಄

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 welcome to my world princess of power! ִֶָ. ..𓂃

[lilliesonsunday]

𖹭.ᐟ KEY TO THE CASTLE!

ִ ࣪ ˖ ࣪ welcome to my world princess of power ! ᰔ ִ ׄ

ᥫ᭡. NORA. 19. she/they. brazilian. autistic. lesbian. film student. max caufield & chloe price's wife

࣪ ִֶָ☾. requests are open

main masterlist ⭑ guidelines

[cvrgrl]

make it up to me | michael robinavitch

pairing: michael 'robby' robinavitch x gn!nurse!reader

summary: robby's sabbatical is right around the corner and after barely talking to you about it, he's at a loss about your distant behavior

includes: robby being an idiot (as per usual), established relationships, implied age gap, slight angst, "my love" used as a petname, happy ending, lmk if i missed anything

wc: 2k+

a/n: this is my very first fic!! i hope you guys enjoy!

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robby was being pulled from left to right without any time to take a breath. the constant flow of patients, the oppressing july heat and now the system shutdown was making for an interesting last day. though that was the least of his problems compared to the fact that he hasn't seen you all day.

anytime he manages to catch a glimpse of you, you seem to promptly disappear back into the sea of doctors and nurses. your eyes avoid his and you manage to snake past him whenever he's approaching you.

it's starting to get to robby, his thoughts running rampant as he tries to thinks of all the reasons he could have given you to avoid him like the plague.

did he say something wrong?

did he forget something important?

did he forget your good morning kiss?

none of it rings a bell for robby. he cant wrap his head around your distant behaviour and he can feel himself starting to spiral-

"hey, sad boy" dana's voice rings out around him, pulling him out of the vicious cycle that is robby's mind. "you've been staring at that board for minutes now, why don't you get back to work and help us out a little around here."

despite the weird weight on his chest, robby feels a chuckle rise in him. "yes ma'am, on it right away."

he blinks up at the board again, this time willing his brain to actually comprehend some of the words on it, which is how his eyes latch onto your name next to one of the patients.

"i'll go help out in central 12" he nods at dana. "nothing like some good old myofascial pain, don't you think, evans?"

she doesn't look up from her ipad, simply humming in absentminded agreement and giving him a thumbs up as he walks away from his work station. "whatever you say, captain."

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you're in central 12, helping santos with a trigger point injection for her patient. she disappeared somewhere so you are making sure everything is ready for when she comes back, chatting away with harlow through her interpreter.

as you're rolling the tray to the bed, the door opens and you start talking before looking back, simply assuming trinity is back already.

"i prepared the trigger point injection, dr. santos and explained to harlow what it'll do to help with her headache."

when the voice - that is most definitely not trinity's - rings out through the room, your body stiffens, eyes still glued to the tray in front of you.

"thank you, though i'm not quite dr. santos" robby replies and you can hear the smile in his voice. the bastard. he's really smiling right now.

you finally turn, no amusement evident in your features as you find robby's eyes. "dr. robinavitch, this is harlow graham. she presented with a headache and abdominal pain and dr. santos has decided to go with a shot of mylanta and a trigger point injection."

you turn away again after watching robby's small smile fall at your clipped tone. good, you think. he can suffer a little bit too.

"right" robby's voice trails off, watching you for a second too long before looking at harlow now, tugging his lips into a professional smile. "that sounds like a good treatment plan ms. graham, you're in good hands with dr. santos."

he nods at her and her interpreter before making his way to the door. one of his hands grips the frame as he looks back at you, calling your name with his chief-attending-tone. "could you step out with me for a second."

you know any chance of getting out of this is out of the window now, so you smile at harlow, saying your goodbyes before following robby out into the hallway. he leads you past some boarders until he reaches a semi-quiet spot - well as quiet as the ED can get.

robby looks around for a moment, wringing his hands together with a deep inhale before finally breaking the silence between you. "so... whats wrong?"

you look up at him, blinking as you give him some time to elaborate, maybe - hopefully - say something less idiotic.

he does not.

"what's wrong? please robby, for the love of god, tell me i misheard you just now" you scoff, taking a small step back from him. it proves useless as he closes the created distance with a step forward.

his eyebrows furrow, eyes softening in confusion in the sweet way that almost makes you fold, especially paired with the soft voice he lowers enough for only you to hear. "you've been avoiding me all day and i know it's probably my fault but i don't quite know what it is that i did."

you sigh, scrubbing your hands down your face to gather your thoughts into something more coherent than the chaos they are in your head right now.

"robby, you are leaving for three months tonight and you barely talked to me about this whole sabbatical trip, let alone made any time for us to spend together before you leave" you tell him, your voice soft, the annoyance drained out of you, replaced with the underlying hurt.

"i'm not mad you're leaving, god knows you really need it, but you're gonna be gone for three months on that stupidly dangerous bike of yours and you just casually mentioned it to me on the side."

robby's heart feels too tight in his chest, his stomach dropping at the tone of your voice. only now does it click to him.

you'll miss him.

he doesn't know why it surprises him so much. why the worry and caring in your voice is such a shock to him, when you have been nothing but loving towards him. and suddenly he feels shame wash over him at the way he's been handling his sabbatical.

but before he can voice his thoughts, before an ounce of apology can pass his downturned lips, dana's voice rings out behind him, shattering the moment between you two.

"robby! incoming trauma, eta 3 minutes!"

you look at him for a second more before you move, though you don't get too far with his hand wrapping around your arm, pulling you a fraction closer to him.

"later" its more of a plea than anything else, something swimming deeply in those brown eyes of his that has you only nodding in response.

"robby!" dana calls out again, the urgency rising in her tone.

"yeah, yeah! i'm coming!" he responds, letting go of you to grab a pair of gloves behind you before jogging towards the ambulance bay doors. you breathe for a second longer before throwing yourself back into the familiarity of voices, machines and the smell of antiseptic.

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eventually a bit of a lull in patients rolls around, giving you a second to stretch your weary limbs at the workstation while keeping an eye on everything.

you hear him before you see him, his heavy footsteps something you are accustomed to by now. it only takes a few moments before he's standing by your side, close enough to feel his body warmth but far enough not to crowd you too much. he takes a beat or two, but eventually-


"could we talk for a second?"

he's not looking at you, instead keeping his eyes glued on the board. you know he's trying to give you - or maybe himself - the easy way out. trying to keep it light, though you both know this is anything but.

"sure" is all you manage, letting him lead the way towards an empty on-call room and following him in once the door beeps open. as it clicks shut behind you again, silence envelops you both.

you don't say anything. you've already said it all, what is there more to add that wouldn't blatantly lay you fully bare in front of him while he has yet to say anything on the topic. it's his turn.

"i'm sorry" his voice his low, though clearly directed at you, as is his gaze.

"that's a good start."

he keeps his distance as he continues. "i'm so fucking sorry. i fucked up. i should've talked to you about my trip or at least told you earlier than i did, i wasn't thinking."

his eyes stay glued on you, portraying every ounce of emotion he holds in them. "i don't know why but i guess i didn't expect you to care as much as you do about me leaving, and though it's not an excuse, i thought that gave me the right to be casual about the whole thing."

his words create a growing pit in your stomach, causing your chest to constrict uncomfortably. "robby why would i-"

but you don't get far, his soft but firm voice interrupting your incoming spiral. "no, please. let me finish."

he waits for you to give him a sign of permission, and when you nod weakly, he keeps going. "i had a hard time understanding what you see in me. you're young, you're beautiful and smart. you're in the prime of your life and i thought it would all eventually lead to you seeing that i would be nothing but a weight on you."

he swallows and takes a tentative step forward and in those very seconds you don't dare to breathe, scared it might startle him.

"and i guess it all boiled over with my sabbatical. i thought this would be it. i-i would be gone and you'd realize how much better that would be for you. so, as cowardly as it is to admit, i wanted to make this as painfree as i could for myself."

he looks at you, his breath shaking as his equally unsteady hands reach for you. "but you don't make things easy for me, do you?"

you step closer to him, letting his hands find your waist while yours find solace around his neck.

"you are a fucking idiot, michael robinavitch, so why should i" you mutter, shaking your head.

"my turn" you state and continue before he can interject again. "i don't know how you haven't realized yet, robby, but i really fucking love you."

you ignore the way his breath hitches and push through before you lose your train of thought. "and it really hurt when you just told me you want to up and leave for three months. because i can guarantee you one thing, those three months are gonna be horrible without you."

your fingers tug at the strands at the back of his neck - part affection, part lingering anger. "you're a part of my life now, if you want it or not, and i need you to talk to me about things, robby. or this is not gonna work."

he looks at you, speechless for a moment before your frown sets him into motion. he'd do anything to get rid of that look on your face.

"i do. i do want to be a part of your life. and i promise i'll try to do better."

"yeah?"

"yeah. i-i'll even stay here. i won't leave, i swear."

your heart skips a beat and you pull away a little - at least as far as his tightening grip allows - to look at him more clearly. "robby, you don't have to, i just wanted-"

your words turn to dust when his lips find your mouth, swallowing up any argument you had. you kiss him back immediately, the instinct taking over until he pulls away, enough to mumble against your lips.

"i want to be here with you. if you'll have me."

you pull back despite his huff of disappointment, looking at him for any signs of regret or doubt. and when you find neither, a small smile tugs at your lips.

"i'll have you for as long as you let me, robinavitch."

he smiles, his heart soaring in his chest as he leans in for another kiss, frowning when you pull back instead.


"i'm still mad at you though, you'll have to really make this day up to me."

an actual, carefree laugh rumbles through his chest as he shakes his head. he leans forward to quick for you to react, stealing a quick kiss. when he leans back again, a smug expression melts into his features.

"anything you want, my love."

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feedback appreciated!

masterlist

[redd-blushing-roses]

Like Any Other Saturday

word count: 4.9k

pairing: Michael Robinavitch x (mom) reader

summary: A normal Saturday gets turned upside down when you have to go to the emergency room. And Robby is doing his best to balance being chief attending and a husband... and pretend like he's not absolutely whipped for his girls.

warnings: brief mention of pregnancy and having kids, descriptions of a hand burn, probably inaccurate medical procedures, kingdon (if you squint), Robby being a papa bear.

notes: okay, the girl!twin!dad! Robby truthers have pulled me into their agenda. Robby just deserves to be happy, okay! also, sorry my jack fic wasn't ready, but I offer this as penance 😌

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It's a normal Saturday at PTMC. Same old aches and complaints; same accidents and tragedies. Nothing Robby hasn't seen before.

Maybe that sounds cruel of him. To boil down somebody's worst day to a brief twelve hours of his. Dana is always telling him he's too desensitized to things like this.

Maybe he is.

Robby stretches his shoulders, rubbing a knot at the base of his neck as he makes his way through the waiting room. It's still early, the brief period between the nursing home rush and the late afternoon chaos.

Doesn't mean the room isn't crowded. People crammed into chairs, standing along the walls. The tvs play the news, a boring chart about stock prices or the cost of gas. Robby’s not really paying attention. His eyes dart across each patient, making quick assessment of what he can see.

Make sure nobody was dying. Making sure nobody is on the verge of-

Hold on.

Robby freezes, hand pausing against his shoulder as he turns back to the pair of girls in the chairs across the room. Two familiar looking twelve year olds, both sharing a chair, hips pressed together, brows furrowed in annoyance.

“Will you scoot over-”

“I’m as far as I can go-”

“Nuh uh. You're trying to hog-”

“I am not!”

Robby’s heart practically plummets into his gut as he registers he’s not just looking at a familiar pair of twins. He's looking at his twins.

Those are Robby’s girls- his Maddi and Liz.

Still in their pajamas and sporting messy hair, elbowing each other in the oversized chair they were sharing, a phone playing some disney movie between them.

Robby swallows thickly, moving on autopilot, apologizing as he skirts around an elderly man with a walker. The girls look up before he even gets to their chair, ‘dad’ radars going off. Because somehow they always knew. When his car was pulling into the culdesac, when he was the one picking them up from school.

Liz’ face lights up first, her crooked teeth breaking out into a big smile. She's got on her gray hoodie over pink pj's, converse kicking her sister. Maddi gives her a withering look, noticing Robby a fraction of a second later. She gasps in surprise, waving her thick pink sweater sleeve to garner his attention, teal pajama pants tucked into rain boots .

Not that she had to. Robby would know his girls anywhere.

“Dad!”

They scramble out of the chair, limbs clashing, the phone tossed on the floor as Robby hurriedly crouches down to embrace them.

“Hey,” Robby chuckles, an arm around each girl, hands already feeling for any bumps or bruises. He laughs as he looks both of them in the eye, a hand cradling Liz’s cheek, the other brushing along Maddi’s hairline. “What are you two doing here? It's Saturday. Isn't mom making-”

“Pancakes. But the pot holder was-”

“Mom burnt her hand and so we had to get dragged-”

“Liz was trying to grab the turtle for the car-”

“And she was screaming-”

Robby shakes his head, holding his hands up to try and calm them as they jabber over each other.

“Okay, wait. One at a time-”

It was always like this. Two girls bursting at the seams wanting to be heard first, needing their father to understand.

They ramble on.

“Of course then she had a blow out-”

“We offered to help but mom said no.”

“She didn't want to hurt the baby-” Robby makes a face.

“Woah, what about the baby? Where's your mom?” Liz sighs and Maddi rolls her eyes.

“Dad. Weren't you listening?!”

Robby gives Maddi a look, head tilted with the kind of silent parental authority that said “watch your tone.” Liz reaches out to tug Robby’s sleeve, her head turned around.

“There she is, dad.” She points toward the bathrooms, where in fact, you were. Robby feels himself tense up at the sight, diaper bag slung over your shoulder, six month old baby on your hip… and a tight, pained look on your face.

The cloth wrapped snuggly around your hand might explain that.

Robby stands with a grunt, hands finding the girls’ shoulders automatically, guiding them back to the chair.

“Sit here for another minute will you?”

Liz makes a face.

“Dad we've already been here an hour,” Maddi huffs.

“Just sit there. I’m gonna talk with your mom,” he presses a kiss to Liz’s head before marching off in your direction.

You're struggling to get something into the diaper bag, Hazel fussing against your shoulder, her sounds muffled by the stuffed turtle she was chewing on.

“I know, baby girl. Give me a minute and I’ll find your cheerios. I just need-”

“Hey,” Robby calls out your name softly as he reaches to caress your back, being careful not to startle you. You give him a surprised look, your eyes wide with relief.

“Robby- oh,” your head falls against his shoulder as he pulls you close. Hazel shrieks at the sight of him, socked feet kicking against your hip.

“What are you doing here?” Robby asks, the question rougher sounding than he’d like. Not that you notice. You're too busy feeling relieved as he takes Hazel from your arm, the turtle smushed between her little body as he pulls her close.

“I- Robby it was so stupid. We were making pancakes and the girls were getting water everywhere. The sausage was smoking in the oven- I didn't realize the potholder was soaking wet when I grabbed it- and the-”

“No honey,” Robby shakes his head, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “What are you doing here?” Robby nods his head towards the crowded waiting room, the twins watching the two of you carefully from their chair, acting patient now.

“Waiting,” you purse your lips, glancing down at your hand. “The lady at the front desk said it wouldn't be too much longer.”

“You should have called me. I could have-”

“Robby,” you shake your head. “I’m not going to cut the line just cause I’m your wife.”

“Why not?” Robby shrugs, Hazel giggling softly at the movement. “I pull the chief attending card all the time.”

“Yeah. For free chips and guac at the mexican restaurant down the street. Not when there are actual lives on the line,” you gesture towards a man being wheeled in, blood dribbling from his forehead. Robby unconsciously shifts Hazel’s face away from the sight, glancing at the twins again. They're back to their movie, pretending like they weren't listening.

They were. They always were.

Robby sighs, looking you up and down. You hated the emergency room. Actively avoided it any way you could. He could count on one hand the number of times you had visited the ED.

When Maddi sprained her finger playing volleyball at school, the time Liv broke her tooth and split her lip riding a friend's skateboard. When Robby had cut his hand open trying to build the girls a playhouse for Christmas one year.

The most recent time had been during your last pregnancy; unable to keep any fluids or liquid down, you’d been sick as a dog.

Hazel whines in Robby’s arms, looking between you and him with a big pout. You sigh, giving her a smile as you carefully maneuver your bag so you can reach inside.

“I know, baby. I know you're hungry. I’m sorry.”

You were here.

Two girls haphazardly dressed, Hazel in an emergency onesie Robby knew she'd just been changed into; the outfit you had been wearing when Robby kissed you goodbye that morning still cozy around your frame.

And the towel wrapped around your hand.

Robby helps you zip the diaper bag, reaching for your injured hand.

“You said you burned it?” You hesitate for a moment, finally letting him take a peek when Robby gives you a look. You concede, the unnatural warmth of your skin radiating from the thick layers of terry cloth.

Balancing Hazel and her cheerios in his arm, scrub sleeve surely soaked with drool, Robby peels away the towel. You inhale sharply as the cool air hits the burn, your skin an angry red, palm peeling and blistering in places. Robby swallows thickly, looking at the painful wound.

You look away from it first.

“It doesn't hurt that bad anymore. I soaked it for twenty minutes before we came here.”

“How long have you been waiting?” Robby asks. You don’t meet his eye.

“Just a little while.”

“You don't have to lie to me. I know this hurts.” You take another shaky breath, your hand flexing against his touch.

“I can't just cut the line Michael. That's not right-”

“You're not cutting anything. Okay? Let me take care of you.” Robby lets go of your hand gently, thumb brushing your cheek as he cups your face.

You melt into it slightly, glancing over at your other girls. They're watching you expectantly, practically buzzing with anticipation of leaving the waiting room. Robby could see you were ready to cave, wanting to get out of there.

He adds a final nail to the coffin, crouching a bit to meet your eye.

“Please.”

Robby can see it. The resignation crossing your face, the pain of your hand catching up to you.

“Okay,” you nod slowly. “But only if l’m not messing with your work-”

“Of course not,” Robby presses a kiss to your temple. “Come on. You ready Hazel?”

The baby blows a raspberry, squealing happily before chewing on a cheerio she manages to grab. You nod towards the girls, gesturing for them to get up. They share an equally happy sentiment as their sister, quickly following you through the staff entrance.

“Finally!” Maddi sighs, pulling her sister up. “Come on.”

“I’m coming!”

------------------------------------------------------

You can feel the eyes on Robby as the five of you enter into the Pitt. The Emergency Department’s big bad chief… a smiley baby girl in his arms and two preteens following like baby ducks.

It was cute, you have to admit. Maybe cuter if your hand wasn't throbbing like you’d thrown it into a pile of glass.

Liv holds on to the sleeve of your sweater nervously, looking around at the bustling nurses and loud monitors. Robby glances back at the three of you, making sure you were still alright. You give him a small smile, observing the worry lines already creasing between his brows. The calculations and treatment plans and patient names he was likely filing through. Slotting your name next to an already crowded roster.

You really had tried to hold off going to the emergency room. It hadn't hurt that bad when it happened, surprised you mostly.

But your palm had gotten redder and hotter as the minutes ticked by, your girls looking at you with worry. Robby was always telling you to call him if something happened. Always leaving in the morning with the same goodbye whispered against your cheek.

“Love you. Call me if you or the girls need anything.”

But it just didn't feel right to skip the line. To get in simply because your husband was the chief attending. Although the sentiment was becoming a little stale as your palm throbs deeper.

As you pass by the nurses station, Maddi lights up, quickly finding her favorite person in the ED.

“Hi Mel!”

The blonde resident pauses, turning from her conversation with Langdon, a bright smile blooming when she sees your girls.

“Hey!”

Maddi runs, in spite of Robby’s warning to be careful, tall frame running into Mel’s open arms.

“Is everything alright? I never see you guys here.”

“Peachy,” you raise your injured hand. Frank cringes behind Mel, whistling as you show him the burn.

“Oof. You soak it?”

“Please, she's married to a doctor. Of course she did,” Robby says, chest puffing proudly. Langdon laughs.

Liz clings to your sweater shyly as Frank looks over at her. Then Hazel. His eyes light up like a kid getting candy.

“Ah, Miss Hazel. I see you've graced us with your glorious presence. My favorite Rovinavitch!” Hazel squeals as Frank tickles her foot, curling into Robby’s chest. Maddi lets out a protesting gasp.

“Hey. I thought I was your favorite!”

“Yeah. Before Mel stole you from me.”

“I did not,” Mel frowns, adjusting her glasses with a little smile. “Can't steal what you never had.”

“That’s alright. We all know who my real favorite is,” Frank glances down at Liz, giving her a quick wink. She blushes furiously, turning further into your side.

You laugh, glancing over at Robby. He just shakes his head, cringing as Hazel squeals again, turtle clutched tightly in her flopping hand.

Dana peeks her head out from behind a curtain, squinting over her glasses.

“Is that my happy Hazel I hear?” The charge nurse comes over, giving your older girls a tight squeeze before grinning at your youngest daughter. “Hi beautiful girl.”

Robby can't even protest before Dana is scooping Hazel into her arms, the six month old wiggling around happily. Always the center of attention.

You have a crowd forming, Trinity and Princess inching closer and cooing at the baby, Dennis giving high fives to your older girls.

Robby sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly as his staff fawns over his girls.

“Okay, most of you have patients you need to see.”

“Do we?” Princess asks, eyes wide as she makes faces at Hazel. Robby rolls his eyes.

“Yes. Now, go on and scram.”

“Mom,” Liz looks up at you apologetically.

“Yeah baby?”

“I’m really hungry now.” You sigh, closing your eyes and nodding.

“I know. I’m sure.”

The girls had really been troopers. Helping you clean up the mess breakfast turned out to be, waiting patiently to go to the hospital, keeping the complaints to a minimum. They'd grabbed some granola and fruit before you’d left the house, but they were growing girls. You'd seen them out eat Robby a few times already and it was getting closer to lunch time.

You look over at Robby who takes Hazel back from Dana, brow furrowing as he looks you up and down.

“What's going on? You okay?” You nod, your uninjured hand running over Liz’s short hair.

“The girls need food.”

“Sustenance,” Maddi groans. She then gets a look on her face, turning to her sister. The two lock eyes and huddle, shoulders pressed impossibly close as they whisper. You raise your brow suspiciously, Mel laughing behind her hand as she watches from her computer.

Liz nods and stands beside Maddi as they approach Robby. He frowns.

“Uh oh. What’s the council discussing this time?”

“Can we get Starbucks?” He cocks his head.

“Um. Here?”

“Yeah. You can order it on your phone,” Liz adds quietly.

Robby shares a look with you. You shrug.

“I could use a chai.”

"You're encouraging bad habits," he mutters.

"Robby, you know they're not gonna eat the soggy pb and j's they try to pass off as food in the cafeteria," you whisper back.

Robby sighs, looking between your two girls. You can see the torn expression on his face, the fight between saying no because he still wasn’t thrilled about the girls drinking coffee just yet and also saying yes because they’d already been through a wreck of Saturday-

“Please,” Maddi pouts, hands clasped desperately. Her big brown eyes, mirrors to her fathers’, shine beneath the hospital lights. Robby opens his mouth, the words lost as Liz adds another please.

“Please papa.”

Oh. Your girls were good.

You snicker to yourself as you watch Robby become undone in real time. Any pushback he might’ve had lost at the name. The first name the twins had called him.

‘Papa.’

Before they decided they were too cool and the social norm of ‘dad’ was adopted.

Robby sighs, head lowering in defeat. Dana gives your arm a squeeze as she passes by, smiling fondly.

“Okay, fine. But I don't want you two drinking straight sugar for breakfast. You're getting egg sandwiches too.” Maddi makes a face.

“Egg?”

“That's the deal Mads.” She crosses her arms, a familiar looking pout crossing her face.

