pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x surgeon!reader
summary: a slice of life in the ED between the chief attending who becomes a part time babysitter, and the surgeon currently in search of a missing child.
word count: 1k!
warnings: fluffff, ooc robby?, reader has a niece named Kathy, miscommunication (if you squint) more than friends to lovers!robby and reader.
a/n: here goes another one for you guysss! i had fun writing this despite the fact that i wrote this while having way too many things to do in college rn. and, yep the second half of this fic will be a seperate one, since tonal wise it's a huge shift. hope you enjoy this one!
Robby was hunched over the desk at central finishing up some of your patient charts when he suddenly felt a stubborn tug on his pant leg.
“Da-da.”
Robby went rigid, his diligent typing immediately coming at a halt. His head sharply turned to his left and there near his thigh was a…little girl. Who just called him Da-da.
He quickly looked around the ED, eyes carefully scanning everyone and everything for a possible parent or at least someone who looks like they’re looking for their missing child, but the usual chaos of the ER only greeted him back.
Please not another Jane Doe. He thought to himself before going down on one knee to be level with her height.
“Hey, sweetheart.” he greeted her with all the softness he could muster, and the way she so easily beamed when he spoke disarmed him. This kid barely knew who he was, approached him and decided she actually did. Just like that, she completely trusts him.
The second she spoke again he’s reminded of why.
“Da-da!” she grinned, as if to say I found you!.
“Oh-ho! I am not your da-da, but we will look for him and mama, because they are mostly panicking right now, and we don’t want that.” Robby manages a chuckle as he fixes up her overalls, smoothing the material once over before asking. “What’s your name?”
“Kathy.” she replied.
“Kathy, that’s a pretty name.” Robby nods, his hand settling back down to his knee, he’s going to regret being on his knees later but he didn’t really want to scare a child by towering over them.
“I’m Robby.”
“Robby?” Kathy tilted her head to the side, her brows furrowing before she insisted. “No, you da-da.”
“Okay, very persistent.” Robby rubs the back of his neck, his eyes now looking for Dana at the hub. “Seems like there’s no convincing you, so for now, I’m da-da.”
Robby slowly stood up, his hands hooking themselves underneath Kathy’s arm to carry her on his hip. Kathy wasted no time tucking herself on his side.
“Da-da doctor!” Kathy’s hands find the stethoscope around his neck and pulls at it. “Da-da help people.”
“Yeah, that’s what I do, sweetheart. I fix people.” Robby only nods at her antics as he takes off his stethoscope and puts it around her neck instead, letting the child find entertainment in what she sees in him.
Robby catches Dana’s eyes as he walks towards the hub, her eyes drifting to the little girl in his arms. The questions didn’t need to be asked. Robby just answered them.
“Can you please inform everyone that there’s a child in the ED right now,” Robby whispers to Dana. “This is Kathy, probably 2 years old. No parents or guardians in sight, she wandered in and called me da-da.”
“Congratulations, father of the year.” Dana snorted, her eyes softening around the edges. Her hand reached out to squeeze Kathy’s arm, the child still focused on playing with Robby’s stethoscope.
“You think she was abandoned?” Dana asked, her brows etched with worry.
“She has a visitor pass.” Robby held her badge to Dana. “Her parents must be here somewhere.”
“Okay, I’ll pass it along. You keep looking.”
Well, fortunately for Robby, he didn’t have to look anymore.
“Kathy!” your voice rings out across the ER, the surgical gown loose around your frame, the cap ajar, hair frazzled. You run across the department, the sight of her lifting the invisible weight in your chest.
You waste no time carrying her into your arms. Your hand clamped tightly around her waist, the other cupping the back of her head.
“Oh, my god! Kathy, where were you?” you placed her on the ground, and pulled her back from your embrace, eyes frantically searching for any indication that she might’ve been hurt, but nothing screamed alarm bells after your look over. “The nurses in the daycare didn’t know where you were— I thought something happened.”
“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.” you pulled her back into your arms, her arms wrapping around your neck in return.
“No sorry, Tete Y/N.” Kathy murmurs in your shoulder
“I see Da-da. Da-da here.” Kathy declares, pointing to Robby.
Horrified is an understatement.
“No, baby— Robby’s not Da-da. Elijah is in a conference in California right now.” You shook your head as you quickly corrected her, your hand coming down to her arms.
You turned to look at Robby, your face heating up with embarrassment. “Robby, I am so sorry. Her dad’s a doctor, and his littmann is similar to yours— I am truly sorry about that, she didn’t mean it.”
“But Da-da here. Da-da check Kathy’s heart.” Kathy says, pointing to Robby’s littmann around her neck.
Oh, if only the ground could swallow you right now.
You see something flash across his face at the mention of Kathy’s dad before he schools it his features into something more neutral.
“Kathy’s yours?” he asks quieter than you expected.
“No, no! She’s my niece.” you told him as you stood up, taking Kathy in your arms again. “Julia— my sister is out of town for the whole week so she's with me for a while.”
“Oh.” was the only thing he had, the information still processing in his head. “Okay— well, she’s a good kid. Might even have a future in medicine.”
“Trust me, she’s already giving her dad a run for his money.” you chuckled, your hand absentmindedly rubbing soft circles on her back.
“Thank you, Robby. For looking after her.” you muttered, your arms around Kathy tightening. “I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if she got hurt or— just…thank you.”
“No need to thank me. She was good company, weren’t you, Doctor Kathy?” Robby went to poke Kathy’s side, making her giggle.
“Well, we should go back upstairs.” you said, albeit hesitant to leave his department. But those MRI scans won’t just diagnose the patient by itself.
“I’ll walk you.” Robby offered, guiding you towards the elevator that would inevitably separate both of you once again. Isn’t that funny? Working in the same building for the same administration, and yet still so far apart from one another.
Once you stepped through, you told Kathy. “Say, bye bye, Robby.”
“Bye bye, Robby!” Kathy waved at him, smiling as widely as she could.
He can't freak out here, he can't freak out here...
He's freaking out.
You're sitting on his lap, the back of the car to whatever hell work had planned as a bonding experience for your team had made you need to sit on his lap, and everyone is doubled up, apart from the front two seats, so you're sitting on his lap. He's looking down and seeing your thighs do that thing he only caught glimpses of from under your desk when he came past. You were so warm, so perfectly settled on his lap, it's torture trying not to grab at your legs and dig his fingers into the fat of your thighs like he so desperately wants to.
It's not some rocky stretch or even the other in the car, but a sharp set of bends that has one of his hands pressing down on your legs as the other grabs the handle by the window, holding the two of you steady as the car and all the other in with you jostled and swayed with the turn.
When you Lena back into his chest it takes everything in him to not press his face against your shoulder, to nuzzle and rub his tusks against you as you settle back onto him in a more comfortable way. He doesn't move his hand, the wide splay of his fingers and palm against your thigh either ignored or welcomed by you, he's not sure which is worse but the feeling of being able to.touch you even just like this makes him want to groan. Just barely holding back the noise, covering it up with a clearing of his throat, looking anywhere but at you as he can feel you adjusting your position again, each shift making him more and more aware of how warm, how soft, how perfect you would feel against him properly.
Fuck.
He really hopes this ride ends soon, his starting to sweat hard, and there's not much more he can focus on to keep his cock from making a very large announcement of presence against your ass if this goes any longer...
Not even deep breaths can help him now, not with every inhale carrying whatever scent or body wash you wear.
Summary: People start calling you Sharkbait. One day someone does it in front of Park.
Tags/Warnings: Brendon Park x reader, no use of y/n, no description of reader, brief mention of an age gap (40s-20s), mild language, mild power imbalance, watch me avoid talking about medical things
wc: 1,146
a/n: I was possessed to write this in the middle of the night. Mean beefy men have me in a chokehold.
Dedicated to @godmadeaterribleerror . Look! I finished something!!
You didn't really think about it, the first time it happened. You'd been halfway through a chart, awareness pitched somewhere behind you in case someone needed you — someone always did, eventually — and when you heard the name Sharkbait, you knew instinctively Santos was talking to you. She's always giving out nicknames like that, and you didn't have one yet, and people had taken to dragging you over to present for Park the Shark, because apparently you were the only one who could handle him without getting your head bit off.
You didn't really get what the big deal was. It wasn't hard to figure out how to deal with him — that's what you do, after all, assess people and then figure out how to deal with them. He wants clear, concise answers, and respect, so you give him both. Easy.
He's not the kind of person you'd joke with, or get chummy with, not unless he crossed that line first. Even then, best to tread carefully.
But he's not complicated, and he's certainly not scary the way everyone seems to think he is — though you would categorize him as intense. Focused. It's what makes him such a good surgeon.
And sure, maybe he trains his laser focus on you more than anyone else in the ED. Maybe his attention is less sharp when it settles and finds you on the receiving end.
It doesn't mean anything, surely, but that didn't stop Santos from noticing, and it didn't stop her from making a shitty nickname, and if you were thinking a little more clearly, you'd have realized that you should've shut that shit down. Park is your much older, much more attractive, incredibly no-nonsense indirect boss, not to mention, you actually kind of like the guy. He probably wouldn't take lightly to everyone going around implying he's trying to get in your pants, and even if Santos is mean, she's not evil. She'd back off if you needed her to.
But you'd been tired, and distracted, and you hadn't really thought about it that hard. And when she called out "Sharkbait, get over here!" you hadn't corrected her.
Instead, you'd tapped out the last line of your sentence and carelessly called back, "Sharkbait, ooh-haha." It wasn't even a conscious decision.
It's from some fuckass movie you watched when you were eight, and you hadn't thought about it in years, but apparently that one word had been enough to trigger the call and response you learned in second grade. It shouldn't have stuck, either, but then Whittaker had called you Sharkbait while you were talking to a patient, and you'd muttered it under your breath, and now you just can't stop.
Everywhere you went, people called you Sharkbait. Even Robby does it sometimes, when he's calling you over to observe procedures. And you, in a true show of human adaptability, do not stop to think about why it's such a mistake. You hadn't caught it the first time, and you hadn't caught it the second time, and by the third it simply became another thing in the background. Another name, another title, none of them really you.
Everywhere you went, you'd parrot it back. Mostly it was an announcement, a way to say I'm here, I'm paying attention, tell me what you need, without quite so many words. In the more serious situations, it was a half-whispered thing under your breath, a reminder that there would be time where things weren't falling apart, and you would be capable of joy and whimsy again.
Either way, it always came.
Unless Brendan Park was in the room. The Shark walked in, and suddenly everyone was calling your full name like you're George fucking Bush. Even the mention of a consult from him was enough to dissuade the use of it for a few minutes.
All of which led to twenty minutes ago, when you'd been hunched over a trash can, shoveling a granola bar down your throat with such ferocity that you felt simultaneously like a starved horse and the kind owner feeding it.
