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Sharkie. 24. Anime lover, fanfiction writer by night, funky little worker by day REQUESTS OPEN: Masterlist

[dragonslayer-5fanfiction]

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Hi, my name is Sharkie she/her. 22. I like to draw, and read. I don't really know what to put here, so if you have any questions or want to request hit that button at the top.

I write for quite a few fandoms.

Requests: Open

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[bluetimeombre]

live with it !

synopsis robby invites you to stay with him when your apartment becomes un-inhabitable, and just when he thinks things might be moving ahead in your relationship, he's forced back to earth when he hears something he really wished he didn't. (10K words)

warningsrobby goes through it, he's needy, obsessed, then hurt and an ass because he's emotionally oppressed. language! naked-ness, typical hospital stuff though, death (louie :( )

author noteI had this idea from a tiktok and it was robby and whitaker but I just had to write for it. This tiktok. I feel like the endings a bit rushed but hope you like. gif credits to @timothyolyphant

The Pitt mastlist. Last Robby fic!

“You moving in?”

You tripped over your suitcase, lugging it up against the wall in the staff lounge, shoving it into the corner and chucking your bulging bag on top of it with a huff.

Langdon leant against the counter, smirking behind his coffee cup as he took the last sip.

“Ha ha, hilarious,” you said, without finding it anywhere close to funny.

“What's with all the bags?” he asked.

So you went on to explain how you'd finished your shift last night after pulling an extra three hours to help the night shift catch up. How you'd dragged yourself home because your car was still in the garage, getting in at two a.m to find your neighbours outside their apartment, robes hastily thrown on and bottom of pyjama pants dark and damp. You explained to him that pipes had bust all over the place, leaving your own apartment a water park.

“I'm looking at hotels to stay in till they figure it all out,” you said.

“Your insurance going to cover that?” he asked.

You peered at him through the sleep you didn't get. “You're funny this morning, Ken, you know that?”

“Well I got an early start.”

“Hey-”

At the call of Robby's voice, you straightened like you'd been caught doing something you shouldn't.

Frank laughed into his coffee mug.

It was embarrassing, really. How quick your body reacted to Robby and his call quicker than your mind could catch up. All he had to do was appear, say your name or catch your eye and you straightened, falling to his side and doing whatever he said. Somewhere along the way of working with him, he'd trained you.

“You're late,” he said, a small tug in the space between his brows. “Not like you, is everything okay?” Robby slipped in and Frank slipped out, pulling a face behind Robby, puckering lips directed at you.

“Sorry, sorry. My car's in the garage and the uber cancelled and I didn't really sleep much last night, it- it won't happen again.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Interesting night?”

You chuckled to yourself. “You could say that.”

Robby squinted at you before his eyes caught onto the pile of your stuff that wasn't there the last time he came in for a coffee. “Moving in?” he asked.

You laughed, a little more genuine then you had at Frank. “My apartment's flooded, they're just here till I can get a hotel.”

There was something heavy in the rise of his brows, in the way his expression morphed and his eyes widened only a little.

You tried to ignore it, because it almost looked like genuine concern. Not just for his resident that everyone claimed he had a soft spot for, but for the person behind the medical training. “They'll be moved by the end of the day.”

“You get any sleep last night?” he asked.

“Do I look that bad?” you asked with a pitiful huff.

“No,” Robby said at once. “Did you?”

“Couple hours. Those that were lucky enough not to wake up on the Titanic had a few sofas available.” You'd slept on Mrs Issac's sofa for three hours before you woke to her cat curled on your chest and your phone alarm blaring. It had felt as if your head had only just touched down, your dreams had only just started to form in mindless and faceless shapes before you were being brought back out of it.

Robby looked around at the staff room that was empty besides the two of you, peeking out the jutted open door. “We're pretty slow out there. South nineteen's empty.”

You nodded. “I'll look who's in chairs, get someone in-”

“Get some rest,” he said.

At some point Robby had come close to you, leaning his arm on the counter to support his weight. The tattoo hidden behind his watch peeking out at you. He stared down, studying you.

“I'm-I'm fine,” you said, un-sure what to do under his care.

Robby shook his head, lips tugged up slightly. “Fine isn't good enough for my best resident.”

Best resident. Somewhere along the way of working with him that title had been given to you; knelt on the ground, a sword going from shoulder to shoulder and there you had your title. Whenever he could, Robby slipped it into conversation with you, saying it more than your actual name.

“Thirty minutes,” he said.

Arguing with Robby was like arguing with a brick wall.

You sighed, imagining the scratchy blankets and hard bed but your body slumping at the idea of rest. “Thirty minutes. And get me if there's a trauma.”

“Which one of us is attending?” he asked, amused at the fight you tried to pull.

“You don't have best in front of your title though, do you?”

“I don't know, you tell me?”

“Hmm, only on Tuesday's.”

“Oh, Tuesday's are special days, huh?”

Tuesdays were special days because every Tuesday the two of you worked together. You don't know how you realised it, and maybe Robby didn't even know but every single Tuesday since you'd began the two of you had always been on shift together. Days off, weekends missed, long weekends and holidays but every Tuesday without a doubt, you and Robby were there.

Robby led you out, a phantom touch of his hand ballad up in the back of your scrub shirt before it was gone again.

“You'll wake me up?” you asked again.

He nodded his head once more. “I will wake you up.”

“And if somebody needs the bed?”

“I will personally throw you over my shoulder and put you somewhere else.”

You were suddenly glad your back was to him, so he couldn't see the blush on your cheeks at the very idea of being thrown over his shoulder. In your delirious state you picture the situation you'd have to be in to be thrown over his shoulder, the behaviour it would take to have him moving you around, hauling you about-

Thirty minutes of rest you could do.

“Hope you know what you're doing.”

Robby flinched at the accent and heavy smell of nicotine mixed with mint. He didn't even satisfy Dana by glancing back at her. “What?”

She chuckled. “Nothing. I guess.”

He shook his head and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, checking the hotels around the area. There seemed to be three types: expensive, high-end and pristine. Dirty, still not that cheap or booked up. How long would you need the room for? Was your landlord or anyone going to help you out for it? He didn't know your situation exactly but he knew what it was like to be a third year resident and stuck with bills.

Dana leant on the counter next to him, smirking.

“I'm just trying to help,” he excused.

“Yeah, sure.”

He peered at her over the black rim of his glasses. “Something else to say, Evans?”

Her head titled. “Don't you have a spare room at yours?”

Yes, he did. It was plain walled and not at all decorated besides a map of Pittsburgh train lines framed and not hung up. Some old Christmas gift from Jack that he couldn't get rid of in fear of offending him. The bed was comfy because it very rarely got slept on, aside from Jack or Jake on occasion. Truth was Robby couldn't remember the last time he had a guest over.

“Cheaper than a hotel,” she added. “Unless your up-tight.”

Suddenly he was thinking about it. You, in his place. You'd been around maybe once before, he re-called, un-able to re-count the circumstances that had you around.

“You'd be doing the girl I favour, I bet,” she continued.

Robby looked at the screen then back to her. “Has she... said something?”

“Not to me, but hey, she's been asleep the last hour. What do I know?”

Robby looked back down to the time at the computer, the numbers flickering by. He knew it had been longer than his half-an-hour. Really, he had no interest in waking you from your sleep unless he really, really had to. And if he had time to sit and scroll through hotels, you had time to sleep.

He let out a breath. “Apparently everything.”

She laughed. “Hey, you said it, not me. But if you can't put her up think I heard Santos offering up a sofa.”

Robby looked around the space, trying to find Santos or Whitaker to confirm. He didn't see either of them.

It was decided in his head then that he'd have to ask you to take up his guest room. He'd act it was all under the pretence of making sure you were well-rested, had a decent bed and your own space to sleep in, assuring you could get the rest and come in bright eyed and bushy tailed. Deep down he'd know, just to himself, it was because there was a seething bite of envy at the idea of Santos having you waking in her apartment, going home with you at the end of the day.

He dragged his hands down his face as Princess called out his name, demanding his attention.

What was a couple days, anyway.

“I need to talk to you about something.”

You looked up from your tablet, handing it over to Jesse as you stepped away from exam room six.

Robby stepped in Jesse's place, hands deep in his pockets, shoulders lifted high.

“Two hours,” you said. “I was asleep for two hours.”

“Sweet dreams?” he asked.

Yes. There had been dreams and rest. The blanket hadn't felt so scratchy and as tired as you were the noises of the Pitt were muffled in your mind. By the time you woke up your body felt lighter, you could practically feel the bags under your eyes retreat. Then you stepped out and there were new sets of patients, a different lighting in the place and the hour hand had moved all away around the clock.

“I dreamt there was a long que of patients waiting for the room,” you said. “A line like at Disney, except without the pay off.”

“They fast tracked to another,” he excused. “Can I talk to you now?”

He seemed restless, fists balling up in his fleece pockets and glasses tucked away in the front. His hair was tussled slightly, as if he'd already done a full day of work while you'd slept.

You waited for him to go on, watching his mouth open and close before he shook his head at himself, a light chuckle leaving him.

“I did some research,” he said, dragging out his words, in the way he did when he was nervous. You'd seen it when he was trying to let down every one of his flings, scared it was gonna end up loud in the middle of his ER. “Hotels in the area are expensive, I have a spare room, got a bed, it's big, my place is spacious and I'm hardly ever there. No garden but there's a balcony-”

Robby listed aspects of his apartment like he was putting it up for sale.

It took some time for you to realise what he was saying. A spare room, yours, he was offering. You caught the fact he'd looked up hotel rooms and suddenly you were imagining him, phone pulled out with the glow reflecting on his readers. Was he frowning at the prices? Was he rubbing at his beard in frustration, thinking which you'd prefer.

Was he hoping to find you a room so he didn't feel obliged to give up his own?

“That's- that's very kind of you, Robby,” you said softly, letting yourself down gently. “I- I can't do that.”

He frowned. “Do what?”

“Take your room.”

“It's not my room, it's a spare.”

You blushed, thinking that he thought you were thinking about staying in his room. “No! No, I-I get that, I just- I can't put you out like that.”

Robby rocked forward on his heels. “You wouldn't. Really.”

“I'm sure I could find somewhere cheap-”

“- you can't-”

“- or I can check around with friends-”

“- Santos only has a sofa,” he said, raising his brows.

“I-I have other friends.”

Robby pressed his lips into a thin line. “Like me?”

He was insistent. Had someone put him up to it? Had he seen how tired you were and felt bad?

Every morning you woke and before walking into work you took a shovel to the feelings you held for Robby and buried them deep, deep down, plunging a sign that read remain professional into the ditch of your own creation. You called him boss and cap, reminding yourself that's what he was. Of course a friend was another title too, but calling him friend and invading his space wasn't going to do much for your feelings. Or your nerves. And you liked to think you'd done a pretty good job in keeping both in check.

Robby rocked on his feet again, almost jittering. “I don't charge rent, you'd be saving some money.”

How many more excuses could you come up with? How long could you stand here going back and forth?

“How many bathrooms?” you asked.

“Just one.”

“You live in a quiet area?”

“Very.”

“You don't have a cat do you?”

He shook his head with a small smirk. “No. I had fish but lost them.”

You nodded, arms hugging yourself. Admitting yourself into his hands wasn't just a jump, more a leap. Denying yourself had been easier in work, when glimpses of Robby between procedures and patients was all you could gauge yourself on. In his space, you'd become full.

“Say yes and I'll put your stuff in my truck.”

Future regret bubbled up in your throat.

“Okay, fine,” you said, earning a slump of relief from him. “But I'm paying rent while I stay.”

He shook his head. “I don't need it.”

“It'll make me feel better,” you said. “I have to do something.”

Robby looked past you, thinking for a moment. “You cook?”

“Yes.”

“Okay then. While you're staying with me-” he jutted his thumbs at himself, like he was proud. “You can cook dinner, if you want.”

It wasn't a terrible service. More often then not you'd seen Robby slump his way out the place, mentioning something about a restaurant he was stopping by to pick up food that might last him a couple days. It would be like taking care of him and wasn't that what he was doing here? Taking care of you?

In a friendly way, of course.

“I will cook dinner,” you agreed.

“Great.” Robby seemed to relax in front of your eyes: his hands came out of his pockets, his shoulders shrunk and the crinkles at his eyes showed in a smile. “Your stuff's in my truck already.”

“Presumptuous,” you said, calling after him as he backed off slowly.

He shrugged. “Hopeful.”

But what did he have to hope for?

“Hey,” said Santos breathless and approaching you, moving your gaze from the pull of Robby's back to her. “I've got our labs back on that guy in seven.”

“Oh- er, great, great.” The tablet takes up your attention, but your mind lingers on the crows feet at Robby's eyes, the smile you saw briefly when you agreed to go home with him.

But Trinity Santos never missed a beat. “What was that about?” she asked in an uplifting teasing voice you were all too familiar with as she looked back at where Robby had disappeared to.

“What- what was what?”

“You and Robby, huh?”

“No. No me and Robby, don't make it weird.”

She smirked. “You're doing that all on your own.”

You carried yourself over to the nurses station, clocking Robby lingering in a corner, talking something over with Samira, so instead you distracted yourself with the tablet and charting. “He just offered me a place to stay.”

Santos's brows rose up high. “His place?”

You blushed under her analyses.

“Oh my god-”

“Don't- don't make it a thing-”

“It's already a thing,” she scoffed, leaning over and swatting at you. “You're staying at Robby's!”

“In his spare room, separate living completely.”

Santos leant back on the counter, looking around dreamily. “Suuurree, until you need the bathroom and just so happen to walk in on him, towel around his waist-”

“- Santos-”

“- it's all hot and steamy from his shower,” she continued. “And you just so happen to slip, right into his arms and- oh my- the towel falls.”

“You have too much time on your hands,” you said. “Go get Garcia for a surgical consult on twelve.”

Sulking, she did so, dragging her feet across the place while you were left to debate if the dent in your bank account was worth it to spare the dent in your heart.

A life with Robby was framed in different ways.

When you first stepped through his place, your case tugged in his hand and your bag slung over his shoulder along with his own, there was a thick layer of tension blanketing over everything, mystifying the tour he gave you. It didn't give in the morning when you both woke groggy from alarms, reaching for coffee. Through the day the tension sat between the two of you through patients and traumas.

It started to feel like a terrible idea.

Until you both went back to his that night and laughed about the couple that had super-glued themselves together, the teenage boy who got his head stuck in between balcony bars. You made mac & cheese, which Robby deemed the best he ever had but considering you only found kraft cheese boxes in his cupboards, you didn't think much of it.

Then the routine built, mugs of coffee in the morning, a hearty breakfast started by whoever was up earlier in the morning, taking turns in the bathroom with only the occasional awkward bump in to each other in between brushings of teeth.

It was one morning when he stepped out, a smudge of minty white toothpaste in the corner of his mouth.

“You've got a bit of-” you'd told him, gesturing to the corner of his mouth by your own.

He rubbed and missed it completely and your hand reached out first. It was like you were watching it outside of your own body, as your thumb swiped away at the corner of his mouth, scratching at his beard.

Every morning since then Robby had walked out with that same bit of smudged toothpaste and every time you spotted it, you got rid of it for him.

Feeling the heat of his breath dance along your fingertips.

The peppermint smell of him clinging like second skin.

The wet fall of his hair, droplets dripping down to your feet.

It made every morning harder, but made every one more the while.

In work, you had your own new routine between the two of you.

In the mornings everyone in the Pitt- including those that stuck around from night long enough- lingered to watch as you and Robby walked in side by side, heading straight for the fridge in the lounge.

There, Robby would pull out two containers of leftovers from the night before while talking about.... well, sometimes nobody could really tell what it was.

“- all I'm saying is that if it was real life they'd be shut down instantly,” Shen caught Robby telling you, shamelessly lingering in the door way with Abbot and Javadi.

“It's not real life, it's Disney.”

“It's a restaurant ran by a rat!”

“It's whimsy.”

Robby grumbled under his breath. “It's un-realistic.”

You laughed and as busy as you were laughing you didn't see the look Robby gave you, a smile of his own. A soft one, because when he was looking at you, nothing had to be loud. “Just wait till you watch Cinderella, the rats sew a dress!”

Abbot was first to clear his throat. “Good morning, happy couple.”

And Robby's expression dropped, passing a glare to his friend.

As distracted as he was with the glare, he didn't see the way your face fell. The disappointment that marred your features.

“Got anything fun for me?” asked Robby, clapping his hands and getting to business, taking the night shift attendings by the shoulders and dragging them out.

Javadi entered in, a sheepish smirk on her lips. “So, how's it going?” she asked with all the air of a girl needing gossip.

“It's fine,” you said.

It had been three weeks of living inside of his apartment, of his space becoming yours, of shows he'd never think about watching slowly enrapturing him.

“Just fine?” she asked. “Isn't this supposed to be the part where the two of you get together?”

It was a few beers kind of mistake to tell Javadi on your feelings for Robby. But she was a med-student harbouring hard feelings for Matteo and you'd been desperate to bond and suddenly it turned into Javadi shooting you looks across the floor whenever Robby got too close, and he was doing that a lot recently.

“No, no, that's crossing so many lines,” you excused.

“Yeah but, he invited you to stay.”

“As a friendly gesture.”

“And how friendly do we know Robby to be?”

With you, very. With others it was more a tough game to play to get Robby to show some sympathy.

Your mouth was left ajar, stuttering on words you couldn't even come up with when Princess drummed her knuckles on the door.

“Louie's in south nineteen, asking for you.”

Never had you been so thankful to be called away on a patient run, especially when it was one of your terribly concealed favourites.

But you didn't leave quick enough to not catch how Princess crowded in Victoria, asking her what the latest was.

You managed to skirt your way over to nineteen without any more fans asking you about your new living situations. You were more than happy to hide away with Louie.

“Hey, doc!” he grinned as you let the door shut behind you.

“Louie, it's been weeks, what took you so long?” you joked, taking the stool and wheeling over to him with a smile. Really, you'd been worried when he hadn't come in- counting two months down since his last visit. It didn't give you hope that he was doing better, it filled you with dread he'd given up entirely.

He chuckled. “Sorry, doc, been busy.”

“A good busy?”

“Always.”

It was one of those slow nights when Louie came in when you and Robby were working- a Tuesday night where you were just about to go home when you checked in on Louie one more time, finding him half way through a devastating story on his life.

You'd cried in the bathroom and Robby had silently handed you a tissue when you stepped out, cold water splashed in your face.

“Hold out your hand for me, Louie,” you said, watching him do so with a tremble you could have bet your money on. “Shaky, huh?”

“Well it is eight a.m,” he grinned.

“We'll start you with fifty of Librium, as always. Anything else bothering you, Louie?”

“I had some aching in my side, right there-” diligently he showed you the pain, wincing as he pressed down on the pain.

You tugged on gloves and did an exam, finding the are bruised.

“You been in any trouble recently?” you asked, knowing that if Louie ever was in a fight, it would never be started by him. He was happy to drink silently.

“Not that I remember, maybe with a stool,” he joked.

You smiled with him, testing out spots of his chest and asking him to breathe in, listening down the stethoscope. “Everything seems fine but we'll get an ultrasound in to check you over.”

He waved you off. “Don't rush, doc, I like to watch the people go by sometimes.”

You entertained him. “Course, I'll be back shortly.”

You got Perlah on the case, someone just as happy to see Louie as you were, the duo that took the best care of him. Then you were occupied with slowly ticking off the board, discharging simple cases, working harder on the demanding ones.

At some point in the morning Robby slid in next to you, taking his place casually.

“I think I win for most interesting case today,” he said.

Happily, you looked up from your charts. “I didn't realise it was a competition?”

“Competition keeps you young,” he said, head nodding side to side.

“I'm not the one that needs to be kept young,” you teased.

There was smirk of shock that gave way to darkening eyes and a straighter back when he pulled himself up.

“You wanna play that?”

“I'm playing that,” you said. “I'm surprised you don't have an old mans seat when you shower.”

“I didn't realise you thought about me showering.”

It took you so off guard your elbow slipped, taking down someone's abandoned coffee.

“Shit!” You cursed, clamouring to the shards and spilt liquid.

Robby was still chuckling to himself when he knelt next to you, collecting the bits of mug in his hands, taking what you had in yours to his also.

“I- I don't think about you showering,” you said, quietly. “Of course I don't, I just- I just meant- a joke. It was a joke.”

Robby inhaled, tilting his head to get a look at you. “Really?”

“Yeah, yeah, god, I-I didn't-”

Your name was cried out and the shards of China fell back to the ground as Perlah helplessly stood outside of Louie's room. Almost slipping on the coffee, you took off in a run, Robby hot on your heels as you burst through the doors.

“He just- he just started-” Perlah panicked among the blood.

He lay still, un-responsive and you didn't miss a beat in jumping up, pumping down on his chest with gloves, without a gown, just the need to save a life that had been drilled into you.

His blood got on your hands, under your nails as with every pump down on his chest, you pumped more blood out.

“Get an intubation tray, crash cart and suction, now!” Robby called as a flood of nurses assembled around you. He was intubated and a bag put in place, a nurse came in for suction and the heavy rolling wheels of the crash cart sounded.

It fell upon you muffled as your arms shook while pressing down on his chest.

“We can swap out,” Robby offered quietly from behind you.

“No, no, I- I got this,” you said through the gasps and slow bead of sweat beginning down your temple. “C'mon Louie, c'mon-”

Perlah stretched over, slamming down pads on his chest, under the gown that practically had his name on it from how often he visited. “Pads in place!”

“Hold compressions!” said Robby.

You backed up enough to get a reading, getting a dull feeling of Robby's hands on your arms as you trembled. “Still V-Fib,” you said, climbing off the bed. “Charge to two hundred!”

“Charged!”

“Clear!”

So it went on, maybe only for minutes, maybe for an hour. A continuous rhythm of your chest compressions, the push of epi, the constant let down of no pulse, the flow of blood. And Robby's eyes only fumble from you to check on Louie before returning to you.

Everyone in the room hung on the thread of the flatline.

“Do we push more epi?” asked Perlah.

There was a silence behind you but you could picture the slow shake of Robby's head. You'd seen it in dozens of patients, in several helpless cases.

“Robby?” you called out helplessly, without knowing what you were calling for.

He was slow in his approach to you but you could feel him closer, know he was reaching out. “We've done everything we can.” It wasn't harsh. It wasn't kind. It was fact and sometimes fact was neither thing.

His hand was gentle on your shoulder, not squeezing or pulling. Just there. It was enough for you to feel everything deep down in your bones, the pressure of trying to bring him back to life making you weak and Robby's touch helping you give up.

You didn't recall the calling of his time of death, or the stumbling out the room, the wiping down of his blood on your scrubs. You didn't know anything until you made it out to the ambulance bay, drinking in gulps of fresh air that seemed to poison you more then help.

It clamped down on your chest and choaked at your throat-

“Hey, hey- it's okay, you're okay-”

Arms were tugging at you, pulling you into a chest you'd grown knwon with.

You pushed back. “No, no, I'm bloody, I- I can't-”

“Shh-” Robby cooed.

He embraced you tightly, suffocating you into his chest like he was trying to tell the rest of the world to go away, to shield you from the hospital and ambulances would inevitably come by. Robby stood there, arms strong and protecting you. He rocked slightly, lips pressed to the top of your head like it was a natural thing to do. Like you'd never felt them there or anywhere else before.

“I'm sorry,” you sniffed into his chest.

“No, don't be- shh,” he whispered into you. “You did everything you could.”

“He's gone, he's gone,” you mumbled.

Robby held you until he felt he could let you go, which proved a while. By the time you'd dragged yourself back in, red faced and teary eyed word had spread about Louie. Robby remained behind you, a hand curling against the lower parts of your back as he guided you through to the scrub bin, daring anyone to stop and ask you what happened.

He was a dog ready to bite.

“Take some time,” he said in the same air he'd used to ask you to stay with him. With no room for arguments.

You changed scrubs, met Perlah in the middle of the nurses hub for support. When Louie's body was took to the viewing room, Robby stayed stuck at your side, fingers brushing yours as he let everyone who wanted to say goodbye, say it.

By your side he stayed for the rest of the day, with biting breaths and lingering looks. His touches became every other moment, every spare second he knelt next to you, checking in.

“I'm fine,” you told him repeatedly as the day went on, as new patient names clouded your mind and traumas stole your attention.

“We'll get out of here, tonight,” he promised, hand edging closer to yours. Closer to something he wouldn't be able to take back. “No cooking tonight, we'll pick something up.”

“I can- I can cook-”

Robby shook his head. “And you can pick the movie.”

You smiled, though it was tainted from the pain. “Even if it has talking animals?”

His eyes rolled playfully as he sighed, pushing himself up. “If you must.” His hands were gentle on your shoulders as he squeezed, moving by.

When you looked back up you weren't surprised to see the fleeing eyes of Dana over her glasses.

She knew you'd caught her but only turned and walked off. You didn't know how you knew she was still smiling, but you knew.

By the time you and Robby got home- back to his- the sky had darkened and the Thai was procured on the drive back.

He'd let you shower first, knowing you still felt the need to scrub the phantoms of the day from you. You'd been so desperate you'd left your own wash bag in your room, your own robe there. So you bathed in Robby's signature smell, washed your hair in his shampoo that wasn't a two in one.

You wrapped yourself in a towel that was fluffy and smelt like him, wiping down condensation from the window before letting yourself sit with the grief.

It was never a good idea, alone in your own apartment to let the day haunt you. In Robby's place, surrounded by a smell that was all his, you safely let yourself remember the wobble in your arms, the pain in your heart and ache in your body.

You stood, re-tucking the towel around you when the door burst open at once.

“Shit- shit-”

You grasped at the towel as it slipped down your body, clutching it to your chest before it could expose everything.

Robby stood, frozen in the doorway, his lips parted slowly. “Shit- sorry, I thought you were done.”

“I'm- I'm finishing up,” you gulped.

Robby nodded, hand clenched on the door.

You watched his eyes catch a glance past your shoulder, seeing something there that had a blush creeping up his neck and ears. Something that made him bashful and looking away.

A chill ran down your body, from the toll of the day, the lack of clothing around you or the look Robby gave you.

“I'll, er- just...” you trailed off.

Robby closed his eyes, breathing deep. “Yeah. Yeah.”

The door inched closed slower. Before it shut completely you were sure Robby paused, sure you heard him inhale and sigh before you caught the retreat of his footsteps.

You body sunk in on itself, catching the electricity buried under your skin by just being looked at by him. At the idea that he could smell him on you.

It wasn't until you turned, catching a glimpse of yourself in the wiped down mirror that you realised.

Wiped down.

When Robby glanced behind you- to the mirror- he'd blushed at the sight of that part of you left bare. The slope of your back, the dimples that sat just above your ass and the curve of you.

He'd got a glimpse of it. Not just a glimpse by the way he paused- an eyeful.

“Fuck.”

It was bound to happen, maybe, with how long the two of you had been in co-habitation. But the day had been messy enough. Navigating the corners of yours and Robby's changed relationship.... you didn't have the nerve, though it felt alight by his look.

Maybe he hadn't seen anything, you told yourself as you dressed.

He probably didn't even notice, you said as you threw your damp hair up.

Just don't bring it up and he probably won't, you repeated as you stepped out.

When you came back out Robby was hiding in the kitchen, tucking himself right into the counter as he set up several dishes of all the food you'd ordered. His head was tucked low but there was a new sheen of sweat at the expanse of his neck still poking out from his scrubs.

“Sorry for taking so long,” you apologised, slipping into a stool across from him.

He shook his head and shrugged without looking at you.

“Smells good!” you said, reaching for the food that lay between you.

Muscles in Robby's jaw moved. Tightening.

You watched his tongue run over the bottom of his lip before he stepped back from the counter, a finger running over his lips as he excused himself quickly.

It was just a glimpse you thought you caught, something tightening in his scrub pants exenterated by his hands trying to be discreet in covering it (and failing).

Only when you went back to the bathroom an hour later, to brush your teeth did you notice the very, very cold setting of the shower. But if he didn't bring it up, neither would you.

Robby was only supposed to be passing. It had been ten minutes since he last caught a glimpse of you and he decided that was nine minutes too long.

He couldn't pinpoint when exactly the obsession started, if he wanted to call it that. It could have been when your things started to pile up at his, your favourite mug that you drank from sitting comfortably next to his every morning, or the cook books you went back to like it was your bible. It might've been before you'd even effectively moved in with him. Maybe when he saw the way you commanded a room around a trauma, never once doubting yourself.

Whenever it began it only increased with every good morning he got, every night and gentle touch he felt.

And finding you in that bathroom, a blink and miss it moment when your towel started to fall. The expanse of everything behind you that you were so un-aware of.

Robby felt dirty for the erection he supported most the night, even after the coldest shower of his life and taking care of it in his bed when you were sure you were asleep.

It had taken every bit of taught and measure self-restraint to keep his hands off you. You'd had a tough day, Robby throwing himself at your mercy wasn't going to help.

But it had been a week since then, a week of near misses and close calls in the bathroom the two of you were treating like a battleground. The splotches of toothpaste he let linger on him got further and further along his mouth, the playing clueless became more silly. The brushed past each other in the kitchen when there was plenty of room became more telling.

It was all supposed to be going somewhere.

“ - while she is playing house with her boss,” he caught Santos saying, hers, yours and Javadi's backs to him as he slowed his approach.

“It's messy,” said Victoria.

“Oh, would you- the two of you stop,” you said. “It's not like that.”

“No?” asked Javadi.

“It's not like what?” he heard the teasing uplift of Trinity's voice.

“Like what you're trying to say,” you argued. “Robby and I are friends, just friends.”

Santos nodded, head lowering. “Sure. Friends. Friends with house mate benefits.”

“What are house mate benefits?” asked Javadi, looking over to you enough that Robby could catch a grin.

“Oh, use your imagination,” said Santos. “One bathroom, two people, trips to get water from the kitchen, in nothing but skimpy little-”

Robby could practically see the face you were pulling.

“Oh, can we not talk about this?” you said. “Nothing like that has happened, nothing like that will happen. We're friends, just friends.”

Robby didn't realise how badly he must have wanted it to be more until he heard you dismiss it out of hand. Until he heard the mocking chuckle of his doctors at what you were saying. That nothing was ever going to happen, essentially admitting you didn't think about the escapade in the bathroom as much as he did.

Why would you? You probably thought it was odd and gross how he lingered. How he acted the rest of the night- withdrawn and ashamed- probably didn't help.

What? Did he think that after spending more time with him, living with him, you'd grow to care in a way he had for you. In a way he'd tried to ignore for months?

Did he really think he stood a fucking chance?

He was hyper aware of himself, standing there like an idiot with the fading mark of his heart on his sleeve. Soon somebody would call his name, his game would be up and the three of you would turn to him, catching him there.

Robby cleared his throat and shouldered between you and Victoria, practically tossing the tablet down. “Guy in five needs a surgical consult on a blood clot.”

Santos held up her hands to be clear of it and Javadi was walking away at once.

Robby watched you take it and he left.

It was time to start re-building his heart.

“Hey,” you said, quick to follow him. “I was thinking of trying a carbonara tonight, do you like it?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. Cool. You know if we have parmigiana?”

“I have more pressing things to think about then what's in my fridge,” he said.

You were quiet for a moment and he hoped he'd scared you away. “Everything okay?”

“Fine.”

“Are you sure? Has something happened?”

“No,” he huffed, halting at the door to trauma two where a car crash victim was under the scope of three capable doctors. What was one more? “Now instead of pestering me can you go do you're fucking job?”

The flash of hurt in your eyes was almost enough to have him apologising. To have him cave and tell you he didn't want to just be friends, that he couldn't go a day without feeling you and being calmed instantly.

Almost.

Your lips pursed and you held the tablet up to your chest like it was a shield. “I will get right on that, boss.”

The tension that began at his house when you first joined him in the space of his walls falls returned, un-invited, with a vengeance.

After Robby's snap at you you figured it was a bad day, that things had piled up and him and he didn't want to talk about it. He still waited for you at the end of his shift, still drove you home but in a silence that was stale. He went to the bathroom first and you started on dinner, making two plates of the pasta you'd promised.

He never left his room that night and his dinner was still sitting on the counter in the morning.

It continued for three days. No blushing meetings outside of the bathroom, no movie's he'd fall asleep to and miss the end- though insisting he was only resting his eyes- it all stopped, quickly.

So quick you had no time to think of what had gone wrong.

“Hey,” said Victoria, lingering next to you as you went back to your search for cheap hotels that didn't have complaints of bug bites.

“Hey.”

“Your leftovers smell so good.”

“Thanks.”

“I didn't even pack lunch today,” she added, a small smile bitten back.

You huffed a laugh. “You can take Robby's, I don't think he's hungry.”

“Really?” she said. “He's usually very punctual about your lunches.”

He was, until a few days ago when you'd tried to find him to see if he was hungry, so you could sit down to your leftover together as you had done. But he'd brushed by you, telling you he wasn't hungry. He did so every day you asked.

“Has something happened?” asked Victoria.

Yes, something had clearly happened but you didn't know what.

“No, just.... Robby being Robby I guess.” You shrugged it off but the indifference hurt because it wasn't just Robby being Robby. You'd found a different Robby, the one that wasn't snapping and grumpy every day, the one who coaxed you to your room when you were too tired to move from the sofa, the one who let you hum along to the songs in the movies you'd pick, the Robby that made you coffee just the way you like. You'd never even had to tell him.

“Oh. I'm sorry,” she said. “You know if I didn't live with my parents I'd let you stay, of course.”

You smiled. “I know. Thanks.”

The hotel you settled on wasn't in the top ten in the city and it was nearly forty minutes out of your way. Earlier mornings were a small price to pay.

You let Robby drive you home without conversation, let him tirelessly switch from one radio to the other. Your fingers curled and un-curled against your knees in anxiety.

“My-urm- apartment is up and running again,” you said.

Robby's knuckles bleached white on the steering wheel. “Oh yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I can get my stuff packed up and be out your hair.”

Robby didn't say anything. You glanced at him, seeing the tightness of his body and the eyes he kept plastered on the road. “It's late,” he said, mouth moving to say something else before he closed it again and thought. “I can give you a lift over.”

“You- you don't have to,” you said. The idea of one more tense car ride was enough to have you thinking about jumping out the moving vehicle. “I can book an uber.”

“It's late.”

Robby kept himself busy while you packed up the clothes you'd un-packed in the wardrobe in his room. He packed up your toiletries and your kitchen things that had slowly wound themselves in his cupboards.

You were already at the door, your case and bag standing next to you, your phone warming in your hand as you checked your hotel booking and uber confirmation.

Robby walked out from the bathroom, your toiletery bag in hand.

“I've got an uber booked,” you told him, quickly. “It's been a long day, I didn't want you to have to drive anymore.”

He nodded, slowly, handing you the bag. “Okay.” His hands retreated back to his pockets.

You loitered. You still had ten minutes before your uber on the way. “I'm sorry if I out-stayed my welcome.”

He shrugged, shaking his head. “However long it took to get your place fixed.”

“Still, I didn't mean for it to take this long.”

