Hey everyone, I just want to say that they're hacking accounts and sending you a message that you're going to see next, so they can steal your information. Be very careful. Thanks to @crip-card, He already recovered his account and He sent me a message telling me that this is a scam, be very careful.
Now they want to do it with another account and I thought I was the original owner and I told him that they are hacking the account and I couldn't send him/she messages anymore and I couldn't see his/her profile either.
This has been my main argument against "AI" from the very beginning.
OpenAI scraped the entire web. All of which had been a labor of love from humans. Wikipedia is the backbone of a lot of LLMs, and that was volunteer human labor. They stole it and now they're selling it back to us.
And worse, they're trying to destroy the free sources that they stole from. It's destruction of human knowledge on an unprecedented scale. The burning of the library of Alexandria has nothing on this.
— My old account thewriters64 is wrongfully being deleted due to someone impersonating me, so this is me restarting with a new account! I’m sorry for any confusion. By the time I post this, my old account may still be up but this is my new account and my ONLY account on here. AO3 account is the same: thewriters64 —
THEY COME IN A PAIR, DO NOT SEPARATE!
[ Brendon “The Shark” Park x Alpha Reader ]
Masterlist — > active!
Part one: https://www.tumblr.com/eizousposts/814818816695697408/they-come-in-a-pair-do-not-separate
Part two: https://www.tumblr.com/eizousposts/814823485661708288/affection
Part three: https://www.tumblr.com/eizousposts/814824770376974336/comfort-between-us
Part four: https://www.tumblr.com/eizousposts/815092283555840000/the-day-off-routine
Part five — > coming soon!
Part six — > to be determined!
APPROVAL [ Brendon “The Shark” Park x Beta Reader ]
Saw a clip of that one fan stage moment from way back when Oscar was still a bit hesitant and shy you know the one where he's like I'm going to put my arm around you for the photo and lando cheeses so hard and slings his arm over his shoulders
EXCEPT I saw it for the first time from the back angle and Oscar literally like sliding his hand THROUGH LANDO'S ARM across Lando's back to grab his waist
I'm physically unwell throwing up
Sometimes I see random landoscar things and I'm like they are literally rpfing themselves how is this real
📩 *from may 7th*
I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT. 2023 british gp right?? it’s the only thing i know from that day lol the way my mind has catalogued landoscar moments that i wasn’t here for by fanstages and not race highlights… i swear i’m here for f1 too, it’s just that landoscar occupy 81% of my brain so i will make everything about them.
the video you’re talking about is truly insane tho. he really squeezed his way in there like i’m actually giggling because what a thing to do 😭 and lando’s reaction?!!! the way he grins back and eagerly wraps his arm around oscar in return ahh.
and no i so understand cos that’s how i feel every time i come across that moment in melbourne (2025) when oscar pulls lando in for a hug. literally pulls him in. they really are just living in their own little world 🥹 (disgusting bleh sickening behaviour!!!)
there’s this extremely kind soul of a woman on instagram that makes accessible recipes that don’t require standing, chopping, or a stove and she might just have a permanent place in my heart
♡ synopsis: when you present to dr. robby with clear signs of domestic abuse, his efforts to try & convince you to report your abuser to law enforcement fall upon deaf ears. knowing that once you leave ptmc, you may wind up in a morgue next, he takes a drastic step to save you by offering you a room in his house.
♡ content: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, domestic abuse, signs of strangulation, brief indicator that reader was sa'd, bruises, fractured wrist (history of a past broken arm), reader is in denial, domestic bliss/fluff, sexualizing that old man's tummy, medical inaccuracies
♡ a/n: i don't know how pa works, in terms of dv protection orders, but i did use my own experience when writing the section about them. while i did write the portion with a rather bleak outlook on reporting someone for abuse, i do acknowledge that there are many along the way who have helped us. so, while the system is deeply flawed, i promise that there are those who will go the extra mile to help those in need as best they can when they find themselves in these nightmare situations. | thehotline.org
With the exam rooms apparently being full, you were admitted to one which comes with a soft hospital bed to lie back in instead. More comfortable than hard vinyl, you figure. As you were led inside, you caught sight of a sign mounted near the door that said something about trauma.
You suppose that's fitting either way.
So, now here you sit quietly fiddling with the sleeve of your well-loved sweater. A nurse had joked about how if you didn't change, you'd be right back where you started, but with a diagnoses of heat stroke next. You had tried to force a smile at her joke to lighten the mood and throw her off your scent before lowering your head again.
Maintaining eye contact is difficult for you.
You can't remember if it was always that way, truthfully. All you can is the way things are now. It's like what's happened to you has eaten holes in your brain—but only through the pleasant memories. Maybe it's a strange sort of coping mechanism. Can't miss something if you don't remember ever having it, like safety or happiness.
You watch as people flit by the door—always seemingly in a hurry. You wonder what your providers must think of you since you'd indicated 'homemaker' on your patient forms. Here, they spend their days saving lives while you have to vacuum and dust to keep him happy. Nothing wrong with maintaining a household or family, but that's only when it's your own choice to do so.
He has something in common with them, though: preferring things to be neat.
That's your job.
You glance up when the door swooshes open and the cacophony of the ED ushers in before it seals thankfully shut again, once again bathing you in calming silence.
You watch as a tall middle-aged man with a well-trimmed beard and kind brown eyes enters the unoccupied space next to you, followed by him pulling on a pair of robin's egg colored gloves. A color you would find pretty under different circumstances.
"My name is Dr. Robinavitch," he says with a smile before seating himself on a stool and wheeling it toward you. "But you can call me Dr. Robby. So, you've come in for a wrist fracture today?"
You nod while trying to think of a polite way to request a female doctor.
He won't be pleased that you've been seen, touched by, or are talking to a man. No, he'll be angry.
"And did this happen today?" he asks while reaching for your wrist.
"A couple days ago," you reply. So quietly that it's practically a whisper. "I...I fell on it. I was bringing groceries in. Tomatoes went everywhere," you say with a smile, hoping that humor will throw him off the trail he may soon stumble his way onto.
You must always be attuned to other people's reactions, lest they discover the horrible truth you mean to hide.
"May I ask why you didn't come in when it happened?" Dr. Robby asks while folding back the cuff of your sweater.
He'll see.
If he goes any further up, he'll see. You have to stop him. Answer his question, pull away, get out of the bed and go back home and try to fix it yourself.
"I—I just—I tried resetting it like always. It—it didn't work. It hurt, and—" You clamp your mouth shut then.
You only made it worse.
And now he sees it anyway.
The more he rolled, the more horrified he became. It'd been like peeling back decorative wallpaper, only to reveal rotting mold beneath. An attractive veneer on the out, but its purpose solely being to hide something malignant that swarmed under it.
Brushing his thumb along the dark bruising which paints the smooth skin of your arm, his brows furrow. "What did you mean by resetting it like always?" he asks while looking at you.
You read his lips, but didn't really hear him—you couldn't over the ringing in your ears.
"W-What?"
"Have you reset injuries before? On yourself?"
You blink back tears while considering a trash can in the corner.
You think you may be sick.
"I don't know why I said that," you blurt out. "No. No, of course not. I wouldn't even know how to do something like that," you say with a nervous laugh, which doesn't reassure like you intend for it to, but instead only further cements Robby's suspicions.
His eyes flit between yours, and for a moment, you think he may hit you.
That's what happens when things grow quiet and a man stares you down—they're considering violence.
Just as you open your mouth to begin apologizing, he stands. An action which causes you to flinch.
He notes it.
"Just to rule out a break and see exactly how severe the fracture is, I'm going to do a portable X-ray. Is there any chance you could be pregnant?"
A hand flutters toward your stomach subconsciously. "No. I took a test a couple days ago. It was negative."
