Cassie McKay x Younger!Reader — Reciprocal IVF & New Baby Headcanons 𓏲 𓈒 ˗ˋˏ 🍼 ˎˊ˗ ⸝⸝
MDNI 18+
Cassie, after weeks of discreetly researching, was the first to bring up the concept of reciprocal IVF. “What if… we could both be part of making our baby?”
You burst into tears, and she laughs because she had spent days rehearsing that very conversation.
Since Cassie is older, you both decide to use her eggs while you carry the pregnancy. Cassie jokes that the baby is getting “the best of both of us.”
Cassie’s genuine anxiety during the embryo transfer is one of the rare instances you’ve witnessed. Her grip on your hand is so tight that you have to gently remind her to breathe.
The positive pregnancy test completely overwhelms her. She gazes at it, murmuring, “We’re having a baby,” before enveloping you in an extended embrace.
She speaks to your stomach long before you even have a bump, kissing it goodbye before each shift and saying, “Be kind to your mom today.”
Every ultrasound concludes with Cassie wiping away tears and feigning a minor eye irritation.
Once the baby begins to kick, she’s constantly asking, “Did they move? Can I feel?” Her face lights up every time tiny feet press against her hand.
She becomes even more protective during your pregnancy, ensuring you’ve eaten, reminding you to drink water, and insisting you let her carry anything heavier than a grocery bag.
Cassie is completely speechless the moment her baby is born. She can’t stop staring at them, tears streaming down her face as she whispers, “Hi, sweetheart.”
She falls in love all over again watching you become a mom.
Even after a long and tiring shift, she’ll come home, wash up, and immediately ask, “Where’s my baby?” before rushing to scoop them into her arms.
Cassie’s heartbeat somehow calms the baby faster than almost anything else. She paces the apartment, humming softly until they’re both asleep against her shoulder.
She insists on taking the late-night diaper changes whenever she’s off the next day, so you can get a little more sleep.
She has hundreds of photos on her phone, most of them blurry because she’s constantly trying to capture every smile, yawn, and sleepy stretch.
Every milestone feels monumental to her. It’s the first laugh, the first time tiny fingers wrap around hers, and the first smile that she swears was “definitely real.”
She cherishes quiet mornings the most. She enjoys making coffee while you feed the baby and then cuddling up beside you on the couch, with one arm around both of you.
She never tires of hearing your child affectionately call her “Mama.” The first time it happens, she freezes momentarily before bursting into joyful tears.
Some nights, after the baby finally falls asleep, the two of you stand over the crib together, exhausted but still smiling.
Cassie gently slips her hand into yours and whispers, “I never realized life could feel so complete.”
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Robby’s sabbatical isn’t as glamorous as he’d thought it would be.
He’s sore from hours on the bike. Achy and grumpy. Not sleeping well. Not eating well to the point that he’s craving a salad like crazy, but he keeps getting alerts about cyclosporasis and he’s not about to take that risk when he’s not reliably near indoor plumbing.
He did his damnedest to push everyone away before leaving, so that means he’s not getting many calls or texts and the loneliness starts to eat at him.
Except for one person (two people if you count Whitaker’s plant updates, but Robby hasn’t been able to bring himself to answer those texts). One Jack Abbot.
Robby had said he didn’t have a best friend on more than one occasion. And he stood by that assertion, maintained that it was true, even to Jack’s face. Because Jack was so much more than a best friend, best friend didn’t even begin to describe what Jack was to Robby.
And every day, Jack sent at least one text. Sometimes it was early in the morning after a sleepless night that Robby’s phone would ping. Sometimes in the middle of the night when Robby was muffling snotty, sobbing gasps in a pillow that smelled either too clean or not clean enough. Sometimes in the middle of the day when he was riding or stopped off to get food or gas.
And Robby read each text over and over. Read them until he could see the words on his closed eyelids. He didn’t answer, not yet, but the texts were there. They were a tether for his spiraling thoughts.
Something he could rely on as he went further northwest. Chasing something he couldn’t see.
He crossed the border with little fanfare and found a campground to spend the night. As he got settled in a rented tent, he was hit with a thought that made him ache. He wanted to go home.
