Imagine Ryland’s utter devastation when his daughter- his offspring, his flesh and blood- decides she loves dinosaurs more than space.
Ryland damn near falls to his knees when she asks for a dinosaur themed 5th birthday party instead of a space themed one. He says yes, of course, but he’s dying inside. You have to console him with gentle pats on the back later that day.
“How can she think old dead things are cooler than the stars?! Where did I go wrong?”
“There there.”
(Honestly though, I headcanon Ryland as being a huge dinosaur nut as a kid too. Even after so long, show Ryland a picture of a dinosaur and he can tell you it’s name.)
summary: A normal Saturday gets turned upside down when you have to go to the emergency room. And Robby is doing his best to balance being chief attending and a husband... and pretend like he's not absolutely whipped for his girls.
warnings: brief mention of pregnancy and having kids, descriptions of a hand burn, probably inaccurate medical procedures, kingdon (if you squint), Robby being a papa bear.
notes: okay, the girl!twin!dad! Robby truthers have pulled me into their agenda. Robby just deserves to be happy, okay! also, sorry my jack fic wasn't ready, but I offer this as penance 😌
It's a normal Saturday at PTMC. Same old aches and complaints; same accidents and tragedies. Nothing Robby hasn't seen before.
Maybe that sounds cruel of him. To boil down somebody's worst day to a brief twelve hours of his. Dana is always telling him he's too desensitized to things like this.
Maybe he is.
Robby stretches his shoulders, rubbing a knot at the base of his neck as he makes his way through the waiting room. It's still early, the brief period between the nursing home rush and the late afternoon chaos.
Doesn't mean the room isn't crowded. People crammed into chairs, standing along the walls. The tvs play the news, a boring chart about stock prices or the cost of gas. Robby’s not really paying attention. His eyes dart across each patient, making quick assessment of what he can see.
Make sure nobody was dying. Making sure nobody is on the verge of-
Hold on.
Robby freezes, hand pausing against his shoulder as he turns back to the pair of girls in the chairs across the room. Two familiar looking twelve year olds, both sharing a chair, hips pressed together, brows furrowed in annoyance.
“Will you scoot over-”
“I’m as far as I can go-”
“Nuh uh. You're trying to hog-”
“I am not!”
Robby’s heart practically plummets into his gut as he registers he’s not just looking at a familiar pair of twins. He's looking at his twins.
Those are Robby’s girls- his Maddi and Liz.
Still in their pajamas and sporting messy hair, elbowing each other in the oversized chair they were sharing, a phone playing some disney movie between them.
Robby swallows thickly, moving on autopilot, apologizing as he skirts around an elderly man with a walker. The girls look up before he even gets to their chair, ‘dad’ radars going off. Because somehow they always knew. When his car was pulling into the culdesac, when he was the one picking them up from school.
Liz’ face lights up first, her crooked teeth breaking out into a big smile. She's got on her gray hoodie over pink pj's, converse kicking her sister. Maddi gives her a withering look, noticing Robby a fraction of a second later. She gasps in surprise, waving her thick pink sweater sleeve to garner his attention, teal pajama pants tucked into rain boots .
Not that she had to. Robby would know his girls anywhere.
“Dad!”
They scramble out of the chair, limbs clashing, the phone tossed on the floor as Robby hurriedly crouches down to embrace them.
“Hey,” Robby chuckles, an arm around each girl, hands already feeling for any bumps or bruises. He laughs as he looks both of them in the eye, a hand cradling Liz’s cheek, the other brushing along Maddi’s hairline. “What are you two doing here? It's Saturday. Isn't mom making-”
“Pancakes. But the pot holder was-”
“Mom burnt her hand and so we had to get dragged-”
“Liz was trying to grab the turtle for the car-”
“And she was screaming-”
Robby shakes his head, holding his hands up to try and calm them as they jabber over each other.
“Okay, wait. One at a time-”
It was always like this. Two girls bursting at the seams wanting to be heard first, needing their father to understand.
They ramble on.
“Of course then she had a blow out-”
“We offered to help but mom said no.”
“She didn't want to hurt the baby-” Robby makes a face.
“Woah, what about the baby? Where's your mom?” Liz sighs and Maddi rolls her eyes.
“Dad. Weren't you listening?!”
Robby gives Maddi a look, head tilted with the kind of silent parental authority that said “watch your tone.” Liz reaches out to tug Robby’s sleeve, her head turned around.
“There she is, dad.” She points toward the bathrooms, where in fact, you were. Robby feels himself tense up at the sight, diaper bag slung over your shoulder, six month old baby on your hip… and a tight, pained look on your face.
The cloth wrapped snuggly around your hand might explain that.
Robby stands with a grunt, hands finding the girls’ shoulders automatically, guiding them back to the chair.
“Sit here for another minute will you?”
Liz makes a face.
“Dad we've already been here an hour,” Maddi huffs.
“Just sit there. I’m gonna talk with your mom,” he presses a kiss to Liz’s head before marching off in your direction.
You're struggling to get something into the diaper bag, Hazel fussing against your shoulder, her sounds muffled by the stuffed turtle she was chewing on.
“I know, baby girl. Give me a minute and I’ll find your cheerios. I just need-”
“Hey,” Robby calls out your name softly as he reaches to caress your back, being careful not to startle you. You give him a surprised look, your eyes wide with relief.
“Robby- oh,” your head falls against his shoulder as he pulls you close. Hazel shrieks at the sight of him, socked feet kicking against your hip.
“What are you doing here?” Robby asks, the question rougher sounding than he’d like. Not that you notice. You're too busy feeling relieved as he takes Hazel from your arm, the turtle smushed between her little body as he pulls her close.
“I- Robby it was so stupid. We were making pancakes and the girls were getting water everywhere. The sausage was smoking in the oven- I didn't realize the potholder was soaking wet when I grabbed it- and the-”
“No honey,” Robby shakes his head, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “What are you doing here?” Robby nods his head towards the crowded waiting room, the twins watching the two of you carefully from their chair, acting patient now.
“Waiting,” you purse your lips, glancing down at your hand. “The lady at the front desk said it wouldn't be too much longer.”
“You should have called me. I could have-”
“Robby,” you shake your head. “I’m not going to cut the line just cause I’m your wife.”
“Why not?” Robby shrugs, Hazel giggling softly at the movement. “I pull the chief attending card all the time.”
“Yeah. For free chips and guac at the mexican restaurant down the street. Not when there are actual lives on the line,” you gesture towards a man being wheeled in, blood dribbling from his forehead. Robby unconsciously shifts Hazel’s face away from the sight, glancing at the twins again. They're back to their movie, pretending like they weren't listening.
They were. They always were.
Robby sighs, looking you up and down. You hated the emergency room. Actively avoided it any way you could. He could count on one hand the number of times you had visited the ED.
When Maddi sprained her finger playing volleyball at school, the time Liv broke her tooth and split her lip riding a friend's skateboard. When Robby had cut his hand open trying to build the girls a playhouse for Christmas one year.
The most recent time had been during your last pregnancy; unable to keep any fluids or liquid down, you’d been sick as a dog.
Hazel whines in Robby’s arms, looking between you and him with a big pout. You sigh, giving her a smile as you carefully maneuver your bag so you can reach inside.
“I know, baby. I know you're hungry. I’m sorry.”
You were here.
Two girls haphazardly dressed, Hazel in an emergency onesie Robby knew she'd just been changed into; the outfit you had been wearing when Robby kissed you goodbye that morning still cozy around your frame.
And the towel wrapped around your hand.
Robby helps you zip the diaper bag, reaching for your injured hand.
“You said you burned it?” You hesitate for a moment, finally letting him take a peek when Robby gives you a look. You concede, the unnatural warmth of your skin radiating from the thick layers of terry cloth.
Balancing Hazel and her cheerios in his arm, scrub sleeve surely soaked with drool, Robby peels away the towel. You inhale sharply as the cool air hits the burn, your skin an angry red, palm peeling and blistering in places. Robby swallows thickly, looking at the painful wound.
You look away from it first.
“It doesn't hurt that bad anymore. I soaked it for twenty minutes before we came here.”
“How long have you been waiting?” Robby asks. You don’t meet his eye.
“Just a little while.”
“You don't have to lie to me. I know this hurts.” You take another shaky breath, your hand flexing against his touch.
“I can't just cut the line Michael. That's not right-”
“You're not cutting anything. Okay? Let me take care of you.” Robby lets go of your hand gently, thumb brushing your cheek as he cups your face.
You melt into it slightly, glancing over at your other girls. They're watching you expectantly, practically buzzing with anticipation of leaving the waiting room. Robby could see you were ready to cave, wanting to get out of there.
He adds a final nail to the coffin, crouching a bit to meet your eye.
“Please.”
Robby can see it. The resignation crossing your face, the pain of your hand catching up to you.
“Okay,” you nod slowly. “But only if l’m not messing with your work-”
“Of course not,” Robby presses a kiss to your temple. “Come on. You ready Hazel?”
The baby blows a raspberry, squealing happily before chewing on a cheerio she manages to grab. You nod towards the girls, gesturing for them to get up. They share an equally happy sentiment as their sister, quickly following you through the staff entrance.
“Finally!” Maddi sighs, pulling her sister up. “Come on.”
You can feel the eyes on Robby as the five of you enter into the Pitt. The Emergency Department’s big bad chief… a smiley baby girl in his arms and two preteens following like baby ducks.
It was cute, you have to admit. Maybe cuter if your hand wasn't throbbing like you’d thrown it into a pile of glass.
Liv holds on to the sleeve of your sweater nervously, looking around at the bustling nurses and loud monitors. Robby glances back at the three of you, making sure you were still alright. You give him a small smile, observing the worry lines already creasing between his brows. The calculations and treatment plans and patient names he was likely filing through. Slotting your name next to an already crowded roster.
You really had tried to hold off going to the emergency room. It hadn't hurt that bad when it happened, surprised you mostly.
But your palm had gotten redder and hotter as the minutes ticked by, your girls looking at you with worry. Robby was always telling you to call him if something happened. Always leaving in the morning with the same goodbye whispered against your cheek.
“Love you. Call me if you or the girls need anything.”
But it just didn't feel right to skip the line. To get in simply because your husband was the chief attending. Although the sentiment was becoming a little stale as your palm throbs deeper.
As you pass by the nurses station, Maddi lights up, quickly finding her favorite person in the ED.
“Hi Mel!”
The blonde resident pauses, turning from her conversation with Langdon, a bright smile blooming when she sees your girls.
“Hey!”
Maddi runs, in spite of Robby’s warning to be careful, tall frame running into Mel’s open arms.
“Is everything alright? I never see you guys here.”
“Peachy,” you raise your injured hand. Frank cringes behind Mel, whistling as you show him the burn.
“Oof. You soak it?”
“Please, she's married to a doctor. Of course she did,” Robby says, chest puffing proudly. Langdon laughs.
Liz clings to your sweater shyly as Frank looks over at her. Then Hazel. His eyes light up like a kid getting candy.
“Ah, Miss Hazel. I see you've graced us with your glorious presence. My favorite Rovinavitch!” Hazel squeals as Frank tickles her foot, curling into Robby’s chest. Maddi lets out a protesting gasp.
“Hey. I thought I was your favorite!”
“Yeah. Before Mel stole you from me.”
“I did not,” Mel frowns, adjusting her glasses with a little smile. “Can't steal what you never had.”
“That’s alright. We all know who my real favorite is,” Frank glances down at Liz, giving her a quick wink. She blushes furiously, turning further into your side.
You laugh, glancing over at Robby. He just shakes his head, cringing as Hazel squeals again, turtle clutched tightly in her flopping hand.
Dana peeks her head out from behind a curtain, squinting over her glasses.
“Is that my happy Hazel I hear?” The charge nurse comes over, giving your older girls a tight squeeze before grinning at your youngest daughter. “Hi beautiful girl.”
Robby can't even protest before Dana is scooping Hazel into her arms, the six month old wiggling around happily. Always the center of attention.
You have a crowd forming, Trinity and Princess inching closer and cooing at the baby, Dennis giving high fives to your older girls.
Robby sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly as his staff fawns over his girls.
“Okay, most of you have patients you need to see.”
“Do we?” Princess asks, eyes wide as she makes faces at Hazel. Robby rolls his eyes.
“Yes. Now, go on and scram.”
“Mom,” Liz looks up at you apologetically.
“Yeah baby?”
“I’m really hungry now.” You sigh, closing your eyes and nodding.
“I know. I’m sure.”
The girls had really been troopers. Helping you clean up the mess breakfast turned out to be, waiting patiently to go to the hospital, keeping the complaints to a minimum. They'd grabbed some granola and fruit before you’d left the house, but they were growing girls. You'd seen them out eat Robby a few times already and it was getting closer to lunch time.
You look over at Robby who takes Hazel back from Dana, brow furrowing as he looks you up and down.
“What's going on? You okay?” You nod, your uninjured hand running over Liz’s short hair.
“The girls need food.”
“Sustenance,” Maddi groans. She then gets a look on her face, turning to her sister. The two lock eyes and huddle, shoulders pressed impossibly close as they whisper. You raise your brow suspiciously, Mel laughing behind her hand as she watches from her computer.
Liz nods and stands beside Maddi as they approach Robby. He frowns.
“Uh oh. What’s the council discussing this time?”
“Can we get Starbucks?” He cocks his head.
“Um. Here?”
“Yeah. You can order it on your phone,” Liz adds quietly.
Robby shares a look with you. You shrug.
“I could use a chai.”
"You're encouraging bad habits," he mutters.
"Robby, you know they're not gonna eat the soggy pb and j's they try to pass off as food in the cafeteria," you whisper back.
Robby sighs, looking between your two girls. You can see the torn expression on his face, the fight between saying no because he still wasn’t thrilled about the girls drinking coffee just yet and also saying yes because they’d already been through a wreck of Saturday-
“Please,” Maddi pouts, hands clasped desperately. Her big brown eyes, mirrors to her fathers’, shine beneath the hospital lights. Robby opens his mouth, the words lost as Liz adds another please.
“Please papa.”
Oh. Your girls were good.
You snicker to yourself as you watch Robby become undone in real time. Any pushback he might’ve had lost at the name. The first name the twins had called him.
‘Papa.’
Before they decided they were too cool and the social norm of ‘dad’ was adopted.
Robby sighs, head lowering in defeat. Dana gives your arm a squeeze as she passes by, smiling fondly.
“Okay, fine. But I don't want you two drinking straight sugar for breakfast. You're getting egg sandwiches too.” Maddi makes a face.
“Egg?”
“That's the deal Mads.” She crosses her arms, a familiar looking pout crossing her face.
“Fine.”
“Hey Boss,” Perlah calls out, the red phone pressed to her chest. “We’ve got an GSW coming in five.”
Robby looks up, nodding. “Uh, okay. Give me just a minute.”
“Sure,” Perlah smiles at Hazel who gives her a friendly wave. Robby fishes his phone out of his pocket, handing it to Liz.
“Here. You can get one drink and a sandwich. One,” he gives the twins a pointed look. They giggle, nudging each other knowingly. “Mel can take you guys to the breakroom. Stay in there until I come to get you.”
“What about Hazel?” Maddi asks, reaching over for Robby’s phone in spite of the way Liz keeps it clutched tightly to her chest.
“She'll stay with me honey,” you smile. “She's got to eat soon.” Robby checks his watch, looking between you and the baby. You had her on a pretty strict schedule; the girl loved her consistency.
Liz frowns, looking down at your hand with sad eyes. “Mom. Are you gonna be okay?”
“I’ll be fine, baby. Your dad will fix me up just fine.” You smile again, meeting her eye reassuringly.
But with each passing minute your hand starts hurting even more. You know Robby can see it. The forced line of your smile.
It's the same smile he's shared a hundred times over. The brave face of a parent.
“Cap-” Dana starts, giving Robby a look. “GSW is here in two.”
“Right,” Robby hums, the sound gravelly and tired. He had that look on his face, the one you'd seen plenty of times over. When he was being pulled in multiple directions and didn't know which he should choose. “Okay, uh, Mel-”
“I got the girls, Dr. Robby,” she smiles. He nods, gratefully.
“Feel free to get yourself something too, okay.”
“Oh, that's alright-” Mel shakes her head as Maddi tugs her hand, pulling Mel away towards the break room.
“Mel. Starbucks has boba now!” That gets her attention.
“Really?” Liz nods in agreement, fingers already zooming across the screen.
“Well, they're tapioca pearls. Not really boba. But the same thing…”
You feel the tension in your shoulders release slightly as the girls follow Mel into the break room, and you allow yourself to finally let out the whimper you'd been holding.
“Ow,” you hiss under your breath, cringing as you bring your hand closer to your chest.
Robby turns, his hand moving to rub a soft circle on your back.
“Okay mama, let's get you taken care of.”
“Robby-” Dana’s voice cuts in, the red phone in her hand. “Another ambulance on the way. Three minutes out.”
Robby lets out a frustrated sigh, cursing beneath his breath. “Okay. Okay that's fine. I’ll have Dana look over your hand first and then I’ll be right there.”
“Whatever you have to do,” you nod. “Remember, I’m just like any other patient you’d see-”
“You're not just any other patient,” Robby shakes his head. He presses a kiss to your forehead as he passes Hazel over to Dana, her arms already ready for the baby. “You're my wife. And you deserve the best, okay. I’ll be right back.”
Robby gives Hazel a little wave goodbye, a pair of gloves seemingly materializing in his hands, face already set with a determined focus. You watch him head off to a gurney being wheeled in, voice steady and authoritative. Dana stands beside you, bouncing the baby slightly.
“He hit the jackpot with the four of you, you know.”
“Sorry,” Robby looks at you apologetically over his glasses, gloved hands gently prodding your burnt palm. It looks somewhat better after being cleaned and sterilized. Although Dana is a master at making even the most frightening cases look appealing.
“No sorry, it's not you,” you look down at your daughter- or rather what you could see of her beneath your nursing cover. Just the sliver of a onesie covered foot kicking rhythmically. “She's being extra aggressive today.”
Robby smiles to himself, leaning over to grab something off the tray laying between you.
“Told you she's teething.” You roll your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief.
“I can't believe it- ow! Hazel,” you hiss. Robby pauses, watching as you try to peek at the baby with one hand. “Gently honey. Mommy already has enough she's got to try and do with one hand.”
“Are you sure you don't want me to wait till you're finished feeding her?”
“It's okay,” you shake your head and smile. “You guys are busy enough. The Robinavitch’s are multitasking pros. I can manage.” Robby chuckles, shaking his head.
“Come on. Indulge me. I think this is the longest I’ve sat all morning.” You smile, your eyes raking over Robby.
He's sure he looks a mess, after two trauma cases and a patient consult. Hair mussed from running his hand through it, scrubs rumbled and splattered with something he couldn’t quite identify.
It still surprises him how much can change in just thirty minutes. Someone's whole life flashing by, blood on his hands and decisions on his head.
You hum, looking down at Hazel.
“Alright Doctor Robinavitch. Whatever you say.” Robby groans slightly, leaning back in his chair.
“Oh, don't call me that.”
“What,” you laugh. “It’s appropriate, no?” You gesture at the patient room, the walls lined with medical posters, curtains still drawn shut to give you privacy.
“Yeah, well not when it's coming from you. That's how we got this little one,” Robby reaches over and gently shakes Hazel’s small foot. She kicks back and you smile, arm adjusting to hold her closer again.
“Well it’s not my fault you have a thing for role play. And I wouldn't trade her for anything.”
“No. Me neither,” Robby chuckles. She'd been a surprise for sure. Almost more jarring than the first time around when you found out you were having twins. But it was hard to imagine life without her now.
Robby shakes his head and hums, picking up the medicated balm and beginning to smear it gently over your palm.
You sigh, eyes closing as you lean your head back against the chair. Robby smiles, watching you.
“Tired?” You nod.
“Yeah," you say slowly. "More frustrated, I think. I wanted to get some things done around the house today. Get the living room picked up at least.”
“It’s fine,” he shrugs, gathering a long strip of gauze to wrap around your palm. You peek your eyes open, unenthused.
“Robby, the same basket of laundry has been sitting by the couch for a week.”
“So have the girls put it away.”
“It’s your laundry.” He smiles sheepishly, looking down as he continues to wrap your hand.
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh,” you tease. Robby can see a shift cross your face, and you get more serious. “I am going to need your help though. At least, for a couple days.”
“I know,” Robby scratches the scruff of his beard. “I figured I’ll have to rearrange some things.”
“By some things you mean getting home on time, right?” Robby gives you a look.
“Woah, hey. I’ve been getting home at a decent hour.” You throw him a look.
“Ten at night is not a decent hour, Michael.”
Oof. Michael.
Robby shifts in his seat, setting your now wrapped hand on the table between you. You slide it away, closer to you. Robby narrows his eyes.
“I thought you said you weren’t mad.”
“I’m not mad,” you huff. “I just… it’s hard sometimes. And I get it. I know you’re the boss and the hospital needs you. But we need you too, you know.”
“I know.”
“I mean it Michael. Those girls are growing up faster than you’d think. And while yeah, I wouldn’t mind you being home earlier to help around with dishes or watching the baby, I want you around to just be with them.” You smile sadly.
Robby knows he’s been busy. The long hours he’s been putting in, the overtime. The late nights where he’d get home and crash on the couch with barely a hello and goodnight to the girls. Dana always chided him for staying so late. Even when she was doing the same thing-
“You’re turning her into a single mother, Robby.”
“She’s okay. She hasn’t said it’s bothering her.”
“Of course it’s bothering her. Your wife is just a saint and won’t say anything because she hates seeing you worry.”
Robby looks at you now in the patient room, carefully pulling the nursing cover away now that you had both hands back, oddly adjusting your daughter as you check her.
“I think she’s finally asleep,” you murmur. Robby watches you carefully. Not assessing. Not diagnosing. Just watching.
It hits him then, watching you juggle his daughter and your injured hand and your other girls in the break room… just how much you truly kept everything held together.
The glue of the little Robinavitch clan.
And Robby had been playing the part of chief attending much more than he’d been playing father and husband. Leaving you to gather the pieces and try to make something good out of it. Robby scoots his chair closer to you, cupping your cheek as you look at him in surprise.
“I’m sorry.” Your eyes widen at the sudden movement.
“For what?”
“For not being here like I should. For having you worry about whether you’re bothering me at work when you’re hurting.”
“Robby-” He cuts short whatever you were going to say with a soft kiss, lips pressed gently against yours. You melt slightly into it, cheek pressed against his as he moves to press another against the corner of your mouth. Then the corner of your nose. And-
There’s a knock at the door. You hum, giving Robby a smile.
“I think that’s for you.”
“They can wait.”
“Robby…” you give him a look. He pulls back, thumb brushing against your cheek. “Go. It’s okay.”
Robby sighs, grunting as he pushes off from the chair. He pushes the curtain aside, taking in Whitaker standing nervously at the door.
“Yeah?” Robby asks, brows drawn low with curiosity. “What’s happening?”
“Uh, I was told I had to give this to you,” Whitaker holds out a perspirating plastic cup and a paper bag with something sweet smelling. “I believe the instruction was ‘make sure mom eats. So she feels better faster.’”
Robby laughs, taking the drink and bag, the smell of banana bread wafting towards his face. He also takes the phone Whitaker holds out, the dark phone case splattered with something that smells like whipped cream.
“Thanks for relaying the message huckleberry.”
“Oh sure. Your girls are quite the pair.” Robby smiles.
“They are.”
Whitaker stands awkwardly for a moment more before adding- “Also Dana said we’re in shambles without you.”
"Yeah, okay. Hang in there for a couple more minutes. I'll be back soon."
“Aye aye captain,” Whitaker gives a two finger salute. “Just don’t be too long. Dana might start threatening to recruit your girls.”
The two laugh and Robby closes the glass door gently, balancing the goodies in his hand. Your eyes are wide with appreciation as Robby holds up your food.
“It was for you.”
“Oh thank the Lord,” you grin.
Robby laughs, helping you take off the nursing cover, Hazel gently passed into his arms. You pick at the banana loaf, pushing a generous chunk over to Robby as he sits down again.
“Here.”
“No, I’m okay,” Robby shakes his head as he settles his sleeping girl on his chest. You give him a look.
“Robby…”
“I’m fine. Really.”
“I know you haven't eaten all morning.”
Robby huffs and takes a piece with a mumbled thank you. You give him a bright smile, letting out a pleased hum as you eat. Robby sits, enjoying what he knows is the last bit of quiet before he's thrown back into the throes of the ED.
You're packing up the diaper bag, the twins helping you tuck in extra bandage wraps and medicated ointment into the side pockets. Maddi happily slurps on a caramel lined coffee cup, Liz sipping at something tall and green. Robby watches them fondly as they hover over you, Hazel still sleeping in his arms.
"Mom, I got that."
"Here, I can hold the bag!"
"No I can-"
"Girls," you chuckle. "It's fine. One of you can hold the bag and the other can hold my drink."
Robby's phone pings and he fishes it out of his pocket, frowning as he reads the notification. You don't notice as you take the baby from him, holding her closely.
"You girl's ready to go?"
They nod enthusiastically, giggling softly beneath their breaths. Robby's frown deepens as he looks at them over his glasses.
“Hey… why does it say my card was charged a hundred and thirty dollars?”
Request - so... hurt/comfort wise...how do you feel about any male character and new mama!reader where the baby favors their dad, and she feels unworthy of being called a mom or like she wants at least one thing to be hers bc the baby has everything else of their father (except maybe their nose and skin tone). AND THEN FLUFF AT THE END BECAUSE THEIR FIRST STEPS WERE TOWARDS HER! :)
The first thing people noticed about your daughter was her eyes. They were Robby’s eyes. Dark and warm, framed by thick lashes that somehow looked unfairly long on a ten-month-old baby.
The second thing people noticed was her hair. Those same dark curls that had started appearing when she was barely six months old now sat in soft wisps around her tiny face, forever falling into her eyes and forever making everyone laugh because she looked exactly like her father after a twelve-hour shift.
And then there was the expression. That little furrow between her brows. That look of deep concentration whenever she was trying to figure something out. That tiny pout.
All Robby.
You had heard it so many times by now that you could practically recite it yourself.
“Oh my goodness, she’s his twin.”
“Look at that face. That’s all Dr. Robinavich.”
“You copied and pasted your husband, didn’t you?”
You laughed every time. Because you loved your husband. You loved his smile, his eyes, his ridiculous humor and his stubborn streak. Of course you didn’t mind that your daughter looked like him. At least, you hadn’t.
Now, though…
Now it seemed to be all anyone said. You sat on a blanket spread across your living room floor while your daughter played with stacking cups, her tiny fingers trying—and failing—to fit one inside the other. She looked up at you, serious and determined. Exactly like her father. Your mother smiled from the couch.
“She gets that concentration from Robby.”
You smiled back.
“Maybe.”
“No, honey. That’s definitely him.”
Your daughter squealed when one of the cups rolled away, then immediately started crawling after it. Your mother laughed.
“Oh, look at that. Even the way she crawls reminds me of him.”
You blinked. Even the way she crawls? How exactly did one crawl like another person? But you didn’t say anything. You simply smiled.
Again.
Because people meant well. Because they loved your little girl. Because none of this should bother you. Your daughter finally captured the runaway cup and held it triumphantly above her head. Your mother reached down and scooped her up.
“There’s Daddy’s little clone.”
You looked down at your hands. Little clone. Your husband walked into the living room then, having just gotten home from the hospital, still wearing scrubs and looking exhausted.
The second your daughter spotted him, she lit up. Actually lit up. Her entire face changed. Her eyes widened, her mouth fell open, and she let out a squeal so loud it made everyone laugh.
“Dada!”
Your mother’s face softened.
“Oh, look at her.”
Robby grinned despite the exhaustion etched into every line of his face.
“Hey, bug.”
Your daughter nearly launched herself from your mother’s lap. Robby quickly crossed the room and took her, and she immediately wrapped her tiny hands around his neck. He laughed softly.
“How’s my girl.”
She buried her face against him. You swallowed. Your mother smiled again.
“She’s such a daddy’s girl.”
There it was. Again. Daddy’s girl. Robby didn’t seem to notice. He kissed the side of your daughter’s head and sat beside you on the blanket.
“How was she today?”
“Good,” you answered.
“Only good?”
You smiled softly. “She threw peas at the television.”
He nodded solemnly.
“That’s my girl.”
Your daughter giggled. You laughed too. But something in your chest tightened. Because of course she giggled for him. Because of course she reached up and patted his cheek. Because of course she looked so content in his arms.
You hated yourself a little for even thinking it. Because this was good. This was beautiful. This was exactly what you wanted.
A husband who adored his daughter. A daughter who adored her father. So why did it hurt?
******
Later that night, after dinner and bath time, the three of you sat in the nursery. The room glowed softly from the nightlight shaped like a moon. Your daughter sat between you and Robby in footie pajamas covered in little stars. Robby held up one of her books.
“Again?”
She slapped the cover enthusiastically.
“Again.”
He laughed.
“You’re really milking this whole reading thing.”
She grinned. You watched them quietly. Watched your husband do the voices. Watched your daughter laugh at every single one. Watched the way she looked at him. Like he hung the stars themselves. And God…you loved them.
You loved them so much your chest ached. The story ended, and your daughter immediately reached for him.
“Dada.”
He smiled.
“One more cuddle, huh?”
