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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

Here will be a link to my Masterlists:

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[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 ♡

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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.”

@nosebeers, @moonz33, @littlewolfbird, @tubby23, @gandalfthegoatsblog, @melslavalampapp, @marauvderss, @supernaturalcat7,@jennataurus, @itwas-maroon16 , @nizzasspot, @meadow0434, @chezze-its, @callmefatherr, @amacphet, @imabapical, @offsavingtheworld, @ifyoubewooedingoodtime, @justreadinghere7, @rabbotseatcarrots, @vicky066, @manly-man-whore, @rosiepoise88, @alittlerayof-pitchblack,@woodxtock, @mafercita101, @kiatjuddae, @lacy1986, @cajunebugg76, @kittenmittensssworld, @generation-zero, @taniamiller, @countryandsweetbabygirl, @fantasyreader130, @thehockeynerd30 @angelryex, @michasia24

[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.

iloveu

[cs-glitch]

five times ghost tried (and failed) to flirt with you + one time you flirt back

(fluff, humor, no smut but one (1) mildly suggestive paragraph)

cw: gn!reader (terms love, bonnie & dove are used though), mentions of taxidermy, bugs & necrophagy, weird & awkward!ghost, implied undiagnosed autistic!ghost and heavily implied autistic!reader, i think that's it ?, word count: 2.4K

The first time you see Ghost is not the first time you speak to him. 

Admittedly, bumping into him was your fault. It was a busy day, and Captain Price had emailed you a hefty amount of paperwork to sort and get signed. You didn’t even have time to actually say sorry– just an apologetic smile before you’d scurried off to get the document signed. You’d left a proper note on his desk with a tin of the tea you’d seen him drinking.

He didn’t approach you after that– not that you were expecting him to– but you did notice his stares from across the room.

Soap tried to comfort you, insisting that the Lieutenant doesn’t hate you. It’s hard to believe that as you watch him stalk over to the table where you and the sergeants sit. 

“Lt, what can I give ye a haun with?” Johnny asks, grinning up at him. 

Ghost’s eyes are set on you unblinking. Gaz glances over at you, brow raised as if you have any clue what’s going on either. You fidget in your spot; the only thing you can hear is your heart beating in your chest. 

“Been lookin’ for you, gonna ‘ave to take you out.” His voice comes out flat as he stares down at you. Your eyes widen when you notice the knife proudly displayed on his hip. 

Your blood runs cold, and you quickly jump up from your chair. “No need! I was just about to leave anyway,” you nervously laugh before scurrying off– feeling his eyes follow you the whole way.

The next time the two of you speak is a week later, when you step outside for a breath of fresh air. He leans against the side of the building and puts out his cigarette the second he sees you. 

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize anyone else was out here,” you meekly apologize, pressing yourself against the wall in a poor attempt to hide away. 

He’s silent as he approaches, slowly walking towards you before grabbing at your shoulder, forcing you to crouch down with him. “See that?” He points to the dirt, and you squint. 

It’s… a group of bugs– small, black, with weird antennas. You glance over at him only to find he’s already looking at you. You muster up a smile and nod. 

“Dermestid beetles, sometimes called hide beetles,” he says, reaching out a hand to let one crawl across his finger. “Used a lo’ in forensics, they feed on ‘uman carcasses. Can estimate the time of death.”

He reaches his hand out to you, eyes locked onto you as he waits for something– you’re not sure what. You swallow your nerves and reach out a finger, gently running it along the back of the bug. 

His eyes widen for a moment, and you’re hoping you didn’t offend him. You quickly pull your hand away, watching as he gently sets the beetle back on the ground.

He stands up, staring down at you before nodding and walking away– this time, it’s your eyes trailing after him. 

One of the perks of working on a military base is the state-of-the-art gym you have 24/7 access to for free. You don’t really have a set routine; you normally just show up randomly when you need to destress. 

You yelp, pausing the cycling machine when you suddenly feel someone standing behind you. Honestly, you shouldn’t be surprised that somebody else had the idea to work out at nearly midnight.