You'd caught a glimpse of Park gliding through the ED like Moses parting the Red Sea, and had stuffed the last of your precious calories into your mouth in a desperate bid to be done by the time he reached you. Even when you weren't called over to present, he rarely came down without stopping by, so you'd gotten used to putting on your best face on a dime.
You could see that Dennis was going to call you over before he actually did it, so you'd already been shuffling over to the hand sanitizer when you it happened. "Sharkbait! Whittaker says you should present this one."
Your mind knew it was a bad idea — tried to stop your mouth from following through — but habit is a bitch. "Sharkbait, ooh-haha," you fired back, just loud enough to be heard over the ambient noise of the ED.
For a half-second, everyone froze.
Park turned to you, molasses slow. Arched an eyebrow. "You like that stupid nickname?"
You'd blinked at him. Refused to shrink under his gaze, or his tone, or the way it all made your blood sing and your skin burn. Forced your voice smooth and even, just as unbothered as he sounded about... well, everything. "I haven't really thought about it all that much, honestly. Mostly just reflex by now."
Maybe he genuinely believed you. Maybe it's because you've always been honest and efficient. Maybe he just doesn't think you have the balls to lie to him. Whatever it is, he hadn't commented on it further, so you didn't either.
You both pretended it never happened, right up until he disappeared back upstairs, and you allowed yourself a single moment to acknowledge the fact that you may have just lost all your goodwill with the best orthopod in the hospital.
What you don't know is that Park had been the one to start it with an offhand comment to Garcia about the ED dangling you in front of him like sharkbait every time he went down there. She'd repeated it to Santos, and soon it had spread like wildfire. Not what he'd intended, and he'd considered snapping at the mousy boy when he'd drifted by and heard him calling you that a few weeks ago — only to be stopped dead by your sweet little call-and-response, like you were fucking taunting him. Practically begging him to come bite.
The fact that you had the balls to do it with him right in front of you — and then look him dead in the eyes and call it reflex — has just cemented what everyone else already knows.
He wants you.
And if you don't mind flaunting that fact to the whole hospital, oblivious as you may be, he's not going to be the one to stop you.
Summary: People start calling you Sharkbait. One day someone does it in front of Park.
Tags/Warnings: Brendon Park x reader, no use of y/n, no description of reader, brief mention of an age gap (40s-20s), mild language, mild power imbalance, watch me avoid talking about medical things
wc: 1,146
a/n: I was possessed to write this in the middle of the night. Mean beefy men have me in a chokehold.
Dedicated to @godmadeaterribleerror . Look! I finished something!!
You didn't really think about it, the first time it happened. You'd been halfway through a chart, awareness pitched somewhere behind you in case someone needed you — someone always did, eventually — and when you heard the name Sharkbait, you knew instinctively Santos was talking to you. She's always giving out nicknames like that, and you didn't have one yet, and people had taken to dragging you over to present for Park the Shark, because apparently you were the only one who could handle him without getting your head bit off.
You didn't really get what the big deal was. It wasn't hard to figure out how to deal with him — that's what you do, after all, assess people and then figure out how to deal with them. He wants clear, concise answers, and respect, so you give him both. Easy.
He's not the kind of person you'd joke with, or get chummy with, not unless he crossed that line first. Even then, best to tread carefully.
But he's not complicated, and he's certainly not scary the way everyone seems to think he is — though you would categorize him as intense. Focused. It's what makes him such a good surgeon.
And sure, maybe he trains his laser focus on you more than anyone else in the ED. Maybe his attention is less sharp when it settles and finds you on the receiving end.
It doesn't mean anything, surely, but that didn't stop Santos from noticing, and it didn't stop her from making a shitty nickname, and if you were thinking a little more clearly, you'd have realized that you should've shut that shit down. Park is your much older, much more attractive, incredibly no-nonsense indirect boss, not to mention, you actually kind of like the guy. He probably wouldn't take lightly to everyone going around implying he's trying to get in your pants, and even if Santos is mean, she's not evil. She'd back off if you needed her to.
But you'd been tired, and distracted, and you hadn't really thought about it that hard. And when she called out "Sharkbait, get over here!" you hadn't corrected her.
Instead, you'd tapped out the last line of your sentence and carelessly called back, "Sharkbait, ooh-haha." It wasn't even a conscious decision.
It's from some fuckass movie you watched when you were eight, and you hadn't thought about it in years, but apparently that one word had been enough to trigger the call and response you learned in second grade. It shouldn't have stuck, either, but then Whittaker had called you Sharkbait while you were talking to a patient, and you'd muttered it under your breath, and now you just can't stop.
Everywhere you went, people called you Sharkbait. Even Robby does it sometimes, when he's calling you over to observe procedures. And you, in a true show of human adaptability, do not stop to think about why it's such a mistake. You hadn't caught it the first time, and you hadn't caught it the second time, and by the third it simply became another thing in the background. Another name, another title, none of them really you.
Everywhere you went, you'd parrot it back. Mostly it was an announcement, a way to say I'm here, I'm paying attention, tell me what you need, without quite so many words. In the more serious situations, it was a half-whispered thing under your breath, a reminder that there would be time where things weren't falling apart, and you would be capable of joy and whimsy again.
Either way, it always came.
Unless Brendan Park was in the room. The Shark walked in, and suddenly everyone was calling your full name like you're George fucking Bush. Even the mention of a consult from him was enough to dissuade the use of it for a few minutes.
All of which led to twenty minutes ago, when you'd been hunched over a trash can, shoveling a granola bar down your throat with such ferocity that you felt simultaneously like a starved horse and the kind owner feeding it.
You'd caught a glimpse of Park gliding through the ED like Moses parting the Red Sea, and had stuffed the last of your precious calories into your mouth in a desperate bid to be done by the time he reached you. Even when you weren't called over to present, he rarely came down without stopping by, so you'd gotten used to putting on your best face on a dime.
You could see that Dennis was going to call you over before he actually did it, so you'd already been shuffling over to the hand sanitizer when you it happened. "Sharkbait! Whittaker says you should present this one."
Your mind knew it was a bad idea — tried to stop your mouth from following through — but habit is a bitch. "Sharkbait, ooh-haha," you fired back, just loud enough to be heard over the ambient noise of the ED.
For a half-second, everyone froze.
Park turned to you, molasses slow. Arched an eyebrow. "You like that stupid nickname?"
You'd blinked at him. Refused to shrink under his gaze, or his tone, or the way it all made your blood sing and your skin burn. Forced your voice smooth and even, just as unbothered as he sounded about... well, everything. "I haven't really thought about it all that much, honestly. Mostly just reflex by now."
Maybe he genuinely believed you. Maybe it's because you've always been honest and efficient. Maybe he just doesn't think you have the balls to lie to him. Whatever it is, he hadn't commented on it further, so you didn't either.
You both pretended it never happened, right up until he disappeared back upstairs, and you allowed yourself a single moment to acknowledge the fact that you may have just lost all your goodwill with the best orthopod in the hospital.
What you don't know is that Park had been the one to start it with an offhand comment to Garcia about the ED dangling you in front of him like sharkbait every time he went down there. She'd repeated it to Santos, and soon it had spread like wildfire. Not what he'd intended, and he'd considered snapping at the mousy boy when he'd drifted by and heard him calling you that a few weeks ago — only to be stopped dead by your sweet little call-and-response, like you were fucking taunting him. Practically begging him to come bite.
The fact that you had the balls to do it with him right in front of you — and then look him dead in the eyes and call it reflex — has just cemented what everyone else already knows.
He wants you.
And if you don't mind flaunting that fact to the whole hospital, oblivious as you may be, he's not going to be the one to stop you.
summary: inspired by @a-loveunlaced comment about Robby finding out about Jack and his daughter sneaking around from this piece
content/warnings: mentions of suicidal ideation, inappropriate relationship, unspecified age gap, dad's best friend
wc: 500
notes: just a silly short one...please give me ideas here.
Robby didn't tell anyone that he decided to cut his trip short. Everyone was right. He really couldn't last all alone out there. He needed his home comforts. And while things had gotten dark for him, he knew that he couldn't leave his daughter alone. So he came home.
He pulls his bike into his driveway, not paying much attention to the truck parked outside. He's tired, ready to order his favourite takeout and have a proper shower. So when he opens the doorway to his home and hears noises that no father should have to hear their daughter make, he cringes.
Okay maybe he should have called. He makes more noise than he usually would and takes his time turning the corner into the kitchen. He's expecting to see his daughter and some boy from the coffee shop or the gym or the library. Anywhere really. Not his daughter and his best friend standing there red-handed.
His brain slowly starts to remember what he saw outside. Jack Abbot's obnoxiously big truck. His brain didn't even register it as being out of place because Jack visited him so often.
"Welcome home, brother!" Jack attempts with a weak smile as you sneak into the shadows.
"Brother?" Robby chokes out. "She's...she's a kid! She's my kid!"
He calls your name, making you return from where you were trying to run away to.
"How long has this been going on?" Robby asks you.
"Dad," you begin, your face bright red. "I'm a grown woman, I really don't need to discuss this with you."
Robby stares at you, before rubbing the back of his head.
"Yes you do!" he all but yells.
Jack puts his hands up stepping in between you and Robby, "The first time was after that barbecue a few weeks before you left. And it just spiralled from there. Look, I'm not a bad guy. You know that, Robby. I would never take advantage of any woman. Especially not her..."
You close your eyes, pressing the heels of the palm of your hand against them. You really can't do this!
Robby just shakes his head.
"I need to take a walk," he snaps. "Actually no...no. You do. Get out of my house. I don't want to see you around her again! Do you understand?"
Jack looks visibly wounded. Robby is his best friend, and he never planned on hurting him. But he never wants to hurt you either.
"Okay, brother. Okay. Take your time. Cool off," Jack says gently, grabbing his things and taking off.
You look at your dad, whose face has gotten redder, his eyes wide with anger.
"I'm not a child," you remind him.
Robby looks at you, "Yea, but you're my child."
You bite your lip and shake your head.
"You know that Jack is a good man. He's your best friend for a reason. He would never hurt me. He's not that type of person. No one took advantage of me...I just wish...I wish you hadn't found out this way," you whisper.
Robby just threw his hands up.
"I can't have this conversation right now, kid. But Jack should know fuckin' better. And you should too."
a/n: thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! kinda wanna stay writing dbf!Abbot for a minute...
fandom etiquette as a whole died when people who didn’t grow up on fandoms became stans during lockdown, yes, but why am i seeing people openly mocking fics on twitter. why am i seeing screenshots of fics with captions like “bro what is this 😭.” why am i seeing people mock fic writers for not knowing how sports or theater or college or any other organization operates in the real world.