“Fine.”

“Hey Boss,” Perlah calls out, the red phone pressed to her chest. “We’ve got an GSW coming in five.”

Robby looks up, nodding. “Uh, okay. Give me just a minute.”

“Sure,” Perlah smiles at Hazel who gives her a friendly wave. Robby fishes his phone out of his pocket, handing it to Liz.

“Here. You can get one drink and a sandwich. One,” he gives the twins a pointed look. They giggle, nudging each other knowingly. “Mel can take you guys to the breakroom. Stay in there until I come to get you.”

“What about Hazel?” Maddi asks, reaching over for Robby’s phone in spite of the way Liz keeps it clutched tightly to her chest.

“She'll stay with me honey,” you smile. “She's got to eat soon.” Robby checks his watch, looking between you and the baby. You had her on a pretty strict schedule; the girl loved her consistency.

Liz frowns, looking down at your hand with sad eyes. “Mom. Are you gonna be okay?”

“I’ll be fine, baby. Your dad will fix me up just fine.” You smile again, meeting her eye reassuringly.

But with each passing minute your hand starts hurting even more. You know Robby can see it. The forced line of your smile.

It's the same smile he's shared a hundred times over. The brave face of a parent.

“Cap-” Dana starts, giving Robby a look. “GSW is here in two.”

“Right,” Robby hums, the sound gravelly and tired. He had that look on his face, the one you'd seen plenty of times over. When he was being pulled in multiple directions and didn't know which he should choose. “Okay, uh, Mel-”

“I got the girls, Dr. Robby,” she smiles. He nods, gratefully.

“Feel free to get yourself something too, okay.”

“Oh, that's alright-” Mel shakes her head as Maddi tugs her hand, pulling Mel away towards the break room.

“Mel. Starbucks has boba now!” That gets her attention.

“Really?” Liz nods in agreement, fingers already zooming across the screen.

“Well, they're tapioca pearls. Not really boba. But the same thing…”

You feel the tension in your shoulders release slightly as the girls follow Mel into the break room, and you allow yourself to finally let out the whimper you'd been holding.

“Ow,” you hiss under your breath, cringing as you bring your hand closer to your chest.

Robby turns, his hand moving to rub a soft circle on your back.

“Okay mama, let's get you taken care of.”

“Robby-” Dana’s voice cuts in, the red phone in her hand. “Another ambulance on the way. Three minutes out.”

Robby lets out a frustrated sigh, cursing beneath his breath. “Okay. Okay that's fine. I’ll have Dana look over your hand first and then I’ll be right there.”

“Whatever you have to do,” you nod. “Remember, I’m just like any other patient you’d see-”

“You're not just any other patient,” Robby shakes his head. He presses a kiss to your forehead as he passes Hazel over to Dana, her arms already ready for the baby. “You're my wife. And you deserve the best, okay. I’ll be right back.”

Robby gives Hazel a little wave goodbye, a pair of gloves seemingly materializing in his hands, face already set with a determined focus. You watch him head off to a gurney being wheeled in, voice steady and authoritative. Dana stands beside you, bouncing the baby slightly.

“He hit the jackpot with the four of you, you know.”

“I know,” you smile. Dana nods.

“Good. Let's get you taken care of, okay?”

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“Ow!”

“Sorry,” Robby looks at you apologetically over his glasses, gloved hands gently prodding your burnt palm. It looks somewhat better after being cleaned and sterilized. Although Dana is a master at making even the most frightening cases look appealing.

“No sorry, it's not you,” you look down at your daughter- or rather what you could see of her beneath your nursing cover. Just the sliver of a onesie covered foot kicking rhythmically. “She's being extra aggressive today.”

Robby smiles to himself, leaning over to grab something off the tray laying between you.

“Told you she's teething.” You roll your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief.

“I can't believe it- ow! Hazel,” you hiss. Robby pauses, watching as you try to peek at the baby with one hand. “Gently honey. Mommy already has enough she's got to try and do with one hand.”

“Are you sure you don't want me to wait till you're finished feeding her?”

“It's okay,” you shake your head and smile. “You guys are busy enough. The Robinavitch’s are multitasking pros. I can manage.” Robby chuckles, shaking his head.

“Come on. Indulge me. I think this is the longest I’ve sat all morning.” You smile, your eyes raking over Robby.

He's sure he looks a mess, after two trauma cases and a patient consult. Hair mussed from running his hand through it, scrubs rumbled and splattered with something he couldn’t quite identify.

It still surprises him how much can change in just thirty minutes. Someone's whole life flashing by, blood on his hands and decisions on his head.

You hum, looking down at Hazel.

“Alright Doctor Robinavitch. Whatever you say.” Robby groans slightly, leaning back in his chair.

“Oh, don't call me that.”

“What,” you laugh. “It’s appropriate, no?” You gesture at the patient room, the walls lined with medical posters, curtains still drawn shut to give you privacy.

“Yeah, well not when it's coming from you. That's how we got this little one,” Robby reaches over and gently shakes Hazel’s small foot. She kicks back and you smile, arm adjusting to hold her closer again.

“Well it’s not my fault you have a thing for role play. And I wouldn't trade her for anything.”

“No. Me neither,” Robby chuckles. She'd been a surprise for sure. Almost more jarring than the first time around when you found out you were having twins. But it was hard to imagine life without her now.

Robby shakes his head and hums, picking up the medicated balm and beginning to smear it gently over your palm.

You sigh, eyes closing as you lean your head back against the chair. Robby smiles, watching you.

“Tired?” You nod.

“Yeah," you say slowly. "More frustrated, I think. I wanted to get some things done around the house today. Get the living room picked up at least.”

“It’s fine,” he shrugs, gathering a long strip of gauze to wrap around your palm. You peek your eyes open, unenthused.

“Robby, the same basket of laundry has been sitting by the couch for a week.”

“So have the girls put it away.”

“It’s your laundry.” He smiles sheepishly, looking down as he continues to wrap your hand.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” you tease. Robby can see a shift cross your face, and you get more serious. “I am going to need your help though. At least, for a couple days.”

“I know,” Robby scratches the scruff of his beard. “I figured I’ll have to rearrange some things.”

“By some things you mean getting home on time, right?” Robby gives you a look.

“Woah, hey. I’ve been getting home at a decent hour.” You throw him a look.

“Ten at night is not a decent hour, Michael.”

Oof. Michael.

Robby shifts in his seat, setting your now wrapped hand on the table between you. You slide it away, closer to you. Robby narrows his eyes.

“I thought you said you weren’t mad.”

“I’m not mad,” you huff. “I just… it’s hard sometimes. And I get it. I know you’re the boss and the hospital needs you. But we need you too, you know.”

“I know.”

“I mean it Michael. Those girls are growing up faster than you’d think. And while yeah, I wouldn’t mind you being home earlier to help around with dishes or watching the baby, I want you around to just be with them.” You smile sadly.

Robby knows he’s been busy. The long hours he’s been putting in, the overtime. The late nights where he’d get home and crash on the couch with barely a hello and goodnight to the girls. Dana always chided him for staying so late. Even when she was doing the same thing-

“You’re turning her into a single mother, Robby.”

“She’s okay. She hasn’t said it’s bothering her.”

“Of course it’s bothering her. Your wife is just a saint and won’t say anything because she hates seeing you worry.”

Robby looks at you now in the patient room, carefully pulling the nursing cover away now that you had both hands back, oddly adjusting your daughter as you check her.

“I think she’s finally asleep,” you murmur. Robby watches you carefully. Not assessing. Not diagnosing. Just watching.

It hits him then, watching you juggle his daughter and your injured hand and your other girls in the break room… just how much you truly kept everything held together.

The glue of the little Robinavitch clan.

And Robby had been playing the part of chief attending much more than he’d been playing father and husband. Leaving you to gather the pieces and try to make something good out of it. Robby scoots his chair closer to you, cupping your cheek as you look at him in surprise.

“I’m sorry.” Your eyes widen at the sudden movement.

“For what?”

“For not being here like I should. For having you worry about whether you’re bothering me at work when you’re hurting.”

“Robby-” He cuts short whatever you were going to say with a soft kiss, lips pressed gently against yours. You melt slightly into it, cheek pressed against his as he moves to press another against the corner of your mouth. Then the corner of your nose. And-

There’s a knock at the door. You hum, giving Robby a smile.

“I think that’s for you.”

“They can wait.”

“Robby…” you give him a look. He pulls back, thumb brushing against your cheek. “Go. It’s okay.”

Robby sighs, grunting as he pushes off from the chair. He pushes the curtain aside, taking in Whitaker standing nervously at the door.

“Yeah?” Robby asks, brows drawn low with curiosity. “What’s happening?”

“Uh, I was told I had to give this to you,” Whitaker holds out a perspirating plastic cup and a paper bag with something sweet smelling. “I believe the instruction was ‘make sure mom eats. So she feels better faster.’”

Robby laughs, taking the drink and bag, the smell of banana bread wafting towards his face. He also takes the phone Whitaker holds out, the dark phone case splattered with something that smells like whipped cream.

“Thanks for relaying the message huckleberry.”

“Oh sure. Your girls are quite the pair.” Robby smiles.

“They are.”

Whitaker stands awkwardly for a moment more before adding- “Also Dana said we’re in shambles without you.”

"Yeah, okay. Hang in there for a couple more minutes. I'll be back soon."

“Aye aye captain,” Whitaker gives a two finger salute. “Just don’t be too long. Dana might start threatening to recruit your girls.”

The two laugh and Robby closes the glass door gently, balancing the goodies in his hand. Your eyes are wide with appreciation as Robby holds up your food.

“It was for you.”

“Oh thank the Lord,” you grin.

Robby laughs, helping you take off the nursing cover, Hazel gently passed into his arms. You pick at the banana loaf, pushing a generous chunk over to Robby as he sits down again.

“Here.”

“No, I’m okay,” Robby shakes his head as he settles his sleeping girl on his chest. You give him a look.

“Robby…”

“I’m fine. Really.”

“I know you haven't eaten all morning.”

Robby huffs and takes a piece with a mumbled thank you. You give him a bright smile, letting out a pleased hum as you eat. Robby sits, enjoying what he knows is the last bit of quiet before he's thrown back into the throes of the ED.

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Bonus:

You're packing up the diaper bag, the twins helping you tuck in extra bandage wraps and medicated ointment into the side pockets. Maddi happily slurps on a caramel lined coffee cup, Liz sipping at something tall and green. Robby watches them fondly as they hover over you, Hazel still sleeping in his arms.

"Mom, I got that."

"Here, I can hold the bag!"

"No I can-"

"Girls," you chuckle. "It's fine. One of you can hold the bag and the other can hold my drink."

Robby's phone pings and he fishes it out of his pocket, frowning as he reads the notification. You don't notice as you take the baby from him, holding her closely.

"You girl's ready to go?"

They nod enthusiastically, giggling softly beneath their breaths. Robby's frown deepens as he looks at them over his glasses.

“Hey… why does it say my card was charged a hundred and thirty dollars?”

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thank you for reading! if you're interested in reading more of my works for the pitt, here is a link to my masterlist :)

[redd-blushing-roses]

Night Shift Routine

word count: 3.5k

pairing: Jack Abbot x reader

summary: Jack Abbot was no stranger to your routines. Or at least, he thought he was. Until one free night reveals just how much he misses during his shifts and the cozy night routine you enjoy doing every night. And maybe... he kinda enjoys it too.

warnings: reader's job is vague, mostly fluff, tiktok trends and internet remedies for illness, unspecified age gap, reader has eczema but it's kinda a brief mention.

notes: full transparency... my self care routine is kinda nonexistent lol. I am trying to be better about it because I've started wearing makeup more (and have super sensitive skin- bleh) and feel like I need to help prevent dryness and breakouts. so lets just say this is my ideal universe where I have it all figured out haha

enjoy reading :)

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It was Friday. The first Friday night Jack had off in a while. In fact, it was the first weekend where Jack had no hospital shifts or SWAT stints planned in... months.

In spite of how much you scolded him for being a workaholic and running himself into the ground with extra shift hours, Jack had kept a bad habit of working too hard and too long. He liked the chaos. He thrived in the 'go, go, go' of it all.

It was hard to teach an old dog new tricks.

But Jack was actually looking forward to his day off. Especially considering it was the first weekend you both would be off of work in a long time.

In spite of living together, Jack sometimes didn't see you for days at a time. It was the busy season for both of you, work eating away at any free time you tried to find. In the brief moments the two of you did catch each other, it was a quick kiss goodbye or a lingering hug that said 'I miss you'.

Jack did miss you. And he promised himself he'd use this weekend wisely; to soak up every minute with you he could.

It was why he forced himself to stay awake most of the day, wanting to readjust his circadian rhythm to match yours for the weekend instead of crashing on the couch after he'd come home in the morning like he normally would. He just took a quick nap, trying to adjust himself to the quiet of your house and not the loud chaos of the ED. If you could call arms crossed and nose twitching and tossing and turning a quick nap.

It would have to do.

Jack kept himself busy, trying to get ahead of things around the house so you wouldn't have to do them when you came home after your shift. He scrubbed and dried the dishes that had been sitting in the sink, mostly coffee stained mugs and the forks you both used for takeout. He put away the laundry that had been piled in the basket for the past week, staring at your shared closet as he realized the ratio of scrubs to regular clothes he owned was concerning.

He yawned through emails and checking up on the latest medical journals. The black coffee he'd been nursing most of the day did its best to keep his eyelids from dragging downward, but it was a battle to stay awake. He fought off sleep by keeping busy, even resorting to trying one of those follow along meditation videos you loved so much.

Jack found himself falling asleep on the mat after fifteen minutes before he decided to go out and shop for dinner ingredients.

He just had to wait for you to come home. Once you came home, you'd do what you always did. Give him a big tired smile, a long hug that was more you leaning into him to try and stay upright than anything. You'd both eat dinner, a mostly quiet affair of soft chewing with brief intermissions of conversation between bites.

Normally, Jack would head off for night shift, saying goodbye just before you jumped in the shower and presumably got in bed. But tonight, he was all yours. And he was looking forward to falling asleep with you by his side for once.

By the time late afternoon comes around, golden sun bleeding into pink and blue evening, Jack is bone tired. The sizzling smell of seasoned chicken and fresh herbs fill the kitchen, the soft sound of the radio echoing in the dim kitchen.

The front door opens with a quiet click, the sound of your keys and work bag jingling as you enter. Jack glances over his shoulder as he hears you pad into the kitchen, a tired and pleased sigh leaving your lips as you enter. He smiles as he feels your arms wrap around his waist, his hands preoccupied as he flips the chicken in the pan.

"I'm free," you whisper excitedly into his shirt. Jack chuckles, turning slightly so you can place a kiss on his cheek.

"Oh yeah. We're free." You laugh, pressing the side of your face into his back. "You have a good shift?"

You don't give an answer. Just a groan that speaks volumes, hands tightening their grip around him.

"Got it. Need a real hug?" He asks as he turns the fire off beneath the pan. You nod and Jack turns around, pulling you into his arms and squeezing you gently.

You melt into him, tucking yourself beneath his chin. He sighs, closing his eyes as he breathes the faint scent of your shampoo in, feeling the soft fabric of your undershirt beneath his fingers. You pull back, fingers mindlessly tracing the veins along his bicep as you take him in.

"I'm surprised you're up. Thought you might have been asleep when I came home."

"Of course I am. I was waiting for you to come back so we could go to bed together." Your eyebrows raise, surprise written on your face.

"Oh?" He hums in agreement, giving you a soft smile. "We haven't done that in a while."

"No. We haven't."

Jack stands there for a moment with you in his arms, a quiet pang of guilt settling beneath his ribs. He really had missed you. He missed the way things used to flow so easily between you, the way your schedules had aligned like the stars in the sky, and your relationship didn't seem like it was being held together by the grace of the powers that be.

It was quiet. Peaceful.

Until you look up at him, eyes big and full of want.

"That chicken smells really good." Jack smiles.

"Well we should dig in."

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Jack sits on the edge of the bed, freshly showered and changed, his eyes trailing you as you slowly move about the room. You glance over at him, smiling with curiosity.

"What?"

"Nothin'."

"Nothing?" you laugh. "You're looking at me like you're gonna eat me."

Jack sighs, leaning back on his forearm, legs splayed out in front of him.

"I'm just thinking." You smile, admiring the freshly organized closet as you pull out your pajamas.

"And what are we thinking about?"

Jack quirks his mouth, looking up at you as you pad over to the bed, your folded set of pajamas tucked against your chest. You stand in between his legs, leaning slightly over him. He sits up, back straight in that precise military form he fought so hard to forget.

"Just thinking I'm lucky to have the prettiest girl in Pittsburgh all to myself this weekend." You let out a breathy laugh, flushing slightly.

"Just in Pittsburgh?"

"I'm too tired to think of any other cities. Can't remember what I had for dinner at this point."

"Chicken paninis," you remind him, smiling brightly. "Which were delightful by the way."

"So you said," Jack nods, his hands reaching out to rest on your hips. "Are you gonna shower and then head to bed?"

"Yeah handsome," you reach out, running a hand through Jack's curly hair. His lashes flutter, eyes beginning to close at the feeling and he has to shake himself awake again. You chuckle quietly, placing a soft kiss on his forehead. "You poor thing. I'll try and be quick, but don't feel like you have to wait for me."

"I'll always wait for you," he blinks. You nod.

The water springs to life, the sound of the shower echoing through the closed door connected to your bedroom. Jack yawns as he finishes removing his prosthetic, setting it in the same spot against his nightstand it always resided in.

Jack crawled backwards to his side of the bed, throwing back the covers to reveal the soft cotton sheets, his head hitting the pillow with a heavy sigh. He wouldn't fall asleep yet. Jack intended to make good on his promise to wait for you.

He listens to the sounds of your soft humming through the walls, the opening and closing of bottles, the quiet curse you let out when the soap bar slips. Jack smiles to himself, flipping the TV on to a random channel as he waits.

He waits.

And waits.

Jack doesn't even realize he's begun to doze off until he feels the mattress shifting beside him. His eyes flutter open, brain trying to compute the fact they'd been closed all this time. He looks around a little dazed, trying to focus the blurry image of you beside him.

You sat on top of your side of the comforter, bare legs criss-crossed beneath you, a large cosmetics bag tucked in the gap. Your hair fell damp against the shoulder of your pajama shirt, skin glistening in the dim light of the tv.

He blinks as you flip through the channels, still not looking over at him. Jack huffs as you finally land on an old romcom you like, his hand reaching out to brush his knuckles against your leg. You take in a sharp breath, looking over startled.

"Oh! I didn't mean to wake you Jack," you say in a half whisper. Jack stretches, shaking his head.

"S'fine. I was just resting my eyes." You give him a soft smile, reaching over to light the candle that rested on your dresser.

"This okay?" He nods. You light it, the soft scent of lavender filling the room. "You really didn't have to wait for me Jack. I know you're exhausted."

"I want to," he says, pushing himself to sit up, folding his hands as he leans against the headboard. "What took you so long in there anyways? Were you trying to become a mermaid in there or what?"

You laugh brightly, giving him an amused look. "No. I was doing my everything shower."

Jack blinks.

"Huh?"

You give him a look, running your hand through your damp locks.

"My everything shower," you repeat. "You know, wash my hair, my body. Exfoliate, shave, moisturize. I usually do it every Friday." You say it with a shrug. Like it should be the most obvious thing to him.

Now, Jack considered himself to be pretty familiar with all your routines. In spite of the opposite schedules you both shared, he had been pretty good about keeping up with your little routines.

He knew what time to get home so he could catch you before you left for your shift in the morning. He knew the way you liked your yogurt, what brand you liked and which one you said tasted like chunky curds.

Jack knew you always went to the flea market every Saturday morning and made it a point to call your friends at least once a month. He knew you had to have a coffee with any pastry, and you had to tie your shoelaces twice before heading anywhere.

But in all the years of you together, he had never once heard of this 'everything shower'.

Jack blinks again, brows furrowing as he tries to understand.

"You don't just... wash everything." You giggle at his reaction, leaning in closer to brush his shoulder.

"I do. But I have some extra steps I don't always do. I reserve them for little self care nights in addition to my normal night routine."

"You've got a night routine?" He frowns.

"Yes Jack," you smile. "Not everyone calls three-in-one body wash and a quick floss good hygiene." Jack bristles, giving you an annoyed side eye.

"I've got good hygiene."

"I know you do," you reach out and squeeze his thigh. "This is just little extra stuff so I can keep my skin looking good."

"You already lood good honey," Jack says as he cocks his head. You roll your eyes, digging into your makeup bag in your lap.

"Thank you Jack."

He sits there with drooping eyelids, watching tiredly as you pull out little tubes of cream, a box of something that looked like thin jellies, a little jade roller. Jack didn't know what half of the stuff was, but you seemed to as you organized your stuff on the bed.

His eyes drift to your legs as you open a tub of moisterizer, shifting your position on the bed as you begin to rub a thick glob of the cream onto your legs. He watches your hands, a smile tugging at his lips.

"You said you shaved?" He asked curiously.

"Yes," you drawl knowingly, glancing up at him. "Wanna feel?"

You stick out your other leg, Jack's calloused hand running over the freshly lotioned and smooth skin there. He nods in approval.

"Feels nice."

"It is nice. Makes me feel like a human being again after a hectic week."

"I'm sure."

You smile, moving on to rub a different cream into the skin of your face, using a little compact mirror to get it all in. Jack sits there watching. He was tired, ready to knock out with you in his arms.

But he was mesmerized watching you.

The way your hands moved up and down your arms as you rubbed in your lotion, the tender touch you used as you smoothed out cream over any blemishes. Jack was especially mesmirized when you pulled out the little box of jelly patches, your fingers carefully handling the thin little thing. It was shaped like teardrops, and you placed them carefully beneath your eye, blinking as you smoothed it out.

Jack bristles as you glance over at him, realizing it might be weird to stare at your partner for so long as they got ready for bed.

You laugh with question, turning to face him better. "Yes?"

"Nothing."

"Jack," you sigh. He swallows, nodding towards the little box of jelly fish.

"What are those?"

"Oh! My eye patches?" He nods and you smile excitedly. "They're for my under eye bags. Supposedly they're made to help with puffiness and keep moisture in. But I mostly like the way they make my eyes feel."

"Interesting," He mumbles as he watches you put on another. "I guess I haven't been around here much at night to see you do this."

"No," you shake your head, smoothing out the patch beneath your eye. Your voice is sad and Jack's frown deepens in spite of the smile you give him. "But you're here now."

"I guess," Jack huffs, crossing his arms. "Just feel bad I'm missing out on this stuff." You snort.

"What, me putting on lotion and reading my book by candlelight like an old lady?"

"I thought you watched tv?" He asks, nodding to the sitcom that was still playing quietly in the background. You give him a look.

"Jack, I play the tv because you need white noise and I thought we compromised and traded the police scanner for Netflix."

"Yeah," Jack mumbles, scrubbing his hand down his face. "I forgot."

He frowns, zoning out as he begins to think about all the things you'd done for him in your relationship. The sacrifices and compromises. The way you traded out your scented laundry detergent for a scent free one because the smell irritated his sensitive nose. Or the way you slept with the tv on when he was home because he couldn't fall asleep in silence.

He thinks about all the things he misses with you. Date nights shifted, new movies watched alone. Really, Jack should be surprised you were still with him at all-

The feeling of your hand against his cheek brings him back. You're watching him with a concerned frown, brows drawn low with worry. Like you could see the spiral of thoughts playing out in in his mind in real time.

"Jack... you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine hon," he says with a small smile, his hand patting your soft thigh. His eyes flit up to your face and his smile widens. "You look ridiculous with those things by the way."