Always a relief when that's the case, since you're not allowed to use condoms anymore. He's not a fan of birth control either, but at least he's permitted it.
For now.
Dr. Robby nods while swinging around a strange looking apparatus that's attached to a tall, sterile white machine. "Alright, just hold your wrist still for me while I take a few pictures."
Your heart quivers in your chest as you wait for Dr. Robby's return. Maybe if you'd just dug further online—watched a couple more YouTube videos—you could've figured it out on your own.
He was already enraged when you asked to go to the hospital, but you couldn't sleep because you were in so much pain, so you didn't see any other choice. When you began to cry and apologize, he softened before finally taking you into his arms and telling you that he was sorry—how it's all his fault in the first place.
Then he'd started in on hospital bills that he wouldn't be able to afford. You remained quiet as he backtracked and told you that you could go—but because he had to work, you needed to be very careful in what you told them in terms of the explanations you provided for the bruises which littered your body.
Stupidly, you'd almost asked about vaginal tearing, but refrained because there'd be no reason for them to venture past your forearm at most.
You jolt when Robby returns. "Got your results back," he begins while pushing a few dark colored floppy images onto a display next to you, which you turn to see. Switching it on, you stare at X-rays you've little idea how to read.
"Wow, that's inside of me?" you ask while glancing to him.
At least it earns you a chuckle.
"Hairline fracture," he says while tracing what looks to be a a thin crack in your wrist with his pinky finger. "It'll require a splint, as well as you keeping mobilization of the area to an absolute minimum for the next month and a half." He switches the light off, then comes to stand next to you with crossed arms. "A follow-up appointment will be scheduled so the injury can be reexamined and the splint taken off if the fracture has healed."
You nod, despite knowing that you won't be coming back.
He steps over to a supply cart and pops open a drawer before removing a newly packaged splint. Returning to your side, he seats himself again while taking your wrist between his hands. "I saw what looked to be an old break in your forearm."
His eyes flit to yours. "You wanna tell me about that?"
Lie, lie, lie. "It was from when I was a kid."
He grabs the splint. "It didn't heal clean. You know that injury may end up causing you long-term chronic pain, right? Not to mention deformity, arthritis, nerve damage—"
"It was a long time ago," you sputter, interrupting him.
And then you look at the doctor in a panic. Why didn't you let him finish speaking?
"Sorry," you mumble while looking away.
Once he's securely tightened the velcro straps, you settle your wrist back into your lap.
"Sweetheart, look at me."
You wince. You know what's about to happen, but being given even a modicum of kindness makes you feel indebted to him. That's what has been taught to you: for every thing you are given, you owe repayment. Ten fold.
It's why you hate when he brings home flowers or dinner in apology. Would save you energy if he just gifted you another punch instead. You don't have to pay him back for those with spread legs or an open mouth at least.
You glance to Robby before hanging your head in shame.
"Can you pull down the neck of your sweater for me?"
You slowly shake your head while biting your lower lip.
He reaches up and you slam yourself back against the bed in panic.
Robby hesitates, then hooks both his index fingers over the neck of your sweater before pulling it down to your clavicle. "Jesus," he whispers.
He'd hoped with futility.
Settling your clothing back into place, he sits once more. "Did you know that you are 750% more likely to be murdered by him after he's strangled you?" Robby asks gently. "Your body is covered in signs of his abuse. He's broken bones, fractured them, cut off your airflow, grabbed you with enough force to leave bruises all over your arm," he says while counting off on his fingers before resting his palms on his knees.
You shouldn't have come.
Robby shakes his head. "And those are just what I've been able to see. I don't want to imagine what's still covered."
"Am I free to go?" you whimper.
"I'm obligated to report this to law enforcement," he informs you—his tone gravely and low.
Your head jerks in his direction and your heart lurches into your injured throat. You grab for his hands to make him listen while shaking your head. "No, no, no, you can't do that! They—They'll—You just don't understand. It's not always like this. I promise. I promise I can fix it. I can do this. He'll stop. I can fix him. I can't go into a shelter. I won't survive without him. He—He takes care of me. He works and I—"
You swing your legs over the side of the bed. "I have to go home. I need to—"
Robby rests a palm over your knee. "Nothing has happened yet. We're just talking. I am begging you to stay. Please."
You waver.
"I know that we don't know one another, but, as your doctor, my obligation is to your wellbeing and safety. If I let you go back to him, I would be breaking my Hippocratic Oath."
Your brows furrow.
"I'm obliged to abstain from intentional wrong-doing. Letting you return to someone who is physically and psychologically harming you would be doing just that."
You swipe hot tears from your eyes. "You don't know him," you begin softly. "I do. His parents weren't there for him like they should've been. He... He wasn't mothered the way he deserved to be."
His eye twitches.
"It's my job as his... As his to give him what he's missing. I take care of him," you insist while resting a hand over your heart. "He just gets so overwhelmed. He doesn't know where to put it. Talking isn't easy for him."
Robby grimaces.
"I know he doesn't mean the things he does in moments of anger. I have to love him through it. I will not abandon him like everyone else. You don't just..." You shake your head. "When things get hard, you don't just walk out. You cling to them, despite it."
You sniffle. "He works so hard; too much. He... Without me, he'd fall apart. I cook and clean, and comfort him. We'll die without each other. Don't you see that?"
Staring at the floor, he blinks, breathes, then looks at you. "You'll die if you stay."
Why won't he just listen? All he sees are bruises, whereas you see a man who's hurting and just doesn't know how to handle it yet. But he always promises that he'll change for the better—for the sake of his love for you.
And when he's kind... It's so wonderful. Because he's warm and affectionate, and tells you all those things you've been so starved to hear.
You chase those moments to hold them close. Such as right now.
Now quietly crying, you grab his hands unexpectedly. "Please. Dr. Robinavitch, I am begging you not to do this. The arrest won't stick. You and I both know he'll get a slap on the wrist, then released soon after on bond. Proceedings won't even get a chance to begin because I'll refuse to press charges. He'll come home—because I am not living in some temporary shelter that doesn't know or care about me like he does—and things will get worse."
Brushing his thumbs over your knuckles, he sighs while shaking his head. "I'm being put in an impossible position. By reporting, a process can be started—"
You scoot further toward the edge of the bed, indicating that you're ready to leave.
"Fine!" he relents. "Fine. Just...stay a little longer while I try to figure out a way to help you."
A gentle sob crests up your throat and over your lips. "I can't trust you to walk out that door and not make a call. I need to go home to him. I have to get started on dinner."
Hesitantly, you raise a trembling hand and cup his cheek.
Robby's breath catches, and all his nerve endings converge into that one patch of skin where you've made contact.
You know how to bring a man to a standstill, he'll give you that much.
"Thank you for your concern," you say quietly while brushing your thumb along the apple of his cheek. "I know you're right. But I'm not ready for that yet. I am not done loving him yet."
Gingerly, he slides your hand from his face to hold between each of his own instead. "The next time I see you will be on the news as another statistic. He doesn't deserve someone so dedicated and kind. He's not going to change."
"It's easier if I stay," you whisper. "It's a convoluted process which I'll throw in the towel over before it even gets a chance to begin."
"You can file a protection order—"
"Which is temporary," you retort. "Yes, they would probably give me a long-term one. But it will eventually expire, and I'll be required to keep refiling it. That's given that he even honors it. It's just a piece of paper—"
"You've researched this," he says with realization.
"And every time I did, my resolve crumbled when I saw how futile my efforts would be." Your chin wobbles. "I'm tired. I don't want to fight anymore. It's easier just to give him what he wants. That much I can do because it's all I know now."
His eyes flit between yours before he stands and begins to pace.
You watch idly as he walks this way and that with slow, measured steps of silent contemplation.
