Rorry⭐

Rorry ♏ (she/her, in my twenties) Just a girl in love with ✨GoT/HoTD • Supernatural • Harry Potter • Back to the future • MARVEL • Shadow and bone ✨ Masterlist

[barnes70stark]

MASTERLIST with my favourite fanfics

I don't have the gift of writing, but instead I admire the work of others.💗 So here I put all the works of others, oneshots and series that I love, reread time to time.

P.S.: it's still in process 😅 ... I don't have time because of university and stuff I do about uni but when I have time I add some of the works 😁

House of the dragon & Game of thrones

Supernatural

Celebrities

MARVEL

Harry Potter & Marauders

Others TV shows & movies

[celestialwyvern]

SOFT SPOT - Aerion Targaryen

SUMMARY - Having met as children and reuniting once you've grown into a woman, Aerion's previous suspicion of you grows into the softest spot imaginable.

CONTAINS - pure fluff, reader is extremely kind, aerion is only kind to reader, classic sunshine x grumpy

A/N - i personally couldn't stop giggling while writing the "pastry" scene. Ughh i need him

The blazing sun over Summerhall was unforgiving, but it did nothing to melt the sour disposition of Prince Aerion.

At barely ten name days old, the boy was already terror embodied. He sat on a smooth rock by the edge of the river, a fishing rod held tight in his small, tense hands.

His eyes glared at the water as if he could command the fish to bite by sheer noble decree.

“They won’t bite if you keep scowling at them,” a bright voice chimed from behind him.

Aerion stiffened, his jaw tightening. He turned his head sharply, expecting a person sent by his father to drag him back to his lessons.

Instead, he saw you.

You were the daughter of Maekar’s most trusted ally, having arrived only an hour ago.

While the adults spoke of their business, you had wandered out into the sun, your heavy skirts already trailing in the damp grass.

You looked entirely out of place among the solemn guards, a little burst of warmth against the grey stones of summerhall.

“Go away,” Aerion snapped, turning back to the water, “You’ll frighten them.”

“You’re the one frightening them,” you retorted easily, completely unbothered by the venom in his tone.

You marched right up to his rock, your slippers squelching in the mud, and plopped down beside him without asking. “My father says that fishes can sense when someone is angry. They don’t like the energy.”

“Your father is a fool, and so are you,” he hissed, expecting you to cry or perhaps run back to the castle.

But you didn’t seem bothered as you tilted your head, watching the bobber dance on the ripples. “You’re doing it wrong anyway. The bait is too high.”

Aerion opened his mouth to deliver a cutting remark—something about how a dragon did not take lessons from a silly girl—but before the words could leave his lips, your smaller, warmer hands brushed against his.

You reached out, bypassing his defensive posture, and gently adjusted his grip on the handle, lowering the tip of the rod so the bait sank properly into the water.

The prince froze. No one touched him without permission. No one dared.

Yet, as the silence stretched between you, the bobber suddenly dipped aggressively. A heavy tug yanked the line down, nearly pulling the rod from his hands.

“See!” you gasped, your face lighting up with a blinding grin. “Pull, Aerion! Pull!”

Forgetting his pride, Aerion yanked the rod back with all his boyhood strength. A massive trout broke the surface, thrashing wildly and splashing mud and lakewater directly across his pristine tunic, and right into your face.

Aerion braced himself for the screaming. Noble girls and boys always screamed when they got dirty.

But then a bright laughter echoed across the banks. “Look at the size of it! We caught it!”

Aerion looked from the wiggling fish to your mud splattered face. His lips twitched, fighting a smile before he forced his features back into a proud mask.

“I caught it,” he corrected, though his voice lacked any real bite. “You merely watched.”

“We caught it,” you insisted, bending down to take a closer look at the trout.

Your father’s visit ended shortly after, and the brief, strange kinship evaporated into memory as the years pulled you both down separate paths.

Years slipped by like water through fingers, and when you finally returned to court as a young woman, the boy by the lake had become a man feared by the entire realm.

Aerion was breathtakingly beautiful, and notoriously cruel. He walked through court with a sharp tongue and a sharper temper, but that did not faze you.

From afar, Aerion watched you navigate the treacherous nature of court. You were a vision of light, offering warm smiles to the guards, listening patiently to the older women, and showing unfaltering kindness to everyone you crossed.

To him, it was grating. All noble ladies were trained to be sweet, performing acts of grace to secure a good match or win the favour of higher lords.

He waited for you to finally lose your cool.

But the day never came. No, the reality of your kindness crashed directly into him one afternoon near the small council chamber.

You were walking down the corridor with a butterfly that had landed on your arm when the doors of the chamber burst open.

A flurry of lords tumbled out into the hall, fleeing in terror. Among them was the master of coin, frantically wiping dark ink from his doublet with his bleeding hands, his face pale as death.

“Seven hells,” one of the other lords whispered hoarsely, scurrying past you. “The prince has lost his mind entirely!”

You stopped, watching the chaotic retreat. Instead of turning back like any sensible person would, you set the butterfly on a nearby branch and stepped through the heavy doors.

An iron candelabra laid overturned on the floor, dark wax spilling across the polished wood, and an inkwell had been shattered against the wall.

Aerion stood by the high window, his back to you. His shoulders were incredibly tense, and his chest was rising and falling with heavy, angry breaths.

“I thought I made it clear,” Aerion growled without turning, “The next soul to disturb me will lose their tongue.”

“Then it is a good thing I am capable of writing. I do not need my tongue.” you responded lightly, closing the heavy door behind you.

Aerion went still. He turned slowly, his stormy eyes dark with lingering rage. When his gaze landed on you, he let out a harsh, bitter scoff.

“Come to play the saint for me too?” he sneered, maintaining his distance. “Save your sweet smiles for the lords in the hall. I have no patience for your endless charity.”

You took a few measured steps into the room, keeping a respectful distance yourself.

“I don't think they don’t understand how stressful it can be,” you said softly, ignoring his cruel words. “they whisper and push, expecting you to sit quietly while they try to manage your family’s rights. It makes sense that you’d lose your patience when they refuse to listen.”

He stared at you from across the room, his mind struggling to process what he was hearing. He had expected an admonishment, or at the very least, fear.

“They are parasites,” Aerion muttered, his posture unlocking just a fraction. “They look at me as if I am mad because I refuse to let them dictate my bloodline’s terms.”

“I can see that,” you replied gently, giving a small smile. “They may be stressed as well, but no one should have to bend to their whim.”

The room went silent before you spoke again.

“Whenever the court gets too loud for me, I find that walking around the gardens helps. The fresh air is always calming.. maybe it would help you too. It’s quiet out there.”

The fire in his eyes flickered, clearly caught off guard by the suggestion. He stared at your face, the lines of his memory remembering the specific curve of your smile.

A breathless laugh escaped him.

“The gardens?” Aerion repeated, his voice dropping the edge it possessed just moments ago.

He took a step forward, assessing your form. “You haven’t changed at all, have you? Years ago at Summerhall, you told me the fish wouldn’t bite because of my ‘anger.' Now you’re trying to herd me into the bushes to calm down.”

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise, a soft laugh bubbling up. “You remember that?”

“I remember a girl pushing my hands around and getting me covered in mud,” he murmured.

He then let out a soft click of his tongue, turning to look at the doorway. “Fine. We will walk the gardens. But only because your previous method somehow worked.”

“Of course,” you smiled.

As the weeks progressed, a unique friendship blossomed between you.

Aerion still remained difficult as ever to the rest of the world, but your presence seemed to simmer that down.

The shift did not go unnoticed by the ladies of the court, leading to an afternoon that they wouldn’t stop gossiping about for days.

You were walking through the outer courtyard with a small retinue of noble ladies, the daughters of prominent lords from the Reach. They were talking endlessly, giggling as they spoke of whatever irrelevant topics crossed their minds.

“You must be careful, my dear,” one of the ladies said, leaning in closer to you. “Prince Aerion may be amused by your novelty but once he grows bored of playing with his new toy, you will be left with nothing but yourself.”

“He is a prince of the blood,” another lady chimed in, her voice tight. “They take what pleases them for a moment and cast it aside. Do not mistake a tyrant’s passing curiosity for actual regard.”

“Aerion simply values sincerity,” you replied, offering an unbothered smile. “There is no game being played.”

“You are far too gullible–” the former lady was cut when Aerion walked out from the room beside.

The ladies instantly adjusted their posture, immediately dropping to curtsies as he approached, each of them desperately hoping to catch the prince’s favour despite their previous warnings to you.

Aerion ignored them, his eyes locking firmly onto you.

Without a word of greeting, and completely disregarding decorum, he walked into the center of the group and stepped right into your space, his frame towering over you.

“You’re late,” his voice was low—meant strictly for you, though it carried across the hall.

“Late for what, my Prince?” you asked, tilting your head up to meet his gaze with your beaming expression.

“I am going to the cliffs, and you are coming with me,” he stated flatly.

Behind you, a collective intake of breath echoed from the ladies. Here he was, actively seeking you out, his attention consuming you and utterly shattering their spiteful claims that you were just a passing game.

You looked back at the girls, giving one last smile before parting from them. “Very well, my Prince, if you insist.”

“I do,” Aerion tilted his head, turning on his heel to fall into step right beside you, his side brushing against yours as he guided you out of the yard.

That would not be the first or last time the court would witness the two of you separating from the rest of the world.

During one evening, after failing in your search for Aerion through the whole castle, you found him alone in the secluded parts of the library.

He was sitting alone, staring dead at a massive volume of ancient Valyrian history.

“I am not in the mood for company,” he hissed out, “leave.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in worry before approaching and setting down a small plate of pastries on the corner of the table. You pulled out the empty chair beside him and sat down despite his request.

Reaching over the plate, you picked up a small pastry and held it right in front of his face, completely disregarding his brooding glare.

“Eat,” you insisted gently as Aerion still refused to acknowledge you. “You always go for these specific ones. I know you like them.”

His fingers that had been gripping the edge of the book twitched, and he finally turned his head to look at you.

The weight on his shoulders gradually disappeared as he looked at the pastry, then up at your fond expression.

Aerion didn’t move to take it from your hand. Keeping his intense gaze locked firmly onto yours, he leaned slightly forward.

Then, totally unprompted, he took a bite right out of the pastry while it was still held between your fingers.

A tiny giggle slipped past your lips, a bright warmth blooming all the way to the tips of your ears at the sheer intimacy of it.

You tried to bite your lip to hide your surprise, but your shoulders shook with quiet amusement as you looked into his smug face.

Aerion chewed slowly, the corners of his lips twitching at your giddy reaction.

“You are ridiculous,” he murmured as he swallowed.

“Maybe,” you agreed, your heart fluttering as you set the remaining half down onto the plate. “But it worked. You feel better already, don’t you?”

Aerion stared at you for a moment, drinking in your presence. He did feel better—the tight, suffocating knot in his chest had already unraveled. But it was certainly not because of the pastry.

Slowly, he hesitantly reached out across the small space between your chairs. With one deliberate movement, he dragged your chair until it hit his.

Then, his hand moved to flip over on the table with his palm facing up, his fingers sprawling open in a silent, stubborn invitation.

You, on the other hand, did not hesitate. You slid your hand into his palm, your fingers easily weaving through his.

Aerion squeezed your hand, his rings pressing firmly against your skin, though his touch was surprisingly careful.

However, the true demonstration of expanse that you two had built played out before the entire court during a grand feast, where Aerion’s attempt to maintain his reputation crumbled.

The feast was deafeningly loud.

You were seated next to Aerion by Prince Maekar.

Aerion had spent the first half of the feast interacting with other lords while you conversed with other ladies.

He was glaring at a group of lesser lords when he noticed your sudden silence. Just then, some of the lords he had been talking to earlier called out to him and he tried to force his eyes back on them.

Aerion was aware that you two were the topic of conversation as of late. He couldn’t let the people of court think he had gone soft. At least that was what his pride told him.

But the sight of your fragile form pulled at him like a physical anchor, shattering his resolve. His demeanor instantly changed.

He turned fully in his seat toward you, his cold stare evaporating.

“You’re pale,” Aerion murmured, voice stripped away of anything harsh. “What is it?”

“Just… a headache, Aerion,” you whispered softly, giving him a tired smile. “The noise is particularly loud tonight.”

Aerion didn’t waste a second as he gently used his hand to cradle the back of your head.

His fingers began combing through the loose parts of your hair, his thumb tracing circles down your temple to ease the pressure.

The chatter around the surrounding tables died down, dozens of eyes tracking his movements, yet no one dared to disrupt. They watched as Aerion paid no mind to everything else the moment you showed discomfort.

You leaned into his touch, a smile returning to your face. “Aerion… everyone is watching.”

Aerion let out a defeated sigh as he grinned. “Let them stare,” he concluded, his fingers tucking in a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ve broken me anyway.”

Shifting his broad shoulders, he blocked the rest of the room from view, shielding you from prying eyes.

“You are tired,” he paused, “if anyone breathes a word about that, I will have their heads.”

“You can’t murder the entire court,” you teased, lifting your head up for a moment.

A faint smile broke across his face. “Watch me,” he repeated, guiding your head to rest on his shoulder. “Now hold still and let me fix it.”

[paigepie213]

How Can You? - Dr. Robby x Female Reader

Request - Hey! I've just discovered your account and I am in love with your writing! Your portrayal of Robby is just wonderful 😍 I'm not sure if you take requests so please ignore if so but would you ever write about the reader who came from a very abusive childhood? And maybe someone from the past, a parent maybe? comes into the ED one day to be treated? With an established relationship with Robby and he's so incredibly protective of her?💛

I’m so glad you found me 🫶

Masterlist

*********************************************************

The emergency department was loud in the way it always was, a constant symphony of ringing phones, overhead pages, rolling stretchers, and exhausted healthcare workers trying to keep pace with a world that seemed determined to fall apart one patient at a time. You had long ago learned how to exist within the chaos.

It was comfortable, almost. Predictable. Pain came through the doors. You helped. Sometimes people got better. Sometimes they didn’t. Then the next patient arrived and the cycle continued. Simple. Manageable. Nothing like childhood.

You stood at a workstation near the nurses’ station, reviewing lab results while absentmindedly sipping coffee that had long since gone cold. Across the department, Robby was arguing with Mohan about an imaging study, his dark hair slightly disheveled from a shift that had already stretched well past ten hours.

“You don’t need a CT for every abdominal pain,” he was saying.

Mohan looked unconvinced.

“But—”

“No. No but. Use your brain.”

Mohan sighed. You smiled into your chart. Robby caught you watching. His expression immediately softened. Just for you. It always did. He pointed at the coffee in your hand.

“That thing is older than some of our patients.”

You looked down at the cup.

“Still technically coffee.”

“It absolutely is not.”

“It has caffeine.”

“I have concerns.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should.”

You grinned. He shook his head before disappearing around a corner, muttering something about stubborn surgeons.nYour chest warmed despite yourself.

Three years together and somehow seeing him still felt like coming home. The feeling lasted exactly twenty-three seconds. Because that was when your next patient chart populated on the screen.

You weren’t even paying attention at first. Just another name. Another room. Another patient. Then your eyes landed on the last name. And stopped.

Everything inside you froze. The coffee suddenly tasted like metal. No. There were thousands of people in the city. Thousands. It couldn’t possibly—

Your gaze dropped to the first name. Your stomach immediately fell through the floor. The room around you seemed to disappear. The noise. The lights. The conversations. Everything faded.

Leaving only a name. A name you hadn’t seen in over fifteen years. A name you had spent years trying to forget. For several seconds you simply stared. Maybe it was someone else. Maybe it was coincidence.

Then you saw the age. The hometown. The emergency contact. Your hand tightened around the coffee cup. Hard. Hard enough the lid crinkled.

“Hey.”

The voice startled you. You looked up. Robby was standing beside you again. Concern already pulling at his features.

“What’s wrong?”

You blinked.

“What?”

“You look like you saw a ghost.”

You immediately looked back at the chart. Your heartbeat had become deafening.

“I didn’t.”

“You’re lying.”

A weak laugh escaped you.

“Charming.”

“I’m serious.”

His voice had softened. The way it always did when he sensed something was wrong. You hated how easily he could read you. You had spent a lifetime learning how to hide things. Robby had somehow become the exception.

“I’m fine.”

He didn’t answer. Which was worse. Because Robby only got quiet when he didn’t believe you. A moment passed. Then another. Finally he glanced at the patient room assignment on your screen.

“Problem patient?”

“No.”

“Difficult family?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

You swallowed. The chart seemed to blur.

“It’s nothing.”

The lie tasted bitter. His eyes narrowed. Not angry. Worried. Always worried. Before he could press further, Princess approached the station.

“Y/N, room twelve is ready.”

Your stomach clenched. Room twelve. Of course it was room twelve. Princess smiled politely.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

You nodded automatically.

“Thanks.”

You remained frozen. Robby was still watching. You could feel it. Every second. Finally he spoke quietly.

“You don’t have to take this patient if something’s wrong.”

That almost made you laugh. Not because it was funny. Because he didn’t understand. Nobody understood. You had spent years making sure of that. You closed the chart. Straightened your shoulders. Picked up the tablet.

“I’ve got it.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.”

The word escaped before you could stop it. Both of you froze. Because you almost never admitted that. Not at work. Not here. Not where everyone depended on you.

Robby’s expression changed immediately. The concern deepened.

“You want me to go in with you?”

You shook your head. Too quickly.

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Robby.”

The warning was gentle. He heard it anyway. His jaw tightened. Not because he was angry. Because he was worried and hated feeling helpless. You softened. Reached out. Briefly squeezed his wrist.

A tiny touch. One that said more than words could.

“I’m okay.”

His eyes searched yours. Looking for the truth. Finding something else entirely. But eventually he nodded.

“Okay.”

You released him. Took a breath. Then another. And started walking. The hallway felt longer than it should have. Each step heavier than the last. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears. Memories tried to claw their way forward.

A slammed door. A shattered glass. Your father’s voice. Your father’s hands. You shoved it all back down.

Not here. Not now. Not ever.

By the time you reached room twelve, your expression had become perfectly neutral again. Professional. Controlled. Doctor. Not daughter. Not survivor. Doctor.

You pushed open the door. The woman sitting on the stretcher looked older than you remembered. Smaller, too. Gray threaded through her hair. Wrinkles lined her face. Age had softened her. Made her seem fragile. Harmless.

But the moment her eyes met yours, you were twelve years old again. Standing in a kitchen. Trying not to cry. While she looked away. The recognition hit both of you simultaneously. You watched it happen. The widening eyes. The sharp intake of breath. The disbelief.

“Y/N?”

Your childhood nickname followed immediately after. One you hadn’t heard in years. One you hated. Your entire body locked. For one terrifying second, you thought you might actually be sick.

The woman sitting in front of you wasn’t a stranger. She wasn’t just a patient. She wasn’t just your aunt. She was a witness. A witness to every bruise explained away. Every scream ignored. Every excuse accepted. Every opportunity to save a child that had been quietly abandoned.

And now she was looking at you. Staring at the white coat. The hospital badge. The physician standing before her. As though she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Neither could you.

But you had spent years becoming this version of yourself. Years building someone your father could never destroy. So you straightened your shoulders. Lifted your chin. And offered the same calm smile you gave every patient.

Professional. Steady. Untouchable.

“Good afternoon,” you said evenly. “I’m Dr. Y/L/N. What seems to be the problem today?”

And for the first time since walking into the room, your aunt looked like the one who didn’t know what to say.

******

The moment the door closed behind you, the mask slipped. Not completely. Not enough for anyone passing by to notice. But enough.

Enough that your hand immediately found the wall beside the room. Enough that you stood there staring at nothing while your pulse hammered against the inside of your throat. Enough that you forgot where you were for a few seconds.

Forgot the department. Forgot the shift. Forgot the dozens of patients still waiting to be seen. All you could hear was her voice.

Your name. That nickname. That awful, childhood nickname that had felt harmless when you were little and somehow became poisoned by association over the years. You hadn’t heard it in over a decade. You hadn’t wanted to.

You took a slow breath. Then another. Get it together. You were fine. You were thirty-four years old. You were an emergency room physician. You’d worked trauma cases. Mass casualty incidents. Child abuse cases. Gunshots. Stabbings.

You had spent years helping people navigate the worst moments of their lives. You could handle one woman sitting in room twelve. You could. Couldn’t you?