Robby didn't reply and his gaze faded away from you.

It was a heavy goodbye. The longer you'd stayed with him the little time you gave to thinking how leaving would work. You wouldn't be escaping him, no, he'd be stuck in your mind and lingering in the corner of your gaze. You'd still remember how he looked when he was falling asleep, how his shower smelt and the way he stretched in the morning.

They'd all be happy memories of another time.

You took it with you like extra baggage into the uber and into the two star hotel.

Robby knew he was ingraining himself into the night shift longer than he needed to but since you left a week ago his apartment was cold, empty and he loathed it.

He hated that there was no other noise, no other mug sitting next to his, nobody to talk to. Hated it so much he was choosing the taunting walls of the Pitt over heading back.

“You thinking of joining the night crawlers?” Jack asked, finding Robby stretching at the hub of the Pitt.

“Nope.”

“Oh. It's just, you're still here, so I assumed,” Jack teased.

“I get it,” said Robby in a sing-song voice.

“It can't be that bad, can it?” asked Abbot. “You see her tomorrow.”

Robby wished he could say he didn't know what Jack was talking about but it was painfully obvious to everyone that he couldn't deny it himself. There was no more coming in together, in fact, you'd been coming in late but he was doing his best to avoid you he couldn't talk to you to find out why. He no longer had a tub of well-cooked food or your teasing invitation to eat with you.

It felt like he had nothing all over again.

He looked down to the nurses counter, picking at a mark on there. “It's just...” he trailed, trying to think of a word to sum it all up.

“Yeah?” asked Jack, leaning next to him.

“Quiet.” He decided on.

Jack nodded, slowly. He glanced away before frowning at whatever he'd found. “What happened anyway? The pipes at her place were fixed so you just kicked her out?”

“No, she wanted to leave.”

“So you guys can't just, hang out?” he asked, holding his hands behind his back.

Robby made a pfft noise. “Hang out?”

“Well, Dana says-”

“- Dana-” he scoffed.

“Dana says the two of you can hardly look at each other,” said Jack. “Seems to be a change from what I'd heard before.”

Robby looked at him. “And what did you hear before?”

“You laugh,” he said, like it was a rare phenomenon. “Heard you joke. Saw you smile. Saw you happy.”

He thought about you, grinning with Santos and Javadi as you told them you were just friends, that nothing had happened and nothing was going to happen. He remembered how you looked at him first thing in the mornings and last thing at night, how you were- and still- were on his mind as he laid his head down and pushed himself up in the morning.

“She... she made it clear that nothing was going to happen between us,” Robby admitted.

“And you wanted more?”

Robby was still, the flecks of the stain coming off under his nail.

“Want more?” Jack corrected.

He nodded.

“And did you tell her that?”

It was rather annoying, sometimes, how well Jack knew him.

“I didn't have to.”

“I think you did. You still do,” said Jack. “Just talk to her man, tell her how you feel-”

Robby shook his head at once. “- no-”

“Robby. Brother,” said Jack with a firm pat on his back. “I've seen how you look at her. I've seen how she looks at you. Take it from me, it would be a waste to let that go.”

He didn't want to let it go, but Robby didn't know how to hold on either.

“Hey, big bosses!” Lena called. “Got major trauma's coming, hotel caught fire. We're the closest hospital, Westbridge can only take two traumas and ten minors.”

“Send them our way, I'll round up the crawlers!” said Jack already sliding into his professionalism.

“I'll hang around then,” said Robby, almost spitefully proving a point to Jack. That he didn't need to go home.

“I'm giving you an hour.”

An hour was all he needed.

A flood of people, most in their sleep wear, robes hastily thrown and tied up flooded in. Many were covered in ash, faces grey or pale. They were checked over for smoke inhalation, nobody got through without a stethoscope to their chest and back. There was a family of four who's father was being treated for bad burns. An elderly man with cancer that was put up to south eighteen, chefs from the small hotel kitchen that were being seen for burns, damage to their lungs and everything else.

“I told you! I told you!” one of them shouted, accent foreign to Robby. “That place is a death trap! It was just waiting to go up in flames!”

Robby stepped out and decided to let them argue, tugging of gloves and fetching another pair from the always stocked box on the wall. “Is that everyone?”

“Just one more, pulling up now!” said Lena, yelling over the chaos the ED had turned into to.

Just one more. That heavy set of exhaustion was starting to settle in his feet, making them ache. It was nearing one in the morning, in five hours time he'd need to be up and heading in.

He thought it was the need for sleep that had him hearing your voice.

“Mark Tellon, on his seventies, severe smoke inhalation and asthma attack. No signed nasal hair, his pulse ox is at eighty-four wet crackles bilaterally!”

There was no such thing as dreaming.

Robby stumbled at the sight of you in bottoms that were too long for you, in a cartoon character he couldn't name, in a shirt that drowned you. He guessed it was once white but was stained in ash and smoke, as was your face and hair.

You wheeled in the man with the paramedics and Robby stepped just ahead.

“What the hell happened?” he demanded.

“Hotel caught fire, quick evacuation, this is everyone,” you listed, clinically.

“You were there?”

You glanced up at him as the bed of the old man was wheeled by the two of you. He watched your face fall, smudging ash as you wiped at your forehead. “Er-”

Robby didn't care for the answer. Well, he did but not when your eyes were hazy, skin clammy and smoke and ash covered you. His hands climbed at your cheeks, holding you there and looking into your eyes. “Have you been checked over?”

“Urm, no I'm fine-”

“C'mon-”

“What? Robby!” you protested even as his fingers wrapped around your forearms, dragging you across the floor and past patients waiting for consults and doctors and nurses clearly rushed off their feet.

There was no spare room available but the family room so Robby took you there, where it was empty, and closed the door behind him.

You were stuck, again, alone with Robby. Exactly the place you'd tried not to be. But he'd closed the door behind him, zoned in on you with that tight crease of worry between his brows.

You stood there, holding onto yourself.

Robby made you follow his finger with your eyes, his other hand steadying your cheek as he watched you. “Any dizziness?”

“No, I'm fine.”

He took his penlight out from his pocket of tricks next, shining the light and checking your pupil response, you knew how it all worked and let him go through the motions. “You inhaled smoke?” he asked.

“Probably. I was trying to make sure everyone got out, first.”

There was a tut from his lips but a small upturn in his cheeks.

“Course you were,” he mumbled, ditching the pen light when he was done with it.

“Honestly, I'm fine, I'll just need a shower.”

Robby was already making his way behind you, warming up the drum of his stethoscope in the palm of his hand. Still, when you felt the brush of his rough fingertips skirting over the skin of your back and the metal pressing along, you shivered. “Breathe in.”

You took a deep breath in, Robby's eyes burning a hole in the back of your head.

“Breathe out.”

You did everything he said.

He moved so he was in front of you, sliding the stethoscope down the front of your shirt, closer over the drum of your heart.

Robby's eyes remained lower, not meeting your gaze. “Breathe in.”

Your chest expanded into his hand.

“Your heart's racing,” he observed.

You swallowed down the feeling of him so close. “Yeah. Probably. Been a crazy night.”

Gently his hands smoothed down your arms, sitting you down on the leather chairs as he set himself on the small coffee table in front of you.

“Want to tell me why you were at the hotel to begin with?” he asked, elbows rested on his knees and hands clasped together. “Cause I can come up with my own ideas and I don't like them.”

Lying to him had proved a silly task time and time again.

“My apartment isn't actually ready to be lived in yet,” you admitted, low in your throat and looking down to his hands. The only update you had from your apartment was that it would take another week, followed by a hopefully.

“No?” he said in fake disbelief.

You shook your head. “I just guessed I'd out stayed my welcome, you wanted to be alone.”

“No,” he said. “No, you didn't. You could've stayed.”

You eyed Robby. “You didn't really seem like you wanted me there anymore.”

You watched as he sighed, shoulders slumping.

Robby's fingers thread and un-thread. “It wasn't like that.”

“I mean did I- did I do something?” you asked, a spew of words ready at the barrel of your gun. “I thought we were okay.”

“So did I,” he said, bringing up his gaze and taking a deep, shuddering breath. “So did I.”

“Then what?”

Robby pushed himself up, hands flying to the back of his head and patting down his hair. His boots scuffed against the floor as he paced the area small and not built for pacing. “I thought things were going really well,” he admitted, hands making a weak gesture between the two of you. “I thought there were moments.”

“There were!” you opposed, quickly.

Was this a chance you'd been looking for? Was he wanting you to say there was something more? That the touches and everything else meant something.

He looked at you, arms pulling over his chest. “But we're just friends, right?”

There was a way he was saying it, a bite to his words like a dog barking, trying to make a point. Just friends.

With your head spinning you remembered another time of saying those words. You remembered Santos's teasing (really it was hard to pick one particular moment out from it all) and Javadi there too. You remembered their teasing grins, asking you about benefits-

And how Robby forced the tablet in between the three of you.

Your head hung, hands wiping away the stress. “Oh god.”

Robby waited.

“Oh god,” your voice came out muffled by your own hands. “Robby-”

“Yeah, I started to like you,” he said, trying to make it all seem like it was no big deal, body moving to shake it of. “I shouldn't, I know. I'm your boss, you're the resident, you were staying with me as a guest.”

“Robby, I-” you pushed yourself up, making your way around the table.

“- and you made it very clear to Doctor Santos and Doctor Javadi-”

“- they were teasing me, it was- it was nothing. I didn't mean it! I mean, they'd been teasing me for weeks, they were just annoying me.”

His body moved in his breath as looked at you. “You don't have to lie.”

“I'm not!”

“You lied about your place. Instead you chose a hotel, one that was a death trap, apparently.”

“I thought you hated me!”

“No, I want you!”

“And I want you!” you yelled.

“You didn't tell me.”

“Well, you didn't tell me.”

Robby scoffed. “Yeah, I'm the one who's supposed to have communication issues, sweetheart.”

Within seconds you had thrown yourself into Robby's arms, practically leaping atop him and kissing him. His lips were frozen, body waking up slowly as his arms curled around your back, holding you in. You could feel the scrunch of his noise and the scrape of his beard as he didn't kiss you back.

You pulled away, keeping your eyes down.

Just because he wanted you, because you wanted him didn't mean throwing yourself at him (literally!) was going to work.

“I-I'm sorry, I thought-”

His hands drowned your face as he pulled you back in, head dipping low to lick his tongue into you. He pressed his mouth into your, letting his tongue in your mouth. His hands tilted your head back, thumbs brushing your cheeks as he reacted to you at once.

Your hands tugged a hold of his hoodie, bending him further along you while his hands slowed down your body, cupping your backside and digging his fingers in.

Some noise made its way out the back of his throat, groaning into your mouth.

“Are we-” you said against his lips. “Mmp; are we doing this right now?”

“Doing what?” He mumbled, tilting his head to nudge your mouth open deeper.

You smiled against him. “Making out in the family room?”

“God, I hope so.”

His mouth was open, warm and welcoming as he kissed you harder, finding parts of you nobody had ever found before.

“I meant it,” said Robby against you, his tongue running over the tip of your lip. “I want you.”

You nudged your nose with his, arms coming to wrap around the back of his neck. “I mean it. I don’t- we’re not just friends, Robby.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, smirking. “I don’t think think friends kiss each other the way I’m about to kiss you.”

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[bluetimeombre]

John, Oh John!

synopsisyou and john have always been cut from the same cloth, close in the way only you two could be working in the ER. but what john doesn't know- your deep love for him- can't hurt him. only you. but if you have to hear him love a girl that isn't you one more time, your heart might not make it.

warningsheavy angst, language, sex allusions

authornotei've been binge watching ER, I'm obsessed, my god its so good and of course, I love John Carter. i don't know if anyone else will care but i have to write for this man

“John! Oh John!”

John. Oh John. It was a mantra prayed upon next door to your room. It was religious, almost every other night the calling for his name.

It was damn right sinful.

When John had invited you to move in with him almost six months ago you thought all your problems were solved. You would no longer lose rent on a stuffy apartment you didn't even like, being kept up by frat parties that seemed to run all night. You'd share with Carter, be able to study together as you had since starting as med students together, be able to help each other out and share the rent.

“Oh my god, John!”

You hadn't thought about the noise. The moaning, the thudding of beds, the awkward greeting of the new girl of the week in the mornings where all you wanted to do was drink coffee and get ready for the day in peace.

Your bed was next to Carters, a wall separating the two of you.

This girl was blonde, slim, not from the hospital from what you could tell. They'd stumbled in at eleven and you'd heard him jingle at the door so you hid yourself away, running from the living room you paid rent for to offer them privacy and peace that they never offered you.

“John...” the girl had whined, you imagined her hands crawling up his chest, peeling off his coat and scarf, dragging her lips over his neck.

“Wait, wait, wait-” you heard John, probably making sure the coast was clear before he took her on the sofa. The sofa you'd paid for! He'd called your name, checking where you were. Gathering you'd hidden yourself away he carried on.

It wasn't the first night the sound of fucking next door had kept you up, in fact you'd lost count of the many of women John preferred to you. Slowly your patience was failing. Sleep as an intern in the ER was precious- like a gem stone. You shouldn't have been losing it in your own apartment.

You heard the mumble of medical procedures and thought you were in a nightmare.

“John, what are you doing?” the girl asked.

You knew what he was doing. To make himself last and drag on the night he thought about medical notes, the books you studied piled on the coffee table.

“Making it last,” you heard him say.

You wished he wouldn't.

When the low moaning started again you couldn't take it.

It was somewhere past four but you'd never known Mark Greene to turn away help.

“What are you doing here? You're not on till seven,” said Carol as you threw on your doctors coat, swinging on the stethoscope.

Outside it was dark, starting to rain and you'd drank two coffees on the way in. You weren't feeling awake but the hustle of the ER and the calls of trauma were better to hear than the moaning and slams of bed.

“Couldn't sleep, thought I'd get in early, early bird catches the.... something,” you said, eyeing the board. Abdominal pains, sores, vision blurs, the usual. There were plenty not taken up with a doctor.

“Couldn't sleep huh?” Carol asked, as familiar with the drill as you were.

“Nop.”

“And what was her name this time?”

“I didn't catch it.”

You didn't know if it was a head nurse thing or just a Hathaway thing but Carol had caught the feelings you had for John maybe even before you had.

She'd watch the two of you come in as fresh faced med students aiming for two different things. The two of you worked well on cases. You learnt how to take a more direct approach through Carters determination in surgery and John learnt to take closer care with his patients with your attentiveness in a pedes rotation.

“God, men are pigs,” said Carol.

“What have I done now?” asked Ross as he passed, leaving and picking up a chart. “You're in early,” he observed.

“I'm dedicated.”

“Wanna check out a cough in five?”

“I'll be there.”

You didn't need to stare to see Carol and Doug share a look. As you'd taken an interest in pedes work in the ER you'd been brought under Dough Ross's rather large wings. And if you were around Ross by proximity you were around Carol. And if you were around them Carter wasn't far.

It was a chain of terrible love stories.

“Eventually you'll get written up for overtime,” said Carol.

“A hospital that hates over-achievers, damn.”

“You should just talk to him.”

You turn to her, leaning on the counter. “And tell him what? I hate him having sex?”

“Well if he could be a little quieter,” she suggested.

“It's not him, it's the women.”

Carol was silent as you distracted yourself with the charts. You knew what she would say next, you knew what you would say after that and it would continue as it had for months. “You should tell him how you-”

“-no.”

“What's the worst that could happen?”

“He says he doesn't feel the same way, tells everyone, I'm left embarrassed, I lose my apartment, need I go on?”

Her eyes rolled. “No I get it.”

“Hey!” Ross called out. “Cough! Five! Let's go!”

You followed him on and used what you'd come to the Er to get: distractions. You followed Ross around from patient to patient, got called in on a trauma and even had time to change the the filters in the coffee machine before you were faced with John.

He was bright eyed, smiling with his dimples. Heck, you were even convinced his eyes lit up seeing you, with your coat hanging off, hair already falling out of its hold and he'd just left some blonde babe. Maybe she'd dropped him off at the hospital and he'd beg a lift back with you. Or he'd told her to let herself out the apartment.

Carter had no right to look at you like that.

“Hey,” he smiled. “You get in early? I thought you started at seven with me?”

“Oh yeah... I was paged in early.”

“Trauma?”

“Cough.”

He laughed. “You were paged in for a cough.”

“I know can you believe it,” you had tried to make it sarcastic, wanted it to seem like a passing comment but your lips didn't move into a smile and it fell weak into your stomach.

John leant next to you at the counter, tilting his body in a way to try to look at you. “You okay?”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

“Something's up, what?”

Maybe it was how close you’d worked, going from students to interns. Or it was your living together which made you both understand each other with small looks.

Clearly you didn’t know each other well enough, otherwise he’d note the bags under your eyes or the way your body didn’t lean into his like you used to.

John jutted his hip against yours with a chuckle. “Talk to me, c’mon.”

“I just didn’t get much sleep last night.” You admitted.

How stupid could men be?

John didn’t even catch on to what you were laying down. “How about we do something tonight? Catch a movie? Get some dinner?”

You and John used to do that sort of thing often. When you'd first moved in together it was all watching films with take out, taking it in turns to order your favourites. You could hardly recall what the films were about because the two of you spoke throughout them. It took a month then you knew everything there was to know about him.

But that was almost two years ago and things were different.

You were in love with him.

He had no idea.

Instead he had love for hours a night and that seemed to do him fine.

John was still waiting for an answer. “Dinner? Movie?”

You looked at him. Over his shoulder you spotted Carol, shaking her head. “Dinner sounds great.”

John's face broke out into a smile. “Yes!” he cheered. His lips pressed to your head quick, gone before you could get a feel of him.

“Carter!” Benton called.

Benton's ordering and bossing around of Carter had grated on his nerves for months but you'd never seen him smile so wide and all but skip to him.

Maybe things weren't being so bad.

“Why would you agree to go to dinner?” asked Carol.

Why would you? Because even if he wasn't your lover, he was still your friend. You'd take that. “Was I supposed to say no?”

“You're gonna hurt yourself,” she said.

But sadly you had hope, which was probably the only thing keeping you in the state you were in.

“It's just dinner with a friend,” you said, picking up a patients chart, any chart.

Carol clocked her head at you. “It's not though is it?”

“To him it is.”

John appeared at your side, hands bracing your arms as he leant over you. For a moment you panicked, imagining that he heard it all. His grin said different. “I'll book us Nona's, your favourite Italian, I'll get it for eight.”

He disappeared, rushing around the corner. You got a last look at his scrubs and gown.

When you turned back to Carol she'd gone too.

“And so I said to him, that's not his Appendix, that's his Kidney.”

Johns laughter bounced around the restaurant. As promised he’d booked your favourite Italian, a table in the window lit by a candle and golden lights around you.

There was an empty plate from a tiramisu you’d shared and several empty glasses of wine dotted around from the evening you’d shared, lipstick of your stained glasses you’d had.

John had entertained you all night, telling jokes, talking about work. His eyes had been lit up since you both sat down, talking animated and never letting a moment of quiet. He’d even dressed up, supporting a suit as if this was some kind of date.

With the lights down low and dragging your fingers over your glass of wine, you almost imagined it was.

The waiter came by and John waved him down.

“Another bottle of white,” he ordered, sharing the last dregs of the bottle between your two glasses.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re trying to get me drunk,” you joked.

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” he laughed. “I’ve missed you. It’s just nice that we get to do this, I didn’t see you at all yesterday. You were in bed when I got home.”

Home. Home with his date.

“We’ve been… busy,” you said.

Johns smile broke but only a fraction, some sort of disappointment floating by and marring his expression. “Yeah, I-I guess we have.”

There was a flicker of silence, the first sort there’d been in the night.

The wine was delivered.

“We should do this once a week,” suggested John, alight with the idea.

You laughed. “What, with our schedule?”

“Okay.” He rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “Once a month, surely we can manage that, right? We’re capable people, capable doctors.”

There was more laughter, dulling the ache you’d been carrying.

At some point Johns hand had come down and touched yours.

You’d expected him to pay your hand friendly, move it away and make another crack at a joke.

His hand lingered. Stayed, his fingers stayed slowly moving against the back of your hand.

John watched as his fingers drew lazy circles over your skin. There was a smile playing on his lips.

You didn’t have it in you to move away. You chuckled lightly. “What are you doing?”

John looked at you, his other hand coming up to cup his chin as he rested there. “I’ve missed you.”

It was sincere, almost loving.

You laughed it away. “You’ve said that already.”

“What? A guy can’t say it again?”

“A guy can’t say but you…” you trailed off.

“I what?” asked John pointedly, tilting his head to get a better look of you.

It was almost cruel how unaware he was, or maybe acted he was. The thought that he knew your feelings that were oh so obvious to some and were using them against you made you feel sick.

You slipped your hand out of his and took a sip of your wine. “Nothing.”

“No, what?” he asked, nudging himself closer to the table. “What were you gonna say?”

You drained the glass of wine and picked up the bottle, pouring yourself more while John watched and waited. You laughed, doing your best to brush it off. “I dunno what I was gonna say, slipped by me.”

You could tell he didn't believe you. He seemed to like to chose when he wanted to believe you.

“I-” He'd just started to speak when his gaze drifted over your shoulder and widened at the door. “Oh god, don't turn around, don't look- don't look!”

Frowning you did just what he said not to do, wine still in hand.

Carter was busy slouching in his chair, trying to hide.

A girl walked in with two of her friends, peeling off their coats and handing them to the staff at the door. They were all large smiles and tanned skin, dresses that hugged perfectly and hands manicured. They were alight with life and not drowned in exhaustion like you.

You looked back to John and didn't even have to guess and why he was hiding from them. Your brows rose at him.

“I went to school with her,” he said, scratching at the back of his neck. “She has a massive crush on me.”

“Does she?” at least you weren't the only fool to love him.

John nodded, the front of his hair moving as he did.

You looked again and as if she sensed you, the girl turned.

“No... no... no....” chanted John as she seemed to recognise him, even half swallowed by the table as he was trying to be.

“John Carter!” the girl greeted with her arms out and her wide smile.

John was polite in standing and hugging her.

You were polite in occupying yourself with the wine.

“Oh my god, look at you it's been so long!” she said, pulling away. Her hand smoothed the jacket of his suit. “God when I last saw you you were winning horses races on... oh, what was your horses name, again?”

“Marigold,” said John.

“Marigold, that's right!” she laughed, hand slapping at his bicep and lingering.

You snorted at the obvious affection she was laying on. At least (you hoped) you were slightly more incredulous.

They both looked to you.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt,” she apologised.

John went to speak but you spoke before he had the chance.

“You didn't, actually, join us if you like,” you invited.

John's face fell. “What?”

“Oh, I mean I'm here with friends but, hey, what's one drink between old friends?” she pulled up a chair effortlessly, setting it between you and Carter.

Carter himself lingered up on his feet, pulling his jacket close and slotting a button in. He looked at you, almost with some betrayed ideas in his eyes. He sat down, deflated but his old friend from school - Samantha- was already taking his wine glass and filling it. She was already talking about the first time she met John.

You didn't know why you'd decided to interrupt your own night with him. Just as you didn't know why John seemed to perturbed that you had.

Two days later he was at it again.

“John! Oh, John!”

You didn't even get a glance at this one, you had no idea who it was. The old friend from the restaurants or a friend of hers that had joined you later in the night. Maybe it was patient or a friend or family of patients. It could've even been the new intern that had started. You didn't know.

They were all blending into one.

“John! John! John!”

You'd tried putting on headphone from you walk man. You'd tried smothering yourself with your cushion. You'd tried every trick under the sun but it was as if the sounds of pleasure had buried itself in your bones. Even if you couldn't hear it, you knew it was there and it was enough in your bones to have you tossing and turning.

“H, stands for hemolysis, the- the break down of red blood cells-”

You threw your covers off. It was nearing three a.m. The ER could always use an extra pair of hands. That's what you told yourself as you pulled on clothes in the dark, desperate to get out the apartment before you crawl out of your skin.

Perhaps turning on the light would have been beneficial.

You pulled up your pants, jumping to do so but sliding on a lose sock. You fell, hurtling to the ground and trying to catch yourself on the desk had only resulted in banging your head on the side.

For a moment, lying in the dark of your room with a new ache in your head you thought maybe you were concussed because there was suddenly no noise. No nothing.

“John-”

“- wait, shh, shh-”

Nope, still there.

You finally got your pants on without any more injury and left your room.

There were to empty beer bottles at the kitchen counter. You noticed them as you pulled kitchen roll onto your head, pulling it back you pulled open the fridge to check in the light. A little blood.

All the more reason to get to the ER.

You were just fetching your bag from the side when the squeak of a door behind you alerted you.

“Hey, what's going on?” John spoke up.

You didn't dare turn around. You knew if you did you'd find a recently fucked-out Carter, maybe his friend hanging off his arm like his other friends had two nights before at Nona's.

He called out your name.

“Nothing, John,” you dismissed, swinging your bag over your shoulder.

“Where are you going, it's like, three am?”

You didn't answer.

“Did the hospital call?”

“Just go back to bed, Carter.”

It could have been the head split, the fact you were running on little sleep as it was or that John was so insisting he cared when the noise of you falling had clearly broken him out of his blissed state.

You never called him Carter. If you did, it was a bad sign.

“Wait- wait- jus' a second, hold on-”

You turned, catching a glimpse of him retreating back in his room.

You dabbed at your cut again, seething at the pain it brought.

You doubted stitches were needed but maybe some glue. Heck, maybe you could find an on-call room and sleep off the wound.

John's door opened again and he was rushing out, tugging a shirt on with joggers already pulled up. He flicked the light on and you watched his eyes widen at the cut as if you'd been shot. “Woah-woah, hey-hey-”

“Leave it, John.”

“What happened? What'd you do?” he rushed to you, sliding on the floor as he cupped your cheeks, checking the cut in the light.

His clothes hung limp on him and you didn't even have to look close to see the blue and purple bruises at his neck, still fresh, a thin trail of kisses not yet settled. There was no slouch in him like you knew there to be in you. He was alert. The kind of attention sex required.

He was using all that energy- the energy he was stealing from you- to asses your wound.

“What were you doing, jumping-jacks?” he tried to joke.

You didn't feel like laughing. “Can you leave it, please?”

The crinkle at his eyes at his own teasing dropped. He became as dull as you felt.

“No, no I- I can't leave it,” he said, serious. “You're bleeding, you're hurt, what happened?”

You sighed. “I was dressing in the dark, I'm a clutz.”

He shook his head. “Why were you dressing at three am?”

“Because I'm going into work.”

“We're not on nights.”

“Then I'm going in for fun.”

“Like the other night when you were paged in for a cough that didn't exists?” he said. “Mark told me, so what's going on?”

You had hoped Mark Greene- your mentor- wouldn't be noticing the slow falling apart of your love life. No such luck there. “Nothing,” you told him. “Nothing is going on.”

“You running off in the night is something, in my books at least,” said John, stern. His arms fell to his side. “So, you want to tell me?”

You'd just done a thirty-six hour shift and was only reward with two hours sleep. You didn't have it in you to be kind to him while your own chest felt like it was caving in on itself. “No, I don't.”

John scoffed. “Well, I've got all night, I can wait.”

“No, you don't.”

He frowned.

At that moment his latest peeked out of the room. She'd had the decency to wrap herself up in his thin white sheet at least. Her hair was a mess, her body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. She genuinely seemed sorry to be interrupting but clearly wanted to get back to the high she was chasing.

“Hey, John, is everything okay?”

She was so un-like you. She was everything you weren't. You didn't even know who she was but she wasn't you and seeing her coming out of John's room, wrapped up in his sheet and smell and faint marks of him you were reminded of that.

You didn't know why she- an odd number in his list of conquests- broke your heart. But it did.

You chocked on a sob, turning away from them both.

John's neck snapped to you at the noise. “Hey, hey-” his hands were soft on your forearms but you shrugged him off.

“John?” asked the girl again, a lazy drawl of her voice piercing your heart.

“Just, go back in, I'll- I'll be a second,” he said, dismissively.

It some how made it all the much worse because he didn't care for the other girls feelings. It was nothing serious to him, it never was. If it was serious, if he brought a girl back and took painstaking effort to introduce the two of you maybe you could pull on a brave face, pretend to be happy for him.

But he was constantly throwing it all in your face.

“John?” the girl asked again.

“Meg, seriously, I just need to sort this out-”

Sort it out? Like you were something on a check list?

You'd managed to make it to the front door before John caught you.

“Hey, wait! No- jus'-” his hand slammed down over you on the door, closing it before you could escape. “You're scaring me now, what's going on?”

“Nothing,” your own voice betrayed you, cracking as tears escaped you.

You rushed to wipe them away but John beat you to it.

“Hey, hey.” His thumb swept at the tears, voice laced in worry and pain. “Why are you crying? What's happened?”

You knew yourself well enough from the years of stress of medical school, from losing patients that were making promising progress and dying, from months of hearing John love on a girl that wasn't you to know when you couldn't trust your voice. All you could do was duck your head and sniff.

John was still close enough for you to smell the other girls perfume on him. “Why- why don't we sit down? I'll make you some tea.”

“I don't want tea,” you chuckled dryly.

John seemed startled. Tea was always what you offered him after the hard days. “Coffee?”

“I just want to go,” you admitted.

“Go? Go where?” he asked, voice almost as broken as yours. “You want to leave, you want to get out of here?”

He asked like he was almost understanding where you were coming from.

You nodded.

“Can I come with you?”

You shook your head.

John nodded with tight lips, like his own heart was breaking. “Okay them, I- I can't let you go. Not alone.”

You cried. “John-”

“It's three am it's dark out, I'm not letting you go anywhere alone-”

“John-”

“And frankly you're scaring me right now, I can't stand seeing you like this-”

“- I just don't want to be near you right now.”

The confession hung between the two of you like a hook caught in your hearts and tearing you both down. It was one thing you hurting because of John's actions but it wasn't like you'd told him how you felt. So really, you were hurting him for nothing.

“Okay, okay,” he said calmly. Turing for a second to gather himself up, patting the back of his hair down. “Okay you don't have to be anywhere near me but can you at least stay? So I know you're safe. I'll- I'll hide in my room or something. Out there, it's-it's not and I know you hate me right now but you will give me a heart attack if you go-”

“- I don't hate you,” you uttered.

“Well you just said you don't want to be near me,” he pointed out, the first angry notes in his voice. He took a deep breath and took a step closer, his hands clenched in together. John bent a little in the knees to get a look at you. “I'm sorry, whatever I did, I'm sorry, so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.”

He hadn't. Nothing he'd done had been with you in mind.

John laughed at himself. “It's me, for Christ sake, I'd never do anything to hurt you, okay? You've got to believe me. You know me.... you know me!”

The door to his room opened again and in the dim light the both of you saw his girl- Meg- wander out. She was in one of his old grey shirts, flaunting herself with jutted out hips. She threw herself down on the sofa and watched, waiting.

You wiped your tears away, telling yourself to get a grip. “Can we just- can we do this later, John, please?”

You'd thought the tears and begging would have been enough but John looked at you, studying all over you. He took in a deep breath like he was getting his confidence from somewhere.

He shook his head, staring at you. “No. Okay, wait- just wait for for a second, one second.”

You did. You waited one second and watched as he returned to Meg, crouching at the sofa and talking low to her. He even put his hand on hers and spoke very calmly and clearly.

Whatever he was saying Meg seemed to not like, or really understand, her eyes flickered back up to yours accusingly.

That's when you slipped out the door and hailed down a taxi to take you to the ER.

Carol had offered to help but you said no, so did Lydia, practically following you down with the right kit to take care of the cut on your head. Genie had offered with a kind understanding smile but you'd hidden yourself away on an empty bed with a mirror.

Mark was the only one you'd let stay in the room, even then you weren't letting him get close enough to help. “We should get a CT, at least.”

“Geez, it's just a small cut,” you chuckled, putting the thin strips of tape over it to help bring it together. It was the sort of thing that wasn't even medical. Just common sense.

“Better safe than sorry,” he said.

“And do you want to be the one to tell Wheever you ordered un-neccary tests and wasted hospital rescourse and money?”

You'd thought that would have been enough to deter him but instead Mark leaned forward.

“Yes.”

Damn.

“As chief resident I don't have to have you working till you get the all cleared.”

You huffed. You could always find an on-call room to catch up on sleep but you feared you'd re-play John's heartbreak over again if you did. “Fine, book me the CT,” you said, slinging your stephscope back around your neck and pocketing your pocket mirror.

“Thank you,” said Mark and with one last look of conserved worry, he left.

But the door swung open a second later and Carter waltzed in, hands in the pocket of his lab coat. He paused and looked at you, as if you were a patient of his.

It was going on four. He'd followed you in.

You opened your mouth to say something. A sorry, maybe. An apology for ruining his sex time and for crying.

John beat you to it. “I know you said you didn't want to be around me but I'm sorry, I-” he laughed at the very idea that was true. He knew you too well for that. “I don't believe you.”

“What do you want me to do about that?”

“I want you to talk to me.” John grabbed the stool close and sat on it, pushing himself close in front of you like any attentive doctor would. He grabbed your hands. “Talk to me.”

You wondered what you should have told him first. That out of desperation for your well-being Chuni had offered up her spare room at her place till you could get a place of your own. That Mark was willing to move around the schedule and face Wheever's wrath in doing so. That you couldn't take one more night of not being the one John chose.

“I'm sorry for being mad earlier, at the apartment,” you said first, looking down to where he held your hands. His knuckles were bleached white from the tightness he held onto you to. “I'm not- I'm not mad at you.”

His body sagged in relief. “You're not?”

“No.”

“Oh - thank god.” His body curved over yours, breath fanning the envelope of your hands.

“It's just me, it's just stuff,” you dismissed.

“No, it's not just stuff,” he said, equally as dismissive. “If it's getting you up in the middle of the night, ending in you being hurt- I mean... we can sort it.”

His thumb was a delicate tough as he brushed over your cut.

It didn't feel as painful when he did.

John's gaze lingered on your cut before looking back at your eyes. There was nothing to indicate he knew what this was really about, only a small hurting sorrow that he didn't know how to help you.

It was enough to hurt you all over again.

But maybe pulling the band off at once was better than a slow, agonising pull.

You squeezed his hands. “John, I'm moving out.”

The words were like heavy stones sinking in the bottom of a lake. You saw his expression blanked, his hands release yours slowly and his face pale as if the world was ending. His eyes searched yours trying to detect a hint of amusement.

He found nothing.

Mark popped his head back in, saving you. “CT's ready for you.”

“Thanks Mark,” you said as he nodded once and left again.

John hadn't moved, frozen in place. He stared past your body.

“I'll um... I've got to go...” it was the cowards way out but the way you saw it you'd been tough a long time, lying in bed and crying yourself to sleep. Letting yourself feel pathetic for doing so when you had so much more in life to give it meaning. If you could just get away enough, create some distance so you didn't feel trapped you could at least keep his hand in friendship. At least still have the privilege of looking in his eyes everyday and know, just for a second, you once had a chance for it all with him.

When you got back to the door and looked back, John was still on the stool, eyes watering.