Just as you think to settle your feet on the floor, he crosses his arms while turning to face you. Walking over to the bedside curtain, he draws it forward so that no one can curiously peek inside.
You stare up at him with weary eyes.
"I'm risking everything by making you this offer: my career, my medical license..." He sighs while running a nervous hand down the back of his head. "I'm not trying to be another man who tells you what to do, or to keep his secrets, but if you decline, I implore you to keep this between us," he begs with hands folded like they're in prayer.
You shift in uncertainty, but ultimately nod in agreement.
Returning to your bedside, you gaze up at him while he settles a hand on your upper arm. "I have an extra room... And it's yours if you want it."
Time slowing to a standstill, you stare up at this man who is both stranger and familiar to you now. In the last twenty something minutes, you've divulged more of your personal truth to him than you have anyone else since you gave up every facet of your life to please the man at home. Familial connections, friends, employment, savings, reproductive freedoms.
It had been...important to him that you rely upon him and find him to be deserving of the privilege once that process began.
It had seemed like a choice when you relinquished your freedom. With hindsight, you realize he had just been very persuasive in achieving his own selfish ends at the cost of your autonomy.
"I can't become a burden to someone else—"
Robby shakes his head. "You wouldn't be." He gestures toward himself. "I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't certain."
Your brows knit together and your nose tingles. With a slowly tightening throat, you force a response. "You don't know me."
With a gentle smile, he slides his hand to the crown of your shoulder. "I know enough to be sure that I'm doing the right thing."
Standing in the doorway of your new home—you're not wholly sure that it's right to think of it as such just yet—it's with bags of your things clutched to your chest and dangling from the crooks of your arms.
You jolt when Robby plants a hand against the small of your back. "You want me to show you to your new room?"
You stare up at him and nod dully.
Leaning against the doorway, Robby watches as you wander around the limited space curiously. "It's yours to decorate as you please. You can rearrange the furniture... Just, do whatever you need to to feel at home. Safe." He taps the doorknob. "It has a lock on it." Robby nods toward an empty chest of drawers. "The only keys are on top of the dresser. I will never come in here unless you invite me to. This is your space."
You plop your bags down on the bed and begin to softly cry from exhaustion.
Robby pads over to you and draws you into the comfort of his chest while reassuring you that no one will ever harm you again.
Not here.
The sun has only just crested when you're awoken by the sound of shuffling footsteps not far from where your bedroom lies.
Forcing yourself out of a sleepy, morning fog, you plant your bare feet on warm hardwood floors and pad to the door before peeling it open and heading toward the living room.
It's going to take getting used to, to be certain: awakening in a new place each morning.
"Are you leaving for work?" you ask while watching Robby gather his things before shrugging on a backpack.
"Did I wake you?" Robby rasps while pulling on his shoes.
You come closer. "I'm a light sleeper."
The truth is, you tossed and turned for hours as your mind raced with horrifying thoughts. What if he found you? Hurt Robby? Killed you both? Set fire to Robby's home just for trying to save you?
You had seriously considered at one point leaving to go back to him, but staring at your shoes near Robby's by the doorway, you couldn't bring yourself to do it.
You're not entirely sure why. When you did fall asleep, you were awoken by a nightmare of him strangling you in your new bed while something painful was shoved inside you.
But you can't tell Robby about any of that. You don't think you should, anyway. Much that you want to.
"I should make you breakfast," you state in a hushed tone before turning to head for the kitchen.
"No. No, sweetheart, it's fine. I don't have time. I really do have to get going."
You turn back to him with hooded lids and a head of messy hair. With only an oversized t-shirt hanging from your frame, he's given cause to swallow thickly from nerves.
"I'm sorry," you whine. "I would've gotten up earlier if—"
Robby advances toward you before cupping the back of your head and planting a soft kiss atop it.
He doesn't notice how your body goes rigid from what you had thought he meant to do.
You squeeze your eyes shut to fight back tears, and your hands into fists to prevent their shaking.
"I'll see you tonight. Just try and go back to sleep for awhile, honey," he murmurs before turning back toward the door, grabbing his keys, and making an exit.
Being alone you know; can make do with. But in such a spacious home still yet left unexplored... You feel a bit out of your depth.
You decide to go back to bed like he suggested. Taking orders you can do, too.
After retrieving you while he was at work, Robby had taken you to get a new phone—you were only afforded an old landline at the house—so you spend awhile familiarizing yourself with the shiny new device. It's been a handful of years since you've been afforded such flashy technology, so the learning curve is steeper than you initially anticipated it would be.
You steer clear of all social media and don't even bother with an email. Instead, you spend awhile playing match-3 and hidden object games to pass the time.
The only number stored in your contacts being that of Robby and his workplace—the ED at PTMC—it's not like you have anyone to chat with, either.
You consider asking permission to clean his house, but don't want to interrupt him at the hospital. Plus, men seem to like when women do that: mop and do laundry and wipe down surfaces laden with crumbs. Not that his living space looks like it really needs it, but you've become an expert at locating overlooked nooks and crannies that've been sorely neglected.
He'll be pleased once the place is sparkling top to bottom.
It'll put him in a better mood when he gets home. Less chance of him yelling at you because you've been wasting time all day playing mobile games.
When Robby steps over the threshold of his house, it's to the sight of a faintly flickering candle set atop the entryway's narrow table, and the scent of seasoned chicken and roasted vegetables wafting down the hall from the kitchen.
Toeing off his shoes, he takes note of how his boots and running shoes, and even an old forgotten pair of slides have been polished and aligned by designated purpose.
Even the crooked rug he kept meaning to wash and recenter against the doorway looks freshly laundered.
"Welcome home," chimes a musical, feminine voice from the end of the hall.
Jerking his head up, he stares at you in surprise.
"I made you dinner. I... I hope that's okay."
"You did?" he asks foolishly.
You nod while clasping your hands together. "Does... Does that bother you? I used food from your fridge—"
He shakes his head with a contented grin while walking toward you. "No, honey, that doesn't bother me at all."
Robby seems very pleased that you took painstaking care to clean every inch of his home that you could reach and think of. He apparently forgot he had an iron. You learned as much when you disclosed that you used it on his scrubs.
While taking small bites of your food—never wolfing or scarfing, as that would be unattractive—you watch attentively as he dines on a hot, homecooked meal made by your own two hands.
His pots and pans had been far fancier than anything you were accustomed to. So shiny and brass that you'd been afraid to use them, in fact. You had considered it a treat as you dallied around the kitchen and acquainted yourself with a thick wooden cutting board, an expensive looking knife block, and a collection of hard to pronounce spices.
Sliding your socked feet together, you take another bite of steamed broccoli. "Is it...good?"
Robby hardly looks at you as he continues digging in. Popping up a thumb, he nods. "'S fuckin' great," he drawls.
You grin and breathe a sigh of relief you'd not realized you'd been holding. "I'm so glad."
"While I can't begin tell you just how much I appreciate everything you did today, I do want you to know," Robby begins while shutting the dishwasher and switching it on, "That it's not necessary. I know that with him, it was expected of you to keep house; to tend to all domestic duties."
You watch as he wipes his hands with a dishtowel.
"But I don't."
He tosses the towel down, and you mentally note that you need to refold it. Leaning his hip against the kitchen island you each stand at, he loosely crosses his arms. "The only thing I care about is that you feel safe. Happy. That you're given a chance to heal." He slides a hand over your splint. "In every way you need to."
Your eyes flit to his. "I folded your laundry. I hope it's okay that I went in your room."
His brows furrow.
Perhaps you just don't have any idea how to respond to reassurance and concern; care. Maybe it came with an ulterior motive before, at least a portion of the time. Or expectations. Nothing being allowed to come from something.
