A/N: this is my first otis smut in a while so yk be nice
Masterlist | Otis Masterlist
Mouch’s wedding had taken a rather strange turn for you, when you suddenly found yourself pressed up against the wall in the cool, steel kitchen of Molly’s bar. You had never expected to leave the main floor at all during the party, with the exception of the bathroom, so it was quite a surprise to see where you had ended up, come time for karaoke.
Your dressed was bunched up around your waist, your breasts spilling over the edge and the tongue of your best friend swirling hot around each of your nipples. He flicked and tugged at those hardened nubs like a damn expert, eliciting sweet whimpers to slip past your lips as you did your best to keep the noise to a minimum, as the last thing you wanted was to be interrupted mere seconds before he was about to ruin you.
In all honesty, you never would have thought about this moment before. For years, Otis had been nothing more than your best friend but now that you were here… with your legs wrapped tightly around his hips and your soaked panties already gone and hanging over the edge of his suit pocket like a damn decorative handkerchief, it would take nothing short of a bomb going off in the next room to get to you to stop.
“Fuck, Brian,” You gasped, feeling his teeth clench even harder around your nipple at the sultry tone in which you said his name. You rocked your hips as best you could in order to relieve a little of the pressure deep in your stomach, feeling his rock hard erection brush over you in a way that had your eyelids fluttering and your body quivering against the tiles behind you. “Fuck… Please…”
“Please what, sweetheart?” Otis murmured, a smug smile forming against your skin as he began to pepper your breasts with light, feathery kisses. He never would have thought you’d be like this… All shameless and desperate. “Tell me what you want from me.”
“I want you to fuck me,” You said without hesitation, a moan slipping from your lips when he ground his hips against you. God… You could already tell that he was about to push you to your limit and you weren’t actually sure you were fully ready to meet it. Until he did it again. His still clothed cock dragged down your clit like the perfect stroke of paint on a canvas, and as a soft moan left your lips you couldn’t help but think… Fuck those limits. You needed him. Now. Like you needed air to breathe you needed him inside you and at that point, you weren’t at all shy about letting him know. “Please…. Please, I can’t take it anymore. Just fuck me already.”
“Well, alright then,” Otis said casually, as if you’d done nothing more than ask him to help you move some furniture, and if you could frown at him… You would have. He then hiked you up higher against the wall, one arm slipping under your ass to keep you in place as he popped open the button of his pants and pushed them down just far enough to free himself. He was already dripping from the tip, just from hearing you beg him to fuck you and given the gentleman he liked to think he was… who would he be if he denied you of it? “Since you asked so nicely, I suppose I could fuck you.”
Giving you no further warning, Otis then bottomed out far quicker than you had prepared yourself for. One smooth, clean motion and he was far deeper inside you than any man had ever managed to reach before. Your eyes fell shut. Your breath caught in your chest and when he drew himself out, with such painstaking slowness, you could feel every inch of him in great detail. And to all your horny delight, there was a surprising number of those inches. He carried on until nothing but the tip of his cock remained inside you, a grin curling at his lips as he lingered there teasingly, pushing in another half-inch before drawing himself back out again.
Out of pure, heated desperation you tightened your legs around him, rocking your hips in hopes of drawing him fully back in before you spontaneously combusted from the ever growing pressure deep inside you. But it didn’t work. He kept teasing you… Milking pained whimpers from your lips and so you gladly fought back at him. Fire with fire, as the saying goes. You slid your fingers through the soft curls of his hair and tugged him closer, biting at his earlobe and running your tongue delicately across the grooves of his ear before whispering softly,
“Is that all you’ve got for me, baby?” Your hand dropped between your legs and you ran your knuckle lightly up the length of his already glistening cock, his hold on you almost faltering entirety as his face fell into the crook of your neck. You chuckled teasingly, sucking at the softness of his earlobe before starting again, “What’s the matter? Is the big strong firefighter scared? Hm? Is that it? Are you afraid to fuck me good and hard incase you come too quickly in my tight little pussy?”
Your dirty words, as shocking as they truly were given your otherwise innocent personality as a paramedic, flipped on a switch Otis didn’t know he had. He knew he wasn’t scared. He’d last plenty long with you around him before he gave in but just hearing you say that… In that sultry, filthy tone lit a fire deep in his chest which caused him to thrust back into you, good and hard, just like you said, having you cry out at the swift and sudden fullness he inflicted on you. His hand shot up the second that sweet sound met his ears, clasping tightly over your mouth as he once again stilled inside you.
“Shh,” Otis whispered, his gaze locking onto yours as he drew himself back out, watching your eyes roll back into your head with a satisfied smirk on his face. He pushed in once again — at an angle oh so right, that a deep groan rattled up his chest at the delicious tightness of you around him. But he managed to swallow it back, as hard as that was, and he kept moving, “You don’t want anyone to hear me fucking this tight little pussy of yours, now do you?”
Despite hearing the deafening sound of Herrmann butchering the greatest hits and shielding the oblivious crowds next door from the goings on in here, you shook your head and Otis’s lips curled into a pleased smile. He loosened his hand and allowed it to fall from your mouth, leaning in to slip his tongue through your lips, kissing you messily… Sloppily. Keeping you quiet, all while he began to thrust mercilessly into you, never once stopping to tease you again now that you’d truly got him started.
Like a wind up car with a broken brake pad, the man was relentless.
The way he took control. That husky tone that rolled off his tongue. The subtle glimmer of darkness in his eyes. All of it, had you clenching around him already, the slick sounds of his cock as it disappeared inside you like music to your ears as it filled the air around you, overthrowing that of the actual music you could still hear outside the door. He then pulled back from your lips when neither of you could breathe, instead resting his forehead against yours and feeling your hot, ragged breath wash over him with every dulcet moan you tried your best to hold back, a few slipping past your lips — just low enough, to keep him satisfied.
“Shit, Brian… You better - fuck,” You threw your head back, your words cutting off at the softness of his fingertips as they attached to your clit, each thrust of his cock pairing nicely with a slow, sensual drag across that desperate, throbbing nub. “You better cover my mouth again, baby, cause I’m about to come.”
It took everything you had just to get the words out of your heaving chest and without a second thought, Otis’s hand left your clit just long enough to grab your panties from his pocket. He stuffed them tightly into your mouth, taking a second to make sure you weren’t choking on them, before he went right back between your legs again. He picked up his pace, if that were even possible. Every rapid, deep thrust of his thick cock hitting you so perfectly that by the time your orgasm hit, it was like you were floating in space.
His name came out muffled as your head lurched forward, your nails digging into his shoulder and your eyes closing as nothing but stars erupted beneath your eyelids. He carried you through it with great pleasure, the nipping feeling of your nails, even through his suit jacket, adding to the build he felt himself and with one last thrust, he fell still deep inside you. His own head tilted forward, your name mixed amongst an unintelligible babble of Russian swear words as he hit, what he could only describe, as the greatest high he’d ever felt in his life.
“Shit, Brian,” You chuckled breathlessly, lifting your head back up as he slowly slid out of you, a soft wince leaving your lips as your legs fell from around him. And thank God he didn’t move otherwise you’d have ended up on the floor. “That was…”
You didn’t even know what to say, you just threw your head back against the wall, taking as many deep breaths as you could get into your lungs.
“It was,” Otis confirmed, a smile rising on both of your faces as you tilted yourself forward to meet him properly. He leaned in slowly, kissing you with such tenderness as he pulled your dress back up over your breasts, not wanting anyone to come in and see you like this. “But where do we go from here?”
You knew he meant relationship wise, and whilst you were fully ready to have that talk, in your delirious state of mind — Otis had literally fucked you senseless — you simply cocked your head and dragged your lip between your teeth,
Y/N Zvonecek had just finished her overnight shift at the ER when her phone buzzed — Chief Boden’s name lighting up the screen. She frowned, instantly uneasy. He never called this early unless it was bad.
“Chief?” she said, her voice wary.
There was a long pause. “Hey… you need to come to Lakeshore. It’s Brian.”
The sound of her husband’s name — not Otis like everyone else called him — but Brian — made her heart drop straight through the floor.
She was already running before she even said goodbye.