The door opened behind you. You immediately straightened. Princess stepped out carrying discharge paperwork. She smiled.

“You okay, Doc?”

Your smile appeared automatically. Years of practice. Years of survival.

“Yep.”

She nodded and continued down the hallway. The second she disappeared around the corner, your smile vanished. A hand landed gently on your shoulder. You flinched. Actually flinched.

The reaction shocked you almost as much as it shocked the person standing behind you. You turned. Robby’s face had gone still. Dangerously still.

Not angry. Not yet. Concerned. Focused. Watching. His hand immediately dropped away.

“Hey.”

You hated how gentle his voice was. You hated it because it made something inside your chest ache. Because gentle had always been dangerous growing up. Gentle usually came before something worse.

Except with him. With him, gentle was just gentle. You looked away.

“I’m fine.”

“You jumped.”

“I was distracted.”

“You jumped.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. Not arguing. Observing. The way he observed patients. The way he observed everything. You folded your arms. Defensive. Unconsciously. Unfortunately, Robby noticed that too.

“Who is she?”

The question hit harder than you expected. Your stomach twisted.

“No one.”

“That’s not true.”

“No.”

Your voice came out sharper than intended. Immediately his expression softened. Which somehow made it worse.

“I’m not trying to push.”

“Then don’t.”

Silence settled between you. Not uncomfortable. Not exactly. Just heavy. You stared down the hallway. Anything to avoid looking at him. Because if you looked at him, he would see it. The fear. The anger. The hurt. The shame. All those ugly little pieces you’d spent years locking away.

“You know,” Robby said quietly, “most people would have called in another doctor by now.”

You laughed once. The sound humorless.

“Good thing I’m not most people.”

“No.” His voice was soft. “You’re definitely not.”

You finally looked at him. That was a mistake. Because he was looking at you the way he looked at patients he was worried about. Like he was trying to figure out how badly you were hurt. And suddenly you couldn’t breathe quite right. You looked away again.

“She’s just a patient.”

“Okay.”

“That’s all.”

“Okay.”

The calm agreement irritated you instantly. You turned toward him.

“Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“That.”

He blinked.

“Very specific.”

You almost smiled. Almost. Then the memory came back. Your aunt sitting on the stretcher. Recognizing you. Looking at you. And whatever tiny bit of amusement had appeared immediately vanished.

Robby saw it happen. Of course he did. His jaw tightened.

“Talk to me.”

The words were quiet. Careful. Not demanding. Not pushing. Just asking. You swallowed. Hard.

“No.”

A beat passed. Then another. Finally he nodded.

“Okay.”

You stared at him suspiciously.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“You aren’t going to interrogate me?”

“I want to.”

His honesty startled a laugh out of you. A real one this time. Small. Brief. But real.

“I figured.”

His mouth twitched.

“Believe me.”

You shook your head.

“You’re impossible.”

“That’s not new information.”

For the first time since seeing the chart, some of the tension in your shoulders eased. Only slightly. But enough. Then a voice called from behind you.

“Doctor?”

Both you and Robby turned. Your aunt was standing in the doorway of room twelve. She had apparently disconnected herself from half her monitoring equipment. Something that immediately irritated you on professional principle. Her gaze landed on you. Then shifted briefly to Robby. Then back again.

And you saw it. Recognition. Curiosity. Questions. Your stomach immediately sank. Because people like her always asked questions.

Who was that? How long had you been together? Were you married? Did you have children? They wanted details. Access. Intimacy they hadn’t earned. Your aunt offered a hesitant smile.

“Could I speak with you for a second?”

The hallway suddenly felt too small. Too bright. Too exposed. You nodded automatically.

“Of course.”

Robby didn’t move. Neither did you. For a moment. Then your aunt spoke again.

“You too, Dr. Robinavich.”

You froze. Completely. Beside you, Robby went still. The silence that followed was immediate and absolute. Your aunt looked confused.

“What?”

But you already knew. Of course she knew his name. Because she’d heard it. Inside the room. From a nurse. From another physician. Anywhere. And yet something about hearing her say it felt wrong. Like she’d touched something she wasn’t allowed to.

Your relationship. Your life. Your happiness. The things she’d never been part of. Robby’s expression had changed. Subtly. Almost imperceptibly.

But you knew him. You knew every version of his face. The amused ones. The exhausted ones. The worried ones. This one was new. Protective.

The kind that appeared when he thought someone was threatening something he loved. He stepped slightly closer to you. Not enough to be obvious. Just enough. Your aunt didn’t seem to notice. You did. Of course you did.

His shoulder brushed yours. A silent question.

Are you okay?

You answered with the smallest shake of your head. So small nobody else would have noticed. Nobody except Robby. His jaw clenched. Your aunt was still speaking. Something about discharge instructions. Something about pain medication. You weren’t listening.

Because for the first time all day, you realized something. You weren’t twelve anymore. You weren’t trapped in that house. You weren’t powerless. You weren’t alone. You had built a life. A career. A future. A family of your own choosing. And standing beside you was a man who would walk through fire for you without hesitation.

Your aunt finally finished speaking. You answered her questions professionally. Briefly. Clinically. Nothing more. Nothing less. Then she returned to her room.

The door clicked shut. The hallway fell silent again. Robby stared at the closed door for several seconds. Then he looked at you. His expression unreadable. Dangerously unreadable.

“Robby?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you thinking?”

His eyes flicked back toward room twelve. Then back to you.

“I think,” he said carefully, “that whoever is in that room is a lot more than just a patient.”

Your breath caught. His gaze never left yours.

“And I think,” he continued quietly, “that you’re trying really hard to hold yourself together.”

The words landed directly in your chest. Because they were true. Painfully true. You opened your mouth. Closed it again. Then finally managed a weak smile.

“Can we not do this right now?”

Immediately his expression softened. Every hard edge disappearing.

“Yeah.”

You nodded. Grateful. Relieved. Terrified. Because eventually you were going to have to tell him. And when Robby learned exactly who was sitting in room twelve and what role she had played in your childhood, you had a feeling he wasn’t going to take it very well at all.

******

The rest of the afternoon should have been easy. That was the frustrating part. Your aunt wasn’t critically ill. She wasn’t crashing. She wasn’t a trauma activation. She wasn’t even particularly complicated.

A straightforward diagnosis. A straightforward treatment plan. A straightforward discharge. Any other day, any other patient, you would have been finished with the entire encounter in less than an hour.

Instead, three hours later, you were still finding reasons to avoid room twelve. You reviewed labs twice. Checked imaging three times. Consulted with nursing staff on things that absolutely did not require consulting. Anything to delay walking back through that door. Anything to avoid looking at her again.

Unfortunately, medicine had never been particularly accommodating when it came to avoidance. Eventually there was nothing left to do except discharge her. So you found yourself standing outside room twelve once more, staring at the door like it might somehow open and solve the problem for you.

It didn’t. The door remained stubbornly closed. Behind you came the familiar sound of footsteps. You didn’t have to turn around. You already knew who it was.

“You’re doing it again.”

You sighed.

“I’m standing.”

“You’re glaring at a door.”

“I’m contemplating life.”

“You’re stalling.”

You looked over your shoulder. Robby stood there holding a chart against his chest. His expression was annoyingly knowing. You rolled your eyes.

“Go away.”

“No.”

“Don’t you have patients?”

“Yep.”

“Shouldn’t you be taking care of them?”

“Probably.”

Despite yourself, your mouth twitched. Robby immediately noticed. Like always. The smallest crack in your armor and he was there.

“You know,” he said casually, “for someone who claims everything is fine, you’re spending a suspicious amount of time outside this room.”

You folded your arms.

“Maybe I just like this hallway.”

“Sure.”

“Maybe it’s my favorite hallway.”

“Absolutely.”

“Maybe I have emotional attachment to the tile.”

“Deeply believable.”

You snorted. Actually snorted. The sound surprised both of you. For a brief moment, something lighter settled between you. Then room twelve came back into focus.

Reality returned. And the smile disappeared. Robby’s expression softened immediately. The joking vanished.

“You don’t have to do this alone.”

Your throat tightened. Because he wasn’t talking about the discharge. And you both knew it. You looked away.

“Yeah.”

A long silence followed. Then he stepped closer. Not touching. Just close. Present. Steady. The way he always was.

“You ready?”

No. Not even remotely. But you nodded anyway.

“Yep.”

It was a lie. He knew it. You knew it. Neither of you said anything. Finally you squared your shoulders and pushed open the door.

Your aunt looked up immediately. The television mounted in the corner was playing some daytime game show neither of you paid attention to.

The room felt strangely quiet. Too quiet. As though both of you had been waiting for this. For the inevitable final conversation.

You pulled the chart closer. Professional. Controlled. Safe.

“Your tests look good.”

Your voice sounded steady. Thank God.

“The CT was reassuring. Your labs are stable. We’re sending you home with medication and follow-up instructions.”

She nodded. Watching you. Not listening. Watching. You recognized the difference instantly. You’d spent your childhood studying adults the same way.

Trying to determine whether they were safe. Trying to determine whether you needed to run. Your aunt wasn’t studying you for safety. She was studying you for guilt. Though she probably didn’t realize it. The silence stretched. Then she smiled softly.

“You became a doctor.”

There it was. You felt your spine stiffen.

“Yes.”

“I always knew you would do something important.”

The words hit like a slap. Not because they were cruel. Because they weren’t. Because they were kind. And somehow that made them worse.

Your hand tightened around the chart. You remembered being nine years old. Sitting at a family barbecue. A split lip hidden beneath a napkin. Your father telling everyone you’d fallen off your bike. Your aunt sitting ten feet away.

Watching. Knowing. Saying nothing.

You remembered being eleven. Showing up at Thanksgiving with bruises hidden beneath long sleeves. Your aunt asking if you were warm. Nothing else.

You remembered being fourteen. Crying in a bathroom while your father screamed downstairs. Hearing relatives arrive for dinner. Knowing nobody would ask questions. Knowing nobody ever did.

The memories came fast. Sharp. Merciless. Your aunt was still smiling. Proud. Almost affectionate. As though she’d somehow been part of your success. As though she’d earned the right.

“You were always smart,” she continued. “So determined.”

You stared at her. Really stared at her. For the first time all day. And suddenly she looked older than before. Not physically. Emotionally.

A woman carrying something heavy. Something she’d probably spent years trying not to examine. The realization should have made you feel better. It didn’t.

Because guilt didn’t undo damage. Regret didn’t protect children. And apologies—if they came decades later—didn’t rewrite history. Your aunt’s smile faltered slightly. Perhaps she saw something in your face. Perhaps she finally understood.

“Y/N—”

“No.”

The word slipped out quietly. Not angry. Not loud. Just firm. Your aunt stopped speaking. You set the chart down. The room suddenly felt very still. Very small.

“I don’t need you to tell me you always knew I would do something important.”

Your voice remained calm. Years of practice. Years of control. Years of refusing to become the angry person your father wanted you to be. Your aunt stared at you. Eyes widening.

“You don’t?”

“No.”

The silence that followed felt endless. You swallowed. Then continued.

“I needed someone to help.”

The words landed heavily between you. Your aunt visibly flinched. You noticed. Part of you hated that. Part of you was glad. Because for once she wasn’t the comfortable observer. For once she had to sit with it.

“I needed adults to act like adults.”

Your voice remained soft. Steady. Almost gentle. Which somehow made it hurt more.

“I needed someone to say something.”

Your aunt’s eyes immediately filled.

“I…”

“I needed someone to protect me.”

There it was. The truth. Simple. Uncomplicated. Undeniable. Tears slipped down her cheeks. You felt nothing. Not satisfaction. Not victory. Not closure.

Just exhaustion.

The kind that lived deep in your bones. The kind survivors carried.

“I was a child.”

Your aunt covered her mouth. You looked away. Toward the window. Toward anything except her face. Because despite everything, seeing another human being cry still hurt. That was the problem with having a soft heart. You couldn’t turn it off. Not even for people who deserved your anger. Finally your aunt spoke. Her voice shaking.

“I was afraid.”

You closed your eyes briefly. There it was. The excuse. Not cruel. Not malicious. Just human. Painfully human. You opened your eyes again.

“I know.”

And you did. That was the worst part. You understood. You understood fear. You understood helplessness. You understood what it was like to be scared.

Which was exactly why the answer wasn’t enough. Your aunt stared at you. Searching. Maybe hoping for forgiveness. Maybe hoping for absolution. Maybe hoping you’d tell her it was okay.

You didn’t. Because it wasn’t. And pretending otherwise would dishonor the little girl who had needed help. The little girl nobody protected.

You picked up the discharge paperwork. Professional again. Doctor again. Safe again.

“Your nurse will bring your instructions.”

The tears continued sliding down your aunt’s face.

“Y/N.”

You paused. Hand on the door. Back turned toward her. The next words came out so quietly you almost didn’t recognize your own voice.

“Children remember.”

The room went silent. You swallowed hard. Then continued.

“Children remember who helped.”

Your throat tightened. Pain pressed against your ribs. Against your lungs. Against your heart.

“And they remember who didn’t.”

Silence. Absolute silence. You opened the door. Stepped into the hallway. And closed it behind you.

The second it clicked shut, you released a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. For one brief moment, you simply stood there. Alone. Shaking. Trying desperately to keep everything together. Then a familiar voice came from down the hall.

Low. Steady. Concerned.

“Hey.”

You looked up. And there was Robby. Watching you. His expression changing instantly the moment he saw your face. Because whatever had happened in that room, whatever words had been exchanged, one thing was suddenly very clear. You hadn’t walked out victorious. You’d walked out wounded. And Robby knew it.

******

By the time your shift ended, you were running entirely on muscle memory. You finished your notes. Signed your charts. Answered questions from residents. Returned pages. Reviewed scans.

Performed every task expected of you with the same calm professionalism that had earned you the respect of everyone around you. Nobody would have guessed that inside, you felt hollowed out. Exhausted. Raw.

As though someone had reached into your chest and reopened wounds you had spent years stitching closed. The strange thing about surviving trauma was that most days you forgot how much work it took. Most days the scars simply existed. Part of you. Old. Healed. Faded.

Then something happened. A smell. A voice. A name. And suddenly you remembered exactly how hard you had fought to become the person you were. Exactly how much blood, sweat, tears, therapy, determination, and stubbornness had gone into building a life that belonged to you.

By the time you finally walked out of the hospital, the Pittsburgh sky had gone dark. The parking garage lights cast long shadows across the concrete. You were halfway to your car when a familiar voice called your name.

You stopped. Closed your eyes briefly. Then turned. Of course it was him.

Robby stood a few feet away, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. Watching you carefully. Not crowding you. Not pushing. Just there. You immediately knew what he’d done. He’d waited. Hours. For you. The realization hurt in a completely different way.

Because nobody had ever waited for you before. Not like that. Not simply because they wanted to make sure you got home okay.

“You’re stalking me.”

His mouth twitched.

“Apparently.”

“You could’ve gone home.”

“I know.”

You stared at him. He stared back. Neither of you moved. Finally he tilted his head toward his truck.

“Come home with me.”

Not a question. Not quite a request. Just an offering. A safe place. A soft landing.

Your eyes burned unexpectedly. You nodded. And for once, he didn’t pretend not to notice.

******

Neither of you talked much during the drive. The radio played quietly. Traffic rolled past. The city moved around you. But inside the truck there was only silence. Comfortable. Gentle. Patient.

Robby kept one hand on the steering wheel. The other resting on the center console. Halfway through the drive, without looking at him, you placed your hand over his. His fingers immediately turned over. Intertwining with yours. No words. Just presence. Just certainty. Just love.

By the time you reached his apartment, exhaustion had settled into your bones. The kind that had nothing to do with sleep. The kind that came from carrying too much for too long. You kicked off your shoes. Changed into one of Robby’s old t-shirts. Washed your face. Then climbed into his bed.

The moment your head hit the pillow, every ounce of energy left your body. You lay there staring at the ceiling. Silent. Still. Empty. A few minutes later the mattress dipped. Robby slid in beside you. Not touching at first.

Giving you space. Giving you choice. Always giving you choice. The room was dark except for the faint glow of a lamp across the apartment. For a while neither of you spoke. Then his voice broke the silence.

“Who was she?”

You closed your eyes. There it was. The question. The one you’d been avoiding all day. The one you knew was coming. You swallowed. Hard.

“My aunt.”

The mattress shifted. Not dramatically. Just enough. Robby turned toward you. You could feel his surprise.

“Your aunt?”

The words sounded strange out loud. Like speaking a language you hadn’t used in years. Another long silence.

“The patient was your aunt?”

You nodded. For several seconds he didn’t respond. Processing. Trying to fit that information into everything he’d witnessed throughout the day.

“The woman who made you look like you couldn’t breathe was your aunt?”

Your laugh was short. Humorless.

“Yeah.”

The silence that followed felt heavier. You knew what came next. You knew Robby. You knew the questions already forming. You just weren’t sure you wanted to answer them. His voice softened.

“Why?”

There it was. The question that mattered. Not who. Why. You stared at the ceiling. At the shadows above the bed. At anything except him.

“My father used to hit me.”

The room went completely still. Not quiet. Still. As though the entire world had stopped moving. You felt it happen. Felt Robby freeze beside you. Felt the air leave the room. Felt the shift.

When he finally spoke, his voice sounded different. Lower. Rougher.

“What?”

You closed your eyes. There was no taking it back now. No hiding it. No pretending.

“My father was abusive.”

The words sounded clinical. Detached. You hated that. Because there was nothing clinical about a grown man hitting a child. Nothing detached about fear. Nothing detached about bruises. Or screaming. Or learning how to tell whether footsteps meant danger.

Robby sat up immediately. The mattress shifted sharply. You kept staring at the ceiling. Unable to look at him. Because somehow his reaction felt harder than the memories.

“Baby.”

His voice cracked. Actually cracked. You’d never heard that before. Never. Slowly, you turned your head. The expression on his face stole your breath.

Horror. Absolute horror. Not pity. Not sympathy. Horror. As though he’d just been told something impossible. Something unforgivable. Something he couldn’t process. For a moment neither of you spoke.

“Your father hit you?”

You nodded. His jaw clenched so hard you thought he might crack a tooth.

“How old were you?”

You laughed softly. The sound broken.

“Pick an age.”

The look on his face immediately shattered your heart. Because now he understood. Not one incident. Not one bad day. Years.

A childhood. A pattern. A life. Robby stood abruptly. Pacing. The movement startled you. He ran both hands through his hair. Turned away. Turned back. Then swore. Loudly. Violently.

The kind of curse that came from somewhere deep. You watched him. Watched the anger build. Watched the helplessness. Watched the grief. And strangely enough, it made you feel calmer.

Because for the first time in your life, somebody was angry on your behalf. Not embarrassed. Not uncomfortable. Not looking away. Angry. Furious. Heartbroken. For you.

Robby stopped pacing. His hands landed on his hips.

“You were a kid.” His voice was shaking. “A kid.”

You nodded.

“I know.”

“And she knew?”

There it was. The real wound. The one he’d picked up on immediately. You swallowed.

“Yes.”

His eyes closed. Immediately. Like the answer physically hurt.

“She knew?”

“Yes.”

“And she did nothing.”

The words came out harsher this time. More dangerous. You sat up slowly. Pulled your knees toward your chest.

“No.”

His eyes opened. Dark. Furious.

“No, she didn’t.”

The room fell silent. Then Robby laughed. A short, disbelieving sound. Except there was absolutely no humor in it.

“That’s unbelievable.”

You knew.

“That’s actually unbelievable.”

“I know.”

“How do you just—”

He stopped himself. Turned away. Ran a hand across his face. Trying. Trying so hard. You watched him struggle. Watched him fight for control. Watched him attempt to respect boundaries while every protective instinct in his body screamed otherwise.

Finally he looked back at you. And his eyes were shining. Not with tears. With rage. The kind born from love. The kind born from caring too much.

“If I’d known you then…”

The words broke apart halfway through. You stared at him. Your chest tightening painfully. Because there it was. The impossible wish. The wish every person who loved you eventually had.

If I’d known. If I’d been there. If I could’ve helped.

Slowly, you reached for him. Your fingers brushing his wrist. Grounding him. Anchoring him.

“Robby.”

His gaze immediately found yours.

“If I’d known—”

“I know.”

“No.” His voice cracked again.“I would’ve—”

“I know.”

The room fell silent. Your hand slid into his. Warm. Steady. Present. And then you said the thing he needed to hear. The thing that was true.