She nodded. You looked away. You didn’t mean to. You just… did. Robby didn’t notice. He was too busy tucking her against his chest.
Eventually it was bedtime. You stood and held out your arms.
“Come here, sweetheart.”
Your daughter looked at you. Then immediately turned back toward her father.
“Dada.”
You froze. Robby chuckled softly.
“I know. Momma’s no fun.”
The words were innocent. A joke. But they landed harder than they should have. He stood and gently transferred her into your arms. She whined. Actually whined. Little hands reaching back toward him.
“Dada.”
Your throat tightened.
“She’s okay,” Robby said softly.
You nodded. Of course she was okay. She was just tired. Babies did this. You knew that. You knew that. Still…
Still, as you carried her into her room and settled into the rocking chair, something deep inside you cracked just a little. She curled against your chest, sleepy and warm. Beautiful. Perfect. You brushed your fingers through her dark curls. You touched her little cheek. Her father’s eyes. Her father’s expressions. Her father’s smile. Your eyes burned.
“What did you get from me, huh?” you whispered.
She blinked sleepily. You smiled through the sting in your throat.
“You’ve got my nose.”
She yawned.
“And maybe my love of sleep.”
Silence. You kissed her forehead.
“But everything else is your daddy.”
She made a soft little noise and tucked herself closer. You looked down at her and suddenly felt something you hated.
Jealousy.
Not of your husband. Never of him. But of how easily everyone seemed to see him in her. Because no one ever seemed to see you. No one ever said she had your smile. Or your laugh. Or your kindness. You had carried her. Loved her before you ever saw her. Brought her into this world. And somehow, lately… it felt like you were disappearing from the picture.
A tear slipped down your cheek. You wiped it away quickly. The nursery door creaked open. Robby leaned against the frame, looking tired and beautiful and completely unaware that your heart was quietly breaking.
“Everything okay?”
You looked up and smiled. A practiced smile.
“Yeah.”
He studied you for a moment. Then smiled back.
“She asleep?”
You looked down. Your daughter had finally drifted off, one tiny hand still fisted in your shirt.
“Almost.”
He nodded.
“I’ll make some tea.”
“Okay.”
He disappeared down the hallway. You looked back at your daughter. Then down at that little hand clutching your shirt. Your chest tightened again. Because even now…even now…you couldn’t help but wonder if she was only holding on because you happened to be the one rocking her. And not because you were her momma.
******
The next few days only seemed to make it worse. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. That was the terrible part. No one was trying to hurt your feelings. No one even knew your feelings were hurt. But somehow every little thing seemed to dig the hole a little deeper.
You and Robby took your daughter to brunch that Saturday morning with a few friends from the hospital. It had been months since you’d seen everyone, and they practically descended on your little family the second you walked through the restaurant doors.
“Oh my God, she’s gotten so big!”
“Look at those cheeks!”
“Those curls!”
Dana was the first one to scoop her up, grinning from ear to ear.
“I haven’t seen this kid in months. Let me look at you.”
Your daughter blinked up at her. Then smiled. Dana gasped dramatically.
“Okay, first of all, she’s adorable. Second of all…” She looked at Robby. “I swear you cloned yourself.”
Everyone laughed. You smiled. Again.
“Seriously,” one of the nurses said. “She has your whole face, Robby.”
“I feel bad for her then,” he deadpanned.
Another round of laughter. Dana adjusted your daughter on her hip.
“No, look at this little expression.” She pointed at the baby. “That’s him. That’s the exact look he gives people when they’re annoying him.”
You glanced over.nUnfortunately… she wasn’t wrong. Even you had to laugh a little.mYour daughter looked at Robby then, her entire face brightening.
“Dada!”
“There it is,” Dana said. “She’s obsessed with you.”
“I know,” Robby sighed dramatically. “It’s exhausting being this popular.”
She giggled and reached for him. He took her without hesitation, kissing her temple.
You took a sip of your coffee. Then another. The conversation moved on, but you found yourself growing quieter. Because no one had looked at her and said she had your smile. No one had said she had your laugh. No one had even said she had your nose. She was simply… Robby’s.
And you hated yourself for caring. You really did. Because what kind of mother gets jealous over something so silly? You should be happy. You were happy.nWeren’t you?
“Hey.”
You blinked. Robby was looking at you.
“You okay?”
You smiled immediately.
“Of course.”
He frowned slightly.
“You got quiet.”
“I’m just tired.”
He studied you for another second before nodding.
“Okay.”
Then your daughter leaned over and patted his cheek.bHe smiled at her instantly.nAnd somehow, ridiculously, that made your chest ache.
******
The drive home was quiet. Your daughter had fallen asleep in her car seat, one hand still clutching the stuffed giraffe she’d been carrying around all week. Robby glanced over from the driver’s seat.
“You sure you’re okay?”
You looked out the window.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“The thing where you say you’re fine but your voice goes all weird.”
You almost laughed.
“That’s very scientific, Doctor.”
“I’m an excellent diagnostician.”
You finally looked at him. He smiled softly. You returned it, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. His smile faded.
“Talk to me.”
You looked back out the window.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
He didn’t push. Which somehow made you feel worse.
******
A few days later, he got called into the hospital for a few hours. Some staffing issue. A physician had called out sick. He’d kissed your forehead, apologized profusely, and promised he wouldn’t be gone long. So it was just you and your daughter that afternoon.
You sat on the living room floor while she played. Or rather…while she destroyed the living room. Blocks were everywhere. Books had somehow ended up under the coffee table. One sock had disappeared entirely. You watched her crawl toward the television stand.
“No, ma’am.”
She ignored you. You gently turned her around. She blinked. Then immediately went right back toward it. You laughed softly.
“You’re stubborn.”
She looked up. And for one beautiful second, you thought maybe…Maybe there it was. Maybe that was yours. Because you were stubborn too.
Then she scrunched her face. Exactly like Robby. And the thought disappeared. You sighed. Your daughter crawled back over and pulled herself up against your legs. You smiled and brushed her curls away from her eyes.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
She grinned.
“Dada.”
Your smile faltered.nYour husband had only been gone for forty minutes.
“Dada?”
She looked around.
“Dada.”
“Oh.” You swallowed. “He’s at work.”
“Dada.”
“I know.”
She looked toward the hallway.
“Dada?”
Your chest tightened. You picked her up. She immediately twisted in your arms, looking around the room.
“Dada.”
“I know, baby.”
Your voice sounded strange. She looked at you. Then back toward the hallway.
“Dada.”
You hugged her a little closer.
“I’m right here.”
She blinked. Then rested her head against your shoulder. You closed your eyes. Because she was cuddling you. She wanted comfort. She was perfectly happy. But your brain was being cruel today. All you could hear was that tiny little voice asking for him. Asking for her father. Not her mother. Not you.
Your eyes burned. You sat down in the rocking chair by the window and held her close. She played with the sleeve of your sweater.
Eventually she looked up at you. A tiny smile. You smiled back.
“Hi.”
She touched your cheek. Your heart melted.
“Dada.”
You looked away before the tears could come.
******
When Robby got home that evening, she nearly launched herself out of your arms.
“Dada!”
He laughed, dropping his bag.
“Whoa there.”
She reached for him desperately. You handed her over. Because of course you did. And because you loved seeing them together. But tonight…tonight it hurt. Robby kissed her cheek.
“Miss me?”
She babbled happily. He looked over at you.
“You two survive without me?”
You forced a smile.
“Barely.”
He chuckled. Then paused. Because your smile disappeared too quickly.
“Hey.”
You busied yourself gathering toys.
“Can you grab her dinner plate?”
A beat of silence.
“Sure.”
You nodded. You didn’t look at him. Because if you did…you might cry.
******
That night, after your daughter was asleep, you found yourself standing in the nursery doorway. The moon-shaped nightlight cast a soft glow over the room. She slept peacefully, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. Dark curls spread across the mattress.
She looked so much like him. You stepped closer. Sat beside the crib. And just watched her. Your beautiful girl. The baby you had prayed for. The baby you loved so much it physically hurt.
A tear slid down your cheek. Then another.
“I don’t know why this is bothering me so much,” you whispered.
Your voice trembled.
“I know you’re mine too.”
You reached through the slats and touched her tiny hand.
“But everyone sees your daddy.”
Another tear slipped free.
“And I…” You swallowed hard. “I just want one thing that’s mine.”
The words hung in the quiet room. You immediately felt guilty. Ashamed. Selfish. Your daughter stirred softly but didn’t wake. You wiped your face. Took a shaky breath. Then whispered the thing you hadn’t dared say out loud before.
“I don’t know if I’m enough for you.”
The nursery was silent. And somehow…that silence felt unbearably loud. You didn’t hear the floor creak behind you. You didn’t hear the bedroom door open. So you had no idea that your husband was standing in the hallway. And that he had heard every single word.
******
The first thing you noticed was the warmth. A hand. Large and familiar. Resting gently against the back of your neck. You startled, turning quickly.
Robby stood there in the doorway of the nursery, his face soft in the dim glow of the nightlight. His hair was still damp from his shower, a gray T-shirt stretched across his shoulders, and yet there was something in his expression that made your heart sink. He’d heard you. Every bit of it.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
You immediately wiped beneath your eyes.
“Hi.”
Neither of you moved. Then his gaze flickered to your face.
“You’ve been crying.”
You looked back at your daughter.
“I’m okay.”
He sighed softly.
“No, you’re not.”
The words were gentle, not accusing. That somehow made them worse. You looked down at your hands. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was your daughter’s soft breathing.
Then the mattress shifted as Robby sat down beside you. He didn’t speak right away. He simply slid his hand over yours. Waited. You knew that patience. You’d seen him use it with frightened patients and grieving families and nervous residents. He never forced. He just… stayed.
“How long?” he finally asked.
You frowned.
“What?”
“How long have you been feeling like this?”
You swallowed.
“Robby…”
“How long?”
His voice remained soft, but there was something underneath it now. Concern. You stared at your sleeping daughter.
“I don’t know.”
He squeezed your hand. You let out a shaky breath.
“A while.”
A beat.
“A few weeks maybe.”
He was quiet for so long that you finally looked at him. And your heart broke a little. Because he looked devastated. Not angry. Not confused. Devastated.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
You tried to laugh. It came out watery.
“Because it sounds ridiculous.”
“Sweetheart.”
“It does.”
“It doesn’t.”
“It does,” you insisted, your voice cracking. “She’s a baby, Robby. She can’t help who she looks like.”
“I know.”
“And I love that she looks like you.”
“I know.”
“But…”
Your throat tightened.
“But?”
You looked away. The tears started all over again
“I don’t know.”
“Talk to me.”
You shook your head.
“I can’t even explain it.”
“Try.”
The word was so gentle. So patient. You let out a trembling breath.
“I just…”
Your voice faltered. Robby’s thumb rubbed softly across your knuckles.
“I carried her for nine months.”
Your eyes stayed on the crib.
“I felt every kick. Every hiccup. I was sick and exhausted and swollen and miserable and I would’ve done it all again because I wanted her so badly.”
He didn’t interrupt.
“And now she’s here and everyone looks at her and all they see is you.”
You laughed shakily through your tears.
“She has your eyes. Your hair. Your smile. Your expressions. Your little grumpy face.”
A tiny smile touched his mouth despite himself. You looked at him.
“I can’t even blame them because they’re right.”
“Hey.”
“No, they are.”
You looked back at your daughter.
“And I know it’s stupid, but…”
Your voice broke completely.
“I just wanted one thing.”
The room went still.
“One thing that was mine.”
Robby’s face crumpled. You covered your mouth with your hand.
“I know how selfish that sounds.”
“It doesn’t.”
“It does.”
“It really doesn’t.”
You shook your head.
“It feels like she has everything of yours.”
A tear slipped down your cheek.
“And I know she loves me, I know she does, but lately…” You swallowed hard. “Lately I feel like I’m just… there.”
Robby’s hand tightened around yours.
“You’re not just there.”
You looked at him then. Your eyes were red. Tired.
“I don’t even feel like I’m her favorite parent.”
The words hung in the air. You laughed softly, miserably.
“Listen to me. I sound insane.”
“You don’t.”
“I do.”
“You don’t, I promise.”
Your chin trembled.
“Sometimes…” You looked away again. “Sometimes I don’t even feel like I’m a very good mom.”
Silence. Absolute silence.
“What?”
You blinked. Robby was staring at you. Actually staring. Like you’d just spoken another language.
“Where did that come from?”
You shrugged helplessly.
“I don’t know.”
“No.”
His voice had changed. Still gentle. But firmer now.
“You don’t get to throw something like that out there and then say you don’t know.”
You looked down.
“Look at me.”
You didn’t. A hand came up, fingers gently tipping your chin upward.
“Look at me.”
You did. And your heart squeezed. Because he looked heartbroken.
“You think you’re not a good mom?”
A fresh wave of tears spilled down your cheeks.
“I don’t know.”
“Sweetheart.”
“I don’t know.”
“You are the best mother I have ever seen.”
You shook your head immediately.
“No I’m not.”
“Yes you are.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
You laughed through your tears.
“I don’t even think she likes me most days.”
His eyebrows shot upward.
“Are you kidding me?”
You sniffled.
“Robby…”
“No, seriously. Are you kidding me?”
You stared at him. He looked completely bewildered. Like the idea itself made no sense.
“She cries when you leave the room.”
You blinked.
“What?”
“She follows you around the house.”
“She’s a baby.”
“She lights up when you sing to her.”
You opened your mouth. He kept going.
“She calms down the second you pick her up.”
“Robby—”
“She reaches for you all the time.”
“Not like she does for you.”
He stared at you. Then his expression softened.
“Oh.”
Just one word. But suddenly he understood. Understood all of it. The reaching. The asking for him. The daddy’s girl comments. Everything. You looked away.
“I know it’s ridiculous.”
“No.”
“It is.”
“No, sweetheart.”
He shifted closer.
“So this is about her asking for me.”
You said nothing.
“So this is about everyone saying she looks like me.”
Your eyes filled again.
“I just…” Your voice trembled. “I wanted one thing that belonged to me.”
The room fell quiet. You looked back at your daughter sleeping peacefully in her crib.
“So much of motherhood already feels like giving pieces of yourself away,” you whispered. “Your body changes. Your time changes. Your whole life changes. And I would do it all again because I love her.”
Your lip trembled.
“But I just wanted one little thing.”
You looked at him.
“Just one.”
Tears spilled down your cheeks.
“And I don’t know why that makes me feel so awful.”
For a long moment, Robby said absolutely nothing. Then he reached for you. You went willingly. Because you always did. He pulled you into his chest, and the second his arms wrapped around you, you broke. A sob escaped you. Then another.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered, holding you tighter.
Your face buried in his shirt.
“I’m sorry.”
“What are you apologizing for?”
“This.”
He kissed the top of your head.
“You never have to apologize for telling me you’re hurting.”
“I feel stupid.”
“You aren’t.”
“I do.”
His hand moved slowly up and down your back.
“You know what I think?”
You sniffled.
“What?”
“I think you’ve been carrying this around by yourself for way too long.”
You closed your eyes. Because unfortunately…he was right. And as he held you there in the soft glow of the nursery, your daughter sleeping peacefully a few feet away, you had a feeling your husband wasn’t finished.
Not even close.
******
For a long while, neither of you moved. Robby simply held you. One hand rested at the back of your head while the other slowly rubbed up and down your spine, the same soothing motion he’d used countless times over the years whenever life became too heavy. Your tears eventually quieted, leaving behind only the occasional sniffle. Still, he didn’t let go. You could hear his heartbeat beneath your ear. Steady. Familiar. Home.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered again.
Immediately, his hand paused. Then he tipped his head back just enough to look down at you.
“If you apologize one more time, I’m going to be offended.”
A tiny laugh escaped you. It sounded watery and broken.
“There’s a little laugh,” he murmured.
You rolled your eyes weakly and pulled back enough to wipe your face.
“I’ve cried all over your shirt.”
“I own more than one.”
“You like this shirt.”
“I do.”
“And I ruined it.”
“You absolutely did.”
A soft huff of laughter escaped you. He smiled. Then his expression gentled again.
“Can I say something?”
You nodded.
“You don’t get to decide what makes you important to her.”
You frowned.
“What?”
He brushed a strand of hair from your face.
“You don’t get to decide that because she has my eyes or my face, somehow I’m more important to her.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
You looked down. A finger slipped beneath your chin.
“Look at me.”
You did. He looked almost… offended. Not at you. At the idea.
“You carried her for nine months.”
Your eyes softened.
“You grew her.”
He brushed his thumb across your cheek.
“You gave birth to her.”
A second tear slid free.
“You are the reason she exists.”
You swallowed.
“Robby—”
“No. Let me finish.”
There was no bite in his voice. Only gentle insistence.
“You know what our daughter knew before she knew my face?”
You blinked.
“What?”
“Your heartbeat.”
You went still.
“She knew your voice.”
His hand settled against your cheek.
“She knew the way you laughed.”
Another tear escaped.
“She knew how you sounded when you talked to her in the middle of the night because you thought I was asleep.”
You let out a soft, surprised breath. He smiled.
“I wasn’t, by the way.”
“You were supposed to be sleeping.”
“I know.”
A tiny laugh escaped him.
“You’d put your hand on your stomach and tell her all these things.”
Your eyes filled all over again.
“You’d tell her about the world and how much you loved her and how excited you were to meet her.”
You looked down.
“I remember.”
“I do too.”
Silence settled between you. Then he gently tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.
“She knew you before she knew anyone else.”
Your chin trembled.
“Even me.”
The tears came again. Not hard this time. Just quietly.
“You are her first home.”
You covered your mouth. Robby’s expression softened even more.
“And sweetheart… she doesn’t reach for me because she loves you less.”
You looked at him.
“Then why does she always want you?”
He smiled softly.
“Because you are always here.”
You frowned.
“What?”
“I leave.”
You blinked.
“I go to work.” He shrugged lightly. “Sometimes for twelve hours. Sometimes longer.”
Your eyes stayed on his.
“You are her constant.”
A tear slipped down your cheek.
“When I come home, it’s exciting.”
He smiled sadly.
“I’m the fun thing that just walked through the door.”
You stared at him.
“But you’re her whole day.”
Your lip trembled.
“You’re breakfast and lunch and naps and books and songs and cuddles.”
You swallowed hard.
“You are every safe thing she knows.”
The nursery suddenly felt very quiet.
“You think she asks for me because she needs me more.”
He gently brushed away another tear.
“No, sweetheart.” His voice softened. “She asks for me because she already knows you’re not going anywhere.”
You broke all over again. A sob escaped you. His face crumpled immediately.
“Oh, honey.”
You covered your eyes.
“Oh my God.”
He gathered you back into his arms without hesitation.
“You are her safe place.”
You cried harder.
“She reaches for me because I’m exciting.”
You laughed through your tears.
“I don’t know if exciting is the word I’d use.”
He snorted softly.
“Fine. Novel.”
You laughed again. A shaky, tearful sound.
“Please trust me,” he whispered, kissing your temple.
You stayed tucked against him.
And after another minute, you whispered, “Everyone says she’s your twin.”
“I know.”
“It hurts.”
“I know.”
You looked up.
“No, I don’t think you do.”
He was quiet. Then he nodded.
“You’re right. I probably don’t.”
Your eyes softened.
“But I do know what it’s like to want to see yourself in someone you love.”
You frowned.
“What do you mean?”
He looked toward the crib.
“I look at her every day and pray she got your heart.”
You blinked.
“What?”
“I hope she got your kindness.”
Your breath caught.
“Your patience.”
He smiled.
“Your empathy.”
You stared at him.
“Your ability to make people feel safe.”
A tear slipped free.
“I hope she gets your laugh.”
You smiled despite yourself.
“Your stubbornness too, unfortunately.”
You let out a watery laugh.
“Or maybe she got that from both of us?”
He kissed your forehead.
“I don’t care if she looks exactly like me.” His voice softened. “I hope she’s like you.”
Your face crumpled. Because there it was. The thing you hadn’t realized you needed. Not to hear that she had your nose. Not to hear that she had your skin. But to hear that maybe… maybe the things that mattered most couldn’t be seen.
“You really think that?” you whispered.
He looked almost confused.
“Of course I do.”
Silence. Then you looked toward the crib.
“She’s beautiful.”
“She is.”
“And kind.”
“Very.”
“And happy.”
“The happiest.”
You swallowed.
“Maybe she already has some of me.”
He smiled.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
His hand settled over yours.
“She has all kinds of you.”
You looked back at him.
“Really?”
He looked downright offended again.
“Have you seen the way she reaches out to pet every dog she meets?”
You laughed softly.
“Okay… maybe.”
“The way she watches people when they’re upset.”
Your smile faded.
“The way she leans against you when she thinks you’re sad.”
Your throat tightened.
“The way she giggles when she hears music.”
Another tear escaped.
“Those things didn’t come from me.”
You stared at him. He smiled softly.
“They came from her mama.”
The room blurred. And for the first time in weeks…the ache in your chest eased. Just a little. Robby reached over and wiped away the last of your tears. Then he leaned forward and kissed your forehead.
“Besides,” he said softly, “you’re forgetting one very important thing.”
You frowned.
“What?”
A slow smile spread across his face.
“You gave her your nose.”
You laughed. A real laugh this time. He grinned.
“And honestly? Thank God.”
You smacked his arm.
“Robby!”
“What? My nose is huge.”
“It is not.”
“It absolutely is.”
You laughed again, shaking your head. He looked at you like he’d hung the moon. Then he kissed your temple. Then your cheek. Then the tip of your nose.
“You’re a good mom.”
You closed your eyes.
“You’re an incredible mom.”
A tear slipped free.
“And our daughter adores you.”
You leaned into him.
“I love you.”
His arms tightened.
“I love you too.”
The two of you sat there for a long while after that. Just holding each other. Watching your little girl sleep. And when you finally stood to leave the nursery, Robby slipped his hand into yours. You looked up at him. He smiled softly.
“Come to bed.”
You squeezed his hand.
“Okay.”
As you stepped into the hallway, neither of you noticed the tiny pair of eyes blinking open inside the crib. Or the little girl watching her parents walk away. Watching her mama. And smiling.
******
The next morning felt lighter. Not perfect. The little ache in your chest hadn’t completely disappeared overnight, but it no longer felt quite so sharp. Maybe because you had finally said it out loud. Maybe because your husband had held every ugly, insecure feeling in his hands and hadn’t laughed or dismissed it. Maybe because he’d looked at you like you were the most important person in the world and reminded you that motherhood wasn’t measured in genetics or who got the first smile.
It was measured in love. And you loved your daughter more than you had ever thought possible. You stood in the kitchen, making coffee while morning sunlight streamed through the windows. A few minutes later, you heard the familiar shuffle of feet.
“Mama?”
You smiled. You turned to find Robby standing in the doorway, your daughter balanced on one hip. His hair was a mess, his T-shirt wrinkled from sleep, and your little girl looked equally disheveled. The sight nearly made you laugh.
“Good morning.”
Your daughter’s entire face brightened.
“Mama!”
She reached for you. Your heart fluttered. You took her from him and kissed her chubby cheek.
“There’s my girl.”
She giggled. Robby wrapped his arms around both of you from behind, pressing a kiss into your hair.
“She woke up and immediately demanded breakfast.”
“Demanded?” you asked.
“Yes. Quite aggressively.”
Your daughter babbled.
“See?” he said. “She’s defending herself.”
You laughed. And something inside you eased a little more.
The day passed quietly. No visitors. No comments about whose eyes she had. No mention of who she resembled. Just your little family. The three of you played in the living room, ordered takeout for lunch, and spent most of the afternoon on the floor surrounded by blocks and books. Your daughter had recently started pulling herself up on everything. The couch. The coffee table. Your legs. Robby. Mostly Robby.
“You’re going to walk before we’re ready,” he informed her seriously.
She smiled. Then promptly tried to eat one of her blocks.
“Never mind,” he sighed.
You laughed. By early evening, the sun cast golden light through the windows. You sat on the rug folding tiny laundry while your daughter played near the couch. Robby was stretched out beside you, absently sorting through baby toys. It was peaceful. Quiet. The kind of ordinary moment you knew one day you’d miss.
Then you looked up. And froze. Your daughter was standing. Not holding the couch. Not holding the table. Standing. Completely on her own.
“Oh my God,” you whispered.
Robby looked up immediately.
“What?”
Then he saw her. His eyes widened.
“No way.”
The two of you became perfectly still. As though even breathing too loudly would ruin it. Your daughter looked between the two of you. Proud. Wobbly. A tiny smile spread across her face.
“Oh, sweetheart,” you breathed.
Robby slowly sat up.
“I think this is happening.”
“I think it is too.”
Your daughter swayed. Regained her balance. Then looked directly at you. Your breath caught. She smiled. And took one tiny step. You gasped. A second step.
“Oh my God.”
A third. Robby’s hand found yours. A fourth. Then she tipped forward. Straight into your waiting arms. You caught her with a startled laugh, immediately gathering her against your chest. For a second, everything went silent.
“Oh my God!”
Tears instantly filled your eyes. Your daughter giggled. You looked at her in complete disbelief.
“You walked.”
She squealed.
“You walked!”
Robby let out a strangled sound beside you. You looked over. Your husband was crying. Actual tears. You burst out laughing.
“Oh my God, you’re crying.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You absolutely are.”
“I’m having an emotional response.”
You laughed harder.
“That’s called crying.”
He wiped at his eyes.
“I wasn’t prepared.”
Neither of you could stop smiling. You looked back down at your daughter. And she looked back at you. Then she reached up with both tiny hands and cupped your cheeks. Your breath caught.
“Mama.”
The world stopped. Everything stopped. Your heart. Your breathing. Time itself.
“Mama.”
A sob escaped you.
“Oh.”
Tears spilled freely down your cheeks. Your daughter smiled.
“Mama.”
You pulled her against you and held her close.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
Your voice broke completely. Robby was openly crying now. Neither of you cared. You kissed your daughter’s curls. Her forehead. Her cheeks.
“I love you so much.”
She laughed and patted your face.
“Mama.”
You let out another tearful laugh. Then strong arms wrapped around both of you. Robby gathered you and your daughter into his lap until all three of you were tangled together on the rug. Your daughter happily squished between you.
You looked up. Your husband was staring at you. Not at the baby. At you. And his expression was so soft it made your chest ache.
“What?” you whispered.
He smiled. Then he reached over and brushed away your tears.
“Looks like she knew exactly where she wanted to go.”
Fresh tears filled your eyes. You laughed softly.
“Robby…”
“No.” His own eyes glistened. “I think she just picked her person.”
You shook your head immediately.
“No, she—”
“She did.”
His voice was gentle. Certain.
“Because she could’ve gone anywhere.”
You looked down at your daughter. She was now chewing on your sleeve.
“But she walked to you.”
Your lip trembled.
“You.”
A tear slipped down your cheek. Robby reached over and kissed your forehead. Then another kiss to your temple. Then your cheek.
“So I think we can officially retire the whole ‘she doesn’t need me’ thing.”
You laughed through your tears.
“Maybe.”
He grinned.
“Maybe?”
You smiled.
“Definitely.”
“There we go.”
He kissed your forehead again. Your daughter looked between the two of you and giggled. Then she reached up and smacked her father’s face. He blinked. You burst out laughing.
“Well, that’s definitely your child.”
He looked offended.
“My child?”
“Absolutely.”
Your daughter did it again. He sighed.
“I stand corrected. She has your sense of humor.”
You laughed harder. Then your little girl leaned forward and buried herself against your chest. Your laughter slowly faded. Because there she was. Curled against you. Warm. Safe. Home.
You looked at the dark curls on her head. The eyes that looked so much like her father’s. The tiny fingers. The little expressions. And suddenly…you didn’t care. Because she had just taken her very first steps. And she had walked straight into your arms. As though there had never been any other destination.
Robby watched your face soften. He smiled. Then he wrapped one arm around your shoulders and pulled you close. You rested your head against him. Your daughter tucked safely between you.
The three of you sat there on the living room floor as the evening sunlight poured through the windows. No one said anything for a long while. Then your husband pressed one final kiss into your hair and whispered softly,
“She has my eyes.”
You smiled.
“She does.”
“My hair.”
“Definitely.”
He looked down at the little girl asleep against your chest. Then back at you.
“But she knows exactly who her mama is.”
Your eyes filled one last time. You looked at your daughter. Then at the man beside you. Your family. Your whole heart. And as your daughter sighed in her sleep and curled even closer against you, you finally believed it. She had never needed something of yours. Because from the very beginning she already had your heart.
Resident!Michael Robinavitch x Resident!Fem!Reader x Resident!Jack Abbot (NOT A THROUPLE)
Word count: 6k Masterlist Request by @spider-starry
Summary: you moved in with Robby and Jack right at the start of your residencies, the three of you became family almost immediately. What happens when they both decide they’re in love with you?
AN: Robby is OOC, but they are YOUNG, and I’d like to think he’s not too fucked in the head yet.
When you accepted the pediatric residency at PTMC, you thought the hardest part would be the hours, but you quickly learned that you were wrong. The hardest part was finding somewhere to live on a resident's salary that wasn’t the back seat of your car or your distant cousin's couch.
Every apartment within thirty minutes of the hospital was either impossibly expensive or looked like it was one step away from being condemned. After nearly a month of searching, you were about ready to accept that most of your paycheck would disappear into rent when a listing caught your eye. And thank god it did because your back could not handle standing for over eight hours a day and then sleeping on a shitty futon for another night.