⸻
The hospital smelled too clean, too sharp — the way hospitals always do when you’re on the wrong side of the equation. Her shoes squeaked on the linoleum as she burst through the ICU doors.
Boden was waiting there, his broad shoulders hunched just slightly — a man who had seen too much but still felt every loss like it was his first.
“He’s been asking for you,” Boden said softly, his voice cracking. “He’s… he’s fighting. But it’s bad.”
She could barely nod, barely breathe as she followed him down the hallway. She caught glimpses of familiar faces — Casey, Severide, Herrmann, Stella, Sylvie, Cruz — all gathered in the waiting area, silent and broken in their turnout gear.
Cruz’s red-rimmed eyes met hers, and for a second, the world went still. They were brothers — all of them — and now one of their own was slipping away.
⸻
When she stepped into the room, the hum of machines was deafening.
Otis looked small — pale against the white sheets, tubes snaking out from his chest. But when his eyes fluttered open, and he saw her, his lips curved into that familiar crooked grin.
“Hey, babe,” he rasped, weak but teasing. “You didn’t have to sprint here like we’re on a call.”
She laughed through her tears and rushed to his side, grabbing his hand. “You idiot, I’m your wife. Of course I did.”
He squeezed her fingers gently. “I didn’t… want you to see me like this.”
She shook her head fiercely. “You don’t get to decide that. You promised me forever, Brian Zvonecek. And forever means all of it.”
A tear slipped down his cheek, and she brushed it away.
From the hallway, Boden’s deep voice rumbled softly. “You take all the time you need.”
⸻
She told him everything she could think of — the garden she’d planted behind the firehouse, the stupid neighbor’s cat that kept knocking over their trash, how Herrmann still hadn’t learned to make decent coffee.
He smiled, faintly, at that. “That man could burn water.”
“Yeah,” she whispered, laughing quietly through the ache. “He really could.”
Then his hand tightened around hers again. “Tell them… tell them I love them, okay? My family.”
She shook her head, sobbing now. “You’ll tell them yourself.”
But deep down, she knew. He wasn’t asking — he was giving her a task. One last thing he needed her to do.
⸻
When the monitors began to slow, she climbed into the bed beside him, pressing her forehead to his.
“You did good, Brian,” she whispered through trembling lips. “You made this world brighter.”
His last words were barely a breath. “You were my best adventure.”
And then — silence.
⸻
The halls outside seemed too quiet as Daphne stepped out, Boden immediately at her side. The others rose when they saw her — Herrmann with tears streaking his soot-stained face, Casey and Severide standing shoulder to shoulder, Cruz breaking completely as he buried his face in his hands.
She just nodded once, barely able to speak. “He’s gone.”
Cruz stumbled forward, and she caught him, both of them clinging to each other as the family of 51 closed around them.
No words — just presence. Arms around shoulders. Silent grief.
Boden’s deep voice finally broke the stillness. “He gave everything he had. And he’ll live on in every one of you.”
Herrmann sniffed loudly, voice cracking. “Damn right he will. We’ll make sure of it.”
Sylvie leaned her head against Stella’s shoulder, whispering, “He’d hate seeing us cry.”
Severide gave a soft, broken laugh. “Yeah… he’d make a bad joke about it right about now.”
And for a fleeting moment — they all smiled. Through tears, through heartbreak — they smiled. Because that’s what Otis would’ve wanted.
⸻
That night, back at Firehouse 51, she sat in the common room with them all. The lights were low, the fire crackling softly in the corner.
Cruz poured her a cup of coffee — too strong, too bitter — and handed it to her.
“Terrible,” she muttered after a sip.
“Otis would approve,” Cruz said quietly.
She smiled through her tears. “Yeah. He would.”
Herrmann raised his glass. “To Otis — the heart of 51.”
Everyone lifted theirs.
“To Otis.”
And as the night deepened, surrounded by the family that had loved her husband as fiercely as she had, she felt something settle deep inside her chest — not peace, not yet, but gratitude.
Because even though she’d lost the love of her life, she hadn’t lost everything.
Otis’s family was her family.
And that — that would never die.
⸻
It had been three months since that morning.
Three months since the sound of the monitors in that hospital room went quiet.
Three months since she’d kissed his forehead for the last time and promised she’d keep going — somehow.
She still wore her wedding ring. She still parked her car in the same driveway, still talked to him every night like he could hear her. But today… today was different.
She stood outside Firehouse 51, her heart thudding in her chest. The big red doors were open, the smell of diesel and smoke drifting out, familiar and achingly comforting.
For a long moment, she just stood there — staring at the building that had taken her husband’s life, and also given it meaning.
Then she took a breath and walked in.
⸻
Herrmann was the first to see her. He froze mid-step, holding a wrench in one hand and a rag in the other.
“Hey!” His voice cracked with surprise and something softer — relief.
“Hey, Chris,” she said, smiling faintly. “Didn’t mean to just… show up.”
“Are you kidding?” Herrmann tossed the wrench onto the counter and hurried over, pulling her into a bear hug that nearly knocked the air out of her. “You can show up here anytime. This place is still yours.”
When he let her go, the rest of the crew started filtering in. Sylvie wiped her hands on her uniform, her face lighting up. Stella, Cruz, Casey, Severide — even Boden stepped out from his office, his expression soft and proud.
Cruz was last. He didn’t say anything — just wrapped his arms around her and held on tight. The kind of hug that said everything words couldn’t.
When he finally let her go, his voice was rough. “I was hoping you’d come by.”
“I wasn’t sure I could,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “But then I remembered… he loved this place. And you guys.”
Boden nodded solemnly. “He still does. He’s a part of this house, always will be.”
⸻
They showed her around even though she didn’t need a tour. She’d spent so many evenings here — laughing with the squad, sneaking plates of cookies into the kitchen for long shifts, waiting up for Brian when the alarms went off mid-dinner.
Now, every corner held a memory.
The rec room — where Otis and Cruz had built that ridiculous arcade game that never worked quite right.
The kitchen — where he’d once burned an entire batch of lasagna because he got distracted trying to explain quantum physics to Herrmann.
And the gear lockers — his still there, nameplate polished and shining.
Her hand hovered over it for a long time. “He would’ve hated how neat this is,” she said with a watery laugh.
Cruz chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve been keeping it that way. He’d haunt me if I didn’t.”
That earned a few smiles — even from Severide, who looked down at the floor and blinked fast, pretending it was just the dust.
⸻
After a while, Mouch brought out a box. “We’ve been keeping something for you.”
Inside were little things — Otis’s name patch, an old photo of the house at Molly’s, a bottle cap from their last cookout, his favorite lucky pen.
Daphne’s breath caught as she sifted through it all.
At the bottom was a folded piece of paper — his handwriting, neat and careful.
“If anything ever happens to me, tell her I love her — but she already knows that. Tell her to visit the guys sometimes, because they’ll need her almost as much as she’ll need them.”
Her tears came fast and silent this time. She pressed the paper to her chest and whispered, “You knew me too well, Brian.”
⸻
Later that afternoon, they gathered in the common room. Herrmann fired up the grill, Stella made coffee, and Casey managed to burn the garlic bread again, earning a round of teasing that made the place sound alive — the way it used to.
She sat at the long table surrounded by them all. For a while, she just listened — the laughter, the stories, the easy rhythm of family that never really broke, only changed.
Cruz leaned over, his voice low. “You know… he’d be proud of you. For showing up today.”
She smiled softly. “He’d probably be mad I waited this long.”
He laughed. “Yeah. He’d give you that look — you know the one.”
“The one that says ‘I love you but you’re wrong’?”
“Exactly.”
They both smiled, and for the first time in months, it didn’t hurt quite as much.
⸻
When She finally left that evening, the sun was setting — painting the firehouse gold and red, just like the trucks inside.
Boden walked her to the door. “You don’t need an invitation to come back,” he said quietly. “This will always be your home too.”
She looked up at the station number — 51 — and nodded, her heart full.
“I know,” she said softly. “Brian made sure of that.”
And as she walked away, the siren blared — the crew rushing out to another call, another life to save.
She turned back, the corners of her mouth lifting just slightly.
“Go get ‘em, babe,” she whispered. “Keep them safe.”
