Just want everyone here to know you’re mine. Even if they judge us.”

You flustered, and your mouth opened and closed several times. He noted how those words made you fluster, and tucked it away for another day.

“I want you, Mike. I know people are gonna look at us, and yeah, I don’t love that. But I can’t let that stop me from being happy, you know? You make me happy.”

He blinked, searching your eyes, “They’re never going to stop.”

“You said you wanted everyone to know I was yours.” You swallowed, eyes flicking between his. “I want everyone to know you’re mine, too.”

He smiled, kissing your lips in more than just a fleeting meeting of mouths. It was passionate, and made the blood rush down.

“So we might as well get used to it, or ignore it.” You breathed against his lips. “I want to be here, with you. No one else.”

“You and me against the world, then?”

“You and me.” You confirmed.

—

Over dinner one night, you were twisting the pasta on your fork, your focus was clearly elsewhere.

“You okay?”

You looked back up at him and smiled, “I forgive you. Thank you for giving me the time to.”

He blinked, swallowing his food. He reached across the table and grabbed your hand.

“Thank you.”

Sometime after dinner on the quiet night in, you found your way to Michael’s lap, exploring further than you had gone together. You straddled him, hands on each side of his face, kissing him deeply while his hands explored the skin around your waist. When your lips parted, Michael’s pupils had blown wide, black devouring the brown of his iris. He was taking deep breaths, watching you intently.

You moved your lips to kiss down his neck and his hips jerked up just enough to elicit a whine from your mouth.

Your eyes found each other again, testing, teasing, tentative. Your fingers fiddled with the gold chain near the back of his neck, the other going to his chest where his shirt separated you.

“We can call it here—”

“Do you want to?” You asked, eyes trying to read his expression.

“No.” It sounded mildly strangled. “But we can, if you’re not comfortable. I want to do this right.”

“Michael, I want you. This feels right.”

His eyes darkened, hands tightening around your hips. His lips were back on yours, greedy, hungry, and your tongue darted into his mouth. You swallowed his moan, hips moving in search of friction.

Leaning forward slightly, you wrapped your arms around his neck as he stood up. You squealed, wrapping your legs around his hips to hold onto him. He had his hands on the back of your thighs, keeping you from falling, as he made the journey to his room.

“Michael—!” was more surprise than protest.

He grinned against your mouth, moving into his bedroom. You would have taken the room in, if it weren’t for Michael distracting you completely. He leaned down to plop you onto the bed, and you instinctively reached back up for him.

Michael was looking down at you with a smile that reached his eyes, soft and serene. He kissed you lightly, and you scooted back on the bed, pulling him with you. He settled between your legs, breath hot against your neck, kissing down the column of your throat and making you whine again.

Your hips moved up to gain some friction, making him suck on the skin at the base of your throat at the juncture of your collarbone. You gripped the hair at the back of his neck, trying to keep hold of your senses.

Michael moved to sit back on his haunches, removing his shirt and unbuttoning his jeans. A rush of excitement flooded your chest, and you sat up enough to remove your blouse. With your bra, Michael pulled off your pants until they each were only left in your underwear.

When he got back down to kiss you, the heat of him between your legs made your head grow hazy, consumed with him him him. The smell of vanilla and sandalwood filling your nose, the taste of him on your tongue and his large, warm hands exploring your body.

His hand gripped your thigh and squeezed your flesh, and with his tongue back in your mouth, the rest of the world fell away.

Michael kissed over your shoulder, one hand slipping between you until it met your panties.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes.” You choked out, his fingers slipping underneath the fabric to meet the wet heat.

He gathered a bit of your slick before rubbing soft circles on your clit, making your jolt, a moan escaping. He kissed back up your throat and across your jaw, beard tickling your skin. His fingers moved in a steady motion and heat pooled low.

“Want to feel you.” You mustered, grabbing at his biceps, thoughts going feral at the feel of them flexing beneath your hold.

“I’m in no rush tonight, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.”

When one of his fingers slipped inside, you lost the meaning of patience, eyes screwed tight. He curled it expertly upwards, rubbing against that delicious spot inside you, making you mewl. His thumb kept its pace on your clit.

“Michael.” You ground out, trying to remember to breathe. “That feels so good.”

He hummed against your throat, kissing your skin. He added another finger, and heat built up, licking up your abdomen. You felt that coil tighten, like a rubber band being pulled taut.

“Please.” You begged, panting slightly, one hand still on his bicep, while the other gripped tightly to his shoulder.

“I’ve got you, come on.” His lips met yours.

You moaned when he added a little pressure to his thumb, that burning ecstasy just within reach. Trying to breathe, it was that all consuming feeling of him everywhere that kept you tethered. Your eyes met, and your orgasm came swiftly, the rubber band snapping. You gripped him tightly, squeezing your hands on his shoulders as several lewd moans left your mouth.

“So good, sweetheart.” He kissed your cheek, not letting up.

It quickly became over sensitive, and you reached down to grab his wrist to stop him.

“Fuck.” You let out with a smile, followed by a whine when he removed his fingers.