"Yeah, honey," he says while giving your fingers a reassuring squeeze. "That's fine. You're free to go wherever you like in this house. Nothing is off-limits."
On your way for a midnight trip to the bathroom, you're just passing by Robby's room when you catch, out of the corner of your eye, the familiar glow of a TV casting a darkened room in muted neon colors.
Gently pushing his bedroom door open, you hesitate in the hall before finally stepping over the transition strip and sinking your toes into soft brown carpet.
Starfished across the bed, Robby snores quietly with a comforter thrown haphazardly over his waist and legs. A smile tugs at your lips when you see one of his feet peeking out. You right this by tugging a blanket over it and rounding the foot of the bed to watch him from the other side for just a moment. With a pillow shoved beneath his chin, he draws in a deep breath before releasing a snore, and you giggle quietly.
He's peaceful like this. Lost in dreamland.
Part of you wants to smooth tousled hair from his brow and run a soft hand down his naked back, but refrain.
You miss being touched very much.
Swiping the remote from his bedside table, you click off the TV before quietly settling it atop his bedside table. You exit the room then and softly shut the door behind you.
Despite Robby's protestations, you've been getting up early every morning before him so you can make him breakfast.
The dishes vary, because variety seems to be important to you. One morning, it's a burrito with cheesy scrambled eggs, chopped bacon, and diced peppers. Another, pancakes with butter, strawberry syrup, and freshly sliced fruit. This one? Waffles with bits of fried chicken and cups of fresh-squeezed orange juice to accompany.
He'd half considered taking your phone away so you wouldn't have an alarm to wake you anymore—it's important to him that you get plenty of rest—but knew any trust you now feel toward him would dissipate entirely if he did so.
At least he's not operating for hours on-end with nothing on his stomach but black coffee and a cheap protein bar now.
Speaking of, you even bother with filling a tumbler for him each time he's readying himself at the door with fresh coffee—complete with plenty of cream and sugar mixed in for him to take along during his commute.
He's worried you feel obligated to do all that you are. Rather, he knows that you do. But he's also aware that you want to feel useful—are keeping yourself occupied when he's not here with you.
He offered to buy you an e-reader, or puzzles, or supplies for any hobby you think you'd like to try to busy yourself with, but had been met with resistance when you told him "not to waste money on you".
He picked you up the most expensive Kindle he could find anyway, as well as a hundred dollar gift card for it, a protective case, and a felting kit that's supposed to make a kitten holding a daisy.
Not exactly his thing, but you seem sweet enough that he'd hoped it would pique your interest.
"Did you turn my TV off last night?" Robby asks between chews of crispy chicken.
Your utensils clatter against your plate. "I... I was going to use the bathroom and saw that it was still on. I didn't want it to wake you—"
He shakes his head while taking another bite. "I sleep with it on," he explains. "Just a habit I can't seem to kick," he states with a casual shrug.
You slide your trembling hands between your thighs and swallow down the lump in your throat. "I'm so sorry," you whimper. "I didn't mean to upset you—"
His head jerks up.
"I won't ever go in there again. I promise. I—"
"No, sweetheart, you didn't upset me. I'm not angry. I was just telling you that I left it on on purpose."
You nod fervently. "I'll do better. I promise."
He stands, lifts his chair, then settles it next to your own before sliding an arm around your shoulders. "I appreciated it: you trying to look out for me." He chuckles. "Now you understand why I've tried insisting you not get up to make me breakfast."
You turn to look at him.
"Your sleep is just as important to me as mine is to you."
Heat rushes to your cheeks when he presses his lips to your left one, and you cross your legs at the ankles when his beard scratches pleasantly against the soft skin. "Thank you," he rumbles.
"You're welcome," you chirp.
You're not sure why, but every time your phone dings with a text from Robby, your heart flip-flops in your chest. Maybe because you're not used to such communication methods, so you're always worried about your tone being misread because of it being typed words.
It's usually about the same time every day the thing goes off now with a Having a good day? message occupying your lockscreen.
What you don't know, is that Robby watches with eager anticipation as those three dots pop up... Then disappear. Pop up... And disappear.
Then, Yes, thank you 😊
Need me to pick up anything on my way home to you?
He shakes his head with a frown and proceeds to delete the last two words before pressing send.
Same song and dance: dots, disappear, and so on.
Almost out of your coffee.☕ And if it's not any trouble, a pack of strawberries.🍓
Your constant inclusion of emojis only serves to endear him to you further. He assumes it's because they're new to you, and you have a mild fascination with their being a new sort of lexicon.
You got it, sweetheart.
Once again, he deletes the last tacked-on word.
Thank you!🐝
He doesn't ask about the bee. Instead, Robby stares down at the photo he took with you a couple weeks back which he has set as your contact photo: the two of you sat on the couch, and his lips pressed to your cheek while you smile shyly at the camera.
You'd been so flustered when he surprised you by snapping it, but could see from the way you squirmed after that it wasn't due to discomfort, but something else entirely.
And now, every morning before he leaves for work, it's become an unspoken part of his routine: you padding over with a tumbler of coffee, which he takes while leaning forward to kiss one of your cheeks, or forehead, or the crown of your head while telling you to have a good day. In return, you tell him to be safe.
You've become something he looks forward to seeing again once each impossible shift is finally through.
He never knew just how worth having someone to come home to could be.
Robby doesn't acknowledge the one word which sums up the warmth that's developed in his chest every time he thinks of, or sets eyes or hands on you as he turns to head back inside to tend to a trauma case.
"Oh," you quip before dropping a stack of Robby's clothes onto the edge of his bed. Unable to stop yourself from greedily studying every inch of his half-naked form, your eyes flit from one facet of his body to another like you're trying to memorize it before this moment passes.
He's just exited the bathroom and his hair is a damp, tousled mess. A towel is wrapped loosely around his waist, which his belly that's smattered with dark hair hangs heavily over.
Your mouth grows dry at the generous swell of it.
Is it strange if you want to press your hands into the plump skin while straddling his bare waist?
You nearly glance down at your own waist when you feel a foreign fluttering start up between your thighs.
For so long, even just watching kissing on TV disgusted you. The thought of intimacy which went any further made you feel downright nauseous.
But seeing Robby like this... It stirs something within you which you once thought lost.
You study your slippered feet. "Sorry," you mumble. "I thought you were still in there."
He plucks a pair of briefs from the top of the folded pile and pulls them on beneath his towel before removing it from his waist and balling it up to toss into the hamper in the bathroom. "It's okay. Just glad I had a towel on."
You bite back a smirk because the thought of him without it...
"Would you like for me to put your clothes away?"
He turns back toward the bathroom. "I can do it. Don't worry about it."
You chew your lip for a moment, then grab his underthings and pad over to his dresser anyway.
When Robby emerges from the bathroom again, it's to the predictable sight of you tending to yet another chore that you've made your responsibility.
He does appreciate the unspoken intimacy of you folding his underwear, though. Only woman who ever has, in fact. Minus one other, but that ended decades ago.
He pulls a dark t-shirt from the pile as well—one less thing for you to throw on a hanger, he figures—and just as he goes to pull it on over his head, you turn back to him.
"You don't have to," you say quietly. "Incase you're...still hot from your shower."
At times before, he would go shirtless, but not with you here now. Everything he does, he does while trying to keep your comfort in mind. "Not as fit as I was twenty years ago," he says with a chuckle.
"I didn't know you then," you say while grabbing a couple pairs of his scrubs. "But I find it hard to believe that you looked better than you do right now."
When you turn to place the items in his closet, it's with him being left utterly speechless.
Robby forgoes the shirt, much to your satisfaction.
It'd sent you into an utter tizzy, but the day Robby brought home the charming little sedan he purchased for you is the day the dam broke.
