I know last time I was on here I promised more fics but if I can be entirely honestly I’ve took a major step back from this fandom.
in other space I’ve faced racism and sexism that frankly just makes me feel unwelcome in this fandom.
I’m really sorry for anyone who was looking for more of the rabbot meets twins antics.
at this point and for my own peace of mind I am taking a break. Now this is not to say I won’t ever come back. Maybe next season if the culture changes I might be more inclined to write.
thank you so much for your support and I truly feel like I have had fun on here!
hello all!
I’m so sorry for abandoning you like that! I promise I promise I have not forgotten about this blog. Between the holidays (second year actually celebrating thanksgiving and i didn’t mess it up!) and my kids I’ve had no time to breathe never mind write.
I have a really fun idea that was submitted for the twins that I cannot wait to post for you all! Hopefully it’ll be out before next year :)
I hope everyone enjoys their holiday season (however you celebrate!) and I can’t wait to get back to writing with you guys again!!
summary: Motherhood does not come natural for all. Sometimes there is an adjustment period.
warnings: PPD, Bad thoughts, Self loathing, All of the fun adjustments that come from being a new mom.
Word count: 4k
a/n: Everyone say thank you to my sister for babysitting so I don't go mental. I went to the library and wrote this in an hour so if there are mistakes do not look at me. I am not sure if any of this makes sense but it's hard enough trying to figure out how to navigate motherhood for the first time but I think if I had two doctors who already knew what to do I would spiral.
Dividers:@strangergraphics
It had been a never-ending cycle since you came home from the hospital.
You’d already felt guilty about staying longer than planned. First because of Jude’s breathing issues, then because of the way everyone seemed to bend around you. Nurses dropping everything to tend to the Abbots. You were never without help. Never without care.
And somehow, that only made you feel worse.
Now that you were home, you felt like shit.
The twins had apparently conspired in the womb to never sleep at the same time. Stevie took hers in forty-five-minute increments, each one ending in a wail that could shatter glass. Jude, on the other hand, refused to sleep anywhere but on Jack’s chest—and screamed bloody murder if you so much as tried to move him.
So here you were. Three in the morning. Standing at the kitchen sink, waiting for milk to heat, eyes half-glued open.
The reflection in the window didn’t even look like you. Hair tangled, shirt stained with milk, or spit-up, or tears, who could tell. Your eyes were dark, hollow.
You couldn’t do this.
You couldn’t live like this.
It had only been a week since you came home, and you were already failing. Couldn’t pump enough milk for both babies—failure. Had to supplement with formula—failure. Couldn’t tell which cry meant what—failure. The list stacked higher with every breath.
Stevie’s wail sliced through the quiet, pulling you from your daze. You grabbed the bottle with shaking hands and made your way upstairs, gripping the railing so tightly your knuckles burned.
You stopped outside the nursery.
Once upon a time, this had been your space. Your little haven for painting, music, books—whatever struck your fancy. The boys had made sure you had it, a place to just exist. Now, the pastel yellow flowers you’d painted months ago mocked you from the walls, whispering the cruel truth: nothing was really yours anymore. Not your body. Not your mind. Not your space.
Stevie cried again, the sound raw and desperate. You went to her crib, scooping her up and trying to coo, but your voice came out flat, empty. You rocked her awkwardly, holding the bottle to her lips.
“Come on, babe,” you murmured, your voice breaking. “Give me a break, huh?”
“Need a hand?”
Robby’s voice was thick, rough with sleep. You didn’t have to turn to know he was already crossing the room. He reached for Stevie without hesitation, gathering her into his chest like it was second nature. His hum was soft, deep—and within seconds, she stilled against him, quieting almost instantly.
The burn in your chest was instant. You handed him the bottle, wordless, watching as she latched and began to drink like it was nothing.
The thoughts came rushing back, sharp and cruel.
You couldn’t even feed your own baby.
Couldn’t soothe her.
Couldn’t do anything right.
“Why don’t you go get some more sleep, mama?” Robby said quietly, eyes still on the baby. “We’ve got the doctor’s appointment in the morning. I’ll handle our girl.”
You nodded, turning away before he could see the scowl forming on your face.
Mama.
That’s all you were now.
Not a person. Not an artist. Not a partner.
Just a vessel. A caretaker.
And you couldn’t even do that right.
You slid into the large bed.
At one point, you wouldn’t have been able to move without one of them touching you — a stray hand slipping beneath your shirt, teasing you, pulling you close. Just to acknowledge you.
Not now.
Maybe not ever again.
Jack’s thick arms didn’t wrap around your middle anymore. His gruff voice didn’t whisper innuendos into your neck. You didn’t get to shove him off with a laugh and tell him to watch himself.
So you did what you’d become so familiar with this past week — you let the hot tears stream silently down your face until sleep dragged you under again.
The next morning, you got dressed in a haze. Robby and Jack had handled the twins, moving around you quietly, like you were something fragile that might shatter if gripped too hard. They’d nudged you toward the shower before heading off to feed the babies.
You were grateful, in a way. Grateful they didn’t see your body like this — lumpy, leaking, and foreign. You didn’t reach for the soft, flowing top you used to love before pregnancy. Instead, you grabbed the thickest sweater you owned — something to hide in.
At pediatrics, you sat between them, a baby carrier in each of their hands, your go bag clutched to your lap like a shield.
“Abbot,” the nurse called.