His fingers glistened and he held your gaze as he stuck them into his mouth, sucking on them. You felt your pupils dilate, a pulse starting again between your thighs as the desire for him heightened again. You had such an urge to get your mouth on him.

“Taste so good, sweetheart — can’t wait to get my mouth on you.”

Your hum was dangerously close to a whine, “Need you now. Please.”

“Are you sure? We don’t have to.”

“Michael. Do you want me to beg for it?” You asked, hands on either side of his face, fingers on the back of his head in his hair.

A sly smirk grew on his lips, “It could be arranged.”

You groaned, throwing your head back on the pillow, making him chuckle lightly.

“Maybe another time, then.” He said, kissing up your torso, stopping to pay attention to your nipples.

He took a peaked nipple into his mouth and your fingers found his hair, a whimper escaping. His tongue rolled over the bud, before sucking hard and moving to give the other his attention. His hand moved to the one he had just left, rolling it between his fingers. It sent sparks straight to your core, walls clenching around nothing. A few breathless moans left your mouth, lips parted as your eyes closed, relishing in his attentions.

Need pulsed through your system, throbbing with want and driving you mad. Red tinted lust clouded your mind, hot and heavy, driven by his skilled fingers and hot mouth.

“I need your cock, Mike…fuck—please.”

He groaned against you, adjusting his hips and you eyes fluttered at the weight of him. His eyes met yours and you could see he was torn between worshipping you and taking his time to unravel you again slowly, and fully just submitting to the desire.

It seemed to be a conundrum you were both stuck between: wanting to savor the moment and throwing patience out the window. Though you had abandoned patience as soon as he got his hands on you, but you also knew you did not want to rush something you had been thinking about for ages.

Making the decision, you moved one hand to the band of his boxers, slipping underneath and a gasp stuck in your throat when you wrapped your hand around his length. He stilled and savored your hand on him, his eyes closing.

You pumped a few times, and Michael shifted to pull his boxers completely off, revealing his hardened length to you. Your eyes nearly rolled back into your head at the sight of it — big enough to elicit excitement and not fear, girthy without being too much, a nest of brown curls at the base. Your thoughts spiraled, pussy clenching again around nothing.

Reaching for the nightstand, Michael pulled out a condom, and put it on quickly, without fanfare. Once it was rolled to the base of him, he slotted himself between your spread legs, kissing your jaw and cheeks before pecking a few to your lips.

You gripped his shoulders when he ran the tip through your folds, stopping to add a bit of pressure to your clit. He ran the bottom of his cock over your clit until tears gathered at the corner of your eyes — half from overstimulation, half desperation.

He lined himself up with your entrance, pushing in the blunt head of his cock in slowly. You sucked in a shallow breath, tightening your grip on him. A groan echoed low in his throat, eyes closed, forehead resting on yours as he drove in deeper. He let out a long breath, grabbed one of your thighs and pulled it up to his hip. He then steadied himself with both forearms at either side of her head, hips fully meeting yours.

The kiss he captured was deeply passionate, and you wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him to you. You reveled in his weight on you, and the stretch of him between your legs. Devine and adding to the aching heat in your core. You wrapped your legs fully around him, criss-crossing your feet at the small of his back, which gained a tiny moan from Michael.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you feel so good, sweetheart.” He said, burying his face in your neck, still holding still.

Your back arched slightly at the praise, clenching around him, a curse slipping past your lips. “Oh my—Mike.”

“Don’t—” he choked, “—fuck, you keep doing that and I’m not going to last.”

“Can’t help it—feels so good.” You whispered, trying to keep your from clenching again at the sound of his husky undertones.

“I know, honey, I know.”

He took a long moment without moving, instead looking into your eyes with an intimacy that spread warmth down your spine and made your heart race.

When he started moving, it was slow, deliberate, each thrust a vow, a phrase they had not yet been said. Moving out just enough before moving back in at a languid pace, the long drag of his hips filled your lower belly with heat. It felt like words had been stolen from your lips, staring wide-eyed up at him and treasuring the way his eyes held steady, filled with equal parts adoration and desire.

Reaching between them again, his thumb met your clit and he rubbed a slow circle. Searing heat flooded your bloodstream, and you throbbed around him. You panted out soft breaths of air, swallowing thickly before leaning up to kiss his lips.

The rhythm grew steady, and each drag of his hips felt more lovely than the last. Filling so full of him, all of your senses clouded with his smell, his taste, his touch, and it made everything more delicious, more divine, until he was every thought in your head.

The coil started tightening again, and you moaned. You thought you might never have your fill of him. With each snap of his hips, you then knew with certainty that you would never get enough. He brushed the spongy spot inside you that had you tensing, curling your toes, sinful noises rolling off your tongue without permission.

The familiar euphoria started expanding low in your belly, your eyes hooded with pleasure that was nearly overwhelming. The perfect feeling of him, being so stuffed full — there were no words for it.

"You're mine. Say it." He whispered huskily, eyes on yours.

The words traveled right to your core. "Yours, Michael. All yours."

The kiss he met your lips with was greedy, like he was devouring the words, roughly taking in your bottom lip. Hands in his hair, you gave it all to him.

Michael’s face scrunched up as pleasure must have been spreading through his system, though his kisses were still slow and controlled.

