Simply thinking about Jack Abbot correcting your posture.
He’s a doctor, so sure it starts there, in the territory of alignment and strain and long-term damage, all the tiny indignities a body absorbs when nobody’s paying proper attention to it.
And he worries about you, of course. Worries about the set of your neck and the rounded drag of your shoulders, about how you curl in on yourself over your charting like the screen might swallow you whole, about how you hunch over your phone texting those ridiculous little emoticons and memes he glances at with visible suspicion.
So he makes an effort to fix it.
A broad hand behind your chair, angling it closer to the desk until your spine has no excuse but the lengthen. Two fingers slipped beneath your chin when you’re bent out of shape around your phone on the couch, tilting your gaze upward until the vertebrae stack properly and the ache in your neck eases. Even in transit — plate to sink, fridge to stove — he stops to cup your shoulders, easing them from your ears with a downward glide of his thumbs.
A silent reward hums through the touch: a silent good girl, there you go.
“Sit up, sweetheart.” “Uncross your legs.” “Laptop higher.” “Relax your jaw.”
He knows he’s a perpetual nuisance, aware he sounds like someone’s dad, can practically hear the eye-roll you swallow every time.
He also knows it embarrasses you, especially at work, where your face goes warm when he corrects you within earshot of other people. And it isn’t that he sets out to make you squirm, though he’d be lying if he said he got nothing out of that quick little fluster he can pull from you with a word, a hand, a look.
It’s just that once he notices you folded in on yourself for too long, something in him firms. His voice drops into that clipped, authoritative register, flipping a switch to brisk certainty and command, and by then it’s already too late to pretend you’re not going to listen.
So when he catches you slouched at the station again, practically kissing the monitor, he doesn’t hesitate.
Steps in behind you. His palm fits against the ridge of your upper back, heat seeping straight through the thin cotton.
“Up.”
You mutter, “I hate you,” eyes never leaving the vitals grid, and Jack takes it as the green light it is.
His thumb glides from back to shoulder to nape. The opposite hand curves under your jaw’s hinge, guiding your head until your spine clicks back to neutral while the entire nurses’ station pretends their screens are riveting.
Public proof that your posture, and maybe the rest of you, answers to Dr. Abbot’s touch far faster than to your own irritation.
“There’s a whole skeleton under all that,” he observes dryly. “Try using it.”
You bat at his hand, a half-hearted slap. “Stop manhandling me at work.”
He ignores that, drops the chair one notch (ignoring your surprised squeak too), angles the monitor to proper eye level, then squares your shoulders with both palms. A measured squeeze follows, equal parts reassurance and warning.
“Better,” he decides. “And if I catch you bent over that phone again, I’m taking it.”
He likes the line of you best when he’s the one arranging it.
You figure that out later, breathless and flushed, forehead buried in his sheets while he kneels behind you, two sure hands repositioning your ass in the air like he’s smoothing kinks from an instrument only he can tune.
“Uh-uh,” he grunts, and you’re too far gone to know what he means until his palm presses between your shoulder blades and eases you down, down, down, your hips staying high as your face sinks into the pillow. “Arch for me — c’mon, deeper bend, don’t cheat your lower back.”
Your breath catches when he palms the dip he’s just created, fingers splaying and then he’s sliding his cock in your folds slow. It earns a pleased mewl from you, angle perfect because he’s engineered it that way.
Every push has a tiny corrective tap — shoulders down, knees wider, perfect girl — until your pussy clenches and drips all over his rigid stomach and he finally lets you break form, hips snapping while his palm settles, triumphant, at the very spot that first straightened you hours ago.
MARIA NOTE hello this is my trying out little blurbs/drabbles bc this random thought rlly evoked something in me... don't know how to feel it ab. it feels naked without my fun graphics but alas! and the tiny text??? what do we think?? yes or no i'm in the middle right now so feel free to share opinions... it looked a little strange as regular but idk i'm lowkey having an existential crisis over this ok bye
At the Pitt and you bend over to pick something up only for Jack to see your pretty pink thong.