“college is absolutely nothing like this” “why are we writing four people on the team scoring a hat trick in one game” “so tech work is nothing like this, hope that helps!”
if you don’t like a fic, and if you can’t suspend your belief enough to enjoy a fic that exaggerates or ignores real-world orgs, you don’t have to read it. you don’t have to screenshot it and put it on blast for twitter. you don’t have to post a link to it in the replies. the back button is literally there on your phone. it’s not giving baby’s first fandom anymore, it’s giving entitled asshole and it isn’t as cute as you think it is.
I have a request for Jack abbot, so him and the reader are a couple and the only people that know are robby and Dana (robby is readers brother). Reader is in a car accident Dana is first to find out and tells people to keep jack and robby out they only find out when paramedic gives them the readers bracelet or something. Had this one in my head for a while also I love your fics :).
💞Tags/Warnings💞: slight age gap relationship, secret workplace relationship, hurt/comfort, ( slight ) angst, Worried!Jack Abbot, OlderBrother!Robby
💞Plot💞: At one point or another in their careers, both Robby and Abbot have had to tell a patient’s loved ones to hang in there and let the doctors do their work. But when Y/N is involved in a car crash, they’ll find it doesn’t feel good being on the other side of those words..
💞Characters💞: Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader
💞Title💞: Waiting Room
💞A/N💞: Thank you sm! I really hope you like it!!
((Requests are ALWAYS open))
Masterlist
For as long as Y/N Robinavitch could remember, she was constantly behind her brother.
Most times it was literal. Sometimes though… It was a nagging feeling she’d get in the deepest parts of her chest.
Being raised by their strict, single, ER Nurse of a grandmother in downtown Pittsburgh wasn’t as easy as it sounded. And Robby heard the phrase ‘take your sister with you!’ more times than he’d like. Y/N would always stand somewhat behind their grandmother, smiling hopefully. Hoping this time he wouldn’t roll his eyes or argue back.
Or make her walk ahead of him and his friends.
She couldn’t remember when he started acting nice to her. But at a certain point in her late teen years and Robby’s early 20s, he began to actually like spending time with his baby sister.
He never really knew how much he inspired her to be better. To grow from where they came from. And so, even in her grown age.. Even with all her accomplishments..
Y/N was always behind her brother.
And not many people saw her there. His opposing frame hid her most of the time. But one man did.
Jack Abbot.
It had been a simple moment. One that Y/N wondered if Jack even remembered. Or even realized how significant it was.
One morning, she’d been at her desk after being told something by Robby. He’d walked over to check on her and then leaned in close to her ear. ‘Don’t listen to Robby. You’re doing. Fucking. Amazing..’
Those words.
They were casual enough to any outsider, but the look he’d given her afterwards, it had caused a blush to boil up to the surface. From then on, Y/N had a crush.
This wasn’t her first time having a crush on one of Robby’s friends. But this was the first time one of Robby’s friends made it clear they had a crush on her too. Jack found himself remembering the small things. He trained himself at being fluent over understanding the looks on her face.
Lips pressed tight? She’s thinking hard.
What does she need? Someone to listen to her idea.
Slight pout? She’s feeling drained.
What does she need? Coffee. Specifically from the deli a block away from the hospital because their coffee is stronger than the hospital’s.
Squeezing her eyes? She’s trying not to cry.
What does she need? Not you asking her what’s wrong. She’ll just say she’s okay. She’s Robby’s little sister after all. No, just get her something that’ll make her smile. Her favorite snack. Set it on her desk when she’s not looking. She’ll accept it only then.
Jack became an expert at reading Y/N like a book. And there were always new pages to explore. And then one night, drunk in the park from a terrible shift, Y/N made her move. The kiss ignited Jack. But he had to cut it short, much to her dismay. It had made him chuckle a bit. ‘If I’m gonna kiss you.. I’m gonna do it the right way..’
The very next day, Jack sat with Robby on the roof. And told him everything. Flat out. It wasn’t easy. They did fight. But once Robby let himself listen… He realized just how much Jack cared for her.
See… Life is too short. Being in this line of work, you get that. Robby could die tomorrow. He was the only family Y/N had left. And… It brought him some peace to know that even if it was his time to go… Y/N would still have someone. She’d have Jack.
Robby never thought about it the other way around though. He never considered that maybe one day… He’d lose the only family he had left..
And Y/N was guilty of this too.
Until she watched the red and black Subaru Outback run a red light and head straight for her…
*
*
*
“Where’s your better half?” Robby asks the minute Jack steps off the elevator. Jack slows his footing, eyeing Robby with humor clear on his face.
“First of all.. Ouch.” Jack taunts. “Secondly,” He continues as he walks over to his friend. “What are you talking about? She’s officially back on day shift..” He says to jog Robby’s memory. Robby frowns at that. If that was the case.. Y/N was late. Really late.
The red phone at the nurse’s station rings as Robby checks his phone. Usually there’d be a string of texts from her, apologizing and explaining why she’s running late.
But.. Nothing.
In fact, their last text thread had been from last night. Y/N had asked if Robby knew why Jack was acting so odd lately. Robby tried to push out the image of the ring his friend had shown him earlier this month, instead texting back ‘You know Jack. Could be anything..’
The two had ended their conversation with a goodnight and then an ‘I love you’ from Y/N’s side which Robby had replied to with a playful thumbs up emoji. Y/N had sent back a thumbs down, her last text being ‘You never say it back!’
Robby pockets his phone as Jack checks his. “I’m sure she’s okay. Uh… She left real early this morning. Something about uh… Your grandmother’s grave? I think? I think she was gonna go visit her..” Jack says softly. Robby frowns softly. She only went to visit their grandmother when she needed to rant about something. Probably about Jack acting weird lately.
“Sweet Jesus…” Dana breathes out as she gets the description of the two individuals coming in from a bad car accident just seven blocks away from the hospital. “Fuck.” She mutters as her eyes instantly move to the two men of Y/N’s life. Taking a deep breath, she gets off the phone with paramedics and rubs her forehead.
“Okay!” She finally shouts, needing all eyes on her. “We’ve got two incoming. Car accident. One code blue. One code green but intoxicated…” She shouts.
“You and me?” Jack asks Robby as he nods. Dana quickly walks over to them. “You two get the code green.” She orders. The two men frown at that. “Mel! Langdon! Code Blue incoming. Prep.” She orders them. They nod and run off to get ready.
“Shouldn’t we handle-“ Dana cuts Robby off.
“Shouldn’t you listen to me? Go. Prep.” She says to them, hoping they’d miss seeing Y/N get rolled in. They shake it off and go to get ready. Dana heads outside to the ambulance bay and paces a bit as the first ambulance pulls up.
“Male. 37. You can smell the drinks from here.” A female paramedic says as they jump out of the van and head to the back. Dana tries to keep the anger off her face.
Everyone deserves medical treatment…
Robby and Jack come rushing over, guiding the paramedics on where to go from here. The guy keeps slurring things like ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘Came out of nowhere’ as they wheel him to an operating room.
Ambulance two pulls up and Dana can’t look, but she owes it to Y/N. “Female. (your age). Unresponsive on scene…” A male paramedic says as Mel and Langdon come rushing out but freeze as they see who it is.
“Not a fucking word to Robby or Jack. You hear?” Dana mutters to both shocked doctors as they quickly nod, knowing time is too precious to hesitate. “Go! Work!” Dana orders. They guide the paramedics to another operating room, focusing on Y/N as if she was just another patient.
But she was so much more…
Jack and Robby pull in Santos to help out. The guy’s got two broken ribs, dislocated shoulder, and a laceration to his spleen from the seatbelt and impact. They work to stabilize him, and only when they’re sure he’s okay enough to head up to the OR, do they leave him in the hands of Santos and now Javadi.
The two men step out into the hallway and with a heavy sigh, Robby checks his phone again. Still nothing. Dana watches from behind the nurse’s station as Jack tries calling her phone finally. The ringtone comes from a paramedic’s back pocket.
It’s like time stands still.
Robby has heard that phrase before from people. He’s never questioned what that means exactly. He just always assumed it felt how it sounded.
But here’s how it feels..
Everything around you… Is barely moving now. You are barely breathing now. Hell, you don’t even know when your last breath was. But you think you can go longer.
No breathing.
If you don’t breathe, it won’t hurt. He doesn’t remember the paramedic handing over Y/N’s phone. He doesn’t remember taking it. He doesn’t remember walking over to the other operation room.
He’s on the outside looking in for the first time in his career. And he doesn’t like this position. He doesn’t like the view. Jack and Dana try to stop him. He can’t say how he slipped away from them. He’s moving in slow motion. Or at least that’s how it feels. He hears nothing but a loud ringing in his ears as he enters the room.
Have you ever watched a scary movie?
Maybe you’re in the audience. Watching on the big screen as a figure stands in the middle of a room with a blanket over them. The main character inches closer.
The tension builds.
Maybe your shoulders tense as you mumble a quiet ‘no’. And then the sheet is yanked back. And you feel a jolt through your heart and travel down your body. That was Robby.
Watching his actions. Watching his body on autopilot as he finally pulled the blanket back and saw who was being worked on.
His baby sister..
“No!”
The word leaves a mouth, but it’s not Robby’s. It’s Jack’s. He grips Robby, standing in front of him to hold him back and only then does reality seep back in to Robby’s head. He’s crying.
When did he start crying?!
It’s like he’s broken through the surface again, gasping without meaning to.
Fuck, it hurts.
Jack holds him back, pushing him out of the operating room. He still had enough sanity to know Y/N needed to be worked on. And him or Robby in that room would do more harm than good.
“You two gotta go. You can’t be here.” Dana says as Jack gets Robby out of the room and back into the hallway. Robby feels like the whole ED is spinning. And then his eyes land on the operation room where their Code Green was still in. Laid out comfortably while he waited for his turn in the OR.
“Son of a bit-“ Dana cuts Robby off.
“Hey! Hey..” She gets in his way. “That won’t help a thing. I need you to go have a seat. And let the doctors do their job..” She says.
It’s like a blow to the gut.
Robby clenches his jaw at those words. Words that have left his mouth in the past with ease. What a cruel thing to hear now..
He slowly gives in when Dr. Al-Hashimi walks closer to lead him away. Jack’s feet stay rooted though. It’s as if now that he’s not holding Robby back, he actually has to face the reality too. That on that operating table is the love of his life…
“Jack. You should go too..” Dana whispers as she touches his shoulder. He shakes his head fast, eyes welling up. It’s like a rope is tightening around his neck.
“No..” He quietly whispers, practically mouthing it. “Not her…” He manages to wheeze out. He slowly looks at Dana, breaking her heart. “It’s not her..” He mutters. If he says it enough times it’ll be true.
That’s not his Y/N. It can’t be.