Feeling the edge of your release, you felt like you never wanted it to end, even at the cusp of your second orgasm. You wanted to savor it. Though with each thrust in and out, you fell into a desperation to feel the crashing wave of heat, clinging to him.

It felt overly indulgent to approach your second climax of the night, and you knew he was going to spoil you in every way he could.

“Mike—ohmygod—I’m—” you cried out, gripping his shoulders like your life depended on it.

“That’s it—I can feel that you’re close, sweetheart. I wanna feel it, give it to me, come on.” He encouraged, tone breathy in your ear.

He moved the hand from between them to intertwine their fingers beside your head, and replaced it with his other hand without missing a beat, not leaving you wanting for long. He added pressure with the pad of his thumb, and your thoughts stalled out. Just burning pleasure in your core, echoing outwards.

“Can feel you getting tight—fuck, sweetheart—come on my cock for me, come on.”

A high pitched whine left your lips, and everything tightened — your grip, your legs around his waist, your pussy clenching making him gasp and groan, your whole body tensing.

His low hiss of your name threw you over the edge, sending your hurtling into the white-hot heat that was all-consuming. The coil snapped and fire exploded through your system, all your resolve shattering. Your eyes screwed shut, pussy pulsing around him while he fucked you through it.

A mix of his name and incoherent moans came from your lips, scorching heat overcoming every nerve. It kept rolling as his hips kept moving and you sucked in a deep breath, as he whispered soft praises in your ear. You panted, trying to catch your breath — you felt like you were floating above your body, pleasure stinging every nerve until it slowly started ebbing away.

“Mike—oh!” Your back arched again, feeling his skin flush against your, as his cock continued to drive into you. “You feel so good, baby.”

“Yeah? Like being full of me?”

“Yes, yes, yes.” You chanted, each word matching with each thrust into your wet heat.

His new pace was faster, making stars dance behind your eyes, his grunts and groans making you unconsciously pulse around him. He moved his hand from between your legs to beside you, moving up just enough to stare down at you. Pleasure started contorting his face, your name on his tongue.

His forehead met yours, panting, each snap of his hips growing sloppy.

“Mmm love being so full of you, Mike. You feel so good.”

Michael kissed you, unfocused and messy, moaning into your mouth as his orgasm overcame him. His hips stuttered until they stopped, and the feeling pulled a final low moan from your lips.

He heaved a few breaths, your chest rising and falling in time with his. He met your eyes and smiled.

When he pulled out, it left you feeling empty, but you slipped to his side after he discarded the condom. He wrapped an arm around you, kissing your forehead. You traced tiny shapes along his chest, feeling so full of an emotion you did not yet want to name, but it thrummed just beneath the surface.

“I’m falling in love with you.” He said quietly, like it was a secret.

Your heart hammered against your ribs.

You looked up at him, meeting his eyes. “I’ve been falling for you, too.”

Michael’s face lit up and he leaned down to kiss you tenderly.

“You and me?”

“You and me.”

[ Next ]

want to join any of my taglists? shoot me a message!

Companionship taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @clementine111002 @virgomillie @emily-b @kaygilles @lt-jakeseresin @imonmykneessir @kniselle @gabsgabsvaz @rosiepoise88 @calivia @holdonimwalkingmysnail @valhallavalkyrie9 @blahkateisdone @shadowhuntyi @fuckalrighty @elli3williams @yournerdmodziata @i-know-i-can @dickheadturner @dcgoddess @pittobsessed @glamorizethechaos @blueb33ry-cat @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange @burningpenguinwitch @evienorville @equallyshaw @heyysolsister @justrandomthougt @babygirlagenda @lauracantsleep @rogersbarnesxx

Dr. Robby taglist: @cherriready @seeyalaterinnovator @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @bxxbxy @18lkpeters @flyinglama @hagarsays @mayabbot @anakingreys @happyfox43 @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @girl-obsessed-with-things @laurenkate79 @woodxtock @rosie-posie08

(50 tags have been reached with the combo of all three taglists, so unfortunately some of Dr. Robby & all of The Pitt taglist for this series will be added in a reblog right after this is posted - I’m sorry if this is an inconvenience!)

Gimme that man

Didn’t realize how expensive it was to be a CPA after graduating with your masters lol, Robby you’re a real one

work besties in their glasses

grief is so crazy like what if i forget what her laugh sounds like. does she know i loved her. i miss her so much. i catch myself doing things she used to do. i wish i could call her. i miss her so much. i do a crossword puzzle. i cry while washing the dishes. does she know i loved her? my heart feels like a hummingbird. i miss her so much. what if i forget what her laugh sounds like. what if i forget.

Eliza is too fucking funny LMAO she was like just kiss already god damn 🤣🤣🤣🤣

I love the way you write Jack!! He deserves the world.

You Are In Love: Chapter Two

Jack Abbot x Reader

Warnings: Incredibly fluffy, trauma, Jack's widower status is slightly explored, light sexual references

Chapters: Chapter One, Chapter Two

Description: Jack and the reader haven't spoken since the night Robby's daughter broke her arm. Trying to get them back in the same place, Robby and his wife ask them to babysit the kids while they go to a wedding.