Abbot pulled up behind him, still somewhat fuming, because only that afternoon when he accompanied him to the car lot so there would be someone to get his truck back home for him is when Robby finally divulged the dirty little secret he'd been hoarding for months: he was living with a patient. Not just any patient, either, but one that should've been referred to law enforcement or a battered woman's shelter instead of taken into his home to receive the professional help she needed.
Jack had lain into him with no sign of stopping before Robby finally blew his top and screamed at him that he was in love with you, and that you were his to care for now. That he was just as professional as they and knew good and well how to take care of things. And that if he had an issue with it, then it was his shit to sort out. Not Robby's goddamn problem, because he couldn't lose you.
The two of you helped fix each other in so many wonderful ways, and he couldn't bear the thought of relinquishing the home he'd found in you by providing you with a literal one in exchange just because some may think it "unethical". Unethical would've been letting you go back to him when Robby had a safe place to take you to.
It would be a cold day in Hell before he allowed that to happen.
When Jack watches from the driver's seat of Robby's truck, however, and sees the way you wrap yourself around him—literally—when he sweeps you off the ground before circling his waist with your legs and your arms around his neck before you each cradle the other's head while showering one another with kisses and happy tears, he vows to keep his mouth shut about things.
He once told Robby that he spent too much time alone, and that it wasn't doing him any favors. So how can he be angry when he sees that he's rectified it?
Jack exits the cab to come and meet you—the girl who saved his best friend from himself.
Things continue to be gradual, but you've come far from where you once were.
You now work part-time at a small local library, and sleep in the same bed as Robby. You haven't been intimate yet, but he did watch one night as you touched yourself while pawing excitedly at his stomach, while you straddled his lap.
He couldn't quantify how flattered it made him feel with mere words—the fact that you find his one insecurity to be so incredibly erotic.
He hardly wears a shirt around the house now because of it.
Not that you ever complain.
You still play homemaker, and Robby has assured you that you don't have to work, but if it brings you joy, then by all means.
He even helped you set up a bank account that's solely in your name.
In the morning, you now kiss on the lips before Robby leaves you for patients and leading his ED staff, while you flit around the house and do chores before heading off to work yourself.
And biggest of all: you're now in therapy. You had to manipulate the truth as to how you and Robby met, lest you risk him being reported, but your ex is what you focus on discussing—it's the trauma he caused which you mean to work through.
Robby pays for the sessions so you can save your money for whatever else you like. You've recently gotten into adult coloring books, for example.
Jack sometimes comes over for dinner, and it makes you smile to see he and Robby joking around; that he has such a close friendship. You had worried that Jack would have opinions as to your two's relationship, given that he's an attending just like Robby, but to your relief, he seems rather fond of you.
You may've tried to bribe his good graces early on by purchasing him a special polish for his prosthetic, as well as a cream for his amputation. He took it from you with thanks and a grateful smile before joking that maybe he and Robby take turns over having you when the other is at the hospital.
You'd wandered away with a bashful laugh.
Nothing is perfect—life rarely is—but at least yours is livable now. More than. All because of the loving heart of one good doctor you now have the privilege of calling your man. And to him, when the time finally comes before long...his fiancée.
Context - you’re a stripper and his friends drag him out to the club for his 50th, agegap, no faces, d/s, breeding kink if you squint hard enough.
A/N- I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately after my rewatch of Animal Kingdom and wanted a Jack Abbot ver. I wrote half of this at the gym and had to stop writing because I legit was getting worked up writing it 😭💀 surprise at the bottom that started this fanfic
You’ve worked there for almost 3 years now. And you hadn’t ever met a guy like him. You’ve met all sorts of guys that came in brothers bringing in there freshly turned 18 yo brothers for a lap dance. But this shift was slow you’ve made only a little bit normally you can bring in at least a few grand every night but it was a slow night. Those happen once in a blue moon. You were not ready for the night you were about to have.
“Alright ladies we’ve been booked the whole evening so just make sure to give em a good time.” Dante the clubs owner said to all of us.
“The whole evening?” You raise an eyebrow and Dante nods “and since you’re one of the best dancers I’m putting you on the room…” you groaned. You hated that room of course you would have to do whatever was told to you. If they wanted sex, wanted a handjob, or blowjob, or if they wanted to watch you fuck yourself, or get off in front of them. It was always the weird guys that wanted the weird shit. You groaned “really Dante?”
“Yes, I’ve heard he’s actually a pretty good looking guy though…” he trailed off and we all got ready for the night. Except you stayed back in the dressing room picking out the ‘outfit’ to wear for tonight. You went with a soft pink push up bra and a matching soft pink thong. With a black floral silk short robe. The music started.
You peaked out of the curtain as you heard a group of guys and maybe a couple of women came in. It wasn’t weird to see women everyone had their fantasies and you weren’t about to kink shame. They all filed in and there was one guy that caught your eye. He was a bit older than you maybe mid to late 40’s? Slightly greying hair and beard. Ruggedly handsome for sure.
You heard Dante over the speaker “and now for the crowd favorite Candy Princesssss…” he coos out your stage name, the song “Fire in My Heart” by Escape from New York starts playing. As you step out behind the curtains all lights on you the softly click of your matching soft pink six inch stilettos against the hard wood floor is the stage as you grab the pole gently surveying the crowd you can make out some jaw lines maybe some hair colors. But it’s kind of hard to with the lights on you instead of the crowd. You hear some hoots and hollers, even some cat calls but it doesn’t bother you much anymore. As you grab the pole with your other hand flipping upside down and still moving softly around the pole wrapping a leg around it arching your back softly you can hear some low whistles. You move around the pole with delicate grace. Putting your whole heart into the routine you’ve worked so hard on. And it shows when you see cash being thrown on the stage. And when the main lyrics repeat for the third time is when you finally take the robe off tossing it slightly not sure where as you crawl along the hardwood floor reaching out and rolling over onto your back arching your back which earns you more whistles and cash standing back up moving around the pole again wrapping your leg around it moving more softly and with pure ease and joy a smile is on your face and the small crowd goes even more wild. Except one who isn’t standing but you brush it off as the song ends. You bow softly picking the cash back up. And then heading off the stage.
You straighten all the cash and put it in your little locker to deposit later.
The night went on a few other dancers went after you and Dante came to grab you “show time princess.” You rolled your eyes. Heading to the back room it was darkly lit just a few lights in the room but on the lowest setting it was hard to make out his face. But you saw the grey in his hair when he shifted in the chair.
“What’s your fancy?” You ask in a silk smooth voice. He just sits there you can feel eyes drinking you in. And for once the feeling didn’t gross you out.
“What’s ever you provide.” His voice was deep and husky. Slightly slurred from drinking.
You step forward your heels clicking on the floors. “That’s not up to me. I’m here to please you” you lean over him “your wildest fantasy honey.” You crouch in front of him your hands brushing up his thighs and at this angle you can see the face and it’s the guy you saw from earlier and you see him smirking. Your cunt instantly clenches, you’ve never had just a single guy’s face do that to you. And you’ve had a lot of CEO’s and other handsome men but something about him was different.
“But if there’s sex or a blowjob you have to wear a condom is the only thing.” You remind him of the rules.
“Come put your ass on daddy’s lap.” He grabs your hand pulling you up into his lap. Your arm wrapping around his shoulders which were strong and muscular. His hand brushes up your thigh and nudges his nose into your breast taking in the scent of your perfume. Your hand finds his hair your nails working at his scalp which pulls a groan from his lips sending another pulse to your cunt. You can feel him smiling against the side of your breast his other hand roaming your ass as he squeezes it and squeezes your thigh as it’s dangerously close to the hem of your thong.