“Didn’ mean to scare you.” Ghost’s voice comes from behind you. You quickly stand up and turn around to face him– not realizing just how close he is to you.

You stumble back, and his hands reach out to stop you from falling over. “Sorry, I’m just jumpy, probably wasn’t the best idea to have such a late-night workout,” you admit, staring up at him.

“Trouble sleepin’?”

You give a non-committal hum. “Something like that… just needed to blow off some steam.”

Your heart threatens to jump out of your chest as his fingers delicately trace up and down your arm, rubbing soft circles onto your wrist. His eyes never leave your face, staring at you as if he’s calculating something in his mind. “Y’ got tough skin, solid bones– bet they wouldn’t snap easy. Could spar if y’want?”

For a brief moment, your mind betrays you; images of him on top of you flash in front of you.

You think about his lips hovering over your neck and how nice the pressure of his body on yours would be. Your breath stops, and you swear you can already feel his heavy weight caging you in between his body and the floor. 

You quickly shake your head– both an answer and an attempt to ward off the traitorous thoughts. “No, I should probably head to sleep. Price needs me to help with a meeting pretty early.”

He nods, dropping your wrists, before heading towards the weights.

As you walk back to your barracks, you find yourself missing the brief feeling of his skin against yours.

It’s one of those mornings where anything that can go wrong has.  Your alarm didn’t go off, so you had to rush to get dressed. You couldn’t stop for your morning coffee, and you know your lunch is sitting on your kitchen counter, spoiling away.

It shouldn't upset you this much, but anytime your routine gets disrupted, it throws your whole day off.

Venting about it to your favorite co-worker helped a little, but as you walk back to your office, all you can think about is how miserable it’ll be to wait until you get home to finally be able to eat something.

When you finally sit down at your desk, you’re shocked to see a brown paper bag that looks like it’s seen better days. You stare for a second, glancing around your empty office as if someone’s going to jump out at any moment. 

You slowly empty the contents: a water bottle, your favorite brand of chips, and a peanut butter sandwich. You pick up the bag and inspect it, flipping it over to find a small note scrawled on it. ‘Made this for you,” followed by Ghost’s signature and the tiniest doodle of a smiley face.

Upon further inspection, the water bottle’s been opened, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he’s drunk from it.  The sandwich is slightly stale– you’re pretty sure the bread is expired. You’re also not sure how he knew you forgot your lunch, but the effort is endearing.

After devouring the chips, you hunt him down, finally finding him sitting with his team. “Everything alright, love?” Price questions.

You nod, pretending not to notice the way Ghost tenses up at the term of endearment. “I just wanted to tell the Lieutenant thank you. I forgot my lunch, and he was kind enough to drop one off for me.”

Gaz looks at you, pity in his eyes. “And you… ate it?” 

You glance at Ghost, no longer surprised to find him staring at you. “Yeah? I mean, should I not have?” You laugh despite your words not being a total joke.

You watch as the sergeants exchange glances before shrugging at you. Your smile falters, and you nervously fiddle with the hem of your shirt. “Right, well, I have to get back to some paperwork, but uh, thank you really, Ghost.”

“Simon. Call me Simon.” It goes silent for a moment, Soap’s eyes comically wide as he gawks at you.

“Oh, wow, that’s– okay. Thank you, Simon,” you whisper, an electric feeling crawling down your spine.  

His mask slips a little, showing just the tiniest hint of his nose and cheeks– you swear for a second you can see a pink flush on the sliver of skin. “You’re welcome, dove,” he mumbles, looking anywhere but at you.

You blinked, head tilted at the sudden term of endearment– this is good, right? You don’t give people you hate cute nicknames; well, you can do that too.

“See you around, big guy!” you grinned, turning around and walking off.  You didn’t get to see the way Soap’s jaw dropped, or how Gaz choked on his own laughter.

When you glance back one final time as you walk away, you lock eyes with him as he grumbles something to his now yelling teammates.