Three hours later your shift officially started but you were already four patients deep, a case in pedes with Ross, a trauma that had gone up to the OR, an elderly man with a nasty fall to his hip and possible schizophrenia. Your last was a young girl, complaining of stomach craps. You suspected pregnancy and was thinking as much when you glanced out the door to the front desk.

John was staring through the door at you, Carol at his side trying to talk to him also staring in at you.

It wasn't a good sign in any case, not when Carol knew everything and John knew so little. It didn't help he looked wrecked. Tie askew, hair sticking up in the way that indicated hands running through it in stress.

Then he rounded the corner and disappeared from view.

“Leanne, have you been sexually active recently?”

“With my boyfriend.”

“And how long ago was your last period?”

“Two weeks.”

“Are you late?”

“Not yet.”

You jotted it all down on the chart. “Ok, we're gonna get some blood work, start you on an IV and get a urine sample in-”

The door swung open and you and Maleek who was helping on the case looked up.

John stood there, breathless like he'd ran the ten or so paces it took to get here.

“John?” you asked.

“You love me?”

The world stilled. There was suddenly nothing but you and him. Him looking at you astonished, like he couldn't believe it. At a loss of words from the very idea.

“I'm sorry- what?”

He took a heavy step forward, a deep inahle seething. “You love me.”

It wasn't an accusation the second time.

You looked back to the fifteen year old and Maleek who seemed as startled as you. “Can we not- I'm with a patient-”

“It's okay, I got this,” said Maleek, stepping in the way.

And John Carter was still standing there, catching his breath and staring at you.

You, with little other choice, barged past him.

You heard Carol calling out for you as you marched around trying to find a private corner to have the dreaded confrontation.

“I'm sorry!” she called.

John was hot on your heels. “Don't apologise, I deserved to know!”

Benton had joined the crew of on lookers at the desk. “Do I want to know?” you heard him ask.

“Probably not,” Mark replied.

Exam room two was empty and you held the door open for Carter. He marched in, hands running over his hair again as he mumbled to himself. You closed the door behind, locking it and closing the blinds because you knew everyone was going to try to listen to your world crumble.

You gave yourself a two second head start in catching your breath before turning to him.

John stood in the middle of the room, hands on his hips, waiting. His lip tucked under his teeth. “You love me.”

“Who told you?”

“Carol,” he said. “I was so worried about you I asked if she knew what was going on but turns out everyone did. You know, I could've asked Doug, Mark, Susan, Genie, basically everyone I mean- was I the last one to know?”

“There was nothing for you to know.”

“Really?” he scoffed.

“Yes!” you snapped. “It was my feelings, you didn't need to know them!”

“Yes, I did! I needed to know!”

“Why?”

“Why? Because- because it's me!”

You groaned, frustration ripping through the tears you had cried that morning. “What does it matter, John? You don't love me!”

“Of course I love you!”

“Not in the way I love you, not like that!”

“Yes I do!” he all but screamed.

The room fell silent. You could hear the labour of his breath and the wheels and running outside the room. A trauma was called in yet nobody was rescuing you or John.

He stood there, exposed.

Yes I do!

It was the heat of the argument, you told yourself, as you shook the idea out of you. For a second you almost believed him.

John deflated, watching as you hugged yourself, as you didn't rush to him or smile at his confession. “Do you... do you think I don't love you?”

You levelled your gaze on him.

As if he could see the break of your heart through the windows to your soul he shattered.

“Oh my god. You think I don't love you?”

You lifted your shoulders in a tired shrug. “Was I supposed to believe you did? You fuck a different girl every night while I'm on the other side of the damn wall.” The words come out bitten and finally the penny dropped for John.

The sleepless nights, the times he knew you were tired, the way you hid around every corner, in every room. Slowly he fit all the pieces together and he didn't like what he was seeing.

“That wasn't- they were- they were nothing,” he stuttered.

It was your turn to scoff. “Yeah, it never sounded like nothing-”

“You have to believe me, okay, you- you have to-” he begged, rushing in front of you. His hands took yours without your offer and he held it close to him, over his chest where you could feel his racing heart by the palm of your hand. “- you can't- you have to-”

He clenched his jaw.

You waited for more. “Can't what?”

John screwed his eyes shut, uttering a curse before opening his eyes. They pleaded onto you. “You can't think they meant anything over you. You can't,” he said so definitely you almost believed him. Almost.

“You're not making sense.”

“I know- I- I know,” he said, moving closer to you. He rested his head on your shoulder and you didn't have the strength to move. There was no smell of any other girl, only your shampoo he used in his hair. You could feel the tremble of his body. “This isn't how I wanted this to go.”

You were still, like you were a bunny in the jaws of a lion.

John pulled back and you were shocked at the redness of his eyes, at the tears threatening to spill. “When I dreamt about this I dreamt roses and a better declaration,” he chuckled at himself.

“I'm glad you find this really amusing, John, but I-”

“I don't- I don't,” he said at once. But he still chuckled dryly. “I just think I've messed up my whole life and I- I don't know how to fix this.”

You weren't sure what he was saying because he couldn't be talking about whatever was going on between the two of you. Frankly, you weren't sure what was going on. There was confessions hanging in the air like dirty laundry and tears from him that you didn't know what to do with. None of it made sense.

Your brain went to the only sense it could make.

“You've ruined your life?” you asked, full of concern for him. “What? Is one of the girls pregnant?”

John swiped his hands over his face, roughly. “No. No, I've just realised I fucked everything up with you.”

You stared at him and laughed. “And that's your entire life ruined?”

Carter nodded earnestly.

He loved you? He was insisting he did. Looking at you like he did.

A fist grabbed your heart and squeezed. You counted every girl you'd met through him and tried to add it up to love. It only made your head hurt and you knew it had nothing to do with the cut.

“I can't- I can't do this right now,” you said. “I have patients. So do you.”

“Can we talk? Tonight. Can we- can we talk? Please. Back home,” he begged, voice quiet like you'd never heard him before. “Please don't leave me.”

You wanted to argue there was nothing to leave. That even if you were going to go you still had a room of things to pack and sort. “Okay, fine, tonight.”

For the rest of the day you and John avoided each other, only working side by side on traumas. It was the only clue anyone got about the two of you. Nobody had dared ask what was going on but as you threw yourself into work and John got back on the floor after a thorough self-pity party they were all smart enough to guess it didn't go well.

“So, you're talking?” asked Carol at the end of your shift as you finished passing off your charts.

“Tonight, yeah.”

“That's good, isn't it?”

You huffed, finding your bag. “He says he loves me, Carol.”

She didn't know whether to smile or not. “Yeah, I think he does.”

“So what were the girls?”

“Distractions? A bit of fun? Men don't always have to make sense. Even if they are in love,” she told you, knowing all too well the the ins and outs of men and stupid choices through Doug Ross and their famous on and off relationship. “But give him a chance, he might surprise you.”

A chance.

You were tired. The kind that came from a long shift and little sleep. The kind you'd become accustom to that it didn't shock you when you felt it knocking on your door.

Were you too tired for a chance?

A throat cleared behind you and Carol disappeared from your side.

John stood in front of you, sheepish, with a bouquet in hand. They were your favourite flowers. “For you.”

Ignoring the audience that was trying (and failing) at being subtle, you took them.

“Thank you.”

He nodded, shy, in a way you hadn't seen him be since the both of you first started in the ER.

Nobody knew what to say next.

“Can I, um, can I take you home now?”

You could have been petty and told him you'd catch the subway back. Or that you'd hail a cab but you were both going the same way and you'd end up in your living room, talking, one way or another.

The car ride was quiet with John trying to find a radio station that didn't grate on him and ended up in silence.

When he pulled up in front of your apartment building he rushed out the car like it was on fire. He pulled open your door before you got the chance and helped you with your bag and bouquet.

In the apartment it was just as un-touched as it had been in the morning.

You didn't realise until you saw it so that you'd been expecting a lingering guest.

But there was only signs of you and John.

He was watching you while he set both your things down. “Do you want a drink?”

“No, no thanks I think I should be sober for this,” you said. Amicable ground was trying to be found, keeping your voice neutral was the best you could do. “Do you want a drink?”

“No, no.”

The silence was invasive. An un-wanted guest.

You would start it, as you had with all your messed up feelings. You could finish it even if it hurt. “If you love me what were all the girls?”

John seemed to leap at the chance to defend himself. “Nothing. They were nothing, they were-” he paused, taking time to think about his next words. “They were just distractions. Meaningless. To get you out of my mind.”

“Cheap, John.” It was almost word for word what Carol said.

“Nothing I say can defend myself, I'm not trying to defend myself I'm trying to tell you the truth. I need you, and if I've ruined this I'm not letting you go without fighting.”

He approached you, giving you space and time to step back or flinch away. You didn't.

“I've loved you since I met you. Ever since you came up to me thinking I was a doctor and knew where labs were, I knew it. Love at first sight- if you think that's bullshit- I don't care because I knew it. But you made it clear, very clear you were here to be the best doctor you could be and I wanted that for you, I still do- I always will,” he said.

You remembered John years ago, tailored white coat and hopeful. You'd gone up to him because you were supposed to meet Doctor Greene in labs and had no idea where that was and he was the first person in a white coat and clipboard you'd seen.

You did twelve hours next to him that day, competing on stitches and sutures.

“You know, I had an apartment when I heard you were looking to move in with someone, cheap rent and that,” he said, laughing at himself. “I moved out of that apartment and got another one within the week with a spare room just so I could ask you to move in.”

The apartment you were stood in.

“What?”

John nodded like he knew it was ridiculous. “It worked.”

You knew the Carter family was rich beyond imagination. You'd always wondered why John insisted on a room mate when he could afford to live comfortably without one.

“When you told me you were thinking of moving in with Anna god I had a heart attack, practically begged her to back off.”

John had helped you pack your old place, had carried your stuff with care into his apartment. It had looked so much like him, so lived in you wouldn't even think to wonder how long he'd lived there. You'd never have guessed only a week till you invaded with your stuff.

“It was the closest I could have you without having you.”

“Why didn't you tell me then?” you asked.

His face screwed up like he regretted it. He did, you guessed. “Because we both get tired. We get irritable. I hate failing patients and you take on so many that you can't give yourself a minute to think during the day.”

You weren't sure if it was a compliment or not.

“We work together, we live together, take patients together I figured we'd crash and burn if I told you how I felt,” he admitted. “And- god, help me- if I had to live only being your friend it was better than living without you at all.”

But you and John had never argued. The both of you had figured out how to silently read each other. How to know when he needed space or a hug and a shoulder to cry on. He knew when you needed an extra pair of hands or to just put a stupid movie on to fall asleep too.

The nights you'd fallen asleep in his arms on the sofa and woke in your bed. The mornings where you were on and he wasn't but he was still up to get you a coffee. The days you worked close together and ignored everyone else. It all meant something else now.

“The girls were to forget,” said John. “It didn't work, hardly. All I could think about was you. And I know- I know it's wrong. I had to recite medical facts to myself just to get the thought of you out my head.”

“I thought you did that to make it last for them,” you admitted, realising now how silly it's all been.

He shook his head. “I didn't mean to hurt you. I'd rather cut off my own hands than make you cry. And I've made you cry and hurt you so just get a knife and-” he made a chopping motion, chocking on a laugh.

John wiped his tears with the back of his hand and he looked at you. “If you want to leave then leave but I can't let you go. I'll be around, I'll be really hard to get rid of.”

The both of your rooms stood behind you. Both dark. Both separate cages for the two of you.

“All I could think about when I saw you with those girls was how much they were never like me,” you spoke, quietly. “I thought you'd never... you know... think of me that way.”

John's hands were firm on your cheeks, gaining your attention. “It was always about you. You didn't deserve that, you didn't, I wish I could take it all back and tell you. But why didn't you tell me?”

Why? Because you were afraid. Knowing what you knew now it didn't seem a strong enough argument.

You laughed. “Are we stupid?”

John grinned through his own tears. He nodded, caressing your cheeks. “I think we are, I think so.”

Your foreheads leaned against each other as you laughed.

Slowly, it faded as he pressed his forehead into yours harder.

“I'm so sorry, baby.”

“I'm sorry,” you said, hands coming to hold his face, feeling the rough stubble in your palms.

“No, no, you have nothing to be sorry for, it's me, it's me,” he uttered, eyes closing. “If I've ruined this forever please tell me.”

You couldn't say he didn't have a point. Working long hours made you both difficult at times but never to each other. You couldn't say the girls wouldn't hurt you for some time more, that your insecurities weren't something you had to work on yourself.

Yet, you couldn't say you could manage without him.

“I don't think you have, no.”

John breathed out against you. “No?”

“No,” you shook your head against his. “I think if we love each other-”

“- we do, we do-”

“ -we should at least give it a try.”

“I'm not trying with you, I'm not trying- I'm doing,” John assured you, hands still moving along your cheeks, your hair, anything to hold you. “I'm not messing it up again, I'm not. I'd propose right now if you asked me to.”

You pulled back enough to stare at him seriously. “Don't.”

“Okay, okay, I won't,” he said. When he opened his eyes back at you he smirked, a twitch to his brows. “At least not today.”

There was laughter in place of tears and you knew that if you slept tonight there'd be no need to hurt. Maybe, instead, time to heal.

“Not for a long time,” you told him.

John nodded along, mockingly going along with you. “But eventually right?”

“Maybe you should kiss me before we get that far?”

The laughter died quietly. You were slowly brought into his arms as they wrapped around you, hands moving down your back without going further.

There was a gentle breeze of his warmth and the tips of his hair tickled you as he tilted his head, your own neck moving back to meet him.

It was soft and sweet. A small press of his lips like he was too scared to break you. It was your hands around his neck that brought him closer, it was his whimper that moved him on as his hands held your waist. You stayed pressing into each other, promising silent things as you did, until you both recognised the burn in your lungs for breath.

“I love you,” he said, slowly dragging his lips against yours again.

This time, you could admit to him without fear.

“I love you.”

[6okuto]

THEIR REACTION TO YOU DRESSING UP

GN!reader | Matsukawa, Iwaizumi, Kuroo, Atsumu, Suna, Osamu, Sakusa, Hinata, Tsukishima

CW: suggestive jokes (Matsukawa, Suna, Osamu a little)

MATSUKAWA’s sprawled on the couch, waiting to see the new outfit you bought. You had excitedly texted him before coming home, hiding the contents of your bag as you ran to change. It’s been a few minutes when he teasingly calls out, “You okay in there, babe? Need help?”

“No, actually I don’t, Issei,” you reply before walking out of the master bathroom. You do a slow turn, smoothing out the fabric that seems to hug you in the most perfect way. 

“Oh goddamn.” Issei gets up so fast he stumbles on the rug beneath him and slips onto the wooden floor.

“I don’t know when i’m gonna wear this, but it’s really nice, right?”

“Really fuckin' nice,” he agrees, grinning. “Respectfully and in love with you, I humbly ask, do you want to immediately get out of this and make out right now?”

IWAIZUMI looks up when he hears the changing room door open. You’re fixing the waist of your outfit, and don’t notice the way his eyes widen. He whispers under his breath, “Holy fuck.”

“Haji, do you think it’s too much for the dinner? I know it’s ‘just your old teammates’ but, like, i want to look good,” you explain.

Hajime’s gaze softens and he clears his throat before standing. “No, it’s perfect. You look…you look perfect.”

You smile and it’s all he can do to stop himself from covering his face and groaning. Trying to contain himself, he sighs. “Oikawa’s going to say something about you looking better than me, and I won’t even be able to disagree.”

The sound of your laughter fills the air, and it seems to take your boyfriend’s breath away. “Well, we better get something just as good for you then.”

KUROO almost drops his keys walking through the front door.

“Tetsu, you’re back early.”

“God, please don’t tell me I forgot about a super important event tonight.” He sounds both panicked and in awe, mind in shambles at the sight of you. You open your mouth to speak, but Tetsuro's faster.

“Wait, don’t tell me,”—he speeds toward you—“before I die, I want you to know you look incredible, and I’ll gladly be your poorly-dressed accessory for the night.” There’s a joking strain to his voice, and he sniffs before bringing leaning against you.

“Tetsu.” You laugh and pat his back. “There’s nothing happening, I just bought a new outfit and wanted to try it on.”

The messy-haired man lets out a noise between a relieved sigh and groan. Feeling safer, Tetsuro to look at you, now able to fully appreciate the sight. “Thank god. I’m gonna count that as the second win of the night then 'cause seriously, you look so good right now.”

ATSUMU’s in the middle of fixing his tie when you walk into the bedroom. Your reflection joins his in the floor-length mirror, and he freezes with wide eyes.

You turn from side to side and smile. “What do you think?”

Atsumu’s tie is half-done when he turns to face you. He puts a hand to his forehead. “Am I dead? Are you an angel here to take me away?”

You snort and approach him to finish tying his tie. “I’m gonna take that as a ‘you look good, babe,’ then.”

“Just good? Baby, I think ’m sweating. Maybe cryin’ a little.”

“Tsumu—”

“Uh-uh, don’t say my name. I might explode.”

You laugh, face warm from his praise; his own flustered state keeps him from noticing yours. Atsumu shakes his head again, as if to get out of a haze. “You know what, let’s go. Yeah, let’s go now before I keep you all t’myself. We’re gonna knock ‘em dead.”

OSAMU lets out a low whistle as you walk into the living room, eyes scanning you up and down. He gets up from the couch, and places his hands on your hips. “Y’sure you have to go out tonight?”

“Samu.”

He laughs at your pointed look and puts his hands up in surrender. “I’m kidding, hon. You look stunning, though.”

Rolling your eyes, you thank him. “C’mon, I’m gonna be late if we don’t go now.”

You walk to the door, but Osamu thinks back to the evening’s weather forecast. “You aren’t bringing a jacket?”

“Hm? Nah, we’re gonna be inside.” Putting on your shoes, you don’t bother looking at him to reply. Blindsided, you stumble by the weight that suddenly drapes over your shoulders. You know Osamu's favourite jacket from anywhere, and you stand properly so he can fix it on you.

He leans over to kiss your temple and mumbles in your ear, “Now you’ll be warm and everyone will remember we’re dating.”

SUNA snakes his arm around your waist and kisses your temple. “Hi, babe.”

“Rin! When did you get here?”

“A couple of minutes ago. Beelined for you after Tsumu shoved a drink in my hand.”

You laugh and he smiles before registering what you’re wearing. He takes a sip from his drink while scanning the new look. “This what you bought on saturday?”

“Hm? Yeah, it’s really nice, right?”

Rin looks between you and the glass in his hand. “If I didn’t have manners, I would’ve thrown this glass and made out with you.”

You roll your eyes and hit his stomach, pretending that his words didn’t make your stomach flip. “Why can’t you compliment me like a normal person?”

Rin takes no offense, instead maneuvering so he can hold his drink while wrapping his other arm around you. He squeezes you, grinning when you yelp. “‘One, cause you look hot, and two, where’s the fun in that?”

SAKUSA’s fingers slip from his cuff button again, earning a huff and frown from him. “Omi, are you ready?”

“Yeah, can you just help me w—” he turns to the sound of your voice and pauses. The new outfit you told him about makes his heart skip a beat, and he almost forgets about his own suit predicament.

“With what? Oh, the button?” You make your way over to help, Kiyoomi still the entire time “There ya go.”

“You look incredible,” is the first thing he says instead of thank you.

“Huh? Oh, I—thank you. You look very handsome.”

There’s a beat of silence as Kiyoomi weighs the pros and cons of going out. He nearly frowns. “Completely related, am I allowed to be rude if anyone tries to flirt with you?”

HINATA spits out his drink and chokes a little. “Oh my–oh my god, sorry, I—”

“Shoyo?” you speed over, concerned but also trying not to laugh. “Are you okay?”

“Huh? Yeah? I’m so fine,” he says, flushed face saying otherwise. (Whether it’s from the choking, embarrassment, or your outfit, you’re not too sure.) Then, as if he wasn’t choking a few seconds earlier, he starts showering you in compliments.

“Anyway,”—he clears his throat—”you look great, babe. like, like it really screams 'you,' you know? I bet everyone’s gonna be jealous of me.”

You tilt your head, chest warm from his praise. “Oh really? Of you, mister professional volleyball player?”

Shoyo mirrors you and tilts his head as if you’ve asked a silly question. “Well, yeah? 'Cause you look this good and I get to date you.”

TSUKISHIMA’s not great with compliments, and he always wants to kick himself in the ass for it when it comes to you.

You look at him standing a couple feet behind you in the mirror. “I think I like this one better. What do you think, Kei?”

Biting his lip, he looks to the side and clears his throat. “It looks good.”

He can feel you staring and fiddles with the hem of his shirt. You prod again, “You sure? You don’t think it’s missing something?”

Mustering up some strength, Kei glances at your wary expression and lets out a breath. “No, I promise. You look great, and this is the best thing you could have chosen.”

You smile, and his gaze softens a fraction before he’s back to being Tsukishima—“Are you ready now? Because we’re going to be late if we keep standing here, and the group chat’ll blow up our phones.”

[wonderwoman101]

Out of Bounds

Title: Out of Bounds

Fandom: Medical Drama (The Pitt)

Pairing: Nurse!Jesse Van Horn x Attending!Reader

Description:

As an ER Attending, you can handle any brutal trauma that walks through the doors. But you can’t handle Nurse Jesse Van Horn—specifically his devastating smirk and the way he completely unhinges your professional composure.

When a pediatric patient matchmakes you two and Dr. Santos leaks your giant crush to the entire hospital staff, your brilliant plan to avoid Jesse completely crumbles. Cornered in a dimly lit charting closet with his hands wrapped firmly around your waist, there’s nowhere left to hide. Jesse is done following protocol, and he isn't letting you leave until he locks in a post-shift date—and a breathless first kiss.

---

The alarm on your nightstand hadn’t even finished its first screeching crescendo before your hand slapped down on it, cutting the noise off into a heavy, suffocating silence.

You stared up at the dark ceiling of your bedroom, the faint, gray light of dawn just barely bleeding through the edges of the blinds. 5:15 AM.

As an ER attending at the Pitt, you were used to waking up at hours that felt downright uncivilized. You were used to the physical ache of a body that hadn't fully recovered from a brutal shift forty-eight hours ago. But as you swung your legs out of bed and felt the cool hardwood beneath your feet, there was a different kind of heaviness settling into your chest this morning.

A nervous, fluttering weight that had absolutely nothing to do with medicine.

Ten minutes later, you were standing in front of the bathroom mirror, the room slowly filling with steam from a hot shower that hadn't done a single thing to wash away your racing thoughts. You wiped a frantic circle clean on the glass with the back of your hand, staring hard at your reflection.

"Get a grip," you muttered, your voice sounding small and raspy in the quiet bathroom.

You picked up your toothbrush, but your eyes stayed locked on your reflection, tracking the dark circles under your lower lashes. You weren't losing sleep over the department budget, or the incoming board reviews, or the mountain of incomplete charts waiting on your digital queue.

You were losing sleep over one of the nurses.

It was an infuriating, relentless loop that had taken over your brain for the past week. Every time you tried to close your eyes, you kept seeing Jesse Van Horn. You kept seeing the way he leaned against the central desk, his forearms crossed over his chest, listening to you pitch a treatment plan with a quiet, intense focus that always made you feel like you were the only person in the entire crowded hallway. You kept remembering the low, smooth cadence of his voice when he stepped in to de-escalate a volatile patient before you even had to pull rank.

He was brilliant. He was effortlessly competent. And he was completely, entirely out of bounds.

You spat into the sink, rinsing your mouth with an aggressive, frustrated haste. You were an attending. Jesse was a nurse. But that does that make it wrong?

Desperate to channel your spiraling energy into literally anything else, you dumped your makeup bag onto the counter. Usually, your routine for the Pitt was minimal—just enough to look alive—but today, you needed a distraction. You needed a task that required precise, hyper-focused attention.

Carefully, you blended a layer of concealer, hiding the evidence of your restless night. You took your time drawing a sharp, clean line of eyeliner, concentrating entirely on keeping your hands steady. You added a touch of mascara, a swipe of subtle tint to your lips, putting in just enough extra effort to force your brain to focus on your reflection rather than the phantom memory of Jesse’s voice. It wasn't about looking nice for the ER; it was about building a deliberate, physical barrier out of cosmetic precision. A mask to hide behind.

Next came your hair. Instead of tossing it into your usual, effortless messy bun, you leaned over, shaking out your natural curls. You spent a few minutes carefully sectioning off the top half, pulling it back securely while letting the rest of your curls frame your face and shoulders. It felt less like a clinical uniform and a little more like you, a small rebellion against the sterile monotony of the hospital.

But as you reached for your stethoscope on the counter, the memory of yesterday's shift flashed vividly behind your eyes, shattering your temporary distraction.

You had both been reaching for the same trauma chart at the central desk. It was a completely standard, accidental collision—just the briefest brush of his knuckles against yours—but it had sent a jolt of pure electricity straight up your arm, so intense that you had actually fumbled the chart. Jesse had caught it before it hit the floor, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a searching, intense look that demanded to know why you were suddenly acting so skittish.

You had fabricated a quick excuse about being over-caffeinated and walked away.

Draping the stethoscope around your neck like a heavy iron collar, you pulled on your crisp scrubs. The fabric felt stiff and clinical, a physical barrier between your professional duties and your private, messy feelings.

If a simple touch could throw you off your game in the middle of the busiest ER in the city, you only had one option left to protect your career and your sanity.

You were gonna ignore him until you seem your not crazy for him.

You wouldn't assign yourself to his trauma bays. You wouldn't linger at the central desk. You would pass off your orders through the residents and interns, keeping a safe, strictly professional distance until these stupid, inconvenient feelings finally burned themselves out.

Nodding once at your reflection, you grabbed your car keys and badge, steeling your resolve as you headed out into the dawn, praying to God that Jesse Van Horn was going to going to be busy

---

The underground staff parking garage was always freezing at 5:45 AM. It smelled of damp concrete, exhaust fumes, and the heavy, industrial chill that seemed to permanently live below the hospital.

You killed the engine of your car, the sudden silence inside the cabin letting the nervous flutter in your stomach return with a vengeance. For a long second, you just sat there, your fingers curled tightly around the steering wheel. You looked up into the rearview mirror, checking the reflection of your curls, ensuring the half-up, half-down style was still perfectly pinned, and that your eyeliner hadn't smudged during the commute.

You’re fine, you told yourself, taking a deep, stabilizing breath. It’s just another shift.

Grabbing your bag and your travel mug, you pushed the car door open and stepped out into the echoing stillness of the garage. The rhythmic thud-thud-thud of your sneakers against the concrete felt loud, a countdown drawing you closer and closer to the automatic sliding doors of the ER. You swiped your badge at the staff entrance, the heavy metal door clicking open to welcome you into the bright, buzzing reality of the Pitt.

The transition from the quiet garage to the chaos of the hospital was instant. The overhead fluorescent lights beat down on you, the distant beep of heart monitors hummed in the background, and the early morning shift change was already in full swing.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to grace us with her gorgeous presence."

You blinked, breaking out of your hyper-focused trance to find Dr. Parker Ellis leaning against the triage divider. Parker was a fellow ER doctor who worked nightshift, your closest friend at the Pitt, and unfortunately for you, she was also the most observant person in a three-block radius.

Parker slid off the counter, her eyes instantly tracking from your bouncy, defined curls down to the sharp, clean lines of your makeup. A slow, mischievous grin spread across her face.

"Good morning to you, too, Parker," you said, trying to keep your voice entirely casual as you adjusted the strap of your bag.

"Don't you 'good morning' me, Y/N," Parker laughed, stepping into stride beside you as you both started walking toward the central desk. She nudged your shoulder with her elbow, her voice dropping into a teasing whisper. "Who did you get all dolled up for? Because you usually roll in here looking like a beautiful, sleep-deprived zombie in a messy bun. Today, you look like you have a dinner date, not a thirty-six-hour trauma rotation."

Your heart skipped a beat, a sudden wave of heat rushing to your face. You reached up, quickly adjusting your stethoscope around your neck to hide your sudden nervousness.

"I didn't get dolled up for anyone," you lied, keeping your eyes trained strictly on the floor ahead. "I just... had a little extra time this morning. I wanted to try something different with my hair. That's all."

"Uh-huh. Sure," Parker scoffed playfully, taking a sip of her coffee. She wasn't buying it for a single second. "You spent actual time on your eyeliner, Y/N. I know you. That requires effort and peace of mind, two things we don't have. Come on, give me the gossip. Is there a new resident I missed? A hot paramedic?"

"Parker, please, I'm just trying to survive the shift," you groaned, but your eyes automatically drifted toward the central desk as you rounded the corner.

Your stomach did a violent flip.

Standing right there, holding a clipboard and listening intently to a paramedic’s report, was Jesse. He was in his dark blue nurse scrubs, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, looking effortlessly calm amidst the morning rush. As if sensing your entrance, his head turned, his dark eyes instantly locking onto yours across the crowded hallway.

Parker paused, her gaze darting from you, to Jesse, and then back again. The playful grin on her face faltered, replaced by a sudden, knowing look of absolute realization.

"Oh," Parker whispered, her voice losing its teasing edge as she leaned closer to you. "Oh, wow. It's Van Horn, isn't it?"

"Shush!" you hissed, your voice dropping into a frantic, panicked whisper as you grabbed Parker’s arm and yanked her behind a row of privacy screens near the intake desk.

Your heart was hammering against your ribs so violently you were certain she could hear it. Your eyes shot back over to the central desk, checking to see if Jesse had noticed your sudden, clumsy retreat. Thankfully, he was still looking at the paramedic's clipboard, though his head was tilted slightly, his sharp eyes scanning the hallway like he was searching for where you had disappeared to.

"I see why you like him, Jesse is cool" Parker smothered a laugh, wiggling her arm out of your grip as her face lit up with absolute glee. "I think Doctor Y/N Van Horn sounds nice."

"Parker, I am begging you, keep your voice down," you pleaded, pressing a hand to your forehead, terrified that you were going to ruin the eyeliner you’d spent fifteen minutes perfecting. "It’s not... it’s nothing. It's just a crush."

"Right, which is exactly why you look like a deer in headlights and why you actually did your hair today," Parker countered, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall with a look of pure triumph. She leaned in closer, her voice dripping with playful malice. "Oh my god. It makes so much sense now. Last week when we had that multi-car pileup, I asked him to grab me a chest tube kit and he literally handed it to you instead without even looking. You guys have that creepy, silent mind-meld thing going on. Is it the dark blue scrubs? Does the charge nurse badge do it for you?"

"It's just professional synchronization," you lied weakly, your face burning so hot you were sure you looked like a walking triage emergency.

"Sure, Y/N," Parker said smoothly, taking another slow, deliberate sip of her iced coffee. "So, what's the play here, Dr. Y/L/N? Are you going to pull rank and order him to the on-call room for a 'critical consultation'? Because if you need someone to cover your trauma bay while you do some hands-on evaluation, my fee is exactly one expensive lunch."

"Parker!" you gasped, swatting her arm. "I am not pulling rank! In fact, I am doing the exact opposite. I'm putting a stop to it before it even starts."

Parker raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "And how, pray tell, are you going to stop being completely feral for the nurse?"

"I'm avoiding him," you stated, trying to sound firm, trying to channel the authoritative ER attending you were supposed to be. "Starting today. I’m not assigning myself to his trauma bays. I’m going to pass all my orders through the residents. I'm keeping my distance until these stupid feelings just... evaporate."

Parker let out a loud snort, quickly covering her mouth as a couple of passing EMTs glanced over. She looked at you like you had just suggested curing a broken leg with an aspirin.

"Avoid him? In the Pitt?" Parker chuckled, shaking her head. She glanced over her shoulder at Jesse, who had just finished his paperwork and was now actively scanning the floor, his eyes narrowing as they landed on the exact privacy screens you were hiding behind.

The playful, teasing grin on Parker's face widened into something downright villainous. She stepped out from behind the screen, giving you a cheerful wave as she backed away.

"Well, good luck with that strategy, Doctor," Parker whispered loudly. "Because 'Protocol Jesse' just finished his intake, he's currently walking straight over here, and he does not look like a man who likes being ignored. Have fun with your 'avoidance'!"

"Parker, wait—don't you dare leave me," you hissed, reaching out a frantic hand to catch the sleeve of her lab coat.

But it was already too late. A tall, familiar shadow fell over the opening of the privacy screens, and Parker’s face instantly shifted into a look of pure, unadulterated mischief.

"Morning, Jesse!" Parker chimed cheerfully, intentionally stepping right past him to clear your only exit route. She looked back at you over her shoulder, a massive grin splitting her face as she backed away toward the breakroom. "My shift is officially over, guys. Clocking out! Have a great morning, Dr. Y/L/N!"

"Parker—"

Before you could finish her name, she vanished around the corner, leaving you completely exposed and utterly alone in the quiet alcove.

You swallowed hard, your fingers curling tightly into the fabric of your scrubs as you slowly turned around. Jesse was standing just a foot away, holding a stray patient chart against his chest. He wasn't a desk-bound nurse; he was a floor nurse, a trauma bay regular, which meant he was always in the thick of the chaos right alongside you.

"Dr. Y/L/N," Jesse said, his voice a low, quiet drawl that sent an immediate, familiar shiver straight down your spine.

"Jesse," you said, trying desperately to force your voice into a calm, authoritative tone that befitted an ER attending. "Good morning. Are the early trauma bays prepped?"

"Yeah, we're all set," he murmured. But he wasn't looking at the clipboard. His dark eyes were fixed entirely on you, tracking the soft, bouncy curls falling around your shoulders before lingering on the sharp, precise lines of your eyeliner.

A subtle, surprisingly warm smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He tilted his head, taking a half-step closer into your personal space.

"You look really pretty today, Y/N," Jesse said softly, his voice dropping an octave so it wouldn't carry over to the busy central desk. His gaze drifted over your hair again, admiration clear in his eyes. "The hair, the makeup... it looks really nice."

Your heart did a violent, erratic flip against your ribs. Your face flushed a deep, undeniable crimson, entirely shattering the cool, distant doctor persona you had spent the whole morning rehearsing. "Oh. I... thank you. I just had a little extra time this morning, so I thought I'd—"

"I mean," Jesse interrupted quietly, his smile widening just a fraction as he caught your sudden, flustered nervousness. He stepped in closer, the subtle scent of clean linen and hospital-grade soap radiating off him. "You always look pretty though, so it's nothing new. Just noticed you did something different."

You completely forgot how to breathe.

Hearing Jesse Van Horn—the most grounded, effortlessly competent nurse in the entire department—say something so casually devastating right there on the hospital floor was enough to make your knees feel weak. You looked down, desperately trying to hide your burning face, your hand automatically flying up to adjust your stethoscope just to give your fingers something to do.

Jesse let the silence linger for just a second longer, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. He tapped his clipboard against his thigh, his smile turning soft and entirely too knowing.

"See you in the bays, Doctor," he murmured.

With one last lingering look, he turned on his heel and walked back out into the bustling hallway, leaving you standing alone behind the privacy screen with your chest heaving and your carefully planned strategy completely ruined before the shift had even started.