“My names Jack… I just turned 50…” he murmurs against your neck as he kisses it softly you can feel the stubble against it and it sends goosebumps. “You?”
“Well happy birthday and you can call me whatever you want baby” you say softly tugging on his hair which earns you another groan from deep in his chest.
“How about you be a good girl and stroke daddy’s hard cock?” He says in a gravely voice and of course you oblige and once you feel how thick and long he is your own body betrays you wanting it immediately, his thickness would definitely stretch the living daylights outta you. “Aww are you feeling needy baby? I can feel the warmth from your needy cunt on my thigh” he purrs. His hand moving lower to spread your legs on his lap.
You nod your voice slightly breathless “yes I need daddy’s cock to fill me” your hand still stroking him inside his jeans.
“You can pull daddy’s cock out and feel how hard it is for his good girl..” his voice came out rough. You shifted on his lap pulling both hands back to work at the button of his jeans and zipper he pushes his hips up so you can pull them down his hand moving to your hip so you stay on his lap you hook your fingers in his jeans and when you pull them down you realize he’s not wearing boxers or anything as his cock rests against his thigh. You pull his pants completely down seeing a prosthetic leg below his knee in the low light. You look up at him “lost it during one of my tours in Afghanistan.. it doesn’t bother you does it?” He asks as if he actually cares what you… a stripper… thinks about him.
You shake your head “no. Thank you for your service daddy..” you whisper and he just nods tapping. His thigh again for you to come sit on it. But this time you straddle his lap. Moving your hand over his thick swollen head that’s already leaking pre-cum which pulls a soft whimper from his lips as he leans his head back “yeah just like that baby..” he coos. “Can I touch you? I need to touch your pussy I need to feel how wet this cunt is for daddy.” He groans rubbing his calloused hands along your thighs squeezing hard.
“Yes you can touch me..” your voice back to soft silk his thick fingers moving from the top of the lace thong along the sides down the soft V and under feeling how already soaked the thong is he smirks under the low light “do you like knowing how wet touching daddy’s cock makes me?” Your free hand roams over his chest and arms feeling how his muscles flex when you touch him and it makes your cunt even more needy.
“Mmm” he hums softly using his middle finger to press slightly running it along your folds still covered by the thong back and forth gently your grip tightens on his shoulder gently. “You’re so wet for daddy” his hand that was holding your hip comes to your breast kneading it softly “you’re so soft” he coos. You run your thump over his tip which makes him thrust his hips slightly in your hand “is daddy the biggest you’ve ever had?” He gently brought his finger hooking it around the thong and inside gently pressing the tip of his finger along your soft soaked cunt.
“Yes, daddy is the thickest and biggest cock i’ve ever seen” you say softly which technically isn’t a lie you’ve seen guys that are thick but don’t have length or have length but not thickness. You practically drool over it. And when his finger runs along your soaked cunt you tremble slightly.
“Such a sensitive little cunt,” he coos running his finger up and down your folds getting more and more slick with each pass his finger barely brushing against your needy clit.
“Mhmm please daddy I wanna feel your fingers inside my needy cunt,” you moan out.
“Since you asked so nicely.” He plunges a finger inside curling it inside you moan out your hand curling around his sculpted shoulder. “Such a tight grip on daddy’s fingers. Can you cum for me baby?” He pulls you closer to him “can I kiss you?” He asks in a soft whisper. You nod and he kisses you still moving his finger inside you. And he adds another finger pulling another moan from you and he eats it from your lips before it can actually leave your lips he moans into the kiss and then pushes his thumb against your aching clit gently moving it your hand long gone from his cock both hands in his hair slightly holding onto him to sit still.
“You gonna come for daddy on my fingers? I want you to come for me baby” he moans into your mouth.
“Yes I wanna come for you.” You say as he moved his thumb more generously and curling his fingers inside more just a little bit more. “Fuck— I’m— I’m gonna come” you moan moving your hips slightly he smiles into the kiss he stays steady. Pulling out that deep groan your legs tremble as he can feel you clench around his fingers.
“Such a good girl coming for daddy. I love how you clench around my fingers. Tell me has anyone else ever made you come like that?” He asks more in a demanding voice.
You’re still trembling slightly from coming you shake your head “no, no one has ever been able to make me come..” you’re honest which is kind of weird. He’s an older guy and you’ve been with some older ones but no one has ever been able to make you come that hard that fast. “How…?” You asked your voice still trembling.
He smirks against your lips “I’m a doctor I know all the ways of female anatomy. And how to get you to feel good.” He leans over grabbing one of the condoms from the side table -that has a soft light over it clearly making it so you could find them easily- opening it and rolling it over his thick head over the shaft and picks you up and takes you over to the couch. He runs his fingers along your fold over the thing again “still so wet for daddy” he coos. “Do you need this thick cock to stretch your needy cunt?”
“Yes please stretch my needy cunt.” You say in half moan half begging. You never beg. Not for someone to fuck you like this. Never like this. He smirks and then flips you over pulling your ass up to him in doggy not even nothing taking the thing off as he pulls it to the side closing your legs so it’s even tighter for him he puts his thumb in your wet cunt first making sure you’re still good and wet which you never really stopped as he gently spread your lips with his thumbs pressing the tip of his cock inside he shudders.
“Fuuu—-“ he groans out “you’re so tight baby almost made me come tight there just putting the tip in…” he slowly sheaths the rest of his thick cock inside and he stops for a second like he’s catching his breath trying not to come. His thumbs still being wet with your slickness slowly pushes in your ass which makes your clench even more and he groans. Once he’s caught his breath he starts hammering into you full deep thrusts no half in half out. Full force so much so his balls slap your clit his thumb still in your ass the clapping sound of him from behind his hard and fast. He is ruthless. “Rub your clit for daddy” he ushers you grabbing your arm so you start rubbing you clit again “I want you to come again for daddy. Come on daddy me thick cock.” His voice is breathless.
You rub your clit again pulling a soft moan from your lips at all the sensations. Him drilling into you and you rubbing your clit. “I want you to beg for it.” He says through gritted teeth. “Beg me to let you come.”
“Please daddy, let your good girl come on your hard thick cock for you..” you say in a moan.
“Harder. Beg. Harder” he slows down his rhythm “beg for it princess.” He coos as he takes your hand off your clit and reaches his free hand around rubbing your clit for you now.
“Please daddy I need to come. Please let me come on your cock..” you whimper out at the slowness of his hips he leans forward kissing your back.
“Good girl,” he murmurs against your skin as he pounds into you again making you arch your back as he rubs your clit harder “come for daddy.” He coos drawing the high from you again your legs trembling as you let out a soft sound and at that soft sound he goes in one more time feeling his own release as he lets out a breathless laugh. And you can feel the way his cock twitches inside you. You think what it would feel like without the condom. “Fuck..” he whispers leaning forward kissing you back again. “It’s been a long time since I’ve come that hard.” He jokes. As he pulls out, you whimper slightly still wanting it inside but you don’t say anything. “You’re so gorgeous by the way. I’ve been hard since I saw your dance.” His voice returning to normal but still slightly breathless. As he gently pulls the condom off tossing it in the bin.
“Thanks” you let out a soft huff of a laugh. As you sit back on the couch. “Happy birthday Dr. Jack” you tease. He pulls up his pants zipping and buttoning them.
“Let me know if you ever want to come like that again” he says as he walks out the door.
You’re left sitting there still feeling like you need more. “Fuck, that man, I need him in my life.” You whisper to yourself laughing.
Thank you for reading. I’ve kind of already though about making a part two for it cause it’s fun writing this stuff and maybe a bit more fluffy for the second part 🤣 lmk what you think if I should do a part two?
Synopsis: Jack always expects the unexpected, both as a doctor and a partner. But when your water breaks during a citywide blackout, the pressure to deliver your baby safely grows with each contraction, trapping you, him and Robby in a single, still moment of life and loss.