And for a fleeting moment, she could almost swear she heard his voice in the wind — warm, teasing, proud.
Who is a girl dad and who is a boy dad: Matt Casey, Kelly Severide, Brian Otis Zvonecek, Jeff Clarke, Sam Carver, Will Halstead, Ethan Choi, Connor Rhodes, Crockett Marcel, Jay Halstead, Adam Ruzek & Antonio Dawson?
Before I answer this I want to remind everyone that I don't currently write for Chicago Fire. I probably won't ever do reader inserts for it just because I'm not a huge fan and I feel like that show died a painful death around season 4. But I will attempt some of the headcannons that hit me the right way. This one was just too fun to pass up.
I didn't do Sam Carver-Sorry I didn't make it to season 11- I stopped at 6/7ish.
I also want to say of course I think they would be good with the other gender too. I just wanted to pick one to be fair to the question. I spent way to much time on this and made them way longer than necessary lol. Hope ya'll enjoy and thanks for the ask <3
Will Halstead: Boy Dad!
I think Will needs to have a son. I think raising a mini version of himself is exactly what the doctor ordered (pun completely intended). We all know that Will has a stubborn streak a country mile wide and that when he gets an idea in his head, he can't let it go. Could you imagine that in child form? His red headed little boy going through a stubborn streak where is sure that any green food is icky because he didn't like peas. How about when he wears his basketball shoes to bed every night of the season because he is sure if he doesn't his team will lose? A son would teach Will to be more flexible in his viewpoint because his son will challenge his- well everything. The questions his little boy will ask with have Will rethinking things he never thought to question.
The main reason I think Will needs a son is that he can heal the wounds his dad carved into him. He gets to understand the struggles of raising a child with a personality like his own. It helps him better understand his father's frustration but he also never felt more disconnected from the man. Because Will could never understand the need to make his child feel the way he did growing up. Disconnected and a disappointment. Will raises his son the way he would have wanted to be raised- with understanding, acceptance, and praise. No one is prouder of their son than Will Halstead is. And with all that love, attention, and support Will gets to see his son not only live his life but thrive in it.
Ethan Choi: Girl Dad!
I don't think that surprised anyone. Ethan is a hardass veteran. He is all structure all the time. He kept getting better as time when on but you know what would push him along and make him absolutely melt? A little girl with dark hair and lashes. He thinks he will be a strict parent-and when it comes to school and safety he is. She will learn how to protect herself and have good enough grades to do anything she wants when she graduates.
But when it comes down to the little things Ethan has a hard time saying no to his little girl. Because she is warmth and innocence. She is the biggest smiles and climbing onto his lap to cuddle. So does it really matter if her clothes don't match because she loves them. And who really cares if they have dessert before dinner on occasion. And how can anyone say no to her staying up late so that they can have father daughter time- even if it is just them rewatching Star Wars for the millionth time.
Connor Rhodes: Girl Dad!
Connor absolutely spoils his little girl- not with money- but with attention. He doesn't want a nanny or money raising his baby. From the very beginning he makes a promise not to miss a single doctor's appointment and he nearly keeps it too- an emergency trauma caused him to miss one ultrasound. He takes the full paternal leave that is offered through work to bond with his blue-eyed little girl. He barely puts her down not wanting to miss a minute. His daughter is the biggest daddy's girl. Her first word is dadda and she says it nonstop for almost a month.
When he goes back to work, he books mandatory time with his daughter. He goes to at least three tea parties a week. When she gets a little older, they share a hobby of making food. It starts out with her helping him cook and trying recipes together. When she starts forming a preference for baking the dynamic changes slightly. They teach each other recipes and are a dynamic dinner duo. There are some growing pains. Connor struggles with his little girl not needing him anymore. He has tears in his eyes when she tells him, "I will always need you daddy."
Crockett Marcel: Girl Dad! (This is also just true to the show)
Crockett cherished every moment with his little girl. When she is a newborn, he holds her constantly and lets her sleep on his chest. Then he starts using a baby wrap to carry his daughter and be hands free. The long stretchy cloth was supposed to be a gag gift and obnoxiously bright fluorescent colors with a bold feminine print, but Marcel wears it with a smile. (It was a gift from Ethan to welcome him into the girl dad club. He included a gray one too, but Marcel only wears the bright on around work and his collogues.) The constant affection because a habit and his little girl has a hard time falling asleep anywhere but daddy's chest.
Crockett is a constant picture taker as his daughter grows. He phone memory is maxed out with pictures of her. He teaches her to speak Farsi. Every important or emotion filled conversation between the two is spoken in Farsi. Every tragedy, accomplishment, argument, exciting news, heartbreak and success. There is a comfort in words and bond the word share between the pair.
Jay Halstead: Girl Dad!
Jay fully embraces being a girl dad. He dresses her in the cute girly outfits. He learned how to take care of and do her hair. He never found a braid or hairstyle he couldn't master that his little girl wanted. He even kept extra hair ties in his wallet because she was constantly loosing or breaking them. He let her paint his nails bright pink and yellow while he watched the sea hawk's game. He always got up to do the dance parties and twirl her around. He never complained about playing dress up or wearing a taira or a brightly colored feather boa. And he was always willing to give up his half of the bed so that she could cuddle up with him after a nightmare or just because she got lonely in her room by herself.
Jay is a supportive dad. He does everything in his power to give his daughter the confidence to do anything and everything that she wants to. He wants her to feel safe enough at home that she can be daring (but not unsafe) in her choices. She can go against the grain, and he will still be proud of her. He supports her when she wants to play softball instead of do ballet. Then supports her when she decides that she like science and then when she hates it. He just smiles and buys her lava soap and Gojo pumice hand cleaner when she decides to take an automotive class instead of economics. The only thing that Jay struggles to be supportive of is when his little girl starts dating. He reconned her first date he watched her twist the guys wrist back when he tried to grab her butt then storms away after giving him a piece of her mind. Jay is proud of her boundaries but feels guilty for spying- even though he didn't get caught. He stops spying on dates but can never stop himself from giving them the talk with his gun and badge on his hip (Even well into her twenties).
Adam Ruzek: Boy Dad!
Adam had a good relationship with his dad growing up. He knows what a good dad looks like. His father sacrificed a fulfilling career to be able to be there for his son. Adam struggles with not being able to do the same. He misses games and holidays. His son says he understands but it is clear in his eye that his is disappointed when Adam doesn't show. But he makes up for it because when Adam is there- his all in. He helps his son practice his slap shot and cheers the loudest at his son's hockey games, he helps him with homework (even when he doesn't understand it and has to google it, gives him advice on girls (even when he doesn't want it), and checks him when he needs it.
It takes a lot for Adam to hard check his son. His son is a good kid- even if he does tell him at 10pm that he needs a posterboard for his school project that is due the next day and it is worth 1/3 of his grade. But when his son vandalizes a store with an Asian owner to get in with the "cool" crowd Adam loses his shit. He might even be madder than the store owner. His son thinks he is kidding about the consequences- Adam is a cop surely, he can get him out of trouble. Adam makes him stay 24 hours in holding, then has to apologize to the store owner. The owner doesn't press charges. He has to clean up his mess and the rest of the store and work to pay off any damages- even those caused by his "friends", and he is grounded indefinitely. His son learns the lesson the hard way, but it sticks with the added bonus of falling for the storekeeper's daughter.
Antonio Dawson: I cheated with this one because he actually has a son and a daughter. So instead of picking I'm doing a paragraph for each.
Antonio is from a large tight knit family for better or for worse. That means for the first few months his fighting to be the one that gets to hold his little girl. He practically has to steal her from his mom, Gabby, and all the other female relatives. The only thing that is to his advantage is that his little girl loves him. Whenever she sees him she is always saying and reaching for daddy. She is a beautiful, happy baby with dark curls and brown eyes. Antonio buys a new gun and then another, and then another. He figures he will need them all by the time she finally finds someone worthy of her to settle down with.