---

By 10:00 AM, the Pitt had fully lived up to its reputation. A four-car pileup on the interstate and a steady stream of early morning cardiac cases had kept you moving at a breathless pace, forcing you into pure, clinical survival mode. It was exactly what you had wanted. The adrenaline had successfully pushed Jesse out of your mind for a solid three hours.

But as the morning rush finally began to taper off, the quiet lull returned, and with it, the danger.

You were sitting at one of the rolling computer stations near the central desk, your fingers tapping a mindless rhythm against the keyboard as you tried to wrap up your discharge charts. Your eyes were burning, but instead of focusing on the glowing monitor, they inevitably drifted across the floor.

Jesse had just walked up to the central nursing table.

He was leaning over the high counter, a pen tucked behind his ear as he reviewed a lab printout. His dark blue scrub top pulled tight across his shoulders as he shifted his weight, his forearms resting flat against the desk. He looked entirely in his element—calm, confident, and utterly unbothered by the lingering chaos of the department.

You knew you should look away. You knew your entire plan for the day was based on absolute avoidance. But you couldn't help it. Your gaze traced the sharp line of his jaw, the way a stray lock of dark hair fell across his forehead, and the focused, intense expression he only wore when he was problem-solving.

"If you stare any harder, Dr. Y/L/N, you're going to burn a hole right through his chart."

You jumped a solid inch out of your chair, your fingers accidentally smashing a random string of keys on the keyboard.

You whipped your head around to find Dr. Trinity Santos standing right beside your workstation, a tablet tucked under her arm. Trinity was an ER resident who loved a good workplace distraction, and right now, she was looking down at you with an arched eyebrow and a highly amused smirk.

"Dr. Santos," you stammered, your face instantly flaring a brilliant, traitorous shade of crimson. You quickly cleared your throat, desperately trying to delete the random letters you’d just typed into a patient’s permanent medical record. "I was just... I was checking the triage queue. We have a heavy intake volume today."

"The triage queue is over on monitor three," Trinity pointed out smoothly, her voice a quiet, teasing hum. She didn't look at the screen. Instead, her eyes drifted over to the nursing table where Jesse was currently highlighting a lab report, completely oblivious to the sudden crisis occurring twenty feet away. Trinity leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms. "So, care to tell me why you've been practically boring a hole into the back of Nurse Van Horn’s head for the last five minutes?"

"I haven't been boring a hole into anyone," you lied weakly, gripping the edge of your desk so hard your knuckles ached. "I was just waiting for him to finish updating the vitals on the Bay 2 patient. I need the numbers before I can sign off."

"Mhm. Sure," Trinity chuckled, taking a slow, deliberate look from your burning face down to your perfectly styled curls and sharp eyeliner, which had miraculously survived the morning rush. The smirk on her face widened into something downright wicked. "And I suppose the extra effort with the hair and makeup today was also just a strict clinical requirement for updating vitals? Because you look drop-dead gorgeous, Y/N. Are we doing a little bedside manner research with our favorite floor nurse?"

"Trinity, please," you whispered, lowering your head to hide your burning cheeks.

"Oh, come on! I’m just teasing," Trinity whispered back, leaning in close with a delighted giggle. "But seriously, can you blame yourself? Look at the man. If I had to co-sign charts with him every day, I’d be fumbling my stethoscope too. Just make sure you blink occasionally, okay? I don't want Robby thinking you’re having an absence seizure at your desk."

With a parting wink and a soft laugh, Trinity turned and walked toward the staff breakroom, leaving you frozen at your desk.

You took a deep, shaky breath, forcing your eyes strictly onto your monitor. But as you reached for your mouse, you risked one tiny, fleeting glance back toward the nursing table.

Jesse had stopped highlighting. He was standing up straight now, his dark eyes locked directly on your workstation, a slow, incredibly knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He had heard every word.

The absolute panic that seized your chest when your eyes met Jesse’s was unlike any adrenaline rush a trauma bay could give you.

Instead of smiling back, instead of giving him even a fraction of a mutual acknowledgement, your entire body went rigid. You shut the monitor off hut with a loud, definitive clack that drew a brief look from a passing unit clerk. You didn't look at Jesse again. You couldn't.

Pushing off from your rolling chair so hard it rolled backward into the desk, you bolted.

You kept your head down, your eyes locked entirely on the linoleum tiles as you marched down the corridor, your crisp scrubs billowing slightly behind you. You needed space. You needed a locked door. Most importantly, you needed to get away to the women's bathroom before you completely lost your mind.

Back at the central desk, Jesse’s smirk completely vanished.

He stood frozen by the nursing table, his highlighter still poised over the lab printout as he watched the empty hallway where you had just been. The playful amusement that had been dancing in his dark eyes instantly replaced itself with a deep, frustrated confusion.

He had expected a tiny smile. A subtle roll of your eyes. Maybe even a flustered shake of your head to acknowledge the little moment you’d just shared across the room. He certainly hadn't expected you to look at him like he was a medical error personified before turning on your heel and running in the opposite direction.

Jesse set the marker down on the desk, his jaw tightening slightly. This morning it had been the sudden disappearing act behind the privacy screens. Then, it was you passing off your Bay 3 orders through a confused intern rather than telling him directly. And now, you couldn't even look at him for more than two seconds without fleeing the room.

He wasn't stupid. You weren't just busy. You were actively, deliberately freezing him out, and it left a strange, hollow ache in his chest. Jesse ran a hand over his face, a quiet sigh escaping his lips as his dark eyes narrowed in thought. He didn't know what had changed over the last forty-eight hours to make you suddenly treat him like a stranger, but he knew one thing for certain: he wasn't going to let you spend the rest of the shift running away from him.

---

You thought a pediatric case in Exam Room 4 would be the perfect, safe haven. Kids were unpredictable, sure, but they were a spectacular distraction from your own spiraling thoughts.

"Alright, let's see what we've got here," you said, pasting on your warmest doctor smile as you walked into the room.

Sitting on the examination table was a five-year-old girl named Maya, looking incredibly proud of herself, despite the fact that her left hand was completely and totally superglued to the plastic torso of a blonde Barbie doll. Her mother sat in the plastic chair beside her, looking half-exhausted and half-mortified.

"She wanted Barbie to hold her hand forever," her mom sighed, rubbing her temples. "I turned my back for two minutes to fold laundry."

"It's a very common medical emergency in the world of toy ownership," you reassured her with a chuckle, gently taking Maya’s little arm to assess the bond. "Don't worry, Maya, we're going to get Barbie unstuck, okay? I just need to grab some acetone and some cotton swabs."

"I already grabbed them for you, Doctor."

Your breath hitched. You turned around just as Jesse closed the exam room door behind him. He was holding a small tray with the exact supplies you needed, a calm, easygoing smile on his face.

Jesse had spent the last twenty minutes trying to decode your sudden flight to the bathroom, and he wasn't about to let you slip away again. He wanted to know exactly why you were getting so nervous around him—even if, secretly, the sight of you getting entirely flustered by his compliments was doing ungodly things to his ego. He decided he was going to help you with this case, forcing you into proximity whether you liked it or not.

"Thanks, Nurse Van Horn," you said, your voice tight as you intentionally used his formal title.

Jesse didn't say a word, but the brief, knowing glint in his dark eyes told you he noticed. He stepped up right beside you at the edge of the exam table, his arm brushing against yours as he set the tray down. The scent of his clean linen soap instantly filled your personal space.

"Hi, Maya," Jesse said softly, dropping down to eye level with the little girl. He had an effortless way with pediatric patients that always made your chest ache. "I'm Jesse. That’s a pretty cool doll. What’s her name?"

"Her name is Chelsea," Maya beamed, instantly enamored by him. "And she's my best friend."

"Well, Chelsea looks like she’s throwing a bit of a tantrum today," Jesse teased gently, dipping a cotton swab into the acetone and handing it to you. Our eyes met for a fraction of a second, his gaze intense and searching, silently daring you to look away. "Dr. Y/L/N here is the best doctor in the city. She’s going to fix this in no time."

You took the swab, your fingers brushing against his. A jolt of pure electricity shot up your arm, and you quickly focused entirely on Maya's hand, carefully applying the solvent to break the glue's seal.

"Are you two married?" Maya asked out of nowhere, swinging her legs off the side of the table.

You choked on your own saliva, instantly looking up. "Wh-what? No! No, we're not."

"Oh, thank goodness," Maya’s mom laughed, leaning forward. "Don't mind her. She thinks everyone who works together is married. But you two do work beautifully together. Very synchronized."

"We've had a lot of practice," Jesse murmured, his voice smooth and entirely too close to your ear as he handed you another fresh swab. He was watching the bright flush of crimson spread across your cheeks, a small, highly amused smirk tugging at his lips. He was thoroughly enjoying your panic.

"Well, I think you should get married," Maya declared authoritatively, looking back and forth between your flustered face and Jesse's handsome, smiling one. She patted her Barbie against your arm. "You look like a prince, Nurse Jesse, and she did her hair all pretty like a princess today. I think you guys would make a really good couple."

The entire exam room fell into a sudden, suffocating silence.

Your heart stopped completely. You stared at Maya, your mouth slightly open, the acetone swab freezing in your hand. You didn't dare look at Jesse. You could practically feel the smug, devastating warmth radiating off him.

Jesse looked down at you, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners as his smirk widened into something wicked and incredibly fond. He leaned in just a fraction closer, his shoulder pressing into yours.

"You know, Maya," Jesse said softly, his voice dripping with playful mischief as his eyes stayed locked onto your burning face. "I think you might be on to something."

---

The second the acetone finally dissolved the last of the superglue and Maya’s hand was freed from her Barbie, you didn't even wait for the discharge paperwork to print.

"Nurse Van Horn will handle the final safety instructions," you said in a breathless rush, offering Maya and her mom a frantic, tight smile. "Great job today, Maya!"

Before Jesse could even toss the used cotton swabs into the biohazard bin, you bolted. You didn't give him time to turn around, time to look at you with that devastating smirk, or time to follow up on his very public admission that Maya was onto something.

You threw open the exam room door, stepped out into the bustling corridor, and marched with absolute purpose down the hall. Your heart was hammering against your ribs so hard you could hear it in your ears. You needed a fortress. Now.

Slipping past a row of empty gurneys, you ducked into Exam Room 7—blessedly dark and entirely unoccupied. Without missing a beat, you grabbed the heavy, beige privacy curtains and yanked them shut with a sharp clack-clack-clack, sealing yourself off in a tiny, dimly lit fabric sanctuary where nobody from the central desk could spy on you.

Your hands were shaking as you fished your phone out of your pocket. Your thumb flew across the screen, bringing up your text thread with the one person who was currently sleeping soundly while your life imploded.

You: PARKER CODE RED. WAKE UP. 🚨🚨🚨 You: I am hiding in Exam Room 7 behind the curtains because my life is officially over.

You stared at the three little dots that immediately popped up. Apparently, she wasn't sleeping.

Parker: ohohoho what happened??? did Protocol Jesse corner you at the desk? 👀☕ You: Worse. A five-year-old girl superglued her hand to a Barbie. Jesse came in to help me. The girl looked at us and told me we would make a good couple because I did my hair "pretty like a princess" today. Parker: LMAOOOO NO WAY 💀 standard pediatric matchmaking. What did you do, pull rank and sentence her to time out? You: Parker, I am not joking. I froze. But JESSE. Jesse leaned in right next to me, looked at me, and told the little girl: "You know, Maya, I think you might be on to something." Parker: ... Parker: HOLD ON. Parker: HE SAID WHAT?!?! 🎉😭 standard floor nurse van horn is MAKING MOVES. You: Parker what do I do?! He smiled right at me when he said it! He knows I’m trying to avoid him and he’s using a five-year-old to torture me! I’m going to have to transfer to a different hospital. It's the only option. Parker: You are an ER attending, stop acting like a dramatic teenager! He likes you, dummy! Just walk out there and ask him out or let him corner you already! You: I can’t! The hierarchy! The administrative board! My sanity!

A shadow suddenly fell against the heavy fabric of the privacy curtain.

The ring of plastic hooks rattled loudly against the metal ceiling track as a large, calloused hand firmly gripped the edge of the curtain, pulling it back just enough to let the bright fluorescent light of the hallway spill into your dark hiding spot.

You choked on your own breath, your thumb freezing over the keyboard.

Standing in the gap of the curtains, his broad shoulders completely blocking your exit, was Jesse. He still had a stray pen tucked behind his ear, his fingers hooked casually into the front pockets of his dark blue scrubs. He looked down at you, his dark eyes glittering with a mixture of immense amusement and a quiet, unrelenting determination.

"You know, for a doctor with a pristine reputation," Jesse murmured, a slow, dangerous smirk creeping onto his lips as he stepped fully into the room and let the curtain fall shut behind him, "you are incredibly bad at hiding."

The air in the tiny, curtained-off room instantly turned thick and entirely too warm. Jesse was standing so close you could feel the heat radiating off his chest, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a heavy intensity that made the phone in your hand feel like a ten-pound weight.

Your mouth opened slightly, your brain desperately scrambling to construct a cool, professional response that would salvage whatever was left of your dignity. I’m not hiding, Jesse, I’m just... reviewing charts. I’m just taking a breather.

But the words completely caught in your throat, dissolving into a breathless, quiet silence. You were totally trapped, and by the look in his eyes, he knew it.

BEEP-BEEP-BEEP. BEEP-BEEP-BEEP.

The sudden, piercing blare of the pager clipped to your waistband shattered the silence like a brick through a window.

You both jumped slightly at the noise. You scrambled to pull the device from your hip, your eyes darting to the glowing digital screen.

TRAUMA BAY 1. ADDITIONAL ATTENDING NEEDED. ROBBY.

Relief, sharp and sudden, flooded through your veins. Saved by the pager. Robby was one of your fellow attending, regular arrivals—a accident-prone seven-year-old who must have gotten himself into another spectacular mess.

"I... I have to go," you squeaked out, your voice finally returning, though it was a full octave higher than usual. "I'm being paged. Trauma 1. Robby needs extra help."

A small, breathless smile broke across your face—partly from the sheer absurdity of the timing, and partly from the manic joy of having a legitimate medical reason to escape his intoxicating proximity.

Jesse looked down at the pager in your hand, and then back up at your face. He didn't move away immediately, his eyes tracking the way your smile lit up your features, even amidst your obvious panic. A soft, slightly defeated chuckle escaped his lips, and he shook his head, stepping back just enough to let you pass.

"Go," Jesse murmured, his voice laced with a dangerous amount of fondness as he reached out and pulled the privacy curtain open for you. "Duty calls, Doctor."

"Thank you!" you gasped, practically leaping past him into the bright, safe corridor of the ER.

As you hurried down the hallway toward Trauma Bay 1, your scrubs billowing behind you, you didn't dare look back. If you had, you would have seen Jesse leaning against the doorframe of Exam Room 7, his fingers hooked in his pockets, watching your retreating figure with a slow, promise-filled smile that meant your "avoidance strategy" was far from over.

---

The adrenaline from the trauma bay was finally starting to clear, leaving your entire body feeling heavy and completely hollowed out.

The page from Dr. Robby hadn't been for a minor mishap this time. It was an unrestrained driver from a high-speed accident, and the moment the gurney slammed through the double doors of Trauma 1, it had been a brutal, chaotic fight for survival. For forty-five minutes straight, your hands had been inside a chest cavity, cracking ribs, pushing through the noise of flatlining monitors, and barking orders until your throat burned.

You saved his life. Against every statistical margin, you got a pulse back and shipped him up to surgery.

But as you walked away from the sink, scrubbing the dried blood off your forearms, the sheer weight of it hit you all at once. Your hands were trembling. The high of an extreme trauma always left behind a jagged, overwhelming crash, and right now, you felt completely raw.

Desperate for a quiet place to sit that wasn't a dark closet, you dragged your feet over to the central nursing station. Dana, the veteran charge nurse, was sitting behind the high counter, sorting through a stack of admission packets.

You collapsed into the rolling chair right beside her desk, burying your face in your hands with a long, exhausted groan.

"Rough one?" Dana asked softly, her voice carrying that calm, unshakeable comfort that only a seasoned charge nurse could provide.

"The worst one all week," you mumbled against your palms. "I just need five minutes to make sure my legs won't collapse under me."

Dana hummed sympathetically, tapping her pen against the desk. But within three seconds, the sympathy in her face morphed into a very familiar, deeply wicked smirk. She leaned closer to your chair, lowering her voice. "Well, if you need a quick pick-me-up to get your heart rate going again... I could always assign Nurse Van Horn to be your primary tracker for the afternoon lines. I hear you've been taking a sudden, very deep interest in his clinical performance today."

You pulled your hands away from your face, your eyes widening in sheer horror. The exhaustion vanished, instantly replaced by a wave of pure heat that rushed straight to your cheeks.

"Dana!" you gasped, looking around frantically to see who was listening. "How on earth did you hear about that?"

Dana burst out laughing, completely unbothered by your panic as she tossed her pen onto the desk. "Oh, please. Santos has a fat mouth and zero volume control. She came through here ten minutes ago singing like a canary about you hiding behind privacy screens and staring him down at the charting station. The whole floor knows, honey."

"I am going to revoke Trinity's privileges in the trauma bays," you muttered, pressing your fingers to your temples as your brain short-circuited. "I am going to manually reassign her to the morning stool-sample checks for a month."

"Good luck with that," Dana chuckled, shaking her head. "But seriously, Y/N—"

"I can't do this right now," you whispered suddenly, your breath hitching as your eyes darted past Dana's shoulder.

Walking down the main corridor, completely focused on a clipboard in his hands, was Jesse. He was moving toward the nursing station, his broad shoulders easily weaving through the crowded hallway. The mere sight of him made your overwhelmed system completely panic. You couldn't handle his sharp eyes or his smooth, devastating compliments right now—not when you were already emotionally drained from the trauma case.

Before Jesse could even lift his head to scan the room, you scrambled out of the rolling chair.

"I'm going to the breakroom," you threw out in a frantic whisper to Dana, already backing away toward the staff-only corridor.

Jesse didn't notice. His eyes stayed glued to the paperwork as he took a sharp turn toward the other side of the central desk, completely missing the sight of your scrubs vanishing around the corner.

A few seconds later, Jesse stepped up to the exact counter you had just fled. He tapped the edge of his clipboard against the wood, leaning his weight against it as he looked over at Dana. His dark eyes scanned the immediate area, a subtle, frustrated line forming between his brows when he realized the chair next to her was empty.

"Hey, Dana," Jesse said, his low voice carrying a heavy coat of exhaustion of his own, though his tone was entirely focused on one specific target. "Have you seen Y/L/N? I've been looking for her to co-sign these post-op orders, but she keeps slipping into thin air."

Dana looked up from her paperwork, staring directly into Jesse's intensely searching eyes. A massive, entirely delighted grin spread across her face, and she let out a loud, amused chuckle.

"Dr. Y/L/N?" Dana lied smoothly, tapping her pen against her chin with pure amusement. "Nope. Haven't seen her in ages, Jesse. No idea where she could be hiding."

---

The breakroom was supposed to be a sanctuary, but right now, it felt like a fishbowl.

You stood by the water dispenser, your hands still trembling slightly as you downed a paper cone cup of ice water. The cold shock of it helped steady your nerves after the brutal trauma save, but you barely had a second to breathe before the heavy door swung open.

"Oh, look, it's the princess herself!"

You nearly choked on your water as Trinity Santos strolled into the room, a massive, unbothered grin on her face as she headed straight for the coffee pot.

"Trinity, I am warning you," you gasped, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "Dana already told me. You have a fat mouth and absolutely zero volume control."

"What? I was spreading the gospel!" Trinity laughed, leaning against the counter and winking at you. "Come on, Y/N. The whole floor is talking about how you're running laps around the ER just to avoid a certain six-foot-two floor nurse. Did he finally figure out that the extra eyeliner was for him?"

"I am leaving," you muttered, throwing the paper cup into the trash and marching toward the door. "I am leaving before I officially revoke your trauma bay privileges."

You threw the breakroom door open, ready to make a clean escape back to the safety of your charts, but the universe had other plans. Directly down the hallway, coming straight toward the breakroom with an unrelenting, focused stride, was Jesse.

Your heart did a violent, erratic backflip. He hadn't looked up yet, but he was closing the distance fast. Panicking, you spun on your heel. You thought you were being incredibly slick as you ducked backward, slipping silently into the narrow, dimly lit charting closet just a few feet away.

You pulled the heavy wooden door shut until it clicked softly, sealing yourself in the dark, quiet room surrounded by rows of old paper files and extra medical binders. You leaned your back against the door, closing your eyes and letting out a long, shaky breath. Safe. Finally.

Click.

The doorknob turned. The door pushed inward, forcing you to stumble forward a step into the darkness as the bright hallway light spilled into the room for a split second before the door clicked shut again.

You didn't even open your eyes, your frustration bubbling straight to the surface as you assumed your shadow had followed you.

"I swear, Santos, if you tease me about Jesse one more time, I am using my authority as attending to send you home for the day," you snapped, your voice full of defensive heat as you finally turned around to face the intruder.

The words died instantly in your throat.

It wasn't Trinity.

Standing right in front of the closed door, his broad shoulders easily blocking the only exit, was Jesse. He had his arms crossed over his dark blue scrub top, his ankles crossed casually as he leaned his tall frame against the wall. A slow, devastatingly wicked smirk was playing on his lips, his dark eyes glittering with absolute triumph in the dim light of the closet.

"Well," Jesse murmured, his voice a low, smooth drawl that completely compromised your ability to breathe. "Good thing I'm a nurse, then. You can't send me home."

Your heart didn’t just skip a beat—it dropped entirely to your feet, leaving a hollow, electric ache in your chest.

The small space of the charting closet suddenly felt about half its original size. Jesse’s deep, velvety voice echoed off the metal shelves of binders, trapping you completely. You stood frozen, your mouth slightly open as a wave of intense, uncontrollable heat rushed up your neck, coloring your cheeks in a brilliant, undeniable crimson.

You looked up at him, your gaze wide and utterly helpless under the steady weight of his dark eyes.

Jesse didn't move. He remained leaning against the heavy wooden door, his arms securely crossed over his chest, completely aware of the sheer havoc he was wreaking on your nervous system. The playful smirk on his lips softened just a fraction as he took in your burning blush, his eyes tracking the rapid rise and fall of your chest beneath your white lab coat.

"J-Jesse," you stammered, desperately trying to summon the authoritative, cool-headed ER attending you were supposed to be. You cleared your throat, though it did absolutely nothing to fix the breathless quality of your voice. "What are you doing in here? I’m... I’m busy."

"Busy?" Jesse repeated smoothly, tilting his head. A quiet, incredibly fond chuckle escaped him as he slowly uncrossed his legs, shifting his weight to stand tall. He took one deliberate step forward into your personal space, the faint, intoxicating scent of his clean linen soap instantly surrounding you. "Looks to me like you're hiding behind a stack of archive binders, Dr. Y/L/N."

"I am not hiding," you lied weakly, your back pressing flat against the edge of a shelving unit as you tried to maintain at least a few inches of distance between you. "I needed a quiet place to review... old intake protocols."

"Right. Old protocols," Jesse murmured, his voice dropping into that low, private register meant only for the two of you. He stopped just a foot away, towering over you in the dim light. He reached up, his large, calloused hand coming to rest flat against the shelving unit right beside your head, effectively boxing you in.

He leaned down a fraction, forcing you to look directly into his dark, glittering eyes.

"So," Jesse said softly, a dangerous amount of amusement dancing in his gaze. "Care to tell me why you've been running laps around my floor since six o'clock this morning? Because if I didn't know any better, Doctor, I'd say you're actively avoiding me."

The cold, hard edge of the metal shelf bit into your back through the fabric of your scrubs, a sharp reminder that you had absolutely nowhere left to run.

Jesse closed the remaining distance between you with an agonizingly slow, deliberate step. He was so close now that the heat radiating from his chest completely enveloped you, driving the chill of the charting room entirely from your skin. Your breath hitched, coming in shallow, ragged gaps as you looked up at him, your vision filled entirely by his broad shoulders and the dark, intense focus in his eyes.

"I'm... I'm an attending, Jesse," you attempted to reason, but the words left your lips as a breathless, trembling whisper. You swallowed hard, your fingers blindly gripping the edge of the shelf behind you as your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your ribs. "We... we shouldn't be—I mean, I am not avoiding—"

"You're stuttering, Y/N," Jesse interrupted softly.

He didn't pull back. Instead, he leaned in even closer, his head tilting just enough that his sharp jawline cut through the dim shadows of the closet. His gaze dropped down to your lips before rising back to meet your eyes, heavy with a quiet, undeniable hunger that made your entire body feel like liquid fire.

Your face flamed an impossible shade of crimson. You could feel the warmth of his breath brushing against your skin as he dipped his head lower, bringing his face down until your noses almost brushed.

Inches. You were a mere fraction of an inch away from him. If you leaned forward just a hair, your lips would meet his.

The air in your lungs completely vanished. Your eyes fluttered slightly, your focus locked on the soft, dangerous curve of his mouth so close to your own. Jesse let the heavy, suffocating silence stretch between you for one agonizing heartbeat, his own breath hitching slightly as he felt the erratic, frantic pulse point jumping in your throat. He was testing you, pushing the boundaries until the clinical walls you’d built up all morning completely crumbled into the dark space around you.

"Tell me to stop," Jesse murmured, his voice a rough, velvety vibration against your lips, his dark eyes searching yours for even a hint of a rejection. "Tell me to go back to the floor, Doctor, and I will."

The challenge hung in the humid, narrow space between you, heavy and vibrating with a tension that had been building since the very first shift you’d worked together. Tell me to stop. It was your perfect exit strategy. All you had to do was use the title pinned to your chest, assert your authority, and walk out of the closet with your professional boundaries intact.

Instead, you looked straight into Jesse’s dark, searching eyes, your gaze locking onto his with a sudden, fierce clarity that completely eclipsed your panic.

"I don't want you to stop," you whispered.

The confession left your lips in a breathless rush, raw and entirely honest, filling the tiny gap of air left between your faces.

Jesse’s eyes darkened instantly, a sharp, ragged breath escaping him as your words hit him. The cautious restraint that had been keeping him anchored to the spot completely snapped.

His free hand moved with blinding, confident speed, his large palm sliding firmly around your waist, his fingers gripping the fabric of your scrubs through the open sides of your lab coat. He pulled you flush against his chest, eliminating the last remaining inch of distance between your bodies until you could feel the frantic, heavy thud of his own heart beating against your ribs.

A slow, devastatingly wicked smirk crept onto his lips as he looked down at your deeply flushed, beautiful face. He had won. The stealthy, distant attending was completely gone, leaving only the woman who wanted him just as badly as he wanted her.

"Good," Jesse murmured, his rough drawl brushing directly against your lips, his grip on your waist tightening just enough to lift you slightly onto your toes. "Because I wasn't planning on stopping anyway."

Just when you thought he was finally going to close the distance and kiss you, Jesse paused. He didn't pull away—if anything, he anchored you even closer.

His other hand left the metal shelf, sliding down to join the first until both of his large hands were wrapped tightly around your waist. His grip was firm, possessive, and completely unyielding, holding you flush against the solid warmth of his chest. You could feel the slight tremor in his fingers, a silent giveaway of just how much restraint it was taking for him to stay his hand.

He leaned down, his forehead gently resting against yours, forcing you to maintain absolute, unwavering eye contact in the dim, shadowed closet.

"Before I do what I've been wanting to do all day," Jesse murmured, his rough voice dropping into a low, intense whisper that sent a shiver straight down your spine. He squeezed your waist just a fraction tighter, a quiet, demanding edge cutting through his usual playful tone. "Tell me why you've been avoiding me, Y/N."

Your breath hitched, your hands instinctively coming up to rest against his broad shoulders for balance. "Jesse, I—"

"No more running," he interrupted softly, his dark eyes searching yours, entirely serious now. The teasing smirk was gone, replaced by a raw, vulnerable sincerity that completely stripped away your defenses. "You wouldn't look at me at the desk. You passed off your orders to an intern. You literally bolted into a bathroom the second I smiled at you. I need to hear it from you. Why are you running from me?"

You swallowed hard, your face burning a brilliant shade of crimson as you looked into his eyes. Trapped between his weight and the metal shelf, with his hands locking you in place, there was no room left for professional excuses or clinical lies.

"Because you're a distraction," you confessed in a quiet, breathless rush, your fingers tightening on the fabric of his dark blue scrubs. "Because every time you get close to me, I forget what department I'm running. I've been avoiding you because... because if I didn't, we'd end up exactly where we are right now."

Jesse stared at you for one long, breathless heartbeat, letting your words echo in the small space. Slowly, that devastating, victorious smirk crept back onto his lips, his grip on your waist lifting you just a hair higher.

"Yeah?" Jesse whispered, his lips brushing yours as he spoke. "And is that really such a bad thing, Doctor?"

The word left your lips before your brain could even attempt to construct a professional filter.

"No," you breathed out, looking up into his dark eyes with a sudden, fierce honesty. "It’s not a bad thing at all."

Jesse’s eyes darkened completely, the final thread of his legendary clinical restraint snapping into absolute pieces. His grip on your waist tightened, his fingers digging into your sides as he pulled you so close there wasn't a single inch of air left between your bodies.

"Good," Jesse murmured, his rough voice dropping into a low, possessive growl that vibrated directly against your lips. A devastating, victorious smile flashed across his face for a split second. "Because I'm taking you on a date the second our shift ends. No excuses, Doctor."

Before you could even nod, before you could gasp at the sheer confidence in his voice, Jesse closed the final millimeter of distance and kissed you.

It wasn't a tentative, careful first kiss. It was deep, hungry, and full of the agonizing frustration of a man who had spent the last twelve hours watching you run away from him. His lips were soft but demanding, pressing against yours with an intensity that completely stole the breath from your lungs.

A quiet, helpless sigh escaped your throat, your eyes fluttering shut as your arms locked securely around his neck, your fingers tangling into the short, dark hair at the nape of his neck. You pulled him closer, completely surrendering to the chaotic, thrilling rush of it all. The hospital floor, the administrative board, the gossip, Trinity’s fat mouth—it all completely vanished, dissolving into the dark, quiet sanctuary of the charting closet.

Jesse groaned low in his chest at your touch, his hands sliding from your waist down to the small of your back, pressing you firmly against him as he deepened the kiss, completely memorizing the taste of you. He had spent months playing it cool, following protocols, and keeping his distance, but now that he finally had you, he was never going to let you run away again.

---

When Jesse finally pulled away, your lips felt breathless and swollen, the sudden absence of his mouth leaving you completely dizzy. You kept your hands hooked around his neck for a lingering second just to keep your balance, your chest heaving as you tried to remember how to function like an actual human being.

Jesse looked down at your dazed, thoroughly thoroughly kissed expression, and a soft, incredibly smug smile broke across his handsome features. His dark eyes were bright with a quiet, triumphant warmth.

"Be ready at eight," he murmured, his voice still low and raspy from the kiss.

Slowly, deliberately, he let go of your waist. His large hands slid down your sides, his thumbs offering one last, gentle squeeze through your scrubs before he completely released you, stepping back into the narrow space of the closet. The sudden rush of cooler air between your bodies made you shiver, your hands reluctantly dropping from his neck.

Jesse turned toward the heavy wooden door, his hand reaching out to wrap around the brass doorknob. He was entirely ready to step back onto the hectic ER floor like nothing had happened, leaving you to piece your brain back together.

But just as he pulled the door open a fraction, letting a sliver of the bright hallway light cut through the dim room, he paused.

Jesse spun back around with blinding speed. Before you could even blink, he caught your jaw in his hand, tilted your head up, and gave you another quick, firm kiss—a lingering, sweet punctuation mark to the last ten minutes.

He pulled back, his dark eyes glittering with pure mischief as he looked at your wide, flustered eyes. He caught your gaze, gave you a slow, devastating wink, and then slid out the door, letting it click softly shut behind him.

You stood entirely frozen in the middle of the charting closet, staring at the empty space where he had just been standing. Your face was burning a brilliant shade of crimson, your fingers slowly rising to press against your tingling lips. It was only 11:00 AM, which meant you had a massive trauma center to run for another nine hours—and absolutely zero idea how you were going to survive looking at Nurse Jesse Van Horn for the rest of the shift.

[miyasmagnolias]

𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥 | 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐲𝐮𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

miya osamu x f!reader

➢ synopsis: when your daughter starts kindergarten at the quirky all-girls school across town, you form an alliance with the only other solo parent in her class: hot single dad miya osamu. what ensues is a year's worth of chaos — and a love you didn't think you deserved.

➢ what to expect: friends-to-lovers, slice of life, found family, tooth-rotting fluff, occasional angst, mentions of absent parents, any 18+ nsfw content will be tagged!

➢ how to read: each installment stands on its own, but there's an ongoing story that unfolds if you read it chronologically!

➢ listen while you read: ufo, better than, worth it

➢ status: in progress!

1. lunch boxes

➢ when you get a call from your daughter's teacher that a classmate ate her lunch, you're determined to give the parents a piece of your mind — only to meet hot single dad miya osamu instead.

2. bake sale

➢ at your first pta meeting of the school year, osamu ropes you into running the fall bake sale with him.

3. on the house

➢ osamu treats you to lunch at onigiri miya — and grows determined to change your half-hearted relationship with food.

4. bug fair

➢ osamu finds out about his daughter's school project the night before it's due. in a rare moment of panic, he calls you for backup.

5. pick-up lines

➢ you meet osamu's twin in the pick-up line of your daughter's school.

6. stage fright

➢ osamu comforts your daughter before her first music recital of the school year.

7. the fiancé

➢ your ex-fiancé comes into town with a favor to ask. meanwhile, osamu struggles to keep his own feelings in check.

8. field trip

➢ osamu notices you're having an off day and wants nothing more than to comfort you. the only problem? you're both chaperoning the kindergarten field trip.

9. tooth fairy

➢ when osamu tells his five-year-old daughter that the tooth fairy isn't real, he, you, and atsumu team up to do damage control.

...stay tuned for more!

please note: there is no taglist for this series! i wish i had time to maintain one, but alas, adulting is hard. feel free to turn on post notifications for my blog instead!

@miyasmagnolias, 2026

[showhay]

“you hate it when it’s loud, but you know what else is?”

timeskip!oikawa tōru x f!reader | 6.7k special

w/c: 2k, husband!oikawa ,, wait! series

the human skull was simply not designed to withstand the auditory assault of a late-night infomercial selling a revolutionary, multi-tiered vegetable dicer.

you pressed the heels of your palms against your temples, trying to physically compress your brain back into a manageable shape. the television screen flapped with aggressive neon graphics, casting chaotic blue and yellow hues over your living room, three girls named kat, jello, and mayo we’re doing the six seven emote while the spokesperson practically screamed through the speakers about the unmatched efficiency of stainless steel blades. your head throbbed in perfect, miserable sync with the man and girls’ enthusiastic hand gestures.

beside you, sprawled out like a giant, discarded marionette, was oikawa.

he was supposed to be resting. his knees, currently elevated on a mountain of throw pillows that he had aggressively pillaged from the armchair, were wrapped in ice packs. a heavy, fleece blanket draped over his long torso, and his messy, chocolate-brown hair was sticking up in every imaginable direction—a direct consequence of him running his fingers through it every time a volleyball statistic popped into his head. he looked soft, radiating the kind of post-practice warmth that usually acted as a natural space heater, but he was also entirely oblivious to the fact that the television volume was currently somewhere around a level that could wake the dead.

