c⋆ flesh and bones

take your troubles away from me

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader Reader: She/her pronouns, no given name Genre: Heavy angst, marital conflict, pregnancy, hurt/no comfort Jack promised he would be there for the most important night of your career. For once, you believed him. But when the hospital takes him away again, you are left to accept an award alone, with his empty chair beside you and a secret you had planned to share with him. By the time he finally comes home, the marriage has already broken in a place apologies cannot reach.

The Baby Gift That Gave Him Away

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader Reader: She/her pronouns, no given name Genre: Fluff, humor, domestic Jack, dad Jack Santos and Whittaker are forced by Dana to shop for a baby shower gift for one of the nurses. What should have been a simple errand turns into a crisis when two tiny chaotic twins help them choose a gift and accidentally reveal that their father is none other than Dr. Jack Abbot.

Retired Means Retired

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Supernatural!Wife!Reader Crossover: The Pitt x Supernatural Reader: She/her pronouns, “Y/N” used, no face claim Genre: Heavy angst, hidden past, grief, supernatural horror You left hunting behind a long time ago. You built a life with Jack, two daughters, and a front door that did not need salt lines anymore. Then Sam and Dean Winchester come to Pittsburgh with a case file, and for one night, you let yourself believe you could still be everything to everyone. Jack never knew the truth until you came home in a way no wife, no mother, and no person ever should.

Wait. Hear Me Out: Jack Abbot x BAU!Reader

Pairing: Jack Abbot x BAU!Reader Crossover: The Pitt x Criminal Minds Reader: She/her pronouns, “Y/N” used, no face claim Genre: Crossover, emotional comfort, tired married people, soft Jack You’re in Pittsburgh for a BAU case, exhausted, emotionally drained, and running on coffee and spite. Jack Abbot has just finished a brutal ER shift, looks like he hasn’t slept since 2009, and still somehow decides your biggest emergency is the fact that you haven’t eaten dinner.

BRENDON PARK

No Scrubs, Just Surgeons

Pairing: Brendon Park x Popstar/Actor!Reader Reader: She/her pronouns, “Y/N” used, no face claim Status: Ongoing Genre: Celebrity AU, secret marriage, hospital gossip, romance, light chaos When one of the biggest pop stars and actresses in the world suddenly announces an indefinite hiatus, the internet immediately spirals. But when she is photographed arriving in Pittsburgh wearing both an engagement ring and a wedding band, the mystery becomes impossible to ignore, especially for the staff at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. Chapter: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Her Podium, His Fancam

Pairing: Brendon Park x F1 Driver!Reader Reader: She/her pronouns, no face claim Genre: Fluff, F1 wife/mom energy, internet chaos After taking P1, all you want is to celebrate with your husband and son. Unfortunately, the cameras catch Brendon Park holding your baby under the podium, and the internet immediately loses focus.

ANIMAL KINGDOM

ANDREW “POPE” CODY

Babygirl Series

Pairing: Andrew “Pope” Cody x Reader Reader: She/her pronouns, no given name, known as “Babygirl” Status: Ongoing / Collection Genre: Dark romance, Cody family dynamics, possessive Pope, angst, crime family drama Babygirl was supposed to be a nickname, something soft the Codys gave you before it became more familiar than your own name. In Oceanside, softness does not stay innocent for long. You become Deran’s first safe place, J’s quiet reminder that there can still be a future outside Cody blood, and Pope’s one weakness — the woman he loves like a locked door, a loaded gun, and a warning. PARTS: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Oops!... I Did It Again

Pairing: Andrew “Pope” Cody x Reader Reader: She/her pronouns, no physical description, no face claim Genre: Toxic romance, jealousy, possessiveness, Cody family tension, angst Everyone in Oceanside knows Andrew Cody belongs to you. He is your shadow, your guard dog, your weapon, and the one man who would choose you even when choosing you ruins everything. But when Smurf pushes you into another one of her games, your messiness collides with Andrew’s devotion, and the night ends with a secret that threatens to turn the Cody house inside out.

You make it through two full months with nobody finding out about you and Brendon, everybody in on it keeping their lips zipped and everyone else happily oblivious, but that changes one random day when you wake up feeling like shit.