In the break room, a flyer caught your attention. In scrappy handwriting it read: Three-bedroom house. Two current residents (males). Walking distance to PTMC. Rent split evenly.
You expected chaos, just based on the chicken scratch you had to squint to read. What you found was something much calmer.
After one simple phone call, the man on the phone, Jack, thought you would be a great fit.
“You must be the new roommate,” the deep voice made you jump.
The man standing in the doorway had dark hair that looked like he'd run his hands through it a hundred times already that day. He wore scrub pants and a faded Pitt sweatshirt, his coffee was balanced precariously in one hand.
“I’m Michael, but everyone calls me Robby,” he extended his free hand, which you took.
He stepped aside immediately, “come in before Abbot changes his mind.”
You slid by him with the duffle bag slung over your shoulder, holding a box that could slip from your hold at any moment, giving him a shy smile.
As if summoned by his name, another man rounded the corner from the kitchen. He was a bit shorter, and already more reserved than the taller man you were first met with. His curls were auburn, hinting to the fact that he once had bright red hair. He was cute. You had recognized them both from the ED, they were emergency residents, also known as adrenaline junky psychos in the medical world.
He looked from Robby to you before offering a small smile, “so, you actually exist.”
You laughed, earning a smile from him.
“I’m Jack Abbot,” he said sweetly.
He took the moving box from your hands before you could protest, “I'll show you to your room.” He nodded down the hall.
That was your introduction, it seemed simple at the time, like nothing really that important.
You had absolutely no idea you had just met the two men who would quietly fall in love with you over the next few years.
You had waited a full month to tell your mother that you had moved in with two men. You could hear her nearly faint dramatically when she finally called you and confronted you after her cousin’s step son ratted that you were no longer staying on the futon.
She had always had a way with the dramatics, and your father always had a way of ignoring them.
“Mom, they’re both doctors at the hospital I work at, it’s fine.” You said firmly.
She nearly sobbed, bringing your father into the conversation, which you knew he could care less about, “honey, we are across the country, how are we supposed to help if something goes wrong? You’re living in a big, scary city, and now you’re living with men?”
You sighed.
“Phil, anything to add?” You could hear her head turn towards him away from the phone.
He cleared his throat, “she’s a smart girl.”
And luckily, that was the end of it. And just like that, your mother’s blessing of your living arrangements was granted.
Living together became surprisingly easy, the house rules became abundantly clear and quietly agreed upon.
1. Don't wake whoever just finished their shift.
2. If you make coffee, make enough for everyone.
3. If someone falls asleep on the couch, that is their bed for the time being, do not disturb.
4. Whoever finishes the ice cream has to buy more and no, you cannot put it away with one bite left.
You slipped into the rhythm naturally and picked up on each other's habits. You moved in complete tandem with one another, three doctors and three best friends.
You learned Robby hummed whenever he cooked. And you also learned he was horrible at cooking.
Jack always read before bed, no matter how exhausted he was, and he always let you debrief after a long day, even if it impedes on said reading time.
You all maintained open door policies, there was very rarely knocking, which you had to learn to get used to.
Robby left cabinet doors open. Jack closed them behind him without comment like an easy going dad.
You discovered Robby couldn't pass a dog without trying to pet it.
Jack always remembered birthdays and anniversaries, even when they weren’t his own. And he didn’t keep a calendar, he just knew.
By the end of your first year, the house felt less like roommates and more like family. Which was exactly where the lines started to blur and the problems started to bloom.
It happened after one particularly brutal trauma shift.
You had fallen asleep almost immediately after getting home, still wearing your PTMC crewneck and scrub bottoms. You had spent nearly the entire shift in the emergency department trying to save the children injured in a school bus accident. And days like that always weighed on your heavily and put you to sleep.
Jack and Robby sat on the back porch long after midnight, nursing beers neither of them really wanted. The night was quiet, the dim yellow light was buzzing and the crickets were chirping.
Finally Robby sighed, breaking the silence, “I think I'm screwed.”
Jack looked up from where he was peeling his beer label, “you finally realized I know you’ve been using my coffee beans?”
Robby shook his head, “no.”
A longer pause and then, “I like her.”
Jack didn't have to ask who he meant, but asked for clarification anyway. “You mean…”
“Our roommate,” Robby said, finishing his sentence.
Jack stared out into the yard. Robby frowned at the lack of response from his best friend.
“I like her too,” Jack said in one breath.
Neither of them spoke for several seconds. Robby rubbed the back of his neck, “well, I don't want this to ruin us.”
Jack nodded once, “it won't. We won’t let it.”
“So,” Robby held out his hand, “no games.”
Jack reached out and took his best friend's hand, the agreement they were making didn’t need to be spoken, but he continued anyways, “no making her uncomfortable.”
“If she picks you, I'll deal with it,” Robby added.
“If she picks you,” Jack replied quietly, “I'll deal with it.”
Robby smiled, “may the best man win.”
Jack looked at their hands for a long moment before firmly shaking it, “best man wins.”
You had absolutely no idea this conversation had happened as you slept off your horrible shift.
What you did notice was that both men suddenly seemed… invested.
Robby started asking if you wanted to grab dinner after shifts. This wasn’t that out of the ordinary, but it wasn’t usually spoken. There was suddenly a gesture involved, and it would be just the two of you. Whether it was him picking up your favorite tacos or simply a bunch of snacks in the break room, you felt this odd energy shift from him. The flirting felt natural. In a way you watch on screen. He was so good at it. So good at flirting you wanted to hate him for how easily he made you blush.
He made you laugh until your stomach hurt. Being around Robby felt like standing in sunlight. When he was in a good mood and he had his attention focused, he had this way of making people feel amazing. And you were falling victim to his spells.
You noticed the girls stopped coming around. The random flings, nurses, new residents. It was never serious, you knew that because you and Jack never saw the same girl once. But now it stopped altogether.
At the same time you felt the shift with Robby, you felt it with Jack as well.
But Jack wasn't like that. He wasn't loud enough to fill a room and you liked that about him. There were never girls around for hookups, he took them on dates and rarely brought them home. There never seemed to be competition for his attention because it was always on you, and it wasn’t mood dependent.
One afternoon, you mentioned your mug had chipped. You forgot the conversation within minutes. Simply tossing it into the garbage can with a frown before reaching to grab the one behind it. You didn’t even process he was in the room with you.
Three weeks later, after another exhausting overnight, you wandered into the kitchen.
Your mug sat beside the coffee pot.
Perfectly repaired, the little chip had been filled with some sort of clay. The color was off, but it was perfectly smooth.
You frowned, reaching for it, “I thought this was broken.”
Jack looked up from his book and shrugged, “it was.”
You furrowed your brow and looked at him, when you met his eyes he knew you were curious.
“I fixed it,” he said softly, “it was your favorite.”
“You fixed it?” You asked, still processing why he would do it.
He shrugged, “didn’t think you’d be able to find a replacement mug, it’s rather specific.”
You turned the mug over in your hands, he was right. There was a faded picture of you and your younger sibling in Disney World when you were little on it.
“You knew this was my favorite?” You asked again.
He looked confused, “you only ever use that one.”
As though that explained everything. Before he could say another word you crossed the kitchen with the mug in your hands and kissed him on the cheek, “thank you, Jack.”
You turned back to the coffee maker, biting back your smile. He was thankful for the book in his hands, he raised it to cover the blush that now consumed his freckled face.
Months passed.
Robby bought you concert tickets because you'd mentioned an artist you loved was coming to Pittsburgh and you were on shift when the tickets were going on sale.
Jack found you on the pediatrics floor during busy shifts and slipped you lunch and water.
Robby noticed when you smiled. But Jack noticed when you forced one.
When you got food poisoning after eating cafeteria food you absolutely should not have trusted, Robby showed up with drinks, crackers, and enough bad jokes to keep you laughing between trips to the bathroom.
Jack arrived an hour later.
When you tried to pull your scrubs on and down enough pepto to kill a small animal, he simply took the bottle from your hands and helped you slip into your pajamas. He'd already called your attending, gotten your shift covered, picked up anti-nausea medication from the pharmacy, and left detailed instructions on the counter reminding you when to take it before he left.
Neither man knew the other had done those things, and you were starting to get concerned. Are you dying and they’re the only two that know? Did one of them do something really bad and and they were both trying to distract you from it?
One night you were perched on the couch. Jack sat beside you as he flipped through your DVD collection, and Robby handed you a perfectly chilled glass of wine before sitting on the other side of you.
You looked between the two of them. “Are you guys up to something?”
They answered in unison, “no.”
You nodded slowly, “okay…” And before you could say something else, the debate began about which movie you would all watch that night.
There were moments that made you wonder.
Like when the three of you were leaving the hospital after a thirty-hour stretch. You were walking between them and the light headedness was starting to drag down to your limbs, making everything feel fuzzy.
Both men reached for you before you even noticed it.
“You okay?” Robby asked immediately.
“Just a long day on my feet, as you both know, nothing new,” you said flatly.
Jack frowned, “you didn’t eat at all, did you?”
You shrugged, not really caring for the third degree.
“You haven't eaten since six this morning,” Jack added.
You looked at him with a raised brow, “how do you know that?”
“You gave me half your granola bar during rounds,” he said simply.
“You remembered what time that was?” You asked, exhausted.
Robby smiled to himself because he didn't miss the way you looked at Jack, and for the first time since this whole thing started, he felt like he might be losing.
Jack was too worried about you to notice the slightly infatuated gaze your were too tired to hide. He was already asking whether you wanted soup or something more substantial once you got home.
And Robby, despite himself, thought: Damn. He's good.
The strange behavior you had been observing only escalated.
If Robby cooked dinner, Jack somehow ended up making an elaborate dessert you had pointed out to him in a magazine a few weeks ago.
If Jack volunteered to drive the three of you to work, Robby suddenly remembered his “truck has been sitting around too long” and insisted on taking his truck with you riding shotgun.
When you mentioned wanting to try the new coffee shop near the hospital, they both somehow appeared outside pediatrics that same day.
“I was already going,” Robby said with a smirk.
“Yeah, well so was I,” Jack said with a glare.
Neither of them sounded convincing to you though.
If Robby brought you a coffee during a long shift, Jack somehow wandered by twenty minutes later with your favorite granola bar because, he always needed to make sure you ate.
If Jack helped you carry charts upstairs, as if you weren’t capable of doing it on your own, Robby would appear out of nowhere offering to take over halfway there, saying something like, “Abbot, Dr. James needs to see you.”
And Jack would reply through gritted teeth, “we don’t even know a Dr. James.”
But it was too late, Robby had already swiped your charts, and your attention with them.
If one of them made you laugh, the other seemed determined to make you laugh harder. It wasn't hostile, at least not towards you.
They tried very hard not to outdo each other too obviously, which was having the exact opposite effect.
Which somehow made it even stranger.
One Saturday afternoon, all three of you ended up grocery shopping together. Typically this is something you opted to do by yourself, it was easier without their nonsense when they were being normal.
“I'll grab the cart,” Jack offered, stepping in front of you as you looked down at your list.
“I already have one,” Robby replied, reaching for the same cart.
“You literally just touched it,” Jack fought back.
“So did you,” Robby teased, like a child.
You blinked at them, “are you two seriously fighting over a shopping cart?”
“We're not fighting,” they answered at the exact same time.
You sighed dramatically, “I’ve heard more convincing arguments from the toddlers I see at work.”
You put your hand on your hip, “you guys have been doing this for weeks.”
Neither of them said anything.
You looked between them, “you compete over literally everything now.”
“No, we don't,” Robby said quickly and unconvincingly.
Jack looked at him, annoyed.
“You just proved my point,” you deadpanned.
Robby rubbed the back of his neck and Jack suddenly became very interested in comparing two different brands of pasta.
You folded your arms, “okay. Seriously.”
They both looked at you.
“What is going on?” You asked, exhausted by their behavior.
“Nothing,” Jack answered, trying to act as casually as possible.
“Absolutely nothing,” Robby added.
“You've both been acting weird. And it’s starting to drive me crazy,” you stated simply.
“We haven't been acting weird,” Robby added, completely failing at his lying.
You stared at them for a long beat before throwing your hands into the air, “you are both being unbelievably annoying.”
Robby laughed at your bluntness and Jack bit the inside of his cheek to hide a smile.
“I'm being so serious,” you continued. “If there's some weird doctor competition happening that I don't know about, I'd really love to be let in on it.”
The two men exchanged a glance so brief you almost missed it.
“Nothing's going on,” Jack repeated quietly.
“You'd tell me if something was wrong, right?” you asked.
Both of them answered without hesitation, “of course.”
You looked between them one last time before shaking your head, “fine. I feel like I’m scolding my children and I’m over it.”
You grabbed the pasta out of Jack’s left hand and tossed it into the cart.
“But whatever this is... knock it off,” you spared them one last look before turning around and continuing with your list.
Robby leaned toward Jack and whispered, “I think she noticed.”
Jack sighed, “ya think?”
After the events at the grocery store, Robby realized competing wasn’t going to do it, but he needed to push further and test the waters. What better way to do that than a kiss?
He could feel the flirtation coming from you, and he could feel the chemistry when you would reach for his arm in a crowded bar, or smile up at him when he brought you a new drink.
The first kiss with Robby happened because neither of you were thinking.
You'd just gotten home after one of the worst shifts of the year.
A pediatric code and a family that wouldn't stop crying, and rightfully so. It was the kind of situation that was impossible not to take home.
You were standing in the kitchen in one of Robby's old Pitt hoodies that you had stolen long ago. You were absently stirring boxed macaroni while he leaned against the counter telling increasingly ridiculous stories from college in an obvious attempt to make you smile.
By the second story, it had worked. Your were laughing so hard you could feel the cramps in your sides.
“There she is,” he said, grinning, “I've been trying to get that laugh back for an hour.”
“I hate you,” you said softly, although the butterflies in your stomach said otherwise.
“No, you don't,” he said as he inched closer to you.
“No,” you smiled despite yourself, “I really don't.”
The room grew quiet. His eyes dropped briefly to your lips before coming back to yours.
“If I do something stupid,” he murmured, “you can tell me to stop.”
You should have, but you could feel his breath on your skin and the warmth emanating from his chest because of how close he was. Your head was almost completely tilted back because of how tall he was.
You should have told him to stop. Instead you whispered, “okay.”
He closed the distance carefully, slowly enough that you could have moved away, but no part of you wanted to do that.
His lips were warm and rough, exactly how you’d imagined them. It lasted only a few seconds and when he pulled back, neither of you spoke.
Then Robby laughed nervously, “I probably just ruined your pasta.”
That made you laugh again, “no," you said quietly, “it isn’t ruined.”
You thought about it constantly afterward, not because you regretted it, but because you didn't know what it meant.
Nothing between you changed.
Robby never brought it up and neither did you. He treated you exactly the same.
Which somehow made you think about it even more. Was it a moment of weakness? Were the feelings real, or have you just not been kissed in a while? Was he who you wanted to be kissing?
Three months later is when everything inside you shifted and somehow became even more confusing.
It was raining so hard the streets flooded. The thunder roared and lightning lit up the sky , the rain was coming down in sheets. You were soaked just from walking out of the building.
Jack picked you up from the hospital after you had called him saying you couldn’t walk home.
Neither of you talked much on the drive home. You were too exhausted and it wasn’t unusual for you two to sit in silence with one another.
You were both finally inside the house when the lights went out.
“Perfect,” you muttered.
Jack found a flashlight almost immediately as you began digging in closets for half used candles and batteries. You turned back to find Jack twisting on a lantern in the living room while testing the falshlights he has managed to have on hand.
The storm rattled the windows, enough to make you jump.
“I used to hate storms,” you admitted quietly.
“You did?” He asked curiously.
You nodded, “when I was younger.”
“My brother used to sit with me until they passed,” you sighed at the thought of him, “ under the blankets.”
Jack looked at you, “I didn't know that.”
You shrugged, “it’s not super relevant to most situations.”
He smiled at you softly and you gazed up at him in the soft light of the lantern. You didn’t have to crane your neck hard to meet his soft hazel eyes. You were standing close to him, a lot closer than you had realized. You could see the light freckles that littered over his nose, and you suddenly wondered if they had always been like that or if they faded with age. His auburn curls were still damp on his forehead. And you were suddenly aware of how you must look like a wet dog standing before this broad god-like man.
He was standing there holding the flashlight between you, his face lit softly from the lantern light below.
“You always remember everything,” you said quietly, breaking the silence.
He frowned slightly, “you say that like it's a bad thing.”
You shook your head, “it isn’t.”
He smiled and something inside you shifted. You felt your heart beat increase just from his eyes holding your gaze for so long.
Before you could stop yourself you reached up and closed the space between you. You pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.
He froze because he clearly hadn't expected you to initiate it. There was a thud at your feet where the flashlight hit the floor, and his hands moved to rest gently on your waist.
When you pulled away your eyes immediately widened in disbelief at what you just did. A nervous laugh bubbled out of you.
Before you could say anything, he leaned in and kissed you again. Just as soft, but like he wanted to memorize the feeling and hadn’t focused enough the first time.
As the kiss got deeper, he pulled away. Both of your chests moved as you caught your breath.
”I want to do this the right way,” he whispered, “if you want this to be anything.”
You nodded, “okay,” you said breathlessly.
He slowly moved his hands from your waist and bent down to pick up the flashlight. You grabbed the snacks from the kitchen and made your way back to the couch, not bringing it up again.
The guilt crashed over you the next morning. You tried so hard to ignore it, to push it down and move on from it.
You thought of every time you all drove to work together.
Every movie night.
Every grocery trip.
Every shared laugh.
You felt like you were carrying a secret that made you a terrible friend. And you hated the idea of effecting the dynamic you all had, and you especially hated the idea of potentially breaking up two long term friends.
You made it a full three weeks before you broke. The guilt was hanging over you the entire time like a cloud.
Robby was first. Not because it meant something that he was, but because he found you sitting on the back porch after midnight.
“You okay?” He asked as he approached you.
You shook your head and wiped your cheeks, “no.”
He sat beside you but neither of you spoke for several minutes.
Finally you blurted, “Jack and I kissed.”
You continued on, word vomiting, “it happened after that huge storm a few weeks ago. It wasn’t planned or anything like that. I wasn’t trying to hurt you or be greedy— I just—”
You cut yourself off with a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, “I kissed you and then I kissed him and I don't know what that says about me, and if you're angry you have every right to be because I feel awful and—”
“Breathe,” he said, cutting you off from your monologue.
You blinked up at him with your wet eyes. He didn’t tell you that the sight in front of him took his breath away. That somehow you looked even more beautiful after crying.
But instead of giving you the compliment, he laughed, “I was wondering how long it'd take.”
You furrowed your brows in complete confusion.
He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly shy, “I kind of expected something like this to happen.”
”What are you talking about?” You asked, growing more confused by the second.
Another voice answered from inside the house, “because we told each other this might happen.”
You turned, or more like whipped your head around to find Jack standing in the doorway.
Apparently he'd come looking for both of you.
You stared between them. “I think,” you said slowly, “one of you should start making sense.”
Fifteen minutes later all three of you were sitting around the kitchen table. The two men across from you kept making eyes at one another the way parents did before they told their child they were getting a divorce.
Finally Robby sighed, “we should've told you sooner.”
Jack nodded in agreement.
“Told me what?” You asked, narrowing your eyes.
Robby looked at Jack again before speaking, “we’ve both… kind of been in love with you for the past year.”
Your mouth fell open, “I’m sorry, what?” Your eyes moved to Jack, “both of you?”
He nodded once, “yeah.”
You stared for a moment, like your brain was trying to process the information live. And suddenly, a laugh bubbled out of you.
The situation wasn’t exactly funny, but you continued to laugh. You shook your head, “no.”
Robby smiled sadly, “afraid you just have that effect.”
You pointed between them, “we’re best friends.”
They nodded patiently, allowing you to process it as slowly as you needed.
You stood abruptly, “you’re my best friends,” your voice cracked as your composure slipped.
“I live with you, I trust you, we tell each other everything,” you said the last word like it hurt.
Your eyes flicked between them, they both stared at you.
“I thought,” you pressed both hands against your forehead, “I thought I was imagining things. I felt like I was going crazy, like maybe it was just the exhaustion or something… but it was real,” your breathing became uneven, “and I kissed both of you."
Neither of them interrupted your rant or took their eyes off of you.
“I kissed both of my best friends,” you laughed quietly. “What is wrong with me?”
Jack shook his head, “nothing.”
You looked at him.
“We're the ones who made the agreement,” Robby said, as he nervously fiddled with his fingers.
You blinked, “agreement?”
Robby winced before clearing his throat, “'best man wins.’”
You stared, “I’m sorry. Am I some sort of bet?”
Both men vigorously shook their heads to avoid a misunderstanding.
“The night we realized we both had feelings for you,” Jack started cautiously, “we promised we wouldn't interfere with each other. You'd choose if—and only if—you wanted to.”
You sank back into your chair and ran your hand over your face. The kitchen felt too small for the three of you to be having this conversation.
“I just need to… think,” you pushed your chair back before heading down the hall to your room, slamming the door on them and the conversation.
For the next week, you avoided both of them as much as living and working together allowed.
You weren’t mad then, but you couldn’t stop thinking back on the last year. You replayed every moment.
You asked yourself the same question over and over: If neither of them had feelings… which kiss would I still be thinking about?
At first you hated the answer and you tried to deny it. The denial came from a place of not being able to hurt either of them.
Robby's kiss made you smile, it was sweet and comforting after a bad day.
But Jack’s… You could still remember the way he'd looked at you afterward. You kissed him first, which had to mean something. And when he pulled away, all you wanted was to pull him back in.
The actual realization hit you in the middle of a trauma you had been called down to the ED for.
You had placed the perfect chest tube, it was flawless and difficult because of how small the child was. Jack’s hand brushed the small of your back as he passed you, “that’s my girl.” He said it without even realizing, it was quiet and only you heard. It was so mindless but he meant it. And god you wanted to really be his girl.
Your heart flipped in your chest and you audibly gasped, “oh,” you whispered before you could stop yourself. You squeezed your eyes shut.
Dana glanced over, “what’s wrong with you?”
You blinked at nothing, “I’m totally fucked.”
She snorted before leaving you alone with your thoughts.
Because for the first time since this impossible mess had begun, you had felt at peace with the decision.
The door was there, ready to be opened. Even if you hadn't found the courage to knock on it yet.
Robby was sitting on the back porch when you found him that night. The place that had become familiar and therapeutic for all three of you.
You'd spent the better part of three days working up the courage for this conversation, only to realize there wasn't a version of it that didn't hurt someone.
The screen door creaked softly behind you. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled, “you’re home.”
Your smile didn't quite reach your eyes, “you busy?”
He looked at the untouched beer in his hand, “for you? Never.”
You sat beside him. For a long moment, neither of you spoke.
The late summer air was warm, crickets filling the silence while neither of you knew how to begin.
Finally, Robby exhaled, “you figured it out.”
You turned to look at him, you exhaled, “was it that obvious?”
He chuckled quietly, “to me, yeah.”
Your throat tightened, “I'm sorry.”
“Don’t,” he shook his head.
“No Robby, I am,” you said, no words able to express how bad you felt.
“I know,” he rested his forearms on his knees, staring out into the backyard, “I’ve actually known for a while. Longer than you if I had to guess.”
“Really?” You asked quietly.
He nodded, “I started noticing the way you looked at him. And I thought maybe I still had a chance, maybe you could look at me like that. But you never did.”
You frowned, “I don't look at him differently.”
“You do,” he smiled sadly, “you don't even realize you're doing it.”
You opened your mouth to argue before closing it again.
“When he walks into a room,” Robby continued, “you look up before he says anything. When he says your name you immediately blush. You always save him a seat without thinking. If something good happens, he's the first person you look for.”
He laughed softly to himself, “and whenever you're overwhelmed,” he finally glanced at you, “you're already halfway to finding Jack before you've decided you need help.”
A tear slipped down your cheek, “I never wanted to hurt you.”
“I know,” he reached over and squeezed your knee.
“I love you,” you said quietly, “just not like that.”
He smiled warmly, “I know that too.”
The tears came faster now, but you tried to hide them, “I'm sorry.”
He looked down at his hands for a moment before continuing, “I'll admit I really hoped you'd pick me. And I kept the hope up, but when you just sat down, I knew.”
You smiled at him.
“But somewhere along the way, I stopped rooting against Jack,” he spoke quietly.
You blinked. “What?”
“I'd catch him doing these little things. Making sure your gas tank was full before a snowstorm and starting your car in the morning. Remembering exactly how you take your coffee or exactly what you’d order at the bar after you've had a bad shift. Covering your pager while you cried in the stairwell after losing that little boy.”
Your eyes widened, “how did you even know about that?”
“He told me he was covering your patients,” he sighed, “he never told me why, but I pieced it together.”
Silence settled between you again. Your lips trembled, but you had promised yourself you would keep the tears to a minimum.
“I really am happy for you,” he reassured, “but I'm probably going to mope for a while.”
You laughed.
“I love you too much to want you anywhere but where your happiest,” his voice cracked at the last few words.
Without thinking, you leaned over and wrapped your arms around him.He hugged you back just as tightly.
When you finally pulled apart, he wiped at his own eyes and pointed toward the house, “time to go.”
You looked at him and your heart skipped at the thought of what comes next.
“He’s upstairs,” he added softly.
Jack was in his room with the door half open.
He looked up from the medical journal in his lap when he heard your footsteps.
His face immediately changed into a concerned expression when he saw your red eyes, “you okay?”
You didn't answer. Instead, you crossed the room in determined strides. Your cheeks were still damp from the tears you had shed just moments before with Robby.
He stood instinctively, “You—”
You grabbed the front of his T-shirt with both hands and pulled him into a kiss before he could finish his sentence.
You kissed him harder than you intended to, almost throwing you both off balance, but he stumbled, placing both hands on your waist instinctively and keeping balance.
When you finally pulled back, Jack was staring at you as though he'd forgotten how to speak. You smiled through happy tears.
“I uh, I just talked to Robby,” you said softly. You were still close to him, hands still gripping his tshirt.
His expression immediately fell.
“And he knows,” you finished.
Jack looked toward the floor, “I never wanted to hurt him.”
“He knows that,” you said barely above a whisper.
You cupped his face, making him look back at you, “I choose you, Jack.”
His eyes searched yours.
You swallowed, “you don't have to say anything right now.”
He opened his mouth, but you pressed a finger to his lips, “it’s still my turn.”
You felt the curve of his lips as he smiled against your finger.
“I am choosing the man who remembers every little thing I tell him. And every little thing he observes. The man who somehow always knows when I need something before I do. The man who never once tried to convince me to love him. The man who just... loved me.”
Jack's composure cracked, “you've had me,” he said quietly, “since the day in the kitchen when you kissed my cheek.”
You laughed, “that long, huh?”
“I knew I was in trouble the moment you walked through that door with way too much stuff for your tiny room,” he said, still grinning ear to ear.
You rested your forehead against his, “I think I was too. Just took me a little longer to catch up”
He leaned back down and when he kissed you, there wasn't a single ounce of hesitation left.
Summary: you and ryland are trying to get a quickie in during your wedding reception. Colt catches you both.
wordcount: 1051
warning(s): SMUT a tiny bit in the beginning, but like minimal smut mixed with fluff.
authors note: I tried to keep this gender neutral as possible which is why I don't really describe anatomy or outfits here, reader can be wearing whatever you want them to be I'm not a cop.
just a short one for your guys. More longer ones to come I promise. Enjoy! Don't bully me for this one.
my masterlist
______________________________
Ryland had you lifted up, your legs around him as he thrusted into you, in the bathroom stall at your wedding venue, on your wedding day, 10 minutes before you were supposed to enter the afterparty.
The day had been perfect, you had married the love of your life, you couldn’t imagine marrying anyone else, but of course you had a few setbacks.
Like for instance Ryland losing his glasses — so he stumbled over his vows through tears of happiness, but also blindness — you losing half of your vows, but the ones you made up on the spot managed to be even more beautiful than what you had written; Colt arriving late; and the photographer going into labor moments before you were supposed to walk down the aisle.
You also hadn’t managed to speak more than three sentences all day to each other outside of saying your vows, because of having to tend to not only your own family, but Ryland’s as well. And not to mention posing for photos and navigating the venue itself.
Still, you were both begging for some alone time, when Ryland quickly led you both into the bathroom and attacked your mouth before you could protest. And hey, why would you?
You slid his tie loose and he swiftly unzipped his dress pants, waiting for you to provide him with easy access as well, shifting your wedding fit swiftly. No words were spoken, it happened at lightning speed, knowing you only had so much time.
You were both locked inside of the bathroom stall, trying to stay as silent as possible. Ryland had your hips lifted so perfectly, his hands gripped your ass with a strong grip, his cock was hitting that perfect spot inside of you. You threw your head back whining, and he was hiding his head inside of the crook of your neck groaning as his hips pistoled forward. He was gasping and whining, you had him right where you wanted him, and he had you where he wanted you too.
“Missed you so much.” He whined. “God, you feel amazing.”
“Ryland, don’t stop, I’m–” Your sentence was cut off by a moan as he thrusted harder.
Suddenly you felt his hands slip, and he lost hold of you.