--

“What if one of them offers to go home?” Robby asked, slinging a powder blue tie around his neck, a move usually reserved for his stethoscope. 

His wife leaned over the bathroom counter slightly to get a closer view of her eyelashes in the mirror as a mascara brush painted them. “Neither of them will actually go home.” She answered nonchalantly. 

He raised an eyebrow as he snaked the tie into a Windsor knot. “And why is that?” 

“Eliza is going to beg both of them to stay.” She responded like it was an obvious answer. 

“You think that’s all it’ll take?”

“It’s hard to say no to those Robinavitch brown eyes.” 

Robby smirked and slid an arm low around his wife’s waist. “Oh, is it?”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless. “We do not have time.”

“We hired babysitters.”

“So we can go to a wedding.”

“What about after? I’ll show you a good time in the back of the truck. Just like your intern year.” A swat at his ass had him howling in surprise. “Oh, yeah, just like that, Mama.”

“Michael!”

—

You pulled up to the address that Robby’s wife had texted to your phone a couple of days ago. She had asked if you could babysit the kids for a few hours while she and Robby went to her cousin’s wedding. And, of course, you couldn’t say no after meeting Eliza and baby Abbot in the emergency department a couple of weeks ago. 

You turned onto their street as instructed by your phone, counted the mailbox numbers, and…that was weird. You knew Robby had a navy truck, but you didn’t recognize the second black truck that was sitting in front of the house. As you rolled forward, you parked behind the black truck so you wouldn’t obstruct the driveway. The license plate caught your eye, and…fuck. 

U.S. Army Veteran.

Jack was here. You quickly pulled your sun visor down to check your appearance in the tiny mirror. Light mascara and blush from your day of running errands. A lavender oversized sweatshirt and black biker shorts that hugged your ass (covered by the sweatshirt though). You didn’t look bad, but you certainly didn’t put in enough effort to be around him. 

The night Eliza broke her arm was the last night on your rotation with Jack. About thirteen days ago. Now you were on the day shift with Robby and his wife. Even though shift changes overlapped, Jack was always pulled immediately into a room when he arrived at dusk. And he never seemed to wait for you when you came in the mornings. 

Your last interaction with him was warm, tender, and promising. Talk of the future, even if it wasn’t explicitly about you and him. The innocent touch of your hands around his bicep. The press of his lips against your hair. 

You had expected a call or text. But you received nothing from him outside of work discussions. A piece of your heart crumbled every time his name popped up on your lock screen, just for it to be about a patient’s chart.

Robby’s wife made a thorough effort to become your friend. She was a senior resident, just returning from maternity leave. A couple of times, she asked how Jack was doing, assuming the two of you had kept in touch, but you couldn’t provide her with an answer. You didn’t know. 

You stared at yourself in the mirror, deciding that the only way to approach tonight was with confidence and grace. Don’t let him know you’re hurt. Don’t let him know you care. But still be sugary sweet. This wasn’t your first rodeo. 

You knocked on the door, not too loudly, and avoided the doorbell in case baby Abbot was sleeping. Following a click, the door swung open to reveal Robby, uncharacteristically polished in a navy suit, with Abbot tucked into his right arm like a football. 

“Hey! Come on in.” He greeted, stepping out of the doorway. 

You smiled, giving his wife mental props for scoring a hot older man, and stepped inside. Baby Abbot was kicking his legs, blowing spit bubbles. You tickled one of his bare feet. 

“Hey, handsome!” You cooed. “It’s only been two weeks, you look so much bigger!”

Robby chuckled and shut the door. “He is definitely not failing to thrive.” He commented.

High heels clicked on hardwood floor, softening as they hit the entryway hall runner. You turned to see his wife, looking elegant as ever, but certainly much more youthful than him. 

She greeted you with a hug and grabbed your hands. “Thank you so much for helping us out. This is actually the first time we’ve left them both behind...” She said, and a streak of anxiety flashed through her eyes. Her voice lowered to almost a whisper. “So we needed extra reinforcements. Jack usually watches Eliza, but she can be a lot. And with a 4-month-old…” She trailed off, looking to make sure nobody was behind her. “He’s just older, you know? Can’t get around like he used to.”

Behind you, Robby narrowed his eyes at the last sentence as he bounced baby Abbot in his arms. But you nodded in understanding. “No, yeah. I totally get it.” You replied, an unusual feeling wrestling in your stomach at the mention of Jack. 

“I mean, Robby already has a hard time keeping up with both of them when I’m away. With Eliza running around and Abbot learning to crawl-“

Robby stepped forward, throwing his free arm around his wife’s waist. “Okayyy, she said she gets it.” He cut the conversation short, but clearly he wasn’t too upset. “We need to get going.”

His wife giggled and leaned into his side. “Okay, okay.” She conceded before calling out, “Eliza! Come see who’s here!”

Robby looked to his wife as tiny footsteps grew louder. “For the record, I get around just fine. I’m in my physical prime.” He protested. 

All he received in return was a “Sure, babe.”