Not home to the apartment that had been more and more devoid of life with each bag of trash he dragged to the curb. Home to Jack. To Jack’s apartment that was stocked with his favorite beard oil and beers. That had the book he’d been reading last on the coffee table. Had the mug he’d been using for the better part of a decade after a medical student gifted it to him, tucked in the cabinet next to Jack’s.
To Jack.
As if on cue, his phone buzzed in his hand and he squinted at the message.
‘Hope the trip is everything you’d dreamed of.’
‘It sucks. Think anyone would notice if I bailed early and came home?’
‘A certain R1 would notice. I’d notice. Everyone else? Depends on how good you are at hiding.’
Robby tried to bite back a smile and rolled onto his side, trying in vain to get comfortable.
‘I know somewhere I could hide that they wouldn’t look. Unless someone were to tell everyone…’
‘I think he could keep his mouth shut if you come home in one piece. Wouldn’t even tease you that much, probably.’
‘Do you mean it?’
‘Come home, Mike. Please?’
Blinking back tears, Robby typed with shaking thumbs.
‘I don’t want to be on the road anymore. I’m turning around in the morning.’
‘Atta boy. When can I expect you?’
Robby blew out a slow breath and changed the location on his phone maps app.
‘It’ll be a few days. Think you can wait that long?’
‘Brother, I’m on the edge of my seat already. But I’ll hold out a little longer. Come home.’
Robby swallowed thickly and tried again to get comfortable. Fuck the road trip. He needed to go home. He was starting to realize that maybe, home was a person. His person.
Brendon and reader competing in connections and wordle makes me think they also play doctordle (wordle for diagnosing people in random scenarios) and take it even more seriously. If you’d ever consider putting this in a fic maybe even have her call on the gc for help
there is something so, so comforting about rabbot to me.
they both hold high-stress positions in their careers but have such a specific focus on each other's wellbeing while working. the way they know the other so well and have held a bond for so long, they know every specific tic and mannerism that's a warning sign.
i just think they are so extremely special. they've experienced so many hardships separately but somehow find a way to one another each time. it just makes my chest ache. they are so full of love.
Totally went into The Pitt ready to be fully convinced that Robby and Whitaker should be fucking only to be blasted with 30 eps with the most Dad-Son relationship energy I’ve ever felt.
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Description: Jack comes home from work to find his girlfriend suffering with a high fever. Despite her insisting she's fine, he spends the entirety of his day off taking care of her.
Warnings: General fever symptoms, headache, references to throwing up. Brief female and male nudity. Use of y/n and she/her. Clingy!y/n. Jack is the best caretaker.
Notes: This is purely self indulgent. I am currently sick and I'd like Jack to come and take care of me. But slim chance of that happening, so I wrote about it instead. Enjoy :)
Also, it's not a long one because I've felt like death this week, so I'm sorry if it sucks, lol
________
Jack quietly entered the house at 6 am, not wanting to wake up his girlfriend, who he knew would be sound asleep. Grabbing his crutches by the front door, he made his way further in. But when he got to the living room, intending on taking off his prosthetic leg, he was surprised to find y/n sleeping on the couch. His eyes went to the coffee table, glancing at the half cup of tea, a small box of paracetamol tablets, and some tissues.
He frowned, abandoning his crutches to kneel down by the couch. He gently shook her shoulder to wake her up.
"Honey?".
As he did so, he felt her forehead with the back of his hand. Her skin was almost burning against his own. His frown deepened.
"Hey, sweetheart. Wake up for me."
Slowly, she stirred, blinking her eyes open, adjusting to the low lighting to look at him.
"Oh, hey." Her voice was soft and croaky, causing her to let out a weak cough.
"You okay? Coming down with somethin'?".
She sighed. "Yeah...".
"Why didn't you tell me? I would've come home earlier."
"You were working. Also, why would you want to come home to a sick person after being around sick people all night?".
He chuckled softly, squeezing her hand. "Well, you are by far my favourite patient."
"You're not allowed to have favourites. Besides, I'm not even that bad. I don't need you to take care of me."