“You should just stay home, baby,” Brendon murmurs as he watches you slog through getting dressed, clearly exhausted and feeling off. “The ED can survive without you for one day.”

You shake your head and insist, “All I need is breakfast and a coffee and I’ll be all set. Just didn’t sleep well.”

“Alright, I trust you,” he sighs, dropping down so he can tie your shoes the way he has every morning for more than 3,000 days. “Take it easy though. For me. There’s that nasty bug going around and if this is the start of it-”

“I’m fine, Bren,” you assure as he stands up. “You worry too much.”

He kisses your forehead and murmurs, “I know. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sweet,” you reply, nudging up to kiss him softly. You know he only worries about your health so much because he had to watch you nearly lose your life a few years ago; you’re sure you’d be ten times as bad if the roles were reversed. “Let’s go get the kids up, yeah?”

He nods solemnly. “I’ll start pancake duty.”

You pat his ass and push him toward the bedroom door. “Good boy.”

Annoyingly, though, you really aren’t feeling better by the time you’ve had your coffee and breakfast and snuggles with your mama’s boy. Still, you take a deep breath, get the little ones in their car seats, and head to the hospital with a determination to get through the day since you have the next two off.

You don’t even make it to lunch.

Your breakfast decides to make a dramatic reappearance out of nowhere, sending you running to the staff bathroom at code speeds. After puking, your skin is about ten shades grayer than usual while you slide down the wall next to the bathroom trash, head spinning and forehead shining with sweat.

The next person to push inside the bathroom is Dana, having watched you hustle away with an expression every mom recognizes when there’s a bug going around. When she spots you, she immediately drops down and touches the back of your clammy forehead. “You don’t feel feverish, but, Jesus, you look terrible.”

“Thanks for that.” You grimace as she grabs one of the little paper cups and fills it with water for you to sip on.

“You’ve gotta go home; you look like you’re gonna pass out. Can I call someone for you?”

Shit, you left your phone in your locker this morning. You manage to mumble out as much to her and say, “If you have your phone, I can tell you my husband’s number.”

He picks up on the last ring after excusing himself from supervising a more-than-capable resident, knowing an unknown number could easily be the kids’ school or daycare. “Hello?”

Your voice creaks through. “Hi, hon, I left my phone in my locker. Borrowing Dana’s. I think I’ve got the bug that’s going around. I’ve been throwing up for like half an hour.”

“I’m so sorry you’re sick, sweetheart,” he soothes softly. “You need me to come down and take you home?”

Dana’s head cocks to one side. That’s a familiar voice, but she can’t quite place it because she’s never heard it sounding sympathetic before.

“Yeah, I think so,” you reply, feeling defeated and exhausted. “This thing’s really knocked me on my ass. Literally, actually. I’m on the bathroom floor.”

Brendon’s voice gains intensity as it lowers in volume. “Are you okay? How serious is this?”

“I’m alright,” you reassure him, “just needed to sit down somewhere cool and quiet. Dana’s here with me being amazing. You’ll come down soon?”

“Yeah, baby, of course,” he sighs tenderly. You hear him shuffling things around, already reorienting his day at the first sign of you needing him. “I’ve got one more quick post-op and then I’ll grab you, okay? Can you find somewhere to hang tight until then?”

“Mhm,” you offer queasily. “I’ll wait for you in Occupational Health, maybe? I can lay down and get some meds there at least.”

“That’s a good idea. Tell them I want blood and cultures. Don’t forget that you want trimethobenzamide, not Zofran, for the nausea. Zofran always makes you too fatigued.”

“Yes, doctor,” you reply with an eye roll. But when the eye roll makes the world spin which makes your stomach flip, you groan, “Thanks, Bren.”

As she puts all the baffling dots together, Dana steps in and tells him, “I’ll bring her up to OT. She looks like she could go down any second, so I’m gonna stick with her.”

Brendon sighs. You know he’s pinching the bridge of his nose to stop himself from getting too upset that he can’t fix everything right away. “Thanks, Dana, I’ll see you both soon.”

Dana manages to get you to Occupational Health without catching any stray questioning stares. After being briefed on your symptoms, the OT nurse gives you a sympathetic smile as she preps her kit. “It’s probably the flu, but we’re going to draw some blood and take a couple cultures just to be safe, alright?”

