rabbot x reader where reader has not been responding to their texts for the whole day so they get worried. They rush back home and realize reader is sick and sleeping?
texts with jack abbot and michael "robby" robinavitch when you're sick and accidentally ghost them
♡ note: thank you for the suggestion! i hope you enjoy ♡
♡ pairing: jack abbot x gn reader x michael "robby" robinavitch
♡ tags: they/them pronouns for reader; sickfic; reader is called honey, sweetheart, and poor thing; jack is called brother and babe; robby is called man, babe, and mike
texts while in a relationship with jack abbot and michael "robby" robinavitch
♡ pairing: jack abbot x gn reader x michael "robby" robinavitch
♡ tags: mainly lighthearted and fluffy, light angst, suggestive, mentions of jack's deceased wife, reader is called honey, baby, and sweetheart, jack is called jackie and brother, robby is called mike and mikey
♡ pairing: jack abbot x gn reader x michael "robby" robinavitch
♡ word count: 1.2k
♡ tags: hangovers, fluff, robby calls reader honey, jack calls reader baby, and reader calls them mikey and jackie
You wake up feeling like a damn bus ran you over.
“Fuck,” you whine, tugging the covers snugly over your body and curling up into a ball. You refuse to open your eyes, screwing them tightly shut. If you keep them closed that means you’re not quite awake yet and you can force yourself back to sleep and let this all roll over.
Unfortunately, nothing is that easy.
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”
Unwillingly, you crack your eyes open. The sunlight streaming through the cracks in your blinds makes you wince, your head fucking throbbing, and you glare at Robby who has his arms folded over his chest as he leans against the doorway to your bedroom. He looks way too amused for your damn liking.
“No.”
“No?” Robby chuckles.
“No,” you repeat. You close your eyes again and try to get comfortable once more. Maybe you can become fused with the mattress. “It’s not a good morning because I woke up feeling like dog shit,” you unhappily mutter, cheek pressed into your pillow.
You hear Robby’s footsteps against the hardwood floor as he crosses the length of the room.
“I told you to slow it down last night,” Robby knowingly says. The bed dips beneath his weight as he sits beside you.
“Thank you, Michael. Hindsight is 20/20,” you dryly respond, leaning into his touch as he runs a comforting hand over your back.
“C’mon, time to get up,” he says after a few minutes, to which you immediately groan. “Jack’s making breakfast, and I got a glass of ice-cold water and some ibuprofen with your name on it.”
“Don’t wanna get up,” you grumble, pulling the covers over your head. Though you must admit that the promise of Jack’s cooking is tempting, in your current hungover state, you don’t know if you can handle it. Your tummy turns, settling uneasily. “I don’t know if I can stomach anything right now. My stomach currently feels like it’s revolting against me,” you complain, clutching at your abdomen.
“Gotta eat something, honey,” Robby says, sympathetic but not letting you get away with wasting away in bed all morning long that easily. “You, of all people, shouldn’t take ibuprofen on an empty stomach," he reminds you. "Jack’s making something light, so it will be easy on your stomach.”
You poke your head out from underneath the covers, narrowing your eyes at Robby, suspicious but also curious. “What’s he making?”
Before Robby has an opportunity to respond, Jack waltzes into the room with a plate in hand and a glass of ice-cold water in the other. "I made you," he answers, setting down the plate of food and glass of water on the nightstand beside you, "just some eggs and toast. Didn't think you would have much of an appetite this morning." He leans in and pecks your forehead, and you can't help but melt a little beneath the combination of his and Robby's touch. "Good to see you've joined the land of the living this morning, baby."
"Morning to you too," you grumble. With a loud groan, you sit up, letting the covers pool around your waist. You're not going to be able to get back to sleep any time soon. "Thank you for making me breakfast, Jackie,” you lean up and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Jack turns his head to give you a proper kiss on the lips. It’s languid and sweet, and even though your head is pounding and your stomach is turning, you think you’re starting to feel a little bit better just from Jack kissing you.
“What about my thanks?”
You exaggeratedly roll your eyes as you part from Jack and turn your attention to Robby. He holds out the glass of water and two pills of ibuprofen towards you. “Thank you, Mikey,” you say, pecking him on the lips, twice for good measure, as you take the pills and toss them into your mouth before taking the glass of water from his hand. You wash down the ibuprofen with one big gulp of water. Water has never tasted so good nor so refreshing, you think as you greedily chug the glass you’ve been handed. Man, you must have been really dehydrated.
“Slow down there sailor,” Jack says, settling down into the desk chair you have in the bedroom. He wheels himself over to saddle up by your side and places his hand on the glass, gently encouraging you to put it down. “Gonna hurt your stomach even more at this rate.”
Reluctantly, you allow him to take it from you, only after you’ve drank nearly three-quarters of the glass, and set it aside.
“Was thirsty,” you pout.
“I can see that.” Jack hands you the plate to which you accept. “Eat up while it’s hot.”
Just like he said, Jack’s made you eggs on toast. No frills, nothing fancy or extravagant, but he’s made it perfectly, just the way you like it. The toast is covered in a thin layer of butter, and it's nice and crunchy, but not too crunchy to the point where it’s nearly burnt. The eggs are fried, the edges golden-brown and crispy while the yolk is runny but not so runny that it will drip down your chin as you eat.
You lean into Robby’s side and he wraps an arm around you as you happily munch away. When you first woke up, food was the furthest thing from your mind, but it seems like you have more of an appetite than you previously thought.
Robby and Jack start talking about work, going over cases they had during their shifts this past week. You’re content to just listen to them as you have your mouth full of food. They discuss ones that they both worked on as well as share stories about patients that were exclusively seen during the day or night shift. Jack wordlessly takes the plate from you when you’ve decided you’ve had enough, not keen on pushing the limits of your stomach when it’s feeling as precarious as it is. You rest your head against Robby's shoulder, watching as Jack offers Robby your leftovers and starts eating the other half of your eggs and toast when the latter waves it away.