“tōru,” you groaned, the sound muffled by the sofa cushion you had pulled over your face in a desperate bid for sensory deprivation. “please. the volume. it’s like he’s chopping vegetables inside my ears.”

no response. he was staring at his phone, his thumb flying across the screen as he furiously analyzed game footage from a rival team in the argentine league. his eyebrows were knitted together, his lower lip slightly bitten—the exact expression he wore right before he delivered a devastating jump serve that made opposing liberos reconsider their life choices.

“tōru,” you tried again, reaching out a blind hand to swat at his thigh. “turn it down. my head is about to physically detach from my spine and roll away.”

that got him. the mention of your discomfort was like a cheat code that bypassed his hyper-fixation entirely. his head snapped toward you so fast you heard his neck pop. the phone was tossed onto the coffee table without a single shred of respect for its glass screen, landing with a loud clatter that made you wince.

“oh, angel,” he said, his voice dropping an octave into that smooth, caramel register he only used when he was thoroughly concerned or plotting something entirely self-indulgent. “is it too loud? why didn’t you say anything sooner? you’re suffering in silence while i’m sitting right here like a fool.”

“i literally just said it twice,” you mumbled into the cushion.

instead of grabbing the remote and clicking the volume down button a few notches, oikawa snatched the plastic device and smashed the power button with an intensity that suggested the television had personally insulted his lineage. the screen went black. the sudden silence that filled the room was so thick you could almost taste it. the loud vegetable man was gone and so are the three insane girls doing the six seven emote, replaced by the gentle hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the distant sound of evening traffic outside the apartment.

you sighed in profound relief, letting your muscles untangle. “thank you. my hero.”

“of course i am,” he murmured.

the couch shifted. at home, oikawa possessed the spatial awareness of a newborn giraffe. the ice packs were kicked to the floor with a wet thud, the fleece blanket was cast aside like old news, and suddenly, there was a very large, very warm, very determined setter crawling across the cushions toward you.

he’s officially migrated over to you. he slithered over the expanse of the sofa until he was hovering directly over you, his long limbs framing your body, trapping you in a cocoon of expensive cologne and laundry detergent.

you peeked out from under the edge of the cushion, blinking up at him.

oikawa was smiling. it wasn’t the polite, plastic smile he gave to the sports reporters or the blinding, theatrical grin he used for the cameras. this was his dangerously pretty, entirely unhinged smile—the one where his eyes crinkled at the corners, full of an affection so heavy it borderline felt like a threat. his gaze was locked onto your face, consuming every detail as if he hadn’t spent the last four hours staring at you anyway.

“you hate it when it’s noisy, huh?” he whispered, leaning down until the tip of his nose brushed against yours. his breath was warm against your skin, sending a ridiculous, electric shiver straight down your arms.

“i hate it when a man screams about blenders at eleven p.m., yes,” you managed to say, though your voice lacked any real bite because his thumb was currently tracing the line of your jaw with agonizing gentleness.

“well,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth as he spoke, his voice a low, vibrating rumble that resonated right in your chest. “i can think of much better things to fill the quiet with. i’d much rather listen to you.”

your heart performed a dramatic, olympic-level backflip.

he was so bad for your health. it was a well-documented fact that oikawa had the ability to reduce your brain to absolute mush with a single syllable, and he knew it. he used it to his advantage like the tactical genius he was.

before you could formulate a coherent response—because your vocabulary had suddenly shrunk to a handful of vowels—he collapsed his weight onto you. not entirely, of course; he was well aware of his own size and muscle mass, so he braced himself on his forearms, but he buried his face directly into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply as if you were the only source of oxygen left on the planet.

“tōru,” you wheezed, a small laugh bubbling up despite your headache. “you’re heavy. you’re like a giant, needy weighted blanket.”

“i’m your husband,” he corrected into your skin, his lips moving against your collarbone, sending another wave of heat through your veins. “and i’ve been deprived of your attention for a cumulative total of three hours today because of film study. do you know what that does to a man? i‘m wasting away. look at me. i’m practically skin and bone.”

“you’re entirely made of muscle and milk bread,” you chuckled, your fingers automatically finding their way into the soft curls at the nape of his neck. you began to gently massage his scalp, knowing exactly how much he loved it.

oikawa let out a sound that could only be described as a cross between a sigh and a purr, his entire body going completely slack against yours. he was a menace to society on the volleyball court, a cold-blooded competitor who terrified his opponents, but in this living room, under your hands, he was a puddle of absolute mush. he was so deeply, entirely whipped that it’s embarrassing. if his teammates could see him right now, whimpering because his wife was scratching his head, his athletic reputation would be permanently ruined.

“more,” he mumbled, nudging his face further into your neck, his nose cold against your skin. “right there. you have the best hands in the world. better than mine. and my hands are worth millions of pesos.”

“don’t let your manager hear you say that.”

“i don’t care about him,” oikawa sniffled dramatically, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist, pulling you so close there wasn’t even room for air between you. “i only care about you. your head still hurts? let me fix it. i can kiss it better. i’ll kiss every single part of your face until the pain goes away. it’s a scientifically proven medical treatment.”

“i don’t think that’s how neurology works, tōru.”

“it works because i said so.”

he shifted upwards, his dark eyes sparkling with an intensity that made you want to hide under the couch cushions again. he began to fulfill his promise with terrifying enthusiasm. he kissed your forehead, right between your eyebrows where the tension usually gathered. he kissed the bridge of your nose. he kissed your left cheek, then your right, his lips soft and lingering, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

you couldn’t help the giggles that escaped you, the sound echoing softly in the quiet room. every time you tried to turn your head, he would follow, relentless and entirely devoted to his self-appointed task.

“tōru, stop, it tickles,” you gasped, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders to try and hold him still.

he paused, his face mere inches from yours, his chest rising and falling against yours. the look in his eyes changed from playful to something so profoundly tender it made your throat feel tight. he looked at you as if you had personally hung the moon and stars in the sky just for him to look at. it was a level of adoration that was almost overwhelming, a complete and utter surrender to you.

“you’re so beautiful,” he breathed, his voice dropping all of its usual theatrical bravado. it was genuine. the kind of honesty that always caught you off guard, no matter how many years you spent by his side. “i look at you and i feel like my chest is going to explode. is that normal? can a person actually die from liking someone too much? i think i fell in love with you again.”

“i think it’s clinically impossible, but you’re welcome to try,” you whispered, a soft smile spreading across your lips.

“i’m serious,” he pouted, though his thumb came up to gently stroke your bottom lip. “i think about you when i’m practicing. i think about you when i’m on the plane. i see a nice rock on the side of the road and i think, ‘oh, she would probably like that rock, let me carry it five miles home for her.’ i’m entirely at your mercy.”

“a rock, tōru? really?”

“a very nice, shiny rock,” he insisted, his eyes widening with sincerity. “only the best for you.”

you laughed, the sound rich and full, and the last remnants of your headache seemed to dissolve into the air. you reached up, cupping his face in both of your hands, squishing his cheeks together until his lips puckered out like a fish. he didn’t mind at all; he just stared down at you with sweet compliance, entirely content to be handled however you saw fit.

“you’re incredibly ridiculous,” you told him, your heart swelling to a size that felt entirely unsafe. “but i suppose i’ll keep you around.”

“you have to,” he mumbled through his squished cheeks, his hands sliding down to securely grip your hips. “we signed papers. it’s legally binding. you’re stuck with me forever.”

he leaned down and pressed a proper kiss to your lips then. not the frantic, desperate kisses from earlier, but something slow, deep, and thoroughly intoxicating. he tasted faint like the green tea he’d drank earlier, and the way his mouth moved against yours was so full of a reverence that it made your toes curl inside your socks. his fingers dug slightly into your hips, anchoring you to him, ensuring that you couldn’t move an inch away even if you wanted to.

when he finally pulled back, just far enough to breathe, his eyes were slightly heavy, a soft flush creeping up his neck.

“more?” he whispered, his voice entirely devoid of its usual teasing edge, replaced by a soft, genuine plea.

you slid your arms back around his neck, pulling him down toward you once more, completely helpless against the weight of his devotion.

“you can always have more,” you murmured against his lips.

n: haha six seven :3 @kissjoao

© showhay — don’t copy, repost, or translate without my permission. do not use/feed my works to AI.

iloveu

[showhay]

tōru’s taglist 2/4

@lov3shin @thinc0ck @jadorejuni @theylovekay @lilith-dear @whoizmae @little-miss-existencialcrisis @bunbunbeare @n1koolya @applepiblog @theowensturniolo @ryujinxzyy @reggies-floatiess @baconbun @jprincessf @thecranberrypineapple @laziiiahhhbitch @itoshirinlover @eri0-0 @meix2b @lily-cheese-xoxo @noyamlv @sevikas-butch @allyium @warrior-of-justice @lizbix @huhsaywatnow @linokiss @adettee @misasprout @pjselee @queen-mamari @mozzyprincess @fleuscents @akaashiit @sioz @bonsaijoons @irohasmp3 @itzurgirlypoppp @lazyruinsperson @sh0dor1 @percybutjaeger @m0chablitz @miffysoo @harper1666 @winniethepooh-lover @taoyo @kagstobioisthelightofmylife

[the-travelling-witch]

CUTE THINGS WITH HIM

summary: just some cute things they do in a relationship

pairings: atsumu :: osamu :: suna :: kita :: oikawa :: iwaizumi :: matsukawa:: semi :: akaashi :: kenma :: kuroo :: daichi :: suga :: sakusa :: komori :: futakuchi :: keishin x gn! reader (these characters just started adding themselves, i swear)

warnings: only my undying love for these characters

haikyuu masterlist || tokyo revengers version

Letting you stick your cold feet under his legs (with only minimal complaints) x Miya Atsumu

Atsumu is a whiny complainer at heart, so whenever you creep your frigid feet underneath his thighs while watching a movie, he’s doing exactly that: whine and complain. But he never pushes you away or moves his legs. Instead he drapes the blanket higher over you and tugs it in, his warm palms running up and down your calves caringly. He’s also bought you numerous pairs of fuzzy socks and cosy blankets, worrying aloud about your health and blood flow, especially in winter. Then again, it is a good excuse to pull you in closer and bundle you up in his comfy clothes, so who is he to complain, really?

Offering you his food x Miya Osamu

Osamu takes his food very seriously, still, he offers you the first bite without fail. You’re also his most important critic, always getting to taste test his creations, whether it’s for his shop or just for the two of you. He might roll his eyes playfully when you eye his food after saying you’re not hungry but he’ll still share. After all, seeing the content expression on your face as you chew your (or his) food is one of his favourite things.

Sending you stupid memes x Suna Rintarō

The fact that Suna has a near infinite amount of unflattering candids and other blackmail material of his friends on his phone is something you’re well aware of. So it shouldn’t be surprising either that he is digging up the most cursed reaction pics or posts to send them to you with nothing but ‘u’ following it. But, among all the weird stuff, he sends you cute animals cuddling and tags them with ‘us’. Every time you respond with ‘that could be us but you’re at practice’, his teammates come up to ask what he’s smiling about.

Buying flowers without occasion x Kita Shinsuke

Kita doesn’t believe in letting societally accepted commercial holidays dictate when he buys you flowers or chocolates or takes you out on a date. No, he prefers showing his love for you equally all year round. Oftentimes, that means you coming home to a bouquet of flowers or being told to keep your calendar clear for the weekend. To him, grand shows of affection once a year pale in comparison to a steady stream of adoration. After all, your relationship is built on the small acts of love you share each day.

Taking weird photos with his phone x Oikawa Tōru

There’s no room to argue that Oikawa and you trust each other blindly. Considering the circumstances of his career and the vigour of his adoring fans, you kinda have to. But Oikawa has always been very open and honest with you, even going so far as to outright tell you his phone’s passcode. And you use that knowledge wisely. No, not to go through his texts or social media. Instead you open his camera when he’s not around, taking a myriad of selfies or pictures of random objects near you for him to find later. After a night out with his highschool friends, Tōru might wake up to a pretty set of new wallpapers too.

“Helping” him work out x Iwaizumi Hajime

You’re not sure if you’re really all that helpful as you shuffle around your living room, handing Iwa water or a towel as he powers through his at home workout. Maybe ogling his biceps or the way his tank top clings to the defined pecs and abs underneath is what you contribute to this training session. Well, you’re good at that, anyway. But your time to shine comes as Iwa asks you to hold onto his legs as he does sit-ups, giving you an even better view. All your hard work is rewarded with the kiss he presses to your lips each time he leans up. 

“Is this guy bothering you” x Matsukawa Issei

Whenever you stub your toe on the edge of a drawer or bump your hip into the edge of a table, hissing at the shock and/or pain, Matsukawa is right beside you in seconds. Then, after assessing you’re not actually hurt, he turns towards the offending object with a glare. With his voice lowered by an octave or two, he’ll ask “Is this guy bothering you” before pretending to get ready for a fight with the big bad. It’s corny but you’d lie if you said it didn’t make you laugh.

Shared headphones and playlists x Semi Eita

Music is Semi’s passion, naturally he wants to share that part of his life with you. Not only does he play his own songs for you, he also shares his headphones with you, adding all the songs you like to your shared playlist. You’ve also started making recommendation playlists or playlists with songs that remind you of the other and swap them regularly. Driving with Semi is also the most fun, especially on late summer nights with the windows down, going nowhere in particular.

Understanding each other without words x Kozume Kenma

To outsiders, conversations between Kenma and you might seem a little court or even incomprehensible. He just happens to be the type that lets his actions speak rather than his words, unless he gets really fired up about something. Still, your communication seems to work perfectly - or maybe both of you just share a brain cell. Questions like “Have you seen my…” can just be left hanging like this as you’re already pointing out that his old Nekoma sweatpants are in the wash. But no conversations are clearer than the ones you can hold through eye contact alone. Sometimes rolling your eyes conveys more than a thousand words… or however that saying goes.

Letting you win x Kuroo Tetsurō

Despite his suit and tie career, Kuroo is still a playful guy at heart and he’s carrying that energy into your relationship. He also grew up around Kenma, so making a game out of ordinary stuff is normal to him. That said, even if he challenges you in a board or video game, he’ll let you win on purpose every now and then. Not enough to give himself away, but often enough to see your beaming grin. However, if it’s a physical contest like an arm wrestling match, he will let you win (or rather he won’t let you lose immediately) just to tease you over it. Aw c’mon, he knows you’re stronger than this, sweetheart.

Good morning/ good night texts x Sawamura Daichi

Daichi is a busy guy, often out of the house before you wake up or back in after you go to sleep. Depending on which shift he has to work and how your schedules line up, you might not see much of each other for some time. But that won’t stop him from being the sweetest partner, instead sending you good morning and good night texts as well as updates on his day/night, if he has the time. It’s something that came with the territory of not living together before, but the practice never really retired. Equally, it puts him in a good mood to see you update him on your day as well.

Bragging about you x Sugawara Kōshi

Suga is your number one fan, no doubt about it. Not only is he vocal about that to you but also everybody else, whether you’re there or not. Daichi and Asahi are kind of used to it already, but there is always some new unfortunate soul who gets to experience just how smitten he is with you. He never makes it uncomfortable but weaves his praise for you naturally into a conversation. And if it flusters you, that’s just all the better. Although, lately, the classes he’s teaching have picked up on it and are trying to stall for time by asking questions about you.

Writing notes x Sakusa Kiyoomi

This probably started out as something entirely practical. After moving in together, Sakusa just started labelling stuff, writing grocery shopping lists and sticking them to the fridge, especially on days where he left early for practice. By the time you pointed out he could just text you at any given time, he’d already gotten used to this little habit of his. But his messages had slowly turned from chore-related to reminding you to take care of yourself or informing you he prepped lunch for you to just telling you he loves you. The first time he wrote that last one, he blinked down at the note for a few moments before sticking it to the mug cabinet.

Midnight snack run x Komori Motoya

Obviously, Komori wishes his job wouldn’t pull him away from you as often as it does. Though that being said, it also makes coming home after an away game all that sweeter and he feels like the constant change of pace makes him cherish the moments you do get to spend together more than he already does. And he appreciates that you can indulge him, both in his lifestyle and whenever he gets a sudden burst of energy. So yeah, now you’re bundled up in one of his hoodies as you go on a late night snack run, your hand in his as you walk along the calm streets.

Remembering little things about you x Futakuchi Kenji

Futakuchi comes pre-installed with an attitude, no matter who you are to him, it’s his factory setting. And while he’s a lot softer on you as his partner, he’ll still give you a sarcastic quip or poke some fun at you when you complain about something to him. But he always listens carefully and commits it to memory. You offhandedly mentioned you’re running out of something? He adds it to his shopping list. You rant to him about a coworker who’s giving you trouble? Oh, he remembers everything you told him about that guy before (and he’s ready to drag him to hell and back if it makes you feel better). Whenever your birthday or an anniversary rolls around, he never has trouble picking out a gift for you; Kenji could list so many things you’re into or that you could have use for in your everyday life, it’s not even a challenge.

Getting into your hobbies x Ukai Keishin

Keishin has got to be one of the most supportive partners ever. Whatever you set your mind to or whichever hobby you dive into, he’s there to root for you. But he doesn’t stop there; he reads up on your interests, so he can actively participate in the conversation when you talk about them. Similarly, he also adapts to your lifestyle and tries to show up for you in all walks of life. You, on the other hand, also get involved in his life too; his parents were keen to meet you, considering they hounded Keishin to get married in his 20s already. He’d also be over the moon if you showed interest in his work as a coach and met the Karasuno Volleyball Club.

© the-travelling-witch 2024 - do not repost, translate, copy or edit

if you like my content, reblogs, comments and asks are always much appreciated ♡

➺ send in an ask to be added to or removed from my tag list

haikyuu!!: @mccnstruck

[lcalipsol]

Commission

[luxinglan]

Miya Osamu, who you recently received a wake-up call for how comfortable you've gotten with him recently, regardless of your feelings.

Miya Osamu, who even though you know he's not at fault, you can't help but feel a little bit annoyed at him.

‘Is that how he usually acts?’

‘Grinning and getting chummy with any pretty girl that wants his attention?’

It's ridiculous, you know, feeling jealous over a guy that's not yours. Who doesn't even have an idea that you have feelings for him and probably just sees you as a normal friend.

Miya Osamu, who notices you're absent-minded while sitting on one of the side benches in the gym. Completely oblivious to the ball flying off the block from a spike Aran just made.

Miya Osamu, who quickly intercepts the ball, already on that side of the court. The ball bounces off his hands and rolls across the ground for a player to pick up later. The sound of it hitting his arm finally draws your attention, making you look up to face him while the others slowly stop the practice game and come over to check up on you.

Miya Osamu, who ignores his racing heart and throbbing left arm from where he deflected the ball and turns around to face you. His imminent worry is etched on his face, his grey eyes narrowing down into an annoyed glare.

Miya Osamu, whom you expect to berate you about sitting so absent-mindedly while a game is going on, knowing how often injuries can happen if one isn't careful.

Miya Osamu, who rakes his eyes over your form. Checking your arms, forehead, and legs for any marks before bringing his eyes back to your untouched face.

“Did it hit you?”

Miya Osamu, who watches you slowly shake your head, relief washing over him at your answer, despite already knowing it since he deflected the ball himself.

Miya Osamu, who didn't expect you to return the question, your eyes shifting to his arm.

“Are you okay?”

Miya Osamu, who proudly shakes his hand, grateful for the opportunity to show off how impressive he is. He softly clears his throat, subtly averting his gaze to answer.

“No. ‘Is nothing. Didn't hurt at all.”

The Inarizaki team, who watches the whole interaction quietly from the sidelines. Waiting for the opportunity to interrupt, inquire, and apologize themselves. At the same time, wondering when you two will start dating already. Even Kita Shinsuke is no longer blind to the gossip his team has fun with during breaks.

Miya Osamu, who is finally slowly getting confident in his feelings for you. Confident enough to even listen to Sumu’s advice on how to charm a girl you like. Although he thinks most of it is stupid and lets Atsumu know, he still writes them down in his notebook.

‘Be manly.’

‘Walk on the ‘right’ side of the road where you can be a body block for any incoming vehicles.’

‘Offer to carry her books and any heavy things for her.’

‘Always sit close to her in class and exchange notes regularly.’

But we're not in the same class though…

‘Befriend her friends. Make sure they like you.’

I don't like them though, especially that Yumeko girl. She's so close to Y/n—too close. Last time she was even feeding her, with her hands! How rude. Who does she think she is?!

‘If her friends don't like you, they're likely to influence her affection for you as well.’

…

Well I guess, it was nice of her to share the chocolates… but who even cares about chocolates? I could make them and feed her myself. I mean, that day she was already having an upset stomach.

‘Regularly tell her how pretty she is.’

… All I've done so far is tell her she eats like a pig and that she doesn't have good eyes because she thinks everyone is cute… I want to tell her she's pretty. Really pretty. Maybe one day I'll work up the courage to.

‘Show off your muscles??’

‘Wear something sexy while cooking on a video call—or better still, don't wear a shirt at all…’

…

Sumu that idiot, has any of this even worked for him?!! What does he even know. The stealing blockhead.

Miya Osamu, who still reads through the tips at night before bed and practices them mentally before shutting it to quietly insult his brother some more.

Miya Osamu, who finally decides to give you a genuine compliment on your date this Saturday.

Miya Osamu, who frequently has to remind himself that it's not a date. He simply asked you to accompany him to check out a new restaurant and you agreed. Despite his dream of successfully giving you that compliment already putting him in a great mood when he woke up that morning, and despite his brother fussing about his tastes while helping him pick what to wear—it's not a date. Maybe… just maybe it's too soon for that.

Miya Osamu, who gets there way earlier than he planned and decides to walk around while waiting for you, unable to stop himself from buying some Taiyaki while he does. He couldn't help it. He skipped breakfast and was a little bit anxious.

Miya Osamu, who finds himself going through the photos Suna shared in their group chat. Reacting with a thumbs down on the ones of his and his brother’s fights, and smiling at the ones that have you somewhere in the background. Chatting with the coach, checking out a volleyball, or just sitting with a snack.

Miya Osamu, who pauses on a video of him biting Sumu's ear to see you in the background talking with Aran while holding a volleyball in hand, nodding at something Aran is saying before tossing the ball, catching it, and responding excitedly to him.

Miya Osamu, who quietly watches the video more times—just that part, though.

'Hmm… is she interested in volleyball? Maybe I could teach her. Ah… but she was hopeless in learning onigiri, though. Would she pick it up? I guess if it's just for fun then it doesn't matter, but can I be a good teacher? Would Sumu be better? She did say setters are cool, ah but then again she said the same thing about liberos too.'

Miya Osamu, who checks his phone for the last message before it suddenly strikes him while you're running late.

You mentioned yesterday that Yumeko—the girl he's trying not to actively dislike but seems bent on making that hard for him—invited you to a mixer which was today, Saturday. You said you turned her down and that you weren't going since you already had a date—he means plans with him today, but… maybe you changed your mind?

Miya Osamu, who's decidedly not a fan of the uncomfortable feeling flooding his chest nor the barrage of thoughts that follow. Both getting worse with each passing second.

Miya Osamu, who checks the time one more time after glancing at the last message he sent to you.

“I'm here. Just waiting.”

Over one hour has passed from your agreed time of 11:00 AM, and he arrived by 9:48 AM.

It is currently 12 on the dot.

Miya Osamu, who quietly sends another message.

“You're still coming right? Did you get caught up in traffic?”

Miya Osamu, who switches to the phone app, his thumb hesitantly hovering over his brother's saved name before he stops.

‘What’s the point in calling Sumu. He's probably going to say something stupid.’

‘Where is Y/n? It's already 2:05.’

‘She didn't change her mind and go to the mixer, right?’

‘I mean it's possible… her friends are going after all. She might not want to let them down. She might also consider that to be more fun than hanging out with me.’

‘I’m so stupid, listening to what Sumu said about the probability of me having a chance.’

‘Is she at the mixer right now? Is she having fun without me?’

‘Am I just a pain in the ass to her?’

‘Yeah. They said girls prefer more mature guys, right? The mixer probably has mature, cute-looking guys that are better than me.’

Miya Osamu, whose anxiety gets so bad he starts going through his recent memories in his head. Now that he thinks about it, you've been acting a little bit distant with him. The wallpaper is still on your phone and you still have lunch with him, but… you aren't letting him feed you anymore. And even when chatting with him, there's been less teasing—or calling him cute—with most of the chat focused on the drama in the team. And you haven't asked him for a picture in a while, either.

Miya Osamu, who glances down at his phone, his wallpaper the picture of you eating the onigiri he made, which he's had for weeks now. He slowly murmurs the time to himself while staring at your stuffed cheeks in the picture, poking it with his thumb.

“3:54.”

Your cheeks in the picture don't move a bit. They are probably moving right now over food, drinks, and shared laughter at a mixer somewhere.

Miya Osamu, who taps the power button to close the screen after making another call to you that doesn't get answered. His battery is already running low.

“I'll wait. Just a little bit more.”

He mumbles to himself, lowering his head and ignoring the loud rumble of his stomach. He couldn't close his eyes; images of you somewhere at a mixer just keep flashing through his mind.

Maybe this is why Sumu said to be close to your friends. He could have called Yumeko or texted her since you weren't answering your calls and texts. But… does he even have the right? What if that just makes him even less tolerable?

Miya Osamu, who weakly takes his head up after his eyes catch sight of the mistied shoelaces of a pair of white sneakers that suddenly stop in front of him from where he is squatting alone against the wall of an alley.

You stare down at him, your chest heaving from heavy breathing while sweat runs down your forehead and your neck, soaking the round collar of your shirt. Your phone is in your hand, the screen dark from a dead battery.

Miya Osamu, who quietly stares up at you, taking in your appearance while you quickly explain yourself.

‘She’s sweating and out of breath. She must have been running. Her clothes are a bit rumpled and you didn't even tie your shoelaces properly again… you never do. You could have seriously tripped and gotten hurt, even now… you still look so pretty.’

“I'm so sorry Samu. I'm really late and I'm really sorry. I didn't forget, I just… ahhh this is so embarrassing, but I was in charge of making dinner last night and what I prepared… it ughh… gave everyone diarrhea this morning. I didn't mean to! You were right. I'm seriously trash at cooking… I tried to follow the recipe though. I mean, I've seen you do it multiple times and I wanted to try because it's always good when you make it. So the whole house had diarrhea this morning, including me. It took hours to take care of and for the medicine to kick in. Even worse, my phone died during the night and I couldn't reach you. I thought you'd have left but I still had to check here first. I'm way too late aren't I? I'm really sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I can't have any right now, but I can get you some onigiri or anything else you want.”

‘Diarrhea? Haa… seriously, I've told her before that she has absolutely no talent for cooking, but I guess… I was wrong about her going to the mixer instead. That's a relief.’

Miya Osamu, whom you stare down at anxiously. He has taken his head back down and seems to be thinking about something. Your heart is beating uncomfortably fast against your chest. You just ran around the whole place looking for a specific grey-haired head. He wasn't at the restaurant you two agreed to meet up at, but a server there mentioned he came by. You weren't even sure if he'd still be here; you just came here the moment you recovered. Not exactly in tiptop health, and not exactly early either. Your phone is still off, so you can't really tell the time. You haven't really been able to keep track of time all day.

“Samu…”

You anxiously call his name, squatting down as well to meet his gaze—or rather, just his forehead, since he still has his head lowered.

“Are you… angry at me?”

Miya Osamu, who genuinely shakes his head at the question.

No, he isn't angry at you. At least, not for coming this late, though maybe for something else. I mean, it's not like you could help it that anything you cook either ends up poisonous or unrecognizable. Though you could probably just quit cooking in general to avoid such damages.

Miya Osamu, who listens to your heavy sigh of relief at his nonverbal answer. His eyes watch your knees leave his sight as you stand back up to your feet.

“Still, let me make it up to you. I think we can still have a late lunch at the restaurant. Ah… you've probably eaten though. So maybe just some snacks?”

‘No. I haven't eaten. I was too busy waiting for you. Too busy feeling anxious and thinking about everything else. What a pain. It's annoying. Even now… even now I still feel anxious despite you being here.’

Miya Osamu, whose hand suddenly reaches out to grab your right wrist, stopping you from leaving as you turn around, audibly talking about what snacks to get. His grip is tighter than he is aware of, but he is focused on something else.

His eyes flicker up to meet yours as you turn your head back down toward him from where he's still squatting on the floor.

“You…” he pauses, silently reviewing his words in his head to resolve your obvious anxiety and guilt about being late.

He tightly presses his lips together before opening them again.

“Do you still think I'm the cutest?”

Miya Osamu, who stares up at your surprised and confused face, with a little bit of surprise etched onto his own.

‘That… wasn't what I wanted to ask!’

You tilt your head slightly.

“Still think you're the cutest?”

You pause to remember the morning you walked to school together, when you were talking about how the team's captain was kinda cute, to which he questioned your eyesight and fumed until you let him know that you thought he was the cutest. The whole memory is so endearing that it immediately brings a smile to your face as you stare down at him.

“Of course I do, Samu. I still think you're cute.”

Miya Osamu, who ignores the beat his heart skips at your sentence, forcing himself up to his feet to look at you. The height difference between you two instantly switches your previous gazes.

“Then why… haven't you called me cute recently? You… you even called Sumu cute! When he tried to hide that picture of him Suna was about to show you on Tuesday, you laughed and said it's cute. But I… I don't even get anything! It's not fair. You said I was the cutest but now you… You even make food that gives everyone diarrhea and make me wait all this time! Y/n, you're so stupid and frustrating, why don't you tell me I'm cute any—”

Miya Osamu, who stares down at your face, suddenly impossibly close to his. Your eyes are blatantly staring into his while your lips cut off the rest of the words from his mouth. They are as soft and as warm as he had imagined—much bolder, too. Parting his lips open to slowly suck on them twice before pulling away, leaving your face an inch away from his while he stares, unaware that he isn't breathing properly.

Miya Osamu, whose breathing becomes even more improper the moment the next words leave your lips, accompanied by a bittersweet smile. The same lips that just kissed him so suddenly.

“Because I like you, Samu.”

…

“I like you.”

You repeat it in case he didn't hear the first time. Though he caught it. His ears certainly did, with how red they are currently burning. The heat spreads across his entire face as your confession doesn't end there.

“It’s stupid, but I got jealous. But getting that jealous of someone you're not even in a relationship with... it's not really healthy, nor something you'd appreciate, so I…”

You avert your gaze to the ground, unable to complete the rest of your sentence, though you don't need to.

“I like you too… Y/n.”

Miya Osamu, whose eyes widen in surprise at the words that unexpectedly fell from his lips. Aching to be let out, they finally did, drawing your eyes right back to his face.

He suddenly feels his chest constrict with pressure while his face floods with unbearable heat. His hand leaves your wrist to slide down, interlocking his fingers with yours while a sudden hiccup escapes his chest.

Weren't you going to answer? Did you not hear what he said? He has to take advantage of this opportunity that was suddenly presented to him. He has to let you know. Right here. Right now. Even if he can't look at your face at all. As long as you can hear him, then that's good enough.

“Hic—I… said I like you too.”

[weirdergirlbrina]

You’re sitting on the cold river bank, the smell of sunscreen clinging to your warm skin. Cicadas hum lazily in the background, mixing with the sound of rushing water and loud, overlapping voices.

You watch the boys splash around in the river, shoving each other like kids, yelling all kinds of nonsense, all laughing so hard they can barely stay afloat.

You can’t help the smile that settles on your lips, soft and warm, like the sun kissing everyone’s skin.

“Y/N!” Makki suddenly yells, making you flinch hard, “Get in here!”

You roll your eyes immediately, “Is it still cold?”

Issei snorts before anyone else can answer, “Y’know, I’m beginning to think you can’t swim”, small smirk on his lips.

Your head snaps toward him instantly, “I can swim!” you defend, frowning.

“Then why aren’t you?” Oikawa retorts, eyebrow raised suspiciously.

You open your mouth.. Pause. Then close it again, “…I don’t wanna”

A chorus of BOOs immediately follows.

Iwa swims over, brushing water from his face as he reaches where you’re comfortably settled. He rolls his eyes at them before looking up at you, smiling softly.

“Ignore them,” he says, a little breathless, “Are you having fun?”

You crinkle your nose and glance back at the others now splashing water at each other, “yeah, I’m glad I came”

He plops down next to you, gently bumping your shoulder with his own, “I’m glad you did too”

And the admission has you both pink in the face, goofy smiles in place.

“Awwww,” Oikawa’s voice cuts through the moment instantly, “Are you guys gonna kiss now?”

Before either of you can react, cold river water comes flying at full speed.

You gasp so loud it startles even yourself, scrambling to stand.

“Toru!” you hiss, “It’s freezing!”

“Your body will adjust”, he rolls his eyes dramatically, “once you get in!”

Iwa snorts, rolling his eyes as the brunette swims away laughing, “…Wanna ride on my back?”

You raise an eyebrow, “You think I can’t swim?”

“Just offering”, comes the cool, casual reply

Your eyes linger on him for a second too long.

Water rolling down his neck.

Hair pushed back.

Broad shoulders already tanning under the sun.

Your mind wanders to his strong back, toned muscles…

And your stomach twists at the thought.

You look away immediately, cheeks already warming, “No thanks”

He laughs, the sound loud and easy, then he flashes you an annoyingly pretty grin, “Better hurry up then, I think they’re plotting to throw you in” he says, teasing tilt in his voice.

It’s then that you realize how oddly quiet it’s gotten.

Your eyes slowly lift, only to see them huddled up in a group, smirking at you.

“Don’t you fucking dare” you snap at the group, scrambling into the water toward Iwa.

The cold hits instantly and you hiss, grabbing onto his bicep for balance and immediately regretting it.

His arm flexes under your hand and you can’t help but let your mind wander.

Iwa looks down at where you’re holding him, smirking, “Cold?”

You squint at him, “Freak”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise before he starts laughing, “What’d I do?!”

“Quit flexing!”

He quirks an eyebrow, toothy little grin on his face now, “You noticed that?”

Before you can respond, Issei’s swimming over, smiling real smooth, “Awww, lemme warm you up” he offers

You feel your heart stutter for a second, “You’re a freak too” you mutter, swimming off toward Oikawa and Makki.

Behind you, Issei lets out a loud laugh.

But you miss the way Iwa’s smile disappears for a second, the way he frowns at the other brunette.

Issei catches it instantly, sending him the most obnoxious grin imaginable.

Iwa clicks his tongue, “Lemme warm you up”, he mocks in an ugly little voice, “Shut the hell up”

Issei just grins wider, “If you’re not gonna make your move, it’s fair game”, he says before smirking and swimming off towards you.