His expression softened. "Honey, no offence, but you're shivering. And I just felt your forehead and almost burned my hand. I don't think you're fine."
She pouted.
He sighed quietly. "Okay. I'll go get the thermometer. I'm going to check your temperature. If it's above 90.6, you have to let me take care of you."
"Alright." She agreed, even though she knew it was a losing battle. She was too tired to argue anyway. She stayed on the couch while he went to get the thermometer from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. When he came back, he sat on the coffee table, gently helping her sit up.
He cleaned the tip of it, then turned it on and smiled at her.
"Open up."
She opened her mouth, letting him set the thermometer under her tongue. He held it there for exactly three minutes before taking it out and looking at the little digital number.
"Well, would you look at that? 102.3." He hums. She rolled her eyes. "Fine."
"Did you get much sleep?".
She shook her head, being honest. "Not really."
"Are you hot or cold?".
"Freezing."
"Okay. How long ago did you take paracetamol?".
"Two hours ago."
He nodded. "Let me make you another cup of tea. Are you hungry?".
She almost gagged at the thought of eating, frantically shaking her head. "No."
"Okay." He soothed her. "That's alright."
"Jack."
"Yeah?".
"Can you make the tea in the pink mug instead?".
Giving her a soft smile, he nodded. "I know, honey."
When he came back with the tea, in her favourite pink mug, she was noticeably sleepier. He set it on the coffee table, on a coaster. Then he sat on the edge of the couch, perching next to her legs which were covered by a soft blanket. She was also wearing one of his thick hoodies. But he fixed it so that it covered her shoulders too, tucking her in like a burrito.
"Jack, you're leg."
"It's okay. Don't worry about me. You just get some rest."
"I threw up earlier." She admitted, like she was ashamed of it.
"You did? When?".
"Before I fell asleep here."
"Oh, my poor girl." He cooed, running his fingers through her hair. "You should've called me."
She shrugged. "I didn't want to bother you."
"Hey, enough with that. You don't bother me. If you need me, for anything, you call me."
She sniffled, eyes filling with tears as she sat up again to put her arms around him. He adjusted himself, allowing her to reach him comfortably. He let her lean against him.
"I did need you." Her voice thickened with emotion and exhaustion. "But I hate being sick."
He sighed. "I know you do."
He wiped away a tear that ran down her cheek. "But I'm here now, and I'm gonna look after you. Because that's what partners do for each other."
"Okay." She muttered, leaning on his shoulder. "Drink your tea. It'll help with your throat." He told her, bringing the mug up to her lips.
"Yes, doctor."
He chuckled. "Hey, don't bite the hand that feeds you."
"If I had the energy to, I might."
Her voice tickled her throat, causing her to cough, which made him roll his eyes fondly. "Sure you would, sweetheart. Let's get you better first, though. Hm?".
She didn't argue, tiredly going along with whatever doctor order he gave her. He made sure she was drinking plenty of hot beverages and taking medicine at appropriate times. He made her some soup, encouraging her to at least have some spoonfuls.
She frowned at him. "Jack, I can't."
"You can. It's gonna be okay, I promise."
"No, I don't want to throw up again."
"You won't. I'll make sure of it. You need to eat something, honey."
She whimpered, eyeing the bowl in front of her.
"Please? It'll help soothe your throat and settle your stomach. And you've just had medicine, so I would rather you didn't have an empty stomach."
She sighed. "Fine."
With his encouragement, she managed to finish the whole bowl of soup.
When she was done, she sort of just slumped against him like her body was losing the ability to sit herself up. Jack put the bowl down, then turned towards her.
"Okay, baby?".
She shook her head, groaning softly as she nuzzled close.
"Do you feel achey anywhere?".
"Yeah. Arms, legs, and my head." She winced.
"Would you like me to help you take a bath? Warm water might help with the aches."
"Okay."
She let him help her up, and he led her to the bathroom. While he got the bath ready for her, he instructed her to take off her clothes. She did as told, but her fingers shook slowing the process.
Jack straightened from turning the tap off once the warm water was high enough and his expression softened watching her struggle.
"Here, let me help you." He said. She looked at him, hesitating only because she didn't want to admit she needed his help. But she let out a quiet sigh, dropping her arms and nodding once in agreement.