You chuckle, looking away embarrassed. "I know. But they supposedly help."

Jack hums and you bite your lip glancing at the box they'd come in.

"I.... do you want to try them?"

He raises an eyebrow.

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Jack lays lower against the headboard, his hand tracing the soft line of your thigh as you lay against him, your leg thrown up over his. You're wearing your readers, the tortoise shell frames resting over the little jelly patches, eyes scanning the paperback book you'd been working on for a while now.

He scratches his cheek, fingers nudging the little jelly patches you'd placed beneath his eyes. He had to admit they felt nice. They were cool against his skin, soft and not at all annoying like he thought they'd be.

His eyes flicker between the tv playing and you reading, the exhaustion hitting him like a train. Sure, he could just lay down now and fall asleep while you finished up your little routine. But he didn't want to miss anything else, forcing his eyes to stay open. Besides, you had said you'd have to wait a few more minutes before you could take the patches off.

Jack yawns and you glance up from your book. He smiles at you, leaning on his elbow as his hand stills against our thigh, thick fingers splayed out on the skin there.

"When did all of this start?" He asks quietly, gesturing to your makeup bag. You set your book down, sliding your glasses to rest on your forehead, screwing your mouth as you think.

"A couple of weeks ago- after I had that really bad eczema flare up. The one you said I should get looked at?"

Jack nods, encouraging you to continue.

"Well, I started doing some research and saw on tiktok-"

Jack sighs. You reach out for his bicep, shaking your head.

"No, I know what you're gonna say-"

"Honey, half the time those people don't know what they're talking about. Dr. Google-"

"No, I swear Jack," you laugh, "I watched a couple videos about moisturizing and keeping up with a good skincare routine and decided I'd give it a try. You know, to get ahead of any developing skin flare ups."

Jack sighs, giving you a disbelieving look. "But you did go to the doctors... right?" You smile, rolling your eyes.

"Yes Jack. I knew you'd throw a fit otherwise."

"Good," he lets out a breath, folding his arms over his stomach. He turns his head again towards you, your book still laying against your chest. "Can I see the videos?"

You scoff, giving him a look. "Seriously?"

"What? I just want to see them-"

"You're gonna laugh. You hate the kind of videos I watch."

"The ones where people tap on everything?" You bite your lip, a bashful look coming over your face. Jack smiles, shifting his body so he was facing you better. "Come on, I won't laugh. I just want to see them."

"Alright," you sigh, reaching back for your phone on your nightstand. You scoot closer on the bed, head tucked into the crook of his arm as you pull up your app.

Jack watches as you scroll through it, fingers moving faster than he could compute. Sometimes he really did feel like an old man compared to you when you pulled moves like this.

You show him a few videos, mostly young girls with perfectly clean houses and heavy blush smiling brightly into the camera, holding up products and tapping. on. everything. Jack watches with brief commentary, listening as you explain which lotions you decided to try, which body scrub you almost bought but didn't after reading the reviews.

You scroll through each video, glancing up at him each time to make sure he was still awake. He was, but just barely. Until he you scrolled past a video that jolted him back to the present.

"Wait. Go back."

"Huh?

"Go back one. I want to see the video you skipped."

"Oh!" You smile, Jack leaning in closer to the screen as the video plays, a smirk forming on his face. "That's Dr. J. I love watching all her videos, she's a genius!"

Jack hums, watching a familiar looking student doctor ramble on the screen about skin care and why dermatologists are an important aspect of medical care.

"I actually think she works at your hospital Jack," you say with a yawn. "Do you know her?"

"Uh yeah," he responds. "She's a sweet kid."

"She seems like it. She makes all these really interesting videos and has a lot of really great advice about relationships and stuff for someone so young..." you trail off, biting your lip. Jack shift to look at you, a worried expression crossing your face.

"What?"

"Wait... I'm not gonna get her in trouble by showing you this... will I?

Jack grins, rubbing your arm. "Nah. She's not hurting anyone with them. Besides, it's good she has a side hustle."

You laugh.

"Oh, good."

Jack chuckles, yawning too. He gives you a tired look, your own eyes beginning to droop.

"You've got any more steps in your routine?" He whispers, settling into a more comfortable position on the bed.

"Nope," you shake your head. "Why?"

"Just checking." You smile to yourself, letting out a quiet breath.

"If you want, I can take you through it next time. My routine."

"Sure honey. I'd like that."

"Of course you would old man." He grins, eyes closing again.

"Won't look like one if you get me on that skincare routine of yours."

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thank you for reading! if you're interested in reading more of my works for the pitt, here is a link to my masterlist

[redd-blushing-roses]

Suck It Up Buttercup

word count: 6.1k

pairing: Frank Langdon x reader

summary: every month, you suck up the pain of being a woman and ignore your pain to help patients with theirs. every month, Frank tries to tell you to take it easy, to stop and listen to your body and stop pushing yourself. but it's hard when your whole life you've lived with a "take it like a man" mindset. until one day you can't take it anymore and your body forces you to listen to it. and to Frank.

warnings: wife!reader, brief talk about periods and uti's, misogyny, Robby being... Robby, blood and vomiting, pain, pittlings!, reader being kind of an idiot (we love a stubborn woman who fights the pain but girl... know when to quit!), idk let me know if I missed anything else.

notes: this was supposed to be a quick vent drabble but somehow it got away from me and over 6k words later we've got... this. semi- based on my very real and very painful experience with my period this past weekend (minus a hot doctor husband there to take care of me)

anyhoo, enjoy reading :)

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From the moment you rolled over in bed, blearily staring out into the early morning sun, you knew it was not going to be your day. The second you opened your eyes, awoken from a deep slumber and crazy dream, the pain instantly hit you.

Muscles tightening. Belly aching.

The intense pull and stretch of your uterus, the feeling of your insides literally shedding.

Your period had hit you like a train.

You spent a good thirty minutes shifting around, Frank - bless his heart - snoring softly beside you all the while. He still slept blissfully unaware of the fact the fetal position you were now holding was doing nothing to soothe the aching cramps like it usually would.

It would piss you off if you weren't so preoccupied with the fact it felt like someone had tried to gut your uterus out.

When you finally gain the courage to get up and use the bathroom, it takes all your strength to walk the five feet from your bed to the toilet without groaning. All of your mental energy to focus on the task at hand and not curl up into a ball on the floor.

Not today. Of all the days...

You hated working on your start day.

Generally the worst day of your period; a full morning of cramping and nausea. An afternoon of mood swings snd headaches. To say the least, it was definitely not a day you wanted to spend twelve hours on your feet, listening to other people complain about indigestion and bruised toes.

But you did it anyway. You had to. It had been ingrained into you since you were a young girl.

"Suck it up buttercup. That's just womanhood."

Bills don't pay themselves. Food doesn't magically appear on the table. Dirty dishes and unfolded laundry don't just disappear.

Life didn't stop just because you were in a little pain.

"Honey."

Frank's voice cuts through the quiet of the bathroom. You blink, peering between your fingers to register the sight of his bare feet padding towards you. You were sitting at the edge of the tub, your head held in your hand, the position doing little to relieve you of the pain.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine," you whisper.

Very convincing.

Frank crouches in front of you, one hand coming to rub your back while the other gently massaged your calf. You hum, closing your eyes again as another wave of pain washes over you.

A harsh tightening of your abdomen, leaving you breathing shakily through your nose.

Frank whispers your name, a string of "oh baby"s following. You feel him kiss your forehead before the feel of his hands disappears. The sound of his quiet footsteps and the medicine cabinet opening follows. You hear a rattling pill bottle being shaken, Frank quietly grunting before padding back over to you.

"Here," he says softly, pressing the pill into your hand. "I'll get you some water to take it."

You look up, squinting to take in the messy bed head and tired lines of Frank's face.

"Without eating anything?"

"Normally I'd say no. But it might work faster if you take it now." You nod, Frank already off to get you water.

The pill kicks in twenty minutes later, easing the stabbing pain to a dull and uncomfortable tightness in your belly. Just enough to slip into your scrubs and pull yourself into a semi presentable state.

Frank just eyes you as you get ready, blue eyes boring into you as he ties the string of his scrub pants from across your shared bedroom. You glance back at him from the connected bathroom, pausing your brushing.

"I'm fine Frank," you say through a mouth of toothpaste. He sighs, bending down and throwing the kicked off comforter back onto the bed.

"You don't look fine."

You glance back in the mirror, the mascara and blush you'd quickly applied doing little to cover the greenish pale pallor of your skin. You shake your head, ignoring the slight tremble of your hand as you twist the faucet on, water rushing as you rinse out your mouth.

Frank finishes making the bed, coming to lean against the doorframe of the bathroom.

"I really don't like when you work like this. It won't kill you to take the day off."

You shake your head, drying your mouth. "I can't just take the day because I've got cramps. I'm not a quitter."

"I didn't say you were."

"No. But you're giving me that look." Frank frowns.

"What look?"

"The one all men give when a woman complains about cramps."

"There is no look," Frank crosses his arms. You roll your eyes, pushing past him to get to your purse. "There is no look, honey," he doubles down, following you out of the bedroom as you storm into the kitchen.

"There is Frank. It's the same look I've gotten for twenty years. The 'it's her time of the month' look." You huff, pulling out your container of overnight oats from the fridge.

You dig through the kitchen drawer for a spoon more aggressively than you intend to. Your hand moving about without much of your usual control, the ache of your uterus becoming a more potent sting again.

Frank watches, concern drawn in the small crease between his brows, his mouth pulled into a deep frown. He leans over the island counter of your kitchen, keeping his distance as you dip your spoon into the container, your nostrils flaring. You shove a spoonful into your mouth, glaring up at Frank.

He finally sighs, shaking his head and mumbling something about stubborn wives.

"Fine. I'll finish getting ready and then we can drive over together."

"I can drive myself. You're only working a half shift-"

"Not everything is because I'm some misogynistic jerk, okay. Can't I just care about my wife?" Frank throws out, anger flashing for a moment. He takes a breath, hands coming to rest on his hips. "Just, let me drive. Please," he says quietly. Pleading almost.

You close your eyes, riding a sharp wave of pain in your abdomen, your stomach churning at the feeling. When you blink them open, Frank is by your side, a hand reaching out to rub your lower back. You take a deep shuddering breath, mumbling a half hearted apology.

"I'm sorry."

"I know," he says, pulling you into his side.

"I'm not really mad at you. I just-"

"I know," Frank repeats. "I get it. I just don't like seeing you hurting. That's all."

You nod into his chest, stomach churning again with a dull twist you didn't like. Frank kisses the top of your head, leaving you to go finish getting ready. You get in a couple more bites of your oats before the dull twist in your stomach turns into something more.

You swallow dryly, spit clinging to the wall of your mouth. An unsettling sense of dread washing over you. You eye the trash can across the kitchen, speed walking over-

You heave, water and oats leaving with a spill of stomach acid. You vomit quietly, silently praying Frank doesn't hear you. You grip the counter, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, feeling no relief at the dispelling of your stomach.

You wince as you stand upright, putting your food back into the fridge, the little appetite you had managed to muster gone. You wouldn't be able to eat anyway. Your stomach still churns, abdomen clenching again as another wave of cramps hits you.

This was a nightmare.

And it only got worse.

------------------------------------------------------

You tried to ignore the way Frank kept glancing over at you on the drive over to PTMC.

You knew he noticed.

The way you kept squeezing his hand as he rested it on your thigh, the way you kept shifting in the passenger seat. Crossing and uncrossing your legs. Lifting your hips in a desperate attempt to find relief.

Any relief.

But there was none. Just the same constant ache. The same feeling of your insides tearing away, muscles flexing and spasming unceasingly.

Frank is right behind you when you begin the trek through the hospital's parking lot. His hand hovering just beside yours.

An offering.

Not pressing. Not absent.

Just there.

You appreciated the gesture, but didn't take it. Just walked towards the hospital's building like it was your only mission.

Get through the door. Just get through the door.

It's already crowded for seven in the morning, the waiting room buzzing with conversation and complaints. You try to ignore it, the noise filling your mind like a cloud. It was too loud. Too hot in the room.

You let out a heavy breath as a headache forms, pulling at the neckline of your scrub. A thin layer of sweat is already glimmering along your collarbone, soaking into the fabric of your undershirt.

You ignore it, just applying an extra swab of deodorant when you reach your locker. The cap to your deodorant falls when you try to put it back, your hands shaking so much it was hard to focus. You mumble an apology, feeling bad when Frank bends over to pick it up.

"Are you sure you-"

"I'm fine Frank," you shake your head, looking up at him. "I can do this."

Frank frowns. Pouts really. You sigh, plastering a smile on your face. It comes off as more of a grimace, but you don't have it in yourself to pretend to be any better.

"You don't have to hover. I'll take it easy today, okay."

"I don't hover." You glance over at Frank, giving him a disbelieving side eye. He looks at you innocently, setting his bag carefully into his locker.

"Yes you do."

"I don't. I can't help it if I'm more astute in my observations than most." You snort.

"Oh really?"

He hums in agreement, shutting his locker closed. You watch him, your hands tightening around the opening of your locker as another wave of cramps ramps up. Your breath hitches and you close your eyes, leaning your forehead against the cool metal.

"Want me to tell you what I'm observing now?" Frank asks in that 'know it all tone' you usually found amusing.

When he used it with patients. Not you.

"I don't know, do I," you mutter, annoyance slipping in your tone.

Frank's hands come to rest on your waist, his thumbs rubbing comforting circles into your hips. You huff slightly, his touch doing little to reprieve the pain. But it made you feel slightly better knowing that he was there with you.

"I'm observing a medical practitioner who is doing anything but listening to a doctor's advice."

"You're not my doctor Frank," you turn around slowly, glaring at him as you press your back against the locker.

"Okay, against your husband's advice. Your husband who's getting a recommendation letter sent to some of Pittsburgh's finest hospital's mind you. And who was sent a very kindly worded letter by admin over Christmas."

You laugh, wincing as your abdomen clenches at the movement.

"Don't make me laugh," you smile, hand squeezing against your belly.

"Sorry," Frank smiles guiltily. "I'm serious though."

"I know."

"Doctors really make the worst patients."

"Just living up to the saying." You try to be funny but the words fall flat. Frank just frowns.

You look down at your hands, a little overwhelmed as the thought of the day ahead hits you. Frank takes your hands into his, big palms covering yours. He leans down to your eye level, forcing you to look at him. You oblige, eyes flickering over the concern written on his face.

"Please don't push yourself too hard. Listen to your body. Take breaks. Maybe see if Dana will let you hang out in triage for most of the day."

"Okay," you mumble, squeezing his hand. "Anything to keep you off my back." Frank shakes his head before pressing a kiss to your temple.

"Stubborn wife."

"Helicopter husband." He raises an eyebrow.

"That's a new one."

You blink, your response lost as another cramp takes over.

Oh this was hell.

Frank just sighs, reaching into your locker beside you and grabbing your water bottle. He places it into your hands gently, giving you a serious look.

"Drink some water before you make your way in. It's gonna be busy from the looks of it. Gotta keep you hydrated, okay?"

You nod, waving as Frank makes his way to the pitt. He glances back twice as he disappears down the hall, mouth screwed up in worry. You really did appreciate how much he cared for you.

Even if he could be a little overbearing.

You glance down at your water bottle, taking a breath before popping the lid. The water is cool against your dry mouth, steadily flowing as you take a couple of drags from the straw. You stand there for a minute. Waiting.

And then your stomach churns.

"No, no no." You groan, putting your water bottle back into the locker, pacing in a circle. You hunch, taking shallow breaths. You knew what was coming. Could feel the lurch of stomach acid, the dread of anticipation washing over you.

The hallways trash echoes as you retch, your fingers clinging tightly to it's rim. You vomit the water, throat constricting as your system tries to bring up more. There's nothing though. You're all empty.

When you finally stop, every muscle in you is shaking. Trembling fingers close your locker and smooth out your scrubs. With a pale face, only made worse by the harsh hospital lights, you enter the pitt.

You enter a nightmare.

------------------------------------------------------

The first hour goes by in a blur. You barely trudge up to the nurses station before Dana is shooing you away, pressing a patient chart into your hand and telling you to 'turn that frown upside down.' She doesn't even get a chance to let you mention triage.

Frank looks up from across the station, lab work and scans already tucked under his arm, his brows raised in question.

"Are you sure?"

You shake your head.

"I got this."

You're running between patients- more sluggish than your usual pep, slightly hunched. Your hand feels like it's permanently glued to your abdomen, pressing firmly against the muscle there each time your uterus contracts.

Turns out there was no such thing as 'taking it easy' when it came to the Pitt.

It takes all your effort to listen as the mom of a four year old explains how she got a staple lodged in her lip,

"She just wanted a lip ring like her older sister. Ay, my sweet girl-"

And to follow along as Princess explains her latest situationship to you,

"I really don't think he's that good looking. Well, who am I kidding. He's good enough with all those 0's in his paycheck-"

And to pay attention to Dennis when he presented a case on an elderly couple who both had caught a serious case of pneumonia.

"I'm not too worried about the wife. She seems to have strong enough lungs. But the husband was a smoker and his oxygen levels are already so low-"

"Hmm."

It was exhausting. And to top it off, you had the urge to pee every five minutes. As if bleeding out and cramping wasn't enough.

"Hey, are you okay?" Dennis asks when you try to stifle a groan, shifting as you type a note into the couple's chart. "You look kinda-"

"I'm fine. Finish up the IV and then go see your next patient," you snap. You feel a little bad when Dennis flinches, surprise written on his face. You take a breath, reaching a hand out in apology."Sorry Dennis. It's not you. I'm just- I'm having a rough morning. That's all."

His eyes widen, face shifting into something sympathetic.

"Oh. Okay. Let me know if I can do anything for you." You chuckle, trying to hide a wince.

"Thanks Huckleberry."

------------------------------------------------------

By the second hour, you've improved slightly.

Just slightly.

The cramps lesson, just a dull ache you notice more every time you sit down. But you're moving from patient to patient so quickly, there's hardly time to feel anything. Multiple incoming traumas, Mel in need of assistance with a combative teen, Trinity talking your head off about a rude patient.

There was a pair of teens who'd gotten serious burns who didn't know how to put out a grease fire, a mother who'd displaced her kneecap running after her three year old, a firefighter who cut a portion of his hand trying to use a saw blade.

You're perspiring again as you leave your latest patient's room, glancing over at the nurses station. Frank is watching you- or at least you know he is in spite of the way his eyes are glued to his computer screen. You try to ignore him, heading to the bathroom again.

When you come out, shaking the last bits of water off your hand, he's no longer at the station. He's standing right by the door, nonchalantly rummaging through a supply cart stationed there. Frank glances over at you, checking over you in the clinical manner he always adopted when observing a patient.

You huff, hands on your hips.

"You checking me out Dr. Langdon?" It was another attempt to be humorous. To pretend like it was fine.

It was fine- the words didn't even mean anything to you anymore.

Frank just quirks his mouth to the side, eyes flitting down to your hands.

"You're hands are shaking." You look down, flexing your fingers in an attempt to quell the slight tremble.

"I-"

"You're really pushing it you know. I saw you with that last patient. You could barely stand straight."

"But I did."

"Yeah you did. But what happens if it becomes so bad you double over during a high risk case. What then?" You narrow your eyes.

"What- I'm not going to hurt anyone Frank. I can manage the pain." He gives you a look.

"You think grimacing and clutching your belly like it's a stress ball is managing?" You huff.

"Frank, you worked shifts after your back thing-"

"And look at me now," he gestures to himself, eyes wide. "Just because you can doesn't mean you should."

"It's just my period. The pain usually subsides after a couple hours. I only have to ride it out for a little bit longer."

"Are you sure it's just your period."

"Of course-"

"Positive?"

"I- what else could it be?" Your period was always miserable. Frank should know, he'd spent 36 weeks out of your whole marriage watching you fight off cramps and nausea. He knew how bad it could get. But something about the way he was looking at you said he saw something different. "What Frank?"

He looks away.

"You never throw up." You frown. He continues, "Even when the pain is really bad. I've never seen you throw up during your period."

"How did you-"

"I could smell the stomach acid in the kitchen trash."

You rub your forehead, looking out into the ED. Dana was giving the two of you a hair raising look. One that said 'get a move on.'

"Frank, it's just my period. Women have bad symptoms all the time."

"But you don't."

"I- I guess I do this time. I don't know." He doesn't look convinced. "Look, it's going to get better. The cramps have subsided a bit already-"

"Hey, you two," Robby's voice cuts in. You turn around, like a child caught doing something wrong, watching as he slows. He stops by Frank, hands shoved into the pocket of his scrubs. Robby looks between the two of you, taking in the way you stand slightly hunched. The way Frank's shoulders tense, jaw ticking with something unspoken. "Everything okay here?"

You nod, swallowing thickly. "Peachy."

Frank looks away and mumbles a 'yeah'.

Robby frowns, eyes still flitting between the both of you. His piercing stare lands on you, looking you up and down with clinical precision.

"You sure? You're a little green around the gills."

You force a smile. "Just a little under the weather today."

Robby nods slowly. He's not quite convinced. Especially not when Frank's jaw ticks again, teeth grinding together in the annoyed way he gets when he doesn't agree with a diagnosis.

Robby doesn't say anything else though, just tells the two of you to make sure you get back to work. You're about to walk off towards your patient's room, trying to escape but Frank catches you. His hand squeezes yours, eyes pleading.

"Please. Switch with someone in triage. I think Javadi's been stuck there all morning. She'd happily switch."

You shake your head, pushing down the sick feeling that was rising.

It was just your period. Just. Your. Period.

"I can do this Frank. I just have to push through."

I'm fine.

But the more you say it, the more you sound like you're trying to convince yourself as much as everyone else.

------------------------------------------------------

The third hour hits.

Like a freaking bullet train.

If you thought that morning had been bad, this was truly a new low. The cramps subside, just like you knew they would. Only they're replaced by a fiery, stinging ache that blazes along your pelvic wall.

Your head aches dully as you walk down the hall, the ED's bright lights and constant noise only adding to the overwhelmed feeling rising in your chest. You rub your temples, trying to focus and ease the throbbing. A brain fog was rolling in, settling over you like a thick mist. It was hard to focus, the usual overwhelming chaos of the ED worsening tenfold.

You try to listen as Samira talks beside you, hands moving about animatedly as she explained her dilemma.

What was she talking about? You'd lost track a long time ago.

It was getting hard to focus on anything but breathing and keeping yourself upright. In addition to the stinging pain of your pelvic region, you were beginning to feel very very sick.

Your stomach gurgled. An angry and empty sound. Nausea plagued you, the smell of hand sanitizer becoming more and more sickening, the saccharinely smelling donuts Abbot had left sitting in the break room doing little to ease your headache.

You were running on fumes, each passing minute ticking slower. You glance at the clock, the time still reading single digits. You hadn't even made it to 10 O' clock yet.

You swallow dryly.

Maybe you should tell Robby you were feeling worse and go home-

No! You mentally slap yourself. You have to do this. The ED was short staffed as it was. They needed you-

"Hey." You stop short, looking around in a daze. Samira reaches out to clasp your shoulder, helping to steady yourself as you wobble. "Are you alright? You look terrible."

You hum, sweat dripping down your back. You pull at the neck of your scrubs, suddenly feeling a wave of heat.

"Is it hot in here to you?" You ask. Samira frowns, concern crossing her face.

"No. Are you feeling okay? You're burning up," she reaches out, the back of her hand pressed against your forehead. You push her hand away, shaking your head.

"I'm alright. I just need... I just need..."

What did you need?

"I-"

"Mohan," Robby's voice calls out. Your name follows, the two of you turning to face the Chief Attending as he gestures for you to come. "We've got two incoming traumas. No time for standing around."

"I don't think-" Samira starts.