Jack stood easily, his voice soft as he bent to lift Jude’s carrier. “Alright, bub.” Jude gurgled happily in response, and Jack smiled down at him like the sun itself.
Robby followed, carrying sleeping Stevie in the crook of his arm. He paused at the doorway and glanced back at you.
“Coming?” he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice.
You nodded quickly and rose, keeping your eyes down as you trailed after them.
“Alright, mama,” the nurse said brightly as you entered the exam room. “Can I get your date of birth?”
You recited it automatically, eyes flicking to the firetruck painted on the wall. The colors were too bright, too much.
The silence that followed made your stomach twist. You looked back. Jack and Robby were both watching you with puzzled expressions. The nurse gave a kind, patient smile.
“Sorry, mama,” she corrected gently. “I meant their date of birth.”
“Oh—right!” You forced a small laugh that came out shaky. “Of course. It’s—uh…”
Your mind went blank.
They weren’t even that old. You remembered the day — the happiest day of your life, right? You remembered the crying, the tiny fists, the way Jack’s hands shook when he held Stevie. You remembered feeling it all.
But the number—
The number was gone.
Your throat burned. Heat rushed to your face.
“August 8th,” Jack said finally, smiling like it was no big deal.
Right. August. You knew that. You and Dana had spent hours going over their birth charts, laughing about Leo babies. You knew that.
You shut your mouth and stayed quiet after that. Jack and Robby handled everything — feedings, sleep, weight, questions from the doctor. You nodded when spoken to, but it all sounded far away, muffled under water.
The nurse kept glancing at you. You saw it — the polite smile, the note she scribbled when you forgot the date. She was going to call CPS. She was going to report that the mother couldn’t even remember her own babies’ birthday.
They’d take the twins away.
Jack and Robby would probably leave you too. Why wouldn’t they? They’d been fine before you. You were the one who forced your way into their perfect little orbit. Now you were just a mess with a ruined body and a brain that didn’t work.
You tried to reason with yourself. That’s not fair. You hadn’t slept. You’d been up every night. You were healing. You deserved some grace.
But the voice in your head wouldn’t stop.
They didn’t need you anymore.
You were useless now.
“Hey,” Jack’s voice cut through the spiral, sharp and grounding. “You okay?”
You didn’t look up. “Fine.”
Silence stretched between the three of you as he started the car.
“You wanna try that again and sound convincing?” Robby said finally, his tone soft but teasing.
You forced a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “Told you, I’m fine.”
But the word sat heavy in the air like smoke that wouldn’t clear.
The week stretched on.
Jack and Robby fell into a rhythm, feedings, diapers, naps, soothing, repeating. A practiced dance that somehow came naturally to them both. You, on the other hand, felt like you were watching it all from behind glass. They moved through a secret world you no longer belonged to.
You told yourself they noticed — that they must have seen how far away you’d drifted. And maybe they did. They started handing you small tasks, little pieces of normal. Things to “help.” To make you feel like you still had a place.
But to you, it felt like being quietly benched.
“We’re running low on rations,” Jack said one morning, stepping into the living room with Stevie nestled in the crook of his arm. His voice was light, teasing — too careful.
“You wanna go out?” He asked, eyes locking on yours. “I’ll give you my card. Maybe stop by that café you liked — get yourself something nice on the way home? Make a whole day of it?”
He was trying to sound casual. You could hear the hope under it. The please just leave the house for a little while.
You stared at him, expression flat, then nodded.
They wanted you out. Of course they did. You were a storm cloud hovering over their new life, and they were tired of the rain.
“I already made a list,” Robby added quickly, pulling out his phone. “I’ll text it to you. You just go out, okay? Have fun. We got it here.”
Robby smiled that easy, careful smile — the one that used to make you feel safe, now just hollow. He meant well. You knew that. They both did.
But you also knew what was coming.
You grabbed the keys without another word and slipped out the door.
As soon as it clicked shut behind you, Robby exhaled.
“Are you as worried about her as I am?” he asked, voice low, eyes fixed on the door.
Jack rubbed a hand over his face and sighed, shoulders sagging. “Yeah. I know this is hard for her. It’s a hard adjustment for all of us. But she just… won’t talk anymore.”
“She’s not herself,” Robby murmured, sitting down beside him. “I thought about calling Adamson. Maybe he can prescribe her something — PPD, maybe?”
Jack nodded slowly, still staring at the baby in his arms. “Yeah. That’s good. Maybe a therapist, too.”
Stevie stirred softly, a small sound bubbling from her lips. Jack adjusted her against his chest and smiled faintly.
“She just needs to come back to us,” he said quietly. “That’s all.”
You walked through the sliding glass doors of the local store, the motion sensor hissing open like a sigh. The lights hit you first sharp, sterile, too bright, followed by the staccato rhythm of beeping scanners and rustling bags.
A baby cried somewhere near the registers. The sound was piercing, unrelenting, and for a split second your body reacted before your brain did your chest tightening, milk threatening to spill down. You clenched your jaw and pushed a cart forward, steering past the noise.
The source came into view — a young mother swaying with a red-faced infant in her arms. At her feet, another little one, maybe three or four, trailed behind her, hands pressed tight over her ears and a fierce scowl twisting her tiny features. You let out a quiet, breathy laugh half sympathy, half recognition and kept walking.
Your phone buzzed in your hand. Robby’s list glowed up at you like a commandment.
Bananas? Check.
Pineapples? Check.
You should probably grab vegetables too. Something green. What was it you used to snack on? The thought slipped away as quickly as it came. Lately, eating anything without your stomach turning was a small miracle.
You rolled the cart down another aisle, eyes scanning for the lactation cookies you’d read about at three in the morning when Stevie wouldn’t stop crying. You were still squinting at the shelves when something soft collided with your leg.
You turned sharply.
The little girl from before stood there, hands still clamped over her ears, eyes scrunched shut tight. Her lip trembled.
You crouched down to her level, the linoleum cold against your knees.
“Hey,” you said gently. “Are you okay, sweetie?”
“Too loud,” she whispered, voice so small you almost didn’t hear it.
You nodded, a quiet chuckle escaping you. “Yeah. Babies can be really loud, huh?”
Her head bobbed in agreement.
“And smelly,” you added, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “And wriggly. And scary sometimes, too.”
That earned you the tiniest smile.
“What’s your name?” you asked.
“Eliana,” she said, still whispering.
“Eliana.” You smiled softly. “That’s beautiful. I’m—” you paused, the word catching for half a second, remembering that you are a person outside of a mother. You introduce yourself.
You leaned in a little, lowering your voice. “Can I tell you a secret, Eliana?”
Her big brown eyes went wide as she nodded.
“I have two babies at home,” you said, smiling as if it were a confession. “And you know what? I’m here because I’m hiding from them, too.”
Eliana’s mouth curved upward, uncertain but curious. She studied you like she couldn’t tell if you were joking or serious. You didn’t even know yourself.
“But you know what I do know?” you said softly. “Babies aren’t going to be scary forever. One day soon, that little baby is going to be your best friend. I’m sure you’re already a wonderful big sister. They’re lucky to have you.”
A toothy grin spread across her small face, transforming her completely.
“You think?” she asked, hopeful.
“I know.”
For a moment, the two of you stayed there tucked between aisles of letting the world go quiet. You watched the tension melt from her little shoulders, the way her breathing slowed. Then a voice high and worried cut through the air.
“Ellie?”
You raised your brow at her and held out your hand, helping her stand.
“I think your mommy’s looking for you,” you said with a small smile.
Together you walked toward the sound until a woman came into view, pushing a half-filled cart, her eyes wild with panic. The instant she spotted her daughter, her whole body deflated in relief.
“Eliana! Do not run away from me—do you know how worried I was?” the woman scolded, then turned to you, her expression softening into an apologetic smile.
“I’m so sorry about her. We’re… adjusting.”
You waved her off. “No problem. You’ve got a very sweet girl here.”
Eliana looked up at you as she climbed into the cart, giving you a small wave. You returned it automatically, a faint warmth tugging at your chest.
“She’s usually so shy,” her mother said, shaking her head with a tired laugh. “You must be really good with kids.”
You stuttered, caught off guard, before brushing off the compliment. “I—uh—twins,” you managed.
Her face softened instantly. “Ah, got your hands full, huh?”
“Something like that,” you said, offering a small, stiff smile.
She gave you one last knowing look as she adjusted Eliana in the seat. “Hang in there. It’ll get easier.”
And then she was gone cart rolling away somewhere down another aisle.
You stood there for a long moment, the hum of the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, the echo of her words hanging in the air. Hang in there.
For the first time in weeks, something in your chest loosened just a little. You weren’t fixed. You weren’t better. But you felt… lighter.
You wrapped up your shopping with a little extra pep in your step. You stopped by the café like Jack had suggested and got a snack. You walked around town, letting the sun toast your skin, soaking in the warmth and the vitamin D before finally returning home.
You carried in a few of the bags by yourself, still savoring the rare feeling of freedom before it was ripped away again. You were halfway through unloading the last of the groceries when you heard Jack’s voice.
“Hey,” he said, rounding the corner, that gravelly tone soft for once. “How was your day?”
“Really good, actually.” You smiled, small but genuine.
He stepped closer and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Good. We missed you—babies missed you,” he added evenly, eyes scanning your face for a reaction.
You pursed your lips and nodded, feeling that brief lightness start to flicker.
Then Robby appeared, holding Jude against his chest, the baby cooing softly. “Look! I thought we heard Mama.” His voice was warm, proud. He offered Jude toward you.
You hesitated before taking the baby. The weight in your arms was both comforting and terrifying.
“Missed you,” Robby said gently, moving to unload groceries.
Jude squirmed. His face screwed up, lips trembling, and then the whine came—a soft, pitiful cry that built into something sharper. His tiny head turned from side to side, searching, rejecting.
Your chest clenched. “Just—just take him. I can’t.”
Jack’s face fell, but he moved fast, scooping the baby from your arms. Jude calmed almost immediately.
“What’s—”
You waved him off before he could finish, your throat closing up. You turned on your heel, desperate to get out of the room, but Robby was suddenly there, sliding in front of you, his hands gentle but firm on your shoulders.
“Wait—just wait. Talk to us,” he said softly.
You shook your head hard, tears already burning your eyes. “Why does it matter?”
Robby frowned. “Because we care. Because—”
“You’re going to leave anyway!” you cried, the words ripping out of you before you could stop them. “You got what you wanted.”
Both men froze, confusion flashing across their faces.
“What does that mean?” Jack asked, his voice low and careful.
“I can’t do this,” you sobbed. “I’m not good at this. And you’re going to leave me.”
Once the floodgates opened, there was no stopping it. The tears poured hot and endless.
“I can’t feed them, can’t soothe them, can’t even hold them without them fighting me! I can’t do anything without help. I’m gross, I’m useless, I’m just—” You choked on the words, gasping for air. “I’m not even human anymore. I’m just Mom! You don’t even say my name anymore!”
Jack’s mouth parted, but nothing came out.
“I can’t do this. I can’t—” Your voice broke completely, and you crumpled, collapsing to your knees on the kitchen floor.
“Okay, okay,” Jack murmured, his voice trembling as he handed Jude back to Robby.
Robby nodded, face drawn tight with worry. He disappeared down the hall, the soft creak of the nursery door closing behind him. When he came back, his arms were empty. He sank down beside you on the tile, shoulder brushing yours.
Jack crouched in front of you, his large hands steady but tentative as he reached for you.
“You’re not alone,” he said quietly. “You hear me? You are not alone.”
“I am!” you cried, the word breaking on a sob as you buried your face in your hands.
“You guys are so much better at this than I am,” you choked out between gasps. “It’s like they know I’m a failure.”
Robby’s voice was thick when he answered. “You are not a failure. You’re doing so much better than you think. We don’t know what we’re doing either.”
You shook your head, pressing your palms harder against your eyes as if you could block out everything the noise, their voices, even the air itself. The sobs came again, full-body, messy and unrestrained. Both men stayed right there beside you, silent anchors against the chaos.
“Hey—hey,” Robby murmured after a moment, reaching for your shoulder, but you flinched away.
“This is supposed to be natural,” you whispered hoarsely. “I’m supposed to be good at this.”
“And you are,” Jack said quickly, his tone firm but soft. “You’re the only one Jude hasn’t peed on during a change.” That got the faintest, broken laugh out of you. He kept going.
“You can burp him almost instantly. You notice when Stevie’s fussy before we even do. You know them, babe.”
Jack’s voice cracked just slightly at the end. “The only reason we halfway know what we’re doing is because we’ve seen it all in the ER. We’re just as confused as you are.”
Robby nodded, brushing his thumb over your knee. “This isn’t supposed to be easy. It’s not natural, it’s learning. And we’re doing it together, okay?”
You sniffled, eyes glassy as you finally looked between them. Both men looked worn—dark circles, unshaven, shoulders heavy but their eyes were warm, steady, locked on you.
For the first time in what felt like forever, the breath that left your chest wasn’t a sob. It was shaky, but it was release.
Jack reached out again, slower this time, his fingers brushing your wrist. “C’mere,” he murmured.
Breathing, together.
“Tomorrow we’ll start looking for a therapist,” Robby said quietly, his hand still tracing slow circles against your back.
“I don’t—” you started, voice small.
“You do,” Jack cut in gently. “And that’s okay. It’s good to talk to someone. Doesn’t mean you’re broken.”
You stared down at your hands, twisting your wedding band around your finger. “I’m supposed to be happy,” you whispered. “I am happy. I just… I hate that I’m not acting like it.”
Robby leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Hey. There’s nothing wrong with needing help. This—” he gestured around the room, to the bottles, the quiet monitor hum, the exhaustion etched into all of you “—this is a lot. For any of us.”
Jack nodded. “It’s a big change. For all three of us. But we’ll figure it out. Together. No one is going anywhere.”
You let out a long, trembling breath and nodded, resting your head on Robby’s shoulder as Jack’s hand found yours.
For the first time in weeks, you could take a breath. You didn't have to worry about what comes next or what you were doing wrong. You just had to focus on moving forward.
summary: How Stevie and Jude came into this world is no less eventful than any other day with them.
warnings: Pregnancy, You have a weird relationship with your mom, Hormones, Birth, Complications, Jack has bad jokes,
Word count: 9k
a/n: I think PPD is kicking me in the tits. I have had zero motivation to write literally anything. I've started like three different fics but I haven't finished anything so were just doing some small moments to get me back into it. not my best Sorry. Also obligatory: Labor does not happen this fast (I mean maybe for some if you are super lucky) But I could not be arsed to write for 6 hours worth of will they wont they labor edition lol.
Dividers:@strangergraphics
Seven months pregnant.
You couldn’t see your feet. You couldn’t sleep on your back. Getting up to pee felt like scaling a mountain — one you had to climb every hour. It was miserable.
And on top of feeling like a stranded ship, you just felt useless. The house ran fine without you lifting a finger, and that somehow made it worse. Not that either Robby or Jack would dare let you say that aloud, both of them doted like it was their second job. But no amount of reassurance could quiet the hormones.
You were sprawled on the couch, one hand absently rubbing your belly, the other flipping through channels until you landed on some overplayed ‘90s comfort movie you’d probably watched fifty times before.
Robby slid in beside you, careful not to jostle the blanket tucked around your legs. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against your hairline.
“How’re you feeling?” he asked for what had to be the thousandth time.
“Fine.” Your voice came out flatter than you meant it to. You reached for your half-melted sugar slush on the coffee table and took a sip.
Robby frowned. “You want me to get you some water?”
“Did I ask for water?” you snapped before you could stop yourself.
“Well, no, but—”
“Then I don’t want anything,” you cut in. “I can still do things myself, you know. You guys act like I’m completely useless.”
The words came out sharper than you intended, and the sting in your eyes told you your hormones were staging a full-blown mutiny. Robby didn’t flinch. He just sighed, slid an arm around your shoulders, and pulled you close.
You sniffed. “No, don’t comfort me, I’m mad at you right now.”
“Uh-huh.” His chest vibrated with a low chuckle.
“I’m serious! If you didn’t knock me up with your big-ass babies, I could actually move.”
That did it, Robby laughed outright. “How do you know they’re mine? Jack could make big babies too.”
“I’m blaming whoever’s closest,” you muttered, finally cracking a reluctant smile.
“Fair,” he said, grinning.
You sighed, the fight draining out of you. “I just… I hate not being able to do anything for myself. I feel crazy, Robby. Emotional and heavy and just— ugh.”
“Hey,” he murmured, thumb rubbing slow circles over your shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re not crazy. It’s normal. And I know we hover. We just— we don’t want you to feel alone, okay?”
You nodded, staring at your swollen stomach where one of the babies gave a soft kick as if to remind you they were listening, too.
Then Robby hesitated, his tone turning careful. “You know, it could be a good idea to think about—”
“Absolutely not, Michael,” you cut in immediately.
He raised his hands in surrender, already smiling. “Just— hear me out. It might be easier if she stayed here until you go into labor.”
You barked out a disbelieving laugh. “You didn’t live with her. You don’t know what you’re asking me to do.”
You shifted, trying to lever yourself off the couch. One, two failed attempts later, you finally accepted Robby’s hand with a frustrated huff.
“How bad can it be?” he teased, steadying you. “You’ll have us here too.”
You turned, shooting him a look. “How would you feel if your parents moved in for two months?”
That wiped the grin off his face. His silence was answer enough.
You sighed, guilt creeping in almost instantly. “Sorry. That was mean. I didn’t mean it.”
Robby shook his head. “It’s okay. I know it’s not really you talking.”
“Yeah,” you said quietly, resting your hand on your belly. “No, that was a low blow. I’m sorry. But it still stands. I cannot live with my mother here for the next two months. I’ll go even crazier than I am now.”
Robby sighed, resigned. “Alright,” he said softly, shaking his head. “I'll leave it. Just think about it.”
A week later, you and Jack trailed through the grocery store, the cart squeaking with every turn. He walked behind you, crossing items off the list with military precision.
“You know,” he said suddenly, “I was thinking… Halloween.”
You grunted, making grabby hands toward the sugary cereal on the shelf. Jack dutifully plucked it down and dropped it into the cart. “What about it?”
He flashed that grin that usually meant trouble. “We should all dress up. First family costume.”
Your heart melted immediately, picturing it — both your boys with a baby carrier between them, walking up driveways in the cool October air. “Oh my god, that would be so cute. What are you thinking? Little pumpkins?”
Jack’s grin widened. “What about… little peppers?”
You frowned. “Peppers?”
He nodded, clearly proud of himself. “Me and Rob could dress up as peppers with the kids, and you could wear that red dress we like—” his voice dropped an octave, hand brushing low on your back — “you’d be red hot, and we’d be the Chili Peppers.”
You stared at him for a full beat, expression flat. “You did not just say that.”
He held up his hands. “Come on, that’s good!”
“Jack,” you groaned, rolling your eyes so hard you thought they might get stuck. You turned and started pushing the cart away.
“What! It’s funny!” he called, jogging to catch up.
“One,” you shot back, “I will be post-babies and exhausted, and gross. Not hot. Two, we are not dressing our kids up as the worst rock band of the ’90s.”
Jack gasped theatrically and stopped the cart, boxing you in between him and the handle. His grin was infuriatingly smug.
“Okay, one — you’re carrying our babies. You’ll always be hot.”
“Jack—”
“Two — there are way worse bands out there. I could’ve said Oasis.”
You gaped at him, scandalized. “Jack Abbott, you take that back.”
He just shrugged, turned on his heel, and sauntered down the aisle.
“Jack! Jack!” you called after him, trying to keep up, your waddle doing you no favors.
“Jack, that’s not fair! I can’t walk that fast— and I have to pee!”
He finally broke, laughter echoing through the aisle.
The night you went into labor didn’t feel like any other night.
You were sprawled on the couch beside Robby, half-curled into his side, eyes glued to The Sopranos rerun he’d insisted on showing you.
“I still can’t believe you didn’t watch this when it came out,” he said, shaking his head, a faint grin tugging at his lips.
“Not everyone’s as old as you,” you teased, giggling through the sharp ache that flared across your body. “Pretty sure I was still in secondary school when this came out.”
He gave a mock glare, but you only snuggled closer. “But this is good,” you added softly. “I like it.”
Robby’s expression softened. “Jack and I used to watch this during residency,” he said, eyes fixed on the TV but voice gone quiet, nostalgic. “If we were in different states, we’d call and sync the episodes. Sometimes we’d stay on the phone the whole time, just to feel less… far.”
Your bottom lip pushed out. “That’s really cute,” you said, voice melting into a fond whine. “You guys are cute.”
He chuckled. “Be glad you missed that era. You would not have liked us during residency.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“We were little assholes,” he said with a smirk.
“Were?” you shot back.
He gave you a playful shove, which earned a genuine laugh from you—one that cut off suddenly when another bolt of pain shot through your abdomen. You winced, one hand gripping your stomach.
“Hey,” Robby said, instantly alert.
“I’m fine,” you lied, forcing a smile. “Just—your spawn is using me as a punching bag. Help me up, I’ll go lay down until they calm down.”
He stood and offered his hand, but the moment you were upright, the world tilted. Pain real pain ripped through your lower back, folding you in half.
“Robby—”
He was already there, catching you before your knees hit the ground. “Okay, okay. Breathe. I’ve got you.” His voice was calm, controlled, the same tone he used in the ER when everything went wrong. “We’re going to the hospital.”
He eased you into the entryway chair, hand steady on your shoulder. “Just sit tight. I’ll grab the bag and call Jack.”
You tried to protest, but he was already gone, taking the stairs two at a time. The contractions came in waves now, heavy and deep, pulling a sob from your throat before you could stop it.
By the time Robby returned, slightly out of breath, go-bag slung over his shoulder and phone still clutched in one hand, you were trembling. He dropped to his knees in front of you, fumbling to help you into your shoes—until he noticed your tears.
“Hey—hey, what’s wrong, baby?” he whispered, tossing the shoe aside and cupping your face with both hands. His thumbs brushed against your wet cheeks.
You shook your head, voice breaking. “I’m not ready.”
Robby’s expression shattered into something soft and desperate.
“I don’t know how to do this,” you whispered, chest hitching.
He leaned closer, forehead pressed to yours, his breath steady against your trembling one.
“Yes, you do,” he murmured. "You can do this. You are strong, capable, and are already a good mom. You are ready. But we have to go now baby"
-
You thought the hardest thing you’d ever go through was getting here.
The long months of swollen feet, sleepless nights, and the ache of being so large you couldn’t roll over without help. You thought labor would be the finish line.
You were wrong.
The pain was a storm that didn’t end. The sharp, unforgiving jab of the epidural needle dug into your spine, making you gasp, the cold medication spreading like fire through your veins. The world blurred around the edges, faces, voices, lights all folding into a single point of noise.
Robby’s voice cut through it, rough with panic. “Page Abbott! Get Jack down here now!”
You turned your head, catching the blur of his face—his knuckles white against the rail of your gurney, eyes wild. Someone shouted for another nurse. Then the nausea hit hard, sweeping through your body as they began to move you, separating Robby from your side.
“Wait—wait, don’t—” you tried to protest, but your voice cracked into a whimper.
“Don’t worry, honey,” a nurse said gently, brushing damp hair from your face as the bed jolted forward. “He’s just going to scrub up. He’ll be right back, I promise.”
The sterile brightness of the delivery room was blinding. You couldn’t stop shaking. The monitor beside you beeped in uneven bursts, and the pressure in your chest felt unbearable.
Then finally Robby’s voice. “I’m here, I’m here,” he panted, his gloved hand sliding into yours. You squeezed it like a lifeline.
Jack appeared what felt like seconds later, fully gowned, mask in place, eyes sharp and focused. But you could see the tension there the flicker of fear he was trying hard to bury.
“Okay,” he said, calm and steady, slipping into comfort mode. “You’re doing amazing, sweetheart. We’ve got both babies lined up, but it looks like you’re in some distress. We’re going to have to do a C-section, okay?”
You nodded, tears blurring your vision. Robby’s hand tightened around yours.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” Jack added, giving a brief nod to the OB.
The curtain went up. You felt the tugging, the pressure, the strange, hollow sensation of being emptied.
Then—a sound. A cry. A strong, beautiful wail that filled the room.
Robby let out a choked laugh, tears spilling freely as Jack reached out, catching the first baby a tiny, wailing, wriggling miracle.
“It’s a girl!” Jack called.
The nurse swept her away to clean her, and Jack turned back, voice lower now, urgent. “Alright, one more. You’re doing great. Almost there.”
You could feel his hand on your ankle—steady, reassuring—but something shifted.
You could hear it: the change in the air. The rhythm of the room slowing, voices sharpening.
Another tug. Another flurry of movement.
Then silence.
No crying.
No sound.
Your body went cold. “Why isn’t he crying?” you asked, your voice cracking.
“Jack?” Robby’s voice wavered. He let go of your hand, stepping toward him.
Jack didn’t answer. His focus was razor-sharp, hands moving fast. “Come on, little guy… come on,” he murmured under his breath.
The room filled with noise again, nurses moving, metal clinking, the hiss of oxygen being readied. Robby came back to you, brushing your hair back with shaking hands, eyes locked on the table across the room.
“What’s happening?” you demanded, trying to lift your head, but your limbs felt heavy, uncooperative. Panic clawed up your throat.
“Why isn’t he crying?” you yelled, tears spilling hot down your cheeks.
Robby couldn’t answer—he couldn’t even blink. Jack didn’t look up, his voice tight but controlled. “Come on, buddy. Deep breath for Daddy.”
The seconds dragged like hours. The only sound was the rush of blood in your ears, the frantic beeping of monitors. Then.
A weak, sputtering wail.
Not strong. Not loud. But enough.
Jack exhaled, shoulders dropping as the nurses whisked the second baby to the warmer. Robby’s hand found yours again, trembling. He leaned close, pressing his forehead against yours, both of you shaking.
“He’s okay,” he whispered. “You did good, sweetheart. Real good.”
Jack moved over to you, lowering himself to your level by your head.
“How do you feel, mama?” he asked, pulling his mask down, offering a tired smile.
You tried to smile back, tried to speak—but the room tilted. Your vision narrowed to a tunnel, the edges fading to white.
The last thing you saw was Jack’s face, his smile falling into a frown,
and then the world went dark.
It was hours later when you finally opened your eyes.
The world came back in fragments, the steady hum of machines, the antiseptic sting of the air, the dull ache that radiated through every inch of you.
Robby was slumped in a recliner beside the bed, mouth open, soft snores rumbling from his chest. On your other side, Jack sat hunched forward, his forehead resting against the edge of the mattress, one hand still loosely wrapped around yours.
You shifted, a small sound catching in your throat as pain tore through your abdomen. The movement jolted Jack awake. He blinked rapidly, eyes bloodshot and glassy, and sat upright in an instant.
“Hey, hey—don’t move,” he said, voice rough. “You lost a lot of blood. Just—just stay still, okay?”
His words came out too fast, like he’d been holding them in for hours.
“Where are they?” you rasped, ignoring the warning, your throat dry and raw.
Jack swallowed hard, his eyes softening. “NICU,” he said quietly. “Baby boy gave us a little scare.”
Your pulse spiked. “But he’s okay?”
Jack nodded. “Pulmonary hypoplasia,” he said carefully. “His lungs are underdeveloped, but he’s strong. He’s holding his own. I checked his O₂ levels myself—they’re climbing.” His lips twitched into a small, tired smile. “He’s a fighter.”
You sank back into the pillow, a shaky breath escaping you. “And the girl?”
Jack snorted, relief flickering across his face. “Hell of a grip on her. I tried to check her vitals, and she nearly broke my finger.”
A faint laugh bubbled out of you, painful, but real. For a second, the weight lifted.
Then Jack’s expression shifted, the humor slipping away. His gaze swept over you, lingering at the IV line, the bruising along your arm.
“You hemorrhaged,” he said finally, voice low. “Scared the shit out of me.”
You stared at him, seeing the exhaustion, the faint tremor in his hands. You wanted to say something. Thank him, comfort him, but all that came out was a whisper.
“I’m sorry.”
Jack shook his head, eyes glassy again. “Don’t be,” he murmured. “You did everything right.” He picked up your hand and kissed the back.
"Can I see them?" you whispered finally. Jack sighed, the sound heavy.
"We shouldn't take him out yet. His lungs are still too sensitive. But I can have Dana bring Baby Girl in," he agreed at last.
"Stevie," you said softly, correcting him.
He quirked a brow. "That was not a name we discussed," he said with a hint of humor.
You shrugged weakly. "Did you hear her belt out when she came out? She’ll be singing Edge of Seventeen before you know it."
Jack laughed quietly, the sound cracking in the stillness. “Stevie, huh? Fitting. Kid already made sure the whole floor knew she’d arrived.”
You smiled, your lips trembling. “She earned it.”
“I’ll go tell Dana,” Jack said, pushing himself up from the chair. You could see the exhaustion in his shoulders, the way his movements dragged with weight. He paused, his hand resting on your shoulder for just a moment longer than necessary. “She looks just like you, you know,” he murmured before slipping quietly from the room.
When the door closed, the quiet pressed in again. Robby stirred beside you, shifting in the recliner. He blinked awake, disoriented for a moment before his gaze found you and softened immediately.
“Hey,” he rasped, voice breaking as he leaned forward, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “You scared me half to death.”
“You and me both,” you whispered, trying for a smile.
He reached for your hand and held it to his chest, his heartbeat thudding strong against your palm. You could feel the tremor still in his fingers, the leftover adrenaline that hadn’t quite burned out.
The door opened again, and Dana stepped in, her voice soft. “Hey, mama. Ready to meet your little rock star?”
You nodded quickly, unable to stop the tears that were already forming. Dana crossed the room, the small bundle in her arms wrapped in a pale pink blanket. She adjusted the edges carefully before leaning down to place the baby in your waiting arms.
The second you felt that tiny weight against your chest, everything stopped. The time, pain, fear. Her little face scrunched, mouth open in a sleepy sigh as her fingers flexed against the blanket.
Your breath hitched. She was so small. So impossibly perfect.
“Oh my god, We made that.” you whispered, your voice breaking with awe. Tears streamed freely now. Robby’s hand found your shoulder, trembling as he bent down, pressing a kiss to your temple.
Jack lingered in the doorway, mask hanging loose around his neck, watching quietly as if afraid to break the fragile peace.
For the first time in what felt like forever, the chaos and fear faded.
I wanted you to know how blown away I've been with your Rabbot x the Hares series. I mean, all your writing is amazing, but I can't quit coming back to this amazing family! I love seeing all the different times of their lives! The 3 of them balance each other out, and their kids are amazing little souls! Simple Man was really great with that. Robby going home was gonna be hard and Jack and their Wife were ready to be there for him and the kids realizing how their Dad grew up was not even CLOSE to how they were raised and when Stevie told Robby that it never crossed her mind to ever be scared of him or Jack, ugh ♡♡♡♡ And her taking the photo book was like the cherry on top! And Time, whoo, that was amazing! Robby and Jack's Wife is an amazing woman. She loves them and their kids something fierce. When Robby was having that bad time right away in the morning, he snapped at her, and she said like " we don't do that, I'll expect an apology tonight," like she understands it's a hard day for him and is willing to let him feel his feeling, but at the end of the day, apologies will be made and that's the end. He called her when he couldn't get ahold of Jude and she wasn't pissy or snappy . When they visited him at work the same, she just showed him love and concern. I know Robby feels hella guilty about how her acted earlier in the day towards her, but he was with her, holding her hand♡♡♡♡ Sorry if this is long! I sometimes have trouble conveying words and finding them so when it hits its a lot! I look forward to reading more about this family and all your other writings as well!
oh my god anon this is so sweet. You've literally just made my entire month! I've really been struggling with writing and finding my style so this has made me feel so much lighter! I cannot thank you enough!
Hopefully I'll have more to the series within the next week or two. It's become such a nice escape for me and I just love their little family!
1. What’s the deal with Robby’s parents in simple man?
2. What’s Jacks family like? We gonna see that?
:D Thanks for asking!
I imagine especially since Robby was most likely born in the early 70's-late 60's even that his parents got together very very young. It's obviously an unhappy marriage. With his dad drinking constantly and pretty expressly violent with Robby it's safe to assume his father was also pretty violent with his mother as well. Evelyn (Lovingly named after a really mean woman who lived in my town when I was a kid lol) can also be seen under the influence. It's safe to say that no one was really there for Robby except his grandmother! (More on her later!) And while you didn't ask I'm throwing this in here while I'm on a roll. I also made Robby to be named after his father for a few reasons: Most importantly, He has a lot of trauma revolving around his father, He doesn't want to be like him but he's always going to be apart of him no matter what. Also! My father's name is Michael and I cannot physically bring myself to think of him like that.
I've thought a lot about Jack's family. I have some ideas on what I'd like to do there but I want to drag it out as long as possible in hopes that we get some concrete history for Jack!
Also throwing this is for fun since I saw a few of you guys asking about this. The twins took the last name Abbot for no other reason than they would get kick backs of his army benefits!
Hope this clears some things up! Ask any thing else you like!
Hey if you are still doing the OTP prompts, what do you think about 2, 8, and 27? And if you are up for it, would you do all of them like the last ones? Please!
Sorry this one took me so long but hopefully this is what your looking for!
2. How do they sleep? 8. Who initiated the first kiss? 27. How do they show they care?
Robby:
2. He is the worst person to share a bed with. That man has no sense of personal space. Has frequently woken up to you shoving him away because you got too damn hot in the middle of the night and he was on top of you. He also sleeps like the dead. You'll build the little pillow wall to hopefully maintain some space but he plows over it. It's worse when you have kids
8. You. Has to be you. Especially if you're younger than him, poor buy is so in his head. He overthinks everything about your interactions with him, If he's overstepping, How inappropriate this is, and- Oh! You kissed him? Oh maybe he wasn't reading into anything...
27. Gifts are his love language! You say you like a dress while you were out shopping last week? It's in your closet this week. You look at a bag too long? He's already pulling the card out. He loves buying you things. He loves the same in return, granted not as extreme. He loves that you pay attention to what he likes. His favorite snacks always find their way to his bag, A hat that reps his favorite team? He's melting.
Jack:
2. Blanket hog. To the max. He is very big on cuddling before bed but as soon as he falls asleep his putting his back towards you and twisting up in the blanket. He's a very light sleeper so give him a little shove and take it back.
8. Jack absolutely. He's been around for a while. He likes to test the boundaries. He likes to say things to make you blush, have you stumble over your words so it only makes sense that he would catch you off guard with a kiss.
27. I spoke on it before but he is big on quality time! He loves just existing with you. Reading a book on the couch? What chapter are you on? He'll read it too. Want to watch a movie? He's already looking up showtimes. However, His most favorite thing in the world is cooking with you. He loves the routine. It make's him feel like one of those married couples on a sitcom.
Andrew:
2. Very cautious. You're not entirely sure that he does sleep. He lays with you and cuddles you until you fall asleep. When you wake up he's already awake. He makes you sleep closest to the wall, He can't rest if you're close to the door. The possibility of someone coming in will bother him the whole night. He's also a really light sleeper. He likes watching the rise and fall of your chest once you finally drift off, He'll watch you until his eyes finally start to get heavy. It's the only way he can sleep comfortably now.
8. Surprisingly, He does. It would be after a date. He's been a gentleman the whole night. Holding open doors, pulling out chairs all of it. He'd walk you outside and quietly ask.
"Can I kiss you" You'd be a fool to pass that up.
27. Acts of service. He loves when you give him a job. He loves washing your car, changing your oil, holding your bag when you go shopping. He lives for that! He loves when you include him in your chores; Walking the dog, grocery shopping, calling him to the kitchen to taste whatever your cooking.
keep thinking about them apologizing as they fuck me rougher than usual. "I know, baby, I know...please forgive me, I needed this." as they rut into me hard and fast. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry please don't ask me to stop...I know I'm sorry." knowing they might not be able to stop themself if I ask. "fuck I know it hurts but you're okay baby...just a little longer." as they put their hand over my mouth so they don't have to listen to my pleas as they take all of their frustration out on me.
Tumblr being the "piss on the poor" reading comprehension site makes sense when you realize that 79% of adults in the US are functionally illiterate. Same goes for Twitter and TikTok.
that's a real high number, sport. where'd you get it?
don’t tag your dr Robby x reader fics as Dr abbot x reader. It clogs up the tag when people aren’t looking for Robby fics.
Hi!
Thank you for the suggestion. However, I am very cautious on how I tag my fics! The only time I tag multiple ships is if it is my Rabbot series since technically it’s both Robby x reader and Abbot x Reader!
Feel free to block me, mute me, or block the tag if I’m clogging up your feed!