Antonio raises his son with the expectation that someday he will be the man of the house. He wants his son to know responsibility and how to take care of himself and other. To stick up not only for himself but for others that can't. He teaches his son to be aware (but not fearful) of his surroundings. Antonio's son takes all of it to heart. When Antonio gets a call that his son had laid out a bully for teasing a shy bookish girl. Antonio doesn't scold his son whose suspension ends up being more of a vacation. He just asks if he put his weight behind it and pats his son on the shoulder when he said he had. When the shy girl starts coming over to help his son with his homework almost every day, he isn't surprised to walk in on them making out on his couch. He is, however, surprised when his son brings her to his boxing gym to show off and that shy little girl throws one hell of a punch.
Greg "Mouse" Gerwitz: Girl Dad! (I added this one)
When he finds out that you are pregnant Mouse is afraid when he finds out that the baby is a girl, he is terrified. His daughter is so small and fragile. When she is placed gently in his arms his world changes. He has spent enough time at war to know that it is always the woman and girls that are at most risk. How could he possibly protect her from everything when there were so many bad people in the word. Mouse dotes on his little girl but keeps her close. He has worries that civil fathers don't. When she becomes weary of other people and children at age two clinging to his leg he wonders if it was his fear that was passed onto her. Even when people assure him that it was the typical age for stranger danger. Mouse painstakingly (and with Jay's help) starts to change his behavior. He doesn't want his little girl to have the anxiety and hypervigilance that he has to deal with. As Mouse eases up he watches his little girl's personality bloom.
She gets downright spunky. She is curious too. She learns technology with a swift ease. She spends a good deal of time on her daddy's lap and the clicking of a keyboard is relaxing. Mouse had found that it could help put her to sleep even on her crankiest days. He doesn't scold her when she starts taking things apart to put them back together. And while he does help and assist, he swears his daughter picks up most of her coding knowledge from just watching him. As she gets older he starts hacking her computer and phone to leave her cute little messages. When she is a teenager, she finally manages to hack his highly secured system back (She had the advantage of him being the one who taught her) When she goes to Tech school she is leaps and bond ahead of her classmates. Nobody is surprised when she ends up on government watch list and is soon offered a job. They want her on their side.
Matt Casey: Boy Dad!
Matt's son is his little buddy. Matt has wanted a baby for so many years that he is ecstatic when last little bundle is put in his arms. He does everything he can with his son and his son wants to do everything he does. He is his son's idol. He always wants to be at the fire house. He dresses up as a firefighter for Halloween for five years straight as kid.
Matt tries unsuccessful to keep his sons interested broad. He wants his son to at least consider other options, maybe going to college. His son is hellbent on going on being a firefighter. And Matt stops pushing after he threatens to go to the police academy instead. His son excel at during his training and Matt is so proud when his son graduates the academy.
Kelly Severide: Boy Dad!
Kelly's son is a mini version of him. Full of energy, testosterone, and charm. Kelly raises him with good manners, treat woman right, and to be respectful of authority. He also teaches him to question and act when the authority isn't doing their job, or something doesn't make sense of needs to be changed. Kelly's son is popular and plays football. Kelly goes to every game, and he know his son has a real chance at football scholarship but knows he is does not want to further his education and that he wants to follow in Kelly's footsteps to be a firefighter.
Kelly's son is a player. He goes through the girls in his high school (and multiple others). Kelly doesn't say anything- how could he when he had his own Casanova phase that took up a large portion of his life. His son should have fun as long as he is using protection. His son never brings any of them home for him to meet. None can seem to hold his son fickle attention. When his phone rings at midnight he expects a slurred request for a pickup not a fully sobered "I found her."
Jeff Clarke: Girl Dad!
Jeff's daughter is his princess. She is a tenderhearted happy little girl. He calls her the light of his life. They live in Hawaii, so everything is a slower pace. Jeff gets to enjoy the time with his daughter with nothing to rush him. They spend hours in the sun and on the beach playing in the sandy and splashing in the waves.
When his daughter is five, she demands to learn how to surf after a friend takes her out on their board. Jeff thinks it might be a phase- her just wanted to do it because she sees it every day. It becomes apparent very quickly that isn't the case. His little girl loves the ocean and asks him to go nearly every day. Jeff does one better than just taking her and learns how to surf too so they can do it together. He isn't great and she is much better, but she loves going out with him. He just loves seeing her so happy and at peace. It doesn't hurt that it he can keep an eye on the surfer boys that get more and more interested in her as she not only gets older but better on her board.
Brain "Otis" Zvonecek: Boy Dad!
Otis is a nerdy dad. He is the dad that does the Starter Pokémon test when he started to crawl (Charmander) and pick his Hogwarts house (Hufflepuff). Otis starts him young on all the classic movies and shows. Otis buys Legos for the two of them to build together (way before his old enough to really help. Otis reads to his on every night that he gets to put him to sleep. They start with short stories but as he gets older, they quickly switch to chapter books and Manga.
Otis doesn't know what to do when his son starts having trouble in school. When he is told that his son has a learning disability, he doesn't know what to do. Otis never had a hard time with academics he blew through his classes without much effort. He can see the absolute frustration in his sons face when he is struggling to read. Otis tries to help but his son, but it only seems to create more friction making the problem even bigger. The break though comes when Otis finds out his son's anger is a cover for his embarrassment and feeling like a disappointment. When his son accuses him of thinking he is stupid Otis' heart shatters. His eyes are water when he tells his son that he is one of the smartest people he knows- he just learns different his son breaks down and hugs him tightly.
I saw that you like Chicago Fire and that you were interested in writing about them, so I thought I would make a request! (*˘︶˘*).｡*♡
I would love to read something cute and cozy about Brian Zvonecek (literally the love of my life)
Thank you very much! Have a nice day/night (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*.✧💌💌
Home (Brian "Otis" Zvonecek x reader)
Aww thank you for asking hun! I'm good, I hope you're good too!!
ahhh!!! I LOVE Brian, so excited to write this! I hope you like this, I thought it was cute and heartwarming!
warnings: little cursing, pure fluff
wordcount: 860
authors note: Let me know if you'd like to be added to my Chicago fire tag list!
Brian was most definitely the best boyfriend you've ever had. You hit the jackpot when he just so happened to accidentally bump into you a few months ago. He offered to buy you a drink to make up for you dropping your coffee. The rest was history. Now, he's got his head rested in your lap in his bedroom/ Cruz jacked the couch, and there was no getting him to move when he got settled in with popcorn. The TV was nothing more than back noise for you; Brian was solely focused on the movie playing. Your fingers comb through his thick, black hair, humming softly as you gaze lingers on him. He truly is perfect. "I can feel you staring, Y/N." He mutters softly; eyes still focused on the movie. Your hands gently cup his face, your thumbs caressing his cheeks. "I can't help it; I just like looking at you..." You trail off, your cheeks turning red. He sits up, leaving your lap feeling empty, the warmth from his body against your lap quickly fading. "Come back." You give him a confused look as he scoots to your side, attention completely on you.
He opens his mouth, yet no words come out. Your gaze softens as you lock eyes with him, his nerves melting away. "You do know you're missing your favorite movie, right?" Your eyes flicker from the movie still playing and back to him. He shrugs, a cheeky grin on his face. "Pause it for me; I'll be right back." Before you could even get a word out, he slipped out of his bed and out of the room. Weird. Brian never interrupts his favorite movie. You cross your legs, leaning against the headboard. Suddenly, you hear hushed whispers coming from the living room. Holy shit. I hope he's not in there asking advice for how to break up with me because I weirded him out. You slowly slip out of bed, your mind going a million miles a minute. You tiptoe towards the closed door, pressing your ear against the wooden frame. The whispers stop, the apartment goes completely silent, and your stomach churns. Stop. You mentally smack yourself; of course, Brian isn't breaking up with you; you're just getting yourself worked up.
You turn around on your heels, trying to sneak back into bed when the door swings back open, knocking you over in the process. "Dammit, Y/N! I am so sorry!" He hurriedly bends down, pulling you from off the ground. He gently sits you down on the bed, eyes scanning over you to make sure you're okay. Your hands slide down your face. Totally not embarrassing. You place your hands in his, the warmth radiating from them. "I'm fine, see?" You stand up, spinning around to show no marks or bumps. He lets out a quick sigh of relief. "I didn't realize you were right there, or I would've let you know before I swung open the door." His hand rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, his cheeks a light shade of pink. You give his hands a reassuring squeeze before pulling him flush against you. "I promise, Brian, it's okay." He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You close your eyes, savoring the sweet moment between the two of you. Moments like these mean so much more than romantic dinners or nights out at Molly's when he's not bartending. These sweet little intimate moments are what you live for. He rests his chin on top of your head for a few moments before pulling away, his face a cross between nervous and determined. "I have to tell you something..." Your brows furrow in confusion as you take a step back; your eyes scan his face, trying to get a read on what he was thinking.