"Samira it's fine," you glare, already grabbing a fresh pair of gloves and following Robby.

She doesn't look convinced and you miss the way she meets Frank's eyes across the ED. He looks equally concerned watching you, your frame hunched over as you rush to the incoming gurney.

Everything about your movements are sluggish. Jerky hands inspect flesh, eyes glazed over as you make the examination. You don't notice as Samira enters the trauma room, her eyes darting between you and Robby.

You glance up briefly, regretting the moment you try and stand straighter. Black spots prickle at your vision and you shake your head, trying to focus. Robby must notice the way you suddenly tip sideways, his voice cutting harshly through beeping monitors and nurses' voices.

"Hey. You still here with us?"

"I'm here," you mumble, blinking. Your fingers tighten over the ultrasound wand you hold, eyes glazed over as you watch the monitor.

"What are you seeing?"

You don't register the question, your vision spotting again. Robby calls your name, alarm written on in his face as he catches you staring at the monitor. Samira nudges you, and you snap back to reality.

"Yes, sorry I'm here."

"Are you?"

"Yes." Fear began to claw it's way up your chest. This wasn't right. There was something seriously wrong with you. With shaky hands, you step back, the ultrasound wand still clutched in your hand. "I-"

Samira frowns, glancing between you and Robby with anxious readiness. Robby shakes his head in disbelief as you stand there, telling Samira to take over.

She does, using the ultrasound wand to find where the patient was bleeding out. You back away from the patient, back hitting the wall as you shake. Frank was right.

There was something seriously wrong with you.

When Robby finally gets the patient to stabilize, he gives you a withering look, telling you to follow him. You do, feet trudging slowly into the hallway, away from the main area of the Pitt.

He shakes his head, hands rubbing over his face. "Okay, I'm only gonna ask this once. And you better be honest with me."

You blink, breathing heavy.

"What the hell was that?"

"I-"

"I've never seen you off your game like that. You've been off all day today, standing around. Holding yourself weird. Is your head in the clouds or are you just piddling about-"

"I'm trying my best Robby," you hiss, trying to stay focused in spite of the vertigo that was hitting you. Your abdomen tenses, body on fire as it works overtime to keep you upright. "I'm sorry if I'm a little slow. It's not my fault I have to go through this every month-"

Robby glances up in disbelief, chuckling without any amusement.

"Wait, this is because of a few cramps? You almost cost us a patient's life because of a few cramps?" You swallow thickly, a lump forming in your throat. "Are you kidding me."

"I'm trying my hardest here Robby, but there's something wrong-"

"Yeah there is. You do not get to stop in the middle of a trauma patient because you're experiencing menstruation pains. Okay? You've got to take your own pain and push it to the side. Forget about it. The patients come first. Always-"

You stare, your breath shaking as you grip the fabric of your scrubs, trying to focus on what Robby was saying. But with each passing second of standing there, you felt yourself slipping further and further away, the haze in your mind taking over.

Everything is on fire. You're whole body.

You're sweating profusely now, the neck of your scrubs drenched. From the corner of your eye, you spot Dana rounding the hallway, her mouth pulled down in a serious frown when she spots you.

"Hey, what the heck is going on," she asks, Robby pressing his lips into a thin line as Dana reaches out for your shoulder. "What's going on, are you okay honey?"

"I-" you start, the words disappearing. Your mouth feels like cotton, a tight, tense feeling weighing over your chest. You have about six more seconds of clear thoughts before it all goes to mush.

You were going to be sick.

"Robby she-"

"Oh shi-"

You collapse before either of them can catch you.

In the vague blurry dizziness that follows, you feel yourself hit the floor. Hands wrap around your shoulders, Dana and Robby's voices cluseting over each other unintelligibly. You manage to catch pieces, the words sounding strange.

"She said she was on her period?"

"I thought she just had a few cramps."

"Robby, this isn't just a period. She's seriously burning up-"

"I know."

You feel a strange sensation rising up your chest, a sudden urge to cough and gag.

Were you vomiting?

You weren't sure. But the smell of stomach acid was beginning to pervade your cloudy mind, mixing with the smell of Robby's musky cologne and Dana's sanitized hands. And another smell.

Frank's shampoo.

"Hey, come on baby-"

You blearily look around, the feeling of a hospital bed coming beneath you, the fuzzy outline of Dana by your side and Frank's hand coming to brush your face. You try to say his name, but your mouth feels like cotton. Tongue thick, eyes drooping lower.

It was getting darker.

So dark.

And you were so tired. You just wanted the pain to be over with.

So dark...

------------------------------------------------------

You wake up slowly. Consciousness bleeding back into your person like trickling sand.

The first thing you notice is the fact it's quiet. A gentle stillness that never belonged in the ER. The soft sound of rain pattering against the window, the familiar hum of an air purifier running.

You don't open your eyes yet, moaning softly as you flex you fingers against the sheets beneath you. Soft cotton. A pillow that seemed to remember the way you lay.

But the most important thing you notice is the fact the pain is gone. Well mostly gone. There's nothing but a hollow emptiness in your belly, a stinging pain in your arm and a slight ache behind your sinuses.

You finally open your eyes, blinking as you take in the softly lit walls of your bedroom. The lamp on Frank's side of the bed glows softly, a soft bulb he insisted keeping on 24/7 painting everything in a peaceful orange.

You sit up slowly, taking in the fresh pair of pajamas you were in, the soft and messy bun your hair had been swept up in. In the crook of your arm is a tightly wrapped bandage, another bandaid wrapped against the top of your hand. You must have had an IV.

You can't remember it though. As hard as you try, the memories between Dana and Robby helping you off the floor and waking up in your own bed were blurry and mixed.

It was all a vague puzzle.

A bright light shining in your eyes.

Frank's hand on yours, the feel of his lips across your temple.

The smell of his car, the seat pressing into your back.

Voices clustered. Arguing. Your own sluggish voice thrown in the mix.

The house is quiet as you pad out into the hall. Slowly, taking cautious steps as your hand slides along the wall for support. The living room is lit softly, lamps and candles casting gentle light onto the furniture. Frank knew you had an aversion to overhead lighting.

You move further into the living room, the shag rug soft beneath your bare feet, the couch plush against your thigh as you lean over it. You catch a glimpse of Frank's long torso on the other side, legs stretched as he lays splayed out on the floor.

His computer is humming softly, a medical podcast droning on in one tab, another tab pulled up with a long article from the history channel, something about old oil mines and rigging complexes. Frank types away at his phone, fingers working quickly as he composes a text.

The window is cracked open slightly, the purple indigo of Pittsburgh's night sky peeking through. You frown.

"It's night?"

Frank startles at the sound of your raspy voice, eyes quickly snapping to your figure, darting up and down as he assesses you.

"You're awake."

He pushes himself off the floor with a tired grunt, offering you the glass of iced tea he'd been sipping on. You take it, realizing how thirsty you were, and sip slowly.

Slightly dazed, you look around, like you didn't quite understand what was going on. Frank's hand rests over your elbow, trying to keep you grounded.

"You were out for a while. I was gonna wake you up in a bit. Make sure you were doing alright."

You nod, blinking slowly as your brain tries to catch up. Frank tugs you closer, guiding you around the couch so you can sit.

"Are you feeling better?" Frank asks, brows raising high with hope. You nod again, slumping against the couch cushion, the iced tea clutched in your hands.

"I- did I pass out?"

"You did." You frown, looking down at your lap.

"I've never had that happen during my period before."

Frank scratches the back of his head. "Well, I'm pretty sure you've never had a UTI before either." You look up at him, surprised.

"I do?"

"A mild one." Frank licks his lips, pulling the fabric of his sweats up as he squats in front of you. He stares up at you, watching your face carefully, trying to gauge what you were thinking.

He continues when you don't say anything, "it uh, explains the throwing up. And why your period pain was so much worse. Dana says it happens to some women. Goes unnoticed by most because they can't tell the difference between regular cramps and infection pain."

You blink, trying to wrap your head around this new information.

"I passed out?" Is all you ask again.

"You were severely dehydrated. Between not drinking anything and frequently urinating. Plus you had a fever which wasn't making anything better."

"Oh," you frown, looking down. "I thought I was just... I thought maybe I had been making a big deal-"

"Hey, you weren't. You weren't making a big deal," Frank moves to sit next to you, knees pressed close as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. "If anything, I'm surprised you were able to make it for as long as you did." You hum, swirling the straw of his tea idly.

"I don't remember much after I collapsed." You look up at Frank. He lets out a breath.

"It wasn't pretty. Dana came and got me. Told me you collapsed while arguing with Robby. Found out what he said... I had some pretty choice words with him."

"You did?"

"Yeah," he looks down at his feet. "Might have to work a couple night shifts before he's ready to see me again."

You give him a small smile. The first real smile you've had all day really.

"I'm guessing they pumped me full of antibiotics?" Frank snorts, snapped out of his memory.

"Oh yeah. You were coasting on IV fluid for a while. They had you sleeping in a bed until I finished my shift. You were pretty out of it when I took you home."

Frank looks up at you, an emotion crossing his face you rarely see. Fear.

"You really scared me, you know. When Dana ran to come get me I-" He swallows thickly, not finishing. You reach out and hold his hand, eyes softening.

"I'm sorry Frank," you whisper, eyes glassy. "I didn't mean to-

"You don't have to be. You didn't know. But you've got to take it easy when you're hurting like that."

You chuckle dryly.

"But Robby-"

"Who cares what Robby thinks," Frank throws back. "You shouldn't be scared to take care of yourself just because you're scared he'll think you're weak."

"I'm not scared of Robby."

"Okay. Maybe not scared of him, but of others right? Scared you won't meet your own expectations?" You're silent.

"Frank-"

"Admitting you can't do something isn't a failure. It's a strength. A pretty brave one at that. Pushing yourself to the brink isn't going to make you a better doctor." You give him a look.

"Says the guy who hurt his back because he insisted moving a couch was light work." Frank scoffs, smiling amusedly. His shoulders flex as he adjusts his stance, shaking his head with disbelief.

"Well, you know I'm telling you this cause I've got experience. What's the saying- do as I say, not as I do?"

You laugh. "I think it's something like that."

Frank smiles, reaching out to push a lock of hair out of your face.

"I'm really glad you're okay. But please. For the love of God- don't scare me like that again."

"Okay doc," you lean in cautiously, giving him a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Scouts honor."

He smiles. You lean back, relieved to be feeling somewhat better after the crazy day.

"Frank."

"Yeah?"

"Does pizza and 'Back to the Future' sound good for dinner?" Frank grins.

"There's my girl."

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thank you for reading! if you're interested in reading more of my works for the pitt, here is a link to my masterlist

[redd-blushing-roses]

Ring Ring... Hello??

word count: 2.8k

pairing: Frank Langdon x (mom) reader

summary: it's never easy being a parent in the emergency department. never. you don't know how frank does it half the time. what he doesn't tell you is it's always the little things that keep him going. the reminder that at the end of the day, he has his family to come home to.

warnings: none really. mentions of a patient loss, kids and babies. just something sweet and fluffy. also no use of the names tanner or penny, but there is still an older boy and younger girl dynamic.

notes: a quick one I wrote yesterday. still working on a long jack fic (currently sitting at 8k and counting) which should be out soon.

enjoy reading :)

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It wasn't unusual for Frank to disappear at some point during a shift. Especially not after a case like this.

Not after blood had soaked through his latex gloves and his back and shoulders ached from the repeated compressions; not when he’d spent the last half hour listening to the piercing ring of a heart monitor flatlining. 

Dana knew it. Robby knew it. Jeez, even Abbot knew it. 

Better to let him disappear, wander down a hall and decompress or whatever it was that he did.

“Where's Doctor Langdon?” Mel asks curiously, head craning as she looks around the pitt. Dana gives her a smile, flipping through her endless pile of patient charts. 

“He's out taking a quick breather.”

Her eyes widen, worry lining her frown.

“Is he okay?”

“He'll be fine.” 

“Are you sure?” Dana looks up at the blonde R3, giving her a knowing smile. 

“He always is.” 

Frank paces in the hidden nook of the pediatrics wing, phone pressed to his ear. He listens as the dial tone rings. And rings. And rings. 

He sighs, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. As if that'll erase the gruesome image of the patient case he'd just left. 

He can still smell the metallic hint of blood on his fingers. Even after he’d spent a long while scrubbing his hands raw in the bathroom. Frank lets out a shaky breath, turning on his heel and walking alongside the plainly decorated wall. 

The dial tone rings. And rings.

Click. 

“Hi, you've reached the Langdon residence! Please call back or leave a-”

Frank hangs up at the sound of the voice machine, swallowing thickly and punching in your home number again. He presses the call button, lifting the phone to his ear again. Maybe you were busy. 

Of course you were busy. You were in a perpetual state of busy with two kids under two and a brand new puppy. And a husband who was gone half the week taking care of other people. 

It’s on days like this that he hates the distance. Hates the long hours and shifts he spends at the hospital. Hates that he can’t just walk into the next room and see his babies. Can’t just listen to you ramble about your day or hold you extra long in bed. 

He hates how his heart hurts now, the need to hear your voice growing every time he closes his eyes. The gruesome image of his patient staining the back of his eye lids-

“Hello?” Frank pauses as the little voice answers the phone instead of you. “Hellooo?” 

It takes him a second to register the fact he knows this voice. Of course he does, how could he not. 

“Benny?” 

“Hi daddy! You’re on the phone.” 

“I am," Frank lets out, a half chuckled statement.

“Daddy I’m talking on the phone to- uh oh,” there’s a clatter and a little grunt. Frank smiles in spite of his confusion, listening. “Daddy I’m still talking on the phoonne.”

Frank’s brows furrow as he leans against the wall, realizing it’s his son who has answered the phone. Not you.

The old landline phone Frank insisted you keep in case of emergencies in spite of the fact you had a perfectly fine iphone. The landline phone that was kept on one of the higher shelves of the bookcase in your living room.

“Ben- Benny hold up,” Frank frowns. “How’d you get the phone bud?”

“I climbed.”

“You climbed- you climbed the couch?” Frank hears another clatter and a grunt. 

“I- I being careful."

“Bud,” Frank sighs. “You know you’re not supposed to climb the couch. Remember-”

“Daddy are you almost home soon?”

Frank pauses at Ben’s question. He could picture the two year old’s little pout, the mop of dirty blonde curls on his head, messy from a long day playing in the backyard. 

“Almost buddy. I’ve still got a couple more hours.”

“Are you gonna have spasgetti with us?” Spasgetti. Frank’s heart melts at the word. 

“Yeah. We're having spasgetti for dinner.” You told Frank not to give into the little mispronunciations that came from your toddler. 

“Frank, if you keep this up, Ben will be saying ‘wollypop’ and ‘oppapus’ till he’s thirty.”

“That’s a bad thing?”

“Frank!”

But it was so hard to resist. Hard to resist having to face the fact his son wouldn’t always be this little. Frank sighs, running a hand over his forehead. 

“Benny, can I talk to your mom?”

“You talkin to me.”

“I know bud,” Frank chuckles, half amused and trying not to grow frustrated. “But I need you to pass the phone to mommy. I have to talk to her-”

“No.”

“Ben-”

From somewhere behind the line, Frank hears you call your son’s name. 

“Ben. Who are you talking to?” 

It’s far away, like you’re in another room. Frank cringes as Ben yells enthusiastically into the line. 

“DADDY!”

“Daddy- baby can you bring me the phone?”

“OKAY!

There's the sound of little feet running on the wood floor. A thud and an ouch. 

“You okay?” Frank asks but gets no answer.

He frowns, scratching the line of his hair as he hears more rustling and movement. And then there’s unintelligent mumbling from you, the phone likely pressed into your shoulder as you remind Ben not to climb the couch. Frank would have to remember to have the ‘two feet on the ground’ conversation again at some point.

It’s another moment before he hears your voice more clearly, accompanied by a quiet gurgling. Frank smiles. Probably his six month old baby girl.

“No Benny, not your sister- Frank?”

“Hey,” He says, chest tightening at finally hearing your voice clearly.

“You okay?” You ask. Because of course you’d ask. Somehow you always know; that sixth sense he always marveled over at being able to decipher when he’d just had a bad case. Knowing the difference between a casual check in and a desperate one.

“I’m- yeah I’m okay. I just needed to hear you guys.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry Frank. For whatever it is- baby!” Frank smiles again as he hears a familiar shrieking squeal. It’s high pitched, the laugh Frank always manages to elicit through tummy tickles or his exaggerated game of peak a boo. “Junie, I’m talking to daddy, hold on.” 

Frank laughs as he hears you wrestle the phone away from your baby girl’s curious hands.

“Ugh, I’m sorry. She’s been grabbing every single thing she’s laid her eyes on today. I had to fish the tv changer out of the toilet again.”

“Ah. Hey Junie,” he says, knowing his daughter would be able to hear him. “No more terrorizing your mom, ‘kay? I’m coming home soon.” June’s babbling gets louder and he hears something wet crackle over the phone’s speaker.

“Ew, June. Please don’t slobber all over the phone baby,” you huff. “I’m sorry Frank, we’re kind of all over the place today. Did you need to talk about something?”

Frank thinks for a moment, the patient flashing in his mind's eye again. He’d almost forgotten why he’d called in the first place. 

“No. no that’s okay. I should probably go actually. They’re probably wondering where I snuck off to.” 

“Okay. You’re home at seven, right?”

“That’s the plan. I wouldn’t hold my breath though.” You chuckle.

“Okay, so start dinner around eight?” Frank sighs.

“Probably. Tell Ben I’m sorry, no spasgetti for me.”

“You’re such an enabler, Frank.” He snorts.

“It’s cute!” 

“Of course it is. But he’s not-” your voice is cut off with a loud cry, the sound of the puppy barking from the other room accompanying Ben’s wails. “Oh shoot, that’s Ben. Frank I have to go.”

“I know. I’ll see you later.”

“Okay, love you.”

“Love you too,” Frank parrots, but he’s already heard the line click shut. He sighs, pocketing his phone and stretching his neck. 

The pedes hall he’d been lingering in is quiet. Much more quiet than the chaos of the ED and he feels a warm peace covering him. A gentle encouragement that he can do this. Just a few more hours and he’d be back home, thrown into another brand of chaos. One he’d created and crafted with you by his side.

Dana notices Frank wander back into the pitt twenty minutes after he’d disappeared. He looks a little better, less pale and shaky than when he had left the trauma room. There’s a rosy tint to his cheeks, a lingering humor behind his eye that she recognizes.

He saunters up to the nurses counter, leaning against it as he stares up at the patient board with interest.

“You okay?” Dana asks. Frank nods, giving her an apologetic look.

“Yeah. sorry, I didn’t mean to be away for so long.” She shrugs.

“We do what we have to do to stay sane.” He nods, biting the inside of his cheek. Dana smiles. “How’s the missus?”

Frank chuckles. 

“The same as always. Busy. Got her hands full.”

“Not surprising. She’s good for you Frank. Didn’t think there was anyone out there who’d be able to handle you or your offspring.”

“Hey,” Frank gives her a look.

“I’m just saying,” Dana raises her hand in defense, reaching over to grab a new patient chart. “Here, you can have this one. Patient came in with a big gash. Needs stitches. You can sit and think about your adorable kids while you stitch him up.”

Frank laughs, taking the tablet from her.

“Alright.”

Frank comes home late. Much later than he’d expected. It's close to midnight by the time he pushes the front door of your little house open, cringing at the creaking hinges. He still hadn’t fixed that, remembering you’d asked him to only when he entered the house in the dead of night.

It’s dark in the house as Frank sets down his bag, the lingering smell of garlic and basil hitting him as he kicks off his shoes. He was starving, his mind already set on digging into the cold container of spaghetti he knew would be sitting in the fridge. Maybe drink a coke and pop a couple of advil because his back was killing him-

Frank stills as he passes by the couch, his frame freezing. All thoughts of food or sleep disappear as he takes in the bundle of blankets there, your son curled up against his pillow, dinosaur sheets darkened by a pool of spit.

Ben is passed out, the blanket twisted around his pajama clad legs. He’s got a hold of his mismatched sippy cup, like it was the last anchor keeping his eyes open before sleep had dragged him under. Frank smiles, crouching down to brush a strand of hair out of Ben’s closed eyes. 

Poor kid. He must have tried to stay up. A battle lost before it could even begin.

Frank stands, ignoring the ache in his back as he bends over and lifts his son into his arms. Ben lets out a shuddering breath, sippy cup falling to the floor with a dull thud as the boy snuggles deeper into Frank’s shirt. 

“Daddy,” Ben mumbles sleepily, little fingers digging into Frank’s shirt. 

“Yeah bud,” Frank whispers into the boy’s hair. “It’s me. You close your eyes and go back to sleep, okay.” The words fall on dead ears, Ben already fast asleep again. 

Frank grabs the pillow on the couch and treks down the quiet hall, listening out for you. He passes by the kitchen, glancing inside quickly. But there's only a forgotten dinner bowl on the counter, a single lamp lit over Pretzel’s dog bed. The puppy lifts his head with curiosity at Frank, tail wagging as the man waves. 

Frank continues down the hall, now accompanied by the dog who jingles with each step. He can hear your voice distantly, muffled by the door to June’s nursery. You must have been feeding her. Or trying to put her back to bed. Sleep regression was not for the faint of heart. 

Ben goes down easily, not waking as Frank tucks him into bed gently. He frowns when he sees a darkening bruise on Ben’s chin, fingers brushing along it unconsciously.

Clinically. Ever the doctor. He must have got it during the phone call earlier.

Frank just sighs, rubbing the arch of his lower back as he slowly walks out of the little boy's room, only taking his eyes off his son at the last minute. Pretzel is at his feet, the dog always attached to Frank’s hip when he was home. He supposes it's only fair. Considering he was the one who wanted the dog anyway.

He closes the door halfway, looking up just as you're exiting the baby’s room. You look just as tired as Frank feels. Your hair is thrown up messily, tomato sauce and spit up staining your jeans and sweatshirt. You’ve got the baby monitor and your pump cradled in one hand, the other lingering on the door frame.

You glance over at him with a far away smile, eyes crinkling with relief. 

“Hey,” you whisper quietly, eyes widening. “I thought that was you.”

Frank gives you an equally exhausted smile, arm extended to tuck you into his side. It’s hard to say who leans on who, the two of you practically keeping the other upright as you pad back down the hall.

“I’m sorry I’m so late. There was a bad crash over by the college. Couple of students got hit.” You hum faintly, hand reaching up to run through the short hairs at the base of his neck.

“Oh Frank. That’s awful.” He shrugs.

“It’s the job. I missed you though.”

“Me too. Although it’s hard to say who missed you more. June was crying awful hard after she heard you on the phone.” Frank smiles, letting you go as you reach the kitchen. 

“That stinker. I don’t even remember what she looks like half the time anymore. Feels like she changes after every shift.” You chuckle tiredly, taking care of the milk you’d pumped and glancing over at the abandoned bowl of spaghetti like it personally offended you.

“Do you want some?” you ask, gesturing towards the bowl. “I didn’t even get to finish more than a couple bites. There was a riot over what kind of plate Ben got and a diaper blow out escapade. I know you might have already eaten-”

“Cold spaghetti? Sounds like a dream right now. I’m starving,” Frank grins, leaning over the counter and pulling the bowl towards him. “I think I’m running on half a red bull and a handful of trail mix right now.”

You laugh and move towards the opposite side of the counter, bending down and lifting a now whining Pretzel into your arms. Frank takes turns feeding the pasta to you and himself, the kitchen filled with your gentle voices.

He’s trying his hardest to listen to you as you ramble about your day, something about pudding being the perfect bribe and needing to vacuum out the jungle of a back seat in your car. 