Warnings: Angst, as always; Pregnant reader; Features a graphic, traumatic birth > Similar to the birth scene in the show. Pls don’t read if this sounds too heavy for you!! (everyone lives)
Word count: 2.7k+
A/n: Yes, this is a cliché baby-born-in-an-elevator story, but the show gave us Abbot/Robby x Elevator and Collins mentioned getting stuck while giving birth, sooo what can I say, we're here now, aren't we. Something something about the enclosed space being a metaphor for birth etc. I’m also very passionate about raising awareness for birth trauma / birth related injuries + these are my emotional support sad boys, so I had to… Enjoy <3
“I’m not giving my baby an old white guy name” you deadpan, leaning against the nurses' station, glancing up at the board with a playful grin. Ellis and Shen chuckle at your honesty, Princess and Perlah enjoying the show from a distance.
As if summoned, “Oh I know you’re not talking about us” Robby counters, him and Jack suddenly appearing next to you.
“Well I know she’s not talking about me!” Jack adds lightly with that dry humor you love so much.
"All I'm saying is, Frank is a great name for a little boy." Langdon argues from his side of the station, hands on his hips. "Frankie. Frankie Jr., the possibilities are endless..."
You roll your eyes, though you can't help but smile fondly at the camaraderie, a warm feeling growing in your stomach.
Though it might be something else.
"Maybe we should go for a name that doesn't sound like he's already retired", Jack quips, his eyes meeting yours. Something about the way you're leaning against the station, catches his attention, worry flickering in his eyes.
The storm outside has been growing since the start of your shift, a low rumble in the distance interrupts the friendly work banter.
As if on cue, you feel another tightening in your lower abdomen, this time a sharp stab that makes you wince. You brace yourself against the counter, careful not to let anyone notice.
You're 40 weeks pregnant, but you know it's not active labor... yet.
Jack is already so prepared, so meticulous. You don't want to worry him more than necessary.
“Well, my vote’s for something classic”, Robby says cheerfully. “Like, um… Robby. Simple, strong.”
"Good thing you don't get one." Jack raises an eyebrow as he steps behind you, putting an arm around your waist instinctively. With ease he holds up your belly, taking some of the weight off your back. He gently pecks your cheek, whispering into your ear. "You okay?"
You lean into his embrace, taking a breath of relief, as you feel the pressure building inside you again.
Before you can respond, the storm outside shifts from a distant rumble to something more urgent. You hear the first crack of thunder, followed by a flash of lightning that lights up the hospital windows.
“So much for having a quiet night”, Shen laughs.
You instantly shush him, loudly. Everyone's reaction's are instantaneous, Princess and Perlah cursing in Tagalog.
Ellis: "Fuuuck!"
Langdon: "You always do this!"
As usual, Shen manages to jinx whatever team is unlucky enough to work his shift.
The elevator doors close with a jarring ding. The tightness in your belly flares again, but you grit your teeth and try to ignore it.
Jack and Robby stand by the doors, arms crossed, like they're guarding something precious.
You lean back against the cold metal walls, the tightening growing again, unable to find a position that's comfortable.
Even in this enclosed space, you can hear the wind howling from outside. The lights flicker, then, without warning, the power cuts out entirely, as the elevator halts to a stop.
You hear Robby curse as the emergency lights turn on, their blue glow casting everything in a surreal light. The elevator now feels even smaller, almost womb-like.
Fuck.
You groan softly, hoping Jack doesn’t catch on.
But of course, he does.
“What was that?” He turns to look directly at you, concern written across his face.
You avoid his gaze. “Nothing, I’m fine."
You say it so unconvincingly, you almost laugh at yourself.
“I can see that.” It's the same skeptical tone he uses with Santos and the other interns. It's charming actually.
“When did you start having contractions?” Robby asks, like he’s already claimed you as his patient.
You hesitate, but there's no point lying. “This morning.”
“You’re joking.” Jack is by your side in a heartbeat, torn between putting a hand on your belly or pulling out his stethoscope. Torn between being doctor, partner or father-to-be.
“I’m okay. Really.” You try to reassure him, gently touching his forearm.
That’s when you feel the warm liquid rushing down your legs, a puddle growing beneath you.
Jack and Robby's eyes drop to your feet, then up at each other. They exchange a look, no words needed. This is happening.
“I- I didn’t realize…” You breathe, dazed.
“You didn’t realize you were in pain?” Jack asks, incredulous.
“I’m always in pain, Jack", you bite back. “Ever since you knocked me up!”
You groan, turning around to lean your elbows against the wall, letting your head drop. Your breath is already ragged.
Jack’s hand finds your back, rubbing slow, grounding circles.
“I’m not having our baby in an elevator…” you pant.
“I’m afraid, we are, love.” Jack whispers gently, pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead.
You let out another sharp groan.
“I need to examine you. Is that alright?” Jack’s voice shifts into professional gear. He pulls gloves from the pocket of his trousers, swiftly slipping them onto his hands.
You nod, squeezing your eyes tightly shut.
He lines up behind you, slipping a hand into the back of your scrubs and reaching down.
Once he’s measured with his fingers, Jack’s eyes flick up to find Robby’s, a mixture of panic and surprise flashing across his features.
Robby reads him instantly. He steps in without a word, steadying your shoulders. His grip is firm and reassuring.
“What?” You gasp.
Jack leans in close to your ear, voice soothing, but urgent. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your already burning cheek. “Honey, listen to me. We’re having this baby now.”
You groan again, louder this time.
Robby’s frown line softens, his lips forming a genuine smile. He and Jack share a warm look, full of excitement.
“No. No!” You shake your head. "Not here."
No prenatal bag. No birthing playlist. No epidural.
“I need to have a proper look, okay?” Jack says calmly, though his hands move quickly.
“Wonderful." You laugh through a groan. "This’ll make a great story for group therapy.”
Nothing says professional boundaries like giving birth in front of your boss.
“I won't look." Robby promises, quickly turning away. "But I am a doctor, you know", he chuckles.
"Not mine, you're not." Your lips form a playful smirk. "This will do wonders for your patient satisfaction scores", you add with a wink.
The air suddenly feels a bit lighter.
Jack kneels down, gently parting your legs and slipping your pants down to your knees.
His eyes widen, before whispering. "You're in active labour, baby", his voice softer now.
Robby doesn't hesitate, rushing to the elevator doors, trying to pry them open. With a metallic screech, they slide just wide enough for people to pass supplies and equipment through. But you haven’t quite reached the next floor.
“Not enough to get her out,” Jack mutters.
You lean forward and peek through the small opening.
Your cervix is probably bigger than that…
“Dana!” Robby yells.
Dana appears instantly, dropping to her stomach to peek inside. She finds you leaning against the wall, pants down, legs shaking. Jack holding you up.
“Jesus. Y’all got terrible timing you know that!”
“We need fresh gloves, blankets, a BOA kit, baby warmer, fetal monitor, anything you can pass through.” Robby orders.
Dana’s already on it, shouting over her shoulder.
Jack turns to you again. “Do you want to sit or get on your knees? What feels more comfortable?”
“I- I don’t think comfortable is the word I’d use right now." You groan. "Feels like I’m being split open front to back.”
“I know. I know." Jack’s hands are already guiding you down. "Let’s get you on the floor okay?”
You drop to all fours.
It’s so goddamn hot.
Your hair sticks to your face, salty water stinging in your eyes, the vein in your forehead threatening to pop.
You tug at your scrub top and Jack understands instantly, pulling it over your head. You sway back and forth, now only in your bra, nothing else.
Groaning. Panting. Cursing.
Jack is beside you, gently massaging your back. He moves with you, trying to match your rhythm.