Word count: 0.5k mdni. Brief mention of wedgie kink.
“Ma’am we’re gonna have to take a sample of your blood for testing if that’s okay?”
“Huh?”
You watch as Jack stands near the bed, maybe you did act a little clueless about this old lady’s porphyria cutanea tarda just so you could get a good glimpse of him.
The attending you’re not so secretly hooking up with, possibly (hopefully) going to date sooner rather than later.
“We’re going to take a sample of your blood!”
Jacks voice raises deeper and louder so the old lady can hear. She smiles and nods.
“Oh! Yes. Feel free. Might take a little while though, I’m a hard one to stick.”
Jack shakes his head in that effortless kinda way and rolls a chair closer, hand between his legs as he sits down. Mindful of his prosthetic.
“Not with me ma’am. I’ll make sure to find the best vain and get it first try.”
She laughs all surprised like and looks up to you. You know the feeling. Getting flustered under abbots compliments.
“Missing a syringe, there should be one in that cupboard can you grab it for me?”
Jack gestures to a cupboard and you nod, probably not looking nearly as flawless as him while looking for supplies.
But Jack begs to differ. Really he didn’t mean to do a double take on your ass. But it’s just there when you bend over and venerable. Plump and memories of gripping at it floods his mind.
Just as he was turning to look away, he caught something— a flash of hot pink when your shirt drew up while bending over.
A fucking thong.
Thin strings on either sides of your hips and Jack can imagine the fabric wedged between those perfectly rounded cheeks— what were you thinking wearing that into work?
When you stand Jack mourns the loss of the spectacular view. Grabbing the syringe you offer with less than steady hands.
“Are you trying to kill me?”
Your brows furrow, he’s whispering now and looking intently into your eyes. Lust blown and surprised.
“Excuse me?”
“Because hot pink thongs are what you wear when you’re trying to kill a guy.”
You gawk. “Jack.”
The patient is right in-front of you, eyes darting between the pair.
“I mean— you were practically asking for me to pull at them, I could have given you a wedg—“
“It is laundry day. I had nothing else.” Your face starts to feel like it’s heating with embarrassment. Hissing through your teeth like a viper.
“Mmm… very likely. How come I’ve never seen this pair before?”
And before you could snap back something about him being a very presumptuous asshole your patient speaks.
“Huh? What are you saying to the poor lass getting her all flustered!? I can’t hear anything!”
Jack lets out a little breathy laugh. Shaking his head and finally getting the syringe ready.
“Ohhh don’t worry about her, she’s in good hands.”
Hands that want to sneak down the front of your pants apparently.
What is jack abbots problem and why do you like it?
Warnings: friends/coworkers to lovers, established mutual feelings, fluff, drunk reader, whipped Jack.
Summary: Jack decides he’s done hiding exactly how whipped he is for you.
After a brutal week of work, your shift crew was letting loose, trading complaints about management and downing cheap drinks.
But Jack wasn't paying attention to any of them.
He was leaning against the table, a half empty beer in his hand, with his gaze entirely on you. You were sitting across the table, throwing your head back as you laughed at a joke someone just made. The warm ambient lighting of the pub caught the edge of your smile, and right then, something shifted heavily in Jack’s chest.
God, she’s easily the most beautiful person in this room, he thought, a sudden clarity hitting him.
It wasn't just a fleeting work crush anymore, and he knew it.
Watching the way you effortlessly commanded the space around you, he realized he was completely done for.
He found himself thinking past the walls of the bar, imagining what it would be like to be the one walking you to your front door tonight. He’d willingly play the perfect gentleman, do whatever it took, even charm your mom if he ever got the chance to meet her; anything just to ensure he got to stay in your life.
The mere thought of a future with you, spoken out loud or just kept in his head, made his heart race.