From around the corner, Eliza appeared in a pink, glittery princess outfit, wielding a star wand in her casted arm. As soon as she spotted you, she squealed your name and sprinted to you. 

You swooped her into your arms, matching the tight hug she gave you. “I didn’t know a princess lived here!” You exclaimed. 

Eliza giggled and did a spin in her dress. “I’m a doctor princess!” That’s when you noticed a toy stethoscope around her neck.

You nodded and tapped the plastic stethoscope. “Oh, I see.” 

“Uncle Jack gave it to me!” She explained.

As if on cue, you could hear his signature foot pattern. Slow, steady, but heavier on the right foot. Your eyes flicked up, meeting his piercing gaze. You couldn’t bear to hold it, so you looked back at Eliza. 

“That’s very nice of him.” You commented, standing up to adult height. 

The silence that followed was a half-beat too long. Robby received a say-something glance from his wife, and he cleared his throat. “Eliza, you get two babysitters tonight. Are you excited?”

Eliza looked between you and Jack, processing this new information. “But I only need one.” She replied as frankly as a five-year-old could. 

Robby’s wife carefully took baby Abbot from her husband’s grasp, kissing him on his tiny forehead. “That’s true, but your baby brother needs a babysitter, too.” She reasoned. 

Eliza tilted her head. “But Abby is little.” She replied. 

You and Jack gave identical looks of confusion to the parents, not exactly following the child’s statement, but they were just as lost. Robby shrugged, indicating to move along.

“I can-“ you stuttered, making an awkward step backward to the door. “I can go if that makes her more comfortable.” 

“No!” Four different voices exclaimed. Desperately from Robby and his wife. Loudest from Eliza. But surprisingly, from Jack. Even he was caught off guard by his response. 

You relaxed and smiled, feeling a little more welcome. “Okay, I’ll stay.” You replied. 

Eliza cheered, jumping up and down. “Two babysitters!” She shouted. 

Robby’s wife carefully transferred baby Abbot to your embrace, giving him one last kiss on the cheek. “Bottles are in the fridge, bottle warmer is next to the kitchen sink.” She told you. 

“Got it.” You answered, bouncing the baby in your arms. 

Both parents knelt to hug and kiss Eliza, sharing I-love-yous and goodnights. As Robby stood up again, the joints in his knees cracked, and he let out a slight grunt as he straightened out. 

“Physical prime, my ass.” You heard his wife say under her breath, earning a glare from the old man. 

Jack had made his way to your side, picking up Eliza in his arms as she waved goodbye to her parents. You took baby Abbot’s tiny hand and waved for him. 

“We’ll be back in a few hours.” Robby reminded, and the door shut behind them. 

There was a moment of silence. Eliza watched the door, fighting the urge to chase after her parents like every child. Baby Abbot stared up at you, holding your gaze with the same big brown eyes that matched his father's and sister's. Jack glanced down at you, trying to find the right words to say, but his search was cut short.

“Uncle Jack, can I paint your nails?”

—

Everyone was on the ground in Eliza’s room. Jack had laid a towel down for the inevitable nail polish spill that would occur. You set baby Abbot on a blanket, letting him lie on his tummy, and mirrored him on the floor. Eliza sat crisscrossed, the rainbow assortment of polish out in front of her. Jack sat with his left leg bent, right leg extended out, awaiting his glittery and messy fate. Peaceful instrumental music played from the tiny stereo in the bedroom, giving a warm aura. 

“What color do you want?” Eliza asked. 

Jack hummed in thought, browsing his choices. “Give me your best shade of pink. I want to look pretty.” He answered very seriously. 

Eliza giggled and snatched the light pink glitter polish before swiping the others aside. “This is the best pink.” She advertised. 

You couldn’t help but smile at Jack’s devotion to making his niece happy. The cynical veteran remained still with his hands pressed on the towel while Eliza slathered the nail polish onto his nails and knuckles. 

“I think he’ll need his toenails painted, too.” You commented. 

Eliza looked up to you, eyes blown wide like you’d revealed an entrepreneurial secret. “Yeah!” She exclaimed. 

Jack’s jaw slackened as he slowly looked over to you, tongue in cheek. You gave him a sweet smile before returning your attention to baby Abbot, who cooed as he tried to figure out how to crawl to you.

Eliza continued to work diligently, covering each nail with an excessive amount of polish. “Have you kissed her?” She asked casually. 

The color drained from your face, but you refused to turn around. You didn’t see his reaction, but his silence was deafening. 

“Not yet.”

Now that caused you to turn around, only to find him smirking right back at you. 

Eliza raised an eyebrow, the same look her mother gave patients daily. “Why not?” She asked.

You tilted your head in curiosity, smiling slightly at Eliza’s annoyance. “Yeah, why not?” You asked. 

Jack looked away for the first time with an odd look on his face. Was he…blushing? Was he getting shy with you? He shrugged with the bashfulness of a teenage boy. His lips twitched as he cycled through his answers. 

“She’s been working in the day with your mommy and daddy. Not at night with me. I don’t see her anymore,” was the answer he settled on.

Your eyes softened. For the first time in two weeks, you realized that maybe he was waiting for you to make the next move. After all, he was the older man, not wanting to seem like a perv by snatching up the young intern. 