You nearly scream when you open your door to find Simon sitting stiffly on the small sofa you keep in the corner. “Sorry, you surprised me. Is there anything…” You glance at him and notice the way he’s staring straight through you. His body is stiff, and his fists are clenched as if he’ll need to swing them at any minute. 

“Rough mission, big guy?” you softly ask, placing your papers down before sitting next to him on the couch. 

You don't expect a response, but he gives one anyway. “Made a bad call, ‘s all.”

You’re not sure what to say, but he’s kind of your friend now, so you try anyway. “I have some paperwork to do. If you want to you can just sit here with me for a minute?” He doesn’t say a word, just nods, finally letting himself relax.

The silence and intense stare should make you feel uncomfortable, but instead, you find it oddly soothing.  You wonder when Simon’s presence went from something that made you tense up to a comforting heat that makes you melt.

He doesn’t speak; he knows he doesn’t have to, just watches as you quietly fill out form after form for hours.

It isn't until he's shutting your office door that he finally opens his mouth again. “Thanks, dove.”

It’s Soap who finally snaps and brings it to your attention. “Do ye ken what you’re doin’ to him bonnie?” He asks, inviting himself into your office.

You pause, setting your pen down, before glancing over at the sergeant. “I’m sorry, what am I doing and who am I doing it to?”

He groans, running a hand down his face dramatically. “Lt, yer killin’ the lad. He’s mad about you– down bad– you gotta stop toyin’ with him.”

“Simon–” He throws his hands in the air, smug grin practically screaming ‘gotcha’ at the use of the lieutenant's given name.  You ignore him and continue. “Simon is just now my friend and barely that; he hated me not too long ago!”

He looks at you, and you can’t help but shrink a little at his stare. “You’re takin’ the piss. Please, please, tell me you’re takin’ the piss.”

You open your mouth only to snap it shut when he cuts you off. “You cannae be this daft. He’s been tryin’ tae pull you for months.”

You don’t get it, not really, but it also makes sense somehow– a lot more sense than you and the lieutenant having an enemies-to-besties arc. “Oh.” 

You make your move exactly three days later, knocking on his office with shaky hands, heart in your stomach. 

“Come in.”

If he’s surprised to see you, he doesn’t show it. “Hi,” you whisper, hands behind your back. “I uh, I didn’t know you were flirting with me,” You blurt out, suddenly wishing you had prepared better.

He slowly blinks at you, taking a moment to process your words. “You didn’?” 

You shake your head, you shift your weight, and resist the urge to run and hide. “No, I actually thought you hated me at first.” He laughs at you; you should be upset– instead, you’re plotting how to get him to make that pretty sound again. 

“Silly dove, had me thinkin' you were miffed with me. ‘Course I was flirtin’. Offered to take you out, even wore my best knife, introduced you to my friends–”

You start to point out that you’d already known Soap, Price, and Gaz until it dawns on you that he’s talking about the beetles he’d shown you. “Complimented you, made you lunch, we even went on that date.”

“The day in my office does not count as a date, you know.”

Despite the mask, you can tell he’s frowning– it’s obvious in his brow furrow ever so slightly. “It doesn’?” You shake your head, and he lets out a thoughtful hum.

Before you can psych yourself out of it, you shove the tickets in his hand. He slowly twirls the paper, glancing at it front and back. “What’s this, then?”

You take a deep breath. “It’s for a taxidermy class this weekend. I thought maybe we could go together. As a date– a real one.”

His eyes widen, and he suddenly loosens his grip on the paper– treating it as if it’s something fragile. “I didn’ scare you off?”

“I mean, maybe a little at first, but I like you, Simon– a lot. I like that you call the bugs your friends, and you don’t even realize how intimidating you are. I think it’s cute that you tell little dad jokes, and it’s nice how I can just be quiet around you without it being awkward.”

He swallows and stares at you as if you’d just offered him the world– and maybe, you did. “But… I’m weird. Don't like what people normally do or get wha' they actually mean. I'm bad at touchin' and I don't know how to be normal. Price said–” 

You can’t help the laugh that falls from your mouth. “Oh my god, Simon, I just asked you on a date where we’ll stuff dead animals. I don't care what Price or anyone else says.” You give him a soft smile.