“You didn’t know me then.”

His eyes closed. Pain flashing across his face. You squeezed his hand.

“But you know me now.”

The words settled between you. Gentle. Certain. Real. You didn’t know how long he stood there staring at you. Seconds. Minutes. Maybe longer.

Then finally, slowly, Robby climbed back into bed. Not beside you. Around you. Pulling you against his chest. Holding you so carefully it almost hurt. As though some part of him was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. His face buried itself in your hair. One hand cradling the back of your head.

The other wrapped tightly around your waist. And for the first time all day, you let yourself stop being strong. Just for a little while. Just long enough to feel safe.

******

You woke slowly. Not because of an alarm. Not because of a page. Not because of the shrill ring of a hospital phone demanding your attention. For the first time in what felt like forever, you woke because your body had finally decided it was finished sleeping.

The apartment was quiet. Soft morning light spilled through the curtains, painting pale gold across the bedroom walls. For a few seconds you simply lay there, disoriented by the unfamiliar peace. Then you felt the arm around your waist. Heavy. Warm. Certain. And remembered where you were.

Robby. His bed. His apartment. His arms. The previous day came rushing back immediately. The emergency department. Your aunt. The conversation. The memories. The tears you hadn’t planned on shedding. The confession you never thought you’d make.

You felt your chest tighten. Not with panic. Not with fear. Just sadness. Old sadness. Ancient sadness.

The kind that never fully disappeared. The kind you learned to live alongside. Behind you, Robby shifted. His arm tightened instinctively. Pulling you closer against him. Even asleep.

You smiled despite yourself. Some things never changed. You turned carefully. His eyes were already open. Watching you. The sight made your heart ache.

Because there was no irritation in his expression. No exhaustion. No frustration. Just concern. Just love. Just Robby.

“That’s creepy.”

His mouth twitched.

“You’ve said that before.”

“You were staring.”

“You were sleeping.”

“Exactly.”

“I like looking at you.”

You groaned dramatically. His smile appeared. Small. Real. God, you loved that smile. It always felt hard won. Like a reward. Like something precious.

For a moment neither of you spoke. You simply looked at each other. The morning wrapping around you both. Then Robby’s hand reached up. His knuckles brushing gently across your cheek. The touch was so soft it nearly broke your heart.

“How are you?”

There it was. The question. Simple. Honest. Dangerous. You considered lying. The instinct was automatic. Years old. Reflexive. But Robby deserved better than that. So did you.

“I don’t know.”

His hand remained against your face. Thumb tracing slowly along your cheekbone.

“Fair.”

You smiled weakly.

“I think seeing her just…”

Your voice trailed off. Robby waited. Patient as ever.

“It reminded me.”

His expression softened. You looked down at the sheets. At the tangled mess of blankets around your legs. Anything except his eyes.

“Most days I don’t think about it.”

Your voice was quiet.

“I don’t wake up every morning thinking about my father.” You swallowed. “I don’t walk around feeling broken.”

“Because you’re not.”

The response came immediately. Firm. Absolute. You looked up. His jaw had tightened. Just slightly. You knew exactly what he was thinking. The same thing he’d been thinking since last night.

You weren’t broken. You had been hurt. Those were different things.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.”

The words came softer this time. He shifted closer. Close enough that your noses nearly brushed. Close enough that all you could see was him.

“You’re not broken.”

The conviction in his voice nearly undid you. Because he believed it. Entirely. Without hesitation. Without doubt. The way people believed gravity existed. The way people believed the sun would rise. Simple. Certain. True. Your eyes burned unexpectedly.

“You’re biased.”

His smile appeared again.

“Very.”

That finally earned a laugh. A real one. The sound filled the room. Robby’s expression immediately relaxed. As though hearing you laugh physically eased something inside him. God. You loved him. You loved him so much it was almost frightening.

For a while you simply lay there together. His hand stroking slowly through your hair. Your head resting against his chest. Listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Then, unexpectedly, he spoke.

“Can I ask you something?”

You tilted your head.

“Depends.”

His fingers continued moving through your hair. Gentle. Careful.

“How are you so good?”

You blinked.

“What?”

His gaze remained fixed on the ceiling. As though he was still trying to work it out himself.

“How are you so good?”

The question hit harder the second time. You stared at him. Confused.

“Robby—”

“No, seriously.”

His eyes finally found yours. There was no teasing there. No humor. Only sincerity.

“How?”

You opened your mouth. Then closed it again. Because you genuinely didn’t understand. Seeing your confusion, he continued.

“You spent yesterday taking care of someone who failed you.”

Your throat tightened.

“You treated her.”

His voice remained soft.

“Professionally.”

“Because she’s a patient.”

“Exactly.” His jaw clenched. “I don’t think I could’ve done that.”

You smiled faintly.

“Yes, you could.”

“No.”

The answer came immediately. Firmly.

“I couldn’t.”

You studied him. The frustration. The admiration. The lingering anger. All tangled together. Robby exhaled heavily. Then shook his head.

“You’re better than me.”

A laugh escaped you.

“Absolutely not.”

“You are.”

“I’m definitely not.”

“You are.”

The stubbornness in his voice made you smile.

“Robby.”

“Y/N.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I know.”

The familiar exchange settled some of the heaviness between you. A comfortable rhythm. A safe place. Then his expression softened again. The teasing disappearing.

“I just don’t understand.” His thumb brushed your cheek. “You had every reason in the world to become bitter.”

The words settled heavily between you.

“You had every reason to hate people.” His voice grew quieter. “Every reason not to trust anyone.”

Your eyes dropped. He wasn’t wrong. There had been years like that. Years of walls. Years of anger. Years of fear. Years spent convincing yourself nobody would ever get close enough to hurt you again. Then somehow Robby had happened.

Stubborn. Patient. Kind. Persistent. Very annoying. Very handsome. Tragically handsome. You smiled to yourself. His thumb nudged your cheek.

“What?”

You shook your head.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

“Maybe.”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. You laughed. Then your expression softened.

“You know why?”

His gaze held yours.

“Why?”

You took a slow breath. Considering the answer. The real answer. The one that had taken years to understand.

“Because someone had to.”

His brow furrowed. You shifted closer. Resting your palm against his chest. Feeling the steady beat beneath.

“When I was a kid, nobody protected me.”

His expression immediately darkened. You pressed a kiss against his jaw before he could interrupt. The tension eased slightly. Then you continued.

“So I decided if I ever got the chance, I’d protect other people.”

Silence. You swallowed.

“I couldn’t save little me.” Your voice cracked slightly. “But I can help somebody else’s little girl.”

Robby closed his eyes. The emotion that crossed his face was immediate. Powerful. Raw. When he opened them again, they were shining. Not with pity. With pride. Immense pride. The kind that made your chest ache. The kind that made you feel seen.

For a long moment he simply looked at you. Then his hand slid behind your neck. Pulling you closer. Closer. Closer. Until his forehead rested against yours.

“You know what I think?”

You smiled softly.

“What?”

“I think you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

Your eyes immediately burned.

“That’s dramatic.”

“I’m an ER doctor.”

“You are dramatic.”

“Occupational hazard.”

You laughed. He smiled. Then kissed you. Slowly. Gently. Not rushed. Not hungry. Just loving.

The kind of kiss that said everything words couldn’t.

The kind of kiss that said I know now.

The kind of kiss that said I’m here.

The kind of kiss that said you never have to carry it alone again.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours once more. His fingers still tangled in your hair. His other hand resting over your heart. Protective. Possessive. Loving. Home.

“You know something else?” he murmured.

“What?”

His lips brushed yours again. Soft. Warm. Reverent.

“I’m really glad that little girl survived.”

The tears came then. Not from sadness. Not from grief. But from something you hadn’t felt enough of growing up. Something every child deserved. Something every survivor deserved. To be loved exactly as they were. And as Robby wrapped his arms around you, holding you against the steady strength of his chest while morning sunlight filled the room, you realized something important.

Your father had shaped part of your story. Your aunt had shaped part of your story. The pain had shaped part of your story. But none of them got to write the ending. You did. And this ending looked a lot like love.

[the-claire-bitch-project]

brendon "the shark" park 𓂃𓂁𓂃

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

them!!

[barnes70stark]

Look at these beautiful people 😍🔥

[bluetimeombre]

BET ON IT !

synopsisyou and Robby had been going steady for a few months now but when a betting board is made on who your mysterious male friend could be, Robby is not happy with the outcome.

warningslanguage, smutish- allusions to smut, jealous Robby, mention of shooting- GSW

author noterobby x reader but platonic frank x reader, can you tell santos is my favourite cause i include her in basically everything i write

Santos had had a day.

More traumas than she could deal with and a young girl who came in with bruises that suspiciously looked like abuse. She’d had just about enough when she realised she’d have to give another two hours to the place to get her charting done.

When she came home she knew Whitaker was at Amy’s and you should have been home. She watched you practically bolt out the place. Santos hoped it’d be a night of crappy food and shitty movies.

So when she ditched her keys at the kitchen counter and listened out the last thing she expected to hear was moaning.

“What the?” she called out for you.

Maybe you were having a self-care night. Charged up a vibrator and such.

Santos chuckled to herself as she made to tiptoe past your room.

There was the unmistakable sound of another.

“Oh fuck.”

Trinity paused.

You and her were close, she could admit that. You were maybe her only friend. So she knew you had been going through a dry patch. Because you were making it everyone's problem.

She listened in.

There was deep groaning from a man and your moans, the soft thudding of a bed against the wall. Trinity thanked the heavens again that the head of your bed was against Denis's wall and not hers.

“Deeper, harder,” she heard you moan.

“Oh, fuck me,” the guy groaned deep. She didn't recognise the voice. Did she?

Curious she tried to listen to the mans voice, wondering what she could tell. He must have been busy as little else was said other than groanings.

Where had you met this guy? Had this been happening longer than she knew? Is this why you hurried out?

Santos thought you weren't one of one night stands. Were you proving her wrong?

She snook into her room and knew she had to tell someone, at least Whitaker.

Robby collapsed next to you on your bed, catching his breath as you pulled the sheets up to cover your slightly sweaty bodies. The bed creaked under his weight as he moved around, getting himself comfortable.

Your bed was a small double, not really built for anyone more than one. Let alone Robby.

“You want some water or something?” you asked.

Robby chuckled, the bed creaking again as he turned on his side to face you. “Aren't I supposed to be asking you that?”

You lifted your shoulders, tucking your hands under your head to admire him. “Well you're the senior citizen with the... bad back?”

His brows lifted. “Oh that's how you want to play it.”

He grabbed your hip and pulled you close.

You were still trying to recover from the multiple orgasms Robby had ripped through your body as soon as you'd stepped through your apartment door. But that didn't stop his hands from crowding around your body, pulling you into him as all his hardness turned soft.

His lips found yours as easy as one found home, kissing you the way he knew you liked to be kissed. Head tilted to reach deeper, nose moving against your cheek.

There was a sudden shriek in your apartment.

You pushed Robby off, sitting up quick in bed.

“What?” he asked, far less alarmed then you as his arm fell around your waist.

“Trinity.”

Robby hummed. “Thought you said she was at Garcia's tonight?”

“I thought she was,” you uttered as if she was in the room.

The dating with Robby had started maybe three months ago when you'd had a disastrous date at the same bar Robby frequented with his buddy Duke. He'd seen the distress you were in with your date when he wouldn't stop talking about why sports people should actually get paid more than health care workers.

From there you had drinks with Robby.

From there he asked to see you again outside of work.

From there you ended up in his bed and he in yours on the occasions you had the place to yourself, which with two room mates didn't happen often.

You'd thought tonight was one of them.

“You should go,” you said, throwing the cover back to find your clothes in the dark.

“What?” Robby laughed, without moving. Instead he got himself comfortable, throwing an arm around the back of his head and tugging the covers down to his waist.

“Yes, do you want Trinity to know?”

“She doesn't sleep in your room though does she?”

Still, you tried to find some clothes.

The word around the PTMC was that Robby was a seven week itch kind of guy, the sort to never tie himself down. So though you'd been on dates with him and though he'd brought you flowers before and held your hands in bars and took you to a fancy dinner, he still fucked you like a guy that could move on the next day.

And you didn't want to scare him away with talk of serious dating. A bit of Robby was better than none of him.

You just didn't want your friends to judge you for that.

“Hey-hey-” Robby moved over on the bed, arm darting out to wrap around your waist and tug you back in.

You couldn't even protest before he was pulling you into him, hooking one of his large legs over yours and trapping you in. Your quilt was pulled up and his head rested next to yours.

At least when you and Robby were done with the sex you never kicked each other out of bed. But you did go into work separately.

“But-”

“-I'll be out of here first thing in the morning.”

With his arms around you and his calming breath you didn't think you could push him off you if you wanted to.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Robby kissed the blade of your shoulder and for the rest of the night that was how you were and when you woke in the morning with two hours to spare before your shift started, Robby was already gone.

“So who's the lucky guy?”

You chocked on your coffee, peering next to you at Trinity. “What?”

She smirked, leaning on the locker next to yours. “Oh come on, I heard you last night.”

The bitter taste of black coffee turned to ash in your stomach. She'd heard. Or worse, she'd been up to see Robby sneak out in the morning.

“What-what do you mean?” play it cool, you could totally starve of the humiliation. Maybe you could persuade her it was a dream, a nightmare, that she was sleepwalking and actually heard/saw/knew nothing.

“I heard you last night,” she said. “Quite the dicking down from what it sounded like.”

You felt the heat in your cheeks. “Oh my god.”

“Hey, I think its good, you deserve it,” said Santos as you hid yourself in your locker, taking great care in peeling off your jacket and finding your stethoscope inside. “So is it someone I know, or...”

She didn't know. You rejoiced silently before realising she still knew there was someone. “That is none of your business.”

“Oh come on, you know Garcia!”

“Because she works here.”

“Does he work here?”

“No!” you close the locker door, not as amused as Trinity was clearly finding this situation. “Please, he's just... a guy.”

She leaned in closer for the gossip. Few things got her as excited as gossip did. “A boyfriend guy or a sleep around guy?”

Wasn't that the golden question.

“Oh my god, you don't know.”

“Santos!” the call of her name should have saved you. Not when it was Robby calling for her as he stood between the two of you. “Pelvic exam in three.”

She groaned but gave a salute. “You got it boss,” she said to him before aiming a finger at you. “This isn't over.”

Santos had turned, leaving and you hardly waited anytime to turn back to the lockers and bash your head into them. Not enough to hurt but enough to erase the terrible fact that Santos had heard you.

Robby liked hearing you moan and you liked Robby so you always moaned loud.

And she'd caught enough of it.

Usually, you wished for Robby to be a bit louder in bed. You were glad he hadn't been.

The cold metal of the locker was replaced on what might have been your twentieth go at hitting yourself with the back of a rough hand.

“Everything okay?” asked Robby, coming to stand next to you, leaning on the lockers. His eyes creased with concern.

“She knows.”

His brows shot up, which didn't indicate a good reaction. “She knows?”

“Not about you, don't worry,” you said with a light scoff. “She knows that I had a good time with a guy last night, she doesn't know who.”

Robby nodded in consideration. “So we're in the clear?”

You screwed your eyes shut. You hadn't realised just how bad you wanted him to shrug it off, tell you he didn't care if Trinity knew, that of everyone in the ward knew, that he only cared about what it meant between the two of you. You only realised when he didn't give you that option.

He wanted to be sure he wasn't affiliated with it.

“Yeah, you're in the clear.”

You left Robby at the lockers before suspicions could grow. Nothing wrong with a resident talking to their attending and so far you and Robby had done a good job at not having any suspicion- not even from Dana.

The least you could do for the guy was keep it that way.

“You had a hot date last night?” Princess slid up to your side before you were even half way across the ward.

You groaned. “Santos told you already.”

“Why didn't you say anything?”

“Say anything about what?” Javadi's voice suddenly came from Doctor McKay's side. The older woman tried to act uninterested but her keen eyes were watching you from over the computer.

“She had a date around hers last night,” said Perhlah, coming up to your other side.

“And she won't tell us who it was,” added Princess.

Javadi's smile grew and her jaw hung open. “Who?”

You shook your head and stared at your shoes. “This is the worst day of my life.”

“Okay!” Robby's voiced boomed out. He clapped his hands, gaining everyone's attention. “We have patients, how about we go ask them some riveting questions?”

Mel frowned from somewhere in the crowd that had formed. “We should go ask them if they know who the guy is?”

She realised quickly that wasn't quite what he meant.

Perlah and Princess walked off together, quietly scheming. “Men just don't get it.”

You gulped down, smoothing your hand over your head and where the growing headache was forming. “Thanks.”

Robby said nothing but there was the brief feel of his hands on your shoulders as he squeezed before moving past you.

It was going on lunch, you'd just gotten a trauma through and up to the OR when you spotted bright post-it notes stuck up on the board in Ahmed's office. The betting board, his mini kingdom had been put back together.

Three titles.

Who?

How long?

Casual or dating?

“Oh my god!” your shriek echoed around the Pitt.

“What? What is it? What?” Robby was at your side in an instant, body almost slamming into you with how quick he slid next to you. He steadied himself, holding on.

“That!”

Ahmed had set up a betting board based on your love life.

The who column was spread with names and the name of those that had bet scribbled underneath. In the middle there was how long had it been going on for, some thought it was only a few weeks, others guessed up to six months.

The last column, wondering if it was a casual thing or serious was filled with almost every post it note saying 'casual'.

“Oh,” Robby chuckled.

“It's not funny,” you argued. “Has every body here bet?”

“Not me, I had no idea. Besides I think that's kind of cheating, right?”

“I see you've found my latest and greatest,” said Ahmed, approaching behind the two of you. “We got this up and running two hours ago, you want me to break it down for you?”

“Holy shit,” you uttered, scanning the board. It was a great and easy way to find out what everyone thought about you.

Robby nodded, leaning on the door next to you. “Holy shit.”

“How much money's in the pot?” you asked.

Ahmed grinned like he was just waiting for you to ask. “Five-hundred and five dollars!”

Robby chocked on a breath next to you as your jaw hung open.

Someone was gonna make money of your guys' sex lives and none of that was going to come to you.

“And I'm guessing I can't get in on it?” you asked.

“No," said Ahmed. “Unless, you know, you wanna tell me who it is and I'll split the money between us.”

“And who do you think it is?” asked Robby. He asked casually, still leaning on the doorframe like he couldn't care less. If he was a girl in a rom-com he might have even checked on his nails or twirled his hair. But you'd studied him close the last couple months, you'd worked all his emotions out into your own little Robby dictionary.

There was a hint of jealousy.

“Well, I've gone with the fan favourite,” he said, plucking off his post it note to show you. “Frank. Three months. And serious.”

“Langdon!” Robby announced.

Uh-oh.

“Yeah, man,” he said. “More than half these notes say it's him.”

On further reading you noticed it did. On yellows and pinks and greens Frank's name was written in quick scribbles or thought out curves.

Frank? Sure the two of you were close. You'd worked close together for a year- nearly two. You worked coordinated well in traumas and with patients you always knew what the other was thinking.

Since his divorce with you'd been helping him as much as you could. You had a friend who was a good lawyer and when he had a chance to see the kids you always covered.

You knew, of course, everything that had happened with the benzos.

You knew Robby still wasn't back to being best-buds with the guy.

You didn't know everyone thought you and Frank were together!

Donnie side stepped past you, coming in with his bets. “I got it, I got it-”

Robby snatched them from his hand, scoffing at whatever was written.

“Langdon. Two weeks and serious.”

“Et-tu, Donnie?” you asked.

“I got fifty in the pool, looking to get a new tv, you know.”

Robby stormed off.

Donnie watched. “He got a bet in?”

“Not yet, sorry, you don't mind?” asked Ahamed.

You scoffed. “Do I have a choice?”

You left them to it, finding Robby sitting at the nurses station at a computer. His jaw clenched and fingers worked furiously over the keypads. You evaluated the area before leaning in. “If you put a pool in we could split the money?”

“Should I put a bet in for Langdon?” He didn't look up to you as he slid on his glasses.

It angered you because he seemed annoyed at something he knew not to be true and because he slid on the glasses that made him even hotter than he already was.

“Is there something wrong, Robby?”

“No.”

“You seem-”

“- I'm not,” he snapped.

He was.

Robby wouldn't admit how much he let his emotions rule, especially anger. He used to be terrible for it but for a while he'd been better, lighter on his feet, patient. Since about.... well, since you started seeing each other.