“-But of course, I didn’t even see him climb the couch. That boy is so fast, Frank. I tell you. I honestly won’t be surprised if he’s got a broken bone before he turns three.” Frank shakes his head.

“Uh huh. Not happening. I don’t want to see either of them in the ED for another twenty years. Maybe twenty five.” You laugh, rolling your eyes. Frank smiles, watching the puppy lick tomato sauce off your chin.

“You know,” you start. “You didn’t tell me why you called earlier. Not that I can’t guess, but, did you need to talk about it?”

Frank shrugs, glancing down at the empty bowl, his fingers twirling the fork mindlessly.

“No. No it’s okay. It was just… it was just a lot. A kid had come in, not much older than Ben. Found in a pool.” Frank shakes his head. “We couldn’t get her back.”

Your eyes are glossy in the dim light, your hand reaching out to caress his wrist. 

“I’m sorry Frank.” He nods, not meeting your eye.

“I just… sometimes I just need to hear you guys. To remember I still got you.”

“You always got us.”

“Maybe. Still need the reminder sometimes.” You smile.

Frank takes the Pretzel from your arms and sets the dog down on the kitchen floor. He takes your hand, pulling you around the counter before he wraps his arms around you. You melt into him, cheek resting against his chest. 

“You’re so warm. I could just fall asleep right here.”

“Oh, no,” Frank mumbles. “I don’t think I’d be able to carry you back to bed.”

Gosh, he loved this. Right here. Home sweet home.

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also sorry if the title is kinda bad. I really couldn't think of one.

also also, I totally forgot there is a romcom called "benny and joon" and I promise the names were not intentional like that lol.

thank you for reading! if you're interested in reading more of my works for the pitt, here is a link to my masterlist :)

[redd-blushing-roses]

Hearts and Hands

word count: 1.6k

pairing: frank langdon x (wife) reader

summary: it's never an easy day at the PTMC. and frank is grateful to have your hand to hold when life seems too fragile.

warnings: labor and delivery nurse!reader, established relationship, blood (it's a hospital, come on), traumatic experiences, mentions of infertility/ trouble getting pregnant, frank being a little menace.

notes: I want to be the one to give Frank a hug when he's overwhelmed. Lord knows he needs it (not going to lie, I probably need one too lol)

enjoy reading :)

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The hallway is quiet. Eerily so.

The upper wing of the labor and delivery department of Pittsburgh’s Trauma Medical Center was clean. Pristine almost.

No one throwing up in the hallways, no one coding or half way between here and the afterlife laying on the gurney. It was quiet, the occasional echo of a baby crying or a laboring mother’s music reaching Frank’s ear as he made his way down the hall. It was sort of... peaceful.

An almost jarring shift from the bloody hell he'd just left downstairs. The never ending carnage of the Emergency Department. Crying. Screaming.

Blood.

Always blood. The reminder of just how fragile life could be.

Sometimes it felt like Frank could never rid himself of the metallic stench. No laundrey detergent or cologne could ever erase the memory of the smell. The feel of it on his hands.

Frank shivers, goose flesh running down his back as he pushes the thought out of his jumbled mind. He walks down the hall, breathing in the smell of baby powder and antiseptic; the floor beneath his sneakers so clean he could practically see his reflection in the tile.

“Jeez,” he mutters under his breath, forcing a smile as he nods to an OB passing by. “Dr. Myers.”

She slows, giving him a warm smile, her clipboard tucked beneath her arm.

“Dr. Langdon. Long way from the depths of hell, aren’t we?”

“Uh, yeah. Had to check up on our favorite L and D nurse. Haven't heard from her all day.” The nurse smiles knowingly, a soft and sympathetic look. One he’d seen and given too many times. Frank sighs, stuffing his hands in his pocket. “She okay?”

“She’ll be alright. A check in took a turn for the worse. A missed miscarriage. Your wife had to give the heavy news.” Frank nods, chewing on the inside of his cheek, looking around the pastel floor. That was never easy for you. Giving the bad news.

It was the part about your job you hated. The part that kept you up at night, tossing and turning until Frank had to practically pin you down, reminding you it was okay. Frank clears his throat, gesturing down the hall.

“I’m assuming outside-” Dr. Myers nods, already on the move again.

“Yup. Same spot she always is. Be nice to her, Langdon.” Frank makes a face, raising a hand in disbelief.

“I’m always nice to her. You think she would have married me if I wasn’t?” Dr. Myers presses her lips together, trying to suppress a smile.

“She’s got weird taste, man.” He huffs, rolling his eyes.

The small outdoor patio of the wing opens with the gentle roll of the automatic door. Frank steps out slowly, a slight chill running down his back at the change in temperature. He rubs the goosebumps away from his arm, looking around the crowded patio.

Too many weathered chairs and metal tables that had seen better days. Potted plants that were less decorative and more jungle-like with lack of care. Frank moves around a table, neck craning to catch sight of you.

A flash of your watch, a glimpse of your hair-

He pauses as he catches something in the peripheral of his vision. Pink. Your signature pink. The pink scrubs you insisted on wearing because you claimed they were more feminine. A prettier alternative in such a drab place.

“They help me bond better with my patients. Pink is so much friendlier than that awful black everyone wears downstairs.”

Frank sighs, standing there for a moment, just watching you. Your knees were drawn up to your chest, eyes glassy as you stared at the concrete floor.

He takes a deep breath, drinking the sight of you in. It was a tiny lie he'd told back in the hall. A mix of half a half truth.

It was true he hadn't heard from you all day and he was worried, yes. He always worried. Every time you visited downstairs or were called to the pitt for a pregnant patient, a part of Frank breathed a sigh of relief. Your presence, even from afar, was a reprieve from all the chaos and adrenaline.

And of course, when you didn't show he'd use missing you as an excuse to escape. He did miss you, that wasn't a lie. But more often than not, he was leaving the pitt for his own selfish needs. A quiet hall, a well stocked break room. A stolen kiss or two and sometimes a fresh bagel.

But today, he climbed the stairs to see you for his sanity. To reassure himself he would be fine. You would be fine.

After listening to a heart monitor flat lining for over half an hour, a woman on the gurney with torn up insides due to a car crash. A woman Frank had found too familiar looking for comfort.

She could have been your twin. Your doppelgänger. Her blood on his hands.

Frank wipes his sweaty palms against his scrubs, moving towards you. It's a moment before you look up, your eyes catching sight of his dark sneakers, gaze trailing up to his blue eyes.

You sniff, leaning back against the wall slowly, knees still drawn up.

“Hi.”

It's quiet. An unnecessary formality between the two of you. Frank gives you a sympathetic smile, still standing.

“Hey.”

He gestures his hand towards the empty spot next to you, a silent question.

You nod, a silent answer.

Frank moves towards the wall, sliding carefully down till he was sitting beside you, legs crossed. His knee brushes yours and he can feel you instinctively lean towards him.

The pull of relief and comfort that came from years of knowing and loving. An understanding of the pain and grief which could become overwhelming. A never ending tide one could easily drown under.

Frank reaches out for your hand, taking it gently in his. You let him, fingers intertwined. It's silent for a minute. Just the two of you.

“You want to talk about it?” He asks. You turn, gaze sliding to his slowly.

“Do you?”

He looks at you, your face. He blinks and in the brief darkness he sees the face of the woman he couldn't save. Frank looks away, squeezing your hand harder.

“No.”

You sigh, nodding in agreement.

“It's just been one of those days. The kind where I question why I chose to stick with this career.” Frank’s lips tug upward.

“Uh, cause you're good with babies. Kindest and toughest woman I’ve met. Heart of gold and hands of steel.” You scoff.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means you're good at what you do. You're the best labor nurse I know.” You smile, rolling your eyes.

“I’m the only one you know.” Frank shrugs.

"So what? I know you do what you do because you care too much to stay away." You sigh.

"You're right. I know you're right," you stretch out you legs, rubbing a knot out of your upper thigh muscle. "I just wish it didn't come with all the bad parts." Frank nods, eyes trailing the details of your face.

“That's true. But then how would we know to enjoy the good?”

You turn, blinking slowly. Like you couldn't believe something so soft and serious could have come from him.

“So wise. Have you been hanging out with Dana too much?”

Frank laughs. You do too and he scoots closer, your legs practically melded with one another. He tucks you into his side, chin resting on your head. You wrap your arm around his middle, laying your cheek over his heart beat.

“Sometimes I don't know why I didn't just get a dog or go to therapy. Like a normal person would deal with their problems.” Frank hums, thumb brushing your arm comfortingly. You take a shaky breath and continue. “Nope. If I couldn't have my own, I’d just help other people have their babies. Hope God will give me a chance.”

“It could still happen. It's not impossible-”

“It feels like it,” you say, frustration bubbling beneath your tone.

“I know. But it's only been a year. A year's not very long for trying.” You nod.

“I know. I’m sorry. I'm sorry,” you shake your head, shaking your hands out too. As if trying to rid yourself of all the doubt and grief coursing through you. “I just need to think of something else.”

Frank nods, yawning. The exhaustion of the day was catching up to him.

“You know, we could still get a dog.” You snort.

“We could?” You ask incredulously.

“Yeah. I know of a couple shelters we could visit. Get a puppy. Name him Pretzel or something.”

"Terrible name-"

"It's not," he doubles down. You laugh.

“-And who would be taking care of this dog might I ask.”

He looks at you, like the answer was so obvious.

“Me.” You scoff.

“Right. And by take care of it you mean you get to pet and play with him. I feed and bathe?” Frank shrugs, like it was such a simple answer.

“Sounds like an even distribution to me.” You shove him lightly, pushing him.

“You're unbelievable sometimes.”

“Always keeping you on your toes.”

You hum, looking Frank up and down.

“You're okay though?” You ask. Still checking in.

“Uh, yeah,” Frank looks down at his hands. “Yeah, just… I just needed to see you. Hear you laugh.”

You smile.

“They say laughter is the best medicine.”

“Well, consider me cured.”

You reach out, sqeeze his hand again.

“Yeah.” Your pager beeps, and you look down at it, making a face. “Oh shoot, my boss needs me. Patient’s labor progressed a lot daster than expected.”

You stand, reaching out to help Frank off of the floor. He stands with your help, letting out a grunt. He stretches his back with a pop, scrubs lifting just so to expose his mid section. You smile, watching with your arms crossed. He grins.

"Like what you see?" You shake your head.

"Grow up, Doc."

"If I do, can we get a dog?"

"Frank, no," you laugh, marching your way into the labor and delivery hall. He follows, trailing you with arms open wide.

"Aw, come on babe! I promise I'll be good."

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thank you for reading! if you're interested in reading more of my works for the pitt, here is a link to my masterlist :)

[redd-blushing-roses]

Kiss It Better

word count: 2.8k

pairing: Frank Langdon x (wife) reader

summary: Frank reminds you he's always there when things go wrong. What doesn't a kiss fix?!

warning: established relationship, reader's professional role is kept vague, pregnancy (not reader), violence and injury, typical hospital setting drama, brief implication of reader being shorter than frank, possible inaccurate hospital descriptions.

notes: Oh Frank Langdon... how you have cured my writers block. Also yes, I know this is kind of a cliche trope for medical drama fics. But I'm testing the waters while I work on a couple other things for Frank.

(And if this is terrible it's cause I wrote it during some downtime at work today lol)

enjoy reading :)

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It wasn't rare for you to feel uneasy with patients. There was always an underlying caution that had been ingrained into you since your first day working in the pitt. It's what came with the territory of emergency medicine- gun shot wounds and broken bones, skulls split wide open and flesh torn like paper. 

You’d treated homeless men, members of gangs, a woman so high you were sure she was in another astral plane. A teen who had shouted horrendous things at you as you set their broken bone, a couple who threw an entire tray of scalpels at you.

Those you could handle. The danger was obvious. Duck and cover. Keep your distance, stay alert.

But this. This was different. 

It was wringing fingers and sideways glances. Truth glistening in held back tears, suspicion written in clenched fists. A bad energy vibrating in the little room marked by a number thirteen. 

It was too early for this. 

“You okay?” You glance up from the computer you were typing at, Princess leaning over the nurses station. “I saw you make a face back there after leaving that father and daughter.” 

“Uh, yeah.” You shake your head, trying to shrug off the feeling. “I just got a weird vibe. I don't know why.” Princess makes a face. 

“Sometimes people are like that. Just know we're here if things start taking a turn.”

“I know.”

“If you want, I can send Langdon in with you. I’m sure he'd love to play hero." You pause, looking up at Princess. You make a face, the two of you laughing. 

“It's just an ultrasound. She's probably got indigestion or something. Frank would claim it's boring.”

“Nothing's boring to him if you're involved.” You roll your eyes, grabbing your clipboard. 

“What’d be boring?” 

Speak of the devil. 

You look up, Frank rounding Princess and leaning over the station’s counter, head low enough for you to crane your neck and kiss him. You don't, just roll your eyes. Robby had a strict policy against public displays of affection. One Frank loved to toe the line of. And one you constantly had to steer him clear of. 

Frank frowns, a big pout as he drums the counter with his hands. 

“What, no kiss for the Doc?” 

“No. I'm busy.”

You did want to kiss him. Frank had a very compelling pout on his face and it was taking all of your energy to not simply lean into him and give a peck. Even a tiny one. But, you were a professional through and through.

Frank sighs, “Busy with something boring apparently. Come on let me spice it up, kiss me.” 

Princess snorts, shaking her head. 

“Your husband and his ego.” You give her a look. 

“You're telling me.” 

Frank crosses his arms, smiling in spite of the jab. You stand, letting Frank slide his hand along the curve of your shoulder as you gather your papers. He was reading your clipboard, an interested hum vibrating in his chest. 

“Miss Francis, seventeen. Coming in with abdominal pain, cramping and nausea. Uh oh, we all know what that means.” 

You give Frank a look as he grins, mouthing the diagnosis you refused to admit you'd been guessing as well. 

Pregnant. 

Princess shakes her head with a disapproving sigh. You roll your eyes. 

“You don't know that. Not everyone was a sex heathen like you during high school.” Frank shrugs. 

“Just saying. You saw her. Looks like she’s the popular type. Plenty of boyfriend opportunities. Dad looks strict enough to warrant the need to sneak around and be rebellious.” 

Princess snorts. "Judge much?” 

“I’m just saying,” he raises his hands defensively. You grab a fresh pair of gloves, rounding the station counter. “I’d bet twenty dollars she's pregnant.” Princess perks up at that, glancing at the two of you. 

“Hey, I’ll take that bet.”

Frank nods, shaking her hand. You sigh. 

“I am not betting on my patient. Now if you excuse me, I’ve got a young girl to take care of.” Frank sighs, reaching out and squeezing your hand as you pass by.

“‘Kay. Be careful.”

You give him a small smile, squeezing back. 

“Always.”

You make your way to the small curtained room, waving hello to Collins and Robby who were discussing an amputee who'd come in that morning. You reach the curtain, glancing back at Princess, now exchanging money with Dana behind the station.

Frank was turned back to the screen displaying the incoming patients, clearly cherry picking his next case. You shake your head, ducking behind the curtain.  

“Alright,” you smile politely, eyes darting between the girl on the examination table and the man beside her. “Sorry for the wait. We'll get this set up here and we should have a diagnosis and get you help with that pain.” 

“Sure,” the man grunts, arms folded. “Just hurry it up. We’ve already been waiting for three hours. I got work and she's got to study for her exams.” The girl looks down at her hands, embarrassed.

You smile thinly. 

“I’ll be as quick as I can. Miss Francis, do you mind laying down for me so we can take a peek at what's going on?” She nods, getting situated. 

You move the wand over her gelled belly, apologizing for how cold it was. You frown, eye darting between the screen and her father. He was glowering at you. Like anything you said would just plummet his already broken mood. 

Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Everything was in place, no oddity in her stomach lining or appendix or-

Oh. 

You swallow thickly, moving the wand over the lower part of her abdomen, staring at the screen. 

Frank was about to be twenty dollars richer. 

You clear your throat, looking down at the girl, her arms wrapped around herself. 

“Honey, do you remember when you said your last period was?” 

“Um, I dunno. I lost track I think.” 

“That's okay," you press your lips together, staring at the twelve week old fetus that told you exactly when she’d had her last period. 

“Would you say about three months ago sounds right?” 

“I- I dunno. Maybe,” she swallows nervously. You nod, glancing at her father. There was something dark brewing in his eyes, something that told you he already knew what was happening.

“What are you saying? She's pregnant?” He asks gruffly. 

The girl blanches. You stand there, unsure if it would be wise to answer that question. 

“Um, why don't I call my attending, see if he can get a better picture-” 

The man curses, turning from the two of you, your words dying before you can reach the curtain. Your pulse rises, watching as the girl’s chest begins to heave, her eyes darting between you and her father. She was scared. Really scared. 

“Daddy-” 

“Don’t!” He roars, pushing against the cart by the wall. Tools clatter and you gasp as he grabs a fistful of his daughter's hair. “You slut! You slut!” 

“Oh my- security!” You scream, throwing the curtain open. Dana looks up at you with horror from across the room, hand already reaching to call Ahmad.

You lunge towards the man, adrenaline coursing through you as you try to pry his hand off of the girl. 

“I’m sorry!” She sobs, wailing as her father tugs her. 

“You're too young. You can't- our whole future is on the line!” 

“Sir, I need you to calm down. You're not helping-” he whirls around on you, anger glaring in his eyes.  

“You have to be lying. Tell me you're lying!” He grips your scrubs, spit flying. 

“Let go of me!” 

He shoves you, turning back to his daughter as Robby enters the room. There's confusion and concern written on his face, shoulders tense as he takes in the distressing scene.

“Hey! What's going on?” 

The man moves to lunge for his daughter and you reach out to grab his arm, Robby moving at the same time, voice calm as he tries to deescalate the situation. It doesn't work. The man’s elbow jerks back as he dodges Robby, the sharp edge smacking you straight in the face. 

It's a blur as you stumble backwards, nose and lip stinging, tears welling up from the bright flashing pain. You fall to the floor, scrambling back on your hands to avoid the commotion of feet and hands. You groan as you hold your jaw, the metal tang of blood already filling your mouth. 

Security finally arrives, tearing the man away from the girl, dragging him out, his cursing still echoing down the hall. 

The girl is sobbing into Robby’s arms. Princess hurries in to help sooth her, Dana right behind, her voice in your ear as she crouches to check on you. You can't tell what she's saying, your head spinning, the girl's wails still ringing in your ear.

You're in shock, you think. Must be. Everything is suddenly too bright, too painful. Your nose feels like it's twice the size it should be, lip burning where it's been torn. 

“Honey, can you move? How bad does it hurt?” Dana asks, her hands resting against you protectively. 

You barely register the question, eyes darting to the open curtain as Frank comes running from somewhere in the pitt, a glove flying from his pocket, stethoscope bouncing against his chest. 

“Hey,” he pants, crouching down beside you. You try not to cringe as his knees hit the floor with a painful sounding crunch. “Hey, oh man.”

Frank cups your face, failing to hold back a grimace as he takes in the damage. You lean into his touch, Dana still rubbing your back, like she was afraid to leave you. 

“Is it bad?” You manage, blood slipping down your chin.  

Frank makes a face, thumb stroking your cheek. 

“It's not your best look.” You hum, letting Frank access you. Always a doctor. “That jerk split your lip. Gave you a bruised nose too- possibly a black eye.” 

You give a pained groan as his fingers graze a tender spot of your cheek. He lets out a shaky breath, turning back to the pitt’s central hall, eyes darting around. You reach out, clinging to his scrubs when you see his low drawn brows, the pure anger clearly written on his face.

Frank turns, watching as you shake your head. 

“Don't leave. Please.” 

His eyes soften, holding your hand tightly as he shushes you.

“Hey, I’m not going anywhere. Not right now.” 

“Don't worry hon,” Dana pats your shoulder and stands. “Me and Robby’ll give him hell for you.” 

You hum, watching as she marches out to the nurses station. A woman on a mission. 

Frank looks at you carefully as you lick your lip, flinching at the sting. 

“Do you think you can stand?” You nod, letting him help you up. The poor girl was still sobbing on the bed, Princess holding her carefully, giving you a sympathetic look, already reading your mind. 

“She'll be okay. I’ll finish taking care of her. You go get yourself cleaned up.”

“Okay,” you say quietly, letting Frank guide you out of the room and into the lounge room. Away from the loud chaos of the pitt. Just the two of you. His arm was wrapped around you protectively; like anyone who tried to approach you would have to physically tear him from you.

Not that you minded. 

Frank pushes the door open, helping you into a chair carefully, his fingers working deftly on the emergency supply box on the wall. You huff as you pull out your phone, looking into the screens dark reflection at the mess of blood on your face.

You frown as you gently prod the yellow bruise already blooming along the side of your nose. Broken blood vessels and a deep purple bruise were also evident along the hollow of your under eye. And your lip-

You'd cringe but it hurt too much to move your lip. To smile even.

“Hey,” Frank says as he rolls a chair closer to you, gauze and a needle kit in his hand. “Don’t look at it. It’s not gonna help.”

You sigh, letting Frank turn your head as he sits, his blue eyes carefully inspecting the damage again.

“I don’t know what I was thinking. I shouldn’t have gone in there alone. I knew something was up, knew…” you trail off, swallowing thickly. Frank looks at you, for once just listening.

Not that he didn’t listen to you regularly; of course he did. You were his wife after all. One of the rare people he spared from his incessant teasing and strange nicknames.

You continue, “I should have had you come with me. Or Princess. Maybe she would have known how to have handled it better.”

“You did what you could,” Frank takes a wet towel and cleans the wound on your lip, apologizing when you flinch. “You got her help as quick as you could. Hell, I think you would have tackled the man if you could.” You snort and Frank smiles.

“Yeah. I might have. If I knew Robby wouldn't kill me with the paperwork he’d have to fill out with HR.” Frank laughs, telling you to hold still as he dabs antiseptic and a numbing agent on your lip. You do, fingers digging into your scrub pants when he carefully places a stitch in your torn lip.

“It’s small. Real small. You probably don’t really need the stitch, but just in case.”

You watch his fingers as they work, pressing a small clear bandage over the stitch, the sticky thing feeling weird on your numbed skin. You catch the glint of his wedding ring, the sight still causing your heart to skip a beat after all these years.

“Okay," Frank huffs, throwing his balled up gloves across the room and into the trash. "You know the drill, no touching your lip or rubbing or lipgloss-anything like that til it’s healed and the stitch dissolves.” You frown. He cocks his head, an amused smile on his face. “What?”

“So... no kissing?” He clicks his tongue, shrugging. 

"Unfortunately no. think you can handle 48 hours without this?" He gestures to himself. You kick his shin lightly, eliciting a laugh from him as he rolls away, moving to wash his hands.

"You're the worst."

"Hey, you're the one who agreed to marry me. I thought you knew what you were signing up for."

You laugh, wincing with how tender your face still was. Frank looks over at you as he dries his hands, making sure you were okay. You look down at your hands, trying to ignore the slight flush on your cheeks.

"I just... maybe I'm regretting not kissing you earlier."

You glance up, Frank's eyebrows raised with a 'told you so' grin spreading across his face.

“Oh you do?”

Oh, you already regretted saying that.

“Okay-”

“I knew you were barley resisting me.”

“Oh my gosh, Princess was right,” You roll your eyes as Frank laughs, hiding behind your hands. 

“My poor wife needs a kiss. Here, I’ll give you one. Let me kiss it better-”

“Frank!” you give him a look as he crouches in front of you, carefully moving your hands away from your face. “But I shouldn’t-”

He hushes you, cupping your jaw and pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your lip, avoiding the dark bruise forming and the stitch. You hum, leaning into his touch as he presses his lips softly against the bridge of your nose and your bruised eye. Your foreheads press together, resting gently against each other.