“I'm not normal either. I'm horrible with social cues. I need to have a routine, and sometimes my clothes make me feel like my skin's peeling off. I think we’re both the same kind of weird.”

He doesn't put a label on himself, so you don't either– but maybe one day you can approach the topic with him.

“Oh. Well, yeah, I’d like that.” The two of you stay like that for a moment, him sitting at his desk, you standing by it just staring at each other. “Can I hug you?”

The second you nod, he’s standing up, chair flying back at how quickly he tries to get to you.

It isn’t like the movies; your legs don’t wrap around his waist, and he doesn’t grip your hips. Instead, he bends down slightly, his arms lying stiffly on your shoulders.

He buries his nose in your hair and breathes in deeply. Your face is awkwardly smushed against his chest, and you have no choice other than to let your arms hang by your sides. 

Yet somehow, it’s perfect.

[kawaluvs]

.ೃ࿔*:･ TALKING ABOUT THEM IN AN INTERVIEW

pairings: Bokuto x reader, Oikawa x reader, Kuroo x reader

content: one-shot!, model!reader, post-timekip, fluff

note: Let me know who else you guys would like to see when I write multifics.

BOKUTO . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Interviewer: "And the question on everyone's mind: do you currently have a special someone?"

You tried to hold back your smile but felt your cheeks rising anyway, warmth spreading across your face before you could do anything about it. Your eyes dropped softly to your lap for just a moment, thinking about him.

Interviewer: "Oooh! That's promising! Who is it?"

YouL "Well, all I can say is he's a ray of sunshine. I could be in the worst mood and just seeing his face fixes it."

You let that sit for a breath.

You: "And his biceps are the size of my face."

The audience erupted, a wave of laughter rolling through the room, a few dramatic gasps scattered in between.

You laughed along with them, raising a hand like you were done taking questions.

But although you'd said it to get a reaction, you meant every word. You always did. There wasn't a single thing you'd say about him, even offhandedly, even to a room full of strangers, that you didn't mean completely.

That was just what he did to you.

"You said all of this about me?"

Bokuto leaned back against the couch cushions to glance over at you through the kitchen doorway, you washing dishes with your back to him like you hadn't just described him to an entire audience.

He always played your interviews or runway clips on the TV like it was a one-man watch party. You'd come home to find him already three hours deep in clips, completely invested, like he hadn't seen all of them already.

"Who else would I say it about," you chuckled to yourself, keeping your eyes on the task in front of you.

For about two seconds there was complete silence from the living room and then "THAT'S ME! SHE'S TALKING ABOUT ME!"

He was talking to absolutely no one. Just the walls and the TV, expressing whatever energy he had left from the day.

You heard the couch cushions shift, then footsteps, fast ones, and then you were completely enveloped from behind before you'd even had time to set the dish down properly. Both arms locked around you, his chin dropping to your shoulder, rocking you back and forth with an enthusiasm that nearly took you both into the counter.

"You are an angel," he said, pressing kisses into your neck between words. "If I couldn't make you smile I'd have no purpose. I'd be utterly useless. A shell of a man—"

"Kou—"

"A hollow, joyless shell—"

"Bokuto."

"Yeah?"

"I'm trying to do the dishes."

"Okay," he said. And kept rocking you anyway, whispering baby into your neck like that was a completely normal and reasonable response to what you'd just said.

You thought he had walked away, but instead you felt an arm wrap around you from behind, not harshly, just cradling your chin in the crook of his elbow and tipping your face up toward the ceiling.

"Bokuto!" You giggled, surprised, hands still sudsy from the dishes.

"How about this! Does this get your attention!"

"You always have my attention," you managed through the giggling.

That was apparently the wrong thing to say if your goal was to get him to calm down.

"ALWAYS?!"