As if feeling the weight of his stare, you turned your head. Your eyes met his, and your smile softened into something private, just for him.
Jack didn’t look away. Instead, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
The music in the bar shifted to something with a pulsing beat, and a few people from the shift immediately dragged you out toward the cramped dance floor.
Jack stayed at the table, but he didn't join the conversation around him. His eyes followed you through the lights. He watched the way you moved, the unbothered laugh on your lips, and the way you completely shook off the stress of the past week.
Every second he spent watching you only hammered the realization deeper into his chest.
When a song ended, you made your way back, flushed and laughing. The drinks had fully caught up to you by now, leaving your mind pleasantly fuzzy and your movements a little loose.
Instead of reclaiming your original seat, you slid straight into the tight space right next to Jack.
The moment your hip met his, his hand slid effortlessly around your waist, his palm warm as he pulled you against his side. The warmth of your body radiated through his clothes, and because of the alcohol blurring your usual boundaries, you happily let yourself sink heavily into him, leaning your head back against his shoulder and looking up with slightly unfocused eyes.
"Too much dancing?" he murmured, dropping hus voice so only you could hear him over the bar’s bass.
"Maybe a little," you hummed, a smile playing on your lips. "Or maybe it's the drinks."
"You're a lightweight," he teased softly. As the words left his mouth, he leaned his head down and pressed a kiss right against the bare skin of your shoulder, his lips were warm against your skin.
A shiver ran down your spine, and you let out a soft giggle, shifting even closer until there was absolutely no space left between you. You reached up, your fingers playfully tugging at the lapel of his jacket. "Are you being sweet to me, Jack?"
"I can be whatever you want me to be," he replied without a hint of hesitation, his hand at your waist gently squeezing. He was completely dialed into you, entirely forgetting that you two weren't alone.
Across the table, a few looks were traded. A couple of eyebrows went up. One of the paramedics cleared their throat loudly, a massive smirk spreading across their face.
"Uh, Jack? You want us to leave you two alone?"
Jack blinked, fucking finally remembering the rest of the world existed. He looked up, catching the knowing grins of the entire shift crew staring.
Anyone could see it: the way he was holding you, the softness in his eyes, the absolute focus he had on you. He was totally whipped, and there was absolutely no denying it anymore.
Instead of pulling away or getting defensive, Jack just looked down at you, seeing the faint, beautiful flush on your cheeks. He chuckled, his arm adjusting around your waist.
"Mind your business," Jack said to the table, not a single bit of shame in his voice. "I'm minding mine."
Before anyone could even process his words, Jack turned his head down toward you. His hand slid from your waist up to the nape of your neck, his fingers gently tangling in your hair as he tilted your face up and captured your lips in a deep kiss.
The kiss was deep, slow, and full of all the unspoken words he’d been keeping to himself for months. It was a warm claim that left you completely breathless. He tasted faintly of the beer he’d been sipping, his lips incredibly soft but firm as they molded against yours, demanding a response you were more than ready to give.
The shift went absolutely wild around, cheers and loud whistles erupting from everyone, but Jack didn’t pull back. Instead, he only deepened the kiss.
The sheer excitement of the crew brought a shy heat to your cheeks, and a breathless smile broke across your lips right in the middle of the kiss. Jack let out a chuckle against your mouth, loving the feel of your lips curving against his.
Yielding completely to the fuzzy rush of the alcohol and his touch, you wrapped your arms tighter around his neck, burying your fingers in the collar of his shirt. You tilted your head and kissed him back softly, your smile pressing directly into his as you let him completely steal your breath away.
jack abbot for all his strength and resilience, still had his moments. when the two of you finally came together, he was so surprised to find someone so dedicated to self-regulation. you were a creature of habit, and practicing self-care was of the utmost importance. every day after work, carving out the time to just unwind, sometimes that's in the form of a workout, a home-cooked meal, or baked, or like tonight, a long bath finished with copious amounts of body lotions & oils worked into the skin until you smelled sweet of almonds and raspberries. the grey cotton nightie is soft against your skin. jack comes into the shared bedroom, stopping at the foot of the bed seeing you propped up against the pillow, laid out and with a book in your hand raised up to your nose. the sound of his bag hitting the floor pulled you out of the your concentration, a warm smile pulled at your lips, setting the book down watching as jack started to strip himself of his scrubs.
