That’s His Kid Alright

That’s his kid alright

if i could disappear beneath the leaves || michael robinavitch

summary: between awake and asleep, dreams are not always what they seem.

pairing(s): m.r x reader, j.a x reader, m.r x reader x j.a

warnings: none, really? aside from some small allegories to sexy times.

note: i wrote this with a shiteating grin lmaoooo please don't hate me for how this ends. a million thanks for @superhoeva for proof reading my nonsense. inspired by this post and that one the marias song.

p.s: if I see you reposting, stealing, feeding my FICS into AI or some other fuck shit, don’t. 👀🫵🏽

----

LONG BEFORE THE SUN WAKES UP AND THE STARS DISAPPEAR to make space for the clouds, brown eyes that were once heavy with sleep suddenly find themselves opened up just before the light shines through the curtains.

No matter what Robby did, or how late he’d go to sleep when he got home, he’d always wake up at the same time.

He lets out a low yawn, rubbing the sleep off his face as much as he can with his free arm, before looking over, all of him stupefied and hazy with sleep.

He smiles softly when his favorite view in the world is no longer blurred, his heart beating in a flurrying thump badum thump badum, and his stomach flipping in a dizzying woosh at the sight of you and Jack curled up together. Your back is to Jack’s chest as his arms curled around you, and your foot tucked just so under Robby’s ankle to keep tethered to earth.

It makes his heart melt, knowing you wanted to hold onto him even while you’re still in dreams. Your consciousness floated away somewhere, completely unaware of everything else but the comfort and safety that the two men that are with you provide.

As lithe and fast as he is, Robby is still two hundred something pounds and over six feet tall. So even on the rare days he gets to stay in and sleep with you, he tries to be as careful as he can be as he regretfully leaves the bed you share.

He hates it, leaving the two of you. He really wants to stay in bed and kiss you two awake, but he’s been waiting for ages to do this for you, with you.

And as much as he’s enjoyed reuniting with you in more ways than one, few and far between were the days where he simply got to do something just because he wanted to do it.

“Shh, shh, shh…” He coos softly, as his big, warm hand cradles your face and caresses your brow bone softly with a calloused thumb. Knowing you’re still far too deep to reveal your eyes to him, he gently coaxes you further back into your dreams.

Softly pressing a kiss to where his thumb had just been, he adjusts the thousand thread count blankets – and with a gentle squeeze to Jack’s bicep, he reluctantly tears away his adoring gaze to get started on his surprise - breakfast in bed.

There’s a slight draft in the brownstone’s kitchen that chills Robby’s skin, but it doesn’t bother him. The hospital was always far colder than this. And yet, even with you in the other side, he feels warmed all over by you.

He can’t explain the feeling that blooms through him as he mills about the kitchen, as bare feet softly pad about the tiled floor while he gathers all he needs to make breakfast. He truly tries to be as quiet as possible, cursing himself as he rattles the cutlery drawer with his hip.

A familiar song is whispered from Robby’s lips as he works. And for a moment, he thinks – he hadn’t been religious for a time longer than he can remember, but he knew he had to believe in a higher power when his life became more colorful with you in it. He knows Jack would agree.

Strawberry studded pancakes are stacked on your favorite plate set, and Robby grumbles at how some of them are so not uniform. He turns to the other counter, where he preps the French press to make enough coffee for the three of you.

There’s something about the smell that brings him back to the days of his med school youth, where he could barely get through the day without the caffeine. Nowadays, he’s happy to be dragged along by you to whatever the latest coffee shop was, and only a little begrudgingly pay for, in his opinion, overpriced coffees and sweet treats.

Dishwashing is left for later, wanting the two of you to wake up to the breakfast spread on the tray that was sourced at a vintage market you had dragged him to months ago.

As his surprises for you normally tend to go, they always get found out somehow.

Just as he places the dish towel back on the counter after drying his hands, a sound by the kitchen’s threshold snaps his eyes to the door. The sight of you wearing his shirt and looking so disheveled melts his heart, even more so than the whipped cream used on you last night.

“Robby…” You mumble, making grabby hands as you reach out for him while walking over. “Hey…what’re you doin’ up so early, huh?” He whispers, practically scooping you up in his arms and off the floor. He’s that much taller than you, and the way you gasp always makes him chuckle low in his chest. Robby kisses the crown of your head softly, letting you seek safety from the cold of the world that’s yet to wake up.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he’s held you like this - just because he wanted to, just because he could. Just you and him and nothing else or no one else in the world. Holding you always makes him feel like you’d always belonged in his arms.

“Went to the bathroom,” your voice is muffled on his chest, “you weren’ there anymore.”

You meant the bed, he knew it. And the way you say his name with a sleepy moan in that lilt of your voice makes Robby’s heart tighten only a little.

“Go back to bed, honey. Bringin’ us breakfast.” He kisses your head again when you whine, urging you to go along, “go on, doc’s orders.”

Only when he gently swats your behind do you listen to him.

Robby follows close behind with said breakfast, smiling as he watches you crawl back into bed and Jack’s arm, resuming the same position as before. Jack was always the big spoon, and you were the little spoon.

Seeing the two of you cuddled up again makes Robby feel only a little guilty for making such a big deal out of something so trite, but he figures that the array of food will more than make up for it.

“Room service is ready, you two.” He wheedles, settling the breakfast tray on the side table that’s on your side of the bed.

Robby only rolls his eyes a little, clearly cognizant that both of you are purposefully ignoring him, wanting to sleep as much as possible on a rare day off. But the smell of the coffee and sugar practically teased you both awake.

He supports his weight on his arms by caging you protectively, arm on either side of you.

“Come on, up you get.” He murmurs against the warm skin of your shoulder, slowly working his way up and places a kiss on your temple - stealing one, two, three smooches.

The small commotion stirs Jack awake, but he doesn’t open his eyes. He blindly grabs your hand, lacing his fingers with his hand on top of yours and a small squeeze follows.

“Mm, do we have to?”

“Yeah, you do.”

Breakfast is quiet and syrupy slow for the most part. Robby is more than happy to sit back in bed, breakfast tray in his lap as the food and coffee is shared between you three.

Plans are made but very few of them end up happening. At least not right away they do. But the day starts of slow, the warmth of twilight still keeping you three tucked away.

With the tray and plates set aside, the three of you settle into bed once more. You’re in the middle, with Robby and Jack on either side of you. This time, Robby is the big spoon while you face Jack, holding onto his hand after sharing a saccharine kiss.

It’s always been easier to sleep this way, the weight of them with you reminding you that they’re real and that you weren’t stupid at all to have fallen for them both.

The rumble of Robby’s chest as he slowly falls back asleep lulls you back to your dreams, Jack scooching over to be close to you while he pressed a kiss to the back of your hand.

There’s the sound of a car alarm going off in the distance, but you’re far too sleepy to care.

–

The shrill beep of the snooze button set for the umpteenth time snatches you awake.

For a moment, you forget where you are. But the fact that your joints crack as you stand up from the overused bed makes you realize where you are as you look around.

The call room.

Your dream was just that, a dream.

You let out a sigh as you walk towards the door and motion to grab the doorknob, willing yourself to walk back out into the chaos. But you bang your forehead on the door softly, unwilling to face the very unreal fantasy on the other side.

What were you gonna do?

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espressheauxs

2 months ago

Angel Kisses

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader

Warnings: graphic medical descriptions, needles

A