"Kou, I am trying to finish the—"

"The dishes can wait," he said, and there was zero negotiation in his voice about it, though he was still smiling so wide you could hear it. He turned you around by your face with all the care of someone handling something precious.

When you were facing him properly he looked down at you with that expression he got sometimes, the one underneath all the noise and the yelling and the dramatic declarations. Big gold eyes gone a little soft.

"You really said that about me," he said again. Quieter this time.

Not a question anymore. Just Bokuto, saying it out loud one more time because he wanted to.

OIKAWA . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Interviewer: "And the question on everyone's mind: do you currently have a special someone?"

It was a behind the scenes interview, caught in the middle of getting ready for a runway show. The makeup artist was lightly dusting powder across your cheeks when you turned your eyes toward the camera.

You: "Usually I'd lecture you about not always needing a man, but this time, I do."

You smiled to yourself like it was some enormous personal achievement.

And honestly, to you, it was.

THE Toru Oikawa was dating you. Out of everyone who practically lined up to throw themselves at him, he had chosen you. You, who had seen through the charm on day one and made fun of him for it to his face.

You'd always known being nonchalant would pay off eventually.

Interviewer: "Oooh! Who is it?"

You: "Here's some advice."

Your eyes did a quick scan of the room checking to see who was listening before settling back on the camera with a small, satisfied smile.

You: "People say you can't find someone who is smart, attractive, and respectful. But it's possible. Never settle, ladies."

Oikawa clicked off his phone and tossed it to the side on the bed.

He was leaned back against the headboard, blankets pulled up to his waist, bare chest catching the low light of the bedroom lamp.

You were standing at the nightstand taking out your jewelry, makeup already off, hair down from where it had been pinned up all evening. It fell against your shoulders and he watched it happen from across the room without saying anything.

Then he spoke, "Smart, attractive, and respectful."

You paused, earring halfway out.

"You were watching the behind the scenes, weren't you?" you said flatly.

"Never settle, ladies," he quoted back at you, in a pitch that was not even close to your voice.

"Oh my god." you roll your eyes.

"So when you said smart—" he started.

"Oikawa—" you cut him off laughing.

He smiled wide and completely pleased with himself, the way he always looked when things went the way he wanted them to. You climbed into bed and he reached for you immediately, arms pulling you into him without any pretense about it.

"Attractive though," he said into your hair, "That was the part that got me. You could've said a lot of things."

"Tooru." you said in a soft voice, trying to interrupt his absent minded speech.

He went quiet for exactly one second.

"Really sexy or just handsome?" he asked. "Because I think that's an important distinction."

You buried your face further into his shoulder and he laughed, low and warm, arms tightening around you.

He'd be bringing this up for weeks and you both knew it.

"Well, I'm glad to know it's not just me bragging about you," he said, and his voice had shifted, the teasing gone quiet underneath something softer.

You pulled back slightly from where you'd been tucked against the warmth of his chest and just looked at him.

He raised an eyebrow. "What? Not surprised?"

"No," you said flatly. "Iwaizumi told me you never shut up about me." You tilted your head at him. "It sounds like you need a new topic of conversation."

"Telling me not to talk about you is like trying to breathe without air," he said immediately, "Not possible."

"That's so dramatic."

"It's so true."

You looked at him for a moment, trying to hold onto the flat expression and not quite managing it. He caught the exact second it slipped and his eyes lit up the way they always did when he felt like he'd won.

You dropped back against his chest mostly to hide your face, and he caught you easily, arms wrapping back around you with the quiet confidence of someone who knew he had won in life.

"It would be nice to hear you say it to my face too," he said again, pressing a kiss to your hair.

"Goodnight," you muttered into his shoulder.

KUROO . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Interviewer: "And the question on everyone's mind: do you currently have a special someone?"

You were mid red carpet, having already answered questions about the dress, your current projects and what was next. There was always only one topic left.

You also knew the photos from two mornings ago were already everywhere. You leaving his building in his oversized t-shirt and your tall brown leather boots from the night before, sunglasses on, coffee in hand. The internet had called it chic but others speculated about who the man could be.