“Go sit down..” Dana tries again as he lets her lead him away from the operating room and towards the break room instead.
*
*
*
Robby can’t sit down. And Jack can’t stand up.
The irony of it, really.
Two of the most capable doctors of this Pitt, completely at the mercy of fate.
And both men know.. Fate can be cruel…
The break room door opens and Mel rushes in first. She freezes though when she sees what Jack is staring at in silent mournfulness. She’s still wearing her bloody scrubs. “Oh. Uh…” She quickly yanks at the white coverup and sheepishly hands it over to an awaiting Langdon. She then looks back at Jack and Robby.
“She’s a fighter.” She begins with a soft nod to assure them. Jack shuts his eyes. It feels like he’s been plunged into an ice bath. He breathes shakily as Robby rubs his sweaty face, also allowing those three words a moment to breathe in the silence.
“She pulled through real well.” Langdon says, voice a bit rough with emotion. Like he could just imagine the panic and pain of today for these two men. “Obvious signs of a concussion though. Slight whiplash of the neck, fractures of one rib, and.. The most concerning thing is a bruised lung, but…-“ Jack cuts Langdon off.
“Where is she?” He asks. He just wanted to see her. See her with his own two eyes.
“She awake?” Robby asks.
“She might be? She got moved upstairs…” Mel says softly as she fidgets a bit, watching both men with a deep frown.
They two rush out of the room before anymore can be said. Up to the eight floor they go. With heavy arms, they step off the elevator. And from the look the girl who’s running the nurse’s station up there gives them, it’s clear word has spread on who Y/N is..
She nods towards a room without having to be asked and Jack is faster than Robby. He wants to push past him though. Wants to get to Y/N first.. But he knows deep down Jack can only act strong for so long. He watches from outside the room as Jack drops to his knees by Y/N’s bed, grabbing her hand ever so softly so he can hold it to his cheek. He turns his back to give his friend this moment…
*
*
*
No one bothers Jack.
No one brings up how odd it is that he has yet to leave Y/N’s side.
No one brings up how odd it is that Robby came back down to work instead.
No one… Except for Princess, that is.
Robby sits at his desk trying to focus on the task at hand when he hears her and Perlah walking over to the nurse’s station together. “I’m telling you. I think they’re dating. 10 bucks on it..” Princess says.
“You really think that?” Perlah asks in surprise.
“Why else is he up there?” Princess raises an eyebrow back. “It’s obvious..” She shrugs. Robby has heard enough.
With a low huff, Robby gets up from his desk and walks over to the two women as they stand by the nurse’s station. “I didn’t know Dr. Y/N’s personal life was apart of your job description, ladies.” He states sharply as he watches the nurses. Princess stiffens a bit, as if she didn’t expect him to be here.
“I… Am so sorry, Dr. Robby..” She mumbles as he eyes both women.
“Why don’t we focus on work.” He suggests shortly before walking past. Dana watches the interaction from afar, sighing to herself.
Robby knew sitting in that room, watching Y/N in that bed, wouldn’t help him in any way.
He needed to keep moving.
He needed to keep busy.
So he worked.
He worked until 7:40pm or so. He kept his head down as he did, until he’s practically shoved out of the ED by Shen who had heard everything from day shift.
Stepping off the elevator, he nods politely to the night nurse at the nurse’s station. He moves over to Y/N’s room pausing as he sees Jack stroke her face and push back her hair to tenderly kiss her forehead. Y/N is awake and the two seem to be having a moment. He averts his eyes to give them some privacy before he finally taps on the glass door to make himself known.
Jack looks over and so does Y/N. She smiles a bit, some cuts on her face and a bruise on her left shoulder, but she smiles.
And Robby feels settled..
She slowly lifts her left hand with a slight wince, showing off the ring on her finger. Robby keeps his emotions down enough to whisper a soft ‘congratulations’ to them both. Jack eyes the siblings. “I… Uh… I’m gonna get you more pillows..” He says. Y/N gently touches his cheek before letting him go.
Robby watches Jack leave before looking back at his sister. “No more driving for you.” He says simply. She goes to chuckle and then winces, coughing as she touches her chest. She grabs a notepad on her bed tray.
‘Don’t make me laugh! Hurts!’
Robby reads it and chuckles quietly. He shakes his head at that. “Y/N..” He whispers, getting slightly choked up. She frowns softly and places her finger to her lips in order to stop him from talking before she goes back to writing. She turns the notepad towards him.
‘I’m glad you two had each other today..’
Robby stares at the sentence for a while as it begins to really sink in. See… Life is too short.
Being in this line of work, you get that.
Robby could die tomorrow, and he was the only family Y/N had left. It brought him some peace to know that even if it was his time to go one day, Y/N would still have someone.
She’d have Jack.
Robby never thought about it the other way around though. And as he watched Y/N, he realized the same thought brought her peace too.
The thought that if anything happened.. He’d have Jack too.
Smiling softly, Robby slowly sits down by her bedside.
“Let’s see that ring. It better be expensive.” He finally jokes, making Y/N smile as she lays back in the hospital bed, showing off her left hand again..
— “do i really need to be shirtless for this?” hajime asks gruffly, sitting neatly on your dorm floor as you write on a piece of tape, godzilla t-shirt tossed unceremoniously on your bed.
your anatomy exam is coming up, and you’ve been studying like your career depends on it (spoiler alert: it does), but you’ve been going batshit crazy just staring at your notes. so what better way to get off the books than to hang out with your boyfriend?
“yes,” you reply, placing ‘pectoralis major’ on his chest. “it wouldn’t work the same if you had a shirt on. active recall, visual learning, and such.” “right,” he mutters, brow furrowed as he watches you. “so…?” “so, flex your deltoid,” you demand. “c’mon, haji. this is important.” he flexes his shoulder obediently, looking away as you stick another label on his body.
you’re kind of surprised hajime agreed to this in the first place; though honestly, you really didn’t give him much of an explanation, simply texting him, “come to my dorm @ 10pm,” with no further instructions. you laughed when he called at 9:42 saying he was at the building, having to hold it in as you led your bright-eyed boyfriend into your room.
“you will be to blame if i don’t pass this,” you tell him, revelling in the slight twitch of his body as you slide a finger over his skin to pat down the adhesive. “right. can’t have that,” he says under his breath. you snicker. despite his reluctance, he’s not angry. maybe just disappointed. you’re not worried, though. he’d get what he came for soon enough.
sneaking a glance at him, you quickly scribble ‘teres minor’ on another scrap of tape. hajime’s ears are bright red, but his bottom lip is pursed up and his jaw is tight. tell-tale signs of his enjoyment.
“i know you’re a little embarrassed, but i need you to lift your arm up for me,” you tell him sweetly, tape hanging from your fingertips. hajime lets out a flustered grumble in reply, dim light highlighting hard planes of muscle as he accedes.
“it’s kind of itchy,” he says, after a moment. “well, it’s tape,” you answer matter-of-factly, pasting ‘frontalis’ on his forehead, then look at him doubtfully. “also, you need to stop scowling. you look cute when you’re not scowling.” “‘m not scowling,” hajime says under his breath, but his eyebrows relax immediately. you bite the inside of your cheek. cute.
another couple minutes pass by as you continue to stick labels on him, humming a tune while you treat your poor boyfriend like a whiteboard.
“...how long will this take?” hajime asks, stiffly, two pieces of tape hanging off the hollows of his cheekbones. you stretch out, making a big show of checking the clock on the wall. it’s almost midnight. “i’m basically done,” you reply. “i’m not going over the accessory muscles.”
hajime tilts his head, narrowing his eyes knowingly at you. “yeah, just wanna know, so i’m not peeling gemellus inferior out of my butt tomorrow,” he remarks wryly. you mirror his expression, enthused. “hah. i forgot you know this already.”
hajime pinches your inner thigh playfully. it doesn’t hurt—he could never hurt you—but you yelp anyway, more tickled than anything. “hey, i’m pretty smart, you know,” he reminds you, smoothing over the subtle sting with a callused thumb.
you scoot over towards him, running your hand down the label reading ‘rectus femoris.’ “i know you’re pretty smart,” you say, gaze locked on his, “otherwise i wouldn’t allow you to be sitting shirtless on my floor.” you pull, and the screech of tape being taken off skin is the only sound in the room for a second.
the sudden dilation of his pupils makes you laugh through your nose. “oh, that’s all,” hajime says lightly, body hot under your touch. “because i’m smart.” “and muscular,” you add, leaning over him as he sits back on his forearms, watching you intently. “mm, that’s part of it?” he asks, voice just breathless enough to make your stomach tighten.
“yeah,” you murmur, hooking a fingernail under ‘external oblique.’ your eyes drop to his bare chest, then drag back up to his face as you smile. “do you take a makeout session as gratuity for your model work?”
hajime swallows, his jaw fluttering. a blush blooms over his cheeks and he rolls his eyes. “that’s what i thought you called me here for,” he mumbles, warm hand coming up to rest on the curve of your lower back as you giggle. “c’mere.”
he peppers your face with soft kisses, leaving wet marks. your laughter fills the small room when you feel something sticky on your cheek.
“haji, i can’t take you serious with that stuff on your face!” “take it off, then!”
hello. folks. birfday post 4 me and him cuz we junebugs like dat
You’re all sat around Issei’s table, a rare occasion where everyone actually managed to be home at the same time.
Food and drinks are scattered everywhere, conversations overlapping, the kind of comforting chaos that only happens when no one has anywhere else to be.
You’re well into the night, many drinks and stories shared, when the topic of marriage pops up.
“Mattsun will be the last to get married, I’ll be the first obviously” Oikawa says confidently, swirling the half empty bottle in his hand, smug as ever.
Issei quirks an eyebrow at that, “What? Why?”
The brunette just shrugs easily, “You’re not the marriage type”
And with that, the hours crawl by & no one brings it up again.
The conversation moves on, but Issei doesn’t let it go.
The next morning while everyone sleeps off their hangovers, you and Issei clean the kitchen together in comfortable silence.
“So,” he starts quietly, bumping your hip with his own, “Will you marry me?”
You nearly drop the bottles in your hand, eyebrows scrunched together instantly, “..Huh?”
He laughs at your expression, shooting you a real charming grin, “For the bit”
“Is this about Toru’s stupid comment?”
“I can’t let it slide,” he says flatly.
You roll your eyes, huffing out a laugh, “You’re so stupid”
“I’ll pay for everything”
You stare at him for a second, his stupidly handsome face split into that easy grin, warm brown eyes that make your heart beat just a little harder.
You sigh, smile pulling at your lips despite yourself, “Fuck it. For the bit.”
That’s how you find yourself at the courthouse a few days later, getting legally married.