Iwa scoffs, but his eyes drift back to you anyway.

You’re laughing now, the sound warm and light.

Issei starts swimming over and Iwa watches for exactly two seconds before following.

Before you know it, they’re both there.

You blink as Issei appears on one side of you and suddenly Iwa’s on the other.

You glance up to find Iwa frowning at Issei, while he grins back, your eyebrows furrowing.

“You guys good?” you ask.

Oikawa raises an eyebrow immediately, glancing at Makki.

Makki just rolls his eyes.

Idiots.

Iwa looks at you for a second before stepping closer, arm brushing yours in a way that definitely doesn’t feel accidental.

“Yeah,” he mutters, eyes still on Issei, “He’s just being annoying”

Issei gasps dramatically, then shoots him a shit eating grin.

A second later Iwa splashes him right in the face, a loud gasp escaping him.

Issei bursts out laughing, “Oh, so we’re playing dirty now?”

And just like that the weird tension disappears.

Water starts flying everywhere.

Makki starts yelling, Oikawa immediately betrays everyone, laughter ringing out loudly.

And before long nobody’s really paying attention anymore.

Except every now and then, you catch Iwa glancing over, small smile tugging at his lips that feels reserved just for you.

————————————————————————

A/N: this ain’t that good !!! who cares !!! i’m having fun !!! I hate summer !!!

[milktei]

“Kiss your Husband”

Kuroo Tetsuro x Wife Reader

Genre: angst with a happy ending

a/n: My first post! Also this was based off of This Reddit post that struck me in my soulll

“Kiss your husband” “Kiss your wife”

A stupid little game that you and your husband Kuroo Tetsurou created at the beginning of your marriage

At first you two said it as a way to flaunt your newly acquired titles to each other, reminding one another “hey we’re married now, you're my spouse!”

Then, it evolved into a unique way to ask for kisses and attention or to stay in each other's presence longer. Tetsu would get up to get ready for work, but you would pull him in with the simple three words “Kiss your wife.”

He would roll his eyes but turn to kiss you with a goofy smile on his face, which would lead to another kiss, which would lead to him nearly being late to work.

It was dumb but it worked. It was one of the factors that kept you two communicating and stuck together like glue.

Even when it felt like your marriage was crumbling around you.

“What so I should just quit my job now huh? would that finally make you happy?”

You glared harder at the man standing in front of you “You know damn well that’s not what I meant Tetsu” These types of arguments have been common lately, you wanted him to take time off and relax for once, he was barely home anymore. He insisted that it needed to be done

He scoffed “You might as well have, you know that I have to work these hours it’s unavoidable, we need the money.”

Money. It was always about the money and him trying to fulfill the promise he had made to you years ago, the promise of a life where the both of you could live a life you only dreamt about before. A life that once seemed out of reach.

But was it really worth it if you came home to a cold and empty house every day? was it worth it that at the rare chance you got to talk to your husband, it would only end in fights like this?

“I understand Tetsu but honestly we’re fine right now where we are. you can slow down.”

“Maybe if I didn’t have such a needy bitch of a wife I would be able to slow down, but we can’t all have what we want, can we? I guess you wouldn’t know with your habit of throwing my money around”

You took a step back your eyes widening in surprise. Tetsu was usually busy so it was up to you to buy the groceries, up to you to buy what you needed for the house you lived in, up to you to hire people to fix or upgrade any appliances that needed it. You rarely bought anything for yourself anymore, but he only saw the money leave the bank account. Nothing you bought anymore was useless, it was stuff you needed, you even budgeted and used coupons to make sure to get the best price. You worked hard to help Kuroo achieve the dreams you both had for the future. But he didn’t acknowledge that, did he?

It was as if all the anger left your body and it was all replaced by hurt. Pure hurt caused by the man who claimed to love you so much.

Kuroo froze too as if the words that just left his mouth were finally registering in his mind “Shit, (y/n)-“

You turned away from him, not wanting him to see the tears that were threatening to fall any second, “I’m sorry you feel that way,” you managed to whisper “I’m going to bed.”

“(y/n) I didn’t mean-” you shook your head and wrapped your arms around yourself in a sorry attempt to comfort yourself

“Don’t. I’m so tired Tetsurou, tired of... whatever this is right now, I’m going to bed.”

you were met with silence and began waking to the guest room.

“Kiss your husband”

Your head whipped up and your nails dug into your arms at the sound of those three words. No, not now, of all times why now?

“Tetsu-“

“Kiss your husband.” His voice cracked, you didn’t have to look at him to know that he was on the verge of tears too.

You stood still, as stiff as a board and you gripped yourself even harder. Every part of your being screamed at you not to, it was stupid, now was not the time, you were hurt because of him, just break the cycle.

The cycle.

It had never been broken before, not once throughout the years of cuddles, teasing and smaller fights. It was an unspoken promise to not break it, breaking the cycle would mean...

The end.

The end of the cycle the end of its deeper meaning between the two of you.

The end of your relationship

Your silence and stillness was unnerving. It broke Tetsu’s heart knowing that you were genuinely considering breaking the cycle, he knew you were. but you hadn’t moved yet allowing him to grip on to the little hope he had left, that you would turn around and that you would be able to fix this together.

“(Y/n)” He pleaded.

With a sharp exhale you turned on your heel and held in a sob as you marched towards your husband, stood on your tiptoes and gave him a peck on the lips. Stupid stupid stupid Kuroo Tetsurou. You whipped your head back around and attempted to walk back to the bedroom but he managed to grab hold of your wrist before you could move any further

“Let go,” you said in a wobbly voice

“No,” Tetsu said firmly. He pulled you towards his chest and you couldn’t hold back your cries anymore.

He held you as you cried, some of his own tears trailed down his cheek onto your hair,

“We’ll be okay (y/n),” he said in an attempt to comfort you, but you knew that he was also trying to convince himself too.

Hesitantly you nodded and he held you tighter to himself “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I promise.”

You gripped his shirt and nodded again, not trusting your voice to speak just yet.

He pulled back and cupped your face, using his thumb to brush away your tears “Let’s go to bed and talk about it in the morning okay?”

you leaned into his palm and nodded “okay.” you hiccuped.

“Kiss your husband?” He asked hopefully again.

You couldn’t help the small giggle that left your lips before pulling him in for another kiss.

[gllimzz]

Onigiri with a pinch of sweets

Pairing: osamu miya x baker!reader

Genre: fluff

Summary: osamu is whipped and accidentally talks a ladies ear off about you when shes just trying to buy some food.

Wc: 1115

A/n: i hate it. I had a thought but didnt like how i worded it. Im only rlly doing this as a self indulgence thing cause im tryna be a baker.

The late afternoon sun filtered through the windows of Onigiri Miya as Osamu wiped down the counter. Near the register sat the small glass display of sweets—matcha mochi donuts, strawberry daifuku, and those addictive honey butter cookies with a whisper of roasted rice. They’d become a quiet favorite among regulars, even if onigiri remained the star.

A middle-aged woman pointed at the case while paying for her order. “These are wonderful. Who makes them? A local bakery?”

Osamu’s face softened instantly, a rare, warm smile tugging at his lips. He leaned on the counter, grey eyes bright with quiet pride.

“My wife,” he said, the words slipping out like they always did when someone asked. “We’ve known each other since we were kids. She started bringin’ sweets to practices back then, and now she wakes up before dawn to bake fresh for the shop. Insisted we needed somethin’ sweet to go with the savory. I told her folks come for the rice, but she just laughed and kept experimentin’ until these became better than anything else in town. The way she balances flavors… it’s like she puts a little bit of home into every batch. I’m just the lucky guy who gets to watch her do it every day.” He rubbed the back of his neck, a faint blush creeping up. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to rant. You wantin’ a box?”

The woman chuckled warmly. “Sounds like a keeper. I’ll take two of each, please.”

Later that evening, right as Osamu was restocking, the door slammed open.

“Samu! Emergency sweets run!” Atsumu declared, still in his MSBY practice gear, hair messy and gym bag thumping against his leg. He zeroed in on the display like a heat-seeking missile, completely bypassing the onigiri.

Osamu crossed his arms, eyebrow arched. “You only come here for her sweets. Just admit it already.”

Atsumu gasped dramatically, clutching a hand to his chest. “How dare you! I come for the atmosphere… and the onigiri sometimes. Mostly her bakin’. Those honey cookies are life-savin’ after coach works us like dogs.”

“You’ve got no shame,” Osamu muttered, but he was already boxing up the last few cookies with a fond eye-roll. “You insult my life’s work every time you walk in here.”

“It’s not an insult! Your onigiri is solid, but her stuff? It heals the soul after losin’ sets. Remember when we were kids? She’d show up with treats after we lost and suddenly the world wasn’t endin’.” Atsumu leaned over the counter, grinning. “C’mon, share with your favorite twin. I’ll even say your onigiri is the best in Osaka.”

“You already get half of ‘em for free, you freeloader.”

Atsumu snatched the box with a triumphant laugh. “She loves me more. I’m the fun twin who appreciates her talent!”

“Get out before I text her you’re badmouthin’ the rice again,” Osamu shot back, smirking. The door chimed as Atsumu left, still munching happily.

Osamu shook his head, locked up, and headed home with a small bag of leftover sweets tucked under his arm.

The apartment smelled like vanilla and warm sugar the moment he stepped inside. You were in the kitchen, apron dusted with flour, humming softly as you mixed dough for tomorrow’s batch. Osamu paused in the doorway, just watching you for a moment—hair tied back, sleeves rolled up, completely in your element. His chest felt warm and full.

He pulled out a stool at the kitchen counter and sat, resting his chin in his hand.

“Long day?” you asked, glancing over with that smile he’d loved since middle school.

“Yeah, but a good one. Customer asked about the sweets again. Might’ve gone on a bit of a rant about you.” He chuckled. “Atsumu stopped by too. Same old fight—he only shows up for your bakin’.”

You laughed, the sound light and familiar. “Poor ‘Tsumu. He works hard. Did you give him the honey cookies?”

“‘Course I did. Can’t have my brother starvin’.” Osamu reached over and stole a pinch of dough, earning a playful swat from your spatula. “How was your day? Any new experiments?”

You leaned against the counter, eyes sparkling as you told him about testing a new roasted sesame mochi recipe and how the neighbor’s kid had begged for samples earlier. Osamu listened, nodding along, occasionally asking questions just to keep you talking. The kitchen felt like the coziest place in the world.

***

The gym smelled like sweat and defeat after the loss. Osamu sat on the bench, staring at his shoes, while Atsumu paced angrily beside him, muttering about the last point they’d blown.

Then the gym doors creaked open.

You poked your head in, a small bento box in your hands, cheeks pink from the cold outside. “Um… I heard you guys lost. I made something. It’s not much, but…”

You set the box down between them. Inside were simple homemade sweets—soft cookies with a touch of honey and little rice flour mochi bites you’d experimented with after school.

Atsumu stopped pacing instantly. His eyes lit up like someone had flipped a switch. “Whoa… these look awesome!” He grabbed one cookie and took a huge bite, shoulders relaxing almost immediately. “These are so good. The sweetness kinda fixes the bad taste from losin’…”

Osamu watched his twin brighten, tension melting from his face. He picked up a mochi bite himself, the familiar warmth of your thoughtfulness settling in his chest. You’d always been there—childhood friend who showed up with snacks, encouragement, and that steady presence that made everything feel less heavy.

“Thanks,” Osamu said quietly, meeting your eyes. “You didn’t have to.”

You shrugged, smiling shyly. “I wanted to. You both work really hard.”

That was the moment something shifted for Osamu—the realization that your sweets weren’t just treats. They were care, wrapped up in sugar and effort. And he wanted to keep that feeling forever.

Back in the present, Osamu stood up and came around the counter, wrapping his arms around you from behind as you shaped the dough.

“You know,” he murmured against your hair, “those middle school sweets after that loss? That’s when I knew I was done for. Atsumu lit up like the sun, and I just… wanted to see that smile from you every day.”

You turned in his arms, floury hands resting on his chest. “And now you get them every morning.”

“Best decision I ever made, marryin’ my childhood baker.” He kissed your forehead, slow and soft. “Love you.”

“Love you more, rice boy.” You grinned up at him.

The kitchen filled with quiet laughter and the sweet scent of tomorrow’s batch, the two of you exactly where you belonged.

[medusasfics]

Cold

Pairing: Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Fem!Reader

Summary: Robby gives you his hoodie when you’re cold.

It was just another day at the PTMC. A cold one at that. It also happened to be the day that you accidentally left your hoodie at home. So you had nothing to wear over your scrubs.

You tried your best to ignore the cold. Hoping that doing your rounds and taking care of patients would help you warm up, since you were constantly on the move. However that wasn’t the case. No matter what you did you just couldn’t warm up.

A few hours into your shift Robby approached you.

“You ok? You look cold.” He said.

“I’m ok. Just forgot my hoodie at home. I’ll be fine.” You said.

“Here take my hoodie.” Robby said as he unzipped his jacket and took it off.

“Honestly Robby I will be fine.” You lied.

“You have goosebumps all over your arms.” Robby said as he slowly ran his thumb up and down your arms, that did in fact have goosebumps all over.

The contact made you blush. You had a major crush on your attending for quite some time. And the feeling of him touching you made you giddy.

“Please take it. For me.” He said offering you a warm smile.

All you could do was nod, as Robby handed you his jacket. You happily took it, Robby’s fingers brushing against your own as you took the jacket.

Once you had put on his jacket, Robby zipped it up for you.

“There we go. It looks good on you.” Robby said as he looked you up and down, a smile on his face.

“Thank you. But what if you get cold?” You asked now concerned about him.

“I’ll be fine. If I get cold I’ll just come give you a hug.” Robby said smirking at you, before he left you standing there slightly dumbfounded as he went to check on his patient.

When the night shift finally arrived, Jack went over to Robby.

“You gave her your jacket?” Jack asked nodding over to you, as he noticed you in Robby’s hoodie.

“She was cold.” Robby said brushing it off like it meant nothing.

“When are you going to ask her out?” Jack asked.

“What?” Robby asked looking at Jack with an eyebrow raised.

“When are you going to ask Y/N out? I see the way you look at each other.” Jack said.

“I don’t look at her in any way.” Robby denied.

“Keep telling yourself that buddy. But don’t come crying to me when someone else makes a move.” Jack chuckled.

Robby looked over at you still wearing his hoodie. Maybe Jack was right. Maybe he should make a move.

Robby made his way over to you, as you were talking to Dana.

“Everything ok?” You asked when you noticed his presence.

“All good. Can we talk for a minute?” Robby asked you.

“Of course.” You said following after him as he made his way to the break room.

“What’s wrong?” You asked when Robby didn’t say anything.

“Nothings wrong. I just urm.” Robby said not knowing how to find the right words.

“Here you can have your jacket back.” You said as you started to unzip the hoodie.

“No no. Keep it.” Robby said hands reaching for yours as he stopped you unzipping the hoodie.

“I was just uh wondering.” Robby started.

“Yes?” You asked looking at Robby confused.

“I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me some time?” Robby asked avoiding your gaze.

“Robby. Look at me.” You said.

Robby lifted his eyes trying to read the expression on your face.

“I’d love to.” You said a huge smile on your face.

“Really?” Robby asked not entirely convinced.

“Absolutely.” You said placing a kiss on his cheek.

“Great. When are you free?” Robby asked.

“Tonight?” You asked.

“Definitely. I’ll give you enough time to get out of your scrubs and get into something a little more date worthy. We can go for drinks if you’d like?” Robby suggested.

“That sounds great to me. I’m looking forward to it.” You said placing another kiss on his cheek.

“Me too.” Robby said, a huge smile on his face.

[afterdarkbydel]

I Want That One

Jack Abbot xWife! Reader

Summary: After a pediatric patient panics during an IV start, you end up in the ED with a dislocated shoulder, a lot of pain meds, and absolutely no filter. The day shift learns three things very quickly: Jack Abbot is your husband, you picked that one, and apparently, his forearms are medically relevant.

Warnings: established relationship, married Jack and reader, injury, shoulder dislocation, medical procedure/reduction, pain medication/loopy reader, swearing, suggestive humor, sexual jokes, Jack being hot as a clinical intervention, Robby being Robby, fluff, crack treated seriously, hospital setting, peds nurse reader, very unserious wedding lore

Author’s Note: This is very much the sister fic in spirit to Where Is My Husband? Same deeply married chaos, same loopy wife energy, same Jack Abbot being forced to endure public affection against his will. Except this time, Robby discovers that “sexy doctor husband” is not just a title — it is, unfortunately for Jack, a clinically useful intervention. This one is ridiculous, soft, unhinged, and honestly exactly the kind of nonsense I love putting these two through. Jack is trying so hard to be a serious, worried husband; Robby is having the best shift of his life; Dana is quietly enabling chaos under the guise of professionalism; and Reader is simply telling the truth. Loudly. On medication.

You’re welcome.

Xoxo, Del

The first rule of pediatrics was that fear moved faster than pain. You had learned that early.

Pain made kids cry. Fear made them bolt.

Eli Mereiter had been trying very hard not to do either for almost twenty minutes.

He sat in the center of the peds exam bed with his knees tucked under the thin blanket, his left wrist cradled against his chest, his cheeks blotchy from the effort of pretending he was fine. His mother stood near the head of the bed, one hand on his shoulder and the other twisting the strap of her purse so tightly her knuckles had gone white.

“You’re doing great,” you told him.

Eli looked at the IV tray and swallowed. “No, I’m not.”

You crouched beside the bed so you were closer to eye level.

“You are. Great doesn’t mean you aren’t scared. It means you’re still here with me even though you are.”

His eyes flicked to yours.

The honesty helped. It usually did. Kids could smell a lie faster than adults could dress one up.

“It’s gonna hurt,” he said.

You nodded.

“It’s going to pinch. I won’t call it nothing.” You rested one hand on the mattress, close but not touching him without warning. “But it’ll be fast, and you don’t have to watch.”

His mouth trembled once before he pressed it flat. “I don’t want it.”

“I know.” You gave him a serious nod. “That’s fair. We can hate it together.”

Eli looked at you like that was suspicious. “You hate it?”

“I hate it when kids have to do scary things,” you said. “But I like when they get through them and realize they were braver than they thought.”

His mom made a quiet sound behind him.

You glanced up at her and gave a small, reassuring smile before looking back at Eli.

“How about this,” you said. “You pick where you look. Mom’s face, the ceiling tile that kind of looks like a potato, or me.”

Eli’s brows pinched together. “The ceiling tile doesn’t look like a potato.”

You looked up. “It absolutely does.”

He glanced up despite himself. For one second, his attention shifted. Not enough to make him calm, but enough to give him somewhere else to put the fear.

“That one?” he asked.

You nodded. “Very potato.” His mom gave a wet little laugh.

The nurse beside you finished prepping the IV with practiced quiet. You saw Eli clock the movement anyway. His eyes cut to the tourniquet. Then the alcohol wipe. Then the catheter.

His breathing changed. You leaned in slightly. “Eli. Look at me.” His gaze snapped back to yours.

You kept your voice low and even. “Can you breathe in with me?”

He tried. His breath caught halfway.

“That’s okay,” you said. “Again. Smaller this time.”

The nurse reached for his arm. Eli saw the flash of the needle. Fear got there first.

“No,” he said.

His mother tightened her hand on his shoulder. “Eli—”

“No!” He jerked backward, fast and hard, trying to get away from the tray, from the nurse, from the whole room.

“Hey, hey.” You moved with him. “You’re okay.”

But he was already twisting. His sneaker slid against the paper sheet. His hip caught the edge of the mattress. The bed rail was down on your side because you had been sitting there with him, and his small body tipped toward the open space between the bed and the floor.

You moved before thought could catch up.

Your hand caught the back of his gown. Your other arm shot across his chest, bracing him before he could fall.

For half a second, you had him. Then his weight hit your shoulder wrong. Something shifted. Not cracked. Not snapped.

Slipped.

White-hot pain tore through your shoulder and down your arm so violently that the room went gray at the edges. You made a sound you did not recognize.

Someone grabbed Eli from the other side.

“I’ve got him,” the other nurse said. “I’ve got him.”

Good, you thought. That was good.

You went down hard on one knee, your right arm hanging wrong, breath gone from your chest.

Eli was crying now. Not the scared kind. The guilty kind.

“I hurt her,” he sobbed.

You tried to lift your head. Bad idea. Pain slammed up the side of your neck and behind your teeth.

“No,” you forced out. Your voice sounded thin. Far away. “No, honey. You didn’t.”

A hand touched your back. “Don’t move,” someone said.

You tried to breathe through your nose. “Is he okay?”

“He’s okay,” she repeated, firmer this time. “We have him.”

Eli’s mother had him against her now, both arms wrapped around his shaking body. His face was turned toward you, wet and horrified.

You managed to focus on him. “Eli.”

His crying hitched. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” You swallowed down nausea. “I know you didn’t. You got scared. That’s different.”

His face crumpled harder. You looked at his mom. “Tell him I’m not mad.”

“We will,” she said quickly.

You closed your eyes for half a second. “Please tell him.”

“We will,” the nurse said beside you. “But right now, we need to get you downstairs.”

You opened your eyes. “No, he needs—”

“He has his mom,” she said gently. “And he has Megan. We’ve got him.”

You wanted to argue. Your shoulder pulsed once, deep and sickening, and the rest of the sentence disappeared. Someone called down to the ED before they moved you. You heard pieces of it through the pain and the blood rushing in your ears.

“Staff injury coming down from peds.”

“Likely right shoulder dislocation.”

“Caught a pediatric patient who panicked during IV prep.”

“Vitals stable.”

“Severe pain.”

Nobody said your name. Or maybe they did, and it got swallowed somewhere between the exam room and the elevator. Either way, by the time they got you into a wheelchair, your scrubs were damp at the collar, your vision kept narrowing at the corners, and your arm had become a separate, terrible country you refused to look at.

You hated being the patient.

You hated it so much you almost missed the part where you were terrified. Almost.

The elevator ride downstairs felt both too fast and too slow. Someone kept telling you to breathe. Someone else kept asking your pain number. You gave a number that was probably too low because saying the real one made it feel more real.

The ED doors opened.

The familiar noise hit first. Monitors. Shoes. Voices. The distant roll of a cart.

Robby was already at the mouth of a bay when they wheeled you in, tablet in hand, chief-of-the-ER face on. Dana stood beside him with gloves already pulled on, calm and unsmiling in the way that meant she had already cleared the room in her head. Santos hovered just behind her like she could smell a procedure from three bays away. Princess was at the computer, and Javadi stood near the supply cart, trying very hard to look like someone who was not internally rehearsing every step of a shoulder reduction.

“Peds called down,” Robby said. “Likely right shoulder disloca—”

Then he saw your face. The chief of the ER expression dropped clean off.

For one second, he was not chief of anything. He was just your friend. “What the fuck, dude?”

You tried to glare at him. “Great bedside manner.”

Robby was already moving. He came to your side, one hand bracing the wheelchair arm, his eyes sweeping over your face.

“Look at me,” he said. “You with me?”

You blinked at him through the pain. “No, Robby, I thought I’d dissociate recreationally.”

His jaw tightened. “Answer me like less of a pain in my ass.”

You sighed. “I’m with you.”

“Good.” He glanced at the peds nurse behind your chair. “They called down a peds nurse. They did not say it was you.”

“Would that have changed your medical plan?” you asked.

“No.” His eyes flicked to your shoulder, and the doctor came back into him all at once. “It would have given me thirty more seconds to emotionally prepare for both my friend being injured and Jack killing me.”

“Jack is not going to kill you,” you replied.

Dana made a quiet sound. Robby pointed at her without looking. “Do not contribute.”

Dana lifted both gloved hands. “I said nothing.”

“You thought loudly.”

Santos leaned slightly to see your arm better. “Is it anterior?”

You swallowed through the pain. “Is Eli okay?”

Robby’s attention snapped back to you. Then he looked to the peds nurse. “Eli is the kid?”

The peds nurse nodded quickly. “Eight-year-old. Wrist injury. He’s okay. Megan stayed with him and his mom.”

Your eyes closed. “Did someone tell him I’m not mad?”

Robby went still for half a beat. His expression changed again. Softer this time. Worried in a way he could not hide behind sarcasm fast enough.

“Yeah,” he said. “They told him.”

“He won’t believe them,” you murmured.

Robby looked at you. “He might.”

“He’s eight.” Your voice thinned around the pain. “Eight-year-olds think everything is their fault.”

Robby looked at you for one second too long. Then he nodded once, like he was putting that away for later. “Okay,” he said. “We’re going to get you on the bed. Slow. Dana, support the arm. Javadi, do not look terrified.”

Javadi straightened. “I’m not terrified.” Robby looked at her.

Javadi swallowed. “I’m appropriately alert.” Robby nodded once. “Better.”

You hated how many people it took.

You hated the careful hands and the count of three and the way pain still broke through your teeth when they moved you.

You hated that Robby’s face stayed calm. That meant it looked bad.

Once you were on the bed, Dana slid a pillow under your arm with the clean precision of a woman who did not waste motion. Princess clipped a monitor to your finger. Javadi asked about allergies, her voice only a little too bright. Santos hovered at the foot of the bed, watching your shoulder with open interest until Dana glanced at her.

Santos lifted her hands. “I’m not touching anything.”

“Correct,” Dana said.

Robby looked up from your shoulder. “Pain number.” You hesitated.

He gave you a look. “Do not make me ask like I don’t know you.” You told the truth.

Robby’s mouth tightened. “Thank you for not lying to me twice.”

“I lied once,” you admitted.

Robby shook his head. “You lied badly once.” Your breathing hitched. “Did someone tell Eli?”

The peds nurse, still lingering near the curtain, nodded. “Megan did. His mom did too.”

“But did he believe them?” you pushed.

Robby braced one hand lightly on the bed rail. “Do not try to sit up.”

You looked at him. “I wasn’t.”

“You thought about it,” Robby replied.

Your eyes narrowed. “You can’t prove that.”

“I’m chief of emergency medicine,” he said. “I can prove anything if I chart creatively.”

A laugh tried to escape you. It did not make it past the pain. Robby saw that too. His voice shifted.

“IV, x-ray, then pain meds before we reduce it,” he said. “Let’s get films and make sure we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”

“Love being discussed like a broken chair,” you muttered.

Robby leaned over you, penlight in hand. “I have never met a chair this mouthy.”

Princess found a vein in your good arm. You looked away while she taped the line down. That felt ridiculous, considering you had started hundreds of IVs yourself, but today your body had decided to be dramatic, and you were not giving it more material.

Robby watched your face. “You okay?”

“No,” you answered honestly.

Robby almost smiled. “Good answer.”

Princess glanced up from your IV. “Do you want us to call someone?”

“Yes,” you said immediately.

Robby’s eyes narrowed like he already knew where this was going.

Princess kept her hands near the computer. “Who should we call?”

“Jack Abbot.”

The room did not stop. Not yet. Princess typed, then paused.

Her eyes moved from the screen to you. “Dr. Abbot?”

You breathed through your teeth. “Yes.”

The room went a little too quiet. You opened one eye. “What?”

Santos looked from you to Robby. “Night-shift Abbot?”

“How many Jack Abbots do you know?” you asked.

Javadi made the mistake of whispering, “Dr. Abbot is her emergency contact?”

“He’s my husband,” you said, like that explained the entire universe.

It did, actually. Just not to the room. Santos stared.

Javadi looked like someone had changed the laws of physics in front of her.

Princess’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. Dana, somehow, did not move at all.

Then her eyes narrowed. “The sandwich.” You closed your eyes. “Dana.”

Santos looked at her. “What sandwich?”

Dana didn’t look away from the monitor. “Shift change. Three weeks ago. Abbot was coming off nights. She was passing the desk with a stack of peds charts.”

Princess leaned around Javadi. “I remember that.”

“He had half a sandwich in his hand,” Dana said. “Tore the crust off without breaking conversation, held it up, and she took it on the way by.”

You breathed carefully through your teeth. “I was hungry.”

“You said thanks,” Dana added.

Santos blinked. “That’s it?” Dana finally looked up.

“That’s the point.” A beat passed.

Then Princess pointed toward you. “Wait. The parking lot.”

You opened one eye. “Please don’t.”

“I saw you two by the employee parking last month,” Princess said. “He switched sides with you near the cars.”

Javadi blinked. “Switched sides?” Princess looked at her like this was obvious. “The sidewalk rule.”

Javadi’s brows pulled together. “The what?”

“When the guy walks closer to the street,” Princess said. “Protective thing. Old-school. Very romantic if he’s hot.”

Santos made a face. “That sounds fake.”

Dana adjusted the pulse ox cord. “It’s not fake.”

Princess pointed at Dana. “Thank you.”

You stared at the ceiling. “Can we not analyze my husband’s walking patterns while my shoulder is in another fucking zip code?”

“And he had your bag,” Princess added.

“It was heavy,” you said.

She looked at you. “It had little strawberries on it.”

Robby’s mouth twitched. “Jack carried a strawberry bag?”

You gave him the best glare you could manage while lying flat with your arm attempting secession. “You are supposed to be my doctor.”

Santos’s face changed. “Oh, my god. The fire alarm drill.”

“No,” you said.

“You had his jacket,” she said.

“It was cold.”

“No.” Santos pointed, too delighted to stop herself. “He put it around your shoulders before you asked.”

Dana’s gaze sharpened with recognition.

Santos nodded hard. “And took your clipboard so you could get your arms through the sleeves.”

Princess looked at Robby. “You knew?”

Robby held up one hand. “I was at the wedding.”

The room shifted again. Javadi whispered, “There was a wedding?”

You stared at the ceiling. “I’m starting to think day shift needs hobbies.”

Robby looked at you, and this time his humor was gentle around the edges. “You married a night-shift attending and then wandered around this hospital accepting crustless sandwich halves like that was normal.”

“It is normal,” you replied.

“For married people,” Dana said.

Santos looked personally offended. “I am usually very good at noticing things.”

You swallowed through another pulse of pain. “Sorry my marriage was inconvenient for your brand.”

Robby pointed at you. “Pain has not made her less mean. Excellent prognostic sign.”

Princess was still looking at you like she had discovered treasure. “So Dr. Abbot is your husband.”

“Yes.”

“And he brings you coffee,” Princess added.

You inhaled. “Yes.”

“And the sandwich,” she continued.

“Yes.”

Princess’s eyebrows rose. “And the parking lot.” You closed your eyes. “I would like drugs now.”

Robby’s smile faded enough for his concern to show again. “Soon,” he said. “We’re moving.”

Then he held out his hand toward Princess. “I’ll call him.”

You looked at him. “You don’t have to.”

“I do, actually,” Robby replied.

“Why?”

Robby’s face softened around the edges, just enough that your chest hurt for reasons that had nothing to do with your shoulder.

“Because he’s going to be worried,” he said. “And if a stranger calls him, he’s going to scare somebody.”

You sighed. “Jack doesn’t scare people.”

“No,” Robby said. “But when he’s worried about you, he gets very concise.”

Dana hummed. “That’s true.”

You closed your eyes. “Tell him not to speed.”

Robby shook his head. “I’m not promising that.”

“Robby,” you said, trying to sound reasonable.

He sighed. “I’ll suggest moderation.”

Robby stepped a few feet away from the bed and tapped Jack’s contact. You watched him through the pain, sweat cooling at the back of your neck. He pointed at you without lowering the phone. “Try not to dislocate anything else while I’m gone.” The call rang once. Twice. Three times. On the fourth ring, Jack answered.

His voice came rough with sleep and irritation. “What, Robby?”

Robby glanced back at you. You were pale on the bed, jaw tight, your good hand fisted in the sheet while Dana adjusted the monitor.

“Your wife is in the ED,” Robby said. “She’s fine. I’ve got her.”

The line went silent. Then Jack’s voice came back low and awake. “What happened?”

“Right shoulder dislocation,” Robby said. “Peds incident. She caught a kid before he fell and took the force the wrong way. She’s conscious, stable, and pissed off, which I’m taking as a good sign.”

Another pause. Jack breathed out once, sharply. “Of course she caught the kid.”

“Yeah,” Robby said, softer. “That was my reaction too.”

You lifted your head an inch off the pillow. “Tell him not to speed.”

Robby looked over his shoulder. You stared back, sweaty and serious.

“She says not to speed.”

Jack was already moving. Robby could hear it through the phone: sheets, a drawer, something hitting the floor. “Tell her I’m coming.”

“Jack,” Robby said carefully.

“I heard her,” Jack said sharply.

Robby nodded once. “Good.”

“Thanks, brother. I’m on my way,” Jack replied.

Robby’s mouth softened. “Yeah,” he said.

He ended the call and came back to the side of the bed. “He’s coming.”

You let your head fall back against the pillow. “Good.” The word came out smaller than you meant it to. Robby heard that too. For a second, he was quiet.

Then he nodded to Princess. “Now give her the good stuff before she remembers she’s trying to be reasonable.”

Princess pushed medication into your IV. Warmth moved up your arm a few seconds later, strange and soft. The pain did not vanish, but the edges of the room began to loosen. The lights blurred a little. The monitor beep sounded farther away.

You blinked. “Wow.”

Santos leaned closer. “How’s that?”

You turned your head toward her slowly. “You have two faces.”

Robby’s mouth twitched. “Better?”

You inhaled. “I can still feel my skeleton making bad choices.”

“So, somewhat.” Robby grinned.

You looked toward the curtain. “Did someone tell Eli I’m not mad?”

Robby exhaled. “Yes.”

“I’m not mad,” you repeated.

“I know.”

You blinked hard. “No, but he needs to know.”

“He knows,” Robby replied gently.

You frowned. “You’re just saying that.”

“I am saying many things,” Robby said. “This one happens to be true.”

You tried to sit up. Every person in the room reacted.

Dana touched your good shoulder. “Nope. Stay back.”

“I should tell him,” you told her.

“You should keep your shoulder still,” Robby said.

You frowned at him. “You’re being bossy.” Robby shrugged. “It’s on the mug.”

“Jack has a mug that says World’s Sexiest Doctor,” you replied without thinking. The pain meds were softening things too much now. Words had started wandering into places you had not invited them.

Robby slowly turned his head. “I’m sorry. He has a what?”

You winced. “It was a joke. I got it for him when we were dating.”

Princess looked delighted. “And he kept it?”

You breathed through another pulse of pain. “He drinks out of it every morning.”

Santos stared. “Abbot drinks coffee out of a World’s Sexiest Doctor mug?”

Dana, dry as dust, added, “That explains more than I wanted it to.”

Robby pressed his fingers to his mouth like he was trying to hold in actual joy.

You glared at him. “You’re supposed to be my doctor.”

“I am,” Robby said. “And this is healing me.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. The ED lights drifted above you. Your body felt heavy against the bed, but your mind kept circling the same places. Eli crying. Your shoulder slipping. Jack coming. You blinked slowly. “Did someone tell Eli?”

Dana adjusted the blanket around your legs. “Yes.”

“Did someone tell Jack?” you asked.

Robby’s mouth twitched. “Yes.” You nodded, satisfied for exactly one second.

Then you frowned. “Which one is coming to see me?”