Dramatically presenting your arm for the poke, you murmur, “As if my husband would let me leave without a battery of tests for a seasonal virus half a Pittsburgh has.”

She smiles knowingly. “Park definitely seems like the protective type.”

“Park the fuckin’ Shark,” Dana sighs, still disbelieving, as she shakes her head. “So tell me: Was he nice when you first met or were you mean?”

Seeing Brendon’s broad form in the corner of your eye, you turn toward him and sigh romantically, “He’s always nice to me.”

The moment he catches your eye, Brendon’s expression softens. Dana’s never seen that before. He strides quickly to your side and takes your free hand as the nurse does your blood draw. With a quick squeeze to your palm, he asks gently, “How’s the patient feeling?”

You tilt your head back and pout. “Supremely crappy. Sorry, baby, I know you told me to stay home this morning.”

Brendon shakes his head and presses his lips to your hair. “Never apologize for needing my help; that’s the job. You’ve been nauseous half of your adult life and you’re used to pushing through it. Shit happens. Let’s just get you home, baby.”

Dana watches the exchange with  befuddled eyebrows. Suddenly the mountain of a frown she’s come to know is a gentle giant, his eyes concerned and his expression tender. He’s had baby blue eyes this whole time? Jesus. She never would’ve guessed after avoiding eye contact so long. She gestures broadly and half-laughs as she asks Brendon, “You’re telling me all those precious angels she’s got covering the inside of her locker belong to you? The meanest man in the hospital?”

“Guilty as charged,” Brendon confirms as he once again kisses the top of your head. He’s rubbing your back, too, unable to stop touching you as a way of grounding himself. “We’ve been together almost ten years now.”

She whistles, impressed. Turning to you while the nurse disappears with your tests, she asks, “Any reason you don’t talk about him at work besides the fact that he’s undeniably awful?”

“I talk plenty about my husband,” you laugh softly, not able to muster much energy to tease, “you all just don’t think my cute stories could be about him.”

Suddenly recontextualizing countless adorable accounts, Dana disbelievingly says, “Brendon Park takes his girls to their father-daughter dances every year in a tie that matches their dress. Brendon Park writes notes for his kids’ lunchboxes and takes them all on dad dates so they don’t miss out on quality time with him.” She shakes her head and laughs, “No wonder he keeps his family a secret; I think you might be the sweetest man in the world, Dr. Park. I’m never gonna look at you the same way again.”

“That’s all hearsay,” Brendon snaps back through a chuckle. Then he sighs and tells her, “Look, surgery may be my life, but those kids are my world. Family’s everything.”

Dana can’t help smiling. “God, now I’m gonna be sick.”

You make kissy lips at Brendon and say, “I tell you guys all the time: My husband’s a huge softie.”

Brendon shakes his head and jokingly covers your ears with his hands. “She’s delirious; don’t listen to a word she says.” Then, while you get cleared to leave, he nudges Dana on the arm and adds, “Hey, don’t tell anyone about us, alright? We’ve got a whole bet going.”

And she gives the only response heard in the Pitt: “Can I get in on the action?”

Just as you’re about to go home after your first shift back a few days later, feeling much better after resting and hydrating as with Brendon’s mom coming over to dote on the kids, Dana touches you on the shoulder. Her eyes are sharp and her voice is low. “Do you have a few minutes?”

You glance at your watch. Brendon’s grabbing the boys from daycare, so you can spare a few minutes. “Now?”

She nods and you can see something serious hiding behind her eyes. Immediately you worry about the particularly fragile patient she assisted you with a few hours ago. “No time like the present.”

“Um, yeah, alright.”

She leads you into a private room and closes the door behind her. Inside, she picks up a chart and a few packets of paper she had waiting.

Swallowing hard as your mind easily supplies all sorts of horrible news, you check, “Is this about a patient?”

“Ah, kind of,” she replies, gesturing for you to sit on the bed. You hop up and she steps closer. After a deep breath, she hands over the clipboard – your chart from your visit to OT last week – and says, “No point beating around the bush, I say. You’re pregnant.”

The floor falls out from under you.

Your ears start to ring. Staring down at the litany of blood tests, your eyes settle on that firm POSITIVE next to a sky-high hCG level.

While your heart thuds its way into your throat, Dana adds softly, “I’m guessing you’re already well into your first trimester based on those numbers. Maybe 10, 12 weeks.”