Eliza closed up the pink glitter polish and wiped the residue from her fingers onto the towel. “Why don’t you work with Uncle Jack anymore?” She asked. 

You smiled at the child’s innocence. “It’s the rules at work. I’ll work with Uncle Jack again in a few weeks.” You explained, then gambled. “I miss working with him.”

Jack’s amber eyes flicked up to meet yours, a glimmer of something hopeful in them. One side of his mouth curled up just slightly, but not too much. Eliza pulled out her nail polish selection again and spread them out. “Uncle Jack, she misses you.” She reiterated. 

Jack chuckled, the smile pulling all the way now, dimples sinking into his cheeks. “I miss her, too.” He finally responded. 

You wanted to throw your arms around his neck and tackle him to the ground with a million kisses, but baby Abbot had other plans. The tiniest Robinavitch began to cry, face reddening as he fussed. You sat up on your knees and scooped him into your arms, shushing him gently. 

“I think it’s time for a bottle.” You said to the baby and moved towards the doorway. “Are you two going to be okay in here?” 

Jack watched you leave, resisting every urge to yank you down into his arms. “Oh, we’ll be fine. Besides…” He pulled off his left shoe and sock. “It’s time for my pedicure.” 

Eliza squeaked in laughter as he shoved his foot near her face. She tried to push it away, but Jack wouldn’t give in. “It’s gross!” She screeched. 

“I will leave a bad review online if I don’t get the pedicure I was promised.” He threatened, finally setting his foot down. 

Your cheeks ached from laughter that matched Eliza’s. You felt that odd feeling of warmth again, watching him. Jack was meant to be a dad. And deep down, you wanted to do everything you could to make that happen for him. 

—

After feeding baby Abbot, burping him, and giving him a quick diaper change, you returned to Eliza’s room. Jack now had bright green polish splattered across his toes. 

“Oh, I think that’s your color, Uncle Jack.” You complimented. 

Jack gave you that famous half-smile in response. “I think so, too.” He replied. 

Eliza typed at her toy cash register, tallying up the salon bill. “Your hands are a hundred.” She announced, then pushed a few more buttons. “Your foot is not a lot because you only have one foot.” She added. 

An unexpected laugh escaped you, and Jack snapped his head up at you. A wide grin slapped across his face as you covered your mouth by pulling baby Abbot closer, hiding your snickers. “Oh, you think it’s funny?” He challenged. 

You sat down next to him, carefully shifting the baby in your arms. “Half off discount, right?” You teased. 

Jack laughed with you and nudged your shoulder with his. He fished his wallet out of the pocket of his jeans, opening one of the folds to reveal Monopoly money. “Here ya go.” He tossed the assorted colored cash to the register. 

Eliza let out a big yawn as she shoved the paper into the register. “Oh, are you tired, baby?” You asked.

She didn’t say yes. No child ever admitted to being sleepy. But she rubbed her eyes before saying, “We have to do snuggle pile.” 

You looked to Jack for an explanation, but he just furrowed his brow. “What’s snuggle pile?” He questioned. 

Eliza pulled at Jack’s hand to make him stand up. “We have to do snuggle pile before sleeping.” She explained. 

Jack carefully put his weight on his left leg, slowly standing with a practiced ease until his right foot could drag up with him. “You’ll have to show me what you mean.” He replied. 

The little girl then pulled at your shirt to help you up. Jack took baby Abbot into his arms so you could stand up as well. “We have to go to the couch.” Eliza said before leading you both to the living room. 

She first pushed Jack into the corner of the L-shaped sectional. “That’s where Daddy goes.” She listed. 

Still holding baby Abbot, Jack was unable to reach for his right leg to pull it onto the couch, and you saw the brief conflict in his eyes. You gingerly grabbed the ankle joint of his prosthesis and lifted until it rested on the cushion. Jack watched you with a vulnerability that you’d only seen the night Eliza broke her arm. Before he could thank you, you were being led by a tiny force to sit down. 

“Then Mommy goes here…” Eliza explained. She pulled Jack’s arm out, the one that wasn’t cradling baby Abbot like a football, the same way Robby had. Then, she pushed you down into his embrace. “Uncle Jack, you have to hold her.” She instructed. 

Your face reddened as Jack shifted on the couch, lounging against the cushions. But he kept his arm out for you, waiting like the spot had always been meant for you. You slowly sank back, not breaking eye contact with him as you did. Once you had settled, he curled the arm around your waist, the motion turning your body more towards him, more against him, the closest you had ever been to him. His breath pooled against your cheeks, warming them further. For the first time, you could smell more than just antiseptic and coffee on him–a blend of sandalwood and citrus. 

Eliza marched to the other end of the couch and hauled a fluffy blanket in tow back to you. She climbed into your arms, cuddling between you and Jack. “And I go here.” She finished her tutorial. 

You spread the blanket across your bodies, securing the warmth. Not another word was said. Only the hum of the fan above accompanied the soft breaths from each of you. Baby Abbot already had his eyes closed, snuggled into Jack’s arm. Eliza began to drift off, turned towards you, head on your chest. 