Robby stared at you. “What?”

“Eli or Jack?” you asked.

Princess turned toward the computer with suspicious speed. Santos looked openly delighted. Robby’s expression brightened with pure, terrible affection.

“Oh,” he said softly. “This is going to be a great drug for you.”

You frowned. “Don’t be weird.”

Robby patted the bed rail. “Try not to say anything incriminating before your husband gets here.”

Your eyes closed, but you could still hear the smile in his voice. “Jack already knows everything.”

Robby made a thoughtful sound. “Sure,” he said. “Let’s test that.”

Robby stayed beside the bed after Princess pushed the medication. One hand rested on the rail. His eyes moved from your face to the monitor, then to your shoulder, then back to your face again. He was not joking as much now.

You hated that. “Stop looking worried,” you said.

His mouth twitched, but it did not quite become a smile. “Stop giving me reasons.”

You blinked at him, the lights blurring softly around the edges. “Rude.”

“Consistent,” Robby said.

Dana adjusted the blanket over your legs, brisk yet careful. “That’s one word for it.”

The medication had made the room strange. Softer, but not kinder. The monitors sounded farther away, and the overhead lights had started to bloom at the edges. Your shoulder still hurts. Not as sharply as before, maybe, but it was there under everything, pulsing and wrong. You tried to shift away from it. Your body disagreed. “Bad,” you muttered.

Robby leaned in a fraction. “Pain?”

You shook your head. “Existence.”

He nodded once. “Fair.”

Dana checked the line of your IV, then glanced at him.

Robby’s eyes returned to yours, and something in his face softened. “Hey,” he said. “World’s Sexiest Doctor.”

You frowned. “What?”

“The mug,” Robby said, voice lighter on purpose. “You said he drinks out of it every morning.”

Your face softened before you could stop it. “He does.” Princess turned from the computer with immediate interest. Santos, who had been pretending not to hover near the foot of the bed, stopped pretending. Dana’s expression did not change, but her eyes flicked toward you.

Robby leaned one forearm against the rail. “Still can’t believe he committed to the bit.”

“It’s not a bit,” you said.

Robby’s eyebrows lifted. “No?”

You looked at him like he was missing the obvious. “It’s true.”

Santos’s mouth curved. Dana looked down at the monitor. Princess pressed her lips together like she was holding something very large behind her teeth. You blinked at the ceiling, dreamy and annoyed all at once. “He is the sexiest doctor.”

Robby drew back like you had slapped him. “Rude.”

You turned your head toward him slowly. “You’re right.”

His expression softened. “Thank you.”

“Ellis is pretty hot, too,” you murmured happily.

Robby froze. Princess made a sound and turned sharply toward the computer. Santos whispered, “Wow.”

Dana closed her eyes. Robby stared at you. “That was not the correction I was requesting.”

You considered him through the pleasant fog around your thoughts. “You have nice hair.”

Robby’s hand went to his chest. “That was devastatingly lukewarm.”

“It is nice.”

“Nice hair,” he repeated, wounded. “That’s what I get after years of friendship.”

“You’re my friend,” you said.

His expression shifted. For one second, the joke left his face. “I know.”

You watched him through the blur. “You’re a good doctor.”

Robby’s hand tightened slightly on the rail. “You’re on excellent medication.”

“I mean it.”

“I know,” he said, quieter.

Dana looked away first. Santos suddenly found the supply tray very interesting. Robby cleared his throat and straightened. “Okay,” he said, his voice returning to a steady tone. “Let’s get ready.”

The words landed wrong. Your smile faded. The room shifted back into medicine too quickly. Gloves. Positioning. Dana adjusting the bed. Santos watching Robby’s hands intently. Javadi standing too still by the supplies, trying to look prepared. Your stomach dropped through the medication. “Wait.” Robby looked back at you. “Yeah?”

Your good hand tightened in the sheet. “You’re doing it now?” His expression softened. “Soon.”

“No.”

Dana’s hand settled lightly near your good shoulder. Not holding you down. Just there.

Robby stepped closer. “I know.”

“No, Robby.” Your voice stayed even, but barely. “I don’t want to do it.”

Robby did not flinch. “I know you don’t.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you mean it.”

You swallowed hard, throat suddenly tight. “I don’t want it to hurt.”

Robby’s face changed again, not much, just enough to show you he hated this part too. “I’m going to be as gentle as I can.”

You frowned. “That’s what people say before they do stuff that sucks.” Santos muttered, “Accurate.”

Dana looked at her. Santos lifted both hands. “I’m validating.”

Robby ignored her and kept his eyes on you. “It is going to suck,” he said. “But the longer it stays out, the worse it’s going to feel. I want to get it back where it belongs.”

Your breathing went shallow. The medication had made everything loose except the fear. That stayed sharp. Clear. Mean. You looked toward the hallway. “Fine.” Robby waited. You glared at him, sweaty and medicated and angry enough to hide behind it. “I’ll do it if Jack is my doctor.”

The room paused. Dana looked at Robby. Princess looked at the hallway. Javadi looked like she had just realized this was not covered in any textbook.

Robby let out a slow breath. “Yeah,” he said carefully. “That’s not how this works.”

You frowned at him. “He’s a doctor.”

“He is.” Dana’s voice stayed calm beside you. “He’s also your husband.”

You looked at her like she had helped your case. “Exactly.” Robby’s mouth twitched despite himself.

Before he could answer, Jack’s voice cut through the department. “Where is she?”

Your head turned. Completely. All the thoughts in your brain scattered like startled birds. Jack was halfway down the hall, moving fast and trying not to look like he was moving fast, a hoodie under his unzipped jacket. His hair was sleep-rough on one side. His jaw was tight, his eyes already searching, already locked on the room. The second he saw you, his pace changed.

Your good hand lifted off the sheet. “That one.”

Robby followed your gaze. For the first time since the reduction tray came out, true humor broke through his worry. “Oh,” he said softly. “Okay.”

Jack stepped into the bay. You pointed at him, certain now. “I want that one.”

Jack froze for half a second. His eyes moved over you. Face. IV. Monitor. Shoulder. Robby. Dana. Back to your face.

Then he was at your side. “Baby.”

The word hit the room like a dropped instrument. Santos stared very hard at the floor. Princess pressed her lips together. Javadi’s eyes went wide, then wider, like she was watching hospital folklore become sentient.

You smiled up at him. “Hi.”

Jack took your good hand, his palm warm and familiar around yours. “Hi.”

His thumb moved once over your knuckles. You exhaled. You felt it happen before you could stop it. Your shoulders did not relax, not really, but your breathing changed. Your grip loosened from the sheet. The sharp edge of panic moved back by an inch.

Robby saw it. His eyes flicked to the monitor, then to Jack’s hand. “Interesting.”

Jack did not look away from you. “Don’t.”

“I’m observing.”

“You observe too loudly.”

Robby’s mouth curved. “I am her physician.”

Jack’s jaw tightened. “You are enjoying being her physician too much.”

“I was worried,” Robby said.

The joke thinned for a second. Jack looked up. Robby held his gaze. “Still am.”

Jack’s face shifted.

You squeezed his hand. “Don’t do serious faces.”

Jack looked back down at you. His thumb moved again. “Sorry.”

You studied him, hazy and affectionate. “You came.”

“Of course I came.”

You turned your head toward Dana, solemn and proud. “I picked that one.”

Dana’s mouth twitched. “So I’m hearing.”

Jack closed his eyes. “What did you give her?”

“Pain control,” Robby said. “Not enough to explain all of this.”

You tugged lightly on Jack’s hand. “He’s being rude.”

Jack looked at Robby. “Stop being rude.”

Robby pointed at him. “You weren’t even here.”

“I believe my wife.”

Princess turned toward the computer again, but not fast enough to hide her smile.

Santos murmured, “That was hot.”

Dana said, “Santos.”

“What? It was,” Santos replied with a shrug.

Jack ignored all of them and leaned closer to you. “How bad?”

“Bad.”

His face softened. “Yeah?”

You nodded, then regretted it. “Don’t let me do head stuff.”

“I won’t,” Jack promised.

You frowned. “Having a head is bad.”

“I’ll make a note,” Jack said with a soft smile.

Robby stepped closer to your injured side. “Okay,” he said. “We’re going to try Cunningham.”

“No.” Your response was immediate.

Jack’s hand tightened around yours. Robby did not react like the word surprised him. “I know.”

“No, I don’t want Cunningham. It sounds smug,” you told him.

Robby’s brow raised. “It’s a reduction technique, not a man at a country club.”

You frowned at him. “Still smug.”

Jack’s thumb brushed your knuckles. “Look at me.”

You turned your eyes back to him. “No.”

Jack’s eyes softened. “You’re already doing it.”

You glared. “That’s annoying.”

His mouth almost smiled. “I know.”

Robby looked between you and Jack. Then his eyes moved to the monitor again. A thought entered his face.

Jack saw it immediately. “No.”

Robby blinked. “I didn’t say anything.”

Dana adjusted the bed so you were sitting up more, angled slightly back against the raised mattress. The movement sent a pain-sparking sensation down your arm. “Fuck.” Your eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck, this is worse than my fucking IUD insertion.”

The room went silent. Jack’s thumb stilled against your hand. “Okay,” he said carefully.

You opened your eyes and glared at the ceiling. “I thought I knew pain. I was wrong.”

Dana’s mouth twitched near the monitor. Princess turned very deliberately toward the computer.

Jack leaned closer. “Baby.”

“No.” You turned your glare on him. “This is your fault.”

His brows pulled together. “My fault?”

“Yes.”

Jack blinked once. “How is this my fault?”

“Because,” you said, furious and medicated, “if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t know this was worse.”

Robby looked up. Jack did not move.

“I was doing fine,” you continued. “I was in my celibate phase. I was at peace.”

Jack’s face changed by exactly one dangerous millimeter. “You were not at peace.”

“I was close.” Your eyes narrowed. “Then you came along with your stupid handsome face and your stupid arms, and then I got the stupid IUD, and I thought that was pain. But no.”

Robby nodded slowly. “That is a clinically fascinating chain of blame.”

Jack did not look away from you. “So your shoulder hurts because I’m handsome.”

“And slutty with your forearms,” you added.

Jack’s jaw flexed. Santos whispered, “Slutty forearms.”

Dana did not look away from the monitor. “Do not repeat Mrs. Abbot.” Your face softened immediately.

Jack noticed. His eyes dropped back to yours, something warm cutting through the mortification. “What?”

You blinked up at him, drug-soft and suddenly pleased. “She called me Mrs. Abbot.”

Jack’s thumb moved once over your hand. “Yeah, baby.”

A small smile pulled at your mouth. “That’s me.”

Robby looked from you to Dana. Dana adjusted the pulse ox cord with perfect neutrality. “What?”

“You’re enjoying this,” Robby said.

“I am maintaining room discipline.”

“You called her Mrs. Abbot.”

Dana’s mouth barely moved. “That is her name.” Your smile widened.

Jack looked at Dana, then back at you, and his face softened despite himself. Dana glanced at the monitor. “See? Therapeutic.” Robby’s eyes dropped to Jack’s sleeve.

Jack saw it happen. “No.”

Robby smiled. “I didn’t say anything.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “You looked at my sleeve.”

“Clinically,” Robby replied.

Jack shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

You blinked up at Jack, still angry, still hazy, still betrayed by the entire medical system. “He does have nice forearms.”

Jack stared at the ceiling. Robby nodded toward Jack’s arm. “Roll up your sleeve.”

Jack looked at him. “Excuse me?”

“She’s tensing.”

Jack gave Robby a look. “You want me to roll up my sleeves.”

“I want patient compliance,” Robby corrected.

Jack looked at Dana. Dana glanced at the monitor, then at you. “It would probably help.”

Jack’s face went flat. “Not you too.”

Dana shrugged. “I’m practical.”

Robby looked delighted. “See? Medicine.”

Jack exhaled through his nose, then dragged one sleeve of his hoodie up his forearm. Your eyes followed the movement immediately. You hated yourself a little. Not enough to look away. His forearm flexed as he pushed the fabric past his elbow, tendons shifting under skin, the veins at his wrist standing out when his fingers curled once around the bed rail. Your mouth went soft.

Robby pointed at you. “There.”

Jack’s eyes cut to him. “Do not point at my wife while she’s objectifying me.”

“I am pointing at a response to treatment,” Robby replied with glee.

You looked at Jack’s arm. “Treatment is good.”

Princess made a strangled sound. Javadi stared straight ahead like a resident determined to survive rounds with her soul intact.

Jack leaned closer to you. “You are making this very difficult.”

You blinked. “Me?”

“You.” His thumb brushed your cheek. “Very stubborn. Very pretty. Extremely bad at being a patient.”

The giggle came before you could stop it. Soft. Helpless. Embarrassing. Jack’s eyes warmed. Robby looked like he had just discovered a new antibiotic. “Oh, that’s excellent.”

Jack did not look away from you. “Ignore him.”

“You think I’m pretty,” you said.

“I married you,” Jack replied.

“That’s not an answer.”

His mouth curved. “Yes, baby. I think you’re pretty.”

You melted. Completely. It was humiliating. It was also his fault. Robby adjusted your injured arm, careful and slow, guiding your hand toward his shoulder. The position made pain spark hot and immediate. “No.” You tried to pull back. “No, fuck this.”

Jack’s face sharpened. Robby’s tone stayed calm. “I need thirty seconds.”

“I don’t want thirty seconds,” you said, frowning.

Robby’s expression softened, “I know.”

“No, I want that one to do it,” you said, looking from Robby to Jack.

Jack leaned closer. “You have that one.”

“I want that one to doctor me.” Your lower lip jutted out.

Robby, far too cheerful, said, “We’ve covered the conflict of interest.”

You frowned at him. “Sexy doctor husband.”

Jack looked at Robby. “Fix her shoulder.”

Robby looked at Jack’s hoodie. Jack saw it. His whole body went still. “No.”

Robby lifted both hands. “I didn’t say anything.” Jack stared at him.

Robby smiled. “She responded well to forearm.”

“Forearm is not a drug,” Jack shot back.

Robby shrugged. “It is today.”

Jack dragged a hand down his face. “Fuck me.”

You, who had been blinking hazily at the ceiling, turned your head with alarming speed. “Yes.”

The room stopped. Completely. Jack’s hand froze halfway down his face. “No.”

You frowned, offended. “Rude.”

Princess turned toward the computer with the focus of a woman fighting for her life. Santos stared at the floor, shoulders shaking.

Dana checked the monitor. “Heart rate response noted.”

Jack looked at her. “Dana.”

She did not look up. “I report data.”

Robby pressed his lips together. “For the record, that was the fastest she’s oriented to verbal stimulus since the medication.”

You reached weakly for Jack’s hand. “Sexy doctor husband.”

Jack looked down at you. Your eyes were glassy from medication and pain, your good hand tight around his, your face still trying so hard to stay mad because scared was too vulnerable, and both of you knew it. His irritation lost some of its shape. “Fine,” he muttered. Robby brightened. Jack glared at him. “Don’t look so happy.”

“I’m a scientist observing results,” Robby replied, delighted.

Jack stood beside the bed and reached back, fingers catching the sweatshirt at the back of his neck. Your eyes locked onto the movement. He pulled it over his head in one smooth drag, the hem catching for half a second on the white T-shirt underneath. The shirt stretched across his chest and shoulders when he lifted his arms. His biceps shifted under the fabric. His forearms flexed as he dragged the sweatshirt free.

The room went very quiet. You stared. Completely gone. Jack paused with the sweatshirt in one hand. Just for a second. Long enough to let you look. His mouth tilted, barely. “Better?”

You nodded slowly. “Wow.”

Robby made a sound that might have been spiritual.

Jack dropped back into the chair beside you and took your hand again. “Eyes on me.”

You obeyed immediately. “Sexy doctor husband.”

Jack closed his eyes. “Good Lord.”

Robby looked at the monitor, then at Jack. “That was outstanding.”

Jack’s eyes opened. “Do not compliment me.”

“Clinically outstanding,” Robby corrected himself.

Jack’s gaze didn’t leave you. “Still no.”

Robby grinned. “You removed clothing, and her heart rate stabilized.”

“That is not what happened,” Jack replied with a sigh.

Dana glanced at the monitor. “It sort of is.” J

ack looked betrayed. “Dana.”

She shrugged. “I report data.”

Robby gestured toward you, far too pleased with the entire clinical situation. “Magic Mike: ED Edition.”

Jack’s head snapped up. “No.”

Robby’s grin spread slowly. “I don’t know, brother. You danced at your wedding. Pretty risky, if memory serves.”

Jack’s stare went flat. “Robby.”

“There was a certain Eminem song involved,” Robby continued.

Your head turned on the pillow. “Shake That.”

Jack closed his eyes. “Do not help him.”

Robby pointed at you, delighted. “That’s the one.”

Dana looked up from the monitor. “You danced to ‘Shake That’ at your wedding?”

“No,” Jack said immediately.

You turned toward him with surprising speed. “Jack.”

His eyes opened. “Baby.”

Your brow furrowed, “Don’t you dare deny that.”

Princess pressed both lips together and turned toward the computer as if it had suddenly become fascinating. Santos stared between you and Jack, openly thrilled. You lifted your good hand as much as the IV allowed and pointed at him. “That moment changed my brain chemistry.”

Jack looked toward the ceiling. “Good Lord.”

Robby nodded solemnly. “For the record, I was there. It changed several people’s brain chemistry.”

Jack’s head turned slowly. “You cried during the father-daughter dance.”

“You and your wife offended decent people everywhere with that dance,” Robby said.

You nodded, glassy-eyed and completely unashamed. “Yep. My grandma left.”

Jack looked down at you, horror flickering across his face. “Your grandmother left?”

You blinked up at him. “You didn’t know that?”

“No,” Jack said. “I did not know that.”

“She came back for cake,” you added.

Jack looked at you. “That does not make it better.”

Robby’s grin widened. “I’m just saying. It was a lot of wedding.”

Jack’s eyes cut to him. “You ended that night with half your shirt unbuttoned because a bridesmaid took your tie off with her teeth.”

Santos’s head snapped up. “With her teeth?”

Dana did not look away from the monitor. “Do not repeat wedding lore.”

Princess turned from the computer, delighted. “Did he go home with her?”

Robby pointed sharply at your shoulder. “We have a patient.”

Jack’s mouth curved, barely. “He did.”

Robby stared at him. “Betrayal.”

Jack shrugged. “You started this.”

“I started a medical discussion,” Robby defended.

Jack narrowed his eyes. “You called me Magic Mike.”

Robby frowned. “In a medical context.”

You looked between them, soft and dreamy now, the medication turning the memory warm around the edges. “It was perfect.”

Jack’s expression shifted. “Our wedding?”

You nodded. “You danced. I danced. Robby got slutty.”

Robby pointed at you. “For the record, ‘Robby got slutty’ is not medically relevant.”

Your eyes drifted back to Jack. You studied him for one long, medicated second. “You got slutty.”

Jack’s brows lifted. “I did not.”

You gave him a look. “Tell that to your hips.” You kept looking at Jack, still dreamy and deeply serious. “And hands.”

Jack closed his eyes again.

Santos made a tiny sound. “He got slutty.”

Dana did not look away from the monitor. “Do not repeat Mrs. Abbot.”

Your face softened immediately. Jack noticed. Of course, he noticed. His thumb moved once over your hand. “She called me Mrs. Abbot.”

“I heard,” Jack said, quieter now.

A small smile pulled at your mouth. “That’s me.” Jack’s expression softened before he could stop it.

Robby looked from you to Dana. “You’re enjoying this.”

Dana adjusted the pulse ox cord with perfect neutrality. “I am maintaining room discipline.”

Jack looked at you slowly. He looked down at you, and something in his expression changed. Not embarrassed now. Worse. Amused. “You know, baby,” he said, voice low, “I didn’t hear you complaining that night.”

Your mouth parted. For one blessed second, the medication actually managed to quiet you.

Robby looked delighted. “Oh, that worked.”

Jack did not look away from you. “Don’t.”

You blinked up at Jack, soft and glassy-eyed and deeply sincere. “I was thoroughly enjoying it.”

Dana closed her eyes. Princess turned fully toward the computer.

Robby pressed a hand to his chest. “That is a lot of marriage for a workplace.”

Jack’s jaw flexed, but his thumb moved over your hand again. “Trouble.”

You smiled faintly. “You started it.”

Robby pointed at Jack. “She’s right.”

Jack looked at him. “You started it.” Robby nodded. “Also true. Still worth it.”

Dana adjusted the bed, then looked at both of them. “Shoulder now. Wedding crimes later.”

You frowned. “They’re not crimes if everyone had fun.”

“Your grandmother left,” Jack said.

“She came back for cake.”

Robby nodded. “Strong recovery.”

Jack looked at him. “You are done.”

Robby smiled. “Brother, I have barely begun.”

Dana’s voice cut through, calm and final. “Robby.”

Robby lifted both hands. “Shoulder now.”

Jack leaned closer to you, resigned and soft all at once. “Eyes on me, trouble.”

You looked at his white T-shirt, then his face. “I am looking,” you said. “That’s the problem.”

For half a second, he looked like he might say something that would make the entire situation worse.

Robby must have seen it coming, because he clapped once, sharp and quiet. “Okay,” he said. “Shoulder.”

Jack’s eyes stayed on yours. “You heard the man.”

You frowned at him. “I don’t like the man.”

Robby adjusted his gloves at your injured side. “The man is hurt by that.”

Dana moved closer to the bed, one hand resting near your good shoulder. “Mrs. Abbot,” she said, calm and even. “We’re going to sit you up a little more.”

Your face softened immediately. Jack saw it again. His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “You like that.”

You blinked at him. “Like what?”

His voice went quieter. “Mrs. Abbot.”

A small, helpless smile pulled at your mouth. “That’s me.”

Jack’s expression changed. Not enough for anyone else to call him out on it, maybe, but enough for you to feel warmer than the medication could explain. “Yeah, baby,” he said. “That’s you.”

Robby looked at Dana. Dana kept her face neutral. “Therapeutic,” she said.

Robby nodded solemnly. “Marital nomenclature. Noted.”

Jack did not look away from you. “Do not note that.”

Robby shrugged. “I have a whole mental chart now.”

“Delete it,” Jack shot back.

Robby grinned. “HIPAA doesn’t apply to my thoughts.”

Dana raised the bed before Jack could answer. The motion sent your shoulder into a hot, mean pulse. Your good hand tightened around Jack’s. “Nope.”

Jack stepped in closer immediately. “I’ve got you.”

“Nope,” you said again, sharper this time. “I changed my mind.”

Robby’s voice stayed steady from your side. “You can hate it.”

“I do hate it. I hate the concept. I hate whoever invented Cunningham,” you groaned.

Robby nodded once. “Probably fair.” You went on, “I hate that his name is Cunningham.”

“It is a useful medical procedure,” Robby replied.

You turned your glare on him. “Don’t defend Cunningham to me right now.”

Jack leaned into your line of sight. “Look at me.”

You looked at him. Mostly because he was very close. Also, because the T-shirt was still doing hateful things across his chest. Jack’s eyes narrowed faintly, like he knew exactly where your attention had gone.

“My face,” he said.

You sighed. “Your face is also a problem.”

Robby glanced at the monitor. “Problem appears effective.” Jack turned his head a fraction. “Robby.”

“Data,” Dana said.

Jack gave her a betrayed look. Dana’s brows lifted. “I report it.”

Robby slid your injured hand carefully toward his shoulder. The second your arm shifted, pain sparked bright and fast down your side.

“Fuck.” Your eyes squeezed shut. “No, no, no, fuck that.”

Jack’s free hand came to your cheek. Warm palm. Steady fingers. No pressure, just contact. “Hey.”

You shook your head. “No, Jack, I really don’t—”

“I know.”

Robby paused, his hands still supporting your arm.

Jack’s thumb moved once beneath your cheekbone. “I know, sweetheart.”

You opened your eyes. His face was right there. Close enough to blur at the edges. Worried in that contained way that made your chest hurt. Soft in the places no one else knew to look.

“I don’t want it to hurt,” you whispered.

Jack’s expression gentled. “I know.” Your throat tightened. “I’m being so stupid.”

“No,” he said immediately.

Robby’s voice came from your side, quieter now. “You’re not.”

Dana’s hand stayed light near your shoulder. “You are allowed to be in pain, Mrs. Abbot.”

Your mouth trembled. That was rude of her, honestly. Using the name like that.

Jack watched your face, and something in him settled. “Be mad,” he said softly. “Swear at Robby. Insult Cunningham.”

Robby lifted one hand. “I would like to opt out of one third of that.”

Jack ignored him. “But keep looking at me.” You swallowed. “You’re bossy.”

“I know.” Jack smiled softly.

You narrowed your eyes. “You like being bossy.” His mouth curved, barely. “With you?”

Your eyes widened a little. Jack’s thumb moved along your cheek. “Yeah.”

The room went dangerously still. Robby’s face brightened. “Oh, that was good.”

Jack’s eyes cut toward him. “Do not grade me.”

“I’m not grading. I’m appreciating the technique.”

Dana looked at the monitor. “Heart rate improved.” Jack exhaled through his nose. “Good Lord.”

You stared at him, caught between pain and medication and the unfair fact of him. “Sexy doctor husband.”

His jaw flexed. “Apparently.” Robby moved your elbow another careful inch. You tensed immediately.

Jack’s hand slid from your cheek to the back of your head, fingers threading gently into your hair. “Eyes on me.”

You tried. You really did. Your gaze dropped to his mouth first.

Jack noticed. His mouth twitched. “My eyes, trouble.”

“I’m trying,” you groaned.

He smirked. “You’re doing terrible.” You made a small, offended sound.

Jack’s thumb stroked lightly at the base of your skull. “But you’re very pretty while you do it.”

A giggle escaped you before you could stop it. It came out wet, shaky, and ridiculous.

Robby froze. Dana glanced at the monitor. Princess made a tiny sound near the computer.

Santos looked like she might need to sit down. Jack’s eyes softened. “There she is.”

You frowned at him. “You’re flirting medically again.”

“I am not,” Jack replied.

Robby adjusted his grip on your elbow. “You are.”

Jack kept his face angled toward you. “No one asked you.”

“I did,” you said.

Jack looked back at you. “You did not.”

“I spiritually asked,” you said with a sigh.

Robby pointed at you. “She gets me.”

Jack’s hand tightened carefully at the back of your head. “That is what worries me.”

The laugh that tried to leave you broke into a gasp when Robby began working at the muscles around your shoulder.

Pain rose again, deep and threatening. “No,” you said, voice thin now.

Jack’s teasing vanished. Just gone. His face steadied. “Breathe with me.”

“I don’t want to breathe.”

He raised a brow. “Do it anyway.” You frowned. “That’s mean.”

“I know,” Jack agreed.

“Fuck, Jack.”

His eyes held yours. “I’ve got you.”

Robby’s voice came low and focused. “Good. Just like that. Try not to fight me.”

You turned your eyes toward him in outrage. “Try not to fight you?”

Jack’s hand at the back of your head guided you back. “Me.”

You sucked in a breath. “Robby is saying stupid things.”

“I know.” Jack nodded.

“I can hear you,” Robby said.

Jack’s thumb swept once under your eye. “Ignore him.”

“He’s touching my shoulder,” you said, miserable.

Jack tilted his head closer to you. “Because he’s fixing it.”

“I don’t like him,” you said with a frown.

Jack smiled softly at you. “You love him.”

“Not right now,” you said, brows furrowed.

Robby nodded without looking up. “Temporary friendship suspension. Accepted.”

Dana looked at you. “Hold still, Mrs. Abbot.”

The name hit exactly where it had before. Your breathing hitched, but this time it hitched softer.

Jack saw it. Robby saw it. Dana absolutely saw it. Robby looked at Dana. “You’re good.”

Dana didn’t look away from the monitor. “I know.” Jack leaned closer. “You’re doing good.”

You stared at him. “I am?”

“Yeah,” he replied.

Your eyes burned. “I’m making this difficult.” Jack nodded once. “You’re scared.”

“I’m swearing,” you continued.

He shrugged a shoulder. “I’ve heard worse.”

“I told everyone about our wedding crimes.” Your lower lip wobbled.

His mouth moved like he was fighting a smile. “That one we’ll discuss later.”

“You got slutty.”

Jack closed his eyes. “Not now.” Robby’s shoulders shook once.

Jack’s eyes opened. “Do not laugh during my wife’s reduction.”

Robby’s expression snapped back into focus. “Guilty.”

Pain flared again, sharper this time, and your whole body tried to pull away.

Jack’s hand held steady at the back of your head. Not forcing you. Keeping you with him. “Look at me.”

You blinked away tears. “I am.”

“No.” His voice dropped. “Really look.”

You did.

His eyes were dark and close and worried. His thumb moved against your cheek, slow and sure.

“There you go,” he murmured. “Stay right there.”

Your breath shook. “This fucking sucks.”

“I know,” Jack murmured.

You went on. “Cunningham is a bad man.”

“Probably.” Jack nodded with a soft smile.

Robby glanced up. “Cunningham did not personally do this to you.”

You glared at him through tears. “He knows what he did.” Robby nodded. “I’ll allow it.”

Jack’s mouth brushed the edge of a smile.

You caught it. Even through pain. Even through fear. Even through the medication making the room swim around the edges. “You’re laughing.”

“I’m not,” Jack replied.

You glared at him. “You are.”

“Only because you’re mean on drugs,” he said, smiling softly at you.

You inhaled sharply. “I’m allowed to be mean right now.”

“Yeah,” Jack said, impossibly soft. “You are.”

Robby’s hands shifted. The pressure changed. Your body knew before your brain did.

You went rigid. “No.” Jack’s face sharpened. “Baby.”

“No, no, no, I don’t want—” You shook your head despite the pain.

His hand cupped your face more firmly. “Look at me.” Your eyes found his. “I am looking.”

“Good,” Jack said, his voice low and steady.

Your eyes burned as you stared up at him. “Jack.”

His hand stayed firm at the back of your head, fingers threaded carefully into your hair. “I’ve got you.”

You swallowed hard, trying not to pull away from Robby’s hands. “I hate this.”

“I know.” Jack’s thumb moved along your cheek.

Your breath hitched, half pain and half panic. “I hate your stupid face for helping.”

His mouth curved just enough to ruin you. “Use it.”

“What?”

“My stupid face.” His thumb brushed beneath your eye. “Look at it instead of your shoulder.”

You stared at him. “I hate that that works.”

“I know,” Jack murmured.

You glared at him. “Your face is medically annoying.” Robby murmured, “Groundbreaking terminology.”

Jack did not look away from you. “Not now.”

Robby’s hands shifted again. You felt the pressure build. Slow, careful, awful.

Jack saw you brace. Of course he did. His voice dropped. “Be good for me.”

Your face went soft immediately. “Oh, that’s unfair.”

Jack’s thumb brushed beneath your eye. “I know.”

“You’re cheating.” You tried to glare at him, but the medication and his hand in your hair made it a weak attempt.

His mouth curved, barely there and deeply unrepentant. “I know.”

Robby, without missing a beat, said, “Cheating is medically allowed right now.”

Jack’s jaw flexed. “Do it now.”

For one suspended second, there was only Jack’s face, his hand in your hair, his thumb on your cheek, and Robby’s steady pressure on your arm.

Then the joint shifted. Not violently. Not with a dramatic crack.

Just a deep, sickening slide, followed by sudden release. You gasped.

The wrongness vanished all at once. Your whole body folded toward Jack on a broken little sob.

He caught you carefully, one hand still cradling your head, the other braced at your good shoulder. “I’ve got you,” he said immediately. “I’ve got you.”

Robby exhaled. “Shoulder’s back.”

You breathed hard against Jack’s white T-shirt, your face pressed into the warmth of his chest, tears leaking more from relief than pain now. “Holy shit.”

Jack’s mouth brushed your hair before he seemed to remember there were witnesses. “Yeah.”

“That was awful,” you breathed, tears falling.

Jack kissed your head. “I know.” You turned your face enough to look up at him. “You were helpful.”

His expression softened. “Yeah?”

You nodded, still floating, still furious, still very much on drugs. “Sexy doctor husband.”

Robby pulled off his gloves with great satisfaction. “For the record, Cunningham with targeted husband exposure: wildly effective.”

Jack did not look away from you. “Document that and die.”

Robby smiled. “Brother, this is medicine now.”

You blinked up at Jack, wet-eyed and dazed. “I picked that one.”

The room went quiet around the softness in your voice. Jack’s thumb moved once along your cheek. “Yeah,” he said. “You did.”

You stared at him for another long, drug-soft second. “I picked good.”

His face changed. Not a lot. Enough. “Yeah, baby,” he said quietly. “You did.”

Robby pressed a hand to his chest. “I need everyone to know I am handling this with incredible maturity.”

Dana looked at him. “You are not.”

“No,” Robby agreed. “But I almost did.”

Jack’s hand stayed against the side of your face for another second before he seemed to remember the rest of the room existed.

“Post-reduction films?” he asked, glancing toward Robby.

Robby pulled his gloves off and dropped them into the trash. “Already ordered.” Jack nodded once.

Robby gave him a look as he stepped back to your injured side. “Neurovascular was intact before. Checking again now.”

“I know you are,” Jack said.

Robby lifted his brows. “Do you?” Jack’s mouth flattened. “I’m standing right here.”

“Great,” Robby said. “Then stand there husbandly and let me be her doctor.”

You turned your head slowly against Jack’s palm. “You’re both doctors.”

Robby leaned closer, careful as he checked your hand. “Only one of us is currently allowed to practice medicine on you.”

You looked at Jack. “I vote that one.” Jack closed his eyes. “Baby.”

Robby did not look up from your fingers. “Your vote has been received and rejected by the ethics committee.”

You frowned at him. “I don’t like the ethics committee.”

“The ethics committee is me,” Robby said.

You blinked at him. “That tracks.”

Santos made a tiny sound near the foot of the bed. Dana glanced at her. Santos pressed her lips together and looked at the floor.

Robby touched your fingers gently. “Can you wiggle these for me?” You wiggled them.

Robby nodded. “Good. Any numbness or tingling?”

You stared at him, still dazed. “Just in my dignity.”

“That is not innervated by the axillary nerve,” Robby said.

You blinked. “Show-off.”

Jack’s thumb moved over your cheek again. The motion was small. Your body noticed anyway.

Robby saw that too, because of course he did, but for once he did not comment.

Dana adjusted the sling on the tray beside the bed. “We’ll get her immobilized once Robby’s done checking you,” she said. Jack’s attention shifted to the sling. His jaw tightened by a fraction.

You saw it even through the medication. “You’re doing the face.”

Jack looked back down at you. “What face?”

“The face,” you said.

Robby glanced over. “Oh, I know the face.” Jack did not look at him. “No one asked you.”

Robby’s voice stayed light, but not careless. “It’s the face he makes when he wishes he could make it easier for you.”

Jack went quiet. So did you. Your fingers tightened around his. “You did,” you said.

Jack looked down at you. “What?” Your smile was small and drug-soft. “You made it easier.”

His thumb moved once over your hand. “Yeah?”