“Hey.” Langdon joined your side.

You noticed a vein in Robby's neck twitch. “Hey.”

“You seen what everyone's saying?” asked Frank. “Apparently we're seeing each other?”

“Yeah,” you said, turning to him. “I had no idea.”

“You think I should buy a ring next?” he teased.

Robby slammed his hands on the counter, pushing himself up and storming off without so much as a glance.

Frank watched. “What's his problem?”

What was his problem? You'd love to know. “He had a bet on someone else,” you excused.

“Oh bummer,” said Frank. “You think he lost a lot of money?”

You didn't have time to come up with another lie as you spotted Santos and Whitaker walking by. Politely, you ditched Frank, promising you'd catch him for lunch.

“Did you start a betting system on my sex life?” you asked Trinity.

She smirked. “That wasn't me, I had nothing to do with that, seriously!”

“It's true,” said Denis. “But she was the first to put down a bet on Frank.”

You looked at her. You knew the history between her and Frank. Why would she want you to sleep with him? “You hate Frank?”

She shrugged. “So I guessed you were sleeping with him and didn't want to tell me because you know I don't like him.”

You shook your head. “I didn't want to tell you because it's none of your business.” You considered Whitaker. “Who'd you bet for?”

“I-I didn't, I-I wouldn't-”

“He bet on Nick from radiology.”

All of this from Robby sleeping with you in your apartment. Next time- if there was even gong to be a next time- you were doing it at his.

By the end of your shift anyone that hadn't placed a bet had.

Franks name had doubled and the pot was up to one thousand dollars (the highest bet in Pitt history). Frank found it funny, cracking jokes about it all day, throwing arms around you and dragging you onto cases saying 'couples that save lives together, stay together.'

Any other time you'd have laughed.

But when Robby was around every corner, glaring yet refusing to talk to you you couldn't find amusement in it.

The night had come and you were catching a break at the ambulance bay, sitting down on the curb. You were home in an hour, Denis had already gone to Amy's to deliver a lamb or something and Santos was supposed to be at Garcia's tonight.

But you highly doubted you'd have company.

“Hey,” Jack greeted, walking over to you in his midnight scrubs and bag slung over his shoulder. “How's my favourite day shift resident?”

You smiled a tired one at him. “How much money do you have in your wallet?”

Without a beat Jack fetched it and offered you what he had. Because that's the kind of guy Jack was.

“No, no,” you chuckled. “I don't need your cash. There's a betting pool on about who I'm sleeping with. I just- I was gonna ask you to not place a bet.”

Jack laughed, setting next to you on the curb, stretching out his prosthetic leg. “Would be a bit unfair seeing's as I'm best pals with the guy you're dating.”

“Not dating,” you corrected. “Probably not even seeing each other after today.”

Jack listened as you explained the distance, the glares, the snapping that returned to Robby. He didn't jump to defend his friend, he listened to you and took notes mentally. “The guys an emotional wreck. You know that. I know that.”

“But I thought he was doing better?”

“He was- is. Since he started dating you,” he said. “You ask me he's dealing with some emotions he doesn't know how to process. Jealousy. Greed. What's the other deadly sin?”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Lust?”

“Yeah. That.”

“So I'm supposed to what? Let him be a dick all over again?”

“Oh fuck no,” said Jack firmly. “Put him in his place.”

Admittedly you didn't want to. You wanted to go back to being whatever it was you had with Robby. You wanted to hold hands and share beers in shitty bars at least an hour out of town so it was kept a secret. You wanted the brush of hands between the rush of patients and the discreet meetings at his or yours.

But how far were you willing to bend before you broke?

“So who's everyone putting bets on anyway?” Jack asked.

“Frank.”

Understanding of the situation hit him. “Ah.”

“Yeah. Ah.”

Suddenly the wail of an ambulance cut through the quiet.

The doors burst open, Robby, Santos, King, Jesse all pouring out.

“GSW to the chest, forty-two year old male, weak pulse, un-conscious on the ride over,” said Robby tugging on his gloves as you and Jack jumped up. He spared a glance at the two of you before the ambulance pulled up.

You jumped into it, wheeling the gurney ahead into trauma two. Everyone working around the man.

“Okay we move him on the count of three,” said Jack as you all got a hold of the patient. “One... two... three!”

He was heavier than some, not that it would effect your level of care but it made moving him just that but more difficult. There was a breath of air and struggle from Jack and Robby, the noises you had to drown out.

“Lets get an intubation tray going!” called Robby.

The two of you crossed each other, swapping sides.

“Can we talk later?” he uttered as he paused for only a second.

“Whatever, Robby.”

He sighed heavy.

The rest of you carried on gaging the extent of his injury.

“So do you want me out the apartment tonight so your man friend can come around?” asked Santos at your side.

“I want you out cause I'm annoyed at you.”

“Ouch.”

“Okay we need to turn him to see if it went through, on my say!” yelled Robby.

The team had thinned as orders had been barked, there were two of you on either side of him: Robby and Jack, and you and Santos.

Robby passed a nod. “Okay, roll!”

You and Trinity pulled while the men on the other side pushed but maybe Robby didn't have a good grip or maybe he hadn't expected him to be so heavy.

Robby grunted and groaned. “Ah, urg-”

“Not through,” Jack grunted.

You tried to lower him as slow as you could but it wasn't slow enough as Robby's hand got trapped under.

“Oh! Fuck me!”

You and Jack lifted the body quick and Robby released his hand.

Santos was frozen.

The whole room seemed to pause for a second.

“Oh my god!” Santos cheered, arms thrown wide. “Oh my god, oh my god!”

What was wrong with her?

It took you a second to realise, memory of last night coming to you.

Robby over you, thrusting careful.

Your body moved with his thrusts but you wrapped your legs around him, pushing his pelvis in till you felt the length of him deep. “Deeper, harder,” you'd begged.

Robby had groaned out loud, just the way you liked to hear him. “Oh! Fuck me!”

He'd uttered the words into you as he pressed his weight down, squashing you onto your squeaky bed. He'd wrapped his hands around your neck, squeezing just enough to have your walls fluttering around his cock.

Santos had been home longer than you'd thought.

Now, she was practically jumping up and down, smirking. “Oh my god!”

“Trinity can I talk to you outside please?”

“It's- you- and-” her arms were waving around.

“Outside, please, Trinity!”

Everyone was staring.

“Trinity, outside!” You guided her out and she let you, abandoning the trauma and ripping off her gown. You returned, finding Robby's gaze and Jack's amused grin as he tended to the patient. “Sorry, Doctor Robby, may I talk to Santos outside for a moment?”

Robby must have jumped to the same conclusion as you. “Er yes, yes! Of course, go!”

You rushed out, nudging Trinity into an empty exam room as she laughed. You closed the door and pulled the curtain over the glass.

“It's Doctor Robby!” she said at once. “It's Doctor Robby! You're sleeping with Doctor Robby!”

“Can you keep your voice down?”

Santos laughed again, a full belly laugh. “Oh my god, this whole time I thought it was Frank. Oh, I'm so happy.” She wiped at amused tears.

“Hey!”

“How long have you been sleeping with him?”

You shook your head, tugging off your own hospital gown. “It doesn't matter.”

Finally Trinity considered you. Her laughter died. “What-what do you mean?”

How could you explain that what she'd heard last night was over hardly twenty-four hours later.

The door pushed open and Robby stepped through, gown and gloves already gone.

“Is everything okay in here?” he asked, looking between the two of you.

“You and you?” Trinity confirmed, finger gesturing between the two of you.

Robby ran his hands through the back of his hair.

“I just can't believe it,” she said. “You guys are dating?”

Robby sighed out a “yes” at the same time you shook your head, “no”

Now, Robby looked at you.

Santos folded her arms over her chest, smirking and watching like the two of you were her favourite show. “Oh.”

Robby's hands fell to his hips as he looked at you. “What do you mean, no?”

“What do you mean, yes?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean?” he chuckled.

Your rubbed at your temples. “I'm so confused.”

“You're confused, I'm confused,” Robby scoffed.

“Wait- I'm confused,” said Santos. “You guys don't know if you're dating or not?”

Robby's eyes squeezed shut in frustration. “Doctor Santos, please. Go make yourself useful.”

Trinity didn't move. She looked at you, waiting for what you wanted. Because yes, Robby was her attending but you were her friend. When she was insecure about Garcia you were there telling her how much better she could do.

In the hospital Santos was guided under Robby.

At home, she was guided by friendship and care for you.

You gave her a nod and she dismissed herself.

You didn't know where to look, didn't know where to touch.

Outside the usual routine of the Pitt carried on.

Robby sighed, hands going into his fleece pocket. “You didn't know we were dating?”

No, you really didn't. “Was I supposed to? You never asked.”

He shook his head, looking down with a chuckle. He started to list things off, counting them off on his fingers. “Flowers, dinners, day trips, was that not enough?”

“But you never said!”

“I thought it was obvious!”

“Obvious to who?”

“To us!” His hands fell to your forearms.

“No to you maybe!”

“So the dinners... the flowers, you thought it was all just, just sex?” he asked.

You'd hoped it was more. You'd dreamt about it when his weight kept you down on his bed after you kissed and made love for hours. Love...

“I... yeah.”

How long had you thought him the bad guy? Were you the one that had been distant, pulling away?

You carried yourself away from him, sitting on the edge of the bed. You never realised how uncomfortable those things were.

Robby laughed to himself, standing for a moment longer. He checked that nobody was around through the curtain before he settled next to you. He shuffled, his bodies attention focused on you. He laid a hand on your knee, tilting his head to try to look at you. “I should have asked, properly.”

“It would've saved confusion,” you admitted.

Robby's hand came up, cradling your face and drawing your attention to him. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over your cheek.

You looked at him, finding nothing but warmth in his gaze. The only thing that had been there for three months. “But today, you... you could hardly look at me.”

He took in a deep breath. “I was...” his jaw ticked.

You smirked. “Jealous?”

His eyes flickered back to yours. “Nobody on that board thought I could be dating you.”

“Till about two seconds ago I didn't even know we were dating,” you joked.

Robby shook his head, wetting his lips. “We are.”

“You're not even going to ask me?”

“I don't need to,” he said. “We're dating, that okay with you?” His face inched closer.

“I don't know, I might have to ask Frank that one,” you teased.

Robby leant back, a dark look to him. The hand caressing you fell to your neck, keeping you looking at him. “You think that's funny?”

“Everyone else thinks so-”

He pulled you in by your neck and kissed you, hard, the imprint of his teeth felt through your lips.

You held onto him, kissing him with a new need. Kissing your boyfriend. Your hands wound around his head and you brought him down on top of you.

Robby climbed atop the bed that was not made for heavy make out sessions. He held the edge with one hand and the other fell down your body till it could crawl up your scrub top, un-tucking it and holding onto your hips.

He bit down on your lip and used the opening of your mouth to slide in his tongue.

“This is un-professional,” you said against his lips.

“I've been wanting to be un-professional for months.”

You were so lost in the feel of each other you didn't notice the curtain being yanked back until you heard.

“We got him stable,” said Jack, casually. “Oh and you've got an audience.”

You looked over Robby's shoulder as he looked back to see nosey nurses and night shifters along with half the day staff all looking at you.

You tapped his shoulder and though resigned to, Robby slowly climbed off you.

“Who put down Robby?” Ahmed called. “Did anyone bet Robby?”

The crowd that had watched you both suddenly rushed to the board, scanning the name.

Eventually you and Robby joined, waiting.

“Oh my god.”

“There he is, Robby, one vote!”

Robby's head perked in confusion.

“Who is it? Who?”

Ahmed collected the money and made his way through the people. To the one who had made a bet on Robby. “Doctor Robby, three months, and serious.”

He delivered the money- to everyone's shock- to Frank.

Your jaw hung open as Frank collected the money.

Everyone looked at him, silent.

You couldn't tell if next to you Robby was okay with it or angered.

Frank looked around at everyone. “C'mon, nobody else saw it? He's been happier for three months and can't take his eyes off her.”

Clealry, nobody had.

“I thought you didn't bet?” you asked him.

Frank shrugged, bashful. “Yeah well, couldn't help myself. Here-” Langdon held out the wad of cash to Robby's hand, practically forcing it in. “Take her somewhere nice.”

You wished you had a camera to capture Robby's shock.

“Okay folks! Show's over!” called out Dana. “Day shift let's pass on to night so we can get out of here to have some fun!” she winked your way.

Slowly the crowd dissipated, shaking their heads in disappointment.

Ahmed was already pulling off the notes and rubbing away at the board.

Robby waved the cash in front of you. “What do you say, you gonna let your boyfriend treat you tonight?”

“Well I think we worked hard for it, don't you?”

[redsakura101]

Of Sirens & Sharks

Dr Brendon Park x Police Officer!Reader, Dr Robby x Sister!Reader

Find My Pitt Masterlist here As requested here by @barnes70stark hope you enjoy! ♥️ A broken arm. An overprotective brother. Who simply wants to make sure everything’s in order. Who demands the best of care for you. Happens to lead you to a very handsome orthopaedic specialist… Who on any other occasion would have been annoyed with such a minor case.…but just perhaps. His annoyance dims when he meets you. The trouble is. Neither of you know how to tell Robby…

Notes: some strong language, injuries, medical innacuracies, overprotective Robby as your brother, and well Brendon Park being too handsome for a quick consult. slight secret relationship 💗

Word Count: ~5.1k

When you woke up today. 

Everything seemed to play out just as usual. 

The day had started with a cup of coffee to jolt your senses awake. To melt the sleep from your muscles and dissipate the fatigue in your eyes. 

Driving through the streets in the early morning, just before the rush, before the office workers and school kids, before the traffic could slow into a crawl. 

You went into work, like usual. 

Got kitted up. Had a morning debrief, enjoying the brief chatter of the morning, the highlights from the night crew. 

And just before you set out for patrol. 

A small message pinged upon your phone. 

Mikey: [ be safe ]

It was a habit. It was a ritual. 

Whenever you were working, you could always count on a message at the start of each shift. 

And as usual your fingers move deftly across the screen as you reply. 

You: [ always am ;) ]  You: [ hope it’s quiet for you ]

You send the message with a teasing grin, noting the small bubble appearing as he texts. 

Mikey: [ fuck off ]

You snort before slipping your phone away – you knew full well what it meant to mention the quiet word in an ER. 

It was like saying Macbeth in a theatre. 

Simply baiting for trouble. 

Time to head out for patrols. 

Too bad that trouble was headed your way. And not Michael’s.

…

Fucking hell.

Your head throbbed, blinking as the bright lights are harsh above you, making your eyes squint from the rude awakening. 

“Hey stay awake for us”

The words sound fuzzy as you reluctantly try to focus your attention. 

The snapping of fingers ring from above, while your partner’s footsteps echo beside you, with the squeaking of gurney wheels. The rough cotton scratchy beneath your fingers. 

Groaning slightly as you shift, a pain shooting up from your arm. 

“Just stay still, you’re going to be fine”

Going into the ER was not something you thought was going to happen today. 

“She’s going to be fine right?” 

“That’s what we’re here for” 

Especially to be wheeled into the place your brother affectionately called…The Pitt. 

“Oh shit–” A familiar voice breaks your fog, “Someone get Robby!”

A hand clasps yours, a slight squeeze, “You’re going to be okay, Y/N” 

“I know Jack–it’s just a hell of a headache,” you lightly laugh, before shifting into groan. A sense of relief enters Jack’s system at your humour. 

He nods towards your partner dismissing them, insisting they go get some coffee or something. 

You were a little roughed up, a little worse for wear – but so far. You seemed okay. 

Soon the moving stops. 

You’re shifted over to a bed. 

Trying to steady your breathing, as your eyes readjust to the brightness. To the sounds. The constance of the beeping, the murmurs of voices, the clatter and movement of steps. All flooding your senses. 

Doing nothing to help your headache.

And then you hear him. 

Your brother.

“What the–”

Jack does his best to quell Robby, “Now before you freak out brother, just relax. She’s okay–”

“If she were okay she wouldn’t be in the emergency room,” Michael retorted. 

Jack shrugged in mild agreement, “Sorry kid, I tried” 

You rolled your eyes, before wincing again. 

Michael’s quick to move by your side. Slipping into habit, as he goes through the checks. Behaving as a doctor and as your overly concerned brother all at once. 

A light flashing across your eyes. 

“Pupils equal”

You stifled the groan, nose scrunching, “Oh come on”

“Follow my finger” 

“You’re the worst,” you complained. No malice behind your words, simply annoyance. One often foundered between a lifetime of teasing remarks and playful jabs. 

“Follow the finger,” he repeats. 

And so you did. With a small roll of your eyes before complying. 

“Any loss of consciousness?” 

“Maybe” 

He looked at you expectantly, “Maybe isn’t an answer”

“Then yes–for a few seconds…”

He sighed. The sigh of a man who had spent decades with the stubbornness of patients…And decades dealing with you. 

While adding notes to your chart, he put in a request for a CT. Making sure to mark it urgent. 

Jack had slipped in for just a moment handing a cup of water to you and some pills, “Tylenol, for the headache,” you nodded towards him before he ducked out once more. 

“What happened?” Michael crossed his arms. 

He knew you had a risky job. He knew what you put on the line each time you put on your uniform. 

He knew that you were lucky. 

That today you were ok. 

But that didn’t make him worry any less. 

You chewed the inside of your cheek before replying, “Domestic disturbance–”

You watched as his jaw tightened. Lips pulled into a thin line. You knew that look in his eyes. It appeared every time you recounted a story like this. 

He hated when you were called into violent scenes. 

He never said. 

He never asked you to quit. 

But you knew he hated it. 

It was just something he couldn’t shake. And as he was your older brother…there was nothing you could do to make his worries stop. 

“Guy came at my partner with a pipe–and so I got between them,” you explained, trying to be brief. The less he knew the better. 

“With your head?” he retorted dryly. The slightest tone of reprimand seeping in. 

You snorted, making light of your situation, “Apparently” 

Whilst Michael pinches the bridge of his nose. 

The exhaustion finally showed. In the midst of shift change as it dragged on. Already drowning in patients. And now this. 

You watched him carefully. 

The tylenol kicks in, helping to quell the ache in your head. 

“You’re looking tired” 

“Look who’s talking,” he replied. Before it shifts into something softer, “You scared me”

You murmured back, “I know. I’m sorry”

Reaching out to grasp his hand, with a slight squeeze. Whilst Michael shook his head. Not angry. Never angry. Just worried. 

“You don’t have to apologise” 

It hangs in the air, a quiet understanding. 

Before he breaks the silence once more. 

“We’re getting a CT” 

“I figured”

“Probably just a simple fracture,” he said in regards to your arm.

“Good”

“No arguments,” he said with raised brows as he looked at you. 

“I literally haven’t argued” 

He sent you a pointed look. 

Both of you knew that it was a complete lie, but he simply sighed. A small quirk of his lip, “I’m glad you’re ok”

“Me too–Was worried I wasn’t going to be able to annoy you for the rest of your life,” you grinned cheekily. 

 He lightly shoves your arm, with a small scoff, “Maybe I should find a pipe of my own”

“You wouldn’t dare,” you smiled, “You’d miss me too much”

“Sure” 

A nurse enters the room, “We’re ready for your CT now”

Michael nods, before looking back at you, “I’ll see you once you’re back”

…

On your way back from the CT, you had caught Jack’s attention

“You gotta talk sense into him, he needs to calm down,” you pleaded. Half jokingly and half serious. 

Jack looked at you, leaning against the hub, “You do it.” 

“He listens to you,” you retort. 

“Fuck off, he doesn’t listen to anybody”

Dana lifts her eyes from the computer looking up at you both, before asking, “Who doesn’t listen?”

“Robby,” you replied in sync. To which she snorted with a nod of her head. 

Jack relents with a sigh, patting your shoulder, “I’ll do my best”

“Thanks,” you said, gratefully before being wheeled away. 

The CT had come back clean. 

Mild concussion. 

With a side of a nasty headache. Nothing that a little rest and recovery couldn’t heal. 

Which meant that Michael was now focused on the injury that made your arm throb and sent a shooting pain up your arm with each movement or jostle. 

X-rays taken. 

You watched as Michael fretted over reviewing the scans. 

Fortunately.

The fracture wasn't terrible. Just a simple clean break through the radius.

No surgery likely needed.