He clears his throat, taking your hands back in his. "I've been thinking about this for a while; I even discussed it with Joe." You feel sick to your stomach; this is it. You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off. "Will you move in with me?" Your jaw hangs open for what feels like years. That was not what you were expecting. He quickly scrambles to get his words out. "You don't have to say yes; I just figured you know... you're my home. I don't want you to leave; I want you to stay with me. It feels like something is missing every time I watch you walk out that door, and it's you, Y/N. You don't have to decide right now, but the offer stays as long as you need to take." Without hesitation, you jump into his arms, catching him by surprise. He falls backwards, grip tight around your waist. You pepper kisses all over his face, a grin stretching from ear to ear. He laughs with each kiss, a smile evident in his laughter. "You big softy, of course I'll move in with you. Brian Zvonecek, you are my home; without you it just doesn't feel right. His hands cup your cheeks, pulling you into a passionate kiss, that smile still evident on his lips.
A/N: Sorry that I've been so inactive, I know this is no excuse but I school started and my job is starting to get into it's busy season and to my luck I managed to tear my meniscus and I've been in so much pain so writing has been the least of my concerns. I am getting surgery on Thursday so I will be writing more soon. For now, please enjoy my new fic.
This is a 20 chapter story and I've put 10 chapters in one fic. It's a lot but this is my apology for being inactive.
Chapter 1:
Five years. That’s how long I’ve been with Brian. It feels like a lifetime and just a blink at the same time. We met in the most unconventional of ways—running into each other during a late-night call, both of us soaked in sweat, soot smeared across our faces, the smell of smoke thick in the air. It wasn’t the most romantic setting, but maybe that’s why it worked. There was no need for pretenses between us. We were both drawn to the fire, the adrenaline, the chaotic beauty of our work. And somehow, through the chaos, I found him.
Brian “Otis” Zvonecek—my partner in every sense of the word. He’s not the guy who sweeps you off your feet with grand gestures or sweet talk. No, Brian is the guy who shows up every single day. He’s steady. Kind. Funny in the way that only he can be, with those ridiculous puns and the way his face lights up when he thinks he’s landed a good one. It’s impossible not to laugh when he’s around, and God, that’s what I love most about him—he makes everything lighter, even when the world feels heavy.
But these days, the world is feeling a little heavier than usual.
We’ve both been working nonstop—Firehouse 51 is like a second home, though lately, it feels more like a first. There’s something comforting about the firehouse, the constant hum of activity, the sound of the trucks rumbling to life, the distant chatter of my crew—no, my family. And Brian? He’s always been at the center of it all. Our relationship bloomed in this place, surrounded by the people who understand what we go through every day.
I remember the early days with him so clearly. It started as a few casual glances across the engine bay, nothing serious at first. Just an awareness of him. His laugh was what caught me. The way he threw his head back, completely unguarded, while the rest of us were tense and wired after a tough call. He had this way of letting it all roll off his back, and I admired that.
It wasn’t long before we were partnered on every shift, making excuses to grab dinner after. One night, after a particularly tough rescue, he suggested we go for wings. I was exhausted, drained, and covered in soot, but something in his voice made me agree. I needed that—something normal, something grounding. We sat in that little corner booth, devouring spicy wings, laughing about the ridiculousness of our lives. It was simple, but it was the first time I felt like I had found something real. Something worth holding onto.
That’s how we’ve always been—just us, grounded in the simplicity of being together. No grand romantic gestures, no pressure to be anything other than who we are.
And for five years, it worked. I always felt secure with Brian. Sure, we’ve had our share of arguments—what couple doesn’t?—but they were always small, petty things. We’d bicker about who forgot to fill the gas tank or who left the towels on the floor, but those disagreements never lasted long. We were always able to laugh it off, make a joke, and move forward.
Lately, though, I’ve been different. Not us—me. I feel it deep inside, like there’s something pulling me away, pulling us apart. I don’t know why, but these past few months, things that shouldn’t bother me do. Things that used to make me laugh now irritate me. And sometimes, when the irritation boils over, I lose control in a way I never have before.
Brian doesn’t say it, but I can tell he’s worried. He’s always watching me now, his brown eyes searching for some sign that I’m still the same Y/N he fell in love with. But the truth is, I don’t feel like the same person anymore, and that scares me more than I care to admit. The outbursts come out of nowhere—sudden, violent flashes of anger—and then, just as quickly, they’re gone, like they never happened. And the worst part? I can’t remember them.
It’s terrifying.
It started small. A broken plate here, a slammed door there. I chalked it up to stress. Firefighting is a tough job, and we’re no strangers to pressure. But as the weeks turned into months, the episodes became harder to ignore. They were no longer just occasional moments of frustration—they were frequent, and sometimes, I wouldn’t even realize something was wrong until I saw the look in Brian’s eyes. That look of concern, like he didn’t know how to help me, like he was afraid to say the wrong thing. I hated that look. It made me feel like I was losing him, losing us.
But I kept telling myself it was fine. I was fine. If I just pushed through, if I worked harder, the episodes would stop. I thought if I ignored it, I could outrun it.
I was wrong.
Tonight, as I lie in bed next to Brian, listening to his soft breathing, I can’t shake the feeling that something big is coming. Something we won’t be able to ignore. I stare at the ceiling, the weight of it pressing down on me, my chest tightening. The love I have for him is overwhelming, and I don’t know how to protect it anymore.
Brian stirs beside me, his arm draping across my waist as he pulls me closer in his sleep. I close my eyes, taking in the warmth of his body, the familiar scent of him. He feels like home. But the fear of losing that—of losing him—is more than I can bear.
Tomorrow is another shift. Another 48-hour stretch. I tell myself things will get better, that I just need to push through. But deep down, I know something has to give.
And I’m terrified that when it does, it’ll be too late to save what we’ve built.
Chapter 2:
The first time it happened, I barely noticed it. Looking back, that should have been my first clue. It was such a small thing—a flash of frustration that I thought was just stress from work. We were off-duty, Brian and I, sitting at the kitchen table after a long day. We’d been talking about the usual—our shifts, the next firehouse event, Cruz’s latest terrible joke. Brian had a way of making everything feel easy. Comfortable.
But that night, something was different.
I don’t even remember what set me off. One minute, we were laughing, and the next, I felt this surge of anger bubbling up inside me. It wasn’t anything Brian said or did, not really. It was more like a wave crashing over me, completely out of my control. I felt like I was drowning in it, and the next thing I knew, I was standing over the kitchen sink, my hands trembling as I stared at the shattered remains of a glass I didn’t even remember throwing.
Brian was standing a few feet away, his face pale, his eyes wide with shock.
“Y/N… what just happened?” His voice was quiet, careful.
I blinked, trying to piece together the moment, but it was like a fog had settled over my mind. “I—I don’t know.” My voice sounded distant, unfamiliar. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay,” he said quickly, stepping forward. He placed his hand gently on my arm, his touch grounding me. “It’s okay. It was just a glass.”
But it wasn’t just the glass, and we both knew it. Something had shifted inside me, something dark and uncontrollable. And the worst part was, I couldn’t explain it. I couldn’t tell Brian what was wrong because I didn’t know.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my throat tight. “I don’t know what happened.”
Brian smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s fine. We’re both tired. It was just a glass.”
I nodded, but as I swept up the broken shards, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had broken inside me, too. And it wasn’t going to be as easy to put back together.
Chapter 3:
Weeks passed, and the tension in the air between Brian and me seemed to grow with each passing day. It wasn’t just at home anymore—my outbursts were starting to creep into our shifts at the firehouse. It wasn’t anything major at first, just little moments where I’d snap at someone or lose my temper more easily than usual. Everyone chalked it up to the stress of the job, and I let them. It was easier than admitting something was wrong.