Knowing how she was feeling, he didn't make a big deal of it. Just gentle words of encouragement as he slowly began to help her undress.
Once she was settled and concealed under the bubbles, he told her he'd be back in a minute.
She made a noise of protest, which caught him a little off guard.
"Jack-".
"Oh honey." He cooed, seeing the panic in her eyes. "I'm only getting you a towel and fresh pyjamas. Stay here, I'll be right back."
That seemed to give her some momentary comfort, and she relaxed a little.
True to his word, Jack was gone for less than a minute before he returned with two towels, a change of clothes for him and pyjamas for her, which he set down on the closed toilet lid.
"Do you want me to get in there with you?". He asked.
She shrugged. "I don't mind."
Lowering himself on to the edge of the bath, he sat there for a moment to take off his prosthesis, rubbing the dull ache in his residual limb before removing the rest of his clothes. Then he slipped into the warm, bubbly water with her, settling behind her.
He got her to lean back and rest on his chest.
The hot water helped to soothe her aching limbs. His hands trailed up and down her sides. He kissed the side of her head.
"Okay?".
She nodded, sighing quietly. While she rested, he washed her hair for her. He gently massaged the shampoo into her scalp, making her sigh and close her eyes.
He chuckled softly. "That feel good, sweetheart?".
"Mhm."
"Good. You just relax, let me take care of everything. Yeah?".
He rinsed out the shampoo, not letting any of it run into her eyes. Then he grabbed her loofah and squirted some citrus scented body wash on it before washing her body. While he was at it, he massaged the muscles in her neck and shoulders, working out the knots.
With some guidance from her, he helped with the rest of her bath routine. When it was all done, he let her get out first. Then he pushed himself up, using the handle installed for him when he first lost his leg. He was so used to it by now that it was hardly an inconvenience.
"Hold on a second, honey." He said, noticing her struggling a little. He put his prosthesis back on and dried himself off with the towel and changed into a plain t-shirt and sweatpants. Then he moved to help her out, wrapping the second towel around her.
His head tilted. "You okay?".
"Just tired." She sighed. "And my head hurts and my body feels weak."
"I know, baby. It's just your body's way of telling you it needs rest."
After drying her off, he turned to let her have a moment of privacy to put underwear on. Then he helped her change into pyjamas and grabbed a scrunchie to tie her hair back for her.
"Wanna go to bed?".
She nodded.
Grabbing her hand, he led her to the bedroom and pulled back the covers to let her climb in. He tucked her in, then sighed.
"I'll be back in just a second. I'm going to get you more paracetamol and some water."
She nodded. "Okay."
While he was away, Jack called Robby.
"Hey, man. What's up?".
"I won't make it in tomorrow, Robby."
"Oh. Why not?".
"My girlfriend's sick. She needs me."
"Alright. I'll try and get someone to cover for you. But no promises."
"Thanks, brother. Call me if you need anything, but... please don't need anything."
Robby sighed heavily. "Okay. Hope she feels better soon."
He hung up, then went to the kitchen to fill up a glass with water. Then he grabbed two paracetamol tablets and brought both back to the bedroom. He sat on the bed beside her.
"Okay, sit up for me, sweetheart."
She groaned softly, just wanting to go to sleep.
"I know. I know. Last time, I promise. You'll feel better in the morning."
Taking the water from him, she took a drink from it to moisten the inside of her mouth. Then she took a deep breath and swallowed the two tablets with the water.
"There you go. That's good, baby." He said, gently taking the water from her and setting it on the nightstand.
"Come into bed, J."
He smiled softly. "Just give me a second."
"No. Now."
"So bossy." He tutted, no real malice in his voice. He was rather amused by her unusual clinginess. But he didn't tease her too much, knowing she really did need him.
He took off his prosthetic leg, then got into bed beside her, settling under the covers. She immediately moved closer to him, seeking his body heat.
"Shh, I'm right here. There's no need to panic, sweet girl. You're okay."
He put his arms around her, pulling her closer. She sighed, breathing deeply to calm herself down.