Makki had laughed when Issei told him the plan, immediately calling dibs on being the officiant, like it was a true honor instead of an incredibly stupid life decision.
Iwa was more reluctant to participate, “This is serious. Like, legally binding serious. You know that, right?” he had tried to reason, to no avail.
An hour or so later, after many signatures and a ceremony that somehow managed to be both official and completely unserious, you’re walking out of the courthouse as a legally married couple.
Makki insists on a “celebratory photoshoot,” which mostly consists of him yelling directions like, “KISS YOUR WIFE!” while Iwa fights back a laugh.
The four of you come together for a selfie, squeezed together tightly and each grinning so hard your cheeks hurt.
After, Iwa leans in to look, then lets out a breathy laugh, “God, this is so fucking stupid”
Issei glances at you, still smiling, “You regret it yet?”
You bump his shoulder, grinning, “Hmmm.. Give it a few minutes”
He laughs, slipping his hand into yours gently.
When you glance up at him, cheeks warming, you can’t help but notice the soft look in his eye.
And before you can make sense of the feeling blooming in your stomach, “Sent!” Makki announces, holding up his phone like a proud mother.
“Now let’s go celebrate the happy couple”, Iwa teases, playfully rolling his eyes, “Dinners on me”
By the time you’re seated, the table is already chaotic again.
Food comes and goes, laughters spilling out in every direction, and Oikawa is actively blowing up everyone’s phones with increasingly dramatic messages like he wasn’t the entire reason this happened in the first place.
“Do we block him?”, you ask at some point, half-joking.
“Oh I blocked him 10 messages ago”, Iwa huffs out, stealing a piece of meat from your plate.
So everyone follows suit, setting their phones down and choosing peace over the drama queen, laughing away and sharing a meal.
By the time the suns setting, you all end up stumbling back into Issei’s apartment, thanks to way too many congratulatory drinks from strangers and Makki insisting “it’s rude to deny them”.
Iwa kicks off his shoes with a sigh, “I’m never going along with any of your stupid plans again”
Makki flops onto the couch, “You say that like you really got a choice”
Issei closes the door behind you, still holding your hand like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
And for whatever reason, that part doesn’t feel like a joke anymore.
You smile up at your new husband, stomach flipping, “So..”
He tilts his head slightly, that familiar amused look in his eye, “You’re not asking for a divorce already, are you?”
And somehow, that makes your stomach do that funny little thing again.
Maybe this was a bad idea after all.
———————————————————————
A/N: based off that stupid post from earlier, enjoy !
also leaving y/n’s relationship w Issei (pre-forthebitmarriage lol) open for interpretation bc it’s more fun that way
OR OR reader goes out with santos and mel after the fourth of july shift and gets drunk with them and calls jack for a ride home and he drops them off one by one but he stays with her and tucks her in and it’s sooooo fluff
yay thank u for the request i hope u enjoy!! | 1.6k of fluff, ‘her’ used in reference to reader once
The humidity outside somehow feels less stuffy after having been in the bar for a couple of hours.
You tip your head back when a gentle breeze blows through, soft as a whisper but it kisses your heated skin all the same.
“Shit,” Trinity mutters from behind you, looking down at her phone. Her face shines a little with sweat, baby hairs sticking to her forehead.
“What’s wrong?” Mel asks immediately. She’s let her hair down tonight, both literally and metaphorically, and you’re glad to have witnessed it.
Today’s shift was a lot. More so than usual, and when Santos had suggested a night out to Mel, and then to you when she caught you listening in, it was easy to accept.
Your throat aches a little from the numerous songs you shouted more than sang, but it’s a welcomed scratchiness. It reminds you that you’re here and alive.
You turn towards the pair that are now both focused on Trinity’s screen, their brows scrunched. One concerned, one more annoyed.
“What is it?” you ask.
“Literally no Uber wants to go to three different drop-off spots,” Trinity tells you. “And if they do, they're charging an insane amount.”
You let the next words slip out before you really think of it. Later, you’ll blame it on the alcohol, but you’re hardly more than tipsy by now. The last two drinks you had were water.
“I can call Jack.”
Trinity and Mel stare at you.
“Abbot,” you add.
“You can call Jack Abbot?” Trinity asks you, something almost teasing in her tone.
“Yeah,” you say, shifting on your feet. “Unless you wanna walk?”
“Oh, no. Please, call Abbot,” she tells you.
“I think it’s a good idea,” Mel says, smiling a soft, encouraging smile.
“Okay, I’ll just-” you point over your shoulder and step away, digging your phone from your purse. His contact is easy enough to find. You stare at it, your finger hovering over the screen.
You’ve had his number saved for a few weeks now. He’d given it to you after a rough shift, finding you by your locker and typing it into your phone himself with an urge to “call if you need anything.”
And you just… haven’t. You’ve pulled up his contact countless times. Looked at his name there as he’d typed it; Not Dr. Abbot. Just ‘Jack.’
Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to just hit the call button. He’s your attending, and sure he’s flirty with you, but he’s a little flirty with almost everyone. And ‘call if you need me’ is just a thing people say. At least, that’s what you’ve been telling yourself lately.
You suppose tonight you’re testing to see if he really meant it. If you’re not totally alone in wanting to get more of him somehow.
You press the button and hold your phone up to your ear, looking to see if Trinity and Mel are watching you. They are. Mel gives you a thumbs up.
And then you’re turning back around, because after only three rings, the line clicks, and a low “hello?” slides through the speaker.
“Hi!” you say, wincing at how awkwardly it comes out. “Um, it’s me. Are you busy?”
Jack ignores your question. “What’s going on?”
“Me and Mel and Santos are out and no Ubers are taking us. You know, Trinity’s actually a pretty good singer. Anyways, I was wondering if you could come get us? It’s totally fine if not, I mean, it’s warm, so we could walk-”
“How drunk are you?” Jack asks you, not judgemental or accusing, just curious.
“Just enough to let myself call you,” you say quietly. “Not enough to not know what I’m doing.”
“Okay,” he says. “Tell me where you are.” Like it’s that simple for him to drop whatever he’d been doing just because you asked him to. Like whatever he heard in your voice was convincing enough. Almost like he didn’t need any convincing at all.
He shows up only a few minutes later, pulling up to the curb right in front of you and leaning over to open up the passenger side door.
You wave at him. He wiggles his fingers back and nods at you, urging you to get in beside him.
Trinity and Mel climb into the backseat, chatting quietly between each other.
You watch as Jack pulls away from the curb, listening to Mel’s directions back to her place. Watch as he turns up the AC when he catches you fan yourself, an arm reaching over to aim the vent towards you.
“Thank you,” you say.
And when he turns his head to quickly wink at you, it’s hard to come up with anything else.
He drops Mel off, and soon enough it’s Trinity’s turn.
“You gonna be okay?” Santos asks you, more suggestive than anything, once Jack’s parked.
Only, Jack takes her seriously. He twists around in his seat to look at her and say “I’ve got her.”
You sink into the passenger seat, embarrassed and delighted.
She salutes him and climbs out of the car. And then it’s just you and Jack.
“Is it okay?” you start, a sudden nervous flutter in your stomach. “That I called? I mean, I hope you weren’t busy, or-”
“Sweetheart,” he stops you, that same low, patient but sure voice as on the phone. “I gave you my phone number. I want you to use it.”
“Oh, okay. Good. That’s good.”
Jack has the hand not holding the steering wheel resting on the centre console. He shifts his over just enough that his knuckles brush your arm once, twice, before pulling away again.
“Good,” he agrees with a little nod.
And before you can say something else, he’s parking outside your building. You only just realize then that you hadn’t been giving him any directions to get there.
You look at him, his black t-shirt tights across his shoulders, his hair curling around his ears. Then, there’s his fingers squeezing the steering wheel, his knee bouncing.
He’s nervous, too, you think. Or affected, at the very least.
It’s what makes you brave enough to say: “Do you want to come up?”
And Jack, turning his head to look into your shining, shy, hopeful eyes could never say no to you. Not even when he probably should.
He lets you lead the way to your door, a hand hovering behind your lower back in case you stumble. You fumble with your keys until he takes them from your hand and unlocks your door for you, holding it open with an outstretched arm that you have to duck under to walk inside.
It’s only when you bend down to take off your shoes that you feel the lingering effects of the alcohol, your vision a little fuzzy around the edges, your head swimming and focused all at once. Because every thought is about Jack.
Jack, standing in your living room like he was meant to be there, like the space just miles itself around his presence. Jack, leaning down to help you slip your shoes off when he catches you struggling, a warm hand on the back of your leg, letting you use his shoulder for support.
When he straightens up again, he’s much closer than before. You suck in a breath, eyes dancing across his face. His do the same, before settling on your mouth.
Your chin tips up the slightest bit, like you’re making room for him, inviting him, and Jack nearly accepts it. But you’ve been drinking, and this isn’t anything new for him. It’s not spur of the moment. He’ll want you the same tomorrow, more even.
So when he leans in, and you let your eyes slip closed, he doesn’t let himself kiss your mouth, but presses his lips softly to your cheek, then to the hinge of your jaw, before pulling away.
“You should get some rest,” he tells you.
You nod, a hand coming up to your cheek like you’re keeping his touch there a little longer. “Will you- do you wanna stay?”
“Sweetheart.”
“We don’t have to do anything, it’s just late, and-”
“I’ll stay,” Jack tells you.
You lead him to your bedroom, and if you thought his presence in your living room was something, this is entirely more destabilizing.
Where there’s an alternate reality where he’s in here for more. Where he’s leaning over you on the mattress, where his smell is etched into your sheets. And maybe it isn’t so far fetched, not with how he looks at you.
How he’s taking care of you tonight.
To that point, Jack goes into your dresser and picks out some pajamas for you once he finds the right drawer, setting them on the edge of the bed. He’d assumed you’d go into the bathroom to change.
Instead, he watches you reach for the hem of your top. His eyes widen slightly as you lift it, exposing your stomach. He turns around before it gets above your chest.
Jack’s meant to be a strong man, but the sight of your bare skin—skin that’s new to him—makes his heart stutter. Makes him weak.
“I have a spare toothbrush in the bathroom,” you tell him, prompting him to turn back around to find you now changed. “And I have some sweatpants if you want to change. They might not fit you, but-”
“I’m alright,” he says. Really, he’s thinking similarly to you. Thinking about a world where his toothbrush lives beside yours and he’s got a spare change of clothes here already.
And when you settle into bed after brushing your teeth, Jack’s prosthetic leaning against the nightstand, facing him with your cheek pressed into your pillow, that world doesn’t feel so far away.