But it would need immobilization.

And Michael clearly wasn't interested in letting just anybody touch it. While you heard him speaking quietly at the desk outside your bay.

A few moments later just outside the curtain separating you from the chaos, you hear a low, annoyed voice, "Seriously?” before sighing, “Robby, it's a fracture."

"I know," Michael responds. 

"It's not even displaced" Park looks at Michael blankly. It was the end of his shift, he had just come out of his last surgery of the day when he had been paged down to the ER. 

And now this.

"I know"

"So why are you looking at me like somebody's dying?"

"Because it's my sister"

A pause.

Then–

"Oh," Park offers a curt nod. “Fine”

The curtain slid open, as you finally associate the voice with a face. A strong jawline, dark hair slicked back. The furrow of his brows, and those deep eyes that resembled the waves of the ocean as it sent a chill down your spine–

Fucking hell those drugs are definitely messing with me. 

“Hi,” you said. 

While Michael appears behind him, you groan out, “Come on Michael, I’m a big girl, I’m sure you’ve still got plenty to do out there–”

“But–” he goes to argue. 

While you jut your head, you said pointedly, “Go” 

He relents before muttering to Park, “Find me when you’re done” 

Park simply nods.

While Michael disappears once more, leaving you both in peace. 

You sigh, eyes watching Park as he works on your arm, “Thanks for coming but I’m sure its not that serious, my brother’s just being dramatic”

“Just means he cares,” he says, the words clipped. 

You nod in thought. 

Eyes simply watching him as he assesses your arm, how his eyes flick to scan over the imaging. 

“So–Ortho surgeon right?”

“How’d you know I’m not an ER doc?” he asked without looking up at you. 

You grin with a sarcastic remark, “Might have something to do with your excellent bedside manner”

At your words, his lips lift at the corners. Small. But it was there. 

And it made your chest bubble with warmth. 

It was hard to deny that he was handsome. 

“So tell me doc, am I gonna live?” you questioned, feigning seriousness. 

“I think you’ll make it,” he plays along. 

“In all seriousness, how long do you think it’ll take?” 

He leans back, eyes lifting to meet yours. 

Taken aback for just a second. 

Before clearing his throat, “Maybe 6 to 8 weeks, once the swelling goes down, you’ll be put in a cast”

You huff lightly in annoyance, “Just means I’ll be desk jockeying for a bit”

He raises a brow at you in silent question. 

“I’m a cop–It’s how I got into this mess in the first place”

“Well let’s get you fixed up Officer,” he nodded. 

Soft and gentle as he handled your arm, working to splint it – stabilising it in place. 

Leaving the room once finished. Caught by the bay as Robby intercepts him. Asking enough questions to give him a headache. 

It wasn’t often that Park would see Robby lose his composure. 

“How is she?”

“Robby you know as well as I do, that she’s going to be fine,” he responded, with an arched brow. 

“Just wanted the best person for the job”

Now those words had made Brendon soften just a little. He nodded in understanding, “She’s fine. Just needs to rest her arm over the next few weeks”

Park’s eyes fixate on the door up ahead, as he notices you slip out of your room, before turning a corner. 

“I’ve got to get going–”

“Of course, thanks again Park”

“Anytime”

Robby chuckled, “Now I know you don’t mean that”

Park simply waves him off. 

Robby the least bit aware of the fact that Park went off to trail after you. 

But this wasn’t missed by Jack who raised a brow as he watched him disappear after you. A small smirk forming on his lips. 

Park rounds the corner, only to find you at the vending machine.  

“Fucking shit box,” you mutter staring angrily at the machine. 

Staring at the snack dangle, caught by the wires. 

“Here, let me–” he offered. Before whacking the side, bumping out two of the snacks. He crouches down to fish them out from the machine. 

“Pretty sure that’s illegal,” you state with a small amused smile. 

“I won’t tell, if you won’t”

Letting out a small laugh, “Deal” 

He passes the chocolate bar to you, “Kit kat?” 

“What can I say, I’m a woman of refined taste,” you joked to which he softly chuckled, before you added, “I just realised I never got your name”

“Brendon Park” 

Nodding at his words, “Nice to meet you Park”

“Call me Brendon,” he followed up. Unsure as to where this boldness was coming from. 

You were Robby’s sister…He shouldn’t be doing this…and yet. He couldn’t stop himself but be intrigued by you…

“And you can call me–”Your fingers pluck the pen from his scrub pocket, tugging his hand into your grasp, whilst you write out your number upon his arm, “Y/N” 

Nodding in satisfaction from your handiwork, you place the pen back into his pocket with a small tap to his chest, “Just in case you ever wanna check up on me”

He raises a brow, the small lift of his lip, “Might take you up on that”

“I hope you do,” Your eyes flick back to where you came from, “I should get going otherwise Mikey’s going to flip the fuck out if I’m not there.”

His eyes follow your figure as you disappear back into the ER. Once out of sight, his eyes trace the numbers on his arm. 

A smile formed on his lips. 

You can bet that he was definitely going to check up on you.

It had started out with a few messages. 

Which led to a phone call. 

Which turned into a coffee, a meet up. 

Brendon was kidding himself by thinking it wasn’t anything more than just a friendship. 

And you weren’t any better, each time his name popped up on your screen it sent a jolt to your heart. 

That coffee had developed into catching up over dinner. 

Until soon, weeks had passed, your arm had healed, and neither of you could pinpoint just exactly when the excuse ‘checking up on a patient’ stopped applying. 

You both knew that this could get messy if taken further. 

If things didn’t work out–

Worse. If things did work out. It would only be a matter of time until your secret would be up. 

Until your brother would know. 

And neither of you quite knew how he might take the news. 

But Brendon was called to you, he drifted towards your presence, your company. He cherished his time with you. 

And so he took a leap. 

After a dinner that you both tried to deny was a date. 

Standing in the evening air, stood outside your doorstep while he dropped you off. Brendon’s hand, warm against your skin, steady as he cups your cheek. 

Your breath caught in your chest. Skin burning beneath. 

Eyes flickering from his eyes to his mouth. 

Until. 

They crashed and melded against each other. Weeks of longing poured into the kiss. Of unspoken desires whispered across your lips. 

You had expected him to be rougher. 

But he wasn’t. His lips were firm, moving with purpose against yours, but never taking more than you offered, as your arms curled around his neck. Fingers dancing across the back of his neck. 

Sighing into one another. 

Knowing that this. This was where you both wanted to be. Intertwined within each other's arms. 

Being together was the easy part. 

In the relaxed evenings spent at yours or his, with the playful conversations. 

“Are you even listening?” Brendon stops talking about his surgery today, while you simply gazed at him. 

“Hm?”

“We can talk about something else–” He goes on to say. Noticing your drifting attention. 

You wave a hand, “I’ll be honest, I stopped listening five minutes ago”

He raises a brow at you in question, “You asked”

“I know,” you nodded. 

“Then why ask?” 

You tilted your head as you gazed at him, shrugging lightly, “I like hearing you talk”

Your hands reached across to lace with his. 

Soon your lives melded together. His home became dotted with your things, as your own started harbouring his clothes. 

Your favourite nights involved the simplicity of being held by him, as his arms wrapped around you, grounding you in the moment, the tensions of the day melting away. 

The way he’d remember your coffee order. 

Or was thoughtful enough to know the things you enjoyed. 

Simple and small. 

But it made your heart swell at his consideration. 

Once back on patrol there were times you had to drop off patients to the hospital, and if ever that hospital happened to be PTMC.

Well…

Lets just say you always found a reason to go find your boyfriend. 

The only problem with this of course. 

Was that your brother worked there too. 

You and Brendon were mindful to keep your relationship under wraps, to be aware of whoever was passing. 

The closest you had been to getting caught happened six months since you had first met Brendon, five months since you started dating him. 

And here you were, standing far too close to Brendon. 

Closer than what could be considered platonic. 

Smiling as you feel a heat rise up to your cheeks as Brendon murmurs how good you look in uniform.

The slight quirk of his lip.

“Y/N?” 

The two of you nearly jumped out of your skin. Whilst you stepped back quickly, eyes lifting to see Michael headed towards you. 

A chill shooting up your spine as though dumped on by a bucket of water.

“Hey Mikey,” you grinned. Knowing that the nickname irked him. 

His eyes narrowed as they flickered between you both, “Hi…What are you doing here?” 

“Vending machine”

“Vending machine” 

You both answered at the same time, gesturing to said machine, with a sheepish smile upon your face. 

“Uh, I was dropping someone off here, and well I was a bit snackish. Bumped into Bre–Park on the way here”

Michael nodded, “Right,” not quite believing you, “We’re still on for this Friday?” 

You nod, “So long as your shift doesn’t run over time”

He smiles at you, before turning away. 

Your tense shoulders relax as soon as he disappears from view. 

“Friday?” Brendon asks, stepping closer to you once more, arms curling around your waist. 

You lean up pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, “I’m having dinner with Robby”

He shifts to glides his lips against yours once more, murmuring softly, lowly with a small nip to your lips, “Well then I’ll be at yours afterwards with dessert”

He feels your lips curl into a smile as he kisses you. 

…

It seems while your brother may not have realised the recent development in your personal life…

The same could not be said for a few others. 

You had walked into the ER, sharing quick hellos to those you passed, before stopping by the hub. Fingers gently tapping against the desk. 

Friday night had rolled around and you had insisted on meeting Michael at work – if only you could make sure he left at a decent time for dinner. 

While Michael was who knows where, saving lives. 

Jack had taken the opportunity to lean against the bench beside you. 

“What’s new with you?” he asked, cocking his head to face you. A knowing look brewing behind his eyes. 

“Nothing much–finally got off desk duty a few weeks ago which has been good”

He nods, “Right–anything else you want to share?” 

You think for a moment. 

“Do you promise not to tell?” your voice lowered. 

Once he agrees you say quietly, “So I’ve been seeing someone lately–it’s been going for a while. And…”

“And?”

“And I’m just not sure how to tell Mike,” you explained. Feeling the weight on your chest alleviate just a little.

“How do you think he’s going to react?” he lifts a brow in question. 

“Oh. Mike– Well I think he’ll take it well,” you reply. Trying to convince yourself. Even if you knew it was a lie. 

“Really?”

“No…” You sigh, with a small groan as you plop your head in your hands. “This is why I was never going to tell him–”

Jack looks at you sympathetically, “My advice. You should tell him before he figures it out himself”

You immediately grimaced.

Because that...

That was the nightmare scenario.

Not Michael finding out you were dating.

But Michael finding out you were dating Brendon Park, the very doctor he had told you stories about – how his cold demeanour had earned him the nickname Shark. 

The worst case scenario was Michael finding out about this, without either of you telling him.

And unfortunately…

Judging by the increasingly suspicious looks your brother had been giving both of you lately.

That clock was ticking. 

But then your attention is captured as Ellis leans against the bench on the other side of you with a wide grin, “I knew Emery wasn’t lying–” 

Your eyes widened, hands shifting to clasp her mouth shut, your head darting around to double check no one else heard, before your eyes land back on Ellis. 

“What’d Emery say?” Jack probed with a glint in his eyes. 

Shit. 

Emery and her big mouth. 

Ok maybe there were a few people who already knew about you and Brendon…

Most of your colleagues were in the know…

A few scrub nurses that had worked through enough surgeries with Brendon to know that he was in love…

And a few of the other surgeons…Such as Emery and Garcia.

At least Garcia knew when to keep her mouth shut. Unlike Emery…

Ellis peeled your hand away from her mouth, as a smirk stretched across her lips. Her tone hushed as she answered. 

“Just that a little shark might be feeling a little love for a certain officer”

Jack grins at the information. 

He already had a pretty good idea that it was Brendon you were referring to earlier. But it was nice to hear it confirmed, tucking away that information to share with Dana when he saw her later. 

You say panicked, “Shhh–Mike might hear you”

“So what’d you do to make him go all soft for you, hmm? How’d you lure him in?” She asked teasingly. 

You furrow your brows, “I don’t know what you’re implying”

She shrugs, jokingly retorting, “Just thought you’d have to be a siren to make Shark fall for you”

You stifle a laugh from her words. 

“So long as he makes you happy,” Jack adds.

You smiles softly, “Very”

He nods, “Good.”

“What’s good?” Michael’s voice cuts through. 

While both Jack and Ellis send you a grin while they walk away. 

You turn around to meet Michael’s gaze, “Just the place I picked for dinner, you good to go?” 

Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to tell Michael…as you thought over how to bring it up over dinner. 

“Get me out of here before I get pulled into another trauma,” he says, tiredness seeping into his tone. 

“Sounds good to me,” you agree.

But he stops short as he notices something. 

Brows furrowing as he takes in your jacket. A little unusual, and out of place on you. 

He hadn’t seen it before – so it was new and yet it seemed a little worn. It was oversized as it draped over your figure, and strangely, what caught him off guard was the light fresh scent emanating from it. 

“Is that new?” he asked. 

“Oh, uh, yeah. Kind of. Just trying something out,” you answered vaguely…

Shit. In a hurry you had plucked Brendon’s jacket on your way out.

You catch a glimpse of Jack and Dana sending you knowing looks. With teasing glints in their eyes. 

And then. 

The facade begins to crumble. 

“Hey N/N,” Emery spots you with a small nod. 

Michael looks at you in confusion, why would you know Emery…and why would she be calling you N/N…like she knew you?...

And before you could stop her, she sent you a shit eating grin, with a wink as she complimented, “–Shark’s jacket looks good on you”

Your breath hitches. 

Whilst Michael’s eyes snap back to you. 

Sharp and quick. 

Shock flooding his features. 

Everyone watching, bites their tongue as they wait to see what would unfold. Santos had tugged Whitaker to a stand still. Lena peered over with Dana and Jack by her side. Even Shen had stopped his slurping as he watched. 

“Shark?” 

A nervous laugh escapes you. “Uh. Yeah. About that–”

As if the timing couldn’t be any worse. The lift doors open. Brendon steps out, bag slung over his shoulder, for once choosing to exit the hospital through the ER exit…

He catches sight of you, and walks over.

Posture relaxed, trying to act casually. Nodding towards everyone, whilst med students and interns scatter, making way for him. 

Even out of his scrubs, his intimidating reputation rolled off of him in waves. 

You tug him to your side lightly, while he looks down at you with a furrow of his brows. 

You whisper, “He knows”

“He knows?” he echoes. 

You hum in acknowledgment. 

“Hey Robby,” he says with a slight cough, clearing his throat. Despite it all, he was remaining remarkably calm for someone who had just been exposed to how coworkers and the brother of the woman he had been secretly dating for months. 

Michael looked between the two of you once more. 

One question on his mind. 

“How long?”

The question hangs in the air. 

While your eyes flick between them both. 

Mind racing with how to explain this. Wondering how this happened. Shooting Emery a light glare. Before your eyes land back onto Michael. 

Damn it. You were so close to telling him over dinner…over a nice calm dinner…

“Uh–well,” your voice drags on. Unsure. Voice pitching higher for a moment, under nervousness. 

“How long?” 

Standing straighter, you regain a little courage, “Since I came in with my fractured arm…”

You watch him. 

“Since–” he starts before cutting himself off, mouth left agape. 

You watch as Michael takes in the news. 

You watch as his eyes shift between you and Brendon. To the jacket, to the way Brendon instinctively places a hand on your back in support. 

Before Michael’s eyes soften. 

“So this is why you’ve been so happy lately”

You nod, turning to look up at Brendon. At the familiar face. One that brought with it an onslaught of fond memories. 

The stubbornness.

The dry humor.

The way he'd checked on you every day after your injury.

The way he'd quietly become one of your favorite people.

Your smile came easily, “Might have something to do with it” 

Michael’s irritation fades. Replaced by something more familiar. 

Protectiveness. 

Not anger. 

Just the simple concern an older brother would hold for his sister. 

Then Michael looked at Brendon. 

Really looked at him. 

While they wouldn’t consider each other friends, they had respect for one another. Simply trying to figure out where the other stood in this moment now. 

The dynamics had shifted. 

Brendon stood tall beneath his gaze. 

Unwavering. 

Steady. 

Michael clicks his tongue, satisfied by what he could gather - it was obvious that Brendon cared for you. 

That this was more than a passing fascination. There was a look of softness in Brendon’s eyes, fondness as he looked at you. 

"Don't screw it up"

Brendon nodded once.

Simple.

Serious.

As he responded, "I won't,” And somehow that seemed to satisfy Michael more than any long speech could have.

"Wait,” Michael narrowed his eyes.

Uh oh.

"What?" you asked, feigning ignorance. Your arm slinking around Brendon for support. 

"When exactly were you planning on telling me?"

You bit your lip, with a nervous laugh. Glancing up at Brendon, while he met your gaze. 

Your silence, however. 

Was answer enough. 

Michael's eyes widened, "You weren’t–"

You winced, "It wasn't–It wasn't never–" you tried to ramble out. While Michael blinked in surprise. 

"You were literally never going to tell me."

"We were getting there," you argued. 

He crossed his arms as he looked at you with a deadpanned look, "When?"

You thought about it,"...Eventually?"

Michael looked horrified.

While those watching broke down into laughs. Finding your embarrassment amusing. 

Even Brendon chuckled, while you elbowed him with a small chiding mutter, "You are not helping."

"It sounded better in my head," you tried to justify. 

Michael only sighed before a tired smile stretched across his face, shaking his head,"You know what?"

"What?"

"I'm too tired for this."

Relief flooded through you.

Michael grabbed his bag, "I worked fourteen hours." 

He takes a step closer to you both, waving off the others, trying to dissipate the crowd, "I'm hungry."

His eyes flick between you both, before landing on Brendon with a raised brow, "And apparently my sister's been dating my orthopedic attending behind my back."

Brendon grimaced, replying, "That sounds bad when you say it like that."

"It sounds exactly as bad as it is," Michael teased, before adding, "Ok, let’s get going to Dinner."

Before pointing at Brendon, "You too."

Both of you froze.

"What?" The question falls from both of your lips. 

Michael started walking toward the exit. Not even looking back, calling back, "If I'm finding this out today then I'm getting a free meal out of it."

You stared after him.

Brendon stared after him.

Then Michael stopped.

Turned around.

And added, "Oh, and Park?"

Brendon immediately straightened. You felt his body grow tense beneath your grasp, "Yeah?"

"If she gets hurt..." Michael's expression remained completely serious. "...You’ve got me to answer too."

“And me!” Jack added, eyes hardening as he met Brendon’s gaze. 

You groaned at their antics, leaning into Brendon who only rubbed his hand along your back in comfort. He nods, heeding their words. 

And for the first time. 

The department saw a softer side to Brendon Park.

As his lips curled up into a gentle smile. Before leaning down to press a tenderness kiss to the top of your head.

And as you walk out side by side, catching up to Michael. 

The two most important men in your life.

Laughing as they recount stories from the day, while you trump them with tales of your own. 

Arguing lightly over where to eat. Grinning as Brendon sides with you. 

While Michael reluctantly agrees with your choice.

A happiness so simple and life settles in the confines of your heart.

If this was where your life was headed.

Then you could get used to this… 

Hopefully with a few less broken bones in your future.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! This was a really fun request to explore, loved exploring this dynamic!! Especially the idea of Brendon being such a softy for you (just know that he finds you very hot when you’re in uniform 😉) Let me know what you think! ✨

Feel free to check out the reverse idea Dr Robby x Reader, Brendon Park x sister!Reader: Natural Habitat

Comments, Reblogs and Likes are welcomed and appreciated 💕 Feel free to find my overall Pitt Masterlist here!

Taglist: @barnes70stark @ineedbooksandoldermen @the-sassy-one @ilocuras24 @may-machin @hazydespair

[barnes70stark]

Thank you ☺️💗

[starxs-s]

Baelor: Septons tell us to love our brothers

Baelor:

[barnes70stark]

This is how they show their love for eachother

[deanwinchesters]

Dean Winchester | 1x05 - “Bloody Mary”

[barnes70stark]

Season 1 is something else

The vibe, the grey-ish filter, the simple "we are looking for our dad" hunting monsters cases, their baby faces 🥺💗

I think it's time for rewatch season 1

[myfandomprompts]

"She'll certainly fail... and we will raise our own throne."