A rare calm in the emergency room. Under other circumstances you'd find it quite romantic.

Frank rests his hand on your thigh, rubbing a comforting circle with his thumb. “You sure you’re okay?” You nod.

“Always when you’re here.”

"Kay good. Cause Princess owes me twenty and I intend to collect." You hum.

"You better buy me a coffee later Doc." He stands, arms open with defensiveness.

"Don't I always treat you with my winnings?" You snort.

"Yes-"

"Alrighty then. Coffee in the AM. I don't think anyone's selling coffee after ten." You laugh, letting Frank pull you up out of the chair.

"It's a date."

He hums, hands resting on your waist for a moment too long.

"I love you."

You grin, standing on your tiptoes and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Frank smiles, thumb brushing against the fabric of your scrubs. You whisper it back, hand resting on his bicep.

"Love you too."

A throat clears from the entrance of the break room and the two of you freeze. You turn, looking back as Dr. Robby hangs in the doorway, an amused smile on his face.

"Everything alright in here?"

"Uh, yeah." Frank nods, patting your back and taking a step to the side.

"Yup. All good now."

"You sure?" You nod.

"Yeah. I'm fine. We'll be out there in a second."

"Okay," Robby says in a sing song voice. "Just don't do anything that'll make me have to call HR on the two of you again."

Frank rolls his eyes, already marching out of the room after Robby.

"That was one time. And it wasn't even that bad-"

"The two of you were in a storage closet."

"We were newly married-"

"God, that argument still doesn't help your case."

You shake your head amusedly.

------------------------------------------------------

thank you for reading! if you're interested in reading more of my works for the pitt, here is a link to my masterlist :)

[queen-of-naboo14]

The Curly Hair Theory - Jack Abbot x Doctor Female!Reader

Summary: Jack’s always kept his hair short throughout his life until he met you.

Tags: fluff, Jack Abbot is down bad, curly hair Jack, reader is in her 30s, reader is afab and has no physical description mentioned other than having curly hair.

Word Count: >1.0k

A/N: posted in honour of those newly posted pics of Shawn with his grown out hair and curls. Based off that TikTok trend from last year.

A companion piece to The Invisible String Theory

If you want to read more of my works, HERE is the link to my list of other works including my Pitt x Grey’s and Pitt x Ghost Whisperer crossovers.

The Curly Hair Theory: the curlier your hair is, the more in love you are.

Throughout his entire life, Jack had always kept his hair cut short whether it was at his parents doing as a child or due to his military service. You of course thought it was criminal because after looking at the baby pictures Jack’s oldest sister had sent you, he had very curly hair as an infant, just like your natural curly hair have right now.

At the very start of your relationship with Jack, he, as usual, kept his hair neatly trimmed. However, overtime, you noticed the hair at the nape of his neck and behind his ears growing longer and naturally curling at the end of each strand. You never asked if he had decided to grow out his hair but other people at work took notice.

You were sitting at the nurses station finishing a chart when Shen and Ellis came up to you with questioning looks.

“Does Abbot look different to you?” Asked Ellis narrowing her eyes at you questioningly.

“Why? Has he regrown his leg? Or does he magically have a third eye?”

“No,” Shen answered, “and it’s not that he looks less put together but he’s done something different and we can’t figure it out.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. He’s still the same.”

Sighing Ellis and Shen parted ways but still eyeing both you and Jack beforehand. You also quickly glanced at your boyfriend as he was walking across the ED. Huh, you thought to yourself, he does look a little different.

As the winter months came to a head, you started to notice just how long and how curly Jack’s hair had gotten. Not once had he mentioned on getting it cut. He would let it air dry after showering letting the curls take form. It was only until one evening during end of shift hand offs that Princess had mentioned it.

“You know there was a trend on TikTok about how the more in love you are with your significant other, the curlier your hair.”

“What? I don’t believe that.” You scoffed at the nurse.

“Really? You man is a silver fox who cleans up well but when was the last time he went to a barber shop?”

“I don’t know.”

“Exactly! He loves you and feels secure enough in your relationship that he doesn’t feel the need to maintain it so frequently.”

You thought back to the last couple of months with Jack. Every time you went over to his place after a gruelling shift, you’d shower together before going to bed where you would then run your hands through his wet hair or twirl it between your fingers lulling him to sleep.

You had also learned that while he did not like to be alone, it took a while for him to open up to people, yourself included. It was a while before he let you help with his leg after a long day at work and the prothesis was becoming painful. Those days were when you both relaxed in the couch with Jack stretched out and you stroking the hair near his temples.

“Huh,” you realize, “I never thought of it that way.”

“It’s only a thought.” Shrugged Princess before she was interrupted by another nurse leaving you alone with your thoughts.

The next morning during hand offs, Robby was the second person to comment on Jack’s hair within 24 hours.

“I never noticed until now but you and Jack have similar hair styles.” He commented crossing his arms and staring at the board while leaned against the nurses desk.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, just pointing out a fact. In all the years I’ve known him, he never let it grow out even during Covid. It’s… cute.”

You rolled your eyes, “I’ll make sure to tell him.”

Twenty minutes later, you were wrapped up in your coat and boots waiting for Jack in the ambulance bay before going home to sleep.

“Hey,” Jack greeted, “you ready?”

“I am so ready to crawl into bed.”

Jack smiled at you before grabbing ahold of his hand and leading you towards his truck.

Approaching his vehicle, Jack, the lovesick man he was, opened the door for you. As you sat down in your seat, he leaned in and gave you a sweet kiss that would have seemed out of character to a bystander.

Watching Jack shut the door, you observed him as he walked along the front of the truck really noticing what Princess and Robby had been saying. Maybe the longer hair isn’t so bad after all.

[queen-of-naboo14]

Double Date - Jack Abbot x Wife!Reader (feat. Michael Robinavitch)

Summary: You and Jack end up on an awkward double date with Robby’s latest girlfriend (situationship?).

Tags: fluff, humour, Jack is down bad for his wife, Robby is kind of a man-whore, Reader is in her mid-late 30s and is a university professor, reader is afab, no physical description of reader, canon divergence, slightly mild swearing.

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: Thank you all for reading! If you want to read more, HERE is the link to my list of other works including my Pitt x Grey’s and Pitt x Ghost Whisperer crossovers.

"So remind me again, why do we have to go on this date with Robby and his latest situationship?" You questioned stepping out of Jack's truck after parking outside the high-end restaurant in downtown Pittsburgh.

"Because," started Jack closing his door looking over at you, "one, he's my best friend and two, there's bit of an age gap and Robby thought it might help ease the tension if we came."

"Wow, he honestly thinks that introducing her to the married couple where in the 80s, one half was a teenager discovering the art of self-pleasure while the other was in utero, a good thing? Very classy of Robby."

"You really know how to make a conversation awkward." Jack chuckled while locking his vehicle before shoving the keys into his pocket and leading you to stand near the restaurant steps.

"That's why my area of research is in sex and society. I was born to bring up the awkwardness."

"You're a medieval historian who tells dirty tavern jokes at the dinner table." Jack deadpanned looking at you with his head slighted tilted as if it would help to prove his point.

You scoffed indignantly, "And they're hilarious! You love them!"

Before you or Jack could continue your banter outside the steps of the restaurant, you see Robby and Noelle coming towards you on the side walk. You noticed that they were not holding hands and rather she was clutching her purse.

“Sorry, we’re late. Traffic’s a bitch.” Robby apologized, “oh, and this is Noelle. Noelle, you already know Jack, and this is Dr. Y/N L/N, who for some reason agreed to marry Jack.”

“I resent that statement.” Jack retaliated.

“It’s nice to meet you Noelle.” You interrupted the two men extending your hand to the other woman.

“You as well.” Noelle replied kindly shaking your hand in return, “I guess we should go in before they give our table away.”

Once the four of you were settled down, the awkwardness of Robby and Noelle was noticeable to you and Jack as the server came back with your glasses of wine.

“So, Noelle, Robby tells me that you’re a nurse turned case worker at the Pitt.” You offer as to break the silence.

“That’s right, I was a nurse in cardio before moving to case work. And you’re a doctor?”

“PhD, in which a work trip means going further than the ED breakroom. I teach a few online medieval history courses at Pitt and guest lecture at other universities between my research.”

“We go farther than the breakroom.” Robby countered before taking a sip of red wine.

Looking at the two men, you rolled your eyes, “yeah the roof where you both have an ongoing existential crisis.”

Before either doctor could argue with you, Noelle interrupted trying to divert the conversation elsewhere, “Robby never mentioned how you two met.”

This time Jack had answered with a smirk, “I spilled coffee all over her and knocked her over onto the ground on campus after I met with a friend who was teaching at the med school.”

“And now,” you added interjecting, “I’m the light of his life. The reason he gets out of bed in the morning.”

“Yeah, when you beat me with a pillow to get up and go make you coffee.”

You feigned a thought, “Hmm, I should write a book about that. I think ‘How to Train your Husband’ is a good working title.”

“As long as you dedicate it to me.” Jack replied as he picked up a menu to browse his options.

“Of course, I mean you are test experiment number one.”

Halfway through the evening, Noelle had excused herself to use the ladies room between dinner and dessert. During dinner, you'd take note of the interactions of her and Robby nudging Jack every so often to keep the conversation going.

"I think this going spectacularly well for you Robby given your track record." You commented offhandedly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Robby questioned looking confused.

"Brother," said Jack cautiously, "you kind of have a date and ditch philosophy towards the women you see."

You nodded your head in agreement with Jack, "Instead of a seven year itch, it's more like seven weeks before you end things."

Robby stared at both you and Jack seemingly offended at the very true accusation. You had known Robby for years and the longest relationship he had ever had was with Janie who was now getting remarried to an attorney, Noelle, who seemed like a nice enough women from what you had experience tonight, would be ghosted by Robby soon before he either went on his sabbatical, or worse, actually jump off the top of the hospital roof.

"I do not have a seven week itch. And you two, Morticia and Gomez, aren't helping. You're making things awkward." Robby argued leaning back in his seat.

You and Jack balked at the accusation. "We are not making this date awkward!"

“Yes you are. We did not need to know that Jack went to work once wearing your underwear because the clothes dryer kicked the bucket and he had no dry clothes.”

“Like we said, it was only one time,” you exclaimed glancing at Jack who looked guilty, “it was one time right?”

“Uhhh,” Jack tried to avoid your staring by fixing the napkin that was left over on the table. Looking at you and Robby, he sighed, “it was more like three times afterwards.”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about!” Robby cried out pointedly.

“Well,” you countered cocking your head to the side, “we’re not the grade A man-whore that’s slept with every single woman on this side of Pittsburgh then dump her the next day.”

“That’s a low blow.”

“Shut up both of you.” Jack mumbled under his breath holding a hand on your knee as Noelle returned. As soon as she sat in her seat, the server had come in behind with dessert. Only 20 more minutes left of this progressively worst double date.

“That poor woman,” You said after waving goodbye to Robby and Noelle as you stood by Jack’s truck, “she seems to really like him, and he’ll cast her aside soon enough. What a bastard.”

Jack gave you a half smile before opening the door for you to climb inside the passenger’s side of the truck. For a moment he looked at you deep in thought with his hand resting on the roof of the truck.

“That’s a him problem to work out. And side note, for the record, I’m confident in my masculinity to wear your underwear.”

“I know you are. Can we please leave now? We can have a second dessert at home.”

Jack let out loud jovial laugh before smiling adoringly at you, “now how could I say no to that?”

[pawnshopfawn]

re9!leon isn’t great with the younger generation, but he tries his best for your daughter, aiming to be the best dad during school pick-up.

he boasts about his stunning wife and daughter while chatting with the other dads at pickup, describing them as the most precious and heartfelt parts of his life.

his charming demeanor easily compensates for the unfortunate, loud farts he occasionally lets out while you both relax on the couch, watching the show he insisted on watching with you.

although he struggles with cooking, he purchased a cookbook and was determined to become the best dad-chef for his girls, practicing diligently to improve his skills and surprise them with homemade meals.

he enjoys leaving little notes in his daughter’s lunch bag, filled with cheesy words that make her friends laugh and say, "Your dad is so corny." it was his way of showing love.

ever since your daughter reached her teenage years, the frequency of intimate moments between the two of you dramatically decreased. leon and you were constantly worried about being caught by your daughter, which nearly happened on one occasion. after that incident, you both decided it was safer to conduct these moments when she was at school, often taking leave for the day to avoid any risk of being discovered.

despite being older, Leon never made you feel like you were only in it for his money, which isn’t true, you genuinely love him. he’s gifted you the biggest diamond ring, your dream house, spontaneous presents, and a beautiful daughter.

he'd sometimes take you on vacation, sending your daughter to stay with the grandparents. he doesn’t do things halfway; he rents a villa exclusively for the two of you, offering plenty of space to explore privacy. you might find yourselves making love on the kitchen counter, in the bathroom sink, in front of a mirror, or atop the washing machine, anywhere that sparks desire.

he's not a big fan of smoking, but he appreciates the view you share when you do, smoke curling between you two. god, you look incredible. he falls in love with you all over again.

opening up isn’t his strongest trait, but when he does, he always approaches you because he knows you'll genuinely listen without interrupting with your own opinion.

a/n: i had a sudden urge to write about dadleon under a different light tonight okay byeee

— 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ໒꒱

𝐝𝐢!𝐥𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐯𝐞𝐫. || 𝐫𝐞𝟐!𝐥𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐭.𝟏 || 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐚!𝐥𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐯𝐞𝐫. || 𝐫𝐞𝟐!𝐥𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐭.𝟐

[mareenaauditore]

The Resonance of Him.

Dr. Brendon "The Shark" Park x (female) wife! deaf! reader.

Summary: There's a multi-vehicle accident, and the ER staff is taken aback when Park “The Shark” refuses to treat one of the patients. They're even more surprised when they discover she's his wife. Warning: Possible medical inaccuracies. Possible inaccuracies about deafness. Swearing. Brendon Park himself. Age difference, height difference. References to sex, but nothing explicit. Hurt/Comfort Words: 5586. Taglist: @my-whole-brain-is-crying @celestephung @leksi-rae @chelle-1515 @minienix @mythologicallyversed @mxtokko @tears-of-acid-and-sluts @susp3ndedindusk @helenaellie @rei-scorpio @ivy-stuffs @dutch3-10 @catharticdesire @sidneysidney123 @fics-from-the-dead @eddiemunsonguitar @thedragonsrose @mynameisbaby9 @simply-lovley44 @dr3obsessed @mayabbot @bbblackmamba @harryswizzle @miichelleswriting @alphafemale-15 @rabbotseatcarrots @b38596012 @lipsunsmokedcigarette @pastlecow @kingtitus @stevieharrington71 @asfaraslifegets @noyaisasimp @loki-trickst3r @miahelen @xoxoloverb @brown-eyes-cello-and-books @seitmai @boricuas-fic-recs

I tried to follow everything you told me to make it as accurate as possible, but I'm not sure if I succeeded. Anyway, thank you very much for replying to me @brown-eyes-cello-and-books

The sunlight filtered timidly through the fissures of the heavy blackout curtains, tracing gilded lines across the rumpled blankets. That morning, like so many others before it, the world did not yet fully exist; there was only the pervasive warmth and the steady, grounding presence at your back.

Brendon woke you as he always did. He used no words, favoring the language you both mastered best: touch. It began with soft, lingering kisses along the curve of your neck as his hand descended to squeeze your hips with possessive affection. It was a silent gesture—an unspoken “I’m here, Doll”—as he drew you flush against his naked heat, letting you feel his morning arousal brushing against the small of your back.

It wasn’t a demand for sex, but a tether—a life-affirming reminder of the electric intimacy that, even after two years of marriage, remained vibrantly intact.

You buried your face in the pillow with a languid, muffled sigh, shivering at the sensation of his calloused fingertips against your skin. Brendon was in no rush. He took his time, dragging the tip of his nose along your jawline to inhale your natural scent before it was camouflaged by the citrus perfume you always asked him to buy.

After assuring himself—with one last firm squeeze and a delicate kiss to the nape of your neck—that you wouldn’t drift back to sleep, he finally pulled away. The mattress felt cavernous without his massive frame filling his side of the bed. He stood and moved with an agility that defied his sheer size; even after all this time, and despite accompanying him to the gym, you couldn't fathom how a man of his build could move so gracefully.

He lingered for a moment at the foot of the bed, watching you as he stretched his muscles, before pulling on a pair of briefs that did little to hide his hardness—though he seemed entirely indifferent to it. His blue eyes glinted with that specific blend of adoration and mischief he reserved solely for you and your shared mornings. He gave you a slow, knowing smile, well aware that in this precise moment, the world was "silent" for you.

He knew—not for nothing had he been married to you for years—that wearing your cochlear implants for more than six hours at a time was a sensory nightmare. Usually, you only removed them when the noise became a physical torture of overstimulation. Or, more often, he would remove them himself, having learned to read every micro-expression of discomfort on your face.

He strode from the room, granting you those final minutes of absolute peace. By habit, you knew he was heading straight for the kitchen. Though you couldn't hear it, your mind reconstructed the soundtrack of his actions with crystalline clarity: the electric roar of the grinder pulverizing specialty coffee beans—ridiculously expensive in your opinion, but purchased because he preferred the best—and the delicate clink of ceramic mugs meeting the black marble island.

It was a ritual, a domestic choreography executed with a precision born of devotion. Black, potent coffee for him; a thick, velvety hot chocolate for you. This was his nonverbal syntax, his way of tending to you, of reminding you that you were his—that he chose you above all else, every single day.

You lingered a moment longer amidst the Egyptian cotton—another luxury Brendon insisted upon, and a far cry from the scratchy linens you'd known in the system—feeling his residual warmth fade. You wondered what he was "inventing" for breakfast. Brendon was not a man for simple toast; for him, the kitchen was another theatre of mastery. He was as deft with a chef’s knife as he was with a scalpel in the operating room.

Gradually, the aroma of his cooking began to seep beneath the door. You rose and donned one of his oversized shirts, ignoring the silk robes in your own dressing room. The fabric draped over your bare skin, concealing the handprints, love bites, and bruises Brendon had marked you with the night before.

You moved slowly, feeling a pleasant ache in your muscles and a lingering tenderness from your husband's attentions. Reaching for the hard case on the nightstand, your fingers closed around it with mechanical familiarity. You snapped the processors behind your ears, feeling the faint click of the magnets engaging.

A soft electronic beep signaled the end of your silence. Suddenly, the stillness was replaced by the low hum of the radio and the distant murmur of Brendon’s voice as he mentally retraced the steps of his first scheduled surgery.

You walked barefoot, the chill of the dark hardwood floors biting at your soles. Brendon’s shirt, made of an impossibly soft weave, brushed against your knees as you padded down the hallway. The scent was now unmistakable: fresh coffee, rich chocolate, and the savory salt of crispy bacon and scrambled eggs on seeded toast.

At the kitchen threshold, you paused, leaning against the frame of the French doors. He stood with his back to you, focused on the stove, his broad, muscular shoulders bathed in the clear morning light. Across his shoulder blades, you could see the evidence of your own passion: long, crimson furrows where your nails had dug in, as if he’d been marked by a wolf. They were the silent testimony of the pleasure he had elicited with his hands, his tongue, and his body. Had it been four orgasms? Five?

He didn't need you to speak to know you were there; it was a sixth sense he’d developed over their time together. He turned slowly, spatula in hand, wearing that half-smile he kept only for you.

"Good morning, Doll," he said, his voice reaching your implants with a vibrant, resonant warmth. "I was starting to think I’d have to bring breakfast to you."

His gaze raked over the shirt—recognizing his own garment—and the flare of heat in his eyes at the sight of his marks on your skin almost made you wish for more.

"Good morning, Big Guy," you murmured lazily, stepping forward to curl into his chest.

He welcomed you with a protective arm, hooking it around your waist to haul you flush against him while his other hand remained busy with the pan. The heat radiating from him was intoxicating. As you pressed your face into his bare chest, Brendon let out a low, rumbling laugh—a deep vibration you felt against your cheek before your implants even processed the sound. It was your favorite sound in the world.

"It looks better on you than it does on me, Babydoll," he said, setting the spatula aside to thread his fingers through your sleep-muddled hair, gently tilting your head back to meet his gaze. "I could get used to this view, though I’d run out of clothes in a week."

He looked at you with a predatory intensity, savoring the contrast of his massive shirt against your petite frame. His thumb traced the edge of a bruise on your neck—a mark he had carved there himself. An electric shiver of possession raced down your spine, a reminder that while the outside world was a chaotic mess, here, there was only the two of you.

"Now, breakfast," he said, punctuated by a firm swat to your backside—hard enough to sting and leave yet another mark.

You let out a small gasp, half-startled and half-delighted. The echo of the impact resonated in your implants with startling clarity. Brendon Park never did anything halfway; every caress, however blunt, was a signature—a way of marking his territory and reminding you that you had belonged to him from the moment you said "I do."

"Brendon!" you protested with a mischievous grin, though you made no move to retreat.

He laughed, guiding you toward a stool at the island. He moved with practiced efficiency, plating the eggs and bacon on white porcelain adorned with cherry blossoms—your choice, not his. Left to his own devices, everything he owned would have been black, but he used these because he knew they made you happy.

"Sit, Doll. You need to recharge," he said, setting the steaming plate and matching cup of chocolate before you.

You settled onto the stool, the shirt riding up to reveal the bites on your pale thighs. Watching him move in the morning light—so domestic yet radiating that dangerous, coiled energy—your heart hammered. You couldn't help but marvel at your luck that a man like this was yours alone.

Brendon sat beside you, but not before pressing a chaste, firm kiss to the crown of your head. He didn't eat immediately. Instead, he leaned an elbow on the counter and studied you with the same critical, discerning gaze he used on surgical interns. He knew your every habit. He knew that you sometimes drifted away from the physical world, forgetting basic needs like sustenance.

"Eat, Doll. Don't you dare leave half of that," he warned, gesturing to the plate with his chin. "I know you. You’ll drink the chocolate, decide the sugar is enough to last ten hours, and think you’re fine. You know I don't like that."

He reached out and, with a tenderness that stood in stark contrast to the raw power of the night before, cut a piece of toast and held it to your lips. He waited patiently for you to accept it. It was a command wrapped in devotion. Only when he saw you chew and swallow did he grunt in satisfaction and begin his own meal.

He ensured not a scrap was left on your plate before draining his coffee in one long draught. Once finished, he cleared the space with methodical precision, loading the dishwasher with surgical efficiency.

"I’m going to shower. I won't be long," he announced, pressing one last kiss to your shoulder before heading toward the primary ensuite.

You rose to prepare his clothes for the day. You walked barefoot into his dressing room—a space that smelled of sandalwood, cedar, and expensive, spicy cologne. You knew his routine by heart: today was a long day in the theater, which meant hours of standing under relentless lights, maintaining microscopic accuracy as he reconstructed bone and joint.

You sifted through the hangers carefully, mindful of the perfect order he maintained—a sharp contrast to the beautiful chaos of your own closet. You selected a deep navy Egyptian cotton shirt that matched the hue of his eyes and trousers of a soft, elegantly tailored black fabric. You laid them out on the bed, smoothing every phantom wrinkle with your palm.

Just as you finished setting out his socks and silk briefs, the sound of the water cut off. Moments later, Brendon emerged, a towel knotted loosely at his hips. His torso was still beaded with water, and his damp hair dripped onto his broad shoulders. He paused when he saw the clothes waiting for him.

"You're too good to me, Babydoll," he sighed, though the curve of his lips betrayed how much the gesture touched him. "And you know me too well. After a long shift, the last thing I want to do is fight with a wardrobe."

He walked up to you, his damp hands resting on your waist, just above where you both knew the marks of his possession remained etched into your skin.