You yelped as you dropped to the tiled floor on your feet and he slid out of you abruptly.
You both had a look on each other's faces that said you’ve been blinded by horniness like teenagers. Ryland pulled you towards him so your bodies were still pressed up against one another. When you looked at Ryland’s tie that was way too loose to be taken seriously, you both let out a fit of laughter.
You smiled at the absurdity of the situation and he leant his head down toward you to kiss your mouth again.
“God, we are idiots.”
“Married idiots.” Ryland murmured, kissing your cheek.
“You know, this is so much better than reciting vows.” You joked.
Ryland gasped at you in shock.
“I’m joking!” You half whispered, half shouted.
“Your vows were so good. Did you see how much you were making me cry?" He asked.
You laughed.
"Hey, says you! I was a sobbing mess."
It was true, both of your vows had been the perfect amount of bantery and kind. He managed to tell you how attractive and talented you were in five different ways. He brought up inside jokes you had forgotten about. And you recounted falling for him reluctantly during his PhD (your Master's) and his obliviousness to your flirting. You even teased him about his nerdiness and his tendency to talk in puns. And by the end of it, you were both sobbing and laughing.
Ryland pecked your lips again, and you were overcome with a feeling of being utterly content.
"I'm so happy." You sighed.
"Me too. I just wish I could find my glasses so I could see you better.”
You placed your hand on his cheek, cupping his face softly. Those were expensive glasses, and a gift from Colt.
“What do you say we try again, I was just about to cum.” You said, looking deep in Ryland’s eyes.
“Were you now?” Ryland teased. "Yea we can try again. Please, let's try again."
You let out a giggle at his begging.
He placed his hands on your waist again, he was about to place you back in position, when you heard the bathroom door open and a knock directly on the stall you were, it made you both jump. Ryland quickly tucked himself back inside his pants, and you tried to adjust your outfit too.
“Ryland, y/n? We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
It was Colt.
“Are you serious right now!” You whisper screamed at Ryland.
Ryland gently rubbed your shoulder.
“Yea, we’re uh a little preoccupied.” Ryland cleared his throat.
“Ew really? Here? Out of all places?!” Colt asked.
You and Ryland both cringed, the ridiculousness of the situation coming to light. Colt banged his hand against the door again.
“Alright, that’s enough, come on love birds, it’s time for your entrance.” Colt demanded.
“Do something.” You whispered, looking at Ryland with pleading eyes.
He laughed, catching your puppydog look.
“Uh, okay wait, can we get 10 more minutes you think? Please?” Ryland said, turning his head toward the door of the stall.
You heard Colt audibly sigh, then groan in disgust.
“What’s in it for me?” Colt asked.
And without seeing his face you could see the way Colt was giving you his squinty eye, face scrunch. You sighed. Ryland gave you a look that read, ‘you know what he wants’.
“Fine!” You whined. “You can do a backflip! But only after your speech.” You grimaced.
You could feel Colt pumping his fists in excitement.
“Alright, fine! I guess I can tell them to delay the entrance because of an emergency or something. But only for at least 10 more minutes. Use protection you weirdos.” Colt said, his footsteps getting farther away.
Ryland turned back towards you.
“You think you can do this in ten minutes?” You asked.
Ryland scoffed as if you were doubting his skills.
“It’s our wedding day, of course I can do this in ten minutes.”
He leaned back down toward you, starting to kiss your neck this time.
thinking of introducing rocky to pet names but he thinks grace shouldn’t be included in such verbal affections
“watch out rocky!” you yelled out, but before he could catch on, the xenonite ball tipped over the edge to the bunkers, and he fell a good 2 feet before smacking the ground and bouncing in the ball. the spindrive has been out of wack since your fishing trip in tau ceti and everything was upside down. what would’ve been just a small step up into the room, was now a 2 foot drop from what was actually the ceiling. “oh gosh, are you okay honey?”
a long string of musical notes that grace had not yet translated followed the crash— something you assume is eridian curse words that he refused to translate. you jump down the ledge and hold the ball steady as rocky stands, doing a move you can only describe as a shake off like dogs do. “rocky okay,” he sighs, “what does last word mean, question?”
“huh? honey?” you ask and he nods, “oh it’s a term of endearment, something you say to someone you care about. it means you’re sweet”
rocky lights up at your words, “erdian have similar concept. statement. is called 🎶🎵🎶, adrianne call rocky 🎵🎵— 🎶🎵, means “soft bear” statement.” rocky hesitates for a moment, rolling back away from you, “but is only for mate. rocky and friend not mates. statement”
you laugh a little, “dont worry rocky, humans use it for anyone they care about. it does not make us mates, buddy, but i appreciate the loyalty. im sure adrianne does too.” he visibly relaxes and if on cue, grace walks in.
“is everything okay? i heard a bang” concern is written on his face, one hand holding onto the doorway as he peers down at you and rocky.
“is okay. statement. rocky fell because dumb dumb dumb human mess up centrifuge. statement.”
grace scoffs at his words, giving you a look of betrayal when you laugh. “forget i asked! how rude rocky.” he shakes his head in faux annoyance
“wrong. friend say rocky sweet. statement.” his voice raises an octave as he waves jazz hands around as if absolutely enthused by the idea. it’s really just to make grace mad
-
on the trip back to erid, you continue to use various pet names for rocky. cute ones like “honey” or “sweetie” he never returns the gesture but appreciates and enjoys the praise regardless. it made rocky feel special after being alone for so long, so you can imagine the betrayal he feels when you start using them for grace.
it wasn’t anything crazy either, the three of you occupied the mental health room, some earth show playing in the background to pass the years time. neither of you thought anything of it when a simple, “baby, can you pass me a blanket?”left your lips.
“why call grace human child, question? is because he acts like child. question?” grace pretends not to hear rocky and tosses you the blanket half heartedly.
you laugh, “no rocky, it’s another term of endearment, cause he’s like my little baby, you know?” you reach over to pinch ryland’s cheeks, softening the annoyance on his face.
“no rocky do not know. statement. grace not deserve pet name. only rocky. statement.” his voice gets higher with frustration and he rolls the xenonite ball to tap your leg. “human no longer care about rocky, question?”
your eyes widen, and you look to grace for assistance but he only shrugs as if to say ‘you started this.’ he was no help, so you’re left to your own devices with a jealous alien at your feet. “rocky, honey, that’s not true at all.” you lean over to put a hand on one of the panels, “i still care about you, but i also care about grace too. you only use pet names for your mates, well grace is my mate after all.” your voice isn’t mean, but it is stern enough to get your point across.
he sinks a bit in defeat, “understand. even though grace not sweet. or cute. or human child. rocky understand. statement”
you can hear grace scoff in the background and you know he’s rolling his eyes, “yeah i could say the same thing about you. you’re a weird alien spider, nothing cute about that.”
“adrianne disagree. statement.” rocky hums at the man and you laugh loudly, “human grace gross and leaky. erdian do not leak therefore better species. statement.”
grace shakes his head and turns away, “whatever you say, man.”
summary: you and ryland could happily argue for hours, no matter where, when, or over what. it wasn't until you started hooking up, that you realized that sometimes you didn't mind his arrogant, downright insulting behavior. but it only took one shitty morning, and one more-than-usual mouthy ryland, for it to come crashing down, and for you two to finally have a serious discussion about what's going on.
pairing: grad student!ryland grace x fem!reader
word count: 3.6k
tags: angst, hurt/comfort, suggestive behavior, under-negotiated kink (degradation, slight exhibitionism), implied/referenced sex, kind of asshole ryland, slightly anxious reader, a little bit of dubious consent (although not malicious just miscommunication), English is not authors first language
You hated Ryland Grace the second you laid eyes on him.
No, actually, that’s not quite true. The first time you saw him walk through the doors of your lecture hall, you didn’t pay him much mind. Sure, he was quite pretty, but many people were, and you weren’t here to find a potential partner, you were here to learn about the structural studies of synapses. But then he showed up in more and more of your courses, and you found out that he was pursuing his degree in molecular biology, the same as you.
That wasn’t enough reason yet to dislike him—it was an interesting field after all—but his behavior in the classes you shared sure as hell was.
Ryland always knew better.
No matter who said what, you could be sure that Mr. Grace would raise his hand and add his two cents to the discussion. Sometimes it was a genuinely useful addition to whatever had been discussed, and sometimes it was more of a summary with maybe an extra comment mixed in, but it was never, ever wrong.
Maybe that's what irked you the most; he wasn’t some arrogant asshole with a big mouth but nothing to back it up with. No, he was smart, extremely so, and he knew it.
However, no matter how intelligent, his behavior was just downright rude. At first, you assumed it was a misogyny thing. That he was the typical mansplaining chauvinist who thought that if only he talked louder than the women around him, it proved that he was smarter than they could ever even imagine.
But then one day, one of your professors after a lecture casually asked you whether you thought it appropriate to wear a skirt that ended above the knee to class, to which Ryland—who had been trailing behind in the way he always does; as if he could catch some last-minute wisdom if only he waited until everyone else left—without hesitation asked the professor whether he thought it appropriate to ask a student that, and what the universities policies on sexual harassment were.
Your professor left red-faced, muttering under his breath, and you had to admit to yourself that while Ryland was a dick, he wasn’t a sexist one.
He was a sexy one, though.
The way he afterward asked you whether you were okay, only to then subsequently after you answered him, tell you that he thought you were completely in the wrong about what you said during the lecture, made your mouth run dry.
So, you spent the next couple of months arguing back and forth with Ryland. Whether in class, in the hallways between lectures, in the lab, when he walked you to your car in the evenings, in the car on the nights you drove him home because it was pouring outside, during shared lunches, and then ultimately, in his apartment—which led to in his bedroom, and then in his bed.
There, you very quickly found out two things: Ryland couldn’t stop his attitude no matter where, and the bedroom was the one place where you gladly embraced that character quirk of his.
Where you would normally have no issue telling him exactly where he could shove it when he got too obnoxious, when you two started fucking, your brain felt blissfully foggy, and you turned pliant in his hands.
The first time it happened, you were unsure how to react to the shift in dynamics. In that moment, when he wore his arrogant grin and nothing else, and would look at you, shake his head mockingly and say something like, ‘Aww, what, now you’re quiet? It only took me touching you a couple of seconds for your perfect little brain to shut off completely, huh sweetheart?’ you loved it. But afterwards, the shame that had felt so good in the moment lingered.
You feared that letting him see you so vulnerable was a mistake which he would gladly exploit, the same way he did that one time you missed classes for a couple of days because you had the flu, and he made you practically beg for his notes.
But instead of doing anything like that, he got up afterwards, cleaned you up, got you some water, and then went back into the bed where he pulled you close to his chest, and then started arguing about something one of your peers had said in class. He said that it was so stupid he couldn’t believe that they weren’t kicked out for it. You disagreed, and after about twenty minutes of quarreling, he relented, letting you win the argument.
You left his apartment the next morning, bright-eyed, and with butterflies swarming in your stomach from the orgasms Ryland had skillfully goaded out of you. (The excitement was definitely just because of the good sex, and nothing more!)
You two didn’t stop arguing though. If anything, it was the opposite, you still argued about 90% of the time when you talked, it was just that now, some of those arguments were less irritation, and more foreplay.
However, there was the unspoken rule of ‘whatever happened in the bedroom—or wherever else you fucked—stayed in the bedroom’. That was a line neither of you crossed, never discussing anything beforehand, nor bringing it up afterward. Both of you knew each other’s limits, leaving your relationship like a stack of cards, vulnerable to any gust blowing your way; and the day it finally collapsed, Ryland must have waltzed into the lecture hall like a fucking hurricane.
The morning had started off shit already. Your alarm didn’t go off, leaving you to scramble to get ready in under ten minutes. Then, on the way to campus, your parents called, reminding you that you hadn’t visited in so long, and that they thought you looked tired in the last pictures you sent, and ‘oh, your brother is doing so well in pre-med, and why didn’t you choose medicine as well?’.
You were glad when you reached your destination and had to hang up. Only at that point you were five minutes too late, the class having already begun.
You tried to sneak into the lecture hall as quietly as possible, but the door creaked and suddenly dozens of gazes were on you, including your professor’s. She didn’t say anything, just gave you a look that made it clear that she expected more of you, and then continued.
Your heart was racing, and for a second you stood frozen, the closed door behind you being the only reason why you didn’t instantly turn back around and leave. You were only pulled out of your state by a tiny crumpled-up piece of paper hitting your arm. You looked to your left where it had come from and found Ryland signaling for you to sit down next to him.
While you didn’t sit with him often during class—neither of you could pay the needed amount of attention when with each other, too busy trying to one up each other—it also wasn’t so out of the ordinary that you thought anything of it.
If anything, you were relieved at the kind gesture, considering your professor probably wouldn’t have accepted you standing in the entrance for the rest of the period.
You made your way over to him, and he even moved his stuff a bit so that you had more space, something that didn’t come lightly from Ryland, who normally needed more expanse for his notes than most do for their bedroom.
“You’re late,” he said, eyes wandering between the front of the class and you.
“I am? Thanks for pointing that out. I nearly didn’t realize it,” you answered distractedly, taking out your stuff.
But that wasn’t good enough for him; you knew he hated only getting half of your awareness.
“What’s the matter? Got lost on the way to campus?” He must be bored, the way he had now turned most of his attention toward you and away from your professor.
“No, I—shit,” you cursed quietly after dropping a pencil. It rolled on the floor and down to the next rows of tables, and you resigned yourself to never seeing it again—you weren’t going to start crawling on classroom floors for some random Bic Biro.
“Jesus, you really have it this morning, hm?”
You closed your eyes briefly. “Ryland, just…” He was riled up, you could tell by the way he leaned a bit too close, his voice low and raspy. Although you couldn’t even begin to imagine what got him so hot and bothered at 9 am on a Tuesday that he could barely sit still. “Listen to Professor Moratz, please.”
“Alright, alright.” He lifted his hands placatingly. He was silent for less than five seconds before he continued, “She’s just recapping last week’s lecture right now, anyway.”
You took a deep breath, choosing to ignore him. Hopefully, he’d get the hint that you weren’t in the mood right now—whatever mood he was trying to arouse.
“C’mon, you’re ignoring me now?” he prodded, shifting closer.
“I’m not ignoring you, I’m listening to our professor.”
“Well, you should be listening to me.” His voice took on a more serious tone. You knew that tone a little too well. So, you should have known what came next. “No need to try to listen and understand all this; I know that’s a little difficult for you sometimes.”
Your shoulders tensed. “Ryland,” you said, your voice making it clear that you weren’t on board with whatever he was trying to start.
But, like most of the time, Ryland completely breezed past the social cues, landing wherever he wanted to get to. “Don’t get embarrassed now.” He smirked. “Or do; you look cute flushed.”
“Ryland, we’re in public.” You started fiddling with the pen between your fingers. You were feeling flushed, but not in the way you enjoyed, more like everyone was already staring at you and following your every movement.
“Hasn’t stopped us before.” He shrugged.
“Ryland, stop. Seriously.”
“Okay.”
“I want to listen.”
“Okay,” he said, tapped his fingers twice on the table, and then leaned closer to whisper in your ear. “Do you even need me to fuck your brain out anymore? If you have such big problems just listening to our professor, then maybe there wasn’t much to begin with.”
Your breath hitched. His words hit deeper than normally, or maybe higher, no matter, without meaning to, your eyes fill with tears, and you turn your face away from him.
“Yeah, you like that,” he croons, leaning closer. “Of course, you do. You poor thing must be—” he brushed a piece of your hair away, took a closer look at your expression, and then froze. “Hey, are you okay?”
He sounded genuinely bewildered, and the light trace of his fingertips against your cheek made you shiver. You needed to get out.
Without waiting one more moment, you gathered all the material before you, stuffed it back in your bag, and got up, leaving Ryland behind. You walked out of class with your eyes stuck to the floor, avoiding looking at anyone. The moment you heard the door fall shut behind you, your shoulders dropped, and with it, a sob broke out of you. You pressed your hand over your mouth to muffle it and quickly hurried away.
Tears were streaming down your face, making your vision blurry. It was a wonder you didn’t bump into anyone on your way outside, but somehow you managed it, only slowing your stride once you reached the familiar location.
It was one of your favorite spots on campus. Located behind the library and mostly hidden out of sight by a cluster of trees, stood a stone bench that must be older than your parents, from the look of it. The trees protected it from the worst of the weather, so while it wasn’t the newest, it was still comparatively clean.
You slumped down on it, dropping your head between your knees. You were still crying, and you hoped it would last for a bit longer, because while you were crying, you couldn’t think about what had just happened. The second you’d realize the magnitude of it, you were sure you’d sink into the floor to hopefully be reborn as a tree, or maybe a particularly spherical stone.
When you heard footsteps approaching, you lifted your feet off the ground, placing them before you on the bench. You were still hiding your face in your legs, with your arms wrapped around them, but at least you weren’t hunched over anymore.
It was obvious who was approaching, and he was kind of the last person you wanted to see.
“Oh, there you are.” Relief was evident in Ryland’s voice. You still didn’t look at him, but you heard his footsteps stop before you. “Everything okay? What’s going on?”
You didn’t answer, hoping that maybe the silence would get him to leave. But because it was Ryland, your silence seemed to only spur him on. He kneeled down before you, and through your legs you could see him reach for you before letting his arm fall back down.
“Hey, seriously, you’re scaring me here,” he said. “Can you at least give me a sign you’re alive in there?” You gave him a thumbs-up, and he chuckled quietly. “Okay, good. That’s a good start. Can I…” He hesitantly touched your hand, and when you nodded, took it between both of his, his fingers drawing soothing little circles into your skin.
“You wanna look at me?” he asked. You shook your head, and instead of arguing, he just mumbled a low, “Okay.” And settled down on the ground, still holding your hand.
You sat there for a couple of minutes, listening to the distant noise of the bustling campus and the rustling of the leaves, hiding you from the rest of the world. With your legs pulled to your chest, the stone bench quickly turned uncomfortable under your butt, and you hesitantly moved off the bench, down next to Ryland.
He shifted a bit, leaving you sitting shoulder to shoulder. He always ran a bit warmer than you, and even now his body temperature was like a comforting beacon, making your muscles untense slowly.
A bird chirped, and as if taking that as his cue, Ryland tightened his grip on your hand before turning toward you slightly, keeping his shoulder to yours but still facing you. “Did I hurt you somehow?”
He sounded like he was trying his best to keep his distress under wrap, and guilt flooded your body, making you finally look up at him.
“No, of course not.”
He rolled his eyes, although it’s clearly more directed at himself than you, and then sighed, “Yes, I—I did. I’m sorry.”
“Ryland,” you caught his eye, needing him to understand. “You didn’t… hurt me.”
“You’re crying,” he pointed out, and for once he didn’t sound happy about winning an argument. “If I didn’t hurt you, I at least overstepped majorly.”
You looked away at that because, yeah, that he did. But it wasn’t that simple, and it would be unfair to leave him alone with the guilt. “You can’t really overstep, we never laid down any guidelines or anything.”
“You said stop. It doesn’t matter what we did or did not discuss, that one’s pretty clear.” He was getting frustrated. You opened your mouth to disagree with him again, and he cut you off. “No, stop doing that. Don’t defend my behavior for me, that’s messed up.”
You fell silent, unsure how to continue, or what he wanted from you.
Ryland sighed again, running a hand over his face. When he looked back at you, his expression was soft, eyes full of sincerity. “I’m sorry, I’m not good at… this.”
“This?” you asked.
“Communication,” Ryland whispered the word as if it were a horror story he was sharing during a sleepover. You laughed, and his face lit up.
“Yeah, well, to be fair, I doubt I’ll win any awards in that category either,” you said, pulling your legs closer and leaning your cheek on your knees. Ryland briefly followed your movements, twisting his head to the side and grinning before straightening himself again. He removed one of his hands from where they held you, caressing the side of your calf.
“Now that we've established that we both need to get our shit together, can you tell me what happened?”
You swallowed, looking down at the ground. Ryland just continued stroking your leg, waiting patiently for you to start speaking.
“I just had a shitty morning, and then you…” You wanted to drop your head back down into your knees, but Ryland quickly took a hold of your chin, his thumb brushing over your jaw once, before returning his hand to your calf. You chuckled lightly. “The way we—you—talk and act when we have sex is… a lot, to say the least.”
Ryland’s fingers stopped moving, and a horrified expression spread over his features. “You don’t like it?”
“No, no. Can you just listen for a second?” You glared at him weakly.
He grinned, nodding. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, which made you roll your eyes.
“I do like it. A lot. But it’s also…” You don’t know how to continue and bite your lip as you felt your nose start to prickle again. You blinked away any oncoming tears, but you couldn’t look at him when you asked the question that had been on your mind for quite some time now. “You don’t actually think I’m dumb, do you?”
“What?” Ryland sounded genuinely appalled at that. “Of course not! You’re like—you are probably the smartest person I know. It’s infuriating how intelligent you are, that’s why I love spending time with you. Sometimes I feel like you’re the only person who can keep up with me.”
Your cheeks heated up. His reassurance was exactly what you needed, but your mind got stuck on one little detail he mentioned. “You love spending time with me?”
“I—” Ryland licked his lips, and now he was the one looking away, his ears turning a pretty red. “I mean, yeah.” He shrugged, his fingers tapping in an uncoordinated rhythm against you. “Do you not like spending time with me?”
“No, I do,” you assured him.
“Good,” he said more to himself.
“Yeah?” You grinned.
“Yeah.” He grinned back at you. The next couple of seconds were spent grinning at each other dumbly, the world around you momentarily forgotten.
“But seriously,” Ryland broke the moment, his tone taking on a more sober note. “I don’t actually believe any of the things I say to you when we’re having sex.” You lifted an eyebrow, and he conceited, “Alright, most things. But definitely not any of the negative stuff about you. And if you want to, I’ll stop saying all of that.”
“No,” you said a bit too intently. “No, that’s not what I want. But maybe we should start discussing some things.”
“That would probably be good, yeah.” He put his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer until you leaned against him. “M’sorry, you had a crappy morning. Can I make it up to you somehow?”
“You don’t have to.”
“Indulge me,” he said, nudging your shoulder with his. “You want a coffee from that nice café we went to last month?”
You sighed exaggeratedly, “If you insist. Twist my arm, why don’t you?”
“We’ll discuss that later, too.” He winked at you and got up, pulling you to your feet. But before you could walk away, he took hold of your shoulders, waiting until you looked at him. “I promise you I’ll do everything I can to not make you feel that way again.”
“I know,” you said, and from the way his shoulders dropped and his smile widened, he believed you.
“Thank you,” he said, and then kissed your forehead, your nose, and then your lips. Your stomach swooped at the gentle acts. That kind of intimacy between you hadn’t made it out of the bedroom before. “C’mon,” he said, motioning with his head to the side before putting his arm around your waist and steering you away from the bench.
Suddenly, you groaned, which made him look at you questioningly. “I made a complete fool of myself by storming out like that.”
“What? Nooo,” he said, wearing a shit-eating grin.
You lightly punched his shoulder. “You’re an asshole, Ryland,” you said, and then giggled at his affronted expression.
“Don’t worry about it. If Mike got away with messing up DNA and RNA twice in one presentation, you’ll be just fine.”
You rolled your eyes at his haughty tone.
“Why were you so riled up, anyway?”
“Because Mike should know the basics of biology by now.”
“No,” you grinned. “Earlier. I had barely sat down before you were all over me.”
“Oh,” Ryland said, suddenly sounding a lot less smug. “I, uh, had a rather… vivid dream.”
“Seriously,” you chuckled. “You had a wet dream and so thought it’d be a good idea to get it on in the lecture hall?”
Ryland lightly pinched your side, making you squeal. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s discuss all this over a good ol’ cup of coffee, hm?”
“And then afterwards, we can revisit whatever went on in your dream.” You shrugged innocently.
Ryland choked, and then pulled you closer, nodding fervently. You smiled, letting yourself relax into his hold, the warm sun shining down on the two of you as you made your way across campus. You could certainly get used to this.
may i politely request a santos x reader with a roommates to lovers trope? 🥰
eeeee this was so fun to write! i love my gf trinity santos <3
sorry this took so long!!
“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, sighing as you locked your phone and placed it back facedown on the table.
“You okay?” Dennis asks, taking another sip from his long island. “Who died?” At your frown his pulse quickens, worried he put his foot in his mouth. “Oh, my God. Please don’t tell me someone died.”
“No,” you say, exhaling a small laugh. “No one’s dead. But my will to live is slowly dwindling each passing day.”
“Amen,” Samira chimes in, pulling her wallet out of her bag.
“What happened?” Mel asks, picking hers and Samira’s checks up and handing her card to the bartender. “My treat,” she directs to Samira this time, speaking slowly to get through her friend’s slightly drunken state, “I invited you out.”
“My super emailed me, said the hot water’s out.”
“Jesus, your complex sucks,” Samira snorts into her glass, finishing off the rest of her Sex on the Beach, her speech slurring a little as she stumbles off her stool. You forget how much of a lightweight Mira is until she actually takes you guys up on your offer to go out. You’ll drop her off first, you think.
“Yeah,” you sigh again, shoulders slumping. “It does.” Last month, start of Summer, the central air was out. The past winter, the heat was out. You’ve complained about a leaky pipe in your kitchen for the last three weeks. You’re pretty sure there’s a rodent problem in the floor above you that’s slowly trickling down to your floor. “But my lease is up in, like, a month, and I’ve got like three potential other places lined up.”
“What are you gonna do in the meantime?” Dennis frowns, reaching a hand out to grab Samira’s bicep to steady her, getting off his stool to help maneuver her after sloppily signing his receipt.
“Crash with one of my awesome friends and coworkers?” You bat your eyes at Samira who only laughs and pokes your nose, causing you to laugh along with her.
“Oh, this is perfect!” Dennis calls, wrapping one of Samira’s arms around his shoulder to bear some of her weight as you all make your way toward the bar’s exit. “I can stay at Robby’s full time instead of just popping in to check things out. You can take my room while I’m gone. It’s another three month gig.”
“Bobby’s going on another vacation?”
“Robby, Mira,” Mel corrects her, holding the door open for everybody as they all spill out into the humid Pittsburgh air. “Robby’s going on another vacation. Leaves in a couple of weeks.”
“Yeah, I think his new girlfriend of the month is taking him to a spa, or something. For his birthday.”
“Which translates into him being holed up in an Air B and B for three months.” Dennis swears when Samira stumbles over her feet and steps on one of his.
“How about it, roomie?” Trinity finally chimes in, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “It’ll be like a three month long sleepover.”
“I’m in! Yay, roomie!” You wrap an arm around Trinity’s waist, squeezing her once.
Living with Trinity had its pros and cons. Pros: you can carpool to work, you’ve cut costs on groceries since you both split them, you’ve cut costs on nights out and have taken to you and Trinity hosting for dinner or game and movie nights, you’ve grown exceptionally closer to each other in the past two months. There really was only one con: you were very quickly falling in love with Trinity Santos.
After the first two weeks of living together, you two have taken turns sleeping in each other’s beds, taking turns clinging to each other the way you did the first time you slept over a few months ago. The biggest problem was you had no idea how Trinity felt. You know she was seeing Garcia at some point, but you’re pretty sure it fizzled out months ago, close to the time you two became friends.
“A Richard Gere feature again?” Trinity groans, plopping down on the couch next to you. “Your affinity for older men is concerning.” She squirms when you reach over to pinch her side before settling back next to you, your thighs touching.
“I also have an affinity for older women, thank you very much.”
“Oh yeah?” Trinity teases, even though she feels her hands begin to sweat. She can’t help but wonder if you also have an affinity for women your own age.
“Yeah, definitely,” you tease back, pivoting so your legs are slung over Trinity’s lap. “Why, you got someone in mind for me?”
Trinity’s hands settle on your calves, her thumb absentmindedly rubbing circles across your skin. “Maybe, what’s your type?” She tries to keep her voice casual as the movie plays in the background – you two have seen this one three times over the last two months.
“Mmm,” you pretend to think, one of your hands coming up to play with the ends of Trinity’s hair. “I like ‘em a little mean,” you say seriously, suppressing a smile when she nods. “Sarcastic. Big heart that she hides from people but still can’t help but open it up to people.”
“Sounds like you already have someone in mind,” she grumbles, taking a handful of popcorn and shoving it in her mouth to hide her distaste.
“Yeah? Did someone come to mind?” You fight the roll of your eyes when she shrugs, she’s obviously not getting your very obvious description of herself. “She’s someone who takes in a bunch of strays, actually,” you say with more emphasis, one of your feet lifting off her lap to nudge her a little.
“Sounds like a catch,” she says in a flat tone, trying to tune back into the movie. “You should totally go for it.”
“You think?” You say around a soft laugh, shifting on the couch when she shrugs non-committedly again. You pull your legs up onto the couch, tucking them underneath you and leaning too close into Trinity’s space. “Hey, Trin,” you call out quietly, smiling a little when she looks toward you and the double-take she gives you when she sees how close you are. “Let me know if I should stop,” you say in an almost whisper, the hand that was playing with her hair moving to lightly grasp the back of her neck to pull her into you.
“Oh,” she says breathlessly, moving on her own accord to close the gap. As soon as your lips touch hers, it’s like a switch flips in her chest. One of her hands comes up to cup your cheek, her face angling to deepen the kiss.