Aemond Targaryen in | House of the Dragon Season 3 trailer

[paigepie213]

Met His Match - Dr. Robby x Female Reader

Request - I have become such a fan of your portrayal of these characters! What about a reverse competency kink from Robby (meaning he is just so turned on and in love with how talented and fantastic his partner/crush is). I feel like it would be such a relief for him to feel like he can trust someone fully at the ER and get a break from having to watch over everyone.

thank you for the request! 🫶

Masterlist

********************************************************

The fries looked radioactive. That was the first thing Robby thought when the waitress dropped the basket onto the warped wood table between them with an exhausted sigh and a muttered, “Careful, plate’s hot,” before disappearing back into the noise of the crowded bar. Melted cheese dripped down the sides in thick orange rivers, chili piled aggressively on top beneath a mountain of green onions and sour cream, the entire thing smelling like grease and salt and impending heart failure. You looked delighted.

“Jesus Christ,” Robby muttered, staring down at the basket like it had personally offended him. “I think these fries just shortened my lifespan by another decade.”

You grinned across the booth at him, your eyes bright beneath the dim amber lights hanging over the bar. “That’s why you order them with someone you love. Shared liability.”

“You say that like I’m getting more than three fries before you inhale the entire thing.”

“I did a twelve-hour surgery today. I deserve joy.”

“You always say that.”

“Because I’m always right.”

Robby shook his head, though he was already smiling into his beer bottle before he took another sip. The place was loud tonight. A hockey game played on the mounted televisions over the bar while a group near the dartboards yelled at each other over missed shots and someone in the kitchen dropped what sounded like an entire tray of silverware. The air smelled like fryer oil and beer and old wood soaked in decades of smoke. It was objectively kind of a dump. You loved it.

Not because it was trendy. Not because it was ironic. You loved it because the fries were disgusting in exactly the right way and because the bartender already knew your order and because nobody in here cared that the two of you were doctors. Nobody stared. Nobody interrupted your dinner to ask about consults or patients or somebody’s nephew’s rash. It was quiet in the only way people like you and Robby ever got to have quiet. You reached over, stole one of the fries, and made an embarrassingly pleased sound the second you bit into it.

“Oh my God.”

Robby laughed softly. “You look insane right now.”

“These are incredible.”

“You said that last time.”

“Because they continue to be incredible.”

“You’re literally closing your eyes while eating.”

“I need to focus.”

“You are a board-certified pediatric surgeon.”

“And this,” you said seriously while lifting another fry, “is art.”

Robby stared at you for a second longer than necessary. That had been happening more and more lately. Not the staring itself. He’d been doing that since the beginning. Since before the beginning, honestly. Before the first date. Before the first kiss outside the hospital after a seventy-hour work week where both of you had looked too tired to stand upright. He had been staring at you since the first time he watched you walk into the trauma bay and calmly correct an attending twice your age without even raising your voice.

But this was different now. This was softer. Worse, somehow. Because it was one thing to want you. That had never exactly been subtle. It was another thing entirely to love the way you shoved fries into your mouth while sitting cross-legged in a cracked vinyl booth wearing one of his old hoodies over your scrubs because you’d forgotten a jacket again.

“You’re doing it,” you said without looking up.

“Doing what?”

“The face.”

“I don’t have a face.”

“You absolutely have a face.”

You pointed one cheese-covered fry at him accusingly before taking another bite.

“The one where you stare at me like you’re trying to solve a math equation.”

“I’m not staring.”

“You are literally staring right now.”

“I’m looking at my girlfriend.”

“You’re evaluating your girlfriend.”

Robby huffed out a laugh. “Occupational hazard.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “You know, most people would be deeply offended by being psychologically profiled over chili cheese fries.”

“You’re not most people.”

“No,” you agreed easily. “I’m significantly more charming.”

That pulled a real laugh out of him. God, he loved you. The realization hit him so suddenly sometimes that it genuinely knocked the air from his lungs. Not in the dramatic cinematic way people talked about love. It was quieter than that. Sneakier. It happened in moments like this. In dive bars and hospital hallways and grocery store aisles at midnight when you were both too exhausted to function properly. It happened while watching you tie your hair up before surgery. It happened when you corrected him during differential discussions and then kissed his cheek five minutes later like arguing medicine with him was foreplay. Maybe it was. Honestly, with you, sometimes it felt like it.

You reached for his beer bottle without asking and took a sip before wrinkling your nose. “Still don’t understand how you drink this.”

“It’s beer.”

“It tastes like carbonated regret.”

“You drink whiskey.”

“Whiskey respects me.”

Robby snorted. “You are unbelievable.”

“And yet deeply lovable.”

“That part unfortunately appears to be true.”

You smiled then. Not teasing. Not smug. Just warm. That smile did things to him that were frankly humiliating for a man his age. The waitress returned long enough to drop another basket of fries onto the table and you looked personally thrilled by this development.

Robby blinked. “We already had fries.”

“You had fries,” you corrected. “I had an appetizer.”

“You’re what, a hundred and fifteen? Where does it all go?”

“Pediatric surgery burns calories.”

“You stood still for six hours.”

“I stood with purpose.”

“You are impossible.”

“And you’re obsessed with me.”

You said it casually. Teasingly. Like it was a joke. The problem was that it wasn’t. Robby leaned back in the booth, watching you steal another fry before reaching across the table to wipe a streak of cheese from your thumb with a napkin.

The gesture was automatic. Familiar. Married, almost. Your eyes flicked up to his at the touch. There it was again. That warmth. That impossible softness you only gave to a handful of people in the world.

“You had a good surgery?” he asked quietly.

Immediately, your expression shifted. Not colder. Sharper. More focused. Robby watched it happen in real time every time medicine came up around you. Like another part of your brain clicked online.

“Kid came in with a bowel perforation after a bike accident. Outside hospital missed it initially.” You sighed, rubbing your fingers absently over the cold beer bottle. “He got septic fast. We had to take more intestine than I wanted.”

“But he made it.”

“He made it.”

Robby nodded once. You looked down at the fries for a second before speaking again.

“His mom hugged me after.” Your voice softened slightly. “Like really hugged me. Full-body tackle hug. I still had blood on my shoes.”

“That’ll happen.”

“She kept crying and thanking me and all I could think was that I almost lost him twice during the procedure.”

“But you didn’t.”

You looked at him then. Robby felt it physically every time you did that. The full weight of your attention settling on him.

“No,” you admitted quietly. “I didn’t.”

There was no arrogance in it. No ego. Just truth. You were good. No. That wasn’t even enough. You were extraordinary. Robby had worked with brilliant doctors his entire life. Surgeons with impossible technical skill. Attendings who could diagnose patients in seconds. People who built entire careers on being the smartest person in the room.

You were different. You cared just as much as you excelled. That combination was rare enough to feel dangerous.

“You know what your problem is?” he asked suddenly.

You blinked. “I have several. Narrow it down.”

“You don’t realize how impressive you are.”

Immediately, you groaned. “Oh no. We’re not doing this.”

“We are.”

“Robby.”

“You literally saved a kid’s life today and your reward to yourself was artery-clogging fries.”

“They’re celebratory fries.”

“You should have a parade.”

“I don’t want a parade.”

“You deserve one.”

You leaned forward over the table then, resting your chin in your palm while studying him carefully.

“You know what I think your problem is?”

“This feels like a trap.”

“I think,” you said slowly, “you spend so much time taking care of everyone else that you forget you’re allowed to admire people without immediately turning it into emotional damage.”

Robby stared at you. You held his gaze calmly. Then you smiled just a little and stole one of his fries directly off his plate.

“And I think,” you added, “you get very cute when you’re emotionally overwhelmed.”

“I am not cute.”

“You are right now.”

“I’m literally exhausted.”

“You’re staring at me like I hung the moon because I successfully removed a perforated bowel and can also consume my body weight in cheese.”

“That second part is genuinely concerning.”

You laughed, bright and loud enough that a couple people nearby glanced over. Robby’s chest tightened painfully. There it was again. That horrible, wonderful feeling. The one where every single day with you somehow made him more in love instead of less. And judging by the look you gave him when you reached under the table to hook your foot around his ankle, you knew it too.

******

The pediatric trauma room was too loud. Not chaotic yet. Not full disaster mode. But loud in the specific way hospitals became loud when too many intelligent people started talking over each other while trying not to panic.

Monitors beeped steadily near the bed while a six-year-old boy cried hard enough to hiccup between breaths, his small hands clutching desperately at the dinosaur blanket one of the nurses had thrown over him. His mother stood pressed against the wall with both hands over her mouth while Dr. Shamsi flipped through imaging on the computer screen beside the bed, brows pulled tight in concentration.

“There’s abdominal guarding,” Santos said quickly. “Heart rate’s still elevated despite fluids.”

“It could still just be stress response,” Javadi countered.

“No,” Dr. Shamsi said firmly without looking away from the scans. “There’s likely a splenic laceration. We prep for OR.”

The kid whimpered harder at that word. OR. Robby, standing near the foot of the bed with his trauma notes half-finished in his hand, looked between the scans and the child again. Something about it wasn’t sitting right with him. The vitals were off, yes, but not catastrophically. The pain response seemed inconsistent. The kid’s left side tenderness had decreased after medication, which wasn’t impossible, but then the trauma room doors swung open.

You walked in wearing navy scrubs under a black zip-up fleece with your hospital badge clipped crookedly near your collarbone, hair partially falling from the messy bun you’d clearly thrown together hours ago. You carried a tablet in one hand and a coffee in the other.

The room shifted immediately. Not dramatically. Nobody stopped speaking. Nobody announced your arrival. But Robby watched the exact second every resident unconsciously straightened. You had that effect on people.

“What’ve we got?” you asked calmly.

Dr. Shamsi exhaled like she’d been waiting for backup. “Six-year-old male. Bike accident. Initial FAST negative. Persistent abdominal pain. Elevated heart rate. I think splenic injury.”

You moved directly toward the imaging screen while taking a sip of your coffee. Robby tried not to stare. Failed instantly. Because this was his favorite version of you. Focused. Alive in a way that had nothing to do with romance and somehow made him want you even more. You studied the scan silently for several long seconds while the room waited. Then you tilted your head slightly.

“Hm.”

That single sound made Dr. Shamsi narrow her eyes. “What?”

You pointed toward the screen. “That’s not fluid tracking from the spleen.”

“It’s free fluid.”

“It is,” you agreed. “But look at the positioning. It’s too centralized.”

One of the residents stepped closer. You handed your coffee to Robby without even looking at him. Pure instinct. He took it automatically. Your fingers brushed his for barely half a second and somehow that tiny contact still went straight down his spine.

“You’re focused too high,” you continued, zooming in on the image. “The bowel wall thickening’s subtle, but it’s there. And the pain presentation changed after meds because the issue isn’t primarily the spleen.” You looked toward the kid gently. “Buddy, can you point where it hurts the most now?”

The little boy sniffled hard and pointed lower than before. You nodded once.

“There it is.”

Dr. Shamsi crossed her arms. “You think bowel injury.”

“I think bowel perforation.”

The room went quiet. Robby watched your brain work in real time. Calm. Certain. Not arrogant. Never arrogant. Just methodical in a way that made everyone around you better.

Santos hesitated. “But the FAST was negative.”

“And FAST scans miss bowel injuries all the time in pediatric trauma,” you said easily. “Especially early.” You looked back toward Shamsi. “If we chase the spleen first and wait too long, he gets septic.”

Dr. Shamsi stared at the screen another moment before slowly exhaling through her nose. Then she nodded once.

“Damn it,” she muttered. “You’re right.”

You grinned immediately. “I know. It’s devastating for you.”

That startled a laugh out of two nurses nearby.

Even Shamsi rolled her eyes affectionately. “You’re insufferable.”

“You invited me down here.”

“Unfortunately.”

You turned back toward the child then, and Robby watched the shift happen instantly. Your entire body softened. You crouched beside the bed slowly enough not to startle him, your voice dropping into that warm steady tone Robby had heard soothe terrified children at three in the morning more times than he could count.

“Hey, buddy,” you said gently. “I’m Dr. Y/L/N. Your belly’s being kind of rude right now, huh?”

The boy nodded miserably.

“Yeah. I figured.” You glanced at the dinosaur blanket. “Good news is I’ve fixed way meaner bellies than yours.”

That earned the tiniest watery smile. Robby’s chest tightened. Every fucking time. You never talked down to kids. Never used fake sweetness. You treated them like people. Scared people, yes, but still people. The trust you built in minutes was unbelievable to watch.

“You gonna cut me open?” the boy whispered.

Your expression stayed calm.

“Probably a little,” you admitted honestly. “But I’m gonna do everything I can to make you feel better after, okay?”

“Will it hurt?”

“A little at first,” you said softly. “But we’re really good at helping with that part too.”

The boy looked at you for another second before finally nodding. Consent. Trust. Robby could practically feel his own pulse in his throat watching it happen.

Jesus Christ.

You stood back up smoothly while speaking to the nurses about OR prep, already transitioning into surgeon mode again. Efficient. Precise. Commanding without ever sounding cruel. The room moved with you naturally. Not because you demanded authority. Because you earned it.

Robby leaned against the counter near the monitors, still holding your coffee like an idiot while watching you explain operative planning to the residents. Javadi asked a question about pediatric perforation protocols and you answered immediately without even glancing at notes.

Dr. Shamsi caught Robby staring. A slow grin spread across her face.

“Oh no,” she murmured.

Robby blinked. “What?”

“You’re doing the thing.”

“What thing?”

“The heart eyes thing.”

“I do not have heart eyes.”

“You absolutely do.” She smirked. “You look like you want to climb inside her pocket and live there.”

Robby scoffed quietly. “I’m literally just observing a consult.”

“You’re observing your girlfriend like she personally invented medicine.”

“She’s good at her job.”

Shamsi barked out a laugh. “That is the understatement of the century.”

Across the room, you looked up suddenly. Directly at him. Like you’d felt him staring. Robby’s stomach dropped in the dumbest possible way. Then you smiled. Not big. Not showy. Just enough to completely wreck him. You crossed the room toward him after finishing instructions with the residents, stopping close enough that your shoulder brushed his chest lightly.

“You’re holding my coffee hostage,” you said.

“I forgot I had it.”

“That’s concerning for an ER physician.”

“You distracted me.”

Your mouth twitched.

“Oh?” you asked mildly.

Robby immediately regretted speaking. You loved when he got flustered. Loved it. Especially because it happened so rarely.

“You were impressive,” he admitted quietly instead.

Your expression softened just a fraction.

“That’s a very clinical compliment.”

“You want less clinical?”

“Always.”

Robby glanced around the room instinctively. Still busy. Still moving. Nobody paying attention. When he looked back at you again, your eyes had already darkened slightly like you knew exactly what he was thinking. Dangerous woman.

“You know,” you said softly while taking your coffee back from his hands, “watching you try not to stare at me in trauma consults is becoming one of my favorite hobbies.”

“I was not staring.”

“Robby.”

“I was assessing.”

You stepped one inch closer. Close enough that he could smell your shampoo beneath the hospital antiseptic and coffee.

“Mhmm,” you hummed. “And what was your professional assessment, Dr. Robinavitch?”

Robby looked at you for one long second.

Then he said quietly, honestly, before he could stop himself, “That I trust you with literally anything.”

The teasing disappeared from your face instantly. There it was again. That shift. The emotional one. The one that always hit hardest between you. Your gaze held his for a beat too long before you leaned in just slightly and murmured near his ear.

“That’s good, because I like showing off for you.”

Then you walked away toward the trauma room doors without another word. Robby stood there completely motionless while Dr. Shamsi dissolved into helpless laughter behind him.

“Oh my God,” she wheezed. “She just clinically seduced you in front of the entire department.”

Robby rubbed a hand over his face.

“Yeah,” he muttered weakly while watching you disappear down the hallway. “I know.”

******

Robby hated hospital donor events. Not disliked. Hated. He hated the fake lighting and the tiny overpriced appetizers that somehow always involved goat cheese. He hated shaking hands with rich people who suddenly wanted to discuss “healthcare innovation” after two glasses of champagne. He hated wearing suits after spending most of his life in scrubs. Most of all, he hated the version of himself these events required. Smiling politely. Making conversation. Pretending he didn’t have three unfinished charts sitting in his inbox while someone explained golf to him for twenty straight minutes.

Normally, he spent the entire evening counting down until he could leave. Tonight, however, he had a different problem. You.

Specifically, you in that dress. Robby had been staring at you for approximately forty-five uninterrupted minutes and it was becoming a genuine medical concern.

“You look psychotic,” Dana informed him flatly from beside the bar.

Robby didn’t look away from you across the ballroom. “What?”

“You’ve been holding the same whiskey for twenty minutes while openly staring at your girlfriend like a Victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time.”

“I’m not openly staring.”

“You are so openly staring.”

Beside her, Langdon glanced toward the center of the ballroom where you stood laughing softly with a cluster of donors near one of the pediatric fundraising displays. Then he grimaced.

“Oh,” he muttered. “No, he’s got a point. That’s…wow.”

Robby finally tore his eyes away long enough to glare at him. “Don’t be weird.”

“I’m not being weird. You brought a weapon to a donor gala.”

Dana snorted into her champagne. You really did look unfair. The dress was black and sleek and fitted so perfectly it should probably have been illegal. Long sleeves. High neckline. Elegant enough for hospital donors and yet somehow devastating anyway because the fabric hugged every inch of you without apology. Your hair was down for once, falling in soft waves over one shoulder, and every time you tilted your head while listening to someone speak the lights caught against the gold earrings dangling near your throat. Robby gave you those earrings two months ago.

But it wasn’t even really the dress. That was the problem. It was you inside it. The way you moved through rooms like you belonged there without ever demanding attention. The way people naturally turned toward you when you spoke. The way your intelligence sat just beneath your skin no matter what you wore.

Robby had spent the first ten minutes after arriving trying to maintain professionalism. Then he watched you dismantle a conversation with an orthopedic donor who kept interrupting one of the pediatric residents. Now he was hanging on by threads.

“You know,” Dana said casually while stealing an olive from somebody’s abandoned drink tray, “most people at these things try to charm donors by being agreeable.”

Robby looked back toward you automatically. You were currently smiling pleasantly at a silver-haired man near the stage while explaining something with animated hand gestures.

“Yes,” he said distractedly.

“She’s charming them by being smarter than everyone in the room.”

“That tracks.”

“She just corrected that man on pediatric surgical outcomes without him even realizing he was being corrected.”

Robby’s mouth twitched slightly.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “That also tracks.”

Across the ballroom, one of the donors laughed loudly at something you said.nYou smiled again. Robby felt his entire nervous system short-circuit.

Langdon watched him for another second before shaking his head slowly. “You are down catastrophically bad.”

“He’s been down catastrophically bad,” Dana corrected. “He just used to hide it better.”

“I still do hide it.”

Both of them looked unconvinced. Then suddenly your eyes lifted across the room. Straight to him. Robby’s heartbeat stumbled. It happened every time. Like you had some internal radar specifically calibrated to find him in crowded rooms.

Your smile shifted instantly the second you noticed him watching. Not public anymore. Private. For him. You excused yourself from the donor conversation gracefully before making your way across the ballroom toward the bar. Heads turned while you walked. Not dramatically obvious, but enough for Robby to notice because unfortunately he noticed everything about you. Dana noticed too.

“Oh, this is gonna be disgusting,” she muttered before stepping away. “I’m leaving before you two start emotionally undressing each other in public.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“No,” Langdon said while following her. “Unfortunately, she’s correct.”

Then they abandoned him completely. Cowards. You reached the bar a second later and immediately stole the whiskey glass from Robby’s hand for a sip.

“It still tastes terrible,” you informed him.

“Then stop drinking my whiskey.”

“But stealing your drinks is part of our dynamic.”

Robby took the glass back slowly, his eyes dragging over you before he could stop himself. Your eyebrow lifted.

“There it is again.”

“What?”

“The staring.”

“I’m allowed to stare at my girlfriend.”

“You’re doing it like you’re conducting a medical examination.”

“That is not true.”

“Robby,” you said dryly. “You just looked at me like you were trying to diagnose structural weaknesses in the fabric of my dress.”

He blinked once.

“You noticed that?”

You burst out laughing. God. That laugh. Warm and bright and genuine enough to cut through the suffocating ballroom noise instantly.

“You are unbelievable,” you said while touching his tie lightly. “You know that?”

His throat tightened embarrassingly fast at the tiny contact.

“You look…” He stopped.

You tilted your head. “Dangerous?”

“That too.”

Your mouth curved slowly.

“What was the original word?”