But inside, I could feel it building—this pressure, like a balloon swelling inside my chest, ready to burst. I thought I could handle it. I thought if I kept myself busy, if I focused on the work, I could push it down. But firefighting isn’t a job where you can afford to lose control.
I remember one call in particular. It was a standard house fire, nothing we hadn’t seen a thousand times before. The flames were manageable, but there was a lot of smoke. We went in as a team, each of us with a role, moving in sync like we always did. Brian was with me, like he usually was, our movements so familiar we didn’t even need to talk to communicate.
But something was off that day. The smoke felt heavier than usual, the heat more oppressive. My helmet felt like it was pressing down on my skull, making my head throb. I tried to push through it, focusing on the task at hand, but my mind was racing. Every sound—the crackle of flames, the muffled voices over the radio, even my own breathing in the mask—felt like it was closing in on me.
“Y/N, you good?” Brian’s voice crackled through my radio.
“I’m fine,” I muttered, though my vision was starting to blur at the edges. We were almost done, just a few more minutes. I could make it. I had to.
But then, out of nowhere, the frustration hit me. I don’t know why—it wasn’t a particularly stressful call—but something inside me snapped. I felt a surge of anger, irrational and uncontrollable. I swung my axe harder than I needed to, cutting through debris with more force than was necessary. I heard Brian call my name again, concern clear in his voice, but I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. I was too focused on the pounding in my head, the rage bubbling just beneath the surface.
When we finally exited the building, I ripped off my helmet and tossed it to the ground, breathing heavily. My heart was racing, my hands trembling.
“What the hell, Y/N?” Brian was at my side, his voice sharp. “You could’ve hurt yourself in there.”
“I’m fine,” I snapped, my voice harsher than I intended. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” he said, his brow furrowing as he looked at me. “You’ve been off lately. This isn’t like you.”
I turned away, not wanting to hear the concern in his voice. I didn’t want to admit that he was right—that something was wrong with me. “I told you, I’m fine.”
But I wasn’t. I knew it, and Brian knew it, too.
Chapter 4:
The firehouse had always been a place of comfort for me. It was where I felt in control, where I knew I could make a difference. But lately, even that had started to feel like a burden. My outbursts were becoming more frequent, and I could see the strain it was putting on everyone—especially Brian.
At home, things were getting harder. Brian tried to be patient, but I could see the frustration in his eyes whenever I lost my temper. He’d always been the calm one, the one who could smooth things over with a joke or a smile. But even he couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine.
We had one of our worst fights a few nights after that call. I don’t even remember what started it—something small, something stupid. But it spiraled out of control so fast. One minute, we were sitting on the couch, watching a movie, and the next, I was yelling at him, accusing him of things that didn’t even make sense.
“You don’t even care about me anymore!” I shouted, the words spilling out of my mouth before I could stop them. “You’re always at work, or with Cruz, or doing anything but being here with me!”
Brian looked at me like I’d just slapped him. “Y/N, what are you talking about? I’m always with you! We work together, we live together—how much closer can we get?”
“That’s not what I mean!” I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes, but I didn’t care. “You’re here, but you’re not really here. You don’t look at me the same way anymore. You don’t—”
“Stop,” he cut me off, his voice calm but firm. “That’s not true, and you know it. I love you. I’ve always loved you.”
His words should have soothed me. They should have made me feel safe. But instead, they only made the anger flare hotter. “Then why do I feel so alone?” I whispered, my voice breaking.
Brian’s face softened, and he took a step closer, reaching for my hand. “Y/N, I’m right here. You’re not alone. But something’s going on with you, and you won’t talk to me about it.”
I yanked my hand away, refusing to meet his eyes. “I’m fine,” I muttered for what felt like the hundredth time.
But I wasn’t. I wasn’t fine, and I was pushing him away without even meaning to. I could see it in his eyes—the worry, the frustration, the helplessness. He didn’t know how to fix this, and neither did I.
That night, we went to bed without saying another word. Brian turned his back to me, and I lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of my own silence pressing down on me. I wanted to reach out to him, to tell him I was scared, that I didn’t know what was happening to me. But the words wouldn’t come.
All I could do was lie there and wonder how much longer we could keep pretending that everything was okay.
Chapter 5:
The firehouse was unusually quiet that night. It was the kind of quiet that crept into your bones, making you restless. We were on the second day of a 48-hour shift, and exhaustion hung in the air. Normally, a shift like this didn’t faze me—adrenaline and routine kept me going. But tonight, my head felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. The migraine was pounding behind my eyes, a dull, throbbing pain that no amount of coffee could fix.
I rubbed my temples, trying to will the headache away. Brian had noticed it earlier in the shift and offered me some Tylenol, but I turned him down. There was something about this headache that felt different, heavier. And I was already on edge—there was no way I wanted to dull my senses while on duty.
I kept my distance from the crew tonight, choosing to sit quietly at the kitchen table, nursing my coffee and staring blankly at the TV. Normally, I’d be laughing with the rest of them, especially Brian and Cruz, who were busy trading ridiculous jokes and stories. But I couldn’t focus on any of it. The migraine had lodged itself deep in my skull, making every sound feel like nails on a chalkboard.
I was counting down the hours. Only eight more hours of this shift. And then, finally, Brian and I could go home, grab food from the new Wingstop, and just unwind. It had been a long week, and I was craving something normal, something that would remind me of the simplicity of us. I clung to the thought of getting those wings together. It was the one thing keeping me grounded, the one thing I was looking forward to after the chaos of the last two days.
As if on cue, Brian wandered over to me, his smile easy as always, though I could see the concern lingering in his eyes.
“Hey,” he said softly, sitting down across from me. “How’s your head?”
I forced a small smile, though I knew it didn’t reach my eyes. “Still there, but it’ll pass. Just need to get through these last few hours.”
“We’re almost done,” Brian said, his hand reaching out to gently brush mine. “And then it’s Wingstop time, right? I’m starving.”
I nodded, feeling a small flicker of relief. “Yeah, can’t wait. Been thinking about it all day.”
Brian paused, his brow furrowing slightly. “Actually… about that. I just grabbed Wingstop with Cruz an hour ago. Didn’t realize you’d still want it tonight. You cool with grabbing something else?”
The words barely registered at first. They came out so casually, so matter-of-fact. But as they sank in, I felt a sharp, searing heat rise in my chest. My fingers tightened around the coffee mug in my hand as the rage swelled, unbidden and uncontrollable. I blinked, my vision blurring for a moment as my heart pounded in my ears.
“Wait, what?” I could hear the edge in my voice, sharp and venomous, even as I tried to keep it together. “You just had Wingstop? You knew we were supposed to get it together after shift.”
Brian’s eyes widened, taken aback by the sudden shift in my tone. “I didn’t think it’d be a big deal. We can still get it if you want. I’ll eat it with you, no problem.”
“No,” I snapped, the word flying out before I could stop it. “I don’t want it anymore.”
Brian frowned, confusion and concern mingling on his face. “Y/N, what’s going on? It’s just food. If you want Wingstop, we’ll get Wingstop. It’s not a big deal.”
But to me, it was a big deal. It felt like everything—the headache, the exhaustion, the tension between us—was boiling over, and this one tiny thing had pushed me over the edge. I could feel it happening, the anger building into something unstoppable, and I hated it. I hated that I couldn’t control it, couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out.
“You always do this!” I shouted, my voice breaking as the room seemed to close in around me. “You say one thing and then turn around and do whatever you want! Do you even care about what I want anymore? All I wanted was this shift to end so we could finally go home and have a normal night together. But no—of course you couldn’t even wait for me to get the food we talked about!”
“Y/N,” Brian said softly, reaching out to touch my arm, “I didn’t mean—”
“DON’T TOUCH ME!” I jerked away from him, my heart racing as the room fell silent. Everyone was staring now—Cruz, Mouch, Sylvie, Herrmann. Even Chief Boden, who had been standing by the door, was watching with furrowed brows.
I could feel my hands shaking, my vision blurring as tears welled up in my eyes. “All I wanted,” I choked out, my voice trembling, “was a little quality time with my boyfriend. But instead, I get stuck on this miserable shift with a migraine and a boyfriend who only cares about himself.”