“You finally get the hint, dumbass?” You joke, breaking from the kiss to trail your mouth down her jaw, moving to suck gently against her neck.
“Think I need more clarity,” Trinity sighs, grinning when one of your legs goes over her hip so you’re straddling her. “Just a little more,” she practically begs, her fingers carding through your hair and giving you a small tug to bring your mouth back to hers.
as someone with 300+ unanswered asks in my inbox, i would love to see any “oops only one bed” uwu xoxo @rr-after-dark
james!! thank you so much for the request (: i decided to do this one with jack. i reallllyy hope you like it!! <3
content: 18+ mdni, sexually explicit content, a conference, a blizzard, and a single bed what could go wrong?? (:
dr abbot x f!reader
Jack frustratedly tapped his credit card against the front desk, "I don't understand, I reserved two rooms."
"I'm really sorry, sir," A flustered receptionist in her early twenties said emphatically, "With the rush because of the storm, we overbooked and—"
"Hey, I got the rest of the stuff," You said, materializing next to him with your bags. When you looked up to see his face, you frowned, "What's the matter?"
"Uh," Jack nervously rubbed at the back of his neck, "With the, uh, storm… The hotel seems to have… Overbooked the rooms—"
"Again," The nervous receptionist interrupted, "I'm so, so sorry."
"Oh no," You frowned, "There's no rooms?"
"No, no," The receptionist said quickly, "No it's just, you booked two rooms, but we only have one."
You visibly brightened, "Oh! That's a relief."
Jack could feel his blood pressure steadily rising. He knew coming to this conference with only you for company was a mistake. Robby had teased him about it when he realized, with horror, it would just be the two of you.
The entire trip he was overly conscious of his proximity to you, the heat of your body, your knee knocking into his. And you, by all accounts, seemed painfully oblivious to his internal warring. He had to fight himself not to touch you, not to look at you too long, not to imagine what it would be like to kiss and touch you the way he really wanted to.
Robby had encouraged him ages ago to just ask you out, but he felt so out of practice after his wife he couldn't deal with the possibility of rejection. It was much easier to just use the idea of you as a fantasy. What if he finally worked up the courage and you said yes?
But this entire trip, his anxiety had been at an all time high with no one else for him to buffer his nerves.
He cleared his throat, "The room only has one bed," He said lowly.
"Hm," You hummed and turned back to the receptionist, "Could we get a cot in the room?"
She shook her head ruefully, "I'm so sorry, all of them are in use. If you want I can cancel the reservation and fully refund—"
"No!" You said quickly, "No, no, it's um…" You turned back to Jack, "I'm totally fine with sharing a bed for one night if you are. I mean, everywhere has to be booked up because of the storm. We might not find anywhere else."
You were right, of course. Despite the fact that kill bill sirens were on a loop in his brain at the idea of having to be so close to you all night when he desperately needed to let off some steam in private after being so close to you all goddamn day— It seemed he didn't have much choice.
He forced a smile, "If it's good with you, it's good with me."
And with that, you took the room key from the receptionist and Jack Abbot willingly followed you down the hall into his own personal hell.
You showered first as he carefully removed his prosthesis and sighed in relief as he sat at the edge of the bed. Turning on the TV, he watched the weather report as a man went on and on about the severe blizzard conditions that were expected to start in a few hours. About ten minutes later, you came out of the bathroom in a robe and sat down next to him, the scent of coconut and vanilla wafting off you.
"Oh, shit," You murmured as you took in the report, "This is worse than they were saying a few hours ago."
Jack nodded. Although he was distracted with thoughts of you, he was also running over emergency contingency plans in his head. But really, besides having emergency supplies in his duffle (warming blanket, non perishable foods, flashlight, batteries, first aid kit) it seemed likely that they might be stuck here for more than just one night.
He tried not to think about that. Went to shower and fucked his fist in his shower chair, biting on his arm to keep himself quiet while his mind raced with thoughts of you, imagining himself peeling you out of that robe, kissing gently down your neck and color bone, licking up stray water droplets from the shower. He tried to imagine what you might sound like moaning his name in pleasure. He longed to worship you the way you deserved, if only he had the fucking nerve to tell you how he felt.
It was most on his mind this trip since you'd been forced to be alone together for so long. You'd traveled here together on the same flight, spent the entire conference side by side cracking jokes and mingling with other doctors. He saved you a seat at every table, listened intently when you rambled on about how nervous you were about presenting at a big conference for the first time.
"I've always been shit at oral presentations." You said, fingers twisting nervously in front of you as the two of you waited in the wings. You were up next.
"Don't put so much pressure on yourself," He said, "I'll be there the whole time. I'll jump in if you need me to.
You'd grabbed his hand, squeezed it gently, and smiled at him, "Thank you."
He'd nodded and pretended the softness of your hand in his didn't feel transformative, didn't make him feel like they were made for him to hold.
Now he made his way out of the shower, in just a pair of briefs as he used his crutches to maneuver back into the bedroom. You were sat up in the bed, eReader in hand, the blue light of the TV flickered over the plains of your face. Your eyes widened just slightly at the sight of him, shirtless and still dripping from the shower, but then swallowed and averted your eyes.
"Um, do you—" You cleared your throat and Jack stifled a smirk, "Do you need help with anything?"
Jack shook his head as he lowered himself to the edge of the bed again, "No, I got it. Thanks."
After some time, he made his way into the bed next to you and the two of you sat in companionable silence as the weather man continued to give play by play updates as the blizzard got ever closer. Jack was trying not to think about the warmth your body might provide in the night when you yawned and placed the eReader on your nightstand.
"Think I'm gonna try to get some sleep," You said, settling beneath the covers.
"Oh, let me turn off—" Jack started, reaching for the remote, but you cut him off.
"No, it's okay. Turn it off whenever. I can sleep through anything."
Jack sat awake for what felt like hours, unable to sleep for fear of reaching for you in his sleep. Somewhere in his subconscious was a level of desire he was hardly able to keep in check when he was awake. He had no idea what his body would do once his brain was offline.
He was listening to you snoring softly and had flipped the channel to M*A*S*H reruns when the room suddenly went dark. The whir of the heater creaked to silence until the only sound in the room was the wind rattling against the windows.
Fuck. He thought.
"Jack?" Your voice was bleary with sleep.
"Power went out," He said in response, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and fumbling around for his crutches.
"Well—Don't—It might come back in a second—"
"It's not coming back on. They can't send crews out in this weather."
"Well the hotel must have a generator."
"Maybe," Jack said, now ruffling through his duffel for a flashlight, "But it might be a while."
He clicked on the switch on the flashlight and immediately felt relief as light flooded the room. Pointing it towards your spot on the bed, you squinted and covered your eyes with your forearm at the sudden brightness.
"Sorry," He said and pointed it away from you.
"Why don't we just get some sleep," You said through a yawn, "The power'll probably be back up by the time we wake up."
You were likely right, but the more time passed the more he felt like the possibility of him being able to sleep while you were right next to him was slim to none.
He reached for his prosthesis, "I'm just gonna take a walk to the front desk to see—"
"No!" You said quickly, and it came out almost like a whine, "Please, don't. I just, um, I don't wanna be alone."
He almost laughed, "Are you… Afraid of the dark?"
You sighed, "Don't make fun."
"I'm not," He said quickly, schooling his features, "I'm just surprised. I won't leave if you don't want me to."
"Thank you," You said, the relief in your tone palpable.
He climbed back into the bed, leaving the flashlight on the nightstand and pointing towards the ceiling so that it bathed most of the room in a warm glow. He saw you shiver after a moment and frowned, "You're cold?"
You sank deeper into the duvet, "I can already tell the heat is out."
"Well I have an emergency warming blanket—"
You laughed, "You really are prepared for everything, huh?"
Not everything. He thought. Not you.
Instead, he only shrugged.
"I don't want some weird foil blanket, I'd have to be close to hypothermic before I'd use it."
He chuckled, "Suit yourself."
But after almost twenty minutes without the heat, you were nearly vibrating the whole mattress with your shivering.
"Could I, um…" You sounded shy and when he looked over at you, you were staring at the ceiling, "Could I move a little closer to you? Just…For warmth. I don't wanna make you uncomfortable."
He fingers itched to pull you to him, envelop you entirely in his warmth, but he resisted.
"Yeah, of course." He said instead, carefully camouflaging the want from his voice.
You scooted your body over until your hips were touching his. He wanted to resist, really, he did. But you were so cold.
"Well, that's not gonna help you much," He said softly and turned on his side toward you, "Can I?" He asked, reaching his arms toward you.
You barely hesitated before nodding and he pulled you into his arms. Once settled, you sighed in contentment, running your hands along his arms as they held you flush to his chest.
"This okay?" He asked softly.
You nodded, "Yeah, you?"
He closed his eyes, "I'm good."
He relished in the feel of you in his arms, the way your chest rose and fell with each breath. With you so close to him, his mind wandered to thoughts of kissing your neck and allowing his hands to wander beneath your shirt, knead and toy with the soft flesh of your breasts—
Shit. He felt it when the blood rushed between his legs, his cock swelling and prodding at your ass. He felt the flush crawl up his neck, "Fuck, sorry, I—"
"It's okay," You said quickly, sounding a bit breathless, "It a normal reaction, but…"
He hung on your every word, "But…?"
"Well, I just, if—If it were more than that. That would be okay, too."
He thought his heart might have skipped a beat. He swallowed thickly, "Yeah?"
You nodded, "But it's okay if… if you don't feel the same."
He laughed, "You have no idea just how desperately I want you."
"Really?"
He nodded and used his hands to gently tilt your face to the side so he had access to your neck where he laid gentle kisses all the way up to your ear. You sighed and turned your head so you could meet his kisses. The taste of you, finally on his tongue, it was addicting. The sounds you made, better than anything he could have imagined.
His hands roamed up your shirt and as he teased and twisted your nipples, you squirmed against him, creating friction against his cock, "Jesus Christ." He hissed.
So quickly, you were putty in his hands, unable to string a sentence together. Drunk on his touch.
He slipped a hand down your belly and into your panties. Slowly, he ran his fingers over your lips and then circled your clit. Repeated the motion, ghosting over your entrance, but never quite penetrating. Until you were writhing against him, rutting your hips into his palm, whining for more.
"That feel good, baby? You want more?"
You hiccuped, nodding helplessly.
"You want me to fuck you with my fingers?"
"Please, Jack." You managed finally and he smiled, pressed a kiss just below your ear.
"Good girl, so good for me." He murmured and slowly pushed his middle finger inside you.
Already wet and aching, you accommodated the stretch with ease and he began prodding, finding where it was that most drove you crazy. Then he pushed his ring finger inside you, used his thumb to continue rubbing your clit.
In moments, you were falling apart in his arms. He cooed sweet words in your ear as you came down and then slowly slipped his fingers out of you once you settled again. Unable to help himself, he sucked your juices off his fingers. The taste of you riled him so thoroughly, his cock twitched, aching and full against his thigh as he considered splaying you open to feast properly.
But before he could do anything, the TV came back on and the heater hummed back to life. You turned in his arms to face him, the blue light casting shadows across your face. But it didn't matter, he saw the giddiness you tried to hide. You swallowed, "Looks like the generator kicked in."
He nodded and ran his thumb over your lower lip, "It's a shame, I was looking forward to keeping you warm all night."
Finally, a smile split across your face and you closed the inches between you to kiss him, "I'm still pretty cold," You said softly into his mouth, "If the offer still stands."
A wolfish grin spread across Jack's face as you began tugging at his boxers.
summary: another anniversary spent alone makes you spiral. jack comes home and is faced with how his neglect is ruining you.
cw: heavy angst, alcohol intoxication, vomiting, small injury (glass cut), implied depression/(brief) suicidal ideation, non-sexual nudity
wc: 2.4k
a/n: not beta-read yet, we die like, uhh, robby’s will to live
now playing: begged – Olivia Rodrigo
All that I want
Is to sit here silently
And watch movies on TV
What a shame you're not here
Here to witness my devotion
And my endless well of needs
I'm an anchor in the ocean
You know I could never leave
So I'm patient, you're learning
Pretend it's not hurting
And they say it's a virtue
To not let good love slip away
Your makeup has faded. Black mascara smudges around your lash line, having bled from tears that fell like gravity itself demanded it.
This is hardly the first anniversary you’ve spent alone. Far from it, actually.
Anniversaries, birthdays, holidays, Christmases—you name it. There is a story to be told about each one of them, a story of how you sat on the couch, nursing a glass of wine while waiting for Jack.
If he wasn’t saving lives in the ER, he was risking his own. It doesn’t matter that you’ve knelt in front of him, the hardwood cool and unforgiving, as you pleaded for him to take a day off. Just one.
There is always something. A colleague who has children and needs that day to take them to Disneyland. Or a patient who only trusts him. A shift he just has to cover.
You’ve heard nearly every excuse possible and smiled like it didn’t matter, like you didn’t matter, because maybe you didn’t.
When you and Jack first started dating, he warned you that surgeons are the worst kinds of doctors to date because of their pretentiousness. He seemed to have forgotten to mention that ER doctors came in second on that list.
It wasn’t the desire for fame or hubris that made Jack so careless about your feelings. It was his devotion to everyone but you.
Sure, he’d kiss you and make you feel special—on a day when he could afford it. When he wasn’t chasing the high of being needed by strangers who’d maybe not even remember his name once he had saved them.
You know the placement of every freckle on his body, and still, it doesn’t change anything.
The third glass of wine doesn’t taste as bitter as the first. You don’t particularly like this brand or year or anything about it—you just know that Jack had bought it for today, back when he was still telling himself that he’d be home to celebrate with you.
As the cap of the bottle dances between your fingers, the metal now warm from your body heat, you glance at the clock.
Three hours and twelve minutes.
God, you’re a fucking loser.
Maybe it would be a different story if you were married. Maybe you could forgive yourself for your desperation, your constant attempts to convince yourself you mattered to him as much as he mattered to you. If there were a little bit of proof of his commitment, you’d be able to look into the mirror without feeling sick with shame.
But there is no ring on your finger or the promise that one will come one day. Jack doesn’t want to get married again. He says you two don’t need that.
Three hours, thirteen minutes.
You slosh the wine in your mouth while the darkest of thoughts creep in. It’s just a little fantasy you’ve curated and perfected over the years, and it’s an insane one, but you love to lose yourself in it every now and then.
Jack comes home. The house is quiet. Too quiet. Goosebumps creep up his arms and neck as he calls out your name. When no answer comes, he runs up the stairs and finds the bathroom door ajar. Light seeps out under it, along with a small pool of water tainted light pink.
Fine. You’re a little melodramatic. Maybe Jack’s neglect has driven you to regress into your teenage self who also fantasized about this whenever her dad yelled at her.
Once the fourth hour starts, the wine bottle is empty, and you’re so drunk it feels like time has stopped. The tears certainly have. They’ve been replaced by this hollow laugh that echoes through the house while you watch the trashiest TV show you could find.
While the alcohol courses through your veins, your eyes zero in on the women’s lip and cheek fillers. It stands out to you like black ink on white paper.
You wish Jack would’ve been a plastic surgeon instead. You wouldn’t care that he sees women’s naked breasts and gives BBLs on a daily basis if that meant that he was home in time for dinner.
Once you stand up to get a new bottle, you feel all the blood rushing to your head. Your legs are unsteady, and your forehead and nose feel so heavy, like they’re pulling you forward.
You find out just how firm the fridge is when you knock against it.
It’s not like you feel it anyway.
The next bottle of wine is closed with a cork stopper. You’ve seen Jack open this kind of bottle with that metal apparatus that looks like you could find it in a gynecologist’s office. You have no idea how to use it. So you take a knife and start hacking away. You only miss your fingers by pure, dumb luck.
That luck runs out when you try to pop out the cork stopper by hitting the bottom of the wine against the kitchen counter.
What used to be the bottle is now a bunch of shards and a cold, wet feeling seeping through your socks.
You laugh hysterically and drop to your knees, not half as careful as you should be. Something pierces your big toe, but you don’t care.
The front door opens. Jack steps inside. And his eyes widen. If anything, Jack has always had one hell of a timing.
You’re a fucking mess.
“Jackie,” you slur.
You try to get up, but your muscles protest.
“Jesus, what the fuck?” he hisses.
He is by your side in an instant, stepping over the glass carefully. It crunches underneath his boots when he picks you up by your underarms and puts you down on the counter.
“Baby, what the fuck happened?”
You giggle. You fucking love it when he calls you baby.
“Oopsie,” you whisper.
Jack stares at you with disbelief. His fingers catch your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his.
For a second, his mouth opens, and you await the lecture that never comes. Instead, his eyes dart over your face, taking it all in—the smeared makeup, the heat radiating from your cheeks, the glassy, far-away look.
“Are you drunk?” he asks, his voice trembling slightly.
You try to bite back a smile as you reply, “As a skunk.”
He lets go of your chin and takes a step back, running a hand through his hair.
You let yourself slide off the counter, trying to close the distance again.
“Stop,” Jack yells.
His arm snaps forward, pushing you back. For a moment, you stumble. Your back hits the counter, and you look up at Jack with a hurt expression. Then your eyes follow his, and you realize that you almost stepped into the glass. A stupid smile spreads over your face.
Jack’s expression falls.
“Hey,” he says sharply. “What the fuck is wrong with you? What are you doing, huh?”
He grabs you by your biceps and pulls you away from the sharp mess on the floor. You only feel the closeness as his fingers dig into your skin.
“I missed you today,” you murmur dreamily.
Even to you, your own voice sounds far away. Or maybe only to you? You can’t tell.
Jack stares at you, his eyes searching for something. Anything.
“Talk to me,” he demands. “What is going on? Why are you wasted on a fucking Thursday?”
Oh, that one blows.
On a Thursday. Yes, a random Thursday.
You giggle so hard your throat hurts.
“You’re never gonna believe this, but—” As you pause dramatically, Jack’s eyebrow twitches, “—it’s kinda an important Thursday. Like… really important.”
It’s almost visible how the wheels in Jack’s head start turning. They spark, creak, and squeak as he searches for the answer that’s written all over your face in the runny mascara and that look bordering on insanity.
His face falls when the wheels come to a stop.
“Fuck,” he whispers.
As his eyes dart to the calendar pinned to the fridge, you feel your stomach turning.
“Yeah,” you say.
Your mouth feels dry now, and nothing’s quite as funny anymore.
Jack looks at you, but you don’t meet his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
You believe him. That’s the worst part. But it doesn’t matter how sorry he is, because you’re sorrier. To the little girl you once were who thought she’d be happier than her parents ever got to be.
You shift your weight and wince softly.
Jack’s eyes widen.
“Are you hurt?” he asks.
His voice comes out rough.
“No,” you murmur.
Jack pats you down anyway, his hands searching alongside his eyes as he inspects your legs. At the end, he finds a small shard of glass stuck in your big toe.
You're holding onto Jack’s head as he looks at your foot. His ears have grown red.
“You are hurt,” he mumbles. “I—Lemme…”
Torn between another apology and his worry, Jack picks you up. His arms slide under your back and your knees. The room tilts dangerously—you had almost forgotten that the contents of an entire wine bottle were coursing through your veins.
“Rollercoaster,” you whisper.
He shushes you as he carries you to the upstairs bathroom where you keep the first aid kit.
The bright, white light flickers to life and hurts your eyes, making you groan. Jack only glances at you with more concern before he sets you down on the bathroom counter.
“Hold still,” he instructs.
His arms keep you in place for a few seconds, like he is trying to show your body how to keep balance.
“Don’t fall, please,” he adds, a little gentler.
Then he crouches down, grunting a little as his knee pops. Somewhere through the haze of the wine, you remember that he just worked for sixteen hours. But then again, it’s your anniversary, and your empathy for his exhaustion is outweighed by your own misery. By far.
He finds the first aid kit and takes a pair of tweezers before he catches your foot with his other hand.
“It’s not too deep,” he says quietly. “Maybe that’s why you didn’t feel it until you moved.”
Yeah, you think to yourself, that’s definitely why.
“Spoken like the doctor you are,” you answer.
Jack looks up at you for a second, his lips pressed together. He murmurs something you don’t quite catch and then pulls out the shard.
You gasp as the pain shoots from your toe to your knee and pulls up high into your hip.
“Ow, what the—?” you hiss.
Jack keeps your leg still and rubs your shin slightly.
“Sorry,” he mumbles.
“Not for that.”
The air in the room grows cold.
Jack straightens up, and his knee pops again.
“I’m sorry for today, too,” he begins.
He doesn’t get very far because you immediately hold up your hand.
“No,” you bite out sharply.
For a few seconds, you just sit on the counter, your legs swinging slightly. Jack watches, fumbling with his fingers as he searches your face.
“Can I clean your cut, please?” he asks.
You shake your head vehemently.
“It could get infected if I don’t,” he retorts.
You open your mouth to argue, but the words don’t come out. Instead, a wave of nausea hits you.
“’m gonna be sick,” you mumble.
Jack’s eyes widen before his hands land on your waist.
He half-carries, half-drags you to the toilet and makes it just in time as the wine comes back up, tasting ten times as bad as it did when it went down.
“Shit, baby,” Jack curses.
He gathers as much of your hair as he can save and rubs your back as you throw up once, then twice.
It’s all liquid, too, because you haven’t eaten in a few hours—you were planning on having a big dinner with your boyfriend after all, as one does on their anniversary.
As your stomach cramps, you think about the muffins that you ordered, lemon batter and raspberry icing.
The third time your tummy revolts, it’s just dry-heaving.
Spit dribbles down your chin, and your hands tremble. You’re somehow sweating and shaking simultaneously. Jack whispers and shushes, but you don’t want his comfort. You want to keep drinking until you pass out.
“Leave me alone,” you murmur, your hands flailing weakly.
“And let you knock yourself unconscious? No, thank you,” he replies. “You’re so fucking drunk, you’re lucky you haven’t given yourself alcohol poisoning.”
It’s clear he’s aiming for dry and sarcastic, but you hear the fear in his voice.
“Get out,” you rasp.
Your throat might as well be on fire.
“No,” he snaps.
“You don’t care if I crack my head open,” you accuse.
His grip on your arm tightens.
“Hey,” he says sharply, “That’s not true. I care very much.”
You groan and rest your chin on the toilet seat as your head begins to spin again.
“Then why are you never here?”
The silence that follows is only broken by your renewed retching.
Once you’ve emptied your stomach, Jack leaves you by yourself on the bathroom tiles for a few seconds. His eyes keep flickering back to you as he turns on the shower, testing its warmth with the tips of his fingers.
He returns to your side and flushes the toilet for you.
“Can you stand?” he asks.
You’re surprised at just how soft his voice is.
You shake your head. He doesn’t sigh.
Instead, he nods quietly and maneuvers you against the wall.
“Put your arms up, baby,” he instructs quietly.
Piece by piece, he removes your clothes. You feel how his fingers tremble as he unhooks the clasps of your new bra, all black lace and clearly bought for today.
Once you’re down to nothing, he starts undressing, too. He leans his prosthetic against the wall and then manages to get both of you in the shower.
The tiles are cold underneath you, but the warm spray from above keeps you quiet. Jack doesn’t say anything as he sits next to you, his grey curls slowly growing darker as the water hits. He doesn’t reach for you either, but his knee presses against yours.
“You love me?” you whisper.
Jack braces next to you. You feel the tension travel up from where his leg touches yours.
“I do,” he murmurs.
You swallow hard.
“Then why do you never choose me?”
❤︎ just a quick reminder that the best way to support authors on here is to comment and reblog ❤︎ ☆ find my masterlist here ☆
trinity santos is sarcastic, defensive, and determined. but around you, trinity can always let her walls down
wc: 1.2k
cw: making out, smoking/weed, fluff, suggestive content
Trinity Santos has a reputation to uphold.
She’s a woman in the medical field, a person-of-color, and a lesbian.
She needed to constantly prove herself.
At work, she has a persona. It’s easier to be confident and sarcastic when dealing with the craziness of the E.R.
Not many people know about her secret side outside of work.
There’s only two people in the world Trinity can safely say have seen her for who she is.
One was Whitaker. It was hard not to when you lived and worked with the same person.
Besides, one of their first nights living together after Whitaker had moved in the pair had devoted to setting roommate boundaries. That combo’d with far too many glasses of wine had Trinity spilling her guts about her sexuality and defensiveness.
And the other was you.
You fit in Trinity’s life like a puzzle piece.
You broke down her persona at work and created a space where she could be herself. You were her perfect other half.
Whitaker himself saw the transformation in Trinity. He saw how she worked so incredibly hard to prove herself at work contrasted to the way she can finally let her guard down when you’re around.
But truthfully, Whitaker loved living with lesbians.
While his and Trinity’s apartment was very evident of what they could afford as residents, it felt like such a home.
You were bright and eccentric and filled the apartment with feelings reminiscent of growing up with his older brothers.
You decorated their apartment to make sure they had somewhere nice to come home to after their grueling shifts and meal prepped so they always had lunch to bring.
Whitaker even started receiving the same sticky notes with doodles that Trinity does.
It was safe to say you completely transformed the roommates lives.
Trinity had two whole days off for what felt like the first time in forever.
Whitaker was spending the weekend at Amy’s and she had already asked if you wanted to spend the weekend at hers.
You would be waiting for her when she got home from work. Unfortunately, that made the day feel 10x slower and the cases were 10x worse.
She gets off late because of course charting took forever.
When Trinity finally walks through the apartment door, her shoulders sag as she drops her bag.
She could faintly hear your Tame Impala vinyl spinning on the record player you insisted on setting up in the living room.
Dressed in just a big t-shirt and lacy panties, you nod your head to the beat of the song as you stir dinner.
It was already driving Trinity crazy.
Trinity’s eyes fall to the kitchen table where a vase of fresh lilies sit. Her favorite. And they were certainly not here this morning.
“Hi babe!” you greet once you spot your girlfriend.
Exhaustion is written all over her face.
“How was your day?”
Trinity sighs. “Long. Glad it’s over. How was yours?”
You grin before turning back to continue cooking dinner.
“It was so good! I got out of work early and Dennis brought me fresh eggs from the farm,” you pause your ramble to turn around. You bring a spoon of the sauce up to Trinity’s lips. “Need anything?”
“Maybe a little salt?”
And then you’re back to talking about your day, voice loud enough for Trinity to hear with your back turned. “I found a recipe for protein banana chocolate chip muffins that I wanna try for you guys next week. Oh! Remind me to text Amy about seeing If I can get some milk because-“
You’re stop talking when you feel Trinity press against your back and wrap her arms around your stomach.
“Missed you pretty girl,” Trinity mumbles against your shoulder.
You relax in her hold, bringing your hands down to rest on top of hers.
“If you wanted me to stop talking you could’ve just said do,” you muse.
“Never. Just missed you.”
You turn around in her hold and wrap your arms around her neck. Trinity squeezes your hip.
“Two whole days of just us, babe.”
Trinity smiles. “Can’t wait.”
You lean your head into her touch. You feel her lips press gently against your neck. A dangerous game.
“Trin,” you mumble. “Kiss me properly, please.”
“Only because you asked so nicely.”
Her lips press against yours with a certain kind of desperation. Warmth floods your body as Trinity nudges you until your back hits the counter. She ducks down to kiss your jawline.
“Up,” she commands softly.
The counters are cold and when your bare legs hit the surface, you shiver.
But then Trinity’s smooth hands are gripping your ass to pull you flush against her. Her lips find yours immediately.
She kisses you deeply, soft hands digging into the plush of your skin.
Before Trinity can make any further move, you place your hands on your shoulders to gently push her away.
“I’m not having sex with you before you shower,” you start. “You smell like hospital.”
“How romantic,” Trinity sighs.
You slide off the counter. “I gotta finish up dessert anyway.”
Trinity’s heart swells. Of course you wanted to make desert.
She kisses you one final time. “Be back soon.”
True to her word, Trinity appears a short time later. Her hairs wet and she’s changed her hospital scrubs for linen shorts and a tank top.
You loved when she dressed like this. Her full tattoos were on display. You would be able to spend as much time exploring and kissing the ink that danced across her skin.
“Dinners ready,” you inform her as she towel dries her hair.
“You wanna smoke before?”
You grin. “That’s my favorite question.”
Trinity goes ahead to open one of the windows that leads out to the fire escape. You grab your lighter and pre-roll before following her out.
The sun is just setting over their city apartment.
Trinity’s beer opens up with a satisfying hiss. You spark your lighter twice before the flame finally appears.
A friday night always brought plenty of people out. It was great people watching as you smoked.
You stretch your legs out to rest on Trinity’s lap.
She can’t help herself and wraps her cold hands around your ankles. You squeal.
“You’re evil,” you roll your eyes.
You take a few hits of your joint as you listen to the noises below: a car horn, a loud laugh emitting from a group walking by, and one of their neighbors dog barking.
Trinity doesn’t say anything but shoots you a smile as she rubs her thumb against the bare skin.
“You know this might be the perfect night,” you giggle as your hooded eyes meet Trinity’s stormy ones. “Love when we get to do this.”
Trinity shakes her head with a small smile. “You’re just too good for me.”
You frown. She was using her defense mechanisms.
“Not at all. You deserve nothing but love Trinity,” you spoke.
You sit up and scooch forward, scrunching your body to sit parallel to her. Your blunt is still emitting smoke and you’re careful to keep Trinity out of the haze. You nudge her shoulder.