You: "You could say that,"

A smile broke through before you could do anything about it.

Interviewer: "Oooh! Who is it?"

You: "I don't kiss and tell, but—"

You paused just long enough to let it breathe, glancing briefly down at yourself the way you did when you were choosing words carefully, then back up at the camera with a small, composed smile that gave away considerably more than you intended.

You: "He's really charming and he knows exactly how to use it. But I like when it's just the two of us and he realizes he doesn't have to. He doesn't have to charm me or impress me."

You paused for just a second, not for effect this time, just because you were actually thinking about it.

You: "I'll tell him the most boring stories and he always listens. And he'll send me things he thinks I'll laugh at at completely ungodly hours."

The interviewer laughed softly.

You looked briefly away from the camera, just for a moment, then back.

You: "I don't want to jinx it, But I think he's the one."

The front door clicked open, the sound of the TV shutting off following right after.

His eyes glanced over toward you. You were wobbling back and forth in the entryway, trying to get your heels off, dress slightly unzipped, hair ruffled from the night, eyes droopy in an exhausted way.

You would never let anyone see you like this.

Except him.

"Tetsu, help me please," you whined, the fitted dress making it nearly impossible to bend far enough to reach the buckles.

"Y/N," he said softly.

Something in his voice made you look up.

"Hi!" Your face broke into a bright smile the second you found his eyes. "Did you watch? How did I look? Hopefully better than I do right now," you laughed, tipping your head toward your current state.

He didn't laugh back. Just looked at you.

"Kuroo? What's wrong."

"You really meant that?" His voice came out gentle. His arms stayed straight at his sides, like he was afraid that if he reached for you right now you'd somehow slip through. "You think I'm the one?"

You blinked at him.

"Yeah, I mean—" you straightened back up, completely forgetting about the heels. "We've talked about moving in together. Kids. All of that." Your brow pulled together slightly. "You didn't think I meant it?"

"It's just—" he paused, "You said it out loud. To the public."

"Because Kuroo," you said, closing the space between you and looping your arms up around his neck, "I really, really, really love you." You tilted your head up at him. "Have I never made that clear until now?"

"You have," he said. His hands found your waist, unhurried, like they always did. Then something shifted at the corner of his mouth. Not quite the usual smirk but something softer. "It's just different when you tell the whole world." He exhaled once through his nose. "Like you're claiming me or something."

"Oh yeah?" You raised an eyebrow. "And what if I am?"

He looked down at you for a moment, and the smile that came across his face wasn't the charming one he used on everyone else. It was the one you only got in moments like this.

You lifted yourself onto your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

His grip on your waist tightened just slightly.

"Then I'd let you," he murmured, low, lips close to your ear. "In more ways than one."

[akaashiit]

honesty

𝒌ita 𝒔hinsuke x reader

more characters here

𝒃lurb ﹕ a 'secret' relationship between a manager and an opposing team's captain doesn't exactly remain secret for long.. ╱ 𝒘𝒄 # 1.8k

— 𝒂uthor's 𝒏ote ﹕ my first for posting kita 💗 hope i did him justice

● requested ☆

the two of you have been dating for six months, completely in secret because you didn't want the miya twins making your life a living hell, but, kita.. well, kita's good.

but he doesn't actually know how to hide things.

or- maybe he does, and reveals them on purpose. but you'll never know.

he doesn't lie, he doesn't sneak around, and he treats your relationship with that same discipline that he treats everything else in his life.

another thing kita doesn't do is 'the down low'. to him, if a thing exists, it should be acknowledged.

you've already had to stop him from carrying your heavy bags three times this week, giving him a frantic, wide eyed glare until he slowly let go and walked away with a slightly puzzled frown.

today, you're standing at the long folding tables in the back of what you'd call the dining room, helping the other managers of various teams chop vegetables for dinner, and you can clearly see him through the window. 

kita's out by the gravel path, systematically lining up everyone's shoes by size and team.