Not quite processing, you blink fast and ramble out, “I- I’m so good about my birth control pills. Same time every day. Never miss them. With five kids, you don’t miss your birth control.”

“I read over your chart, honey,” she explains, standing next to you now so she can place a hand on your upper back. “One of the medications you’re on – the modafinil, for your sleep issues – reduces the effectiveness of hormonal birth control.”

Tears sting at your eyes as you scoff, feeling stupid and confused and jarred, “How did I not know that? I’m a fucking doctor.”

“You’re not a psychiatrist. If they didn’t tell you that, you should sue as far as I’m concerned.” She hands you a couple stapled packets of paper and a pamphlet. Studies, you realize. “Look, take a day and talk about it with your husband, whatever you need to do, but if you decide to stay pregnant, you’ll need to stop taking it because first trimester exposure can cause some complications and malformations.”

If the floor fell out of you at the first news, it’s the ceiling flying off this time. Your hand goes over your mouth as you choke back a sob. “Oh, god.”

“Don’t go panicking yet,” she soothes, rubbing your back how your mother would when you were little. “The chance is still low and you know as well as I do there are things we can screen for and most of them are fixable, treatable, or manageable even if they’re present. All your numbers look fantastic and you’ve got a nice long history of healthy pregnancies, right?”

You wipe the tears from your cheeks and take a deep breath, steadying yourself as much as you can. “Right. Right, yeah. Okay. Everything’s okay.”

Dana gives you a sympathetic, understanding smile. “Do you want a minute alone? Or I can walk you out to your car?”

You sniffle and try to force your face into a grateful expression, genuinely thankful she’s being so kind and taking the time to be supportive. “That would be nice.”

With her voice low and her arm slung protectively around your shoulder, Dana guided you out of the back entrance and to your waiting car. She says goodbye with a tight hug that lingers, promising you everything will be okay.

Then, alone in your car, your mind finally settled enough to relax, you feel that tiny little spark.

Underneath the shock, underneath the panic, underneath the confusion, peeking out like a sprout growing through a crack in the concrete, there’s that familiar bloom of pure love. That soft, sacred, quiet thing that grows unrelentingly inside of you when everything else threatens to crumble.

Love without boundaries, without conditions, without a name. The same love that has you sewing custom Halloween costumes, baking preschool graduation cakes, and wiping sniffly noses all cold season long. A love made from you and the man who’s rerouted and dedicated his entire life to making sure you and your children are safe and adored.

As you turn over the engine, you touch your lower abdomen and murmur softly, “We’re doing this again, aren’t we?”

You hate to say it, but you’re grateful when Brendon is pulled into an emergency surgery at the end of the day, sending his mom to pick up the boys at daycare. It’s nice to have some time to think while you make dinner and help the older ones with homework.

While everyone settles into the evening, you catch yourself watching the kids playing with each other, leaning in the doorway with a soft, far away expression. You’d felt so finished having kids after Felix, but suddenly you can see another baby to bounce as you chase the others around. You can see it so clearly that your eyes sting with tears. Even when you imagine that baby with any myriad of complications, you love it. You want it.

Late that night, all the kids in bed save your littlest one, Felix is half-asleep on your chest, his thumb in his mouth while you watch the TV on low. You just can’t bear to stop moments like this when you know they’re so fleeting. Running your fingers through his hair, just like Brendon’s downy waves,  you murmur, “What do you think about becoming a big brother, little man?”

He stirs slightly and gives you a heavy-lidded smile. With a half-giggle that always melts you, he muses, “Baby sister?”

“Baby something,” you confirm gently. “I just have to tell daddy.”

He nods as if knowingly, nestling his forehead into your side. “Daddy happy.”

“I hope so.”

“Know so.”

You’ve convinced yourself that you’ll manage to wait to tell Brendon until after he’s had a solid night’s sleep. But then he comes home. And, in a matter of minutes, you remember it’s impossible for you to keep a secret from him, especially one this big. That’s the problem with being married to your best friend; he’s the one person you want to talk about everything with, even when it’s not the best time.

“I got my bloodwork back,” you tell him tentatively as you watch him go through his bedtime routine from the bed, “and I don’t have the flu.”

After he finishes flossing, he heads into the closet and asks, “Norovirus?”