Even though you just woke up, you're starting to feel drowsy again. It must be because you just ate. You always get a little sleepy after eating. You blink, long and slow, trying to follow along to Jack and Robby's conversation.
"Go ahead and close your eyes, baby," Jack says, swallowing down the last bit of the eggs and toast. He sets the plate aside on the nightstand and places his hand over the covers where your knee is. "We'll be here when you wake up."
"Mhm, okay," you sleepily agree, letting your eyes slip shut. You nuzzle your cheek against Robby, and he rubs his hand up and down the length of your back. "Love you."
Two overlapping voices saying "Love you too" is the last thing you hear before you fall asleep again.
(By the time you wake up for the second time this morning, or afternoon at this point, the sun is much higher in the sky, but Robby and Jack are still in their same places talking at a low volume. Still here.)
♡ note: art credit goes to @/alleesaur. as stated here, the artist allows reposts as long as credit is given! i was turning this dynamic around and around in my mind of bunny/rabbit!rabbot and their unsettling hare!partner
♡ pairing: jack abbot x gn reader x michael “robby” robinavitch
♡ word count: .9k
JACK ABBOT AS…THE BUNNY.
Soft and fluffy are by no means words that would ever be used to describe Jack Abbot. He is a battle hardened war veteran, a former combat medic. He has first-hand experience of the atrocities and the devastation that always accompany war and violence. He lives with the proof of it every single day, the lack of part of his leg an ever-present reminder of the costs of war.
For years now, Jack has taken on the role as the current night shift attending of the ER department at PTMC, a position that requires him to make split-second decisions at the drop of a hat when it comes to his patients’ care. He’s the one that others turn to for guidance, the one who ultimately has to make the hard decisions that others can’t.
So no, when one thinks of Jack Abbot, the adjectives of soft and fluffy aren’t exactly the first words that come to mind to describe the man.
But out of the three of you, Jack is by far the most agreeable. Jack and Robby are birds of a feather, night and day, two sides of the same coin. However, doctors and nurses alike would agree that Jack is the more approachable of the two, the more even-tempered and level-headed one. He’s quick with a sharp-witted quip that prompts others to roll their eyes and huff, unfortunately amused with him. He’s unafraid to provide criticism even if it may be difficult for his residents to hear, but he’s also free with his praise, ensuring that, at the end of the day, they understand that they’re doing good work, that he thinks they’re doing well.
MICHAEL “ROBBY” ROBINAVITCH AS…THE RABBIT.
In comparison to Jack, Robby is a little more…prickly, to say the least. As the day shift attending of the ER department at PTMC, Robby does his best, there’s absolutely no denying that he’s an exceptionable doctor, but there’s a certain weariness that never seems to leave him, a weight on his shoulders as heavy as the burden that Atlas himself is forced to bear that never seems to lighten. He’s grown resigned to the system that exists and the bureaucratic bullshit that prevents any positive changes from ever occurring. Robby is jaded, through and through.
Maybe, it’s because of all the years he’s worked in the Pitt. All the things he’s witnessed, all the patients that he’s treated. The ones he fails, that he loses, always stick with him, long after they’ve entered the Pitt, only to exit those doors in a body bag. He tosses and turns their cases in his mind on the nights he can’t sleep, which is nearly every night, going through a play-by-play of his actions and the decisions he made. He wonders if he did something different, if he was better, faster, smarter, if things would have turned out differently.
Robby has a good heart. He’s a good man, but he can’t see past himself sometimes. He’s so stuck in his own head and in the mistakes that he’s made that he can’t focus on what’s in front of him. He can’t see his residents for who they are rather he sees too much of himself in some of them and wishes he didn’t. So he prods and pushes and lashes out at people who don’t deserve it.
Robby will admit that he can be a real son of a bitch when he wants to be.
YOU AS…THE HARE.
Now, you…you’re an odd one. Maybe it’s the nature of your work as a pathologist whose speciality lies within autopsy, but others in the ED tend to find you unsettling. Nobody can say that you’re unkind or cruel because you’re not, not by any means, but there’s something about you that feels off.
Trinity Santos has nicknamed you Dr. Death, and well, she’s not exactly wrong. Whenever you come up from the basement where the hospital’s morgue is located and enter the Pitt, it’s like a hush falls over the room, even though the bustling nature of Pittsburgh’s Trauma Medical Center’s Emergency Room never truly ceases. You’re quiet, silent enough with your movements that you tend to give others a fright when they finally take notice of you, standing, waiting in their periphery. As they try and recover from the shock of your unexpected presence, you simply tilt your head, and, with wide unblinking eyes, apologize for startling them. Sometimes, they’ve already hastily dismissed themselves from the interaction before you’re able to get the words out. The reaction isn’t unusual. People in the ED know what your presence signifies, and it is never anything pleasant.
You truly don’t understand where you go wrong when interacting with others. You try your best to be polite and respectful, even attempting to make idle conversation with your colleagues sometimes, but it somehow always goes awry. All you know is that people tend to scatter, giving you a wide berth, whenever your presence is made known in the ER. This is why you enjoy working with the deceased more than the living. The deceased are far less complicated than living, breathing beings. At least with the deceased, they won’t spurn your attempts at conversation.
Jack and Robby make sense together. A little unexpected, but ultimately, after thinking it over, they make a good amount of sense as a pair. Now, throw you into the mix? Nobody really gets it. At all. They can’t wrap their heads around how you fit into the dynamic. You’re a wildcard they can’t figure out. But, they don’t need to. Jack and Robby love you all the same.