"Thank you, precious," he continued, his tone softening for a fleeting second. "Now, let me get dressed before I decide that surgeries can wait—and you can't."

"I could cover my eyes, if you're too embarrassed for me to see you naked," you teased affectionately. You shielded your face with your hands, but left purposeful slits between your fingers so as not to miss a single detail of his formidable anatomy.

Brendon shook his head, clearly amused by your mischief, a spark of adoration igniting in his eyes.

"You are incorrigible, Doll—absolutely and truly incorrigible," he murmured. He dropped the towel without a trace of modesty, knowing full well you were devouring every line of his body with your gaze.

You watched him dress with practiced speed. There was something hypnotic about a man of his bulk slipping into the clothes you had curated for him. He pulled on the cotton T-shirt, which clung to his broad shoulders like a second skin; then his briefs, concealing a frame that—even at rest—was considerable; and finally, his trousers, which he drew up over his powerful legs.

Once dressed, he sat on the edge of the bed to lace his shoes. The atmosphere shifted subtly; his expression grew somber, his mind already navigating through X-rays and surgical protocols with the clinical efficiency that characterized him at the PTMC. In an instant, he transitioned from the tender, possessive husband to the meticulous, predatory surgeon capable of silencing a room with his mere presence.

He stood and approached you one last time, wrapping one large hand around the nape of your neck to draw you into his space until you shared the same air. You couldn't help but shudder—not from fear, for you would never fear him—but from the sheer electricity his proximity always sparked.

"Take advantage of your day off. Rest. Stay in bed all day if you want," he ordered, his lips brushing yours with every syllable.

You closed your eyes, letting yourself be intoxicated by that balance of tenderness and dominance only Brendon could strike. You felt small beneath his touch, yet immensely secure.

"Understood?" he insisted, pressing his lips against yours in a slow, possessive kiss that forced you to grip his massive forearms just to keep your balance.

"Understood, Big Guy," you murmured against his mouth, your voice barely a breath.

He let out a grunt of satisfaction. With one final, stinging swat to your backside that made you arch your back with a moan, he laughed and pulled away. He strode out of the room, and seconds later, you heard the heavy thud of the front door. Finally alone, you collapsed back onto the unmade bed, enveloped in the fading scent of him.

What you wouldn't give to be back there again.

What a fool you had been.

Silly and careless.

You shouldn't have done it. But he pampered you with such devotion that you hadn't wanted to be left behind. As a token of gratitude, you had decided on a gesture of your own: you would take your old car and bring him a homemade lunch. It was a rarity; you both preferred to keep your marriage private, shielded from the prying eyes of "gossipy colleagues."

The intention had been pure—an act of love for the man who adored you. You had prepared his favorite meal, ignoring the pull of exhaustion, the ache in your muscles, and his direct command to remain in bed.

But fate—or rather, a drunk driver blowing through a stop sign—had other plans.

A flash of red. The harrowing screech of rubber against asphalt. The cacophony of blaring horns. Then, the thunderous explosion of metal yielding to metal—a dull, bone-deep impact that seemed to shift the very axis of the universe.

And then, the nothingness.

That was how you ended up here.

The first sensation to register as you drifted into consciousness within the disoriented haze of the trauma room was the scent: a sterile, sharp medicinal smell that you associated so deeply with your husband. You were surrounded by a frantic blur of doctors and nurses, their mouths moving with urgent speed, but you heard nothing. Where were your implants? Had they been lost in the wreckage? You couldn't think clearly, and the silence was absolute—a rising wall that severed you from the world, leaving you skin-raw and vulnerable.

A stabbing headache made reason impossible. You tried to lift your arms to sign, to tell them you couldn't hear, but a pair of hands pinned you down, obstructing your only means of expression.

Panic flared. You were trapped in a ring of people who wanted to help but couldn't comprehend why you wouldn't—or couldn't—answer.

"It’s useless; she’s too disoriented from the impact," Dr. Al-Hashimi said. You couldn't hear her, of course, but you saw her lips moving too fast to read as you struggled against the restraints.

"Ortho is on their way down," Perlah confirmed, hanging up the red trauma phone.

It was then, in the middle of the struggle, that the agony in your hip finally surged through the adrenaline. For the first time since waking, you thought of Brendon. He would be frantic. Had the paramedics salvaged your bag, or was it still crushed in the footwell of the car? You should have been wearing the medical alert bracelet he’d bought you for exactly this scenario, but you’d forgotten it again. The universe seemed to be mocking your negligence, leaving you helpless and mute at the moment you most needed a voice. A lump of sheer helplessness tightened in your throat.

"We can’t stabilize her if she won't stop fighting," Santos muttered, though Perlah heard her clearly.

It took only minutes for Brendon Park to arrive.

The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. You couldn't hear the sudden hush that fell over the trauma bay when he entered, but you felt the change in pressure. It was like a shark dispersing a school of silverfish, or the shockwave of a blast leveling an idyllic landscape. Drs. Al-Hashimi and Santos tensed, their shoulders hunching as their gazes darted toward the double doors. Whitaker practically recoiled into a corner, looking like a gazelle in the presence of an apex predator.

"Call Ortho again and tell Dr. Brennan to get down here," he ordered, offering no explanation and looking at no one but you. He moved with predatory focus until he was at eye level with your stretcher.

"What? But you’re already here, Dr. Park," Al-Hashimi interjected, her confusion palpable. "I don’t believe her injuries are severe enough to require two attending surgeons—"

He didn't deign to answer her. He scanned you with a surgical eye, not touching you yet, before realizing that your agitation was born of pure, silent terror. He correctly guessed that the magnets of your implants hadn't survived the G-force of the collision.

"I’m here, Doll. Look at me. Only me," he signed, ensuring his hands were within your line of sight while simultaneously speaking with a loud, commanding clarity. He cared nothing for the stunned expressions of his colleagues.

"Since when do you know ASL?" Whitaker stammered, too shocked to filter his thoughts. Seeing Park—the "Shark"—signing with fluid grace was like seeing a statue start to breathe.

"Since my wife is deaf, genius," Brendon snapped, turning a steel-blue gaze on every medical professional in the bay. "And you’re terrifying her. How is it that not one of you noticed she can’t hear a word you’re saying? Am I surrounded by total incompetents?"

The silence in the trauma room deepened, spreading like a cold front across the faces of the staff. Dr. Al-Hashimi’s mouth hung open as she processed the revelation. Santos looked equally horrified, and Whitaker turned a shade of pale that nearly matched the hospital walls.

No one in the hospital knew that the cold, caustic, and brusque Dr. Park even had a personal life, let alone a wife—and certainly not that his wife was currently bleeding out on an ER gurney.

"Dr. Brennan is coming, but she’s not happy about the summons," Perlah said, returning from the phone.

"As if I give a damn about her mood. The bylaws forbid me from operating on my own wife," Brendon dismissed her. Even without hearing the thunder in his voice, you saw the granite set of his jaw. The staff shrank back as if they were on a sinking vessel surrounded by white sharks. "And I’m certainly not leaving her in the hands of incompetent residents. Brennan is the only one I trust for this, besides myself."

His gaze returned to you, transforming in a heartbeat. The "Shark" vanished, replaced by the man who adored you. He leaned in, invading your space with that familiar, possessive heat, ignoring the half-dozen witnesses who were still reeling from the word wife.

"Look at me, Doll. You’re going to be fine. Dr. Brennan is going to fix your hip, and I’m going to be right there, watching her every move. Don't worry about anything. Do you understand?" He signed slowly, allowing your concussed brain to track his movements.

You nodded, the knot of panic in your chest finally loosening. Seeing him sign in the middle of this sterile chaos was the anchor that kept you from drowning in the quiet. You didn't care that his coworkers were seeing a side of him they didn't believe existed.

"Park is married..." Whitaker whispered, utterly floored by the sight of the brutal surgeon being so tender. "I never thought it was possible."

"Yes, I’m married. Yes, I have a life outside these walls; though I fail to see why that matters right now," Brendon replied, his voice regaining its icy edge. "You should be focused on the patient, not gossiping like schoolboys."

He never took his eyes off you, even as he hurled barbs at the staff. You watched the resident who looked like a character from Ratatouille stumble backward, nearly tripping over a blue-eyed doctor, while Al-Hashimi tried to regain her professional composure.

"The boy from Ratatouille looks like he’s about to faint. Don’t be mean, Bren," you signed weakly, your arms feeling like lead.

A brief, dry laugh shook Brendon’s chest—a vibration you felt against your arm before you saw his lips curl into a genuine, if ironic, smile.

"Then... you were the one who left those marks," Santos blurted out, her eyes traveling over the dark bruises on your neck and chest. The evidence of the previous night was everywhere: shoulders, abdomen, thighs. The most prominent were the unmistakable shadows of large fingers wrapped around your waist. "It looks more like a brutal assault than a consensual act."

Brendon didn't flinch, but his eyes turned lethal. You couldn't hear the accusation, but you could intuit the tension surrounding the marks of his passion. With a slow, deliberate motion, he pulled the hospital sheet up to your chin, veiling every trace of his possession from their judgmental eyes.

"What happens between our sheets is none of your concern, Dr. Santos," he said, his voice sharp enough to draw blood. "My wife is here because of a car accident, not because of her sex life."

The rear doors hissed open. Dr. Brennan entered like a Category 5 hurricane in a small frame. She was tiny compared to the other surgeons, but she had carved out her reputation with steel. If Brendon was the Shark, she was the Orca. Her grey eyes swept the room, taking in the cowering Whitaker and the standoff between Brendon and Santos.

"That’s enough, Dr. Park. We’re taking her to the OR," Brennan said. You couldn't hear her, but the authority in her expression was absolute. She moved to the stretcher, physically nudging Santos out of the way.

She didn't waste a second, signaling the orderlies to unlock the wheels. The ceiling began to move—a blurring sequence of white panels and flickering fluorescent lights that made your head spin.

Brendon didn't leave your side. He walked flush against the gurney, his hand crushed tightly in yours, his blue eyes searching your face for any flicker of pain.

You reached the heavy steel doors of the elevator. The wait for the car to descend felt like an eternity in the absolute silence.

"We're almost there, Doll," his lips articulated. There was a softness in his expression that masked the tension in his frame. "Don't worry. I trust Brennan. She’s the best—after me."

The doors slid open, and the stretcher was pushed into the cramped, metallic box, followed by Brennan and two nurses. The space was claustrophobic. Brendon placed his free hand on the back of your neck—the exact same caress from that morning. He knew you hated confined spaces; he knew the trauma of being locked in cupboards as a child in the system.

As the familiar tremor began at the base of your spine, your pupils dilated with terror. The steel walls seemed to shrink, shifting into the dark, damp shadows of your childhood. Your breathing hitched—a silent, jagged gasp that signaled the onset of hyperventilation.

But then, Brendon’s hand squeezed firmly at the nape of your neck. His fingers were more than a caress; they were an anchor to the now, demanding your attention and pulling you back from the precipice of that dark, traumatic abyss. He stepped between you and the closed elevator doors, his massive frame becoming your entire horizon—your beacon in the storm of your own thoughts.

He knew every one of your ghosts; he had spent countless nights cradling you through the tremors of your nightmares. Seeing that glint of primal terror in your eyes made his jaw tighten to the limit, his teeth grinding with a raw, barely contained fury at the world that had hurt you.

"Look at me, Doll. Only me," he signed with one hand, the other maintaining that heavy, grounding warmth against your skin. "You aren't there. You are here with me. These doors won't stay closed for long. No one here will ever hurt you again."

His blue eyes burned with a protective ferocity. He knew how to soothe you better than you knew yourself. He forced you to synchronize with the rhythm of his own breathing, which you could feel against your face as he leaned in close. You inhaled, mimicking him, and the ghost of the cupboard began to dissolve against the reality of his presence.

"We’re almost out, my little doll," he promised, his voice a low rumble. "I’m not letting go. I’m with you until the end. You’ve always been a survivor—a fighter."

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours. It was a gesture so profoundly intimate that Dr. Brennan and the orderlies averted their eyes in a rare, respectful silence.

When the elevator doors finally slid open onto the surgical floor, the relief was instantaneous. The world seemed to expand, and the sterile, chilled air filled your lungs. The stretcher rattled out of the metal cage—a vibration you felt deep in your bones. Brendon stepped back just enough to allow the orderlies to maneuver you toward Operating Room 5.

"Dr. Brennan is an exceptional surgeon," he said, knowing he had to head to the scrub sinks if he was to join you. "But I will be right there. I’ll be your voice while you sleep. I won't let anyone make a single misstep. I promise you, Doll."

You watched him stand still for a heartbeat, watching as you were wheeled toward the theater, before he turned on his heel. He strode toward the scrub room with the determination of a man who would not let fate, the universe, or any god take away the only thing in the world he truly loved.

The double doors of the OR swung wide. Inside, the lights were a raw, blinding white. They transferred you to the operating table—a transition to a cold, metallic surface that made you shudder as it met the bare skin of your back. Panic thrummed in your chest like a muffled drum, a primal response to the hostile environment, but deep down, you knew you were in the safest hands in the city.

To your left, the anesthesiologist approached, precisely adjusting the IV manifolds. Almost instantly, a glacial chill began to invade your veins, racing up your arm like a frozen river.

Your eyelids grew heavy, weighted with lead. You tried to fight it—one last desperate effort to stay awake, to stay here. With fingers numbed by the onset of the drugs, you managed to lift your hand just a few inches. The movement was clumsy and slow, but you managed to sign a final "I love you" to the imposing figure of your husband, who had just appeared at your side.

That was the last thing you remembered before the world slipped away.

You didn't see his answer.

Only darkness.

A dreamless sleep.

The next time you opened your eyes, it felt as though only minutes had passed. However, the leaden weight of your eyelids, the dry, tacky sensation in your mouth, and the scratchiness in your throat betrayed the truth: it had been hours.

You were bathed in a soft, amber gloom—a merciful reprieve from the violent white glare of the operating room. The first thing you registered was a familiar touch: warm, rough, and grounding. His hand was clamped over yours. You turned your head slowly, battling the residual vertigo of the anesthesia.

There he was.

Brendon hadn’t moved. He was slumped in the armchair pulled flush against your bedside, still clad in his surgical scrubs. His normally immaculate hair was a mess of curls; you could tell he had run his hands through it repeatedly, rubbing away the gel until it looked entirely natural. The shadows beneath his blue eyes were bruised and deep, as if the weight of the last few hours had physically aged him.

The moment he noticed you stir, he bolted upright. His eyes scanned your face with clinical intensity, searching for any flicker of pain or lingering delirium.

"Hello, Doll," he signed, a smile of pure, jagged relief breaking across his lips. "Welcome back. The surgery was a success. Dr. Brennan did an inspired job. You’re going to make a full recovery, little doll."

You tried to speak, but only a fractured, hoarse moan escaped your throat. He anticipated the need, gently guiding a straw to your lips to offer a few precious drops of water. Once you had swallowed, he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out an object that made your heart skip a beat.

Your cochlear processors.

They were scuffed, and one had a hairline fracture along the protective casing, but they were whole.

"I got them back from the car," you read on his lips, a spark of grim triumph in his gaze. "Well, I sent Ratatouille to fetch them. I refused to leave your side."

He leaned over you with infinite care. You felt the familiar magnetic click against your skull, and suddenly, the world rushed back in. The rhythmic, electronic chirp of the heart monitor, the distant bustle of the hallway, and—above all—the sound you had hungered for since the moment of the crash.

"Can you hear me, Doll?" His voice reached you—low, gravelly, and frayed by an exhaustion born of near-loss.

"Yes, Big Guy. I hear you," you managed to whisper. You were still floating in an anesthetic haze, but the relief of hearing him again was an instantaneous balm.

Brendon let out a long, shuddering sigh, closing his eyes as he pressed his forehead against yours. His shoulders, which had been braced like granite since he first saw you on that trauma gurney, finally slumped.

"Don't ever give me a fright like that again," he growled against your lips, punctuated by a tender, lingering kiss. "God... when I walked in and saw you lying there, I thought... I thought I’d lost you. Don’t do it again. I’m begging you."

"I’m so sorry... I only wanted to bring you lunch. To thank you for taking such good care of me." Tears pricked your eyes. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

He silenced your guilt with another kiss—one that sought to overwrite your apologies with his devotion.

"Hush, baby. Don't you dare apologize for loving me. The only thing that matters is that you're alive, that you're going to heal, and that you're coming home with me," he said. He traced the line of your cheek with his thumb, wiping away a stray tear. "I only need you. Whole. Safe. Under our roof and between our sheets."

"Brendon," you murmured, your voice sounding small and fragile. You tugged weakly at the V-neck of his scrubs. "Come up here. Please."

He hesitated, casting a wary glance toward the door of the private room. As a senior surgeon, he was flouting every protocol in the hospital handbook, but one look at your pale face and trembling lip ended his resistance. He kicked off his shoes and carefully maneuvered his massive frame into the narrow space on the hospital bed, curling around you with exquisite care to avoid your operated hip.

You tucked your head into the hollow of his chest. Brendon pulled you flush against him, burying his face in the crook of your neck, where his lips brushed against one of the marks he had left the night before.

"Rest, Doll," he whispered against your skin, the vibration of his voice resonating through your own chest. "I love you. I love you so much."

"I love you too, Big Guy."

You closed your eyes, lulled by the radiating heat of his body and the absolute security of his embrace. The chaos, the sterile hospital, and that terrifying, lonely silence were all behind you. Here, in this small room, held fast by the man they called "The Shark," you were finally home. You were safe.

[eden031]

Betting board

Pairing: Brendon Park x R4!reader

Words: 1.9k

Summary: The biggest betting board in the history of the Pitt finally closes

Warnings: none, this is just funny and comedy tbh, a bit of angst maybe?, mentions of rough sex, maybe ooc Brendon Park

The betting board. It was one of the things that made working in the ED a lot more fun, it was almost like a bonding activity for the staff, guessing what was behind certain situations on the news or what was going on at other hospitals. That was at least the public betting board, the bets that were made without people blinking an eye at them.

Then there was the second betting board, the one that involved a bit more secrecy than the one everyone knew about, but it was also the one where the real money was in the end.

Mohan and Abbot: love confession in ambulance bay (Whitaker) 50$, make out session in supply closet (McKay) 80$, already in situationship (Santos) 70$, had sex once don’t talk about it (Princess) 50$, married by next June (Kim) 20$

Whitaker and Robby: Whitaker one sided (Perlah) 50$, Robby one sided (Shen) 40$, Idiots in love (McKay) 90$, already in a relationship (Princess) 110$, first kiss in supply closet (Ellis) 70$

-> Dana and Santos are BANNED from this bet

Santos and Garcia: toxic situationship (Princess) 100$ -> everyone agrees with Princess on that, except for Emma -> get in a happy healthy relationship, 60$

There was more on that board. It kept changing, moving like some ebbing and flowing eco systems of its own, bets were changed, new ideas were added, people collected wins or bets that were closed because they weren’t leading anywhere.

Still, there was one slot on that board that was a topic of discussion at least once per shift, everyone arguing about what would be the outcome of that bet. It was her relationship status, an R4 all smiles and good mood. The reason the bet had even started was because she kept rejecting advances from everyone that hit on her, may it be coworkers, patients or visitors, every time someone asked her out she denied politely, still smiling brightly. There was a wide range of opinions on that matter, not only from the day shift, but also from the night shift and some of the surgeons that came down for consultation frequently.

Married since med school (Whitaker, Javadi) 90$

Single and happy (Mohan, Santos, Garcia) 150$

Engaged (Shen, Ellis, Abbot) 160$

Dating someone in the hospital (Dana, McKay, Robby, Kiara, Princess, Perlah) 515$

Dating someone outside the hospital (Jesse, Donnie, Kim) 240$

Crushing on someone at the hospital (Larry, Antoine) 130$

….

There were over two pages worth of bets regarding that subject. Ahmmad kept the envelope with the money in a locked drawer at this point. Everyone tried to get some information, tried to see if they were on the right trek, but every time someone asked she would simply smile and shrug, like she knew why they were asking.

The bets shifted significantly for the first time after an incident that none of them would remember as pleasant.

“Okay,” Dana sighed, looking at her with mild worry, the curtain was drawn shut, shielding her from prying eyes. She was still a little shaky, a patient had shoved her against some equipment during a routine check up and probably broken one of her ribs. “Are you okay with lifting your shirt? The new policy-” She nodded, interrupting Dana.

“I know about the new policy of workplace injuries," she sighed, mildly annoyed as she shifted slightly on the bed. She knew that Dana would have to inspect her torso so that if this was to be taken to court as assault charges there was someone to verify the injuries. Theoretically they were also supposed to take pictures of the injuries, however she had vehemently told both Robby and Dana that she did not want that.

Sighing deeply she slipped out of the scrub top first, putting it beside her on the bed. Carefully and with a small wince she lifted the undershirt, the moment it hit the bed and Dana looked at her she could see the older woman’s eyes go wide in horror. At that exact moment she remembered that the state her upper body was in was not normal for most people.

“Sweetheart,” Dana said in a soft tone, averting her eyes from the nurse she shifted uncomfortably again. All over her hips and waist, as well as lower back were hand shaped bruises in various stages of healing as well as bite marks. Flushing slightly she scratched her neck, trying to not make this worse than it already was.

“Who is doing that to you?” Dana said in a gentle tone, at that moment it hit her that this looked like abuse. That the bruises in various healing stages and other marks left on her body would cause distress in someone that did not know where they came from.

“It’s not what it looks like Dana,” she hastily said, trying to stop the nurse from worrying too much, “My boyfriend and I sometimes-” she interrupted herself, wondering how to put it in a way that would not embarrass her even further. Dana’s eyebrow quirked upwards, the worry still evident on her features. Sighing, deciding that any amount of embarrassment was alright if it meant putting Dana’s worry at ease.

“My boyfriend and I are just a bit rough sometimes,” she looked at her hands, hoping that Dana would get the meaning of her words. For a moment there was silence then a quiet chuckle, Dana shook her head.

“You should put that in your medical file,” Dana smirked to herself as she continued checking out the broken rib.

——————

After that the betting board shifted, it didn’t stop, people started betting on who her boyfriend might be. Sometimes specific people, others decided to go for groups of people. The nurses were relentless in their effort to try and find out who she was seeing. Yet she remained quiet about it, deciding that it was after all none of their business.

Firefighter (Whitaker, Javadi, Mohan, Ellis, Shen, Abbot) 625$

EMT (Larry, Antoine, Kirara, Dana) 350$

Nick Barker (Dana, Robby, Princess, Perlah) 520$

Brendon Park (McKay) 60$

Police officer (Garcia, Santos) 130$

….

Leaning against the nurses station she looked at the board, wondering what to take care of next. There were some things that were mildly urgent and could wait a few more minutes if need be and some minor issues that had been waiting for hours. Sighing she reached into her scrub pocket as her phone buzzed multiple times in quick succession.

Is the seventh circle of hell treating you well? (11:43 a.m.)

We got one of your guys just now, what did Robby think by putting that leg into a splint like that? (11:43 a.m.)

Please tell me that it was Robby and not you (11:44 a.m.)

I have lunch for you btw (11:44 a.m.)

The last message made her smile. Quickly glancing around she saw that Robby was lurking nowhere and she typed a quick answer.

Swamped.

Robby’s idea, never saw the patient

Can you bring it down when you have time? I’m pretty sure Robby would kill anyone that as much as tried to get in a bathroom break

She slipped the phone back into the pocket of her scrubs, deciding that she would tackle the minor issues waiting for treatment now, maybe take along one of the med students and handle that as quickly and efficiently as possible.

Many days she wondered if people were not aware of the difference between an urgent care and an emergency room. She had grabbed one of the med students and taken her along to get those things off her plate. It cleared a few beds at least, people finished with the tests and sent home with care instructions, all discharged within an hour.