“I mean it Trin,” you start. “You don’t gotta hide around me.”
Trinity takes a long drink of her beer. You want to give her space but at the same time your high is making you feel incredibly physically needy.
Finally, she’s putting her bottle down to interlock her arms with yours. You match it but leaning your head on her shoulder, smiling when Trinity places a long kiss on your forehead.
content warning: MDNI, smut - using sex toys in public (vibrator in a restaurant), oral (reader receiving), sex in a bathroom stall, use of pet names (good girl, baby), trinity being smug as hell, dom!trinity
a/n: my fourth prompt fic! i actually loved how this turned out <3 prompt: sex toys in public/under clothes, trinity santos. not proofread!! lmk about any mistakes
masterlist
20 prompts for 100
The restaurant was packed with people, and you shifted restlessly in your seat across from your girlfriend, trinity santos.
she was looking at you with the most smug expression you’d ever seen on her face, which was saying a lot considering she was the smug at all hours of the day.
you tugged your dress down over your thighs as it rode up again, trying in a desperate attempt to conceal the little pink toy nestled between your thighs, covered only by the thin pair of panties that were already soaked.
“what is it? something wrong?” trinity asked innocently, reaching for her phone and pressing a button, watching proudly as you yelped suddenly.
“trin! oh my god, turn it down.” you gasped sitting up straight and flushing pink. “i thought-“ your breath hitched. “we didn’t want anyone to see.”
trinity’s expression turned serious as she leaned forward, both elbows on the table. “i don’t want anyone to see. no one else gets to see my girl feeling as good as i can make her. that’s why you have to be a good girl. mkay?” she said lowly. you met her gaze with wide eyes and a clumsy nod. the protectiveness and the strong buzz of the vibrator made your pussy clench, another gush of arousal soaking the cotton between your thighs.
the intimate moment and eye contact broke as a waitress came over with your drinks. you both jumped apart as she spoke.
“hey guys. sorry about the wait up with the drinks! are you ready to order?” she asked politely, placing the glasses down and pulling out a notepad and pen.
“yeah, i think we are.” trinity cleared her throat, flashing you a teasing smile. she spoke to the waitress effortlessly and clearly, giving her a kind smile.
“what are you getting?” she turned to you, batting her eyelids in a way that made you want to jump across the table and kill her.
you began to order, pointing shakily to the menu. you thought that maybe you could get away with ordering normally, but that hope was shattered the moment you felt the vibrator get turned up to the max setting.
you jolted, squeaking suddenly. the waitress snapped her head up at you with concern. “are you okay, miss?” she frowned. you quickly nodded, kicking your girlfriends leg under the table.
“yeah, i’m okay. a- and that will be it. thank you!” you quickly reassured her, feeling your ears turn red from embarrassment.
she nodded before walking away with a confused look on her face.
once you two were safely alone again, you swatted trinity’s arm. “turn it down, now!” you demanded, thighs squeezing tightly together. the pleasure was growing overwhelming at this point. you knew you wouldn’t last must longer if it kept on this intensity, and you didn’t necessarily want to have an orgasm where everyone could see you.
“please, trin. i can’t do it baby. i’m gonna- fuck.” you pleaded, hand reaching down between your thighs.
trinity’s expression didn’t falter for a few long moments, but she eventually sighed and reached for her phone. “fine. but on one condition.”
that’s how you ended up in a cramped bathroom stall, your girlfriend between your legs, her hair in one hand, and the other over your own mouth. but that didn’t exactly silence you the way you hoped it would.
“quiet! i’ll have to stop if you don’t stop.” trinity murmured against your dripping cunt, her hand squeezing your thigh.
“i’m sorry. i’m trying.” you apologised against your palm, eyes squeezing shut as trinity licked at your throbbing overstimulated clit.
you didn’t have to tell her for her to know you were about to cum. she had memorised every part of you, especially the part that brought you the most pleasure.
you threw your head back against the wall as trinity sucked on your clit and slipped her middle and ring finger into your gushing cunt. it only took a few moments for your thighs to squeeze down around her head, your orgasm crushing over you more intense than it ever had before.
by the time you’d come to and released your girlfriends hair from the tight grip you were holding, she was grinning up at you and sucking her fingers clean.
“we better go back out and eat some real food now, hmm?” she teased, lifting herself up to press a wet kiss to your parted lips.
warnings/note: angst with happy ending. pregnancy. assault (not SA). Michael 'self sabotaging' Robinavitch. Heather is your bestie. Written to fulfill a request.
You rolled your shoulders trying to fight off the weight of the exhaustion that had been dragging at you for weeks. Your current patient wasn’t helping.
“I don’t care what you say, I need something stronger!” The man on the bed shouted. “My back is killing me!”
You sighed checking his chart one more time and glanced at Heather Collins who was treating the patient with you.
“Mr. Davidson, I understand you’re in pain, but your tests don’t indicate any acute injury. We can prescribe a non-narcotic pain reliever and I strongly recommend you follow up with a pain management clinic,” she said, calm despite her growing annoyance.
His face twisted, red and angry. “This is bullshit. You think I’m some junkie?”
“That is not what she said, sir.” You kept your voice even despite the throbbing behind your eyes. “But we can’t in good conscience—”
“Fuck this shit. I’ll find a doctor who isn’t a bitch,” he spat, sliding off the table, causing you and Heather to back up quickly.
“Security!” Heather called.
Ahmad appeared at the edge of the curtain with practiced efficiency. He gave you a nod as he steered the man out of the room and toward the exit, obscenities trailing him down the hall.
“Well, that was fun,” you murmured to Heather and she laughed. The two of you had been instant friends since the day you started at the Pitt together.
You stepped out of the exam room, and the world tilted abruptly. The floor seemed to rise and fall beneath your feet like you were on the deck of a ship. Nausea swamped you as you grasped at the wall, your vision spotting at the edges.
Heather’s hand caught your elbow. “Woah, hey. Are you okay?” Her eyes narrowed as she ran them over your face. “You look like hell.”
“I’m fine.” The lie came automatically, but your knees wobbled, giving you away.
“Bullshit. Sit.” She guided you to a nearby stool, her grip gentle but firm. “Talk to me. How long has this been going on?”
You massaged your temples as the dizziness slowly receded. “On and off for weeks. It’s nothing. I’m just tired.”
“Specifics, doctor. What symptoms besides fatigue?”
Her professional tone made you straighten. “Occasional nausea. Dizziness when I stand or move too quickly. Headaches. Queasiness.” Saying it all at once made it sound worse than you’d been admitting to yourself.
Heather’s brows rose. “No fever?”
“No. No fever.”
Her lips curved into a knowing smile. “When was your last period?”
The question made your blood run cold. “I…I don’t know. My IUD makes them irregular. I don’t really keep track.”
“Honey,” Heather said, her tone softening. “I think you might be pregnant.”
You made a short, dismissive sound. “Not possible. I just told you I have an IUD.”
“Which are only 99% effective if they’re placed correctly. When’s the last time you had the placement checked?”
You shook your head. “No. There’s no way.”
But something cold and heavy settled in your stomach. You’d been ignoring the subtle changes in your body. The tenderness in your breasts. How none of your clothes seemed to fit right anymore. The exhaustion that sleep couldn’t touch.
Heather tilted her head studying you. “Let me check you out. Just to be sure.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat and rubbed your trembling hands along your thighs. “I can’t just leave the floor.”
“Dana can cover. I’ll tell her you’re dehydrated and need fluids. It’s not even a lie.” She squeezed your hand. “You need to know, one way or the other.”
Fear and hope warred inside you. “Robby will notice I’m gone.”
“Let me worry about Robby.” She stood, pulling you gently to your feet. “Wait here.”
You watched her approach the hub, speaking quietly to Dana. Their eyes flicked toward you, Dana’s widening slightly. She nodded, determination crossing her face.
Heather returned, taking your arm. “Dana’s got Robby covered. Come on, let’s use the on-call room.”
The short walk felt like miles. You sank onto the narrow bed, hands still trembling.
“Sleeve up,” Heather ordered, setting up an IV stand. “You’re definitely dehydrated and if you’ve been nauseous, some Zofran won’t hurt.”
You pushed up your sleeve watching as she expertly slid the needle into your vein. The cool rush of fluids brought immediate relief you hadn’t realized you needed.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, disappearing out the door.
Alone, you pressed your palms into your thighs. This couldn’t be happening. Jack and Robby had made it very clear that children weren’t on their radar anytime a screaming brat ran through the ED or a sick toddler puked on an unlucky resident. They were both too dedicated to their careers to think about bringing a baby into the situation. You’d buried your own desires, not wanting to upset the delicate balance of your relationship.
The door opened as Heather returned, wheeling a portable ultrasound machine. Your stomach rolled.
“Lie down. Lift your top,” she instructed, as she squeezed gel unto the wand.
The cold gel made you flinch, but not as much as the image on the screen. There in black and white was an unmistakable shape. A head. Tiny arms. Legs that kicked as you watched.
“Oh my god,” you whispered, the room spinning despite you lying flat.
She adjusted the wand, taking measurements. “Based on size…thirteen weeks and three days, give or take.”
Thirteen weeks. Your breath caught. “That’s…”
“Second Trimester. Yes.” Heather’s eyes were gentle but serious. “Too late for Mifepristone.”
She pressed something and a wooshing noise filled the room. You gasped looking between her and the screen. Your baby’s heartbeat, quick and strong. Tears flooded your eyes. Another button and a moment later she handed you three grainy images of your baby.
The room quieted as she wiped the gel from your stomach and the wand.
You stared at the pictures and something inside you broke. Tears spilled over, then sobs that shook your entire body. You pressed a hand over your mouth, trying to contain the sound.
“I always wanted—” Your voice broke and you sucked in a breath. “I always wanted a baby but I never told them. Never told Robby or Jack. I thought it would be a deal breaker. That it would be the one thing that was too much.”
Heather sat beside you, her hand warm on your arm.
You made a wounded noise. “They’re going to think that I did this on purpose. That I lied about the IUD. They’re going to hate me.” You gasped between sobs. “They don’t need me, Heather. They’ve got each other. They were fine before I came along, and they’ll be fine after I’m gone.”
The fears you’d been holding back poured out in a torrent. How they’d been together for years before you came along. How carefully you’d been treading, never wanting to ask for too much, never wanting to upset the balance.
“Breathe,” Heather interrupted, her voice firm. “You need to breathe. For the baby’s sake if nothing else.”
Your hand moved to your abdomen. A baby. There was a baby growing inside of you.
“I need to remove the IUD. Continuing pregnancy with it in place increases the risk of miscarriage and preterm labor.”
You nodded numbly, unable to form words.
“It’ll be okay,” she promised though you weren’t sure that was promise she could keep. “One step at a time.”
You closed your eyes, feeling the tears dry tacky on your cheeks. One step at a time. First the IUD. Then telling Jack and Robby. Then everything else.
Heather slipped out of the on-call room, pulling the door shut quietly behind her. She’d left you resting with the IV dripping into your arm and a juice box in your hand. Your crying certainly hadn’t helped your hydration. She turned to head back to the floor and nearly collided with a solid chest in black scrubs.
“Collins.” Robby’s voice was clipped, his jaw set in that familiar tight line it got when he was trying to hold onto his temper. He glanced at the closed door behind her then back to her face. “Where the fuck have the two of you been? You need to be on the floor. Tell her to get her ass back to work. She’s been slacking all day.
She straightened, meeting his gaze directly. Years of working with this man had taught her when to yield and when to stand firm. This moment required the latter. You deserved the latter.
“With all due respect, Robby, she hasn’t been slacking. She’s been pushing through symptoms that would have sent most people home.” She kept her voice level, professional. “She nearly fainted. I’m treating her for dehydration.”
The change in Robby was immediate. The anger drained from his face, leaving behind a pallor that made the lines around his eyes more pronounced. His hand moved reflexively toward the door, then dropped back to his side.
“What? Is she okay?” The gruffness remained in his voice, but now it was concerned rather than irritated. “Where is she? Is she in there?”
“Yes. She’s receiving IV fluids. Once the infusion is done, she’ll be back.” Heather softened her tone. “She didn’t want to worry you.”
Something flickered across his face she couldn’t read. Hurt perhaps or frustration. “She should have said something. I would’ve—”
The shout of a medic as they rolled a patient through the door interrupted him. His head snapped toward the sound, already turning to respond.
“Shit. Okay.” He ran a hand through his hair, torn between duty and desire. “Just take care of her,” he conceded before rushing toward the commotion.
Heather watched him go, her heart heavy with the knowledge of what you were facing, of what you had yet to tell them. She only hoped they didn’t break your heart.
Half an hour later you were back on the floor. The fluids and Zofran had banished the worst of your symptoms, leaving behind an anxiety that clawed at your insides. The weight of the ultrasound images felt like a brick in your pocket. You’d tucked them into your scrubs, wanting to keep them close but unable to look at them again.
You moved through the ED treating patients with mechanical efficiency while taking great care to avoid Robby’s path. When you heard his voice approaching, you ducked into a room or lingered with your patients. Dana gave you concerned looks but didn’t ask you any questions. She handed you water any time you took a break at the hub.
But the Pitt simply wasn’t big enough to avoid him forever. You were standing at the counter updating a chart when you felt him approach, sensed the familiar presence at your back before he spoke.
“Collins said you were sick.” His voice was carefully neutral.
You kept your eyes on the tablet. “I’m fine now.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“Well, I am.” You completed your notes and moved to step around him.
His hand caught your elbow, not tight enough to hurt but firm enough to stop you. “We need to talk.”
Before you could protest, he steered you to the lounge, closing the door behind you. The privacy made your heart race with dread. You weren’t ready. Not yet. Not here.
Robby crossed his arms studying you. “What is going on?”
“Nothing. I was dehydrated. Heather helped. I’m fine now.” The clipped sentences came out harsher than you’d intended but you were trying not to hyperventilate.
“Bullshit.” He stepped closer. “You’ve been avoiding me all day. Dana’s running interference. Something happened and for some reason I’m the last to know about it.”
You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. “I’m handling it.”
“Handling what?” When you didn’t answer, he ran a hand down his face. “Whatever it is we can figure it out. But I can’t help if you won’t tell me what’s wrong.”
The concern in his voice weakened your resolve to wait until you could talk to them both together. But you couldn’t do this with him in doctor mode. You just needed your Michael for a moment. “I need to talk to you, but as my boyfriend, not my attending.”
His expression hardened instantly. He stepped back putting distance between you. “No. We do not do that here. We walk through those doors and I am no longer your boyfriend. I am Chief Attending Robinavitch. You know that.” His eyes, usually so warm, had gone flat. “Do you understand?”
Each word landed like a slap. You knew the rules, knew what you’d agreed to when you started dating them, but never had he wielded them so cruelly. Never had he chastised you like a child. A cold numbness spread through you as you straightened, shoulders squaring.
“Yes, sir, Dr. Robinavitch. I apologize.”
Something flickered in his eyes at your formal tone, regret maybe, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. He gestured toward the door.
“Get your damned head on straight. No more cat and mouse games. We have patients waiting.”
You nodded once and slipped past him, careful not to touch. The door clicked shut behind you.
Robby stood alone in the empty room, staring at the space where you had been. The fear that had been building all day coiled tighter in his stomach. Something was wrong, something important enough to make you risk breaking the boundaries you’d always respected. And instead of listening he’d shut you down.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He pressed his palms against his eyes. You’d been hiding something from him and Jack for weeks, but it didn’t seem to be anything serious. Jack didn’t seem bothered by it but it was driving Robby insane. This was how it started. The pulling away. The secrets. The careful distance. He’d seen enough relationships end to know the signs. Somehow, he’d lost you. Or was losing you. And the thought that you might be planning to leave him, to leave both him and Jack, terrified him more than any trauma that had ever come through the ED doors.
He was afraid if he let you speak, you’d tell him you were done. That this was over and just leave you the fuck alone please. But if that was the problem, he was only delaying the inevitable, wasn’t he? Instead of running after you, instead of apologizing and asking you what you wanted to tell him, he followed you out, slipping the mask of Dr. Robinavitch firmly back in place. The ED needed him. Patients needed him. And if there was one thing he knew it was how to bury personal pain beneath professional obligation.
As the shift dragged toward its end, Robby found himself watching you across the ED floor. Your eyes were red, your movements jerky as you finished your charting. Every time he tried to approach, some new emergency pulled him away. The universe seemed determined to keep you two apart, and his frustration mounted with each passing hour.
He caught glimpses of you between patients, your hands trembling as you adjusted an IV, your lips pressed together as you closed your eyes and just breathed when you thought no one was looking. Then you’d shake it off and get back to work. Something was wrong. Something beyond dehydration, beyond the usual exhaustion of a long shift.
When he finally cleared his last case, he spotted you huddled with Heather by the supply closet. Your voices were too low to hear but your body language was screaming distress. You wiped your eyes quickly when a nurse walked by, straightening your spine. Your practiced mask of professionalism slid back into place, but Robby had seen the cracks.
You disappeared down the hall away from him and he sighed. The frustration that had been simmering all day boiled over into something else, something darker, a gnawing fear that stole the breath from his lungs. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was losing you, that whatever you’d tried to tell him earlier was the beginning of the end.
Dana looked up as he approached the hub. “I need some air,” he said, voice rougher than he intended. “Send Jack up when he gets here.”
“Sure thing, chief.”
Robby took the stairs two at a time, the physical exertion distracting him from the thoughts circling his mind. The door to the roof slammed behind him, the sound echoing. He paced restlessly, hands jammed in his pockets, replaying the moment in the lounge over and over. The hurt in your eyes when he’d shut you down. They way you’d withdrawn, replaced by the perfect, distant resident you’d been on your first rotation in the ED.
He’d fucked up. He knew he’d fucked up. But the rules of your relationship had always been clear. Nothing personal in the workplace. It was the only way to maintain authority, to ensure the fair treatment of all the residents.
So why did it feel so wrong today?
The roof door creaked open behind him. Jack stood in the opening, bag still on his shoulder.
“Dana said you needed me.” Jack approached cautiously running his gaze over Robby. “What’s up?”
Robby turned to face him. “You talk to her at all today?”
No need to specify who. There was only one ‘her’ that would put that expression on Robby’s face.
Jack shook his head. “Didn’t see her before I came up.” His eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?”
“Something’s wrong. She’s been off all day. Collins had her on an IV for dehydration but there’s more—”
“What a minute,” Jack said cutting him off. “She was bad enough she needed IV fluids and neither of you thought to call me? What the fuck, Mike?”
Robby sighed and ran a hand down his face. “It’s been a shit day. I’m sorry. When I tried to get more out of her, she told me she wanted to talk to her boyfriend not her attending.”
“At work?” Jack’s eyebrows rose. He knew how seriously you took the boundaries. You were the one that demanded them in the first place.
“Yeah. And when I reminded her about the rules, she just shut down.” Robby resumed pacing. “I think she’s planning to leave us.”
“Whoa, Mikey. That’s a hell of a leap.” Jack crossed his arms. “Why would you jump to that conclusion?”
“She’s been distant for weeks. Tired. Distracted. And today she looked like she was crying.” Robby raked a hand through his hair. “I’ve seen this before, Jack. This is how it starts.”
“How what starts?”
“The end. People get tired of the complications. Of sharing. Of the schedules and the rules. They want normal relationships, not whatever the hell this is.”
Jack watched him wear a path in the roof. “Did you at least ask what she wanted to talk about before you reminded her of the rules?”
Robby’s jaw clenched. “No. I shut it down.”
“You shut it down how?” Jack asked in a cool voice.
“I told her that once we came to work, I was her boss. That was all.”
His teeth clenched. “She tried to tell you something important and you told her to shut up because you’re her boss.”
“I didn’t tell her to shut up. I just—”
“Bullshit.” Jack stepped closer, forcing Robby to stop pacing. “That’s exactly what you did. You might not have said the words but that’s what you did when you told someone, our someone, who was clearly struggling that the rules were more important.”
Robby’s face hardened. “You don’t get to lecture me about—”
“The fuck I don’t,” Jack cut him off, his voice hard. “She never, and I mean never, crosses those lines. In all the time we’ve been together, have you ever known her to break that rule?”
Robby’s anger deflated in the face of that question, leaving behind the fear he’d been trying to mask. “No.”
“So maybe, just maybe whatever she needed to tell you was important enough to risk it.” Jack’s expression softened slightly. “Did you consider that?”
Robby closed his eyes, shoulders slumping. “Fuck.”
“Yeah.” Jack stepped closer, putting a hand on Robby’s shoulder. “Look, clearly something is going on with her, but jumping to conclusions isn’t helping anyone. We need to talk to her, together preferably, and find out what’s actually happening.”
“If she’ll even talk to me.”
“She will,” he assured. “She loves you even when you’re being an asshole.”
A ghost of a smile curled Robby’s lips.
Jack squeezed his shoulder before letting go. “Come on. Let’s go find her.”
Robby nodded and they moved toward the door, unaware that in the minutes they’d spent on the roof, everything had already changed.
You handed off your last patient to Parker Ellis. Her sharp eyes took in your exhaustion with concern as you relayed the pertinent details of the patient in Three. Your voice sounded weak to your own ears. All you wanted was to go home, curl into a ball and process the enormity of the change your life was about to have.
“You look like hell,” Parker said, not unkindly. “You okay?”
“Yeah, just tired.”
She nodded once. “Okay. I got this. Go home before you fall over.”
Normally you’d wait for an official dismissal from Robby that day shift was done. But today wasn’t normal. Today you were pregnant, exhausted, and still stinging from your boyfriend’s dismissal. No, your Chief Attending’s dismissal. It was a distinction you wouldn’t forget again. You collected your belongings from your locker, shrugged on your jacket and headed toward the bay doors. It was a longer walk to the street from there, but you just wanted to get out of here.
Dana intercepted you in the hall. “Hey, you heading out?”
You adjusted your bag on your shoulder. “Yeah. Parker’s taken over my patients.”
Her eyes searched your face. “Aren’t you going to wait for Robby and Jack to come back down?”
The thought of facing Robby after his earlier rejection or explaining to Jack why—No. You just couldn’t. Not right now.
“I think they’d probably be happier if I didn’t.” The words came out sounding more depressed than you’d intended. “I’ll see you later, Dana.”
She hesitated, looking like she wanted to say more, but nodded. “Take care, doc.”
You stepped into the evening air. Your hand drifted back to your abdomen as you walked. Thirteen weeks. A baby with arms and legs and a beating heart growing inside you without your knowledge. A baby created with the two men you loved. Men who had never indicated the slightest inclination toward children of their own. Men who might resent you for complicating their lives.
The fear felt like a weight in your chest. What if they thought you’d done this deliberately? That you’d tricked them somehow? What if this was the thing that finally proved you didn’t have a place with them? That you didn’t belong in their marriage? You’d always felt like an addition rather than an equal. What if this baby, instead of bringing you closer, was the thing that pushed you out entirely?
Lost in those spiraling thoughts, you barely registered the footsteps behind you until they quickened. A sense of unease made you turn, but too late. Hands grabbed you from behind. Large, powerful hands that spun you around and slammed you against the brick wall of the hospital.
Your head cracked against the rough surface, vision swimming with bursts of white light. Through the haze you recognized the face inches from yours. Davidson, the patient from earlier. His pupils were blown wide as he snarled at you with bared teeth.
“Think you’re better than me, bitch?” One forearm pressed against your throat as he slammed your head back into the wall again. “Too good to give me what I need?”
“Can’t breathe,” you forced out past the constricting hold.
His other hand punched your ribs. Pain exploded through your torso and your arms wrapped around your stomach. You twisted, bringing your knee up between his legs. He doubled over with a shout, loosening his grip just enough for you to break free. You managed two stumbling steps before he grabbed the back of your neck.
“Fucking bitch!” he screamed, throwing you to the ground.
Your body hit the pavement hard, but you curled around your midsection, protecting it as best you could. Your hips and shoulder took the brunt of the impact, skull bouncing off the concrete. Through blurring vision you could see the lit entrance of the bay not fifty yards away. So close. Help was so close.
His foot connected with your back, once, twice. Each kick sent waves of agony through you but you maintained your protective curl. Darkness began to creep in from the edges of your vision. Blood trickled warm and sticky down your face. In the distance you heard shouting, feet running. Too late, you thought.
Your last conscious thoughts weren’t of the pain or the danger, but of the baby.
Then darkness claimed you entirely.
Jack and Robby stepped off the elevator and into the lobby. Their eyes scanned the ED but there was no sign of you.
Robby strode over to Dana, Jack half a step behind. “Where is she?” he asked Dana.
Dana looked at him over the top of her glasses, expression pinched. “She left already. About five minutes ago.”
“Shit.” Robby’s hand tightened on the counter edge. “Shit.”
Jack touched Robby’s shoulder, a silent signal to dial back. “Thank you, Dana. We’ll catch up with her at—”
The ambulance bay doors slid open and two paramedics rushed in, carrying rather than wheeling a body. Crimson droplets marked their frantic path across the tiles. “We need help here!” one shouted. “Found her in the parking lot. Nearly ran her over with the rig.”
Robby was moving before conscious thought, medical training taking over. “Trauma One’s open,” he directed, pointing to the bay. Jack was already reaching for gloves, calling for a trauma team.
The paramedics laid the victim on the bed, and for one moment, neither man recognized her. Blood obscured the features and her body was curled inward. Then Robby turned your head and the world stopped spinning.
“Oh god.” The words were breathless, quiet. “Jack!” he yelled, panic twisting his voice.
Jack’s face drained of color as he recognized you through the trauma. “What happened?” he demanded turning to the paramedic even as his hands moved automatically to assess your injuries. “What the fuck happened?”
“She was only about fifty yards from the bay. Witnesses said some guy was kicking her when they spotted them. He ran when they shouted and then we came along,” the medic explained.
Robby’s training warred with the panic clawing at his chest. Neither Jack nor he should be treating you but they were the only attendings present. He trusted his residents but not with this. Not with you. The room swarmed with people connecting monitors and hanging fluids.
“Possible skull fracture,” Robby announced, fingers gently probing your head. “Multiple contusions to face and torso.” His voice remained steady even as his insides twisted with rage and terror.
Jack checked your abdomen, his movements precise despite the tremor in his hands. “Possible internal bleeding. Abdomen’s rigid. We need an ultrasound.”
Robby cut away your scrub top, revealing skin already mottling with bruises. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered cataloging each mark with growing fury.
A tech arrived with the ultrasound machine just as Heather arrived and broke through the circle surrounding the bed. “She’s pregnant!” she yelled over the chaos.
The room froze. Robby’s hands stilled and Jack’s head snapped up, eyes widening in shock.
“What did you say?” Robby’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“She’s pregnant,” Heather repeated trying to catch her breath from her run across the department when Dana had told her what happened. “Thirteen weeks. I did the ultrasound myself this morning.”
Jack’s gaze hardened as he turned to Robby, understanding dawning on his face. The earlier confrontation, your attempt to speak with your boyfriend rather than your attending all sharpened into terrible clarity.
“Why the hell didn’t she say anything? Why keep it secret?” Robby demanded, his mask slipping to reveal raw hurt beneath. His hands went back to assessing, now aware they had two lives to save instead of one.
“She just found out today. She was terrified to tell you.”
Jack looked stricken. “Terrified? Of us?” He shook it off as he ran the ultrasound over your abdomen. There was no active bleeding around the baby, whose heartbeat registered strong despite the trauma. Tears welled in his eyes and he blinked them away.
Your condition, however, began to deteriorate rapidly.
“BPs dropping,” a nurse called out. “Pulse is thready.”
“She needs blood,” Jack ordered, checking the monitor. “Type and cross four units.”
“CTs ready for her,” a voice announced from the doorway.
“Let’s move,” Robby directed. Jack and he fell into step beside you.
“We’re here,” Robby promised as the elevator climbed.
“We’re right here. We’re not going anywhere,” Jack promised though he didn’t know if you could hear him.
The surgical waiting room was cold, sterile, and thankfully mostly empty at this time of day. Robby sat with his elbows on his knees, head bowed. Jack paced the perimeter. Dana sat in the corner, arms crossed as she tapped her foot. Heather methodically shredded a paper cup. None of them spoke. There was nothing to say that wouldn’t crack the fragile composure they all maintained.
The clock on the wall ticked past the first hour of surgery. Dana cleared her throat. “She tried to protect the baby. The paramedics said her body was curled around her abdomen when they found her. Even unconscious she was trying to shield it.”
Jack raked a hand through his hair and dropped into the seat beside Robby. He looked at Heather. “You said she was scared to tell us. Why?”
Heather looked up from the remains of her cup, uncertainty flickering across her face. “I’m not sure—”
“Please.” Jack’s voice cracked. “I need to understand.”
She glanced toward Robby who had raised his head at Jack’s question. “She confided in me as her friend. It’s not really my place.”
“She might not make it through this.” Robby’s words were rough, broken. “Please just tell us.”
Heather hesitated, loyalty warring with the gravity of the situation. The knowledge that they might lose you.
“When she left,” Dana said quietly, “I asked if she wanted to wait for both of you. She said ‘I think they’d probably be happier if I didn’t’.”
Robby flinched and Jack’s hands curled into fists. “She said that?” Jack asked, voice barely audible.
She nodded. “She looked defeated. Like she’d already resigned herself to some inevitable outcome.”
Heather sighed, setting aside the shredded cup. The unspoken permission in Dana’s revelation seemed to loosen her resolve.