Robby stared at you. Beautiful felt too small. Hot felt insufficient. Brilliant was always true but not enough. You waited patiently while he visibly struggled. Then your expression softened.

“Oh,” you said quietly.

Yeah. You reached up and fixed the collar of his suit jacket gently while speaking low enough only he could hear.

“You clean up pretty well yourself, Robinavitch.”

“That’s because you bullied me into buying a suit that actually fits.”

“I saved you from looking like a divorced geography professor.”

“I do not dress like a geography professor.”

“You absolutely do.”

Robby huffed out a laugh. Before he could answer, a voice interrupted from behind you.

“Dr. Y/L/N.”

Both of you turned. An older man approached carrying a champagne flute, expensive watch gleaming beneath the ballroom lights. Robby vaguely recognized him from one of the donor boards near the entrance. The man smiled warmly at you.

“Your presentation on pediatric trauma initiatives was remarkable.”

You smiled immediately, professional and warm all at once. “That’s kind of you to say.”

“No, truly.” He gestured toward the fundraising displays nearby. “I had no idea how underfunded some of these pediatric programs still are.”

“That’s unfortunately pretty common.”

The donor frowned slightly. “Which is ridiculous considering outcomes improve so dramatically with early intervention.”

Robby watched your face light up instantly. There it was. That spark. That dangerous brilliance that always pulled people toward you.

“Exactly,” you said, stepping naturally into the conversation. “Especially with pediatric trauma. Kids compensate until they absolutely can’t, which means delayed intervention becomes catastrophic very quickly.”

The donor nodded immediately, clearly hooked. Robby leaned against the bar silently while watching you work. Not manipulative. Never manipulative. You genuinely cared. That was the thing that made you impossible to resist. Every word came from somewhere real.

You spoke passionately about pediatric surgical recovery spaces and family-centered care and access to trauma specialists. About terrified parents sleeping in waiting room chairs for days because hospitals still weren’t built with families in mind. The donor listened to every word. Completely captivated. So was Robby.

“You know,” the donor admitted after several minutes, “I came tonight expecting to write a check for general hospital funding.” He smiled slightly. “Now I’m wondering why pediatric trauma hasn’t already been my priority.”

You blinked once. Then you smiled softly. Not triumphant. Not calculating. Just hopeful.

“That would change a lot of lives,” you said quietly.

The donor nodded slowly. “I think perhaps it’s time it did.”

Robby physically felt something shift in his chest watching your expression afterward. Not excitement about money. Relief. Because somewhere in your head you were already thinking about the children who might survive because of it.

Jesus Christ.

The donor eventually excused himself after promising to follow up with the foundation board. The second he disappeared into the crowd, you exhaled hard and reached blindly for Robby’s whiskey again.

“You’re evil,” Robby informed you quietly.

You nearly choked on the sip. “Excuse me?”

“You just got that man to emotionally adopt pediatric trauma care in under ten minutes.”

You laughed softly. “I didn’t manipulate him.”

“No,” Robby agreed immediately. “That’s what’s terrifying.”

Your eyes narrowed playfully. “Terrifying?”

“You believe every word you say.”

“That’s usually how speaking works.”

“You know what I mean.”

You did. He could tell by the way your expression shifted slightly. The ballroom noise faded strangely around them for a second. Robby looked at you standing there in black silk and gold earrings with donor brochures tucked under one arm and whiskey on your lips and something inside him just completely gave way.

Because this wasn’t even about attraction anymore. It was admiration so intense it bordered on reverence. You noticed the exact second his expression changed. Your voice softened.

“What?”

Robby shook his head once like he could physically clear the thought away. Didn’t work.

“You have any idea what you do to people?” he asked quietly.

Your brows furrowed slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You walk into rooms and make people care. You make them listen. You make them want to be better.”

A flicker of surprise crossed your face. Robby stepped closer before he even realized he was doing it.

“You save kids,” he continued softly. “Then you come to events like this and fight for the ones you haven’t even met yet.” He laughed once under his breath, almost helplessly. “And somehow you still come home with me afterward and steal my fries like you’re not the most impressive person I’ve ever known.”

Your entire expression melted. Not flirtation this time. Something deeper. Robby saw your throat move when you swallowed.

“Careful,” you murmured quietly. “You keep talking to me like that and I’m gonna drag you out of this fundraiser early.”

His pulse spiked instantly.

“Would that really be such a tragedy?”

Your eyes darkened beautifully.

“No,” you admitted. “Probably not.”

******

The trauma pager went off at 2:13 in the morning. By 2:15, the emergency department was already spiraling.

“Pediatric MVC inbound!” someone shouted across the ER as nurses moved fast between bays. “Seven-year-old female, unrestrained passenger, hypotensive at scene!”

Robby shoved his stethoscope into place while jogging toward Trauma Two, adrenaline slamming through his bloodstream hard enough to erase the exhaustion that had been dragging at him all shift. Around him the department snapped into motion automatically. Monitors rolled into place. Supplies appeared. Residents scrambled for gloves. Another ambulance siren screamed somewhere outside.

“ETA ninety seconds!” Dana called from the nurses’ station.

“Get blood ready now,” Robby ordered immediately. “And page peds surgery.”

Already done. Because somebody in this hospital knew him too well. The ambulance doors burst open less than a minute later. Chaos followed. The little girl was unconscious when they wheeled her in, blood soaking through the pediatric cervical collar while paramedics rattled off vitals rapid-fire.

“Seven-year-old female, high-speed collision, significant abdominal trauma, pressure tanking en route—”

Robby moved instantly to the bedside.

“Okay sweetheart, we’ve got you,” he said automatically while assessing airway and pupils. “Let’s move.”

The room exploded into motion around him. Monitor alarms shrieked almost immediately. Blood pressure dropping. Heart rate climbing. Too fast. Way too fast.

“Pressure’s crashing,” Whitaker said sharply.

“FAST scan ready,” Dana called.

Robby’s jaw tightened as he pressed gloved hands against the child’s abdomen. Distended. Rigid. Internal bleeding. A lot of it.

“Where’s surgery?” somebody demanded.

As if summoned by sheer force of will, the trauma room doors slammed open. You walked in wearing dark blue scrubs beneath a half-zipped jacket, hair still damp at the temples like you’d run from another floor. Robby physically felt himself exhale. It happened every single time.

The second you entered a room, some terrible tightness in his chest loosened. Not because you made things easy. Because you made them survivable.

“What’ve we got?” you asked immediately, already gloving up while approaching the bedside.

“High-speed MVC,” Robby answered quickly. “Hypotensive. Distended abdomen. FAST pending.”

You moved beside him seamlessly. No ego. No territorial bullshit. Just instinct. Your eyes swept over the child once before locking onto the monitor.

Then the FAST scan appeared. Fluid everywhere. Your expression sharpened instantly.

“Oh, that’s bad,” you muttered.

“Liver?” Dana asked.

“More than liver.”

You reached for the ultrasound yourself, scanning lower with terrifying efficiency. Robby watched your brain work in real time again. Faster than everyone else. Cleaner. Then your face changed.

Not panic. Worse. Recognition.

“She’s actively dumping blood into the abdomen,” you said immediately. “Massive bleed. We need OR now.”

“Pressure’s sixty over forty!”

“Blood’s here!”

The little girl suddenly jerked weakly beneath the blankets. Then vomited blood. The room shifted from tense to critical instantly.

“Shit.”

“Airway!”

“Turn her—”

Everything moved at once after that. Residents scrambling. Nurses shouting numbers. Blood products hanging. And through all of it, Robby could feel the edges of something ugly starting to crawl up the back of his spine. Because the girl looked too small. Too fragile. Too much like every nightmare pediatric trauma he’d ever carried home in pieces.

“Robby.”

Your voice cut through the noise sharply. He blinked. You were looking directly at him.

Steady. Focused. With me. That look said. Stay with me. Robby inhaled hard. Then nodded once. Together, you moved.

It became almost frightening how naturally you worked beside each other now after a year together. You anticipated each other before words even happened. You adjusted around one another instinctively. Robby stabilized airway while you coordinated surgical prep. He ordered blood while you caught a resident about to place the wrong line size before they even realized the mistake. Nobody questioned either of you. They followed. Because when the two of you locked into sync like this, the entire room sharpened around it.

“She’s peri-arrest,” Dana warned.

“We know,” you snapped without cruelty. “Move.”

The child’s mother arrived screaming somewhere behind the trauma bay doors. Robby physically flinched. God. That sound. Parents screaming for their children was the sound that stayed in his bones forever. For one horrible second he felt himself slip. Just slightly. The exhaustion. The endless shifts. The impossible losses piling up lately. All of it surged upward at once beneath his ribs until the trauma room suddenly felt too hot. Too loud.

Too much. You noticed immediately. Of course you did. Your hand hit the center of his back firmly while you spoke to the room.

“Robby, stay on airway. I’ve got abdomen.”

Simple. Direct. Not taking over. Holding him steady. Robby swallowed hard and refocused instantly. Because you trusted him. And somehow that always made him better.

Twenty minutes later the child was finally racing upstairs toward surgery with you jogging beside the bed shouting instructions at residents while blood dripped steadily from your gloves. The elevator doors nearly closed before your eyes found his one last time across the hallway. You nodded once. I’ve got her. Then you disappeared upstairs.

The ER suddenly felt strangely hollow afterward. Robby leaned both hands against the trauma desk while catching his breath. His scrub top clung damply to his spine and his pulse still hadn’t slowed. Dana appeared beside him quietly.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

Lie. She clearly knew it too. But before she could push, another trauma alert went off across the department. Of course it did. The universe never waited.

Three hours later, Robby finally found you again. The pediatric OR floor was quiet now, most lights dimmed low outside recovery rooms. He spotted you standing alone near the supply hallway with your surgical cap hanging loose around your neck and dried blood still streaked faintly near your wrist.

You looked exhausted. But alive. The second you saw him, your entire posture softened slightly.

“She made it,” you said quietly before he could ask.

Robby closed his eyes briefly. Thank God.

“She crashed twice on the table,” you admitted. “But we got control of the bleed.”

Relief hit him so hard it almost hurt. You watched him carefully for a second. Then your brows pulled together slightly.

“You okay?”

The question landed too directly. Robby laughed once under his breath, but it sounded rougher than intended.

“Yeah.”

Another lie. You stepped closer immediately.

“Hey.”

That tone. Gentle but unmovable.

Robby rubbed a hand over his face tiredly. “I just…” He exhaled hard. “I don’t know. That kid got to me.”

“She got to all of us.”

“No,” he said quietly. “You stayed steady.”

You stared at him for a moment. Then you moved directly into his space. Not romantic at first. Just close. Your hand slid against the side of his neck gently.

“Robby,” you said softly, “steady doesn’t mean unaffected.”

He looked at you then. Really looked at you. At the exhaustion in your eyes. The blood still staining your skin. The brilliance of you. The impossible fucking competence of you. And suddenly something inside him cracked wide open.

“You have any idea what it feels like watching you in there?” he asked quietly.

Your expression shifted slightly.

“What?”

“You walk into rooms like that and everything changes.” His voice roughened. “People breathe easier when you show up. Including me.”

“Robby—”

“No, listen to me.” He stepped closer suddenly, words spilling out before he could stop them. “I spend every day in that ER waiting for something to go wrong. Waiting to catch mistakes. Waiting to hold everything together.” His eyes locked onto yours. “Then you show up and for the first time in years I don’t feel alone in it.”

Your breath caught softly. The hallway around you felt impossibly quiet now. Robby shook his head once, almost frustrated by the intensity of it.

“And the worst part is,” he muttered, “it’s not even just emotional anymore.”

Your eyes darkened immediately.

“No?”

“No.” His laugh sounded wrecked now. “It’s everything. Watching you work should not be as hot as it is.”

That startled a breathless laugh out of you. But Robby wasn’t joking.

“I’m serious,” he admitted, voice lower now. “You correct residents and I lose cognitive function.”

You covered your mouth briefly, eyes bright with disbelief.

“Oh my God.”

“You take control of trauma rooms and suddenly I’m thinking things that would get me fired.”

“That’s deeply inappropriate for an attending physician.”

“I know.”

“And probably concerning psychologically.”

“I know.”

Your smile turned softer then. More dangerous.

“Poor Robby,” you murmured. “Having such a hard time because his girlfriend’s competent.”

He made a low sound in his throat that absolutely was not professional. Your eyes widened slightly at the noise. Then suddenly you were both moving at the same time.

Robby backed you gently against the supply hallway wall and kissed you hard enough to steal the air from both of you instantly. It wasn’t neat. Wasn’t polished. It felt like adrenaline and exhaustion and relief. Your hands grabbed fistfuls of his scrub top immediately while his palms framed your jaw desperately, kissing you deeper the second you made that soft sound against his mouth.

“Jesus Christ,” you whispered breathlessly against his lips.

“You’re unbelievable.”

You laughed shakily. “You’re having a full psychosexual crisis over pediatric surgery.”

“I’m aware.”

“That’s so embarrassing for you.”

Robby kissed you again before you could keep talking. Harder this time. Your fingers slid into his hair and he physically melted against you. Because this was the other unbearable thing about loving someone this capable. When you finally chose softness with him, it felt sacred.

******

You were late. Not irresponsibly late. Not concerningly late. Just late enough that Robby had checked his phone three separate times in the last twenty minutes while pretending he wasn’t doing exactly that.

Your shift had technically ended hours ago. Technically. But medicine did not care about technicalities and neither did you. Robby sat on the couch in gray sweatpants with an untouched beer sweating against the coffee table while the apartment stayed quiet around him. The television played some documentary he hadn’t actually absorbed a single second of and rain tapped softly against the windows overlooking the city.

Normally by now you would have texted him something sarcastic.

Running late. Save me fries.

Or:

If one more resident says “quick question” I’m driving into the ocean.

Or maybe just a selfie in surgical scrubs with dead eyes and the caption:

Medicine is beautiful.

Tonight there had only been one text sent almost an hour ago.

Still at the hospital. Rough one.

That was it. Robby knew you well enough by now to understand what that meant. You only got quiet when something hurt. The lock finally turned close to midnight. Robby was already standing before the door fully opened.

You stepped inside slowly, still wearing scrubs beneath your coat, your hair a complete mess now like you’d dragged your hands through it fifty times. Your exhaustion hit him instantly. Not physical first. Emotional.

Your eyes found his. For one terrible second you looked like you might cry. That alone nearly cracked his chest open.

“Hey,” he said softly.

You shut the door behind yourself carefully before leaning back against it with a long exhausted exhale.

“Hi.”

Robby crossed the apartment immediately.

“You okay?”

Your laugh came out thin. “That depends. Are we defining okay in medical terms or emotional terms?”

Both, he almost said. Instead he reached for your coat gently.

“C’mere.”

You let him help peel the damp coat from your shoulders without protest. Another bad sign. Normally you’d make some comment about him fussing over you. Tonight you just looked tired. Not dramatic tired. Soul tired. Robby’s hands settled against your waist automatically once the coat hit the chair beside the door. You leaned into him immediately.

Full body. Full trust. It hit him hard every single time you did that because nobody else got this version of you. Nobody else saw the brilliant terrifying surgeon who commanded trauma rooms go soft and quiet like this.

“What happened?” he asked quietly.

Your forehead pressed against his shoulder.

“Three-month-old bowel necrosis.” Your voice sounded rough now. “We lost him on the table.”

Robby closed his eyes briefly. Fuck. You inhaled shakily against him.

“The parents were nineteen.” Your fingers curled weakly into the fabric of his shirt. “They just kept looking at me like I could fix it anyway.”

He wrapped his arms around you tighter automatically.

“I’m sorry, baby.”

That word nearly undid you. Robby felt it happen physically. Your entire body tightening for one tiny second before finally sagging harder into his chest. You were so good at holding everyone else together. Sometimes he thought the hardest thing you ever did was let yourself fall apart afterward.

“I know medically we did everything right,” you whispered. “I know that.” Your voice cracked slightly anyway. “I know the scans were catastrophic before he even got to us but—”

“But you wanted more time.”

“Yes.”

Robby pressed a kiss into your hair slowly. Of course you did. You always wanted more time for them.

“That doesn’t make you wrong,” he murmured.

Your eyes closed briefly. For a few quiet seconds neither of you spoke. Rain tapped softly against the windows while the apartment stayed warm around you and Robby realized suddenly you were shivering.

“You’re freezing.”

“I’ve been in ORs for fourteen hours.”

“Come on.”

You made a soft questioning noise when he took your hand.

“Shower,” he said simply.

Normally you would’ve protested. Told him you could manage yourself. Told him he didn’t need to take care of you. Tonight you just nodded once and followed him quietly down the hallway.

That almost hurt worse. The bathroom filled slowly with steam while Robby adjusted the water temperature and grabbed towels from beneath the sink. Behind him, you sat on the closed toilet lid with your elbows on your knees watching him through heavy eyes.

“You know,” you murmured tiredly, “this competency kink thing of yours gets significantly less sexy when I’m emotionally compromised.”

Robby glanced back at you immediately. Even exhausted and heartbroken you were still trying to make him smile. Jesus Christ.

“You think this is about competence?” he asked softly.

You blinked slowly. “Isn’t it?”

“No.”

That got your attention. Robby stepped closer until he stood directly between your knees. Then he reached down carefully and untied your scrub top.

“You being brilliant turns me on,” he admitted honestly while sliding the fabric from your shoulders gently. “But that’s not the important part.”

Your tired eyes searched his face.

“The important part,” he said quietly, “is that you keep being soft anyway.”

Something fragile flickered across your expression instantly. Robby’s chest tightened painfully.

“You save lives all day,” he continued softly. “You walk into impossible rooms and somehow make people feel safer. Then after all of it…” His thumb brushed beneath one of your eyes gently. “You still cry for the ones you lose.”

Your throat moved when you swallowed.

“That’s the part that destroys me.”

Your eyes filled immediately.

“Oh,” you whispered.

Yeah. Oh.

Robby helped you undress slowly after that. Not sexual. Not rushed. Just careful. Tender in a way that felt almost unbearably intimate. By the time he guided you beneath the hot spray, steam curled thick around both of you while you leaned bonelessly against the tile wall with your eyes closed.

Robby wet your hair gently first. Then reached for shampoo. The second his fingers started massaging slowly against your scalp, you made the softest sound he’d ever heard from you. Pure relief. His heart nearly stopped.

“There she is,” he murmured quietly.

You actually melted against him further.

“Oh my God,” you whispered hoarsely. “Don’t stop.”

Robby smiled faintly despite everything.

“Yes ma’am.”

His fingers worked carefully through your hair while hot water poured over both of you. Your hands rested weakly against his ribs now, your forehead occasionally brushing his shoulder whenever exhaustion dragged heavier through you.

“You know what’s embarrassing?” you mumbled eventually.

“Hm?”

“I think this might be the most turned on I’ve ever been by you.”

Robby barked out a startled laugh. You smiled weakly against his chest.

“I’m serious.” Your eyes stayed closed while he rinsed shampoo gently from your hair. “You taking care of me like this?” You sighed softly. “Might kill me.”

“That would be inconvenient paperwork for both of us.”

“You’d still look hot doing it.”

“You are profoundly unwell.”

“You like me that way.”

God, he did. Robby wrapped one arm around your waist securely while reaching for conditioner. You tilted your face up slightly to look at him then.

Exhausted. Raw. Still beautiful enough to physically ache over. But softer now. Open.

“You know what the worst part is?” you asked quietly.

“What?”

You smiled just a little.

“I trust you enough to let you see me like this.”

Robby’s breath caught instantly. Because there it was again. That same thing he’d been trying to explain since the beginning.

Trust. The real kind. Not professional trust. Not surgical trust. This. The kind where two people handed each other the sharpest parts of themselves without armor. Robby stared at you for one long second before leaning down slowly to kiss you.

Gentle this time. No desperation. No urgency. Just love. You sighed softly into his mouth immediately, your fingers curling weakly into the damp skin at his sides while the shower poured warm around both of you. When he pulled back, your forehead rested against his again.

“Tough girl,” he murmured quietly.

You smiled with your eyes still closed.

“Only for everyone else.”

[huntress1013]

The main reason why I like Rabbot is that neither man is young. It is so rare to have a pairing where both characters are middle-aged. I get you people who like Whitaker. He is a sweetheart and pretty much a cinnamon roll but Jack is a man who has seen a lot, gone through a lot and still cares. Both Robby and Jack are damaged individuals who were forced to endure so much...they just fit.