But you were lost in Jack’s eyes, and the perfect blend of every color stared right back at you. Blinking slowly in your haven of peace. You caught him beginning to smile, the real one with dimples, the corners of his eyes crinkling. And it was so beautiful. You had no choice but to smile with him. There was nothing that needed to be said. You could hear it in the silence. 

—

It was midnight when the front door opened. Jack was the only one awake, still holding together the snuggle pile. You had dozed off, unable to fight the alluring urge to rest in his embrace. 

Robby and his wife entered the living room, both smiling at the sight before them. “Snuggle pile?” Robby whispered. 

Jack just smiled and nodded, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. The deep vibrations were enough to wake you from the best nap you’d had in years. You felt a weight being lifted off you as Robby carefully lifted his daughter from your body. Flustered, you sat up quickly, disoriented. 

“I-I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I’m so sorry.” You breathed. 

Robby’s wife waved you off. “You’re fine. The Lieutenant Colonel kept watch.” She replied, lifting baby Abbot from Jack’s arms, allowing him to sit up as well. 

Both parents left to transport the children to their respective bedrooms. Jack slid his right leg off the couch, his foot hitting the ground with an ungraceful thud. “Did you sleep okay?” He asked quietly. 

You nodded. “Yeah. I did actually. I didn’t even mean to. I wasn’t tired.” You rambled. “I just felt…safe.”

Safe. That was the perfect word. And Jack’s chest puffed out with a primitive pride. Then he smirked. “You talk in your sleep.”

Your eyes widened. “No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you absolutely do.” He was smiling, dimples and all. “You were reciting the steps for a laparoscopic appendectomy. Correctly, I might add.”

You wanted to feel embarrassed, but you just giggled. “I can’t stop studying. Even in my sleep.” You joked. 

Jack chuckled with you and ran a hand through his silvered curls. “Do you need me to drive you home?” He asked, genuine concern in his voice. 

You shook your head, smiling still. “No, I’ll be okay. Thank you, though.”

“Then let me walk you to your car.” He offered. 

Robby reentered the living room, and you heard his wife moving in the kitchen. “Let me update her on how the baby did. Don’t leave without me.” You said before standing to go to the kitchen. 

Jack watched as you walked away, and there was an involuntary ache in his chest just at the notion of your absence. Robby flopped down on the couch next to his friend. 

“Sooo…” He started, trying to pry. “How’d it go?”

“I got overcharged by your daughter for a mani-pedi.” Jack flashed his pink glittery nails as he spoke. 

Robby laughed, examining his own nails that he’d scrubbed with nail polish remover just before the wedding. “I’ll wire you some more Monopoly money at the end of the week.” He joked, but then shifted to face his friend more. “How’d it go with her?” He tilted his head towards the kitchen, where you spoke with his wife. 

Jack sank into the couch, uncharacteristic of his natural military posture. “I feel like I need to wait. I don’t want to rush into anything or scare her off.” He admitted. 

Robby raised an eyebrow. “Wait? Jack, you’re almost 50. If you wait any longer, you’ll turn to dust.” 

Jack shook his head, fiddling with his hands in his lap, another oddity from the veteran. “Michael, I’m scared.” He finally said. 

Robby’s brow wrinkled in surprise. Of all the things they had been through together, all of the traumas, all of the disagreements, all of the near-jumps from the roof of the Pitt. Jack had never admitted to being scared. And he had never, ever called him "Michael."

“Scared of what?” Robby finally asked. 

More silence. And then, “I don’t want to lose her, too.” The tiniest crack in Jack’s voice threatened to unleash a reservoir of tears if he said anymore. 

Robby scooted closer on the couch and threw an arm around his friend’s shoulders, pulling him close. “Jack, listen to me.” He whispered. “You’re ready for this. You have been for years, you admitted it yourself.”

Jack looked to him with glassy eyes, bottom lip quivering ever so slightly. “Tonight, when I held her, watched her sleep, heard her breathing. Holding the kids. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. And the thought of losing that…of losing her. I can’t go through that again. You saw what it did to me the first time. I don’t know that I could come back from it a second time.”

Robby felt tears sting his own eyes at Jack’s words. The suffering his friend had endured when his wife passed away almost a decade ago was insurmountable. The only thing he could do to escape was go on another tour overseas, and it cost him his right leg and sanity. He tightened his grip around Jack’s shoulders. 

“Do not let fear keep you from being happy.” He said firmly. “Jack, you deserve this. You are ready for this. You know I would tell you if I thought otherwise.”

Jack just nodded, taking in a heavy breath to control his emotions. “I don’t like silence.” He said simply. “I mean, you know that. Always have the police scanner on, always have music playing, always finding ways to fill the void. Because silence is when I go back to a dark place. Or that’s what my therapist says anyway.”

He looked to the kitchen, and he could see your reflection in the window as you chatted with Robby’s wife. “But tonight, for the first time…I enjoyed the silence. I didn’t go to a dark place. I was happy with her and the kids. Just at peace.”