"the inarizaki captain is kind of intense, isn't he?" yachi says softly, dropping a handful of grated carrots into a massive metal pot next to you. she follows your eyes to where they're glancing out the window, shivering a little. "every time i walk past him, i feel like i'm about to get graded on my posture. he doesn't even.. yell, he just kinda.. looks at people. it's like, being judged by a very polite spirit."

you keep your head down, focusing entirely on the onion you are dicing so she doesn't see your eyes darting toward him again. "well, someone has to keep their team from burning the building down. he's just being thorough. that's how he is."

"no, it's more than that," tsukishima says, suddenly appearing behind the table to grab a stack of water pitchers. 

he leans against the huge fridge, looking down at you with that obnoxious, half lidded stare that you've learned means he's figured something out and is going to torture you with it. "he's been thorough about our bench specifically. i. noticed he spent ten minutes this morning, fixing the loose hinge on our equipment trunk."

"he was just being hel‐"

"and yesterday, he spent his break neatly folding the karasuno bibs that tanaka left in a pile. it's almost like he has a personal investment in making sure our team runs smoothly.." he sidles a glance at you, lips quirking into a smirk. "or.. maybe just our manager."

your hand slips slightly on the knife, and you have to take a slow breath to keep from turning pink. "he just likes order."

tsukishima lets out a short laugh, apparently satisfied by your reaction, and strolls out of the kitchen. 

but not before muttering roguishly, "you seem to know him a great deal."

inhaling deeply, you try to shake it off. he knows nothing, he's just trying to get a rise out of you, you tell yourself, but..

"hey," yachi smiles at you. "ignore him, he's nothing but a pain in the butt sometimes." she scrunches her nose up in an endearing way before nudging your side. 

then her eyes widen with horror. "oh, i shouldn't have done that! you're older than me- my senpai! we're not close enough to- to nudge- i'm so sorry- i didn't even- we're not friends.. no! that came out wrong- i–"

you burst out laughing, setting your knife down. this shuts up the rambling girl, who has a small hand clamped over her mouth, a stray carrot danging from in between her middle and ring finger.

"we're friends, yachi. you don't have to panic, you could run me over and it'd be fine." you pause. "okay, maybe not to that extent, but you know what i mean." you nudge her back to show it's okay.

yachi slowly lowers her hand. then she beams at you.

ten minutes later, after your lovely conversation with yachi, the room fills up with a wave of hungry hungry hippos high school boys. 

you're standing by the rice cookers, handing out bowls to the massive forming line, when kita shinsuke, handsome kita shinsuke, your boyfriend kita shinsuke, in all his glory, walks in. 

he's already freshly showered, unlike most likely many of the other boys, his white and black hair damp and perfectly combed, wearing his inarizaki track pants and a plain white t-shirt. 

kita doesn't join the loud, chaotic swarm around the miya twins, though. he walks straight up to the end of the line, waiting his turn patiently.

when he gets to you, you try to keep your expression completely blank as you scoop a portion of rice into a bowl and hand it to him. "here you go, kita-san."

but kita doesn't take the bowl immediately. instead, he stares down at your hands, eyes narrowing as he notices the tiny bandaid wrapped around your thumb – the result of a situation with a dull peeler an hour ago.

shit. you know what’s about to happen. you know him far too well.

without a word, he reaches out, takes hold of your wrist with his firm grip, and pulls your hand up to eye level inspect it.

and you seem to have the best luck in the world, because it's inarizaki and karasuno who are closest to you right now. tanaka, who's in the middle of shoving three pieces of chicken into his mouth, stops mid chew, his eyes and cheeks bulging in disbelief.

"shinsuke," you hiss under your breath as you try to gently tug your wrist back. kita doesn't let go, his thumb just pressing lightly against the back of your hand to keep it still. "what are you doing? people– no, everyone– is looking."

"you used the wrong ointment for a kitchen cut," kita says, still eyeing the cut. he completely ignores the fact that almost the whole of karasuno and inarizaki have stopped talking to stare at him and you. "this is a standard plastic bandage. it breathes too much, and you didn't apply an antiseptic. i know you, y/n. the skin on your hands gets dry quickly in the winter, so if you don't treat it properly, the cut will split again when you handle the cold water bottles later."