The words hung in the air like poison, and as soon as they left my mouth, I felt something inside me shatter. My heart was pounding, my breath coming in ragged gasps, and before I knew it, tears were streaming down my face. I didn’t even recognize myself in that moment. This wasn’t me.
Brian stood there, frozen, his face pale with shock and hurt. “Y/N, I…”
But before he could say anything else, it was like a switch had flipped. The anger drained out of me as quickly as it had come, leaving me feeling hollow and confused. I blinked, wiping my tear-streaked face as I straightened my posture, suddenly aware of the silence in the room.
“Why… why am I crying?” I asked, my voice soft, bewildered. I looked around at everyone’s faces—confusion, concern, shock—all eyes on me. The pressure in my head eased slightly, the migraine fading as quickly as it had come.
Without another word, I turned and walked to the bathroom, the weight of everyone’s stares pressing down on me like a heavy fog.
Chapter 6:
I spent a long time in the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face and staring at my reflection in the mirror. My face was flushed, my eyes red from crying, but it wasn’t the physical exhaustion that scared me. It was the blank space in my mind, the way the anger had flared so hot and fast, only to disappear without a trace. I didn’t remember half of what I’d said, and what I did remember felt like it had come from someone else’s mouth, not mine.
I leaned against the sink, gripping the edge of the counter so hard my knuckles turned white. I didn’t know what was happening to me, but it was getting worse. And I was terrified.
When I finally stepped out of the bathroom, I saw Brian waiting for me by the door. His face was etched with worry, but his voice was calm and steady when he spoke. “Chief wants to see us in his office.”
My stomach dropped. I nodded silently and followed him down the hall, my footsteps heavy, my heart pounding in my chest. Chief Boden rarely called anyone into his office unless it was serious. And this? This was definitely serious.
When we stepped into the office, Chief was sitting behind his desk, his expression unreadable. He gestured for us to sit, and the tension in the room was thick as we did. Brian sat next to me, close but not touching, his hands resting tensely in his lap.
“Y/N,” Chief Boden began, his deep voice gentle but firm. “Brian explained what’s been going on with you lately. I need you to listen carefully to what I’m about to say.”
I nodded, my throat tight.
“I’ve seen my share of stress in this job. I’ve seen how it can affect people—physically, mentally, emotionally. But what happened out there today wasn’t normal, and it wasn’t safe. For you or for anyone else. You’ve been one of the best firefighters on this team, but I can’t have you putting yourself or others at risk.”
I swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over me like a cold blanket.
“I’m not asking,” Chief continued, his eyes locking onto mine. “I’m ordering you to go to Chicago Med. You’re not coming back on shift until the doctors clear you.”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. “Chief, I—”
“This isn’t up for discussion,” he said, his voice softening but still firm. “You need to get checked out. Something’s going on, and you can’t ignore it anymore.”
I felt Brian’s hand brush against mine, a silent show of support, but I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t face the disappointment in his eyes. All I could do was nod again, feeling a wave of helplessness crash over me.
“Take the rest of the day,” Chief said. “Go to Med. We’ll be here for whatever you need, but you’re not coming back until you get answers.”
Brian stood up, helping me to my feet as we left the office in silence. I could barely process what had just happened—how quickly everything had spiraled out of control. As we walked out of the firehouse and towards the car
Chapter 7:
The ride to Chicago Med was eerily quiet. Brian drove, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little too tight, his gaze focused on the road. I sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window, my mind a blur of confusion, guilt, and fear. Every bump in the road sent a fresh wave of pain through my skull, but it wasn’t just the migraine anymore—it was the uncertainty gnawing at my insides. Something was wrong with me. Deep down, I knew that now. But the thought of facing it, of having a doctor tell me what was happening… I wasn’t sure I was ready for that.
Brian didn’t say much during the drive, and I was grateful for that. I wasn’t sure what I would have said if he’d asked me how I was feeling. How was I supposed to explain the emptiness inside me, the way I felt like a stranger in my own body?
As we pulled into the parking lot of Chicago Med, Brian finally spoke, his voice soft but steady. “I’m coming in with you.”
I nodded, unable to find the words to argue. I didn’t want to do this alone. I didn’t want to walk into that hospital and face whatever it was that had been slowly unraveling me. And as much as I hated feeling vulnerable, I needed him with me.
The bright lights of the hospital stung my eyes as we walked through the automatic doors, the sterile smell of antiseptic hitting me like a wall. Brian led the way, his hand resting on the small of my back, guiding me through the bustling halls. We didn’t have to wait long before we were ushered into an exam room by a nurse, who took my vitals and asked the standard questions.
Then, there was more waiting.
I sat on the exam table, swinging my legs back and forth, my hands folded tightly in my lap. Brian stood next to me, close enough that our arms brushed every now and then, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His presence was enough—steady, calming, even though I knew he was as scared as I was.
After what felt like an eternity, the door swung open, and Dr. Will Halstead walked in. I knew him well—he’d treated me a few times before, and he was a friend of ours outside of work. But today, he didn’t greet me with the usual smile or lighthearted joke. His expression was serious, concerned.
“Hey, Y/N,” he said, glancing between me and Brian as he took a seat on the stool across from us. “I hear you’ve been having some… unusual symptoms.”
I nodded, my throat tight. “Yeah. I guess you could say that.”
Will frowned, his brow furrowing as he flipped through my chart. “Brian filled me in on what’s been going on. The headaches, the mood swings, the memory loss… we’re going to run a few tests to get a clearer picture. I know it’s scary, but we need to figure out what’s causing all of this.”
I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. “Do you have any idea what it could be?”
Will hesitated, and that hesitation sent a chill down my spine. “There are a few possibilities,” he said carefully, “but I don’t want to jump to conclusions until we have more information. We’re going to start with a CT scan to get a look at what’s going on inside your brain.”
Inside my brain.
The words echoed in my head, sending a fresh wave of panic through me. I glanced at Brian, who was watching me closely, his expression unreadable. He reached out, taking my hand in his, and I squeezed it tightly, my pulse racing beneath my skin.
“Okay,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “Let’s do it.”
Chapter 8:
The waiting was the worst part.
After the CT scan, they sent me back to the exam room to wait while the results were processed. Every second that ticked by felt like an hour. I sat there, nervously tapping my foot on the floor, while Brian paced back and forth in front of me. His anxiety was palpable, and it mirrored the panic building in my chest. I didn’t know what was worse—the not knowing, or the fear of what we were about to find out.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Will came back into the room, holding a manila folder in his hand. His expression was serious—too serious. My stomach twisted into knots as I watched him sit down again, the air between us heavy with tension.
“Y/N,” he began, his voice low, “I’m not going to sugarcoat this. The CT scan showed something concerning.”
I felt Brian’s hand tighten around mine, his grip almost painfully strong. I couldn’t breathe. My chest felt tight, my heart pounding in my ears. “What is it?” I managed to ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Will took a deep breath, his eyes soft with sympathy. “You have a tumor in your brain. It’s located in the frontal lobe, which explains the mood swings and memory lapses you’ve been experiencing. It’s putting pressure on the surrounding areas, which is likely causing the migraines as well.”
A tumor. The word hit me like a freight train, knocking the air from my lungs. I stared at Will, uncomprehending, as if he’d just spoken a foreign language.
A tumor. In my brain.
I felt the world tilt beneath me, everything spinning out of control. My heart pounded in my chest, and I was suddenly aware of every sound, every breath, every sensation. Brian’s hand in mine, Will’s steady gaze, the sterile scent of the hospital—all of it felt too real, too overwhelming.
“I—I don’t understand,” I stammered, shaking my head. “A tumor? How…?”
Will nodded gently, leaning forward, his tone careful but honest. “It’s a lot to process, I know. But the good news is that we caught it early. It’s operable, which means we can remove it. We’re going to need to schedule surgery as soon as possible.”
Surgery. Tumor. The words swirled in my head, but none of them made sense. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was healthy. I was a firefighter—I fought through flames, saved lives. I wasn’t supposed to be the one lying in a hospital bed, waiting for a doctor to cut into my skull.