You nodded, eyes glassy and sincere. “Yeah. Because you’re hot. And a doctor. And smart. And sexy. And my husband. And I love you.”

The room went very still. Jack’s face softened all at once.

Then you added, very seriously, “And you’re hot.”

Robby’s mouth opened. Dana looked at the monitor like it had become essential to her survival.

Jack brushed his thumb over your knuckles. “Is that all?”

You blinked up at him, exhausted and earnest. “No.” His mouth curved. “No?”

You shook your head once, barely. “But I’m tired and drugged.”

Jack’s expression warmed into something painfully fond. “Okay, baby.”

Robby pressed a hand to his chest. You swallowed, the edges of the room still warm and watery.

“And Eli?”

Robby’s expression gentled before the joke could get there.

“Megan called down while we were getting the films ordered. He’s okay.”

You stared at him. “She told him?”

“She told him,” Robby said. “His mom told him. He knows you’re not mad.”

You blinked hard. Jack’s hand tightened around yours.

Robby leaned a hip lightly against the counter, his voice quieter now. “He drew you a picture.”

Your throat closed. “He did?”

“Apparently it’s you with a cape,” Robby said.

Princess smiled from the computer. “And a very large arm.”

You made a sound that tried to be a laugh and almost became something else. “Is it anatomically correct?”

Robby looked at Princess. Princess shook her head. “Not even close.” You closed your eyes. “Good.”

Jack brushed his thumb over your knuckles.

Your eyes burned again, but softer this time. “He doesn’t think I’m mad?”

Robby shook his head. “He thinks you’re a superhero.”

You went very still. Jack felt your hand tighten around his. Then your face crumpled. “Oh, no.”

Jack leaned in immediately. “Baby?” Your eyes filled too fast for you to stop them. “I’m leaking.”

Jack’s expression softened all at once. “You’re crying.”

“I know.” Your mouth trembled. “I don’t want to.”

“That’s okay,” he murmured.

You shook your head. “It’s embarrassing.”

“No, it isn’t,” Jack replied, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You sniffled. “It is in front of the day shift.”

Robby’s face softened from the counter. “Day shift can handle feelings.”

Santos looked suspiciously focused on the floor. Princess turned toward the computer, blinking too much.

Dana adjusted the sling on the tray without looking up. “Mrs. Abbot,” she said evenly, “day shift has seen worse.”

Your smile wobbled through the tears. “She called me Mrs. Abbot.”

Jack’s thumb brushed beneath your eye, catching a tear before it reached your cheek. “Yeah, baby.”

You looked up at him, wet-eyed and overwhelmed. “He thinks I’m a superhero.”

Jack’s face changed. Not a lot. Enough to make you cry harder. “He’s right.”

Your chin trembled. “Jack.”

“He is,” Jack said, voice low. “You protected him.”

A tear slipped hot down your cheek. “I scared him.”

“You helped him.”

The words landed so gently that they hurt. You made a broken little sound and tried to wipe your face with your good hand, but Jack caught your fingers before you could tug at the IV.

“I’ve got it.” He brushed another tear away with his thumb.

You sniffed. “I’m leaking a lot.”

His mouth softened. “I know.”

You exhaled. “I hate this drug.”

“No, you don’t.” He smiled gently.

You thought about it, tears still sliding down your cheeks. “I kind of love this drug.”

Robby nodded from the counter. “There she is.”

Jack did not look away from you. “Let her leak.”

Dana smiled gently. “Mrs. Abbot,” she said, crisp and even, “I’m going to help support your arm while we get this situated.”

Your eyes opened the rest of the way. A smile pulled at your mouth immediately, even through the tears.

Jack looked down at you. “There it is.” You blinked at him. “What?”

He brushed one knuckle lightly along your jaw. “That smile.”

You looked toward Dana, pleased and hazy. “She called me Mrs. Abbot again.”

Dana did not look up from the sling. “That is your name.”

Robby pointed at her. “You’re doing it on purpose.” Dana kept her hands steady. “I am doing my job.”

“You are weaponizing legal marriage,” Robby said.

Dana fitted the strap carefully behind your neck. “I am supporting patient cooperation.”

You sighed happily. “It is working.”

Jack’s mouth twitched. “Clearly.”

Dana adjusted the sling around your injured arm. “This may pull a little.” Your smile vanished.

Jack saw it instantly. “Hey.”

“Nope,” you said.

His hand found your good one again. “Look at me.”

You frowned. “I already did that.”

“Do it again.”

You looked at him.

His eyes stayed steady on yours while Dana adjusted the last strap. There was a brief tug, a hot little spark of discomfort, and then your arm was held against you, supported and still.

You exhaled shakily. Jack’s thumb brushed once over your hand. “There you go.”

You swallowed. “I swore a lot.”

Jack’s mouth softened. “You were allowed.”

You leaned and whispered poorly. “In front of Dana.”

Dana stepped back from the sling. “I’ve heard worse, Mrs. Abbot.” Your smile came back immediately.

Jack glanced at Dana. “Therapeutic.”

Dana picked up the chart. “Accurate.”

Robby checked the sling with a quick glance, then nodded to Dana. “Looks good.”

Dana stepped back. “It’ll do until ortho tells her the same thing in a more expensive voice.”

Princess laughed under her breath. Santos rocked back on her heels.

“So she’s going home?” Santos asked.

Jack looked at Robby before Robby could answer, the same question reflected in his eyes

Robby lifted his brows. “You asking as her husband or as the night attending who has forgotten he is not on shift?”

Jack stared at him. “Husband.”

Robby smiled. “Good choice.”

Jack’s jaw flexed. “Robby.”

“We’ll watch her a bit after the follow-up films, make sure pain is controlled, then yes,” Robby said. “Home. Ice. Sling. Ortho follow-up. No lifting. No heroic catching of children for a while.”

You frowned at him. “That feels targeted.”

“It is,” Robby confirmed.

Your frown deepened. “Eli was falling.”

“And you caught him,” Robby said. “And now your shoulder is in a sling.”

You looked away. Jack’s voice softened. “You did good.”

You looked back up at him. “I broke myself.”

Jack shook his head. “You protected him.”

You pressed your lips together. “That sounds like something you say when I broke myself.”

Jack held your gaze. “It can be both.”

You considered him through the medication. “You’re very pretty when you’re reasonable.”

Robby made a wounded sound. “Not this again.”

Jack did not look away from you. “Thank you.”

Your smile went soft. “Sexy doctor husband.”

Jack lowered his head for half a second like he was gathering strength.

Dana picked up the chart. “Do not repeat Mrs. Abbot.”

Santos closed her mouth so fast her teeth clicked.

Princess turned toward the computer, shoulders shaking. Robby looked between Dana and the monitor.

“Therapeutic and preventative.”

Dana’s eyes flicked to him. “Exactly.”

Jack gave her a long look. “I don’t know whether to thank you or be concerned.”

“Both is usually safest,” Dana said.

A little while later, after the films confirmed what Robby already knew, after Princess brought discharge paperwork, after Santos was banished from asking any more questions about the wedding, the room finally thinned out.

Dana left with one last check of your sling and one more calm, devastating, “Take it easy, Mrs. Abbot.”

You smiled so hard your eyes closed.

Jack watched Dana go, then looked down at you. “She did that on purpose.”

You leaned into the pillow. “She likes me.”

“She likes making me suffer,” Jack said.

You nodded solemnly. “People contain multitudes.” Jack huffed a quiet laugh.

Robby came back with the discharge papers and a pen. “Okay,” he said. “Because apparently I am the only person in this room still committed to medicine.”

Jack was sitting beside your bed now, his sweatshirt back on but unzipped, one hand wrapped around yours. “You loved every second of this.”

Robby held up the paperwork. “I loved several medically relevant seconds of this.”

“You called me Magic Mike,” Jack said.

Robby nodded. “In a medically relevant context.”

“You threatened to chart targeted husband exposure,” Jack added.

“I still might,” Robby said.

Jack stared at him. Robby smiled. “I won’t.”

“You better not,” Jack warned.

“I’ll save it for the group chat,” Robby said with a shrug.

Jack’s expression went blank. “There is no group chat.”

Robby looked at you. “He thinks there’s no group chat.”

You turned to Jack, horrified. “You think there’s no group chat?”

Jack looked between you and Robby. “I hate this family.”

Your smile went dreamy. “You said family.”

Robby’s expression softened before he covered it with a cough.

Jack looked down at your joined hands. “I did.”

The air warmed around that. For one second, nobody ruined it.

Then Robby clicked the pen. “Anyway,” he said. “Sling stays on. Ice twenty minutes at a time. Pain meds as prescribed, not as creatively interpreted by the patient. Ortho follow-up within the week. No work until cleared.”

You opened your eyes. “No work?” Jack’s hand tightened.

Robby looked at you. “No work.”

“But peds is short,” you replied.

“Peds will survive,” Robby said.

You frowned. “You don’t know that.”

Robby leaned closer, his sarcasm gone soft around the edges. “I know you cannot care for children with a freshly reduced shoulder.”

You looked at Jack for backup. Jack shook his head. “No.”

“You didn’t even let me ask,” you said, brows furrowed.

Jack just gave you a look. “I know where you were going.”

“You always know where I’m going,” you sighed.

Jack shrugged. “Usually because it’s somewhere you shouldn’t.” Robby nodded. “Marriage.”

You sighed again and let your head fall back against the pillow. “This is oppressive.”

“This is discharge planning,” Robby said.

“Oppressive discharge planning,” you mumbled.

Jack stood slowly, keeping hold of your hand. You looked up at him. “We’re leaving?”

He nodded. “Soon.”

“Are you taking me home?” you asked, hopefully.

His expression softened. “Yeah, baby.”

Your whole face relaxed. “Good. I want that one.”

Robby pressed the paperwork to his chest. “She’s still doing it.”

Jack took the papers from him. “She’s on medication.”

He folded the paperwork and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

Robby watched him for a moment, the humor easing out of his face. “You good to get her home?”

Jack looked at you. You were blinking slowly, exhausted now, the adrenaline finally draining out of your body.

His voice gentled. “Yeah.”

Robby nodded. “Call me if anything changes.”

Jack met his eyes. “I will.”

The two men looked at each other for half a second longer than the words required.

You noticed even through the fog. “You two are having feelings.”

Robby looked down at you. “We are absolutely not.”

Jack’s mouth twitched. “No feelings.”

“Lies,” you murmured.

Robby pointed at you. “Pain meds have made her too powerful.”

Jack helped you sit up carefully. The room tilted as soon as you moved. You made a small sound and grabbed for him with your good hand.

He was already there. One arm came around your waist, careful not to jostle the sling, his body solid beside yours. “I’ve got you.”

You leaned into him. “I know.”

That seemed to hit him somewhere. His hand spread warm at your side. Robby stepped closer, but Jack had you steady.

“Slow,” Jack said.

“I am slow,” you grumbled.

The room tilted. You caught Jack’s shirt with your good hand, and his arm came around your waist before you could wobble any farther.

His mouth twitched. “That’s why I said go slow.”

You rolled your eyes. “Smartass.”

Robby nodded from beside the bed. “Fair assessment.” Jack shot him a look.

“Supportive environment,” Robby said.

Jack eased you carefully off the bed. Your knees felt uncertain, and the room stayed too bright, but his arm held you steady.

Dana reappeared at the curtain like she had sensed movement. “You good?”

Jack nodded. “I’ve got her.”

Dana looked at you. “Mrs. Abbot?”

Your smile came back, sleepy and immediate.

“I’m good.”

Dana’s mouth barely moved. “Clearly.”

Robby narrowed his eyes at her. “You did it again.”

Dana checked the hallway. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You absolutely do.”

Jack adjusted his hold at your waist. “Can we leave before anyone learns anything else about my wedding?”

Princess, still at the computer, lifted one finger. “I have follow-up questions.”

“No,” Jack said.

Santos leaned against the counter. “I have several.”

Jack shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

Robby grinned. “I have photos.”

Jack went still. You gasped softly. “You have photos?”

Robby’s grin widened. “And videos.”

Jack pointed at him. “Delete them.”

“Never,” Robby responded immediately.

“You have videos of the dance?” you asked, unable to contain your excitement.

Robby gave you a look. “You think I would witness neurological history and not document it?”

Your eyes went glassy again. “Can you send them to me?”

Jack looked down at you. “Baby.”

“What? I was there. I should have them,” you defended yourself.

Robby tapped his phone. “Already sent.”

Jack closed his eyes. “Good Lord.”

Your phone buzzed somewhere in the plastic belongings bag.

You looked up at Jack, delighted. “Brain chemistry.”

Dana held up one hand before Santos could speak. “Do not repeat Mrs. Abbot.”

Santos sighed. “I didn’t even say it.”

Dana looked at her. “You thought loudly.”

Jack shook his head and started guiding you toward the hallway. “We’re going home.”

You leaned into him, warm and sore and still floating enough that the ED lights looked like stars smeared across glass. “Home with you?”

Jack glanced down. His face softened. “Yeah.”

You smiled. “I picked good.”

This time, there were no monitors beeping too loud, no hands at your shoulder, no room full of witnesses waiting for the next outrageous thing you might say.

Just Jack’s hand at your waist, his body steady beside yours, his voice low near your ear.

“So did I.”

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[zivistardust]

His girls- Brendon Park

No such thing part 3. When Brendon is knee deep in surgery and one of his nieces comes into the ER, Brendon has no choice but to call you for backup. Only problem is, you’ve never met his nieces before.

Brendon’s phone was ringing.

Which was abnormal for a surgery.

He usually put his phone on his usual DND setting when he was in the OR. And that setting had only a few overrides.

His sister, you, his nieces, and his mom. That was it. The 5 women he answered to in this life.

Which made him. Very. Very. Anxious.

“Grab it please.” He answered to the scrub tech who informed him.

“I think it’s your niece? It says Sophia.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“Okay. Put her on speaker.” He answered worriedly.

And then Sophia’s voice filled the phone, with the sound of… a siren he swore, heart in his throat.

“Uncle Brendon?”

Wobbly.

“What’s wrong? Who’s hurt?” He nearly barked.

“Me.” Came Hayley, who was apparently also on speaker. “What happened? Are you in an ambulance? Who are you with?”

“It’s just us. We are. we told them to take us to PTMC- we’re supposed to do that right?”

“Yes, honey, you are. What happened to Hayley?”

His heart hammered. Bile in his throat.

“She fell down the steps at the park and really ate shit-“ “hey!-“ “and she like, really ripped her shin open. She totally needs stitches.” Sophia informed.

“Did you call your mom?” Brendon grilled.

“Not yet…”

For fuck sake.

The weekend his sister was in Michigan for work and the girls were with him this happened.

Damn it.

“For fuck sake Sophia. Call your mom.”

“Are we in trouble?”

He could see her little wobbly lip in her voice and it gutted him. Fuck.

“No, Princess. You’re not gonna be in trouble I promise.”

He heard her sigh in relief.

“Can you call her?” She asked softly.

“Are you kidding me? I’m in surgery, Sophie.” He sighed. Swore under his breath.

“Yes, I’ll call your mom. But it’s gonna be worse for you later and you know it.”

“Thank you!”

He shook his head. “Yeah yeah. You’re welcome. Look. When you get here, you’re gonna ask for Dr Robby. And you’re gonna say your uncle, Brendon Park told you to do that, okay. And tell them if anyone but him touches Hailes I’ll kill them.”

Sophie giggled.

“Not fucking around Soph.” He insisted.

“No hacks allowed. And tell them to page plastics for the stitches. Or else.”

Sophie winced.

“I don’t wanna be mean.”

“Sophia. It’s your little sisters health. You have to be mean.”

“Fine.” Sophia wavered.

“Are you gonna come down?” Hayley worried.

Brendon’s heart cracked.

“I’m in the middle of surgery, baby. Look. I will be there as soon as I can, I promise. But I just- I can’t right now and I’m so sorry. I- look. I’m gonna see if Y/N can come down to watch you guys. I know you’ve never met her but you can trust her.”

“We know.” Sophia swore.

See, Brendon had never let a girlfriend meet his girls before.

That was, as far as he was concerned, the most serious thing he could do.

So he was really hesitant to.

No one before you had gotten that close. That far. That serious and real.

But…

The girls knew of you. They’d heard all about you.

3 months into your relationship Brendon told them he was dating someone. He never really did that. Nothing was ever that serious. He was never that serious about someone.

So they asked questions. And he answered them. They’d seen photos. They were sweet about it. He told stories. They knew you existed. They knew the broad strokes. But he hadn’t gotten the chance to formally introduce you.

And this was far from optimal. But.

Well. What else was he to do?

You heard stories too. Many.

You knew just how important Brendon’s girls were to him. They were his entire fucking world. You got that.

“I mean I was literally the one who brought Hayley home from the hospital” Brendon explained one day while telling a story, making a slight detour for context.

“Really?”

He nodded.

“Yeah. Erica and Craig got divorced when she was pregnant and he was already a useless sack of shit when Sophie was born, so I was there. They’re my girls.”

You understood. They were essentially his kids. So they mattered to you, simply on account of how much they mattered to them.

He’d called you in a panic a few weeks back, maybe 2 months now really, asking if you had pads at his place, that Sophia got her first period.

Your drawer in the bathroom, you informed him. You were pretty sure it was a full pack.

Which he yelled through the door.

“Do you… need help with it?” He asked, then, nervously, you overheard.

“No they show us in health!” You heard Sophia yell back.

He breathed in relief.

“Thank fuck” he mumbled to you.

“Thank you, you’re a lifesaver. I’ll restock if you just uh. Send me the details.”

“It’s fine” you swore.

“Is there anything else I should do?” He asked you shyly.

Cute. Cute cute 40 year old man.

“Not really. Tylenol or Motrin. Heating pad. You know.” You reminded him.

“Right. Right.” He nodded.

“She can have my good chocolates if they want.” You informed. “But those you have to restock.”

“You’re a lifesaver, baby. Thank you.” He sighed. “I gotta go.”

Is nausea normal? He texted you not long after.

You laughed.

Didn’t you go to med school?

Y/N please. Before I go to the ER just answer me.

Yes it’s normal. Unfortunately. She’s fine.

Thank you.

So is back pain, headaches, migraines, chills, soreness….

Ouch. Well. Thank you. Love u.

He turned his attention back to the girls.

“Y/N says the nausea is normal.”

Sophia barked out a laugh. “That’s what you were doing? Come on I could have told you that. Didn’t you go to med school?”

“Jesus do you two know eachother or something?” He shook his head.

So.

Yeah.

You were both familiar with the others existence.

This was just a final line that you hadn’t crossed yet.

“Page Y/N to the observation room if she’s available, please.” He sighed and asked his scrub again, bracing himself for impact.

You were there in 5 minutes, looking as gorgeous as you had that morning, looking worried through the glass.

“What’s wrong?” You asked immediately.

You were so good.

“I gotta ask you a huge favor. Hayley’s in the ER-“

“Our ER? Is she okay?”

Your concern for his niece’s mirrored his own, tugging on his chest.

“She sliced her leg open taking a fall. Sounds like she’s fine. Look I can’t get out of here. Can you-“

“Are you sure?”

You looked worried. “I know you have boundaries when it comes to them-“

“You’re different.” He swore quickly.

“You’re um- I wanted you to meet them soon anyway. This isn’t ideal but-“

Fuck, he hated having an audience for this.

But you nodded.

“Of corse I will. I’ll- I’ll keep you posted okay?”

He breathed in relief.

“Yes please. Thank you. You’re a saint, baby. Really.”

You nodded.

“I told Hayley that no one but Robby touches her, and to make sure he calls plastics. I don’t want her with a hack job scar, she’s a pretty girl she doesn’t need something to be self conscious of.”

You nodded in understanding.

“No clowns are touching my girl.” He reiterated.

You nodded.

“I’ll make sure. Does she have like allergies or anything I need to tell them-“

“Their PTMC charts are my Sistine Chappell” he informed.

You nodded.

“Okay. Uh, well. I’ll see you later right?”

You found your way to the ED circulation desk, to looks of surprise.

“If it isn’t Miss Y/N. Been a while. What can I do you for?” Dana grinned.

“I’m here on personal business I’m afraid.” You informed. She looked worries

“What’s the matter kiddo?”

“I’m here to check on my boyfriend’s nieces. It’s Hayley Park?”

You watched Princess’ eyes sparkle at the desk behind Dana.

There goes everything.

“Park huh. Jesus Christ kiddo good for you. C’mon I’ll bring you by.”

You stood outside a room, one of the few with a real door, a note on it stating who the patient was and who her uncle was, like a warning. Shark infested waters.

You understood the reputation Brendon had, but he’d always been so sweet to you. You presumed his nieces were equally oblivious to that reputation.

You knocked twice before opening the door.

“Hey, I’m-“

“You’re Y/N” Hayley confirmed instantly, looking you up and down.

“Yeah. I don’t know if your uncle told you, he can’t get out of surgery right now so he wanted me to come stay with you guys. How are you feeling?”

You sat on the family chair in the corner.

Terrified of making a bad impression.

She shrugged.

“I’m fine. It’s just a bad cut.”

You nodded.

“Has a doctor seen you yet?”

She nodded.

“But only for like. A second. He said he’d be back.”

“Dr Robby, right?” You confirmed.

Sophia nodded.

“Okay. Your uncle was very incessant on that. It’s just because he loves you” you insisted.

Despite your anxieties, the girls were so sweet. You got on so easily with them. Conversation flowed naturally. Some good natured jokes at Bren’s expense, some questions about music they liked and tv shows, and you were off to the races. The were so much like Brendon it almost hurt. You weren’t sure how similar Brendon and his sister looked, but the girls definitely took after the Park side of the family.

When Brendon finally got down to the pitt, he was exhausted and frankly, terrified.

He was worried. Really worried.

Not just about Hayley’s shin, but about you three meeting. He wasn’t there to referee if things went badly. wasn’t there to observe or monitor. He didn’t know how he’d cope with it if things went bad. He could never chose a woman over his nieces. And god, he really, really hoped he wouldn’t have to make that choice today.

So he’s surprised with the scene that greets him in Hayley’s room.

All three of you are in Hayley’s bed, whose leg appears stitched up neatly and cleaned well.

And your hands are in Hayley’s hair as Sophia explains the fucking Olivia situation to you- which Brendon has now heard 40 times, but is obviously new to you. And you’re listening with rapt attention, while you braid his fucking niece’s hair.

His heart is going to burst out of his chest.

“Hey” he breathed.

Eyes turned to him.

A smile broke out on your face.

“Hey baby.”

“Hi honey.”

He came over, greeting each of you with a kiss on the head which warmed your chest in a funny fuzzy way. Very domestic. It was almost like you belonged here.

“How was surgery?”

He made a dismissive gesture.

“Fine. But I’ve got bigger fish to fry. How are you feeling princess?” He worried, looking Hayley’s leg over.

“Fine.” She promised.

Brendon let himself into the charting station carelessly, looking over who’d seen her.

He grunted in approval.

“Okay. I like Walenski. He’s good.”

You couldn’t disagree.

“He said you’d met before. Told us some stories.” You winked.

“All bad I hope.” Brendon teased.

“Are they ever good?” You replied in jest.

He grinned.

“You two have no clue how much of an asshole I can be.” Brendon smiled. He joined the three of you on the edge of the bed, somehow fitting.

“They’ve both been very brave. You should be proud of them.” You insisted.

“Oh, I always am. Always. Was Soph mean like I told her to be?”

“No” Hayley giggled.

“We’ll get her there” Brendon smiled.

“You did good today. I am proud of you. Very brave.” He said softly to Sophia, squeezing her hand.

“Thanks.” She whispered.

“They ready to discharge?” Brendon asked you.

You shrugged. “No clue.”

He rolled his eyes.

“I’ll go bust some heads.” He grunted, standing up to go back towards the hub.

You believed that he definitely would.

You’d driven with Brendon to work today, so the four of you piled back into his car after Hayley was discharged.

“We’re hungry” Hayley announced.

“We have food at home” Brendon scoffed.

The backseat groaned loudly.

Brendon groaned back. “Don’t give me that!”

“I bet you don’t subject Y/N to your boring healthy food” Hayley snarked.

No. Y/N, much like the 4 other women in Brendon’s life, has his fucking balls in a vice grip. Y/N gets whatever she wants. Y/N unlike his mother, sister, and nieces, though, lacks the Park name. Which suddenly strikes him as a problem.

“You’re such a spoiled little brat.” Brendon snapped, with no malaise taken from his harsh tone by two little girls who saw the shark as their harmless uncle. “Whose fault is that?” For fuck same. “What do you want-“

Brendon stopped looking at you.

“Is that okay? You were up early I don’t want to-“

“I’m okay with dinner.” You insisted, cheeks warm.

He nodded.

“Okay. So? What’s your price?”

Dinner was… fine. It was weird to see Brendon Park in a junk food filed, crap from a freezer cheap chain restaurant, but his girls wanted, so they got. Your standards weren’t as high as Brendon’s. Clearly, looking at the two do you that was obvious. You were more than happy to partake in boneless wings and mozzarella sticks too. Things flowed so easy with the three of you. Comfortable, like you’d known them their whole lives. You were easy and comfortable, laughing about some sudden inside joke made at the hospital. He could weep. He could just watch the scene for hours.

You kept catching Brendon’s eyes on you, this look in them that you couldn’t quite name. Something deeper than love. Something more he was figuring out. It made something deep in you shine, too.

“Need anything anywhere before I drop you off?” Brendon checked with you, in the car as he reversed out of the spot.

Becuase he had the girls at his place, you’d been spending the longest time apart that you had since you met. The longest time out of each others beds.

Which. Sucked. But was appropriate.

“You’re not coming home with us?”

Sophia sounded devastated.

You and Brendon froze.

“Uh-“

You froze too.

“I… do have work clothes at your place” you admitted.

Brendon pinkened. That was different.

“If… you girls want that” Brendon asked carefully.

They confirmed. Loudly and quickly as tweens do.

“Okay” you agreed.

“Yeah.”

And so you went back to Brendon’s.

You’d spent so much time at Brendon’s the last few months. But the place was so different with them here. Two gigantic Stanley’s on the kitchen island accompanied your water bottles now. Things were louder. School bags by the door, homework still on the coffee table, sneakers by the door untied and messily abandoned.

Things were lively. It wasn’t like his house lacked life when you were in it, but this was different. The energy of children.

You’d say in the living room watching the horrible reality show the girls had apparently suckered Brendon into the last few days for a while, leaned against his chest, pretty out of it as you enjoyed the feeling of his hands in your back, and his heartbeat under your ear.

“You sleepy, baby?” He checked. You confirmed. “Then go to bed.” He insisted. “I’ll be up in a few. Really. Go.” He insisted.

It made you feel a bit guilty. Leaving the party. “These two gotta get to bed soon to anyway, school in the morning. It’s fine. Go.” He insisted, and you finally got up on wobbly knees.

“I’ll wait up.” You instead to Brendon who would rather you didn’t. He just rolled his eyes. “Night girls, it was nice to meet you.” You told them genuinely, to a harmony of “goodnight y/n” and “it was nice to meet you too.”

Brendon’s heart leaped out of his chest when his bedroom door clicked closed and Hailey informed him “we like y/n”.

A relief he didn’t know he needed.

When Brendon slid into bed behind you, you fit against his body like a glove like always. You fit perfect. In his hands and in his life. His arm settled over your waist in a cozy snug hold, his lips to your cheek.

“Did I do okay today?” You croaked.

Still awake apparnelty.

He kissed your cheek again. “You did perfect. The girls fucking adore you.” He informed you. “They love you. And you took care of them and kept them safe for me today. Thank you. I love you so much, baby.” He whispered.

It wasn’t a proper thanks for the service you did him today. For how to soothed his wild mind. But it was a start. For now, Brendon’s girls were all under his roof where they belonged, and that was enough.

[showhay]

hostage-ish

iwaizumi hajime x f!reader

seijoh4 minus iwaizumi traps you in your own apartment so they could gift you to iwaizumi. wc: 1.4k, no idc if them living tgt don’t make sense.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY IWA-CHAN :3

the scent of oikawa’s overpriced cologne was the first indicator that security had been breached. the second indicator was the colossal, neon-pink satin ribbon currently being looped around your torso with the frantic urgency of a group of teenagers trying to wrap a fragile porcelain vase before their parents got home.

“hold still, y/n-chan! if the bow isn’t symmetrical, the entire aesthetic integrity of the birthday surprise is compromised!” oikawa hissed, his fingers flying through the silky fabric as he knotted it around your waist.

“you’re going to suffocate her, you idiot,” matsukawa muttered from the corner, leaning against your kitchen counter while casually eating one of your strawberries. “and if she dies, iwaizumi will literally liquefy our bones and drink them like a protein shake.”

“i’m executing a flawless vision!” oikawa protested, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

you were sitting on your own living room rug, thoroughly bound from the waist up in a massive, glossy pink bow. you looked like a very expensive, slightly confused gift basket. the aoba johsai third-years had broken into your apartment exactly twenty minutes ago under the guise of ‘intelligent birthday operations,’ and instead of screaming for help, you had mostly just been impressed by how fast hanamaki could tie a double-knot.

“honestly, i feel like a fancy ham,” you said, shifting slightly to see if you could move your arms. you couldn’t. they were pinned quite securely to your sides. “is the candlelit dinner really necessary if i can’t even pick up a fork?”

“iwa-chan will feed you,” oikawa said, waving his hand dismissively as he lit the final tea light on your coffee table. they had cleared away your textbooks, replaced them with a white tablecloth, and ordered an obscene amount of high-end takeout. “in fact, he will probably view this as the greatest day of his entire mortal existence. now, quiet! i hear his footsteps. everyone, to the balcony!”

in a flurry of squeaking sneakers and hushed arguments about who was stepping on whose feet, the three boys scrambled out through your glass doors, shutting the curtains behind them just as the front doorknob jiggled.

the door swung open.

iwaizumi stepped into the apartment, his shoulders tense and his brow furrowed in that permanent, default scowl he wore whenever he had been left alone with oikawa for more than five minutes. he was carrying his gym bag, looking thoroughly exhausted by the mere concept of his own birth anniversary.

“oikawa, if you hid my keys in the bushes again, i’m going to—”

he stopped dead in his tracks.

the apartment was dimly lit, glowing with the soft, flickering warmth of a dozen tiny candles. the scent of cherry blossoms and spicy takeout filled the air. and there, sitting precisely in the center of the room, was you. wrapped in a giant pink bow like a prize-winning show pony.

iwaizumi’s brain stalled. his brain completely derailed, flew off the tracks, and exploded into a spectacular fireball of adoration. his gym bag slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor with a heavy thud. his eyes dilated so fast they looked entirely black, his chest heaving as his lungs suddenly forgot how to extract oxygen from the atmosphere.

“hey,” you said softly, giving him a little helpless wiggle of your shoulders. “happy birthday.”

the sound of your voice seemed to snap a cord inside him. iwaizumi was across the room in a fraction of a second, dropping to his knees before you with a force that rattled the floorboards. his hands hovered over you, trembling slightly, utterly terrified of touching you too hard but looking so intensely starved for your presence that it was borderline feral.

“what did they do to you?” his voice was a raw, low rasp, thick with a terrifying amount of protective instinct. his fingers immediately went to the knot of the ribbon, his knuckles brushing against your ribs, sending a massive jolt of electricity straight down your spine. “are you hurt? did that dumbass hurt you? i’ll kill him. i’ll bury him in the school yard.”

“i’m fine, i promise,” you giggled, the sound light and bubbly in the quiet room. “they didn’t hurt me at all. oikawa was very specific about not wrinkling my shirt. they wanted to give you a proper present.”

iwaizumi’s gaze locked onto yours, and the sheer, crushing weight of his devotion was enough to make your breath catch. he looked at you the way an ancient, desperate traveler might look at an oasis after a century in the desert. there’s a terrifying, beautiful affection in his eyes—a silent admission that you held his entire heart in your hands, and if you squeezed even a little bit, he would gladly disintegrate into dust for you.

“you’re the only present i want,” he muttered, his voice dropping so deep it resonated in your chest. his thumbs stroked over the fabric of the ribbon, his eyes tracking the line of the pink silk up to your collarbone, before snapping back to your lips with an intensity that felt like a physical touch. “you shouldn’t be wrapped up like this. it makes me want to lock you in this room and never let anyone else look at you again.”

your heart did a violent, joyful flip-flop against your ribs. “is that a threat, iwaizumi?”

“it’s a promise that once it happens again, i won’t hold back,” he growled softly, finally tugging the golden knot loose.

the ribbon slithered off your shoulders like water, pooling around your hips in a mess of pink satin. the moment your arms were free, iwaizumi didn’t waste another millisecond. he surged forward, his massive, calloused hands framing your face with a tenderness that completely contradicted his terrifying expression. his palms were warm, his thumbs sweeping over your cheekbones as if he were trying to memorize the texture of your skin for the rest of eternity.

when his lips met yours, it was less of a casual kiss and more of a total spiritual surrender.

he kissed you with desperate, heavy hunger, his mouth moving over yours with a frantic need to consume and be consumed. it was a bruising, deeply romantic sort of worship. he groaned against your mouth, his fingers tangling into the hair at the nape of your neck to pull you even closer, erasing every single millimeter of space between your bodies.

you wrapped your newly freed arms around his neck, pulling yourself up into his lap. he welcomed the weight instantly, his strong beefy arms locking around your waist like iron bands, anchoring you to him as if he were terrified you might evaporate into thin air if he loosened his grip by a single fraction.

“god, you taste so good,” he mumbled against your lips, peppering short, hard kisses along your jawline, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. “i’m losing my mind. you’re going to kill me one day, i swear to god.”

“you’re doing great for a dead guy,” you whispered, burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the crisp, comforting scent of sweat and laundry detergent that was uniquely him. you nipped gently at his earlobe, feeling the sudden, violent shudder that went through his massive frame.

“don’t do that unless you want this table knocked over,” he warned, his voice incredibly thick as his hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin through your clothes with a possessive strength that made your toes curl. he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes burning with a liquid, molten heat. “i mean it. i’m so crazy about you it’s actually making me sick.”

“good,” you said, reaching up to smooth down the unruly spikes of his dark hair, your fingers lingering on his forehead. “because i’m not planning on letting you go anytime soon.”

he stared at you, his expression softening into something so purely, profoundly tender that it looked almost painful for him to hold. he leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he just breathed you in, his thumbs tracing slow, heavy circles against your waist.

“happy birthday, hajime.”

“it’s a happy birthday now,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours in a soft, lingering seal of absolute devotion.

from the balcony, a faint, muffled snicker broke the silence, followed by the distinct sound of oikawa being violently elbowed in the ribs by matsukawa.

iwaizumi didn’t even open his eyes, his grip on your waist tightening just a fraction more as a small, wicked smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “ignore them. if they stay out there long enough, they’ll freeze, and then i can throw them into the trash incinerator tomorrow morning.”

n: sweet, sweet iwa. happy birthday :3

i have a discord server haha hi guys :3 we got a tag thanks to eme, soup, and maddy !

© showhay — don’t copy, repost, or translate without my permission. do not use/feed my works to AI.

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