“Thank you for coming,” you whisper, eyes fluttering sleepily.
coming home from a tiring day and expecting bkg to be up and ready and cooking but to find him on the couch snoozing :(
nom nom nom
for the next move in your relationship with bakugou katsuki, he gave you the key to his apartment. it’s a fancy word, apartment. not flat, not your student shared house you lived in a few years ago or your family home with your tiny bedroom and snacks that will be snatched by your siblings.
your boyfriend’s apartment. it’s a skyscraper bachelor pad which, with the integration of you in his life, has become a home of more. or really katsuki’s house, with mini shrines to you all over it.
your favourite cereal and fruit bars in the cupboards, your favourite biscuits you dip in your tea and the fridge with a tub of the only yoghurt you eat. his living room which before had no blankets, has four. all chosen by you every time you go shopping with him and his inability to say no. then about three books you’re currently reading, your nintendo switch you leave at his house. his bathroom with your spare toothbrush, makeup wipes and a duplicate skincare selection of the one you have at home.
however, even though it might look like you live here for half of your week, your boyfriend still loves to treat you like a guest.
cooking for your every time you come over. fluffing up his cushions so you don’t think he only comes to his apartment to sleep and leaves for work. cleans up, showers, resprays himself with cologne and deodorant.
with all that said, you know what to expect with katsuki, especially when you use his front door key for the first time. no need to knock and wait to hear him rush over to the door, waiting a single second to pretend to look like he didn’t just run before opening the door.
this time, you opened the door yourself and instead of seeing your boyfriend in his kitchen, mixing something in his wok, adding soy sauce somewhere and veggies somewhere else, you can’t see him anywhere. you know he’s home though, he texted you an hour ago to say he would be.
you kick off your shoes and pull off your jacket. dumping your bag on the floor, you wade your way through his apartment.
“katsuki? are you on the toilet?” you call but as soon as you enter his living room, you go silent. a smile springs up on your face instead.
“awe,” you mumble and the feeling you get when you see a cute puppy, a little tiny kitten or a chubby sweet baby, fills up inside of you. warmth and love, everything pink with the urge to squeeze.
this grown ass man was dead to the world. laid in his cloud ivory L shaped sofa, on his back, chest softly breathing up and down, up and down. in through his nose and out through his lips.
it’s rare you witness katsuki sleeping. he’s always up before you for his work and on weekends when you get to sleep in, he’s always in that half awake stage when if you try and sneak out under him, suddenly he gains all consciousness to drag you back.
the size of him is a shock. to see a man that large resting. he feels like a lion, ready to pounce at any hint of a predator. he’s in his comfy clothes, wool hoodie and grey joggers. both his hands on his stomach, resting over each other like an old man. you coo at the sight of him with no frowns nor is he on the edge of a bark.
you kneel at the edge of the sofa, knowing that if anyone where to see you now, you’d be framed as a loving girlfriend or an utter creep.
you couldn’t care less. you brush katsuki’s damp blonde strands off his forehead, wondering whether kissing his cheek is worth it to wake him up.
until one eye snaps open. bakugou jumps out of your grasp, onto his elbows with a yelp, “fuck!”
he makes you jump too, eyes wide as you watch his cortisol slowly level back to normal.
“it’s just me!”
“shit, i wasn’t expectin’ you to be there.” he lays back on the sofa, forearm over his eyes. sleep causes his voice to be a deep growl, every word delicious. “didn’t even realise i fell asleep, was supposed to be startin’ dinner for ya.”
“it’s okay, you must have been sleepy,” you say quietly, hands back on your lap and bakugou swings his head over to look at you.
he licks his bottom lip. eyes with creases around them, skin stiff but the endearment in his eyes is undeniable.
“how are you, sweets? sorry, i’m outta it.” he reaches for your waist, urging you to sit up next to him on the sofa.
you do eagerly, flinging your body over his like he’s your life boat, head on his shoulder. bakugou wraps his arms around your back.
“i’m fine. you’re such a cute sleeper.”
bakugou scoffs, closing his eyes, “shut up.”
“you are! like a baby, one who’s eating all their meals.”
“yeah?” he entertains.
“hm,” you hum, “wanna kiss all over your sweet cheeks.”
he peels one eye open. one thing about the prohero, he loves your attention. “go on. then i’ll start cookin’.”
you sit up, hands on his shoulders, “we can always order in. you’re clearly exhausted.”
“i like cookin’ for you,” he mumbles when you press your lips onto his cheekbone.
immediately bakugou grins, hands resting on your hips.
“but you don’t have to.”
another kiss to his right cheekbone. then his chin.
“i would rather lay here with you,” he murmurs.
“nice. i’ll look for something for us.”
a kiss on his eyelids, then his forehead.
“proper kiss now.” he pushes, tilting up his chin to keep closer to your face.
“so bossy,” you smirk before pressing your lips onto his.
Brendon Park is a “wife guy” but not in the toxic clearly compensating for something shitty way. The man just loves his wife okay…yeah he’s stoic and clinical and scary but he’s soft as hell when it comes to the subject of his wife. Medical students and staff are stunned the first time they hear Park the Shark mention “date night with Mrs. Park.” All soft eyed and sweet. Some medical students have been bold enough to attempt to manipulate Park by asking about his wife hoping to pull out something other than the Shark…dumb move. The man is protective of his wife and clocks that shit. He’s not gonna like yap about his wife if some dumbass resident asked as a clear means to sway him towards giving them an easy day…when he’s in “wife guy” mode it’s his own choice and a sign he’s not totally locked in scary surgeon mode. He’ll do it in front of like Robby or Abbot or Garcia because they don’t really react anymore. They met Mrs. Park and she’s old news at this point. She’s Park’s only soft spot.
Summary: You and Dennis have been together since high school, when you got pregnant. Now, at the hospital, you both managed to hide it very well… or at least that’s what you tried to do.
A/N: Hii, this is my first fanfic, I hope you like it. It’s kind of inspired by a TikTok trend with the song “Young, Dumb and Broke” by Khalid..
Dennis and you have been together since your last year of high school in Nebraska, when you started dating. Your relationship was a genuine puppy love; you were the typical couple everyone envied, until your lives took a complete turn: you found out you were pregnant and, although everyone thought you would abort in order to continue your dream of becoming doctors, you decided to get engaged and have your little boy named Dereck. That motivated you even more to finish your careers and give him a good life together.
Now, after so much time and effort together, you managed to become residents at Pittsburgh Hospital and, although both of you worked in the emergency department, the only sign that you had a partner was the engagement ring both of you wore on your ring finger, although no one knew who you shared it with.
Normally you tried to make your shifts different so you could take care of Dereck, who was already 4 years old; however, that day Robby asked both of you to be on the day shift, so you had to ask your mother to take care of him.
It was 2 in the afternoon. You were finishing the registration of your last patient when you heard a paramedic entering from the ambulance bay, something that put you on alert.
—4-year-old child with an asthma attack! —you heard the paramedic shout and your blood froze thinking the worst. While you approached the stretcher as fast as possible, you saw your mother out of the corner of your eye, who looked noticeably scared; you decided to ignore it to continue on your way.
—He’s having a lot of difficulty breathing and wheezing in his chest. We gave him a nebulization and oxygen during transport. He’s still agitated, but stable —the paramedic continued when you and Robby reached the sides of the stretcher. Your fingers trembled when you saw your little boy with the mask on and his eyes closed while you tried with all your strength not to hug him to comfort yourself.
As for Dennis, who was with another patient, he went out to look for a new case on the patient board when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw your mother inside a room. Without thinking about it, he quickly moved toward her.
When he arrived, he found the image of little Dereck already awake and stable; he reacted immediately.
—Daddy! —the little boy said when he saw him enter.
Immediately, the looks from Robby and Princess, who were in the room during your absence, turned with raised eyebrows when they discovered the undeniable resemblance between them. They were almost identical: both had those blue eyes, golden hair and shared that expression of always looking lost all the time.
—Hey buddy, what happened here? —Dennis answered his little one, ignoring the looks of surprise.
At that moment you entered almost running with the neurological results in your hand; however, you stopped almost dead in your tracks when you saw your little boy awake and with your fiancé by his side. Although you couldn’t help but be a little amused by the resemblance that had always made you laugh, you forgot it immediately when you realized the situation you were in.
—Mommy! —Dereck said excitedly when he saw you enter.
Robby and Princess’s eyes widened like plates when they connected the pieces of the puzzle almost immediately.
After a while of leaving you alone with your child so you could talk about the situation, you both knew that little peace would end when you heard the door open and Dana’s voice fill the room.
—Well, little Whitaker is ready to go whenever you want —she said, letting the amusement show on her face. That’s when you and Dennis realized Princess was the best at spreading news.
—Well buddy, you already know you have to be more careful when you play at the park, okay? —Dennis said, crouching down to be at the height of his little clone—. Mom and I will pick you up later, but how about you and grandma go get some ice cream and watch a movie meanwhile? —he said while extending a bill he had taken from his pocket and then ruffling his hair affectionately.
The little boy nodded in response and gave him a high five before going over to you.
—Don’t terrorize your grandma and you need to be in bed before eight —you said with an authoritative look before giving him a sweet smile.
The little boy rolled his eyes playfully and then you gave him a quick kiss on the head before letting him go with his grandmother.
Some time later, when everything had calmed down, you ran into Robby, although you had been avoiding him, and to your bad luck Dennis was walking right behind you.
—Hold it right there, you two —Robin said, grabbing Dennis by the shoulder—. I had no knowledge that Whitaker had been cloned —he said clearly joking, although the seriousness he would give the conversation was noticeable—. Does human resources know about this? —he asked crossing his arms.
—Yeah, of course —Dennis said somewhat nervously, playing with his engagement ring—. We just... we just wanted to keep it kind of low profile —he said shrugging with an awkward smile.
—Robby, I don’t know if we had to mention it to you, I’m sorry, but Dereck was there before we got here. We just didn’t want to... —you stayed thinking for a moment and before you could continue Dana interrupted you.
—Great genes, Whitaker. I’d be very upset if I were her —Dana said arriving next to Dennis while giving him a small squeeze on the shoulder.
That lightened the mood and made you smile.
—I carried him for nine months and raised him for four years and he doesn’t even have my nose; believe me, I am —you said jokingly glaring at Dennis before laughing a little.
—He has your personality —Dennis said while shaking his head amused.
That made Robby laugh, which relaxed both you and Dennis.
—Wait, four years? I didn’t know you were vampires too —Robin said curious to hear the explanation.
Dennis laughed in response and then answered:
—We had him very young, in our last year of high school to be exact —he said shrugging slightly and then raising the hand where he wore the ring—. So we decided to get engaged.
That intrigued Robby even more, who surely hadn’t noticed the rings you shared, and in response he arched an eyebrow waiting for more story.
—I don’t know... we were just young, dumb and broken highschool kids who love each other —he said turning to look at you with a sweet smile.
And there they seemed to go back to being eighteen years old again, with a baby to take care of and no idea what their future would be.