“She was terrified,” Heather repeated her earlier words, looking between the two men. “When I did the ultrasound, when she saw the baby for the first time, she broke down completely. Not because she didn’t want it. She did, desperately. But she was convinced it would be the thing that finally pushed you both away.”
“But why?” Robby asked, genuine confusion in his voice. “Why would she think that?”
Heather shrugged. “Because children weren’t part of your plan together. She was afraid that you’d think she’d done it on purpose, that she’d lied about the IUD. That you’d think she’d manipulated you somehow by getting pregnant.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Jack muttered, running a hand over his face. “It takes three to tango in our case. We’re all responsible.”
“I don’t think she was thinking very rationally, Jack,” Heather continued. “She kept saying you’d hate her for wanting a baby, for complicating your lives. She’s always felt like an addition to your relationship rather than an equal part of it.”
Robby looked stricken. “She told you that? That she wasn’t part of this?”
Heather closed her eyes and sighed. When she opened them again, she looked between the two of them. “You two were married before she ever came into the picture. She loves both of you fiercely but she’s always…” She rubbed a hand across her forehead. “Her exact words to me today were ‘They don’t need me. They have each other. They were fine before I came along, and they’ll be fine after I’m gone’.”
“Jesus,” Jack whispered.
Robby pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, shoulders hunched. The waiting room fell silent again as the two men contemplated your best friend’s words.
“We did this,” Robby said softly, not looking up. “We made her feel temporary.”
Jack didn’t argue. “I thought she knew. I thought she understood that what we have, the three of us, it’s permanent for me. That she’s not…optional.”
“But did we ever tell her that?” Robby finally looked up, eyes red-rimmed with unshed tears. “We never fucking told her that she’s necessary. That she’s the one that made us complete.”
Dana and Heather exchanged a glance, a silent acknowledgement that they were witnessing something intensely private. They moved to the door to give the men space to process.
As they reached the doorway, Emery Walsh stepped into the room, her face carefully neutral. Jack and Robby were on their feet in an instant.
Consciousness returned in waves, gentle at first, barely there, then receding before surging back stronger. You drifted through layers of awareness, vaguely registering the ticking of an IV pump, the roughness of the hospital sheets, then a dull throb that seemed to encompass your entire body.
When your eyes finally fluttered open, the room was dimly lit. It took a minute for your vision to focus on the two figures on the small couch against the wall. Jack and Robby, both asleep, leaned against each other. Robby’s head rested on Jack’s shoulder while Jack’s cheek pressed against Robby’s hair.
They were dressed in their scrubs and cargos. Both of their faces carried tension even in sleep. The sight of them brought an overwhelming sudden surge of emotion. The weight of the day just becoming too much. You turned away from them, curling on your side as much as the IV lines and monitors would allow. A sob rose in your throat and you pressed your face into the pillow trying to muffle the sound. But the pain in your ribs made it impossible to contain and a broken cry escaped your lips.
The sound roused them instantly. There was a rustle of movement then hurried footsteps approaching from both sides. Warm hands touched your shoulders, your head, gentle but urgent.
“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” Jack’s voice came from your right, raspy with sleep but alert with concern. “We’re here.”
“Can you look at us?” Robby asked from your left, his hand finding yours among the sheets. “Please, sweetheart.”
You turned back slowly, wincing at the pain that radiated from your head with the movement. Their faces hovered above you, etched with worry and relief in equal measure. Jack’s thumb gently wiped a tear from your cheek, careful of the bruising.
“Are you in pain?” he asked, already reaching for the call button. “I’ll get the nurse, they can give you something.”
“Yes,” you whispered then shook your head slightly. “No. I don’t know.” Your head was still foggy, fatigue clinging to it with desperate claws.
“Well, that’s helpful,” Robby said with a half-smile and more than a tinge of his usual sarcasm.
You flinched, the words landing on the still raw wounds from earlier. Instantly, his face crumpled with regret, his grip on your hand tightening.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “God, I’m so fucking sorry. That was—” He broke off and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for everything. For shutting you down when you needed to talk to me. For making you feel like you couldn’t tell us everything. I thought you were done with us. That you were leaving and I couldn’t bear to hear it.” His hand trembled in yours. “I’ve never been so scared in my life. Not until they brought you in covered with blood.”
You stared at him, struggling to reconcile this vulnerable confession with the man who had coldly dismissed you hours earlier. “You’re an idiot,” you finally said, your voice weak but certain.
Jack let out a strangled laugh. “She’s right. You are.”
“So are both of you if you think I’m going to argue with a woman who had a hole drilled in her skull.”
“A what?” Your hand flew to your head, encountering bandages where hair should be.
“Small burr hole,” Jack explained. “You had an epidural hematoma. They had to relieve the pressure.” His hand covered yours, guiding it away from the bandages. “You’re going to be fine. Full recovery expected.”
Your eyes went wide as fear swamped you. “What about the baby? I forgot about the baby. How could I for—”
“The baby’s fine,” Jack assured, cutting you off. “Strong heartbeat throughout. They’ll be monitoring closely but so far everything looks normal.”
Your hands flew to your belly. “When he was kicking me, I thought for sure that I’d lost it.”
“Doctors said you did everything right,” Robby said, his voice thick with emotion. “The way you curled around your stomach protected the baby from the worst of it. You were unconscious and still trying to keep it safe.”
“Do you know who did this, sweetheart?” Jack asked, tone darkening.
“Davidson.” You closed your eyes, the memory of his rage filled face flashing behind your lids. “The patient from this morning. Ahmad had to escort him out when Heather and I wouldn’t give him narcotics.”
A muscle twitched in Robby’s jaw. “The police will want to speak to you, but that’s not what matters now. You do. You and the baby.”
“I didn’t plan this,” you said suddenly, the fear that had been haunting you spilling out. “I wasn’t trying to trap you or anything.”
“We know,” Jack said softly. “Heather told us you just found out and that you were scared to tell us.”
“We thought we were too old for babies,” Robby admitted. “Set in our ways. Too busy with the hospital.”
Jack’s thumb made small circles on your skin. “Turns out we were just waiting for the right reason. The right person to have one with.”
“You’re not mad?” The question came out small, uncertain.
“Mad?” Robby shook his head. “Why would we be angry about getting something we didn’t even know we wanted until it was almost taken away?” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “We’re thrilled. Terrified, but thrilled.”
“Why didn’t you tell us you wanted children, baby?” Jack asked, a hint of hurt in his tone. “Why keep that from us? Did you really think we’d love you less for wanting a family?”
You closed your eyes feeling fresh tears leak from beneath your lids. “I thought I was replaceable. The new addition to something that was already perfect without me. I was afraid to ask for more, to need more than what you were already giving.”
“Look at me,” Robby said with such intensity that your eyes opened automatically. “You are not replaceable. You never were. You’re the piece that made us whole, not an afterthought.”
Jack nodded, his hand finding yours. “We’re forever, the three of us.”
“Four now,” Robby interjected, his hand finding your abdomen.
“There’s a lot to talk about, to figure out,” Jack said.
“Later,” you murmured, exhaustion swamping you again. “Stay.”
They moved chairs to either side of the bed so they could each hold one of your hands. As sleep reclaimed you, their quiet voices continued, discussing shifts and schedules, making places to ensure one of them would always be with you. You drifted off secure in the knowledge that you were an essential part of the whole. Equal. Necessary. Loved.
SUMMARY: Jack is that stage in life where a day off can never really be a day off. He always finds something that needs fixing, and as his wife, you’ve grown accustomed to that. You don’t expect him to be so clumsy at it, and you don’t expect to get hurt helping him when the doctor becomes the patient.
NOTES: Injuries (laceration on the arm, fractured ankle), household accidents, mentions of blood, medical setting, established marriage, very sweet and selfless Jack, hurt/comfort vibes.
REQUESTED BY: @dillydallyy
NAVIGATION | PITT MASTERLIST | KO-FI
The rhythmic, heavy thud of the mallet against wood had been echoing through the house for the better part of an hour. Jack was upstairs on the landing, finally tackling the squeaky floorboard that had been driving you mad for weeks. You were down in the kitchen, enjoying the quiet weekend and waiting for the kettle to boil so you could bring him a cup of tea.
The comforting routine shattered in an instant. A sudden, metallic crunch echoed down the stairs, followed by a heavy thud and a sharp, choked gasp of pure agony. The silence that immediately followed was heavy and terrifying.
"Jack?" you called out, your heart leaping into your throat. There was no answer, just the sound of low, ragged breathing. Dropping the mug onto the counter, you bolted up the stairs, your socks slipping slightly on the carpet as you rounded the corner to the landing.
Jack had collapsed against the wall, his face entirely drained of colour and slick with a sudden, cold sweat. His eyes were clamped shut, and his right hand was wrapped desperately around his left forearm. Dark, thick blood was already spilling through his fingers, pooling rapidly on the pale timber he had just been prying up.
"Fuck, Jack," you breathed, dropping to your knees beside him. The sheer volume of blood made your stomach drop, your hands hovering over him, trembling violently. You had seen him in his hospital scrubs a thousand times, completely unshakable in the face of trauma, but seeing him as the patient completely paralysed you.
Jack opened his eyes, the pupils blown wide with shock and pain. Even as his breathing hitched, the seasoned emergency doctor in him fought through the agony. He looked at your shaking hands and forced his voice to remain steady, though it came out as a strained, gravelly rasp.
"Hey, hey, look at me, sweetheart," Jack whispered, squeezing his eyes shut for a second as a fresh wave of pain hit him. "Don't look at the floor. Look at me. I need you to be my hands right now, okay? I slipped with the chisel. It’s deep."
"What do I do? Tell me what to do," you pleaded, your voice cracking as you tried to anchor yourself to his gaze.
"Go to the bathroom. Grab the first aid kit from the cabinet, and grab a clean towel," he instructed, his breath hitching as he shifted his weight. "Move fast, honey. Go on."
You scrambled to your feet, your socks skidding on the hallway runner as you burst into the bathroom. You grabbed the heavy medical kit and yanked a towel off the shelf, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. Within seconds, you were back on the floor beside him, unfolding the towel with trembling fingers.
"Okay, I'm here. I have it," you said, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
"Good girl," Jack murmured, his head leaning back against the wallpaper. "I need you to open the kit and get the thickest trauma dressing in there. If not, the towel will do. You need to apply direct pressure right over my hand. Don't be gentle, sweetheart. You have to push down hard."
You nodded, swallowing down the rising panic. You folded the towel into a thick pad and placed it directly over his bleeding arm. As Jack slowly pulled his own crimson-stained hand away, the sight of the jagged, deep laceration made your vision swim, but you didn't hesitate. You placed both hands on the towel and leaned your entire body weight into his arm.
Jack let out a sharp, agonised groan, his fingers digging into the fabric of your jeans as his body went rigid.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," you sobbed, tears finally blurring your vision.
"Don't be sorry," he panted, his forehead resting against your shoulder now, his breath hot and ragged against your neck. "You're doing perfectly. Keep holding it like that. We need to stem the flow before I can try to stand up."
For a few minutes, the landing was silent save for the sound of your combined, ragged breathing. You kept every ounce of your weight pressed onto his arm, feeling the warm pulse of his blood beneath the heavy fabric. Slowly, the bright red seeping through the white towel seemed to slow down, the direct pressure doing its job.
"Is it stopping?" you whispered, looking down at his pale face.
"It's slowing," Jack managed, offering a weak, strained version of his usual reassuring smile. "You're amazing, you know that? My brilliant girl. Now, we need to tie it off tight. Use the roller bandage from the kit. Wrap it over the towel, as tight as you can manage."
Working with one hand while keeping pressure with the other, you managed to fish out the heavy bandage. Under his quiet, patient whispers, you wrapped the fabric securely around his arm, pulling it taut until Jack gave a tight nod of approval.
"That’s it. That’s got it for now," Jack breathed, leaning back against the wall with a sigh of sheer exhaustion. His face was still ghostly pale, but the immediate, terrifying torrent of blood had been contained. "Now, can you grab your phone? We need to get the crew out here."
"It's on the top step," you said, turning your head to look at the mobile device resting just a few feet away near the banister.
You started to shift your weight to stand up, your muscles stiff from the tension. But as you moved, your foot found the slick, wet patch of blood that had splattered onto the edge of the exposed, loose floorboards. Before you could even register the lack of friction, your foot shot out from under you.
"Whoa—!" you cried out, your hands flailing for a grip that wasn't there.
Your momentum carried you sideways, right over the lip of the top step. With a sharp gasp of terror, you tumbled awkwardly down the first half-flight of stairs, your body bouncing painfully against the carpeted steps before you landed with a dull, heavy thud against the wall of the half-landing.
A searing, white-hot pain immediately exploded in your left ankle, so intense that it stole the air right out of your lungs. You lay there on your side, pinned to the floor by the sudden, throbbing agony, clutching your leg as tears stung your eyes.
"Honey? Sweetheart, talk to me!" Jack’s voice echoed down the stairwell, completely stripped of its professional calm. It was pure, unadulterated panic. "Are you alright? Answer me!"
"My ankle," you gasped out, your voice small and choked with pain. "Jack, I can't move it. It hurts so bad."
From the top of the stairs, you heard a heavy drag and a grunt of pain as Jack, completely disregarding his own severe injury, began crawling toward the edge of the landing. He looked down at you, his eyes wide with horror as he saw you curled into a ball on the landing below.
"Don't move, honey. Just stay completely still," Jack commanded, his voice thick with emotion as he held his bandaged arm tightly against his chest. "I'm coming down to you."
"Stay there, Jack, don't move!" you cried out, looking up at him through a blur of tears. The sight of him dragging himself toward the edge of the stairs, his face entirely grey and his newly wrapped bandage already showing a fresh blossom of crimson, was almost worse than the white-hot agony radiating from your ankle.
"I'm not leaving you down there, sweetheart," Jack panted, his voice strained as he carefully manoeuvred his weight onto his good arm, slowly lowering himself down the first step. Every movement was a battle against shock, his breath catching sharply in his throat with each hitch of his body. "Just keep breathing. Nice, deep breaths for me."
It took him what felt like an eternity, but Jack finally managed to slide down the half-flight of stairs, collapsing heavily onto the landing beside you. He let out a ragged groan, leaning his back against the wall and immediately reaching out with his uninjured right hand to cup your face. His thumb brushed a tear from your cheek, his touch warm and desperate.
"Look at me, honey. Let me see you," he murmured, his eyes scanning your face, looking for any signs of a head injury before his gaze drifted down to your left leg. "Where does it hurt the most? Is it just the ankle?"
"Yeah," you choked out, squeezing his hand tightly. "I just slipped on the... on the blood, Jack. I tried to grab the phone and my foot just went. It snapped so loud."
"Okay, okay, let me have a look. I'm going to be very gentle, I promise," he whispered, leaning forward slightly. With practiced, tender precision, his steady fingers gently hovered over your ankle, barely brushing the skin. Even that tiny movement made you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulder.
"I know, I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said softly, his brow furrowed in deep concern as he assessed the rapidly swelling, distorted joint. "It’s a nasty sprain, possibly a fracture. We need to get that elevated and iced, but first, we need to actually call the ambulance. Where's the phone?"
You pointed a shaking finger up toward the top step where your mobile was still resting, completely out of reach for both of you.
Jack let out a dry, breathless laugh, shaking his head. "Right. Plan B. My phone is in my back pocket. Do you think you can reach it? My left arm is completely useless right now."
Carefully shifting your weight while trying not to jar your leg, you slid your hand into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out his phone. Your fingers were still trembling so hard you almost dropped it, but you managed to unlock the screen and hand it over to him.
Jack didn't dial the standard emergency number; instead, he tapped in a direct line straight to the local ambulance dispatch handling the Pitt’s intake area. He pressed the speaker button, setting the phone down on the carpet between you. Within two rings, a familiar, crisp voice boomed through the speaker.
"Ambulance dispatch, what is the nature of the emergency?"
"Hey, it's Jack Abbot," Jack said, leaning his head back against the wall, his voice dropping into that calm, authoritative tone he used when directing a chaotic trauma bay. "Listen, I need a crew at my house. We've got a bit of a situation here."
There was a brief pause on the other end, followed by the sound of furious typing. "Jack? Dude, what’s gone on? You’re supposed to be off until Monday."
"Yeah, well, the world had other plans," Jack grunted, wincing as he shifted his bandaged arm. "I've managed to put a chisel through my left forearm. Deep laceration, heavy bleeding, but we've got a pressure dressing on it now. My wife just slipped on the landing trying to help me and has taken a tumble down the stairs. Suspected fractured left ankle, severe pain, non-weight bearing."
"Jesus, Jack, you don't do things by halves, do you?" he replied, his voice a mix of professional urgency and fond disbelief. "Alright, I’ve got a unit just three minutes away from your street. It’s Mac and Sally. They're en route now. Keep that pressure on your arm, and keep your wife still."
"Thanks. Tell them the front door is unlocked," Jack said before hanging up. He turned his attention back to you, his expression softening instantly as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "Hear that? Three minutes, honey. You're doing so well. I'm so proud of you."
"I was trying to help you, and I just made it worse," you whispered, a fresh wave of tears spilling over your lashes. "Now you're stuck on the floor because of me."
"Don't you dare worry about that," Jack chided gently, his voice thick with emotion as he pulled you as close to his side as he could manage without hurting either of your injuries. He pressed a firm, lingering kiss to your temple, his breath warm against your skin. "You stopped the bleeding, sweetheart. You saved me from a massive haemorrhage. If anyone is to blame, it’s me and my DIY projects."
A few minutes later, the heavy thud of the front door swinging open echoed from downstairs, followed by the hurried footsteps of two paramedics moving into the hallway.
"Jack? Where are you, buddy?" a loud, cheerful voice called out from the bottom of the stairs.
"Up on the half-landing, Mac!" Jack shouted back, his voice cracking slightly with the effort. "Mind your step as you come up, it’s a bit of a disaster."
Two paramedics, loaded down with trauma bags and an extraction chair, rounded the corner and stopped dead in their tracks. Mac, a burly man with a thick beard, stared at the two of you huddled together on the small landing. Jack pale and blood-stained, and you clutching a ballooning ankle.
Sally, his partner, let out a loud, astonished bark of laughter, clapping a hand over her mouth. "Oh, you have got to be joking. Jack, what on earth have you done to your poor wife?"
"I didn't do anything to her, she was trying to rescue me!" Jack protested, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way he winced as Mac knelt down beside him.
"Hm, likely story, doc," Mac teased, his hands already moving efficiently to check the pulse in Jack’s wrist below the bloody bandage. "Honestly, Jack, we leave you unsupervised for one weekend."
While Mac focused on Jack, Sally slid gracefully onto the floor next to you, opening her kit with a reassuring smile. "Alright, let's have a look at this leg. Jack’s a terrible patient, so you're my priority right now."
The next twenty minutes passed in a blur of efficient, careful movement. Sally administered a dose of medication for your pain, which finally took the sharp, agonizing edge off your ankle, while Mac reinforced Jack’s dressing and got him a dose of something strong.
Despite their teasing, the paramedics were incredibly gentle, carefully loading you both onto separate carrying chairs to navigate the rest of the stairs. Jack refused to be loaded into the ambulance first, stubbornly waiting until you were securely inside so he could have his stretcher positioned right next to yours. The entire drive to the hospital, his hand never left yours, his thumb rhythmically stroking the back of your knuckles as he murmured sweet, groggy assurances that everything was going to be fine.
The moment the ambulance doors burst open at the Pitt, the familiar, sterile smell of antiseptic and the hum of bleeping monitors washed over you. But the usual professional quiet of the admissions bay was shattered the instant Mac and Sally wheeled your matching gurneys through the automatic sliding doors.
"Heads up, team, we've got a double intake!" Mac called out at the top of his lungs, a massive, mischievous grin on his face. "Your best doctor has managed to incapacitate the entire Abbot household."
The reaction was instantaneous. Langdon, who had been charting at the central desk, dropped his pen entirely, his jaw hitting the floor. "What the... Dr Abbot?"
Dana emerged from Bay 4, a clipboard tucked under her arm, but stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes darting from Jack’s heavily bandaged, blood-stained arm to your elevated, ballooning ankle. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me. The hell did you do to this lovely lady, Jack?"
Within seconds, a small crowd of familiar faces converged on the two stretchers. Mel hurried over from the staff room, a half-eaten sandwich still in her hand, her eyes wide with a mix of horror and absolute amusement. "Oh my… are you okay? Well clearly not but… what happened?”
"I slipped on his blood!" you called out, the pain medication making you laugh weakly as the stretchers were wheeled side-by-side into the major trauma bays.
Robby walked out of the resuscitation unit, snapping off a pair of surgical gloves, his expression instantly melting into a look of profound, theatrical despair. He walked over to the foot of Jack’s bed, crossing his arms. "Abbot. I leave you in charge of your own home for twenty-four hours, and you bring your lovely wife into my ER on a stretcher? Explain yourself."
"It was a loose floorboard, Robby," Jack groaned, the morphine making his voice deep and slightly slurred, though he still managed to shoot a mean glare. "The chisel slipped. She was brilliant, actually. Total natural."
"And then she fell down the stairs because you're a terrible husband," Trinity chimed in, leaning against the doorframe of the bay with a massive smirk on her face. She looked over at you, giving you a sympathetic wink. "Don't worry, beautiful, we'll make sure his stitches hurt extra bad for making you go through this."
Samira pushed through the crowd, carrying a fresh bag of IV fluids and a splinting kit. She looked at the two of you, shaking her head in fond disbelief as she began setting up near your bed. "Right, let's get a look at this ankle, shall we?"
Despite the relentless teasing and the chorus of laughter echoing through the department, the underlying warmth and care from the staff were palpable. The curtains between your bays were pulled completely back, creating one large room so Jack could keep his eyes on you. Even as Samira gently examined your leg and Langdon began prepping Jack’s arm for a neat row of sutures, Jack kept his right hand stretched across the gap between the gurneys, his fingers hooked securely around yours.
"You're in good hands, sweetheart," Jack whispered, completely ignoring Trinity and Robby, who were currently debating which one of them got to write ‘DIY FAIL’ on his medical chart. He squeezed your hand tightly, his eyes soft with devotion. "They're going to fix us both up, and I promise you, I am never touching a tool again."
"Don't make promises you can't keep, Abbot," Langdon chuckled, pouring sterile saline over Jack’s forearm to clear away the dried blood. He winced on Jack's behalf as the true depth of the laceration was revealed. "Though looking at this, you won't be holding a chisel or a scalpel for at least a few weeks. You've sliced right down. You're lucky you missed the important stuff."
"I told you, she stopped the bleeding," Jack said, his voice thick with pride despite the sharp intake of breath he let out as Langdon administered the local anaesthetic around the edges of the wound. He kept his eyes locked onto yours, his grip on your fingers tightening as the needle did its work. "She was incredible, Langdon. Didn't even faint."
Over on your side of the bay, Samira was carefully wrapping a temporary fiberglass splint around your rapidly bruising ankle, having just come back from reviewing the digital X-rays that Robby had rushed through the scanner. "Well, your brilliant wife has a nasty grade-three sprain and a tiny fracture. No surgery needed, thank goodness, but you're going to be on crutches and a boot for a while."
"Hear that, honey?" Jack murmured, a look of profound relief washing over his pale features as the morphine and the local numbing agent finally took the edge off his pain. "No surgery. You're going to be just fine."
"I'm more worried about you," you admitted, your voice still a little breathless from the lingering adrenaline and the effects of the medication. "You look like you've been through hell."
Dana walked back into the bay, holding a selection of takeaway menus, placing them on the bedside table between your gurneys. "Right, since you two managed to completely ruin your Saturday, the department is buying dinner. Santos wants pizza, Mel wants Thai, so you two get the deciding vote. Consider it a consolation prize for having the most embarrassing admissions of the year."
"Pizza," Jack grunted without hesitation, earning a loud cheer from Santos, who was still lingering near the desk. Jack looked back at you, his thumb smoothing over your knuckles. "We'll get the one you like, sweetheart."
As Langdon methodically began placing neat sutures into Jack’s arm, the initial chaotic energy of the department began to settle back into its usual professional rhythm. Robby and Dana headed back to the central desk to handle a new influx of patients from the waiting room, leaving the curtains open just enough for the staff to keep an eye on their favorite patient duo.
By the time Jack’s arm was neatly bandaged and your leg was securely immobilized in a heavy boot, the evening sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long, warm shadows across the trauma bay. A delivery driver had dropped off three massive boxes of pizza, and Samira had kindly brought over two cups of tea, served in the mismatched mugs from the staff room.
Jack managed to shift his gurney a fraction closer to yours, his right arm slung comfortably over the metal guardrail so he could remain completely connected to you. The exhaustion of the day was finally catching up to both of you, the quiet hum of the hospital a strangely comforting background noise compared to the terror on the stairs just hours earlier.
"I really am sorry, honey," Jack whispered, his voice soft and entirely devoid of the bravado he had shown in front of his colleagues. He leaned his head against the side of his pillow, looking at you with an expression of pure, unfiltered devotion. "I wanted to fix that stupid floorboard so you wouldn't trip on it, and I ended up putting you in a cast instead."
"We're a matching set now," you teased gently, reaching over to squeeze his uninjured hand, gesturing to his heavily wrapped arm and your massive black boot. "Besides, you heard the crew. We really don't do things by halves."
Jack let out a low, rumbling laugh, the sound warm and familiar as he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a tender, lingering kiss to your skin. "No, I suppose we don't. But from now on, we are hiring a professional for absolutely everything. Next weekend, you and I are staying on the couch."
3 times the pittlings suspect Robby is married and the 1 time it’s confirmed
cw: married!robby, robby and reader have a kid, godfather!jack abbot, medical inaccuracies (trying my best), age gap (unspecified)
wc: 4.7k
a/n: i couldn’t decide a name for their daughter so i just used a nickname ‘bug’ for her!
Doctor Michael “Robby” Robinavitch was not a married man.
Or so his residents thought.
The Chief Attending Physician never mentioned being married, kids, or any other indicators that typically pointed to a relationship.
Besides, while Robby was brilliant, he was also incredibly cynical. They weren’t quite sure that trait screamed husband material.
That was until one by one the ‘pittlings’ as they were called slowly uncovered aspects of Robby’s life that were more than meets the eye.
1. The Rings
Robby didn’t wear a ring.
His left hand was left completely barren during the duration of his shift.
He dodged questions about his love life left and right, especially from the older patients who learned of his last name origins and wanted his whole life story.
Never denied having a wife, just danced around the topic.
Even Abbot who was widowed still wore his wedding ring
Naturally, those who saw his left hand (including those who worked at PMTC), all assumed he was unmarried.
The Emergency Room today is scarily quiet. Not quiet necessarily, just not the typical rush of screaming patients and understaffing issues.
Robby stands by Dana at the central hub, typing away at the tablet to update charting information. Dana works by him silently, clearly savoring the moment of calm before the inevitable storm.
And then the peace is broken by two paramedics bursting through the ambulance bay doors.
Robby discards his tablet immediately and slings his stethoscope back around his neck.
“What do we got?”
“42 year old male. Experiencing chest pains and shortness of breath. Likely a stemi. EKG has been applied.”
“Whitaker! Jesse! You’re with me,” Robby demands.
The two men follow him right into Trauma 2, gloving up immediately and awaiting further instructions.
They know the procedure at this point. Stabilize the patient, call surgery, don’t lose the heartbeat.
Of course that last one is a lot harder to ensure.
But when they lose the heartbeat, Robby immediately springs into action. He rambles off something about the proper number of compressions.
Robby places his hands on the patient’s chest and began the familiar rhythm of CPR.
Whitaker takes over securing the airway while Jesse preps the defibrillator.
They’ve seen many stemi’s in Trauma 1 and 2 but each time it’s a stressful race against the clock.
Robby pauses his compressions, waiting on his internal clock before he starts again.
Still no pulse.
He places his hands once more, applying slightly more pressure as he begins his second wave.
Whitaker stands on deck, fully ready for Robby’s next set of instructions. The endotracheal tube was successfully inserted into the trachea. All he could do now was wait.
And even something catches his attention.
A shiny piece of gold slips out of Robby’s shirt, hitting his chest as it’s stopped by the chain it’s connected to.
Whitaker probably wouldn’t have noticed if the ring hadn’t caught the fluorescent emergency room lights. And then it hits him. Robby has a wedding ring around his neck.
“Whitaker!”
The resident doesn’t respond immediately. He’s too focused on the newest gossip point he may have just uncovered.
“Whitaker!” Robby yells again.
“Right! Sorry!” He rushes out before rambling off the patient’s vitals.
And then…..
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Robby removes his hands, a sigh escaping his lips as he allows the others to take over with the proper procedures.
Whitaker watches as he reaches for his exposed necklace. The attending runs his finger around the band before tucking it securely under his scrubs.
Like wearing a wedding band was nothing at all.
Whitaker doesn’t wanna ask. It isn’t the time, place, or status to question if Robby was married. Just morbid curiosity.
He’ll have to mention it to Santos if he remembers.
Robby shoots two thumbs up as the stemi patient is moved out by surgery.
“Good work everyone,” he announces before slipping out to see where he’s needed.
Huh.
Maybe Dr. Robby is secretly married.
2. Stitches
You don’t expect to end up at the Pitt, truthfully you never had.