Throughout the night, Jack woke up with her through her coughing fits, helping her drink water and even getting up to get her another full glass. He whispered sweet reassurances into her ear, refusing to let her believe she was a burden to him.
"I love you so much." He said under his breath, kissing her tears away.
And when the inevitable happened, and he got sick himself, he gladly let her make it up to him by taking care of him.
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18+ ⫶ MR. FAUX SYMPATHY ℘ requested
jack abbot who fakes sympathy while cooing you through overstimulation .
you don’t know which one is worse. the way jack’s hips are angled with the cruelest precision, the head of his dick charging sweet into that soft, spongy wall inside of you — bullying that poor spot until your toes are curling over by overwhelming pleasure.
or the way each word falling from his lips feeds you nothing but sweet praises laced in such a condescending manner, feigning compassion while milking every ounce of pleasure from your overstimulated cunt.
either way, your answer wouldn’t matter. not when abbot’s screwing every fathomable thought loose outside of your head, turning you into a blubbering mess underneath him.
“mmgh— pl-please, j’!” you slurred stammering, swallowing the saliva pooled at the back of your throat from your never ending moaning. the soft pads of your hands push against his sculpted chest, attempting to flee from the merciless thrusts of his hips as you push from underneath him.
“awn- c’mon, sweetheart.” his eyes dragged over you body, taking in the very few millimeters of space that you created between you two before pulling you back down onto cock making you gasp for air.
your fingers folding inwards, clawing into the flesh of jack’s chest as he buries himself further inside your pussy making your insides choke around his length, involuntarily twitching and squeezing as your spine arches forward — pressing yourself against him.
jack feigns a frown, biting back an uncontrollable smile because he just thinks that you look so fucking adorable beneath him right now.
eyes glossed over with lashes clumping together from those thick tears fall down your cheeks, and the little sniffles you take every other second to not snot yourself as you cry from an indescribable amount of pleasure. you can’t even moan jack’s name without it turning into an incoherent mess. “j—j .. ja-nnghn.”
“that’s it, my sweet girl.” jack coos, a gentle rasps scratching at his throat as he brings one of the hands locked behind you knees to your face. gently cradling the side of your head as his thumb brushes away any stray tears. “so damn sensitive, all for me.” he watches you nuzzle into his palm, and it makes his cock twitch as he lets out a gravelly groan before grinding his hips deeper into you — a direct target against the spot that makes your bladder feel instantly full.
“i can’t, i can’t, mmff— you c-can’t!” you yelp, pleading as you shake your head feeling the throb of your clit want to burst. “shh.. yes you can, darlin’.” he shushes, ducking down to press his forehead against yours.
his eyes on yours, convincing you that it’s possible as his thrusts never stop bullying into that sweet spot. he has no intention of stopping, even with your begging. “please, ja—mphck!” a moan rips through your throat as jack delivers the cruelest, toe curling stroke that makes you go completely mute as your eyes roll back to your skull.
your body quivers under his, mouth open with no words coming out as you take each and every thrust he feeds your abused pussy.
“look at you, baby— you’re doin’ it right now.” he hums satisfyingly, watching you choke to find inaudible words as his groan lingers. “i know, sweetheart i know— jj knows it’s a lot for you, yeah.” he whispers, lips grazing against yours, “it’ll all be over soon, okay baby?” he assures, as his hips tell the complete opposite. “just keep singin’ my name would’ya’.”
you were awoken, rather abruptly, by the sound of toys clattering down your side. blinking sleep away, you groan softly, before you’re face to face with your little toddler, her little ringlets messy and sticking up in every direction. she blinks at you. you blink at her.
“g’mo’ning, mama,” she says, in something akin to a whisper, but it comes out more just like hot toddler breath in your face. you can smell coffee wafting from the kitchen.
“mm, baby, what’re you doing?” you croak, lifting a sleepy hand to move the sheets off of you when you’re instead met with a small plastic toy car. then, a little train. then — ah! another toy! this time, in the form of a small cloth bee stuffed with pellets. there’s a damp spot on its antennae, where your darling daughter had no doubt chewed on it just moments ago.
she blinks at you again, extending a little pointer finger towards the collection of trinkets now placed on your stomach. “play.”