And with that, Robby smiled and nodded. “I’ll tell ya, brother. Being able to hold my entire family in my arms at the end of a shift from hell…no amount of therapy could equate to that.” He said. “My only regret is that I didn’t let myself find happiness sooner.” His eyes trailed off to the window, watching the reflection of his wife. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Jack smiled slightly, stretching as he prepared to stand. “You’re an hour late, by the way.” He mused. 

Robby hesitated for a moment, scratching the back of his head, a dead giveaway. “Uh, yeah. It was a Catholic wedding, so the ceremony ran a little long, and-“

“You have lipstick on your neck, and you’re missing two buttons on your shirt.” Jack cut him off. 

Robby shrugged, still rubbing the nape of his neck. “What can I say? She keeps me young.” 

“What are you boys talking about?” His wife asked as you both reentered the living room. 

Jack shrugged casually. “Ah, not much. Quick question, though. If I go to Robby’s truck right now, am I going to find the two missing buttons from his shirt in the back seat?” He asked. 

“Michael!”

Robby glared at the silver-haired man. “Snitch.” He hissed. 

—

You walked outside, and Jack shut the door behind you. He placed a protective hand on the small of your back as he led you down the driveway.

“Are you sure you don’t need me to drive you?” He asked. 

You smiled, walking slower to savor your time with him. “Jack, I’ll be okay. I’ll even text you when I make it home.” You promised. 

That was good enough for him. You both passed his truck to get to your car. Instead of opening the driver’s side door, you leaned against it, facing him. 

“Is this the last time I’ll see you until I’m on nights again?” You asked. 

Jack watched you for a second, memorizing the way the moon lit up your features, highlighting every perfect ridge and curve of your face. “I don’t want it to be.” He admitted. 

You smiled and grabbed his hands in yours. The smooth pads of your thumbs traced against the rough, slightly wrinkled skin of the back of his hands. “I’m honestly surprised you can work nights. Guys your age are usually in bed by 9 pm.” You teased. 

Jack huffed a laugh, and his grin twinkled like the stars behind him. “Guys my age?” He repeated, stepping closer to you, placing a hand beside your head on your car window. 

His body was nearly pressed against yours, but you knew you could reel him in some more. “Oh, you know. Old.” 

He inched closer, the harsh denim of his jeans brushing against your exposed knees. 

“Ancient.” 

His free hand mirrored the other now, enclosing you against your car door. 

“Elderly.” 

His chest bumped against your breasts with every inhale. Your fingers looped in the belt buckles of his jeans, closing the gap between your hips. 

“Archaic.” 

His smile was gone. It had been long gone since the first brush of contact. 

But your smirk remained. His breath was hot on your cheeks, just like before, but there was a new energy in the heat. “You better wipe that smile off your face.” He warned. 

Jack’s piercing eyes bore into your soul, and you had to look away, blushing at the strong eye contact. “Or what? You’ll wipe it off for me?” You called his bluff. 

He was as still as a statue, and even his breathing had stopped. 

“Look up.”

It was a command from your soldier, and you obeyed. There was that look in his eyes again. The vulnerable one. And suddenly you realized he wasn’t going to make the first move. He couldn’t do it. He was scared. 

You moved your hands from his hips, trailing up his upper body, muscles trembling underneath your fingertips. You cradled his face on either side, brushing your thumbs across his cheeks. He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple visibly shifting. He whispered your name, a shaky resonance from his throat. 

You stood on your tiptoes, brushing your nose against his. His breathing stuttered, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Please.”

That was the final drop that broke the dam. You pulled his face close and kissed him hard. He let out a desperate, pathetic moan of relief, like he had been in agony until your mouth was on his. One hand anchored to the back of your head, the other dropping to your waist. 

The kiss was ethereal. Your face buzzed like you’d had an entire bottle of wine. Jack’s stubble nearly cut your skin, but the sensation was addictive. Finally, he grabbed your face, pulling you away just enough to look at you. 

“Come home with me.” He pleaded. 

—

Robby’s wife sat on the edge of the bed with her phone in her hands, a frustrated look on her face. “They’re not doing anything.” She mumbled. “They’re just talking.”

Robby pulled the knot out of his tie, slipping it off once it became loose. “Just give it a second.” He said.

His wife zoomed in on the security camera app, adjusting the brightness on her phone to see better. “Waiting…waiting…waiting…” She tolled. 

“A watched pot never boils.” He mumbled. 

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Aristotle.”

He chuckled, walking to the closet to hang up his suit until a squeak of excitement drug him back to the bedroom. 

“There it is!!” His wife cheered. 

Robby sat next to her, focusing on the phone screen. Sure enough, you and Jack were kissing. “Atta boy, Jack!” He high-fived his wife and tackled her in a hug. 

Their plan worked.

--

A/N: I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! I love writing domestic fluff for Jack, so I had to do more than just a two-parter. Also, I love writing for Robby and his wife (aka the reader, which is why she has no name lol) as an intro and an outro like a shot and chaser before the actual fic.

Reblog for a miracle to happen tonight

sometimes I think I don’t like myself but if i’m being honest that’s not true. I don’t like some things that happened to me and I don’t like that I have to deal with the aftermath of them but I am always trying my hardest and I’m still here and I’m great for that. I think I don’t give myself enough credit for that