As she returned to the hub she glanced at the board again. It was not getting any less and slowly started to feel like a fever dream. Grumbling under her breath she decided to take the next best case.

A broken arm in a kid. She took the history, ordered an x-ray and some pain relief after palpating gently and was out of that room again in no time, thinking that she would have to ask one of the nurses to get some of the colourful cast wrappings. As she headed back towards the hub she cursed herself for forgetting to restock the stickers she kept in her scrubs for pedes patients.

It felt like people were pulling her in all different directions. New patients, old patients waiting for a bed upstairs to open up, people needing something. The entire day felt like an uphill battle that would not come to an end soon.

Staring at the chart she typed as quickly as she could, hoping that between patients she would be able to get in some of the charting done at least, especially for the patients that were waiting for a bed upstairs.

“Park, what are you doing here, we didn’t page for an ortho consult,” she heard Robby say, sounding vaguely annoyed with him. Glancing up she couldn’t help but smile as she saw Bredon standing on the other side of the hub.

“I wanted to talk to one of your residents, Robby, relax,” he sounded exhausted, looking at Robby with an expression of mild annoyance.

“Which one of them and why?” Robby questioned, acting like Park would be this relaxed if one of the residents seriously did something wrong. Rolling her eyes slightly she got up from the chair, walking over two of them.

The moment she approached, Brendon's eyes found her, shooting her a slight smile as he turned away from Robby.

“Hey,” she greeted softly, nodding at Robby, though he simply looked between them, slowly circling around the nurses station as he gained distance, still looking at them over the rim of his glasses.

“Hey” Brendon smiled at her, then reached into his scrub pocket, “I also found those on the table, thought you might want them,” he hummed gently, handing her the stickers she had forgotten.

“Thanks,” she gently squeezed his hand after taking the stickers from him, putting them in her scrub pockets. “And my lunch?” she asked, tone joking, though Brendon rolled his eyes slightly before holding up the metal lunch box she always used.

“Didn’t forget it,” he handed her the box as well. Smiling slightly while shaking her head, she tucked it under her arm.

“Thank you, you really are a saint,” she sighed, leaning up and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. With a soft huff, he reached for her hand, squeezing it softly.

“I gotta go back upstairs, need to be in the OR in twenty,” he sighed, shaking his head, like he was greatly disappointed about the entire situation.

“Alright, see you later then,” she bid him goodbye. As he was in the elevator on his way up she went back to the spot she had been occupying, putting her lunch behind the computer without really thinking about the interaction much. Though looking up she could see multiple pairs of eyes on her, all wide and apparently shocked. Smirking to herself she hoped that Cassie would at least give her some of the winnings, deciding to keep quiet about her having met Brendon and her in a coffeeshop about two and a half years ago when the biggest betting board of the Pitt started out for the first time.

[urfavoritewritersfavoritewriter]

brendon park x plus size reader

authors note: U CAN’T GET RID OF ME!!!!

[c4ssmckay]

hellooo ok kinda lots to ask but can you make some more mel king hcs and possibly a fanfic? we neeed more FLUFF!!!

Summary: Mel King, Becca King, and Fem!Reader go to pages for ice cream.

Pairings: Mel King x Fem!Reader (Mel’s twin sister, Becca, is also included)

Content warnings: This content is entirely harmless and doesn’t contain any warnings. It’s simply fluffy.

Note: Thank you so much @solivvie for suggesting the ice cream date idea. I was completely at a loss for what to write for Mel. 😭

The automatic doors of PTMC slid shut behind you and Mel with a familiar whoosh. After twelve exhausting hours in the emergency department, the thought of seeing Becca lifted your spirits.

“Are you ready?” Mel asked, gently intertwining her fingers with yours.

You nodded your head, saying, “Always.”

Middle Hill Independent Living Center was softly buzzing with evening activity when you arrived. Becca was already waiting in the lobby, her headphones around her neck and a backpack covered in tiny cat pins resting on her lap. The moment she spotted her twin, her face lit up with joy.

“Hi, Mel.” Becca exclaimed.

“Hey Bec,” Mel wrapped her in a gentle hug and smiled at you. “Are you ready for our ice cream date?”

“Yes, but… I’m not sure what flavor.” Becca sighed.

“We’ll figure it out together,” you promised.

Page’s was busy, laughter spilling out onto the sidewalk as families and friends enjoyed the warm evening. Becca studied the menu with intense concentration, brow furrowing deeper by the second.

She whispered, “There are too many.”

Mel gave you a knowing look. You stepped beside Becca and asked, “Would you like to narrow it down?” She nodded immediately.

“Okay, chocolate or fruit?” you offered.

With confidence, Becca declared, “Chocolate.”

“Would you like a cone or a cup?” you asked.

“Cup.” Becca chose.

“Something you’ve had before, or something new?” You asked.

“Before,” Becca said after taking a moment to think.

A smile spread across your face. “Then I think your favorite chocolate peanut butter still sounds pretty perfect.”

Becca’s shoulders relaxed. “Yes. That’s the one.”

Mel let out a quiet laugh. “You’re magic.”

“No,” you teased. “Just good at multiple-choice questions.”

A few minutes later, the three of you settled at a picnic table, surrounded by overflowing cups of ice cream. Becca, with a joyful expression, eagerly narrated fascinating facts she had recently discovered, while savoring each perfectly even bite of her dessert.

Mel, with unmistakable affection, watched her sister before leaning against your shoulder. “Thank you,” she murmured.

“For what?” you asked, holding a mouthful of ice cream.

“For loving her as if she were your own family,” Mel said, glancing at you.

You reached for Mel’s hand beneath the table. “She is.”

Mel’s eyes softened in that way that always made your heart skip a beat. Before she could respond, you scooped a small spoonful of your cookies-and-cream ice cream and held it towards her. “Open,” you instructed.

She laughed. “Seriously?”

“Mhm.” You hummed softly.

With exaggerated reluctance, she rolled her eyes and accepted the bite. Her smile was instantaneous. “Okay,” she admitted. “Yours is better.” She leaned in and pressed a quick, sweet kiss to your cheek, lingering just long enough to make you blush.

“Eww,” Becca exclaimed, her eyes still glued to her ice cream. “Kissing.”

You and Mel burst into laughter. “Sorry, Bec,” Mel said, grinning.

“It’s perfectly fine,” Becca said, taking another cautious bite. “Just don’t steal my chocolate peanut butter.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you promised.

As the sun descended behind the Pittsburgh skyline, the three of you remained in your spot sharing ice cream, laughter, and a profound sense of quiet happiness that made even the most challenging hospital shifts bearable.

[zeyz444]

vacation headcanons for the pitt women ⋆.˚ 𓇼

samira mohan x fem!reader // dana evans x fem!reader // parker ellis x fem!reader // mel king x fem!reader // victoria javadi x fem!reader // baran al-hashimi x fem!reader // emma nolan x fem!reader // trinity santos x fem!reader

NSFW! MDNI! part 2, lots of pictures, both sfw and nsfw, vacation fluff, beach episode (literal), mentions of nude pictures, semi-public sex, drinking, fingering, oral sex etc.

✴︎ samira mohan

sfw:

samira has a digicam that she likes to bring around for every occasion. she takes pictures of you, when you least expect it. sitting by the sea, laying under the sun, swimming in the water, at dinner sipping your drink. it took a long time to convince her and pry it away from her hands to take pictures of her.

samira is the type to want to try every tourist attraction all the while trying to avoid getting scammed. which is, pretty hard you see, so she does her search before the trip to try out exciting stuff. not just the food and the popular cites. and she's so professional at the research with the restaurants as well, almost always the places are filled with locals and minimal tourists.

samira who loves fruit and just wants to try every single local one because she believes "only summer fruits are worth it"

nsfw:

samira’s digicam also comes to good use in bed… she snaps a picture when you're utterly spent, in bed, laying in a pool of sweat. or short videos of you kissing her, under her, touching her. samira absolutely cherishes them afterwards and during the whole of your visit.

sloppy and slow morning kisses with grumpy holiday samira who claims she can't wake up before 10am during vacation (though her body doesn't allow her that luxury due to working at the e.r.) and you tell her she can go back to sleep, you just want to kiss her. just languid kisses that turn into samira's restless hands all over your body and the both of you fully naked and awake. samira making you come three times before midday and leaving the bed for a shower to which you join her

✴︎ dana evans

sfw:

always always taking pictures of you with that old lady camera angle she has because you look so pretty,, "twirl in that skirt for me princess" "god, you look so pretty like this" "wait i need to get a picture of you here as well baby"

dana is one of those people who would totally go to like all-inclusive resorts with the spa treatments and turkish baths etc. she would not be leaving without using her massage package to the last brim

dana probably wouldn't want to leave the hotel much, booking the all-inclusive for a reason,, because she's on her feet all the time and she wants a place she can just relax with her pretty girlfriend with a pool nearby, tasteful meals and a bar just under your feet. if you leave it's because you want to see some place nearby and she just can't say no to you.

nsfw:

i already said she looves taking pictures of you, that persists in bed as well. angling her phone, trying to get the right shot while you just pose for her in the way she likes, "just a bit to the right sweet girl, spread those legs mmhhhmm." "almost there princess, look at how wet you are oh my god"

another, very innocent, reason why dana doesn't want to leave the hotel for long is because this way she can have you whenever she wants to,, unlike at home, and even the prospect of just being able to go up to your room whenever and have sex is enough to drive her dizzy. so occasionally, she will lean into your ear and whisper, "go upstairs and wait for me sweetheart, and if you touch yourself i'll know." and she waves you off on your way with a small slap at your back

✴︎ baran al-hashimi

sfw:

baran who still goes on her morning runs even during vacation only to come back all sweaty and sexy at 7:30 in the morning. and she makes sure not to wake you up, claiming you need the rest on vacation but she just can't help herself and has to kiss you when you're lying so peacefully still when she arrives back.

she finds restaurants and takes you to try local foods you've never even heard of,, engages with the servers and learns what's in every dish she enjoys. tries to get the recipe so she can make it for you later at home. it's just so precious :((

baran is also just so friendly with the locals it's unnerving. she has an ear for language as it is and she will be befriending lots of local shop owners and getting you discounts, learning each of their names and giving her promises to visit again.

nsfw:

in the shower, on the bed, out on the balcony, after her morning run, sweaty, panting, splayed out, on the sheets, all fours, with the strap, head between legs, in the bathtub, out at the club, late at night, early in the morning, quickie before lunch, long, and passionate after lunch, whenever, wherever this woman will take! advantage! of! that! vacation!

you leave your panties by her nightstand because you wanted to have sex and she's going to be using that against you.. baran stealing your panties under your dress in some pub you're at, keeping them in her bra. or her making you leave without any on so she can tease you under the table of the hotel's bar. tearing a few apart, "i'll buy you new ones princess", sniffing them before stuffing them into her pockets, eating you out over them on the hotel bed. she is just to teasing until you're begging for her to just let you come

✴︎ parker ellis

sfw:

i know the bouncer will get bored of seeing parker and you come in every night once you find a place you both enjoy. in my head she knows where to find good clubs everywhere and is an expert at finding out their best signature cocktails

parker is the type to book those luxurious yacht trips with a few friends and just have the whole sea (and you) just to herself for a few days. like i bet she even has a licence to drive the damn thing. and the whole few days would just go by with delicious food, amazing cocktails and very good sex down at the suit in general.

also i think zoos? like those huge zoos that put humans in cages to see the animals and parker would totally love to spend time in the nature,, that includes visiting the city floral parks and just having a cute little nature day

nsfw:

one thing parker also loves about clubs is how she gets to have you in the bathroom stalls. your back to the restroom door, parker's hand working with intent between your thighs, one leg hooked behind her back as she makes you come at least once before leaving

and the follow-up at the hotel is even more delicious.. "you liked how i did that, huh baby? how anybody could hear you any moment, could just come right in when you were at my mercy?" and she would get so worked up over it as well,, putting her words to good use, making you ride her face because it makes her super horny. you going down on her and she almost immediately comes the moment your mouth is on her due to all the foreplay she got.

✴︎ trinity santos

sfw:

i know the breakfast buffet hates to see trinity coming by. she would totally get huge servings of everything she likes, and even more from the dessert aisle. when you ask why she simply says, her mouth still partially full from pancakes, “i never get to have proper breakfast in pittsburgh anyway. plus didn't we pay for it? this is my lunch as well."

she makes an extremely long and comprehensive car ride playlist that's probably longer than the entire trip but it doesn't matter as long as there isn't a minute without good music in the car.

trinity takes small silly videos of you everywhere, out on the street, sleeping at the hotel, looking at a statue, swimming at the beach and she makes a small collage video of them back at home. you keep asking her why she's not taking pictures instead the first time you're on vacation and she just says it's a secret. not giving it away until she sends you a google drive link a week after you're back home

nsfw:

trinity who gets insatiable once she gets very slightly drunk and just gets super bratty to leave the bar and go back to the hotel,, trinity who can't keep her hands off of you once in the room and makes sure you're louder than back home because she can't get a noise complaint here. "common baby let me hear you. worst case scenario we'll get blacklisted from here." and you stay true to her words, moaning her name till your throat is sore from it

movie night back at the hotel but trinity doesn't even want to watch the movie, she wants to make you feel good. small, innocent touches under your shirt and tiny pecks at your neck turning into bites and straddling your lap. when you tell her "you're so annoying" in that breathy voice she responds with the usual sass, "yeah i'm sure i am," her hand slipping under you underwear, "is that why you're so wet or?" you have to shush her with a kiss

✴︎ victoria javadi

sfw:

victoria makes like those small trip photo albums from everywhere she goes so there will be a lot of photographing involved. both you, herself, the stuff you eat, places you visit, cute little bug she spots, etc.

she is always updated on the latest trends and just loves recreating those stuff w you. "common baby, just this once i swear we can go eat at that place you liked the other day. for me, please?" and how can you deny those huge doe eyes?

victoria who brings a huge suitcase filled with different clothes for every hour of the day for a 3 day long vacation. and you can't even complain because she looks so pretty in all of them.. she is also very big on trading jewelry during vacation (or just in general)

nsfw:

you take one spicy photo of yourself with her phone saying "i'll stick this at the cover of that album" and she's done for. everytime she opens her gallery during the vacation she's thinking of it. "we should take more of those." she tells you one night and you're quick to follow up. taking selfies of yourself laying between her breasts, looking up with your chin to her chest. or one where you're biting into her skin, just below her neck. a very short video after you propped the phone by the nightstand of you sucking her nipples and victoria stopping it cus she's too shy.

victoria who innocently calls you over to the room saying she needs help zipping up her dress when you're downstairs getting reservations for the night,, but in reality she's trying on some new lingerie she got for this and wants you to see it. so when she opens the door, in the matching bra and underwear you're already drooling.. she gives you a small show first, making you sit down on the bed and walking down the small way up to you. straddling your lap and kissing you senseless.

✴︎ emma nolan

sfw:

emma would bring like 5 different books for a week long holiday and literally finish one in a day, leading both of you to search for a bookstore and something for her to just read while sunbathing. she just loves spending time at the beach and just read!!

talk about historical sight-seeing and my girl is there!! from popular tourist attractions to niche antique theaters not even the romans heard of,, she loves to do research beforehand and to just talk your ear off the whole ride there. one time she even tried to correct a tour guide and you had to get between her and the poor lady

picnic date on those huge city parks with emma!! you tell her it's fine, you're on vacation and you should just gt some pizza and sit down somewhere you find fit. but she just buys all the snacks neither of you have seen before, different fizzy drinks and even a cute picnic blanket :((

nsfw:

emma who gets super shy when you're dancing at a club or a pub or wherever,, and she gets insanely horny when you make her dance very close, her back to your chest and when your hands graze her skirt she's just begging to get back to the hotel. emma who almost comes with your thigh between her legs in the elevator because she's so worked up

she loves spending time back at the hotel as well. like just laying in bed together and emma who is just so good with her tongue,, going down on you because she just can, here, now. and she spends almost hours between your legs, you spread out on the sheets. she tells you to read one of her books, or pretend you are at least because it makes her even more turned on when she can suck on your clit while you're acting like you're ignoring her.. and this goes on for a long time, her edging you, just with her tongue, usually slow, easy movements until you can't take it for longer. pulling her up and paying her back just the way she likes

✴︎ mel king

sfw:

i think mel doesn't really like the seaside much, not enjoying the sand nor the sun. she would definitely go for the mountains and natural sight-seeing rather than the beach trip.

and mel just loves loves loves the nature so much!! she knows the name of every single butterfly or the weird bugs you spot along the way. she almost gets too excited when you spot a baby deer on your hike one morning and scare it off. thankfully, she is able to take a picture of it before the animal hops away on it's way.

if you're staying at a bungalow or a mountain hotel she found that you're sure came straight from the shining, mel would totally tell horror stories about people who got lost in the woods etc.

nsfw:

the good part about the horror stories though is the comfort she offers afterwards. she makes sure to add a few unnecessary details that makes you cling onto her even further and she just comforts you with kisses and soft touches that turn into something way less appropriate along the way. "shhh, it's okay babe. nothing's out to get you, you know." as she is literally buried deep inside.

other than that she doesn't scare you off. like when she does, there always is some ulterior motive there. but she would totally love to have you without the scary stories. very very sweet kisses as the rain platters out the window. completely using the prospect of being up in a mountain to her advantage, making you shout and moan as loud as you want. her breath would get raspy and all breathy in the morning due to all that action.

i truly am milking my (now over) vacation with this one. the people had decided for nsfw but i also wanted sfw so here it is, enjoy :p

@azishimi @bl00df1redeath @saffrontieee @poseidon12345 @melschemmentitties @ccandlehead @postflash

main masterlist

[starl1ghtgr4yson]

BABY, WAKE UP…

After a long night of patrol/training, you find your boyfriend passed out. Naturally, you take this as an opportunity to execute another prank; setting up a fake Uno pile, fanning out a hand directly into his sleepy grip, and waking him up insisting it’s his turn.

characters: Jason Todd, Wally West, Dick Grayson, Roy Harper, Damian Wayne, Conner Kent x Reader

Jason Todd

The plan was foolproof. While Jay was out cold on his side of the bed, you quietly shuffled the deck, set up a random discard pile right on the duvet, and expertly fanned out four cards to slip straight into his massive, relaxed palm. You smoothed down the blanket, took your seat, and nudged his chest.

"Jay. Baby. Come on, it’s your turn. You’ve been taking forever."

You pout, “I’m getting impatient. And you’re just sleeping.”

Jason grunts, his brow furrowing as his brain painfully tries to boot back up. His fingers automatically clamp onto the cards. He blinks heavily, squints at the bright green and red cards in his grip, and you can see the sheer confusion hit him—followed immediately by the stubborn refusal to admit he was passed out.

He forces himself to sit up, dragging a hand aggressively down his face and rubbing his eyes with his sleeve, refusing to give up and lay back down. Voice raspy and deep as hell, he stares intensely down at his hand, shifting the cards around in slow motion.

"I wasn't sleeping, I was thinking," he lies, his voice totally shot. He leans forward, bleary-eyed, meticulously scanning your fake pile. "What's... what's on top? Is that a green?" He stubbornly forces his heavy eyelids open, carefully picks a green card out, and slaps it down like a grandmaster. "There. Go."

Wally West

Wally was sleeping so deeply he was practically drooling on his pillow. Perfect. You fanned out five cards, tucked them gently between his fingers, and made sure the discard pile looked legit right in frost of him. You tapped his arm with a tired sigh.

"Wally. Hey. Lay a card down, you're holding up the game."

Wally snaps his eyes open, completely disoriented. He looks down at his hand, blinks twice, and panic immediately sets in—he thinks he blew his turn and lost his streak. He refuses to go back to sleep. He forces himself up onto his elbows, shaking his head like a wet dog to fight the massive wall of tiredness, completely buying into the trap.

"Wait, wait, sorry baby, my bad, my bad," he stammers out, his voice a pathetic, sleepy whine. He squints hard at his cards, shuffling them back and forth with clumsy fingers, his forehead creased in absolute, intense concentration. "Did you... did you play a yellow? Sweetie, tell me what color it is, my eyes are blurry." He stubbornly sits there, fighting for his life against sleep, until he finally drops a Yellow 2 and looks at you with absolute, half-awake seriousness. "Okay, hit me."

Dick Grayson

Dick was dead to the world after patrol, curled on his side. You carefully laid out a trick hand, slid six cards into his palm, and set up the fake table right on the mattress. You leaned down and whispered right in his ear.

"Dickie. Stop slacking, it's your turn."

He lets out a heavy, groggy sigh, his eyelids fluttering open. He stares blankly at the cards in his hand for a long three seconds. Instead of falling back asleep, he complies, because of course, he has to trust his amazing girlfriend. He grunts, forcing himself to sit halfway up and propping his head on one hand, completely committed to staying awake for the "match."

He holds the fan of cards up right in front of his face, squinting so hard one eye is basically closed. "I'm not slacking..." he mutters, his voice super thick and raspy. He carefully reorganizes his hand, tapping a card against his chin in deep thought while fighting off a yawn. "Is that a Blue 4? Okay. Don’t rush me. Hold on." He meticulously selects a card, lays it down with dramatic focus, and squints up at you. "Your turn sweetie.”

Roy Harper

Roy had taken a "five-minute nap" that turned into two hours. You placed a stack of fake played cards on the blanket, carefully placed a fan of seven cards into his grip, and shook his shoulder.

"Roy. Wake up, you're up."

Roy grunts, a dry, scratchy sound, and blinks open two bleary eyes.

“Up for wha— oh right.” He looks down at the cards, and you can practically hear his brain trying to load at 1%. But Roy isn't a quitter. He groans softly, forcing himself to sit up against the headboard, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with his palm to snap out of it.

"...What was played?" he rasps out, his voice totally rough. He stares intensely down at his cards, fanning them out with heavy, slow movements, totally convinced he's mid-game. He stubbornly stays upright, blinking against the room light, carefully picking out a Red 6 and laying it on the pile. "There. Back to you."

Damian Wayne

Damian would never admit to being caught off guard, which made him the ultimate target. While he was dead asleep post-training, you delicately slid four cards between his fingers, placed the deck down, and crossed your arms.

"Damian. Hurry up, it's your turn."

His eyes instantly open, sharp even through the haze of sleep. He looks down at his hand, and for a split second, total confusion flashes across his face. But his pride won't allow him to back down or drop the cards. He immediately sits bolt upright, rigid as a board, holding his hand close to his chest so you can't peek.

He squeezes his eyes shut for a second to force the drowsiness away, squinting severely at his hand. "I am well aware," he lies in a low, crackly morning voice. He takes an agonizingly long time analyzing his four cards, fighting every urge to crash back onto his pillow, just to make a "calculated" move. He solemnly lays down a Wild card with absolute precision. "Blue. Proceed."

Conner Kent

Conner was passed out hard, snoring softly. You quickly set up the illusion—cards scattered, a neat discard pile, and five cards tucked firmly into his fingers. You poked his shoulder.

"Con, come on, stop taking so long."

Conner groans, shaking his head, his heavy eyelids barely parting. He looks down at his palm, and the utter panic of someone who thinks they fell asleep mid-hangout hits him. He forces himself up, sitting on the edge of the bed, dragging both hands over his face to force his brain awake.

"Shoot— sorry, I was just... thinking," he stammers out, completely tricked. He holds his cards up, squinting heavily through his messy hair, intensely analyzing the hand. He shifts the cards around between his thumbs, completely locked in. "Wait, what's the number on top? A five?" He hovers a card over the pile, double-checking it with dead seriousness before dropping a Draw Two with a smug, sleepy grin. "Boom. Draw two. Try and keep up."

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