Your hands start to sweat. This feels very, very different from your other pregnancies. The shadow of Felix’s birth clouds you both. You swallow hard and squeak out, “Not quite.”

Stepping out in nothing but his boxers, a few droplets of water still on his chest from his recent shower, Brendon sits next to you on the bed and cups your cheek. With a furrowed brow, he urges, “I can read you like a book, angel. Spit it out.”

Searching his blue eyes for any islands to rest away from your anxiety, you whisper, “I’m pregnant.”

Every time you’ve told him before, he’s scooped you up into his arms and spun you around and celebrated. This time, the blood drains from his face. His palms go clammy. The world stills.

After a minute, he asks in a voice that’s jumbled up with fear and grief and love and hope and desperation, “You want us to keep it?”

“I think so,” you reply quietly, “but not if you don’t want another-”

“I’d raise as many kids as you’d give me, baby, that’s not what I’m nervous about.” Brendon turns to you, clutches your hands in his, and shakes his head like he’s trying to clear an Etch-a-Sketch. Through tears that just won’t stop falling, he whispers, “After everything last time, after almost- almost fucking lose you, I don’t know if I can- if I can handle it.”

You rush back, “That won’t happen again, Bren.”

“You can’t know that for sure.”

Brushing his wet cheeks with your thumbs, you remind him, “I can know it to 99.99994 percent based on the latest research. We both know the odds are astronomical that that complication would happen more than once.”

Unable to speak, Brendon buries his face in your shoulder and takes a deep breath. His arms wrap around your waist and he pulls you effortlessly into his lap to hold you as tight to him as possible.

You massage his scalp with your fingertips and soothe, “I’m okay, Bren. I’m just pregnant.”

“I know, baby, I know.” He pulls back and kisses your hand over and over with his eyebrows pinched together. “But you’re older now, and-”

“Sweetheart, I’m not even thirty,” you chuckle and shake your head. “The average woman hasn’t even started having babies by my age.”

“You’re really on one with the statistics tonight,” he half-laughs, wiping his tears and taking a deep breath. After a minute of studying your features the way he always has when he wishes he could read your thoughts, he checks, “Are you sure?”

You nod and give him the first secretive smile. “Completely.”

Brendon hugs you close once again and sighs out all his fears with his next breath. “Then I’m sure with you.” Sliding his strong arms beneath your ass, he offers a mischievous smile and asks, “Feel secure?”

You roll your eyes and grin and nod – and he hoists you up into the air. Letting out a needed laugh, you lock your legs around him and kiss him hard as he spins you around. With your forehead pressed to his, you giggle out, “We’re gonna have a baby.”

“I love you so fucking much,” he says, kissing across your cheeks. Once he’s got you laughing and thrilled, he flops you back on the bed and kisses your stomach. Finally, propped on his elbows next to you, that boyish smile of his blooms in full force. He says seriously, “At least this means we have some wiggle room for our ultimate frisbee lineup. Margot’s not exactly shaping up to be an athlete with all her musical theater.”

You snort run your fingers through Brendon’s hair as he rests his head on your stomach, eyes closed reverently as he once again reimagines his future with another baby. “Hear that, kiddo? Daddy’s gonna teach you to throw as soon as you’re out of there. Work extra hard on building up that right hook.”

“Nah, we need a Southpaw,” he corrects with the most adorable smile you’ve ever seen. Then he just shakes his head happily and snuggles closer to you, the picture of domestic bliss. As he softly kisses anywhere he can, he muses, “We’re gonna have to go ring shopping again.”

You poke him in the pec and balk, “You want me to wear a six carat diamond? My hand will fall off, Bren. We could send one of the kids to college with that.”

He holds up his hand to stop you in your tracks. “One carat per baby; that’s been my rule for a decade and I’m not about to betray my values now.”

With a snicker, you reach back and turn off your bedside lamp, getting cozy under the covers together. “I can’t even wear my ring to work.”

He counters, “But I like when you wear it on dates.”

“Because you like to show me off like some trophy wife.”

Dramatically, he sighs out, “God forbid a man be madly, spectacularly in love with a gorgeous woman and want everyone in a ten-foot radius to know.”

“Fine,” you relent, unable to stop smiling even in the dark, “six carats it is.”