"is my honeybee home? i missed you. how was work?" your voice was syrupy sweet, filled with warmth. jack got down to just his boxers before sitting at the edge of the bed, removing his prosthetic, peeling off the sock, and massaging the stump where blood had likely pooled beneath the skin.
he was awfully quiet, a telltale sign of a difficult night. explained why he came home a little later than usual. he was clean, freshly showered. he only ever showered at the hospital for 2 reasons: covered in too much fluid for it to wait till he got home or whatever was weighing him down needed to be left at the hospital. he had become a bit spiritual in terms of energy transfer. there was a steady few months where he'd find himself feeling even lower when he got home, and by consequence, lashing out at you in unwarranted ways. at some point, he made it a rule that whatever shitty things happened at work, stayed there; he couldn't bring that baggage home, into the one domain he so ferociously protected. he found showering at the hospital, washing it all away, both physically and mentally, made it easier to come home.
crawling up behind him, his back is to you as he worked to massage the ache. you pressed a gentle kiss to his shoulder, hands resting on his biceps as you kissed along his shoulder blade. trailing your lips up to his neck and stopping just below his ear as you settled behind him. hands sliding from his arms to around his waist until they settled on his stomach, a huff of breath came as he exhaled and relaxed back into your touch, one hand resting atop yours as you peered at him over his shoulder. exhaustion settled into the fine lines of his face, the same wrinkles by his eyes that you'd grown to love that crinkled with joy when he looked at you, remained unmoving now. his eyes drifted up to yours when you brought your hand to rest on his cheek, tilting his face up. brows knit with concern, sparkling doting eyes, your thumb smoothed over his cheek, a creeping thought of what wrong he turned right to have been so lucky to have you in his life.
"bad day, just a bad day, angel." his voice was rough; he did his best to sound reassuring, but the pained expression and tension in his shoulders were enough to tell you he needed comfort.
"let me make it better now," he followed your voice like a siren calling, hands tugging up and into the bed. beneath the sheets and blankets, his body was warm, pressed firmly against you. his thigh slotted between your own legs as he pulled you into his embrace, strong arms wrapped around your waist as he rested his head on your chest. one hand was tangled in the soft grey curls of his head while the other ran up and down the expanse of his back, his breathing evening out with every stroke and scratch. eyes closed, stubble scratched against your chest as he placed a chaste kiss to your breast where his face was buried. nails dragging lightly against his scalp and shoulders while you pressed kisses into his forehead, he lay content. not a single thought of the day's work that had him so close to collapse was gone, the weight lifted off his shoulders the minute his angel was there to take it.
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 Tagalong. 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.
i’m obsessed with your rabbot dad/daddy! maybe one of full aftercare after a punishment went a little too overboard? bc reader is genuinely still feeling guilty and sad and quiet and they get concerned? I kinda love the makingup fluff after being too mean
rabbot x reader, cw: fauxcest, aftercare, but also they can’t stop trying to fuck you, robby is dad, jack is daddy
the moment you feel your vision going spotty, you attempt to tap out. you hit the couch. once. twice. but it doesn’t come out as a tap. it looks like you having a tantrum, which is what got you into this mess in the first place. your chest heaves. you can’t breathe. distantly, you hear robby click his tongue behind you. “we hitting the leather now?” your head swims and you slam against the arm of the couch, going completely limp.