[louferrignojrofficial]

he's literally on cocaine and holding a gun. but so cute

[barnes70stark]

He is so cute 🥺

[louferrignojrofficial]

a hunk of beef

[barnes70stark]

[cuti3-81]

shawn hatosy as bascolm in mountain rest (2018)

hes just a kitty that got woken up too early

[epiphainie]

isa briones @ variety's power of young hollywood

[barnes70stark]

Why the GIFs are 10 minutes long 🥵🔥

HOT MAMA 🥵🥵🥵

[queensinxs]

his wife ── michael robinavitch michael 'robby' robinavitch x wife!reader.

summary: robby doesnt advertise his marriage. so when his wife shows up at ED to discuss their son, safe to say the residents were shocked. now they wonder how the two of you met. this throws him back to when he was a ms3.

content warnings: reader and robby w/ 2 year age gap. thought to be 22 and robby 24 when met, around when he'd be a MS3. fluff. med school robby. lightly flirty young robby. lil mention of mature content so pls mdni 18+. reader is clinical psychologist/completeting masters to be one. lowkey implied fem reader shorter than robby. im short im sorry. he adores his wife like hard. two kids.

authors notes: lowkey med school au and robby who isn't as emotuonally consipated in the show. lowkey wanna do a few bits here and there about their life but not sure lol. inspired by this meme.

word count: 4079

Everyone was aware of the chain that hung around Robby’s neck. It peeked from under his scrubs sometimes. Though, no one knew what might be on the chain. There might be nothing or there could be something. Either way, it was always tucked under his shirt.

Nobody questioned it, never really thought to. He’s a private person. Residents don’t ask about his personal life. But they get curious when he steps out to the ambulance bay sometimes, phone to ear. 

Santos thinks that maybe he’s faking to take a break. Whitaker thinks he might be talking to a relative, parent or sibling. Javadi thinks … Well, she isn’t quite sure what to think. But she doesn’t think its what Santos or Whitaker’s thinking.

So when a gorgeous woman strolled into the department, beelining towards the charge nurse with a smile, they were confused to say the least. You seemed to be friendly and familiar with Dana, greeting each other like old friends. 

The med student and two residents share subtle looks, watching the interaction. 

“Is my husband around?” You asked Dana, glancing around to see if he was nearby. It was never predictable where he might be. It’s not uncommon for him to not answer his phone when he works and you don’t blame him. It’s understandable. But it’s rare for you to show up at the department, that usually means it’s important.

The three watching noticed your eyes wandering, quickly busying themselves. Santos and Javadi looked at the same computer, as if they were reading results together. While Whitaker fumbled with the chart he’d picked up. The two women look at him in disbelief and annoyance. Smooth. 

“Trauma one. He’s in a mood.” Dana pre warned you, giving you a knowing look. You weren’t surprised by the fact, very aware how moody Robby can be when he’s stressed. 

“Not surprising.” You huffed out a dry laugh. “When isn’t he?”

“True that.” The charge nurse hiffs, knowing you'd understand more than anyone. But you’re able to diffuse him unlike anyone else. 

“Alright if I hang around?” You asked, knowing the answer but much preferring to be sure instead of assuming. 

“Of course.” Dana assured you, well aware you don’t like to presume but instead hear directly. Everyday is different in the ED. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just Levi.” You explained, not details but enough for her to understand that something had happened. Your son could get into his own mess these days, he’s 22 and at college, figuring out his life. Didn’t mean he didn’t avoid doing dumb shit. 

Before Dana could respond, her mouth hanging open before shutting as a painstakingly familiar voice rang out. 

“What’re you doing here?” You heard your husband’s gruff voice, head turning as he wandered up beside you. He pressed a kiss to your head before his eyes returned to your face. Concern was etched across his features, worried that something was wrong. You didn’t show up here without a reason. 

Javadi tried to not look invested but she was, Robby was married? Santos and Whitaker thinking the same thing. And this woman is his wife? No way. That can’t be right. 

“Your son decided that getting drunk and running around campus was a good idea.” You informed him dryly. This is the second time you've talked about this. Not that you were angry but more annoyed. You had to leave work, because Robby couldn’t, to go and get him from the police station by his campus. “Naked.”

“Why is he always my son when he does something stupid?” Robby inquired in disbelief before shaking his head immediately. It was too early for this, barely 8:30am.  “Actually, don’t answer that.”

He knew that if either of you had passed the doing something dumb gene, it was him. He had never done something quite like that but he was the more reckless between the two of you. He didn’t need to have his workplace hear about some of the dumb things he’s done in his 20s. 

Levi isn't a bad kid. Just tends to do dumb things.

Javadi, Whitaker and Santos all shared glances in utter shock. This man has a son? A kid? No way. They don't believe they’d heard this correctly. 

“Anyways. He’s alright. But he called Jack who called me.”

“Fuck.” Your husband signed, hanging his head low before looking back at you. “You going to get him?”

He gave you a look that said you gonna go or… not to rush you out but instead to figure out why you were hanging around with your shared son behind local station bars. 

“Yeah.” You nodded, pausing before you explained absentmindedly. “Letting him sweat a bit.”

“You’re evil.” He commented dryly. 

“It’s why you married me.” You grinned. 

He huffed a soft yet dry laugh. He won’t even deny it. Your nature was one of the many reasons he’d fallen inlove with you in the first place. He knows how incredible of a mother you are. He’s cherished raising children with you. He’d never seen you so soft and loving. He sometimes still found it hard to believe you had married and had kids with him. 

But he was aware that you weren’t going to let this stint slide. 

“That’s why you’re here?” He quizzed, almost a little amused, though pissed that his son had done something so stupid. This would be something you two would discuss with him later. 

“Partially. But thought I'd tell you before Jack blabs at shiftchange.” You answered, not going to have spoken to him later about this. It was too important. And you knew Jack would’ve let him know this evening. Better if it comes from you. 

Jack has been a staple in your kids' lives since he’d met Robby years ago. When Robby had started working at PTMC as an attending, you’d been pregnant with your second child. When Jack had joined a few years later, your kids were 8 and 6 at the time. He’d immediately grown attached, loving them like they were his own. They adored him, not having a day without him since (minus when he’d been in the army and deployed). 

As much as he loves them, he made it clear he wouldn’t keep things from you and Robby. Especially when it’s important. He loved them. But he loves you both too. All of you are like his family. He wasn’t going to lie. 

“Good thinking.” He nodded, appreciative you’d told him instead of letting him be blindsited later. 

“I’ll head out.” You said, wanting to get this whole thing sorted and just get back home. Not like you’d go back to the office. Thankfully your appointments were all via zoom today, it helped. “Hopefully won’t take too long but i’ll let you know.”

“Alright, thanks.” Robby replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead. It was something he always did when you’d separate for the day. “See you after work.”

“I love you.” You said softly, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his lips.

“I love you, honey.”

You waved goodbye to him and Dana, turning back around and heading back to your car. 

“You’re married?” Santos blurted in disbelief, unable to keep it in. Whitaker nudged her with his elbow in panic, she should not have said that. 

He looks over at her, pulling the chain out from under his undershirt. The chain dangled with a gold band hanging from it. His wedding ring. “26 years.” 

He doesn’t hide he’s married. He just doesn’t find himself needing to share that information unwarranted. He loves his wife and kids but he prefers to keep his family outside of the workplace. So if he’s not prompted, he doesn't talk about them. 

“How… when … what?” Santos stammered, in disbelief he’s been married. To you. For 26 years. 

“You didn’t know?” Langdon quizzed the three as he wandered to the desk, amused at their shocked expressions.

“Don’t act like you didn’t react the same way when you found out.” Dana mused, shooting Langdon a knowing look. 

He can’t even deny it. When he discovered his attending’s long-lasting marriage, he was shocked. The man didn’t seem emotionally capable. But must've been wrong. He’s grown to know that over the last few years when he’d seen you two interact. 

Robby is a man inlove. 

“How’d you meet?” Javadi mustered up the courage to ask, curious to hear how you’d met. Especially since you’d been married for so long. 

Robby huffed a laugh at the memory, recalling the evening you’d met. It was forever seared into his memory.

1995.

Robby was out with a couple of his med school classmates for a rare night out between rotations. Being a MS3 was intense, going from classroom to real direct-contact work with patients. 

The four of them were mostly sharing how their recent rotation had been. They’d all been put into different specialties. Paediatrics, orthopaedics, cardiology and gastroenterology. 

He was mid laugh when his eyes glanced over the room, eyes locking on you. It felt like his breath had been pulled from his lungs. 

You were out with friends for a monthly catch up. Since you’d both graduated and begun your career’s, you rarely get to spend time together. The two of you made it a point to organise a once a month where you’re both free to catch up in person. Talking on the phone can only do so much for a friendship sometimes. 

The two of you were chatting, discussing recent events in your lives. She was halfway through telling you about an incident at her new job. 

“God, can you believe it?” She said in disbelieving scoff. “I mean, who in their right mind thinks that it’s okay to show up drunk and deny the whole thing, it's just dumb to try and gaslight your boss.”

“That’s so fucked. Please tell me he was fired. Or at least suspended.” You said in disgust, already hating whoever this guy was.

“I wish.” Your friend shook her head in annoyance. She went to take a sip of her drink, to realise it was empty. “But I will say that I need another drink.”

“I’ll get some.” You said as you stood up with a chuckle, grabbing your wallet. Though you gave her a playfully pointed look. “Don’t venture anywhere.”

“No promises.” she teased, though not really planning to go anywhere. She was the type to just wander away without prompt. But honestly, so are you. She’s just worse than you, especially when intoxicated. 

You chuckled and rolled your eyes at the tease, but accepted it. It's normal for the two of you, the teasing. But you do hope she won’t venture far if she decides to. 

You made your way to the bar, sliding up between a tall man and a woman, there being a gap. They weren’t interacting so you took it as a safe spot to choose. It didn’t take long for the bartender to make it to you, barely 30 seconds.

“What can I get for ya?” He asked, leaning forward slightly to make sure he could hear you. It wasn’t too loud but to be safe. 

“Vodka lemonade and a vodka coke please.” You asked kindly, always making sure to be nice to staff. He nodded and got to making the drinks.

Robby glanced down at you when he heard the honeyed voice. Oh shit. It’s you. He made an effort not to stare at you from a distance when he’d noticed you earlier. He’s not shy but he respects you’d been with a friend and he’d been with his. He barely noticed the bartender he’s spoken to before, placing the beers he’d asked for in front of him. 

“Thanks.” He said to the guy but he made no effort to move. He glanced down at you again, at the same time your eyes had flickered up to him. You gave him a smile before looking back ahead of you, eyes seemingly glancing around behind the bar. 

Robby’s attention went back to the bartender as he dug out a few bills and handed them over. He gestured with his head towards you besides him. “Her’s too.”

The bartender nodded, not really having much of a thought as he put the money through, conversing with the other bartender for what you’d asked for to figure out the total cost. 

Your head had snapped up towards him, eyebrows slightly furrowed. You’ve had guys offer to buy you drinks, your friend too. Though never had been quite as forward as this. 

“That’s awfully nice of you.” You commented dryly, looking up at him. You were a little suspicious. But you can't help but think of how gorgeous he is. It’s not actually fair. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch.” He said honestly, offering you a grin that made your heart skip a beat. Fuck this guy. 

“But it got you talking to me.” He added a beat later, that breathtaking grin widening a smidge. 

“Ah, so that was your plan, huh?”

“No, kinda just happened in the moment.” He said with a shrug, grin not faltering. It wasn't a total lie. He had been thinking about ways he could start a conversation with you. He normally can do without ease. But you’d made him throw away the idea of using shitty pickup lines. 

“In the moment.” You chuckled, a grin of your own forming. Somehow you could tell it wasn’t a complete lie, but he wasn’t telling the whole truth. For not, you wouldn’t question it. As gorgeous as he is, you didn’t plan on hanging around long. You had your friend to get back to. 

“That hard to believe?” He teased, having noted you seemed to be somewhat amused. 

“Nope, but you can’t tell me you don’t already have a list of pick-up lines ready to go.” You joked, but half-meaning it. He was unfairly attractive and you’re sure he knew it. No doubt he could easily get a girl’s attention. 

The bartender placed your drinks in front of you. Thanking him, you turned back to the man you’d been interacting with. 

“You got me.” He chuckled, not going to deny it. “But they don’t seem like something you’d be interested in”

“Now that's a line.” You laughed, grin turning into a genuine smile. 

That smile? That nearly stopped his heart. 

“Maybe it is.” He said with a light laugh, not denying but not having intended on it being that way. But really, anything to make sure you kept smiling like that. He leant his head slightly forward towards you, speaking in a conspiratorial murmur. “Did it work?”

“I’m not at liberty to answer that.” You chuckled, unwilling to admit that maybe it was. It might just be his pretty face. But you weren’t immune. 

“Besides, I have my friend to get back to.” You added, gesturing over to your friend. When your eyes landed on her, she seemed to be occupied with a guy. The two close together as they seemed in deep conversation. Good for her.

“Ah, that's one of mine.” he chuckled, eyes having followed where you’d directed and seeing it was one of his friends with your friend. He hadn’t quite anticipated his friend chatting with yours. But it certainly seemed to work in his favour here so he won’t complain. 

“Yeah?” You quizzed but weren’t completely convinced he hadn’t coordinated that. 

“Not my doing. Promise." He chuckled, raising his hands in faux-defence, sensing you thought it may have been. He meant it, genuinely not having a single thing to do with the situation. But he thought of it as good luck. 

Your eyes drifted back to him, eyebrows raised. You looked at him for a few beats before grabbing your friend's drink and one of his beers. “Don’t move.”

He didn’t say anything as you left him, and your own drink. Not a smart move but it hadn’t even occurred to you in the moment. You made your way back to the table your friend was at, placing the drinks down in front of her and her guest. You subtly winked at her before you turned back and headed towards the drink and man you’d left.

As you slid back besides him, he felt elated. He hadn’t felt this excited to just talk to a woman in well … ever. 

“Gonna tell me your name or am i gonna have to guess?”

“Michael. But you can call me Robby.”

“I don’t see how that correlates.” You mused, raising an eyebrow at him. You don't exactly see how those names worked together. Robby? You think Robert. 

“Robinavitch.” he explained with a chuckle, eyes dazzling. 

“Ah, gotcha.” You nodded with another light chuckle. Last name. You told him your name in return. 

He repeated your name, letting it roll off of his tongue. He liked it. It was your name after all. 

The two of you converesed. You discussed your lives, work, study, friends, hobbies. You discovered he was a third year med student, just completing a rotation in cardiology. He mentioned he liked the idea of emergency, wanting to help people at the hardest point of their lives. You respected it, understood it even. You were hanging onto every word he spoke, enjoying the words rolling off his lips and interested in what he was saying. That hasn’t happened in a long time.

He discovered you had graduated with a bachelor of psychology last year, now practising as such as you worked on completing your masters of clinical psychology. You explained how you want to conduct cognitive clinical assessments for patients who think they might have ADHD, autism and anything else that might support patients understand what is going on inside their brains. You didn’t go into details but you had admitted you’d had your own struggles with mental health. That being a huge part of wanting to support others with theirs. You wanted to work in a few areas of psychology, he had gathered. 

You two spoke for hours. Literally hours. About everything and nothing at the same time. You joked, had serious topics at hand and discussed absolutely anything either of you could think of. 

You checked the time on the wall with a glance, realising it was nearing 12am. God, you’d been talking to him since about 9, knowing you’d been here since at least 8 when you and your friend had arrived. Neither of you even touched your drinks, both just sitting there useless. 

“Not to cut this short…” You said with a light huff as you got up from the seat you’d been on. Eventually the two of you had drifted to an empty table, finding it more comfortable to be seated as you chatted. But he would’ve happily stood there in discomfort if he got to hear your voice. Not that he’d admit that. “...but I should go, it's nearly 12.”

He looked at the clock as you spoke, eyes widening in surprise. It had been 3 hours? That’s how long he’d been talking to you. It felt like it had been 30 minutes. His eyes drifted back to you, not going to argue. He should probably find out if his friends are still here or not. You’d both noticed yours and his friend leaving earlier, so you didn’t need to worry about her being alone. 

“Yeah, it was great talking to you.” He said with a soft smile. He was disappointed you were leaving but he understood. And he wasn’t going to make assumptions. Not with you. Other women he may have made some sort of line, getting them to go home with him or vice versa to never see them again the next day. But he didn’t want to do that with you. 

“You too.” You replied with a smile of your own. “Bye, Michael.”

“Bye.” He smiled, his lips tugging wider at the use of his first name. Not his nickname. But his name. He watched as you waved and made your exit, eyes trailing you as you walking out the front door. He let out a small sigh, disappointed you were gone. He realised a moment later that he hadn’t even asked for your number. The thought slipped. Likely to avoid the anxiety. He;d never been anxious to ask a girl for her number before. 

Meanwhile, the cold air was a welcomed slap to the face from the heat of inside the bar. It was soothing. But you couldn’t help the disappointment you felt. You had really begun to like him. You’d spoken for hours. Not like you’d spilled your entire life story. But still, you thought something was there. Something you hadn’t felt before. Not with your exes. 

You became annoyed. Had he not felt that? Or did he? Either way, he didn’t ask for any form of contact details for you. 

With a huff, you turned back inside and marched towards him. 

Robby was shocked when he saw your figure storming towards him. He had just stood up to go in search for his friends. 

“Okay. We have something. There’s this … this… I don't know … spark. It's there.” You ranted, eyes wide as you looked up at him. You wished you could blame it on the alcohol because this was not something you did. But you couldn’t help but blurt this at him. You can be embarrassed later. “We’ve been talking for hours. Literal hours. And you don’t ask for my number? Seriously? What the fuck?!”

His eyes were wide in shock as you spoke before softening. He hadn't exactly anticipated you running back to tell him off. It was hot. A soft grin tugged at his lips at each word you said. 

“What?” You asked him in annoyance, arms now crossed over your chest. 

“Is it too late to ask for your number?” He questioned, a hint of tease mixed in the hope in his voice. He had wanted to ask but had been caught off guard by you leaving. He was nervous at the prospect. What if you’d said no? That’d have just about broken his heart. 

“You’re asking now?” You asked dryly. “Because I yelled at you?”

“First, you didn't yell. You firmly stated your annoyance.” He corrected genuinely but firmly  “second, i wanted to but i got nervous.”

“Nervous?” you quizzed, not quite believing that. He hadn’t been nervous the entire time you’d spoken to him. Not openly anyways. 

“Yeah. Nervous.” He admitted without shame. “Beautiful girl I've been talking to all night rejects me? That's nerve-wrecking.”

“Enough with the lines.” You responded dryly. He hadn’t really given you lines but that didn’t automatically exclude him from going to use them. 

“Not a line. I'm serious.” Robby said, sincerity seeping through his voice. His eyes didn’t leave yours. He wanted you to know he wasn’t trying to be smooth. Just honest. 

You stared at him for a few moments, debating if you could trust it. He sounded painfully sincere. You don’t think you can fake this kind of honestly. 

“Still want my number?”

Present. 

“I love her.” Javadi rushed out immediately, then flushing with embarrassment as she realised she said that outloud. Her hand covered her mouth in shock at her own words. 

Robby just chuckled, which surprised her and the two residents. 

“She’s incredible.” He commented fondly. His mind reeled with thoughts of you. Both from recent years and the early times of your relationship. 

“Careful, you’re sounding human.” Dana joked, though she had grown fond of the dynamic between you and the attending. He was practically a different person with you. Your kids too. 

“Don’t let my daughter hear that, she’ll use it against me.” He joked back, having broken out of his thoughts and preferring the humour based dynamic in the workplace. He didn’t need to be vulnerable here. Not about his family.

Before anyone could respond, he headed off. Intending to see a patient, check in to see how his residents are doing. But he’d instead slowed his moments and pulled out his phone, pulling up your text chain.  

Husband <3: if he claims he was dared, you’re going to let me eat you out Wife: if he says that he’s made a mistake and won’t do it again, you’ll eat me out Husband <3: deal

“I’m sorry … DAUGHTER?!” 

He heard the disbelief of his resident, ignoring the question and instead pocketing his phone continuing on his day. He’s the chief attending here. At home? He’s just a man who’s obsessed with his wife.

© queensinxs 2026.

[barnes70stark]

I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THIS 😍💗