“play?” you ask, as she hands you yet another toy from her chubby fingers. she must’ve gotten out of her crib somehow, and judging from the fact that jack’s side of the bed is empty, that’s probably how. “where’s papa?”
“ou’side.” she says, walking the little bee plush along your blanketed stomach. “mama, play.”
“mm.” you groan slightly. you give her one last look before resigning to your newly appointed role as a play-mat. the books did say to encourage spontaneous play. “m’kay.” you pick up the little car, rolling it along your torso as she mimics the buzzing of a bee.
her cheeks are flushed a sleepy pink as her brows furrow in concentration. freckles dust her little nose, and the person who gave them to her walks into the bedroom. jack, still in his sleep shirt and plaid pajama pants leans against the doorframe, as a warm smile graces his aged features.
“there you are, buggy,” he says, as your daughter’s head whipped over her shoulder to look at him. jack cocks his head behind him. “pancakes’re ready,” he smiles.
then, your daughter turns to you. “mama, pancakes.”
“mm, i’ll be there in one sec, baby,” you nod, still wearing off the last of your grogginess as you sit up, the toys clattering into your lap. your daughter, sweet and full of energy as she is, waddles her way out of the bedroom with the soft pitter-patter of her feet following her. as she rounds the door into the hallway, jack extends a hand to cup the back of her little head, gentle.
then, he turns to you, a bright glint in his eyes. “she wanted to play.”
a little smile graces your lips. “yeah, she did,” you murmur, stretching your arms over your head.
rubbing your sleep from your eyes, the comfortable silence is broken by the sound of your toddler shouting, “mama! papa!” from the kitchen, the clumsy clanging of her plastic utensils against her paw patrol plate joining her.
you can’t help the laugh that leaves you, and jack’s chuckles join you.
“she’s a tyrant,” you sigh with affection, kicking the duvet away from you as you stand, approaching jack. you rest your hand on his lower back as his drapes over your shoulder, and he presses a soft kiss to your forehead before walking the both of you out in the hall, muttering, “yeah, but, i mean, look at her,” he says, nodding in the direction of where she tries to climb into her high chair. “she makes for a pretty fuckin’ cute one.”
making a scene at dinner bc you want to w/ husband jack
jack abbot x fem!reader
heels clack across the pavement as you might as well be stomping away from jack, arms crossed over your chest, lips twisted in a little pout. “no.” you say, with a petulant huff.
“sweetheart,” he calls after you, passenger door still open. “sweetheart, get in the car.”
still frowning, you twist your neck to look at him over your shoulder to send him a furrowed brow, before continuing to walk away from him. he exhales.
it was a little, stupid thing. but little, stupid things to you were never just that, and so the waitress and her silly smile and the fact that she laughed absentmindedly at an inside joke between you and your loving husband immediately turned into: she wants you, she was flirting with you, and you flirted back!
none of that, of course, were actually verbalized to jack. instead, you sat in your chair and sulked, ordered another cosmopolitan, sulked some more, then ordered another cosmopolitan, until jack decided dinner was over and it was time to get you home and investigate what the hell got you looking so sour in the midst of what had started as a pretty good night.
jack shuts the door to his truck, one hand in the pocket of his slacks as the other massages his jaw. “sweetheart, come on.” he calls after you again, as you traipse down the street. when he realizes you’re not stopping, he begins to follow after you. “you can’t walk all the way home, honey.”
“i can,” you huff, despite the fact that the balls of your feet have already started to rub themselves raw against the sole of your manolo blahniks. “i’ll call a cab.”
“you got your wallet with you?” he asks.
your jaw shifts. because, of course you don’t. you don’t think you’ve brought your wallet out on a date with him in the last year.
jack doesn’t wait for an answer, already knowing. “so how the hell’re you gonna pay for the ride, huh?”
you look at him over your shoulder again, still pouting as you reach the crosswalk. “whatever.”
he lengthens his stride until he catches up to you, his hand, warm and heavy, resting on the dip of your waist. “the hell’s goin’ on?” he asks, voice low and raspy. warmth, sticky and strong, settles in your lower belly as you lock eyes underneath the streetlamp. another petulant huff, before you turn your face away from him again.
with exasperation, he sighs, tilting his head up to look at the sky as if to ask what it is he did to deserve this, and moreover, why he feels like he’s right where he wants to be.