I felt my hands start to tremble, and suddenly, the weight of everything came crashing down on me. The months of mood swings, the fights with Brian, the outbursts I couldn’t control—it all made sense now. There was a tumor inside me, something foreign and dangerous, controlling me from the inside out.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, my voice breaking as the tears started to fall. “Brian… I’m so sorry.”
Brian’s arms were around me in an instant, pulling me close as I sobbed into his chest. “No,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, Y/N. None of this is your fault.”
“But I—” I tried to speak, but the words were lost in the sobs that shook my body. All the anger, the fear, the guilt—I couldn’t hold it back anymore. “I’ve been awful to you. I didn’t know…”
Brian held me tighter, his hand running through my hair as he pressed his cheek to the top of my head. “It doesn’t matter,” he whispered. “None of it matters. We’re going to get through this. You’re going to be okay.”
I wanted to believe him, but all I could think about was the word that Will had said: tumor.
Chapter 9:
We left Chicago Med in a daze. The world outside felt too normal, too calm, compared to the storm raging inside me. The sky was still a brilliant blue, people walked down the street, completely oblivious to the fact that my life had just been turned upside down. Brian drove in silence, his hand resting on mine, squeezing gently every so often as if he was reminding himself I was still there. I couldn’t get the word out of my head—tumor.
It felt like some terrible nightmare, one that I hadn’t woken up from yet. Except this wasn’t a nightmare. This was real, and no amount of blinking or pinching myself would make it go away.
We pulled into the firehouse parking lot. I didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to face the crew and see their reactions when they found out. But we had to. They were my family—they deserved to know.
As soon as we stepped inside, I could feel the weight of everyone’s stares. They knew something was wrong. Cruz and Mouch were sitting on the couch, glancing at us with concern. Herrmann, sitting at the table, stood up as soon as he saw us, his brow furrowed.
“Everything okay?” he asked, his voice cautious.
I looked at Brian, but the words got stuck in my throat. How was I supposed to tell them? How was I supposed to explain that everything I’d been through over the past few months wasn’t just stress or exhaustion, but something far more terrifying?
Brian took a deep breath, his voice low and steady. “We went to Chicago Med. Will Halstead ran some tests on Y/N.” He paused, his grip on my hand tightening. “They found a tumor. In her brain.”
The room went silent.
It was like the air had been sucked out of the firehouse. I could see the shock ripple across their faces, the confusion, the fear. Cruz’s mouth opened as if to say something, but no words came out. Boden stepped forward, his eyes filled with quiet understanding.
“A tumor?” Herrmann repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “What does that mean? Is it… is it serious?”
I took a shaky breath, trying to keep the tears at bay. “It’s operable,” I said, the words sounding distant, as if someone else were speaking them. “They’re scheduling the surgery soon. I’ll… I’ll be okay. That’s what Will said.”
But as I said it, I wasn’t sure if I believed it. The fear gnawed at my insides, making it hard to breathe, hard to think. How could I be sure everything would be okay when nothing felt okay right now?
There was a long, heavy pause before Boden spoke. “We’re going to be here for you, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice steady and full of quiet authority. “Whatever you need—whether it’s before, during, or after the surgery—you’re not going through this alone.”
The words should have brought me comfort, but instead, they only made the knot in my chest tighten. I didn’t want to be the one who needed help. I didn’t want to be the one who was weak, who was sick. I was a firefighter. I was supposed to be strong, to take care of others. Not the other way around.
But now, everything had changed.
I couldn’t hold it back any longer. The sobs broke through, my chest heaving as I tried to breathe, to speak. “I’m sorry,” I choked out, my voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”
Boden stepped closer, his hand resting gently on my shoulder. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said softly.
But I did. I was sorry for everything—for the outbursts, for the way I’d lashed out at Brian, for the times I’d scared the crew with my unpredictability. I felt like I was falling apart, unraveling at the seams, and I couldn’t stop it.
Brian pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly as the tears streamed down my face. I felt everyone’s eyes on us, but it didn’t matter. I couldn’t hold anything back anymore. I cried for everything—the fear, the uncertainty, the guilt.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I whispered into Brian’s chest, my voice trembling. “I don’t know how to be this person. I don’t know how to… how to be weak.”
Brian’s voice cracked as he held me even closer. “You’re not weak,” he whispered fiercely. “You’ve never been weak, Y/N. You’re the strongest person I know. And you don’t have to go through this alone. We’re all here for you—for whatever you need.”
I shook my head, pulling back just enough to look up at him, my eyes red and swollen. “But I’ve been so awful to you. I pushed you away. I didn’t know what was wrong with me, but I—”
“Stop,” he cut me off, his voice thick with emotion. “None of that matters now. None of it. You were scared, and you didn’t know why. But we know now. And we’re going to fix it. Together.”
I wanted to believe him. I wanted so badly to believe that everything would be okay. But the fear was still there, lurking in the background, whispering that things might never be the same again.
The crew stepped forward one by one, each offering words of support, hugs, and quiet reassurances. It was overwhelming—feeling so much love and care when all I felt inside was fear. I wanted to tell them how much it meant to me, how grateful I was, but the words got stuck in my throat.
Finally, Boden spoke again, his voice gentle but firm. “You need to rest, Y/N. Go home, get some sleep, and prepare for the surgery. We’ll be with you every step of the way.”
I nodded, though I wasn’t sure I’d be able to sleep with everything swirling inside me. But I appreciated the sentiment. I appreciated all of them.
Brian took my hand, and we started to leave. As we walked out of the firehouse, I looked back at the crew—my family—standing there, watching us with worried eyes. They believed in me. They believed I could get through this.
I just wished I could believe it too.
Chapter 10:
The night before the surgery was the longest night of my life.
Brian and I went back to our apartment, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the silence between us wasn’t filled with tension or misunderstanding. It was just… heavy. There was nothing more to say, nothing more to do but wait. I could see the worry etched into Brian’s face every time I caught him glancing at me. He tried to hide it, but I knew him too well.
We made dinner, but I could barely eat. The thought of surgery, of having someone cut into my brain, was too much to bear. I pushed the food around on my plate, my stomach churning with anxiety.
Brian eventually took my hand, pulling me into the living room. We sat on the couch, and I rested my head on his shoulder, closing my eyes as he gently stroked my hair. His touch was soothing, grounding me when my mind started to spiral.
“I’m scared,” I admitted quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I know,” Brian whispered back, his voice soft and full of love. “I’m scared too. But you’re going to get through this. We’re going to get through this.”
I wanted to believe him. I wanted to hold onto his words like a lifeline. But the fear, the uncertainty—it was all-consuming. I couldn’t shake the thought that something could go wrong, that I might not wake up after the surgery, that everything could change in a matter of hours.
“What if…” I started, my voice trembling. “What if something happens? What if I’m not the same after?”
Brian’s hand stilled in my hair, and he pulled back just enough to look at me. His eyes were filled with so much love, so much emotion, that it took my breath away.
“No matter what happens,” he said softly, “I’m here. I love you, Y/N. Nothing’s going to change that.”
The tears welled up again, and I blinked them away, trying to stay strong. But Brian’s words broke something inside me, and before I knew it, I was sobbing, my whole body shaking as I clung to him.
“I don’t want to lose myself,” I cried. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t,” Brian whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You won’t lose me. You’re not going anywhere, Y/N. You’re stronger than this. We’ll face whatever comes next together.”
I buried my face in his chest, feeling the warmth of his arms around me, and for the first time that night, I allowed myself to believe him.
Otis headcanon idea: he lets you win games to see you happy 🥹
STOP IT HE WOULD 😭😭🩷🩷
It doesn’t matter what game you’re playing with him, he’s more determined to let you win than actually winning himself.
He loves your giggles and laughter when you hit him with a draw 4 in Uno, or when you land a strike in bowling. Anything to see your face light up or to hear your giggles.
Joe and Casey actually pulled him aside one night when you all went out bowling and drinking together and asked him why the hell he was playing so terribly.
When he told them he loves letting you win because of how happy it made you, they could help but shake their heads at him. But relented in letting you win.
You didn’t have the faintest idea he was doing this. You enjoyed hanging out with him and his friends more than anything, and were oblivious to his agenda.