Hellooo, for the blurb I was thinking of pranking robby or jack or dennis, or all 3 whichever you feel like, by making someone insult you as a joke and seeing how they would react. I remember reading a fic where this was used and jack was pranked by reader and shen and at the end he found out it was for a tiktok trend:))
protective - dennis whitaker x f!reader
summary: you and parker try to prank dennis and end up pranking the wrong guy.
pairings: dennis whitaker x f!reader, platonic!jack abbot x reader
cw/tags: no use of y/n, swearing, established relationship (reader and dennis are engaged). protective!jack, swearing, dennis and reader (mostly reader) are lowkey freakish, slightly suggestive content (maybe a little more than slightly...implied but not explicit smut, mild choking), mostly fluff vibes lmao
word count: 0.8k
this can be read as part of the hot shot series if you'd like!
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Your stomach buzzes as Ellis approaches you, a smug look on her face, tablet tucked beneath her arm. Her eyes flick past you, making sure that Dennis is within earshot, stifling a laugh into her hand.
“Hey,” She greets. You casually look up from your computer, giving her a smile.
“Hi,” You say.
“No makeup kinda’ day, huh?” She says. You let out a wavering exhale, keeping yourself from breaking before responding.
“Oh, uh, no,” You say. “I’m wearing makeup.”
“Seriously?” She asks, sounding as agog as possible. “Damn, rough night?”
From behind you, Dennis looks towards the interaction, his brows furrowing at the out of character comments coming from Ellis. He frowns when he realizes that she’s talking to you, watching as you lean away from her and defensively cross your arms over your chest.
“What do you mean?” You ask, trying to act offended. “Does it not look nice?”
“I mean…” She trails off, purposefully looking at Dennis again, just for a split second. “You’ve definitely had better days.”
Dennis waits for your response, knowing that you can take care of yourself, but also having to fight the anger that grows in his chest. Ellis is your friend, is she not? Why the hell is she talking to you like this?
“What the fuck, Ellis?”
You recognize the voice without needing to turn around, but even if you couldn’t, the look on Ellis’ face would be a dead giveaway. Her eyes widen, and she ducks her head towards you.
“Say nice things at my funeral,” She mutters. You actually laugh, just in time for Jack to make his way over, aggressively setting a hand down on the counter to stop Ellis from going anywhere.
“Shouldn’t you be focused on handover?” He asks, the veins in his forearms popping, a probing look on his face. Your eyes go wide, face heating up as you try to hold in another laugh when Ellis turns to you. “Don’t look at her.”
“Jesus, Abbot, it was just-”
“I heard you’re applying for an ultrasound fellowship next year,” He says, lowering his voice, cutting her off. “I’ll be keeping the way you speak to your colleagues in mind when you ask for a recommendation letter.”
“Oh my god,” You say, laughing through the words, your jaw dropping at the end of the sentence. “We were just fucking around, Jack, I wanted to mess with Dennis a little. You weren’t even supposed to hear that.”
His head snaps to look at you, brows still furrowed threateningly, but they slowly relax as he takes in your words.
“What?” He asks, tilting his head to the side, looking at Dennis. “You hearing this, Whitaker?”
Dennis clears his throat. “Uhm, yeah, yes. I thought it seemed out of character, but-”
“But what?” Jack asks. “You were gonna’ let someone talk to her like that?”
“Jack!” You exclaim, standing up, setting a hand on top of his. “You kinda’ stepped in before he had a chance.”
He squints, looking back at Ellis. “You didn’t mean it?”
“Are you fucking kidding?” She asks. “She’s who I think about whenever I hear ‘Lips of an Angel.’”
You snort. “You’re an idiot.”
Dennis is standing behind you now, his hands on the back of your chair, his shoulders back slightly as though good posture will somehow convince Jack to not be mad at him. You sit back down, and his hands slip onto your shoulders, fingers tapping against you. Jack gives you and Ellis a final glare, then walks off to check on the most recent trauma patient.
“You almost got me killed,” Ellis says, laughing, jabbing a finger in your direction accusatorily. “The only person I thought would be getting mad at me was your fiancé, and at least I could take him in a fight.”
“Sorry, you think you could take him in a fight?” You ask. “You know I love you, but you’re losing that one, babe.”
“Oh, why, cause he spends his free time carrying hay?” She asks, sarcastically, lifting her arm up and flexing, her bicep bulging against her scrub top. “You’re going down, funky music.”
“Luckily we don’t have to find out,” Dennis says. “But now Abbot thinks I’m a wimp, so, thank you for that.”
You look over your shoulder, smiling innocently. “He’s just protective, he actually really likes you.”
Dennis scoffs, smiling back at you. “Sure seems like it.”
Later that night, long after the dayshift has gone home, Ellis checks her phone between patients, tapping on a notification from you. She can’t figure out what the picture is at first, but then she turns her brightness up, realizing it’s Dennis’ arm, bicep flexed and veins pressing against his skin.
more teen chubby and jack please!! maybe something heartwarming when he decides to be normal for once🤞
The driving lesson is unbearable for Jack's heart, but he tries. He tries, despite the other drivers on the road, phone-addicted without giving a single care to turn on their blinkers. Pittsburgh drivers, nonetheless. He might as well be throwing his organs out onto the road.
...No. No. Bad thought. Bad fucking memory. Remind her to never get on a motorcycle.
"Dad, you said you were gonna be chill about this."
"...I think I'm more relaxed than I was ten minutes ago. It's the traffic. Not too bad. Hopefully we'll make it home without the rush overtaking us."
Chubby nearly rolls his eyes. "At least you only told me to check my mirrors three times this time."
Jack looks at her over the top of his readers, which he stopped pretending to not need before she was born.
"It's important to implement routine. You can never be too careful on the road---"
Chubby's groan is as dramatic as her dropping her forehead against the steering wheel. Jack's mouth grows thin, slightly teasing, voice less so.
"Don’t do that while the engine’s on."
"It’s in park! We're not driving!"
"Still, Chubs. It's the principle. Gotta have a better attitude for the instructor."
Chubby lifts her head and glares at him with your eyes and his scowl. It's fucking criminal. She used to be the cutest toddler who fed crackers to her prosthetic. She only calls the stuffed version of it 'Leggy' now. She's seventeen, a little bit behind her friends and classmates when it comes to driving.
She's sitting behind the wheel of his truck. His daughter. His babygirl, acting like she owns the thing. And the world. And his heart.
She's got one out of three.
God fucking help him.
Jack swallows. "Okay. Foot on the brake, then shift it into drive."
Chubby listens, and the truck rolls forward a little too quickly. Fuck. Fine. That's fine. She's capable. It doesn't matter if his heart is about to balloon up and out of his throat. She's as capable as her mother. Regretfully.
"You're fine, sweetheart. You can loosen up a little, okay? You're learning. That means you're allowed to be bad at it first."
She drives around the empty parking lot, a little too stiff. It's obvious she's trying to feign perfection so her dad won't panic. So. He guesses he has to pretend he's not panicking. Give him the Oscar.
Chubby frowns. "Don't think you really like me being bad at dangerous stuff. That's not on you, I guess. Any parent wouldn't...or whatever. I don't need a kid to know that."
Damn right. Shouldn't say that. Not going to, but damn right. Both about the parent thing and never having kids.
Jack clears his throat, straightening his spine against the seat.
"But...you know I'm not mad at you for not getting it first try, right? I'm not scared cause I don't trust you or think that you'll never be a good driver."
Chubby glances over. Jack points at the windshield.
"Eyes forward, Chubs."
Her gaze snaps back. "Jesus, sorry. Just...why are you scared, then?"
Jack could laugh at his babygirl's quiet question. That'd be rude. She sounds earnest. Still, she or anybody else may not need to have a kid to know how a parent's brain works, and she's her, she and you know how Jack Abbot's brain works.
But...you know, there are just some things that sit outside the pink bits within the skull. They sit in the heart, or the bones, and there are things you can't know and can't explain even if it's all yours, not to a daughter who doesn't need to be burdened by the bullshit of a life that's been consumed by her mother.
"...I'm---cause I'm..."
Cause I held you when your whole body fit on my chest. Your mother almost disappeared from my life once, and I was worse for it. I nearly didn't come back from it. Wouldn't have cared to. I've seen what cars do to bodies. A beautiful, perfect body that grew you. The world's not merciful and generous just cause you are loved, Chubs.
Because you're the second person in my life who taught me my heart could live outside my body, and I haven't forgiven either of you for it.
"I'm your dad. That good of an answer?"
Chubby shrugs. "I guess."
"It's gonna have to be. It’s the only one I can say without being embarrassing."
"Whatever. By the way, Mom says you can't lecture me with statistics about teen accidents. It'll make me nervous."
Jack smiles. It's small, but it's really. Brightly grey.
"I know. I'm not allowed to use the term vehicular manslaughter and definitely not allowed to tell you any ER stories. But...if you're ever interested for entertainment's sake, I wouldn't mind."
"Not while I'm behind the wheel, Dad. I'll get vomit on your dashboard."
Jack makes a scrunched face. Like that's anything to write home about.
"Pfft. That's baby stuff. Well, literal baby stuff would be your spit-up that I've cleaned many, many times before when you were in diapers. But, you know, hence why car vomit is the figurative baby stuff---"
"Dad, stop!"
Chubby's smiling while she's whining. The thirty ways letting her go on the road can go wrong vanish for a moment.
After the birth of your beautiful baby that Jack put inside you, your old body is gone. Sorely missed, really. But Jack? He has no interest in helping you find it again.
He has you sprawled out across the bed. You're beautifully marked by the journey of mommyhood. And Jack doesn't just love your new body. That'd be very unlike him.
"Look at you, Mommy."
...Yeah. Jack's obsessed with the mommy he made. All the changes she's undergone for him.
"If you wanna get rid of the evidence that I filled you...fine. Can't stop you. But if it matters, I didn't know how much I needed you like this."
He moves his weight over you, his eyes of every color blown in a way you can only call predatory. Maybe wanting. Unblinking want.
"Jackie..."
Jack stares down at the stretch marks, the jagged lines tracing your hips and your belly. The map of his ownership, your growth...but that would be if he were feeling poetic. Again. He hasn't read a poem since high school.
Right now, though, he's just feeling hungry as shit.
"Jack...Daddy---"
Jack doesn't answer you with words. He takes to leaning down instead.
His tongue darts out to taste you.
"Mm."
His spit tickles you in a way that makes you squirm as he begins to lick your stretch marks with a focused, rhythmic swirl. He laps and circles over your skin. It's when he closes his eyes shut.
Just need to savor Kiddo. Take in the scent of Mommy.
"Little too corny to say you're a delicacy. Not that you're delicate. You've proven you're durable. Just..."