when you come to, robby is the one who looks like he’s about to crack in two. your head is in jack’s lap, and dad keeps wiping your face and brow with a cool cloth. your lips part. robby’s face crumples with complete relief. “oh god, honey. you were trying to tap out, weren’t you?” you try to muster a nod. jack bends to kiss you hair. “our poor baby. dads got too mean, huh?”
robby’s large hand envelopes your own. he brings it to his lips. “i’m so sorry, baby. i wasn’t listening right. that was on me.” you move to nuzzle his cheek. “‘s okay, dad… love you.” he looks to jack, who nods. robby pulls you into a crushing hug. “my baby. i love you so much. so, so much. dad got out of hand.” his voice cracks. you shake your head. “was bad… was so, so bad.” your breath hitches. you’re close to tears again. robby rocks you, back and forth and back, “you did so good. we’re so proud of you. we love you so much.”
your eyes are glassy with devastation. you repeat “didn’t wanna be bad.” jack presses a kiss to your head. “you’ve never been bad a day in your life, angel.” he looks to robby, who clears his throat. “daddy’s right. you’ve never been bad. you know we love you.”
jack wipes at his eyes, though he’d deny it if you ever asked. he forces a smile. “you want cocoa, princess? think that’ll make it better?” you shake your head miserably. “don’t deserve cocoa.” robby fights the ugly, automatic urge to lecture you. to slap you. to say “you don’t decide that.” instead, he rubs your back, tilts your chin, and peppers kisses on your cheeks. “course you deserve it, baby. sweetest girl in the world deserves sweet drinks.” he adds, semi cruelly, “you trust us, don’t you?”
you nod your head fervently. if there is one thing you trust in this world, it’s your dads. jack kisses your head again. “daddy’s gonna make you cocoa, okay?” you make a pitiful sound. “okay…”
while jack works in the kitchen, robby kneels in front of you. he presses your thighs apart. “lemme say sorry, angel.” his mouth works against you. your head tilts back. “‘s my fault.” again, he fights the urge to smack your thigh. he shakes his head, beard scratching against your skin. “no, baby. it wasn’t. you did so well.”
jack comes back into the living room, cup of hot chocolate in hand. he smiles softly, then settles beside you as robby continues. “dad helping you out, bunny?” his lips are on yours, firm, steady. you feel the tension in your heart ebb. jack kneads at your breast. “we just want you to feel good, honey. wanna cum for your dads?”
your body begins to spasm. you clutch at robby’s hair. he doesn’t flinch. his tongue works until you fall apart, and pulls away without overstimulating you. jack pulls you into his lap. robby kisses your cheek, lips still glossy with your release. “forgive us.”
college au where best friends jack and robby are med school juniors and dennis is a baby faced freshman.
jack and robby share a crappy apartment and after the two take dennis home from the bar one night, they keep him and start to share him like they would with any other object in the house.
dennis will get fucked to sleep in jacks bedroom, then wake up in robby’s bed being fucked into consciousness.
jack busting into robby’s room while robby is giving it to dennis good,
“hey no fair, I was only grabbing a snack and then he was gone.” he’s sliding into the bed though, kissing up dennis’s exposed chest.
robby leans up to create space for him, “snooze you lose brother. can’t leave your door open with such an appetizing sight all spread out on your bed.”
dennis is moaning and whining, his orgasm approaching while the two argue over his head.
the year goes by with dennis in a perpetual state of fucked out, being over-the-shoulder carried up and down the hallway, traded for snacks and homework answers, and having at least two prostate orgasms a day.
“i’ll take your grocery shopping day and i’ll buy your brand of beer for two weeks, please just give him back.”
jack is fucking dennis over the back of the couch while robby stands in the doorframe looking on petulantly
“no way brother, i’ve barely had him at all this week because of your stupid pharmaceutical exams.”
the argument gets drowned out by dennis’ content moans when jack switches to eating him out in between responses, but trust and believe robby is stealing their boy back later tonight.
and hey, dennis gets free housing, meals, and sex by accidently becoming two med students’ free use toy so he truly feels like the winner here.