He’s grateful Robby takes command, barking orders to the team above, in full doctor mode. Focused, clinical.
“You’re doing so good.” Jack whispers.
Another contraction rips through you.
Jack glances at his watch, then over to Robby, who places a surgical blanket on the floor, hooks you up to cables and machines to monitor your and the baby’s vitals.
You curse loudly. “What the hell did you do to me, Abbot!”
“I’m sorry. You can do this.” He takes your hand, squeezes. “Let's meet our boy.”
The next contraction comes fast, stealing your breath. Jack doesn’t need to look at his watch, he knows.
It’s time.
Robby positions himself behind you, breaking his earlier promise. But you forgive him, if it means having your husband by your side and not two doctors competing for who's running this.
“She’s crowning.” Robby announces. His hand applies gentle but firm pressure, to keep the baby from delivering too fast and to prevent tearing.
Jack’s hand trembles slightly in yours.
“Y/N, I can see the head. I need you to push on the next contraction okay?”
You nod your head, almost frantically.
Jack takes a deep breath, for both of you, instructing you to follow his rhythm.
A deep, guttural growl tears from your chest as you push.
And push again.
The sensation overwhelms you. The burning, the tingling, the stinging.
The ring of fire.
“That’s it. Catch your breath before the next one.” Robby's steady but kind voice anchors you. “I need one more big push. Three, two…”
Jack’s voice is soothing in your ear, but you barely register it. You’ve never experienced anything like it.
You’re not even fully in your body anymore.
How long has it been? Minutes? Hours?
You feel another contraction approaching, but Robby suddenly halts you.
“Stop. Y/N, don’t push! Not this time."
“I- I have to.” You groan, almost sobbing.
“No.” Robby's voice is low, sharp.
Jack’s head snaps up.
Something's wrong.
“Baby’s shoulder is stuck on your pelvic bone. I need to release it.”
Jack turns pale, tightening the grip on your arms, preparing for the inevitable.
“I’m sorry,” Robby mutters, but before you can react, his hand breaches your entrance.
The pain is unimaginable.
Is he rearranging your organs?
You scream into Jack’s chest, muffled and desperate. He tightens his arms around you, attempting to ease your pain.
"I'm sorry", tears streaking down your face. You look up to find Jack's eyes. "This is my fault... I should've-"
“Look at me. Hey,” Jack says, commanding your gaze. “We’re okay. You hear me? You and me. We’ve got this.”
“What’s going on down there?” Dana shouts from above.
“I need you to lie on your back, Y/N” Robby instructs. But before you can register his words, Jack has already flipped you around. Your bottom lowered against the floor, Jack sliding behind you to brace you in his lap. His arms wrap around your legs, pulling them up and in.
“Lean into me, baby.” Jack’s voice is soft. He closes any distance between you. Practically melting into your body.
“Okay”, Robby breathes, applying suprapubic pressure. “Let’s take a deep breath.”
You feel his hands, firm against your lower abdomen, pushing the baby downward.
“Dana! Call Dr. Ingram, from the NICU, we need him.” Robby shouts towards the elevator doors.
You swallow hard. “Please... Please tell me I'm not having a fucking c-section in an elevator.”
Robby glances up briefly. His voice is low, focused. “Not planning on it.”
He reaches in again, one hand sliding beneath the baby’s head, working carefully to release the shoulder.
Another sharp stab rips through your abdomen. It feels like someone's clawing their way out from the inside, making your vision blur.
“Fuck Robby!" You cry out, voice breaking. "Please stop.”
Though you know he can't.
“Got it.” He suddenly announces. “On the next contraction, you push again.”
Your head feels light, but you know you can’t give up. Not now. Not yet.
3, 2, 1….
You push. With everything. Every muscle. Every breath. Every part of your being.
Until...
A sound cuts through the air.
Crying. Tiny, fragile, crying.
Not yours.
Not Jack’s.
Definitely not Robby’s.
Your eyes snap open. And there he is.
Your baby boy.
Robby lifts him carefully, umbilical still attached, assessing, drying and finally, placing him gently on your chest.
You can feel an unfamiliar but indescribable warmth flood you.
A sob escapes your lips, but this time not from pain.
You've never felt a love like this. Pure and sweet. Instant.
Jack leans in, showering your forehead in kisses, then your boy.
“You did so good, my love." Jack whispers. "So fucking good.” He wraps a blanket around you both, trying to shield you from the cold, from the storm, from everything.
Robby watches the three of you, his own emotions evident in the way his eyes glimmer in the light. He waits a few moments before he's back in professional mode, clamping the cord and letting Jack cut through it.
But they know it's not over. You do too.
You feel another contraction coming…
"The placenta", you murmur.
Robby nods. “One more push for me. Ready?”
He presses into your lower abdomen, a familiar pain ripping through you again.
“There we go." Robby says quietly. "Congratulations mom and dad.”
But...
The moment of bliss suddenly turns into horror.
The world around you starts to fade.
You feel Jack’s arms tense as Robby rips your baby from your chest, passing him through the narrow gap in the elevator doors to Dana’s waiting hands above. You feel the cold breeze against your exposed chest, the loss of warmth from your boy.
What the fuck is he doing? Skin-to-skin is supposed to be longer than this!
You want to argue. Shout at him, but your body won’t let you.
Why are you lying flat on the floor? Where's Jack?
You stare at the ceiling. Your heart starts to race.
You know what this means.
You hear Robby’s voice change. Tighter. Urgent. Then Jack’s voice joins him, both of them shifting into clinical, practiced motion.
Massive blood loss.
If they can’t stop it you’ll need a hysterectomy.
Or worse.
Their words are distant, blending into the chaos of your wandering mind.
“Spike a liter of saline.”
“Starting uterine massage.”
“Dana! Two units from the blood bank.”
"Balloon is past the cervix."
Panic rises in your belly. It travels up to your chest, then your head.
Robby’s movement are frantic now. Jack's too, eyes wide with terror.
Their hands are on you, moving, pushing, pulling, trying to keep you from slipping away.
Jack drops to his knees beside you, instantly at your face, cupping your cheeks with gloved hands slick with sweat and... blood? “Hey,Y/N? Hey.”
You blink slowly, your breath shallow.
“What- what if we name him after my dad?” Jack suggests with an unserious grin.
His deadbeat, boys-don’t-cry, toxic-masculinity-in-person father?
Another time you’d have burst into laughter. And that’s what he’s trying for. A reaction. Anything.
You blink up at him, your lips twitching. It’s a fragile smile, but it’s real.
"Michael.” You whisper.
"I'm here", Robby reassures, working steadily.
No. You gesture weakly. "Th-the baby. Mikey for short."
There’s only one Robby, so that’s the next best thing.
You and Jack want Robby to be the godfather, though he doesn't know yet. He's an important person in both of your lives. And now he's brought your son into this world.
You're glad he's there. For you. And your boys.
Especially if this goes badly...
Jack snorts, but quickly realizes you’re serious. Robby's eyes widen.
“Yeah. I like that.” Jack says softly, nodding, overwhelmed with love and fear.
Jack gently places an oxygen mask over your face, hands trembling as he brushes the soaked hair from your forehead, trying to comfort you in any way he can.
Your eyes flutter open, finding his. Memorizing him.
Jack leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours, whispering things you don’t hear.
Then he feels it. The absence of your breath.
The stillness.
A moment frozen in time, reflecting the fragile balance between life and loss.
Jack's eyes shoot to Robby's, desperate.
But Robby doesn’t stop. Not for a second.
He’ll do whatever it takes to bring you back.
Back to Jack.
Back to your boys.
And he wiiilll. As promised, everyone lives. But I had to end it here - for the drama lolz... Pls lmk what you think <3