Jack's tongue is its way when his tongue trails the length of a particularly long mark that curves around your hip. He slurps. Just to clean up what he's left behind.
"You taste so fucking sweet, Sleepy."
He could suck on you all day. You should take it as a compliment by now. How he coats your stomach in his spit, as if he could taste every bit of stretch and strain your body took to growing a baby.
You whimper, twitching beneath him.
It's the way Jack's looking at you, too, that doesn't help. You feel like the most prized, favored piece of meat.
...You feel like a beautiful mommy.
"Please, Jack…I want you inside."
Your voice breaks. Jack pauses, his chin glistening with his saliva and your sweat.
He smiles thinly. A smirk, more so.
"Not yet. Just because you're a mommy now doesn't mean you get to boss me around."
Jack gives one last, dragging lick from your navel all the way down to where your hip meets your thigh. His eyes keep themselves staring into yours.
He does whatever you want all the time. He'll do whatever you want forever.
Series summary: Robby left for his sabbatical without a thought and you’re left to pick up the pieces. But now he’s back at PTMC and trying desperately to reconnect. Robby learns the truth of how long a year really is.
WC: 2k
Tags/Content: unexpected pregnancy, motherhood, past relationship, second chance relationship, slow burn, implied age gap, hurt, angst, reader is high key avoidant, no use of Y/N, possible OC ish, Robby calls reader baby, mental heaviness, hospital inaccuracies, they’re really bad at communicating, lot of swearing
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The heart monitor beeped a soft steady rhythm as Mason’s chest rose and fell in his sleep. Babies bounce back fast, you knew that, but it was crazy to see it in your own child. Mason was tough. An hour ago, maybe, he had been cooing at you while playing with Robby’s finger. He was fine, you knew that, still you hadn’t left his side since the allergy attack.
Robby sat in the chair on the other side of the small hospital crib. His mouth worked like he was turning something over in his head.
He probably was.
It didn’t really matter.
You didn’t have enough energy left to care.
Your back aches from the way you had been slumped over the side of the crib, watching how Mason’s nose twitched in his sleep.
Still, you have to remind yourself that the doctors said he was fine. The monitors say he is fine. Robby keeps telling you he is fine.
It’s all fine.
So fine, your eyes start to drift shut from your awkward position. You’ll have a crick in your back in the morning.
Worth it.
“That scared the shit out of me,” Robby's voice comes out soft and a little broken. Too honest for the small room in the pediatric ward.
“Me too.” You mutter as your eyes shut and breathing starts to slow.
“No, you know what scared me?” That peaks your interest enough for you to open your eyes.
“Mason not being able to breathe?”
“That, yes,” he runs a hand over his exhausted faced. “But you froze. I’ve seen you in countless emergency situations. You’ve never done that.”
You open your mouth to explain yourself, but no words come out. It’s true, you froze. You froze when you needed to be a doctor.
“No,” he says suddenly, dragging you from your spiraling. “Don’t get lost in your head. I’m not talking like I’m your boss. I’m talking like… whatever the fuck we are.”
Whatever the fuck we are.
Truer words had never been spoken.
“He was having an allergic reaction.” You softly, taking the time to stretch your joints out. Maybe it was to seem in control, you didn’t feel in control. It sure as hell looked like exhaustion.
“They asked about his weight,” he continues, searching the air for the words like they might magically appear there. “You couldn’t answer. And you looked at me like you thought I could.”
You shake your head, trying to back yourself up into that corner in your head where you could be safe. You were tired. Really tired.
“Anyone would have panicked.” You say dryly. Slumping in the spare chair, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt. People panicked in those situations, still it didn’t feel good.
“You’re right, but I’ve never seen you panic.”
You watch Mason again. The hospital onesie seemed awfully uncomfortable. You knew they were soft, but it didn’t smell like home. The nurses had told you hours ago to stop fussing. The best thing you could do was rest apparently.
“I’m his mother. I was supposed to know.” It doesn’t fix the buzzing in your head or the pressure in your chest. But, you were too worn out to come up with something better to fit in your box.
“No.”
You glance over. He was watching Mason too. His eyebrows pinched together in that way you remember them doing when he was trying to solve the problems of the world.
“You weren’t supposed to know.” He stands up slowly, leaning over the crib to adjust a wire that didn’t need adjusting. “You were supposed to be his mom. You did that.”
Al laugh escaped before you can stop it.
Not because it was funny.
Because it sounded so simple when he said it.
Just be his mom.
You were never just his mom. The past year of your life couldn’t be summed up into a simple job description. It was a series of impossible choices made by a woman running on three hours of sleep and blind panic.
“That’s easy to say now.”
His eyes float over to meet yours. You could see him trying to make sense of you.
“What does that mean?”
You stare at Mason’s tiny hand curled in the hospital sheets.
God, you don’t have the energy for this.
For a moment, you think about telling him nevermind. But you’re too tired to do damage control.
“I didn’t have anyone else,” you say before your brain could stop it.
Robby opens his mouth.
“Those first months,” you continue, staring at the floor between your shoes. “I didn’t have anyone else.”
You’d regret it later. Sure. Blame it on the heaviness in your limbs.
“I filled out every form myself,” you continue. “Every sleepless night, every doctor's appointment, every decision was my call.”
“I know,” he says, sucking in a breath to continue. Your finger shoots up between you before he can speak.
“Don’t,” you say quietly. “You know what happened. You don’t know what it was like.”
He takes your words in as he settles back into his chair. Truthfully, he didn’t know how to handle this version of you. You weren’t screaming and you weren’t running. You just… spoke. Honestly.
“You’re right. I don’t know what it was like.” He bows his head, “But I’m here now.”
“Every time I turn around, you’re there.” Your eyes snap to him, taking in every breath and movement in his face. You needed him to hear this. You don’t know why you do, but you do. It didn’t have to make sense. “I don’t know what to do with that.”
The air in the room felt heavy, not in a panicking way. In a way that you hadn’t felt in many months. You were sleep deprived, starving, and emotionally worn out.
“You know what I remember about his birth?” You start softly. Robby looks at you, really looks.
“Paperwork.”
It was simple. A simple thing to remember in the grand scheme of a life altering event.
“Everyone talks about the big things.” You shake your head, gnawing at your lip. “I remember paperwork. The insurance forms, emergency contacts, the pediatrician forms…” your voice trails off as the memories you had pushed away for so long flood back in.
“The nurse handed me the birth certificate paperwork and asked me who the father was…”
Your voice catches.
Funny.
You could remember what you ate for breakfast that morning. Couldn’t remember the names of half the nurses who floated through your room that night. Couldn’t remember Mason’s first cry. But you remembered that.
That little blank line.
The cheap hospital pen.
The pitying look in the nurse’s eye when you paused.
“I didn’t know what to write.”
Your eyes, misty and red-rimmed finally lift to his.
“You know what I ended up doing?” Your breath shakes from the weight of the memory.
Robby doesn’t answer.
“I sat there for twenty minutes staring at that line.” Your laugh comes out hollow and broken.
“Twenty minutes. Because I kept thinking if I wrote your name down, I was choosing for you.” A tear traced down your cheek. You don’t wipe it away.
“And if I left it blank I was choosing for Mason.”
You swallow hard. “Nobody talks about sitting in a hospital making choices that don’t belong to you.”
You try to steady your shaking hands, “Do you know how badly I wanted someone else to tell me what to do?”
He doesn’t move. Just sits in his hospital chair like a statue. To ashamed to meet your eye.
Your voice was barely above a whisper.
“Just once.”
The words hang there for a second.
Then the exhaustion finally wins.
“Screw you for putting me through that.” It’s pried somewhere deep in your soul. The reason you had been avoiding the whole time.
The silence seems to choke the air out of the room. For many minutes, there doesn’t seem to be any ambient noise. Just the sound of bated breath and facts.
Robby’s gaze falls to his hands. He rubs his palms together once. Then again.
He can’t fix that for you.
He knows that.
He can’t undo any of it.
It’s a year he can’t take back.
The muscle in his jaw ticks. There isn’t some joke he can make. There isn’t some carefully chosen thing he can say to make everything hurt less.
There’s just him.
“Jesus…” he sucks in a breath. “I don't know what to say to that.”
“Yeah, no one does.”
His eyes drift over to Mason. His son. The son who he loved dearly. Then to the woman across from him who he would move mountains for if she asked. He couldn’t move this one.
He tries to picture you there alone in that hospital room.
The image makes something painful twist in his chest.
“What did you put?” The question comes out quiet.
You wipe your eyes with the edge of your sleeve. “I left it blank for three days. Then I wrote your name.”
His eyes shut. Just for a second.
“You wrote my name.” It comes out sounding more like a question than a statement.
Even at your angriest. Even when you felt the most abandoned. Even when you were completely alone.
You still chose him.
It’s an earth shattering revelation. For the past month, he’d been acting like he needed to earn his place here. But you’d given him a place from the start. Even angry. Even alone. You’d written his name.
“Why?”
“Because I was angry, not stupid.” You say softly.
He lets out a laugh. That was so you to say.
“Do you know what kills me?” He starts softly.
“What?”
“You keep talking like I wasn’t there… and I wasn’t. But, somehow, you’ve convinced yourself I would’ve chosen not to be.”
“Hell,” he sucks in a breath. “I would’ve thought that too.”
He looks down at his hands. His dry cracked hands from washing them too much.
“But God, I wish you’d stop looking at me like I looked at him and walked away.”
He rubs a hand over his face.
“You know what the worst part is? If things had been different… if I hadn’t left…” his voice cracks. “I don’t know if I would have been the man you were describing. Fuck, I don’t know if I’d be the man I’m trying to be now.”
It’s ugly.
Honest.
And not the answer you expected.
You’d spent so much time being angry at the version of him that left that you never stopped to consider he might be angry at that version too.
“I don’t know.” You admit quietly, with a shake of your head. “But you’re everywhere, Michael.”
You try to select your words carefully.
“You show up. You know his bedtime. You know the bottles he likes.” Your voice is exhausted and a little forced. “I don’t know what to do with that.”
His eyes meet yours, pleading and raw. For once he wasn’t apologizing. He was just here.
“You don’t have to trust me tomorrow. Or next week.”
He looks to Mason like the four month old could give him some guidance.
“I just need you to stop acting like I’m temporary.”
You nod once, a small pivotal gesture.
“Yeah, probably should.”
The monitor continued their steady rhythm.
Nothing was truly fixed.
The hurt was still there, sitting between you.
Tomorrow would still be hard.
But, for the first time in a long time, the room didn’t feel as suffocating. The possibility of keeping him in your life felt real.
The thought lodged somewhere between your ribs.
Somehow, that was more frightening than the anger ever had been.
AN: I would like to point out how few italicized thoughts there are in this one…