Frankly, if you had a choice you would rather head to Westbridge. Okay, maybe that was a stretch but something about going to the Pitt felt like teetering in your husband's territory.
But now your hand is bleeding bad and if you were able to look past the blood, you swear you could see bone. You cursed yourself out for causing such a disastrous scene from simply trying to cook dinner.
You were incredibly grateful your daughter was being watched by your parents for the night.
You drive to PTMC in a haze. Your hand is throbbing and the blood has already started seeping through the thick towel you wrapped around. Should you be driving? Maybe not. But calling an ambulance for a deep wound wasn’t realistic.
In your dazed state, you don’t even think about texting Robby.
It must be your lucky day when you walk into the emergency department and there’s actually empty chairs available. Robby had come home many nights complaining of being understaffed and overrun.
Check-in went smoothly and when the triage nurse saw your hand, she called right for a nurse to bring you back.
You didn’t see Dana at the nurses station and you knew Jack wasn’t due in for another hour or so. Robby also seemed MIA, probably back with a patient.
Instead, a nurse named Sam shows you to your room. “You can have a seat on the bed. Someone should be with you momentarily.”
The pain in your hand continued to increase. Maybe it was the blood loss or the adrenaline fading but you let your eyes shut until there’s a knock on the door and the curtain slides open.
You're greeted shortly after being shown to North 14 by a dark haired doctor.
You squint your eyes to read her badge. Doctor Trinity Santos.
Ah. So that was Santos.
Robby subtly talked about almost all of his coworkers at home. You knew Whitaker was resilient, Javadi was young but highly gifted, Mel was brilliant, and lastly you knew that Santos, begrudgingly, was a lot like Robby.
“I’m Doctor Santos and I’ll be taking care of you today,” she starts. “What’s going on?”
You lift your band up weakly to show the blood stained towel. Despite all, you manage to force out a laugh.
“Kitchen accident. Knife slipped right down my palm.”
Santos sits in a stool and slides over to the edge of the bed.
“Mind if I take a look?”
You nod, only wincing slightly as she unwraps the towel.
“Yeah you got a nasty cut here. I’ll clean it up and we’ll probably need to do a few stitches. How’s the pain?”
“Not great.”
Santos stands up. “I’ll get you something to numb your hand. You should be in and out.”
You give her a warm smile. “Thank you Dr. Santos.”
She’s gone for another few moments before entering the room with the proper supplies. You swing your legs over the bed and rest your hand on the table and bring it over.
Robby is taking a lap around the floor when he double takes at one of the hospital's newest admitants.
Santos is at your bedside, saline flush in hand as she works to clean out the blood from your wound.
“Doctor Santos? What do we have here?” An all familiar voice enters the room.
Your eyes shoot up. Busted.
“Uh,” Santos starts. “Just a deep hand laceration. Kitchen accident. I gave a low dosage to numb the area. Should be good after I finish cleaning and stitch it up.”
The young doctor doesn’t seem to notice the intense eye contact between you and Robby. There’s a silent conversation between you and him. Something between an are you okay? and a why didn’t you ask for me?
“I’d like to take over here if you don’t mind Dr. Santos.”
There’s a long pause of silence in the room.
“Are you sure?” Trinity draws out each word.
“Yeah, I got it,” Robby starts. “Haven’t done some stitching in awhile. Need the practice.”
“I watched you stitch up someone this morning.”
You stifle a laugh, though clearly not well enough for Robby and Santos to not hear.
Santos stands. “But she is all yours. I’ll be back to discharge her when she’s ready.”
Once Santos leaves, you finally have the courage to look your husband in the eye.
“Michael-“ you start.
“Are you okay? What happened?”
“I’m fine. I was just being stupid in the kitchen.”
Robby sighs. “Accidents happen. I just wish you called me. Or texted.”
The saline continues to clean your hand as silence overtakes you.
“I didn’t want to bother you,” you mumble after a moment.
“Bother me?” Robby quietly laughs. “Honey, I'm your husband. You’re allowed to bother me when you're hurt. I’d actually prefer it if you did.”
It feels stupid to you now. You were married with a child for god's sake and you still felt guilty asking for help when you had a huge gash down your hand.
“I was trying to make you dinner,” you winced as Robby began his stitches. “Since my parents are watching Bug I wanted us to have a romantic night.”
Robby laughs. Not in a mean way but simply at your kindness.
“We can still have a romantic night. Just gotta be careful of these stitches.”
“Yeah without dinner I guess.”
“I’ll grab something on my way home,” Robby responds to your quip without missing a beat.
He says it so casually too that you can’t help but smile.
“I like seeing you in your scrubs.”
“Oh yeah?”
You loll your head to the side so it’s resting on your arm. “Sorry, I just find my husband looks too good taking care of me.”
“Careful,” he warns.
“Always am.”
Robby’s mind is still in doctor mode. You managing to flirt with him despite your hand was a good sign.
You grimace one final time as Robby makes the final knot.
Your hand already looks miles better.
“Once I wrap it up for you you’ll be all set.”
Robby turns your hand over and wraps his fingers gently around yours. Still careful of your pulsing wound, he brings your hand up to his lips and places a gentle kiss.
His lips linger for a moment, just long enough for Santos to go wide-eyed as she walks past the room. Despite Robby taking over your stitching, you were still technically her patient.
Now, instead of entering your room, she turned on her heel and made a mad dash for where Whitaker sat charting.
“Huckleberry,” Santos sharply whispers.
The boy looks up at her. “What’s up?”
Santos looks behind her back, clearly afraid that her attending could sneak up and hear her gossiping about his personal life.
“My patient in North 14, the one that Robby hijacked?”
Whitaker’s brows furrow in confusion. “Yeah?”
“I swear Robby just kissed her.”
This immediately grabbed Whitaker’s attention. Chart now forgotten, he peers over Santos’ shoulder to see if he can catch a glimpse of the room. No luck.
“What? There’s no way.”
Santos pushes her stray hairs back. “I am so beyond serious you have no idea.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. Wow.”
They’re both silent for a moment before Whitaker speaks up. “You know maybe that’s just his girlfriend?”
“No,” Santos shakes her head. “She had wedding rings on. A massive one too.”
Whitaker finally scoffs. “Huh. Maybe Robby does have a secret double life. You know he wears a necklace with a ring on it?”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t think it mattered until now!” He defends himself.
“So you’re saying I may have just taken Robby’s wife as my patient,” Santos starts.
“Yup.”
“Oh wow. Huh.”
Silence once more. Santos stays deep in thought as Whitaker goes back to charting. She can’t help it, she’s behind nosy.
“Do you think I should just ask?”
“Absolutely not,” Whitaker replies immediately.
Santos rolls her eyes. Curse her roommate for always being the voice of reason.
After checking up on her kid with severe road burn and an older man with chest pains, Santos decides it’s time to check in on you. That is until she sees Robby by the hand sanitizer station.
“Hey Dr. Robby!” Santos calls after her attending.
Robby promptly stops in his tracks and spins around.
“I’m about to go discharge North 14 and then I’ll need a consult in South 6,” Santos explains.
“No need, I already took care of discharge.”
Oh. Robby discharged her patient. Her patient. While Santos was getting better, she still struggled with when to stand up for herself or step down.
“You discharged my patient?”
“Is there a problem Dr. Santos?” Robby inquires.
Oh shit. Santos knows immediately that’s his tone of voice saying are you questioning my authority?
She backtracks immediately. “No, not at all. You are the boss.”
“Good. I’ll meet you at South 6 in a few.”
Santos stays glued to her spot for a moment after Robby walks away.
“Huh,” she thinks to herself. “Maybe I did just stitch up Mrs. Robinavitch.”
3. Little Bug
Jack Abbot walking in the E.R. is an immediate sign that shift change had begun and day shift was finally off the hook.
Jack Abbot walking in with a child on his hip, however, was a totally different story.
Plus, the Paw Patrol backpack he had strung across his shoulder.
Santos, Whitaker, and Javadi sit around their desks. All three are frantically typing away at their charts, desperate to get out of the hospital at a seemingly normal time.
It’s Javadi that spots the scene first.
“Holy shit,” she starts. “Is Abbot holding a kid?”
It felt like the entire E.R. at that moment noticed the attending.
It’s a silent game of if anyone needs to react or not. On one hand, a child in an emergency room is a clear red flag. On the other hand, that kid was with Dr. Jack Abbot.
Jack is unbothered by the wandering eyes.
He heads right to the central hub. Dana spotted them minutes ago and already circled around to greet the pair.
“Day-Nuh!” Bug annunciates both syllables in the nurse's name when she spots the charge nurse.
“Hi Jellybean,” Dana beams, accepting the transfer from Jack and fixing the girl to sit on her hip.
Bug’s hands grasp at Dana’s stethoscope.
For your daughter's birthday, you and Robby had gifted her a play doctor set. She was familiar with the basics and was clearly interested in the real-life thing.
“You have fun with Uncle Jack today? Dana asks.
The girl nods.
“Pirate Jack,” Bug corrects as she points down.
“Pirate huh?” Dana chuckles.
“She learned about my leg a few weeks ago. Started calling me a pirate once she stopped crying,” Jack spoke.
Dana boops the girl on her nose. “Well aren’t you the cutest.”
The attending and charge nurse chat for a few minutes as Bug grabs at everything in her reach: Dana’s badge, her cross necklace, and even the pen that’s clipped to her pocket. Dana, of course, doesn’t mind in the slightest.
Bug quickly gets distracted and wiggles out of Dana’s arms the second she spots Robby in her sightline.
“Da-da!” Bug exclaims. It takes Robby only two quick strides to get to her.
God knows he doesn’t want his daughter running around this place.
Robby, as if he had already sensed his daughter's presence in the E.R., had gathered his things from his locker.
“Oof. Hi Bug,” Robby grunts as he’s hit full force in the legs by the toddler.
The second he picks her up, it’s like his entire demeanor changes. The tension in his shoulders eases and for the first time all day, he doesn’t look steps away from a breakdown.
Robby takes note of his daughter’s outfit that was certainly not the one he dressed her in this morning.
A jersey meant only one thing.
“You took her to a Pirates game?” Robby questions his friend.
Jack nods. “Yeah. They won.”
Robby slides a hand down his face. “So let me get this straight. You took my daughter to a 1:35 start game and are now here to work a 12 hour shift.”
Jack nods again like this isn’t difficult to comprehend. “I’m a shoe-in for uncle of the year.”
That gains a laugh from Robby.
“You’re insane,” he begins. “I’m assuming the jersey was a new addition.”
“Of course. Her cleaned ice cream helmet and hat are in her backpack.”
Javadi turns to their little group who has long abandoned their charting to watch the two men interact.
“You think that’s Robby and Abbot’s love child?’ Javadi inquiries.
That elicits a laugh. The new sound causes Bug to immediately lose her attention on her dad and look over towards the three doctors. Her little hands grasp at the hems of Robby’s scrubs as she focuses mostly on Javadi.
“Looks like she chose you,” Santos says quietly.
Javadi raises her hand tentatively to wave, clearly not wanting to overstep any boundaries with the dynamic most of the emergency department just learned about.
Bug shows a toothy grin as she waves back.
Robby feels Bug shifting around and turns to face the group who suddenly look like deer in headlights. Like Bug when she gets caught pulling puppy dog eyes on Dana for another cookie.
To the pittlings shock, Robby laughs.
“You guys are allowed to say hi.”
Robby points to Santos first. “That’s Trinity.”
“Trin-ty!” Bug repeats.
“Dennis.”
“Dennis!”
“And Victoria.”
Bug’s face scrunches up in concentration. More than two syllables were rough. “Vic-tora!”
Robby shrugs. “Eh close enough, Bug.” He then turns his attention away from the girl. “We’re working on phonics right now.”
Santos holds her hands up. “Alright I’ll bite. You have a kid? And it’s not yours and Abbot’s?”
Dana bumps Jack with her shoulder. “Told ya people would say something.”
Robby glares at the two before turning back to Santos.
“Yes, I have a kid. Yes, I am married. Yes, Jack has been helping me while my wife is out of town. Any other questions?”
Whitaker clocks Santos’ look immediately. So their suspicions were correct.
“Was your wife my patient that you stitched up?” Santos bursts out. She can’t help it. The curiosity has been eating her up.
“Yes it was. She didn’t want to bother me for help.”
“Aw. No wonder you two get along.”
Bug is growing not just tired, but restless too. A bad combination for a toddler.
“When does the missus get back?” Dana asks.
“Tomorrow night,” Robby starts. “Can’t thank you guys enough for everything.”
To everyone in the room, this made perfect sense. Two of Robbie’s close support systems helping him out with his daughter.
“But this little one seems pretty tired from romping around with Uncle Jack. Can you say thank you, Bug?”
Bug turns her head to her uncle. “Thank you pirate Jack!”
Dana squeezes the young girls cheek and with a final wave goodbye, Robby is out the door. Probably the earliest he has ever left PTMC.
Safe to say he left the Pittlings in shock.
+1. Meeting
Your hand takes a bit to heal. Given how deep the cut was, you were fully expecting a long road to recovery.
Robby checked over the wound almost daily. He explained in simple terms to Bug that “mommy’s left hand was hurt right now” and that “she needed to be extra careful.”
Of course Bug was determined to kiss it better. Just like her dad had done to you.
Robby insists that you set up a 3-week checkup.
He told you that the surface skin should be healed by three weeks (sometimes longer with it being such a utilized area), but there would be a road ahead for deep tissue recovery.
Your phone pings as you’re packing your purse.
What time are you coming in?
About to leave! Need anything?
All good. I let the triage nurses know you’re coming so you should be able to come right back. See you soon. Love you
Love you too!
After your initial incident, PTMC didn’t feel as scary. Also probably given the fact that you and your husband had a long conversation about it being okay to ask for help.
The irony was there best believe it.
You’re waved through once you enter the waiting room. This time, thankfully, you spotted Dana immediately at the central hub.
“Well look who’s back!” Dana exclaims.
You hold your wrapped hand up. “Michael insisted I come for a checkup.”
Dana rounds the hub and wraps you in a greeting hug. “Sounds like him.”
She pauses to notice there is no toddler trotting in with you. “No Bug?”
You roll your eyes playfully. “You know I do have a life outside of my daughter.”
“Eh. Debatable.”
You glance around the bustling emergency room. No signs of Robby. “Is my husband around?”
“Let me page him.”
Robby appears just moments after being paged. He looks tired and worn. You can’t imagine what the day has already thrown at him.
But when he sees you, he slaps on a tired smile and walks like the day hasn’t beat him down.
“Hi honey,” Robby greets you, shocking even you as he places a soft kiss to your forehead.
You know he prefers private displays of affection. Can’t live without it actually. In public, however, holding your hand suffices for both of you.
“I can get you set up in a room so we can look at that hand. In and out promise.”
You wave him off. “Take your time. I know you’re busy.”
Dana scoffs and laughs. “When is he not.”
“Tell me about it.”
Robby shoots both of his hands up in the air as an ‘i’m innocent!’
“South 10’s open.”
You’re so close to stealing your husband away to do your checkup when the phone rings and Dana’s face falls.
“Car pileup on 376. Incoming in 5 minutes.”
Robby slides a hand down his face. You squeeze his arm.
“It’s okay Mike. I can wait.”
Robby shakes his head as his eyes dart around the emergency room.
“Santos!” Robby calls. The young resident’s head snaps up, eyes immediately locking on you. “You free?”
She stands up. “I can be.”
“Mind doing a three week checkup? Since I hijacked it last time.”
You chuckle. “Don’t worry, I chewed him out for it.”
You and Robby can both tell Santos is treading in uncharted waters.
“I’m assuming this is your wife?” Santos asks.
You stick your uninjured hand out for her to shake. “Yes I am and Y/N is fine.”
Oh she can’t wait to tell Whitaker.
“Sorry about last time,” you apologize.
Santos shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it. Nice to meet you.”
Dana looks at the group and repeats. “South 10.”
“Right,” Santos presses her lips together.
You can sense that Robby is on edge about the incoming trauma. “I’ll be okay Mike. It’s just a checkup. Besides, based on what you’ve told me I’m in good hands.”
Santos tries not to glow with pride.
“Okay okay. I’ll swing by when I can.”
Santos guides you to South 10. You take a seat in the chair before she slowly unwraps your bandage. While Robby’s stitches were flawless, it was still a nasty injury to heal from.
“I’m gonna do another cleaning and then test your movement,” Santos explains. “Just gotta grab the stuff and I’ll be back.”
True to her word, Santos is back but this time she’s accompanied by Robby.
“Thought you had an incoming trauma?” you inquire.
“Got re-routed to Westbridge.”
You nod, winching only slightly as Santos begins poking the area for tenderness. Safe to say she found it!
“Do you want to remove your rings?” Santos asks
You nod before sliding the two bands off. “Don’t want them in the way for either of us.”
Robby steps forward and opens his palm. You drop them down as he unclips his necklace chain and slides them on. They hit his respective wedding band with a satisfying clink.
“Want me to stay?” Robby offers.
“Not if you’re going to terrorize Santos,” you fire back.
Santos is enjoying this a bit too much.
“I will go see if someone else needs help then. Please call if you need anything.”
The young resident works in silence. Despite Robby not being in the room, his presence lingers over. If she fucked up working on his wife, she was screwed.
But surprisingly, you’re the one to break the silence.
“Robby told me you’re interested in general surgery,” you speak.
Once again, Santos is taken aback. Robby doesn’t just talk about her outside of work but he talks highly of her outside of work.
“Yeah I think so. I’m still figuring it out.”
“Eh you have time. Don’t tell him I told you this but he thinks you’ll be a great fit.”
Santos smiles. “I think I’m just in shock to be treating you now that I know who you are. And your daughter too.”
“Don’t worry about me. I have no problems telling Robby off,” You laugh. “Just didn’t want to make a big deal last time.”
“I get it. How long have you to been together?” Santos asks and then immediately freezes. “Oh I’m so sorry I don’t mean to interrogate.”
What has Robby been doing to these poor residents to make them so scared?
“We’ve known each other for 10, married for 8, and we’ve had Bug for three years now.”
“She’s adorable. She waved to us when Dr. Abbot brought her in.”
“Yeah she likes Jack more than me sometimes,” you grin.
Your checkup doesn’t take much longer after that. Santos wraps your hand up once more and goes through aftercare instructions. “But I’ll let Dr. Robby know as well,” she finishes out.
You walk back to the central hub as you make small talk with Santos. She tells you about how she used to be an athlete and how she’s fluent in Tagalog. You, in turn, tell her about your own work and all the details that come with that.
Robby strategically positioned himself to be waiting with Dana when you’re done.
“Dr. Santos is fantastic,” you praise when you find him. “Everything looks a-okay.”
Santos slides past you to sit down at her desk with Whitaker and Javadi.
“Just treated Mrs. Robinavitch,” she whispers. The other resident and student doctor lean in close. “She’s so nice. Like scary nice. And smart too.”
And just like the pittlings feared, Robby appears behind them to interrupt their gossip session.
“Well I’m glad you find my wife nice and smart,” Robby muses.
Then you’re popping up right behind them. “Cut them some slack, Mike. They’re just curious.”
It’s like you have him under a spell with the way he relaxes at your touch.
“Wanna walk me out?” you offer.
Robby points at the group of three. “Any of you need anything?”
It’s amusing so see how quickly they shake their heads no.
“Alright, I’ll be back soon.”
As Robby turns to leave, you grab his arm to stop him.
“It was nice to meet you guys! Thank you again Dr. Santos for all your help.”
Dana laughs loudly at their shocked expression. It was definitely weird to see their strict attending doctor be so relaxed around his wife.
“So you do have a wedding ring,” Whitaker points out.
Robby reaches under his scrub top to pull out the chain. “Eight years.”
“And a child together,” Javadi jumps in.
“Three years,” Robby adds.
“I’ll have to bring her back sometime. She’s been asking about you guys non-stop,” You laugh.
Your phone pings. It’s daycare sending you and Robby Bug’s report of what she did today.
“Well duty calls. See you guys!”
Robby wraps his arm around your shoulder as he steers you out of the emergency room.
Santos, ready as ever to pounce on an opportunity to hype herself up, looks at Whitaker.
“Y/N told me that Robby thinks I’d thrive in surgery.”
She pushes away from her desk, laughing loudly and ready to go check up on her next.
Whitaker and Havadi follow immediately, a chorus of “What!” and “Did she say anything about me!” fall from their lips.
Santos gloats.
“You’ll just have to find her next time.”
And just like that she escapes, still riding on the high of Robby’s praise.
And above all, the emergency room feels a little lighter.
warnings: school party with parents ; long-term relationship ; Holly ; jealous Holland ; fluff ; a bit of flirting at the end
note : Holly said it would be nice if you came, and then Holland felt threatened.
a/n : This has been in my draft for a long time. And today is the day…
[Ryan Gosling masterlist] [main masterlist]
The moment Holly quietly slid onto the stool by the kitchen counter, Holland already knew something was up.
The two of you had just gotten home with grocery bags and takeout cartons balanced in your arms. You’d disappeared into the bedroom to change into something more comfortable while Holland busied himself unpacking dinner. He loosened his tie with one hand and pulled containers of pasta from the bag with the other before glancing toward his daughter.
“What’s wrong, kiddo?” he asked. “You look like you’re about to tell me we have to leave the state.”
“There’s a thing,” Holly muttered. “I mean, it’s not a huge deal, but…”
“But?”
She sighed dramatically. “The school’s doing a Mother’s Day event the day after tomorrow. Everyone’s bringing their mom or aunt or somebody from their family and I was kinda wondering…” She looked up at him with those big hopeful eyes. “Do you think I could invite her?”
“Oh.”
That caught him off guard a little. But in a good way.
Holland had known for a long time that you had slipped into their little family with alarming ease. Your clothes had somehow claimed permanent space in his closet, one of your hair clips lived beside the kitchen sink, and Holly’s half-finished school project still sat under the living room window where the two of you had abandoned it the night before.
Leaning back against the counter, he studied his daughter carefully. “You want her there?” he asked softly.
Holly shrugged, pretending to play it cool. “I mean, it’s not a big deal. Just some school thing. But…it’d be nice.”
“Mhmm.” Holland nodded slowly.
He knew his daughter too well. Whenever Holly said it wasn’t a big deal, it usually meant it mattered a lot.
“I think,” he said, “you should ask her yourself. During dinner. Use the food as bribery.”
Holly perked up immediately. “You think bribery’ll work?”
“It always works on me.”
“That explains a lot.”
A moment later your footsteps echoed down the hallway and you appeared in the kitchen wearing one of Holland’s oversized t-shirts, something he pretended not to notice while secretly loving the sight of far too much.
“Something smells good,” you said, peeking over Holly’s shoulder.
“As the only man in this household,” Holland announced proudly, “I have returned with food for my girls. Sit down before I pass out.”
You settled beside Holly, already reaching for your fork when you noticed how stiffly she was sitting. Your eyes flicked toward Holland suspiciously, but he only smiled innocently.
“Were you two talking about something while I was gone?” you asked.
Holly glanced at her father, then back at you. “There’s a thing,” she began.
And then the words came tumbling out in one long nervous rush - that it really wasn’t a huge deal, and you absolutely didn’t have to go if you didn’t want to, but there’d be games and activities and food and everybody else would be there and you had that really pretty dress you could wear and…
Eventually she stopped, lips pressed together tightly as though she were waiting for a verdict. Across the takeout boxes, you exchanged a glance with Holland.
“Well, Holly,” you said gently, “I think that sounds wonderful, and I’d love to go with you. If you really want me there. And you’re right, that dress does sound perfect for the occasion.”
Holly’s head snapped up so fast it nearly gave Holland whiplash. “Really?”
“Of course. It sounds really good.”
Holland nodded solemnly. “The dress is gonna be a real crowd-pleaser.”
“It definitely will!” Holly nearly clapped. “Mr. Phillips is gonna lose his mind when he sees her in it.”
“Mr…” Holland blinked.
“Mr. Phillips. The gym teacher, Dad.” Holly rolled her eyes dramatically, though you were almost certain she’d brought him up specifically to irritate her father. “He flirts with all the pretty moms.”
You laughed softly. Holland’s blue eyes immediately shifted toward you as he pointed his fork in your direction.
“Remember,” he warned, “you already have a charming single father at home.”
“I think I can handle one PE teacher,” you teased.
“Oh yeah? That’s how every tragic love story starts. One PTA event later and suddenly I’m alone, drinking whiskey in a motel…”
“Dad, you’re being dramatic!”
“I’m being emotionally attacked at my own dinner table. I didn’t realize a school event could destroy my relationship.”
And for the next fifteen minutes Holland continued spiraling theatrically while Holly took immense joy in making it worse.
The event’s day, when you and Holly were getting ready to leave, Holland had to be talked into staying home.
The dress was “too pretty,” you were “too attractive,” and the gym teacher, whom he had never seen in his life, was apparently “a criminal who specializes in ruining healthy relationships.”
Only after you promised that you would, in fact, come back home afterward, and not run away to Las Vegas to marry an athletic PE teacher, did he finally allow you to leave.
When you returned, the afternoon sun filled the house with a warm, golden glow. Holly was the first into the living room and immediately spotted her father sprawled on the couch. His sleeves were rolled up, several buttons on his shirt were undone, and his tie had long since been abandoned.
“Look what we got!” Holly announced proudly, holding up the two gold medals hanging around her neck. “She was incredible! Three-legged race and archery. Seriously. Wow.”
“Oh, stop,” you groaned, unable to hide your smile as you stepped inside behind her and shut the door. “The competition wasn’t exactly fierce.”
“Jessica’s mom turned bright red,” Holly whispered conspiratorially. “I don’t even like her. She deserved it.”
“Holly!”
You kicked off your heels and collapsed beside Holland on the couch. He looked at you with open fondness and something softer underneath it.
“You volunteered for the competitions?” he asked. Without thinking, his large hands reached for your legs, lifting them effortlessly into his lap. His thumbs immediately began rubbing slow circles against your calves.
“You didn’t see Jessica’s mom,” you said, struggling not to laugh. “She was so competitive. She wanted every medal.”
“I’m proud of you,” Holland said. “Both of you.”
Holly wandered into the kitchen and opened the fridge in search of snacks. “Mr. Phillips thought she was amazing too,” she tossed over her shoulder casually.
You felt Holland freeze. His eyes widened slightly, fingers tightening just a little around your calf.
“Oh really?” he asked suspiciously calmly.
“Mhm.” Holly pulled out leftover pasta. “He was very impressed by her athletic ability.”
“Oh.”
You bit your lip hard to stop yourself from laughing. Holland’s eyes never left you.
“And he offered to help her stretch afterward,” Holly continued sweetly. “You know. Since she looked so good in that dress.”
“Holly?” Holland smiled and pointed down the hall. “Could you check if you’re in your room now?”
“Dad!”
“Now. Please.”
The moment Holly’s bedroom door shut, Holland let out a long suffering sigh. You had absolutely no chance of escaping while he still had your legs trapped across his lap.
“So,” he drawled, “how’s Mr. Phillips doing these days? You must’ve made quite the impression on him, sweetheart.”
You swallowed carefully. “He was very nice,” you admitted.
“Nice.”
“And athletic. I mean, he teaches PE. He also coaches basketball.”
“Athletic.”
Holland’s jaw tightened slightly.
“And…” You tried very hard to stay serious. “He has a really cute bald spot.”
Holland stared at you. “He’s bald?”
You nodded.
“Thank God.”
You burst out laughing as his head dropped dramatically against the couch cushion, relief washing across his face.
“I was so close to going over there and burying him under the football field,” he muttered. “But if he’s bald…”
“So now you’re not threatened anymore?”
“I’m still threatened! My self-esteem is fragile and nobody in this house is helping.”
You tried to slide your legs away, but Holland only held on tighter.
“No. Stay. This is nice.”
You tucked a pillow beneath your head and stretched out more comfortably against the couch. The long emotional day was finally catching up with you. All you wanted now was a hot shower and comfortable clothes.
“Holly really enjoyed it today,” Holland said quietly after a moment. His voice softened completely. “You made her really happy.”
You smiled. “I’m glad I could do that for her. And honestly… I had fun too.”
A lazy grin spread across his face. “Another March hopelessly in love with you. Must be difficult.”
“I can handle it.”
He leaned down and pressed a kiss just above your knee. Your fingers slid into his soft hair where it had fallen over his forehead. Evening sunlight spilled through the room in warm red-gold waves. You were about to say something when Holland suddenly lifted his head, mischief sparkling in his eyes.
“You know,” he mused, “I’m not surprised Mr. Phillips was impressed by your athletic ability.”
You narrowed your eyes immediately.
“With all the cardio training we do together…”
“Holland!” You shot a glance toward Holly’s closed bedroom door.
“What?” he said innocently. “I care about your fitness.” He shrugged, though the grin tugging at his mouth gave him away completely. “Maybe we should do a little training tonight too.” He winked. “Think my performance would improve if I stretched first?”
You buried your face in your hands, trying desperately not to laugh. Holland’s hand slid higher beneath your dress, squeezing your thigh gently while his lips brushed your skin again.
“I’m really glad you didn’t leave me for some athletic coach.”
“How could I?” you murmured. “Emotionally unstable detectives are much more my type.”
blakekathryn
baratheonpilled
vaporwave
dailybridgerton
jacobvanloon
kaledo-art