"shin, i'm fine, really, it's just a tiny scratch," you murmur, your face burning so hot you're worried you might actually pass out right into the rice cooker. you give him a desperately pleading look, but kita's face doesn't change, remaining firm.

"it isn't just a scratch," he corrects you calmly, his dark eyes meeting yours with honesty. there's something else in there, too. "i told you yesterday that the equipment in the kitchens here are poorly maintained."

"shinsuke–"

"i have the proper medical salve and the waterproof zinc tape in my room. come with me after you finish so i can wrap it correctly." kita finishes, looking up to meet your eyes and smiling softly.

yep. dead silence follows. dead you too after that.

"in... his room?" you hear kageyama ask, holding an empty plate he's evidently already finished (no surprise there) and looking genuinely horrified, like his brain is trying to process a complex mathematical formula that doesn't make sense. (although for him.. more like an incredibly easy question). "why would l/n-san go to the inarizaki captain's room? is this a tactic to weaken our game?"

tsukishima sighs from his spot next to yamaguchi. "it's always volleyball with the king."

sugawara discreetly puts more food on tsukki's plate bc my boy needs to eat more poor guy

you're about to retort when atsumu suddenly drops his chopsticks onto his tray with a loud clatter, pointing a finger at his captain.

"aha! i knew it! i bloody knew it! you've been smellin' like this sweet floral laundry soap for months, kita-san! you've been sneaking around with her, haven't ya?!"

osamu doesn't even look up from his food, chewing slowly. "shut up, 'tsumu. everyone knew except you. you're just blind. right, sunarin?"

atsumu squawks. "oh, you–"

"wait, hold on a minute!" tanaka roars, finally swallowing his chicken and slamming his fists on the table, standing up so fast his chair screeches against the floor. "what do you mean sneaking around?! our manager? with him?! he looks like he's never broken a single rule in his entire life!"

nishinoya, who's next to him, swallows an equally as large bite of chicken and stands up as well. "we demand justice!"

sugawara is staring at you with his mouth slightly open, a slow, amused smile creeping onto his face as he puts the pieces together.

you want the floor to open up and swallow you whole. 

you wince as you turn to look at kita, who is still holding your wrist and completely unmoved by the absolute uproar he has just caused. "shinsuke, please," you whisper, your voice cracking slightly. "i thought we were going to wait until after to tell people."

kita lets go of your wrist, finally taking the rice bowl from your hands, but his expression doesn't change. "i really didn't see the purpose in making a whole grand announcement, y/n. i'm yours, and you mine, that's all that's important. i thought about it last night."

he.. kita..

fuck. could this man be any more perfect?

"besides, you're injured, and it's my responsibility as your boyfriend to make sure you are taken care of. i'm not ashamed of that fact." 

kita turns his gaze to daichi, seated next to sugawara, giving your captain a polite and respectful nod. "sawamura-san. i'll ensure she returns to your share of the rooms before curfew. she requires proper attention tonight."

daichi merely blinks, left eye twitching slightly as he takes in the sheer authority radiating off the boy. "uh.. right. just... make sure she's back by then, kita-san."

"of course, good results need proper rest, after all," kita replies simply. he turns back to you, voice softening. "eat your dinner before the rice gets cold. i'll wait for you by the wash stations, okay?"

when he gets your nod, he smiles again, and walks away to join his table, leaving you standing there in shock (and fantasising about all the ways you're gonna show your gratitude to him later) while tanaka and nishinoya, the dynamic duo, weep out loud about the mole amongst them, and atsumu starts loudly demanding to know who asked out who. 

you sigh and drag a weary hand down your face, knowing that the rest of this camp is going to be a very long, very loud nightmare.

but you'll have kita.

tsukishima is going to remain that one guy who's incredibly observant and a pain in our asshole for probably most of them LMAO (apart from his, of course)

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