“what? c’mon, honey, tell me. where’d i fuck up, huh? can’t fix it you don’t tell me.”
sad, round eyes look up at him once again. “she liked you.”
his brows quirk upwards. “the waitress?”
almost timidly, you nod.
his expression loosens as he sighs. “okay, so what?”
“she laughed at our joke,” you whine. “and you laughed at her joke!”
“i was being polite to a service worker.”
“you laughed at her joke. she was givin’ you fuck-me-eyes the whole time, i swear,” you huff, folding your arms tighter over your chest.
“sweetheart—“
“no!” you interrupt, shifting your body to face him as you drop your arms, purse flopping down against your thigh. “she was—she was flirting, i saw! and—and she wanted you, an’—an’ you—“
“and i what?” he asks, grabbing hold of your wrist from where you’d started poking a finger into his chest. he rubs little circles into the joint with his thumb. “sweetheart, take a breath. come on.”
you do, lips still downturned in this sweet little frown.
he nods, his voice shifting to something gentler. “okay. okay?”
again, you nod, quiet. a little embarrassed.
“you think i put this on your finger just to act a fool over someone else? huh?” he asks, thumb shifting to toy with the shiny diamond ring on your ring finger. “think she didn’t see it at the table?”
bashfully, you shake your head. “but—“
“ah-ah. i’m talkin’, baby.” you quiet. “fuck kinda business does she have flirting that openly with a happily married man?” he asks.
“none.”
“that’s right, none,” he says, lifting your hand to press a kiss over the ring. “and i’m sorry i made you think all that. didn’t mean to.”
pouting, you mumble, “‘s okay.”
“yeah?” he asks, pulling you closer by the hand, pressing his nose into your temple before kissing at it. “if another waitress ever does that again, i’ll be givin’ her the stink eye the whole time.” you giggle. “i’m serious. gotta make it clear i’m taken.”
“yeah, y’do,” you murmur, as he wraps his free hand around your waist to pull you into his body. you bury your face into his chest. “she was so desperate.”
“so desperate,” he humors you, rubbing his hand in circles into your lower back. he gives your ass a little squeeze. “you done now? you okay?”
tilting your head up to rest your chin against his sternum, you nod.
“okay,” he chuckles, eyes wrinkling. “gonna let me take you home?”
again; you nod.
“alright,” he hums, letting out a little sigh as he grabs your hand, tugging it lightly as he leads you back to his car. “jesus, baby. starting to think you do this just to get a rise out of me.”
you giggle. “a little bit.”
he turns his head to look at you, a brow raised, before he chuckles, shaking his head. “c’mon. let me take my pretty girl home. gotta make it up to her.”
he’d love to tell you you were being moody, a little dramatic, that there’s no need to make a scene on a date night he’d been planning for weeks, but that’d be denying him of the fact that, despite all the stress you give him sometimes, he wouldn’t have it any other way.
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His Jewish parents would have gone with the original Hebrew version of the name. In Hebrew, it’s pronounced with three syllables (miˈχaːel, i.e, mee-chah-el) which is why the standard English spelling preserves the original vowel order even if English drops the glottal stop before the last syllable.
So if you’re writing a Jewish character like Dr. Robby, it’s Michael, not Micheal.
Jack Abbot who gets a text from pregnant!reader telling him that her water broke and her sister is driving her to the hospital. He does a sexy, cowboy like howl of excitement that startles a half asleep Santos, and exclaims to EVERYONE in the emergency room, “My baby’s having my baby!!!” And fucking yeehaws up to Labor and Delivery with the overnight bag he’s had ready in his work locker for over a month - the same place he keeps every ultrasound you’ve had throughout your pregnancy, taped on the inside door to look at when he needs hope during a rough shift 🥹
ᝰ.ᐟ blurry 🩺ྀིྀི @blurryboundaries - Tumblr Blog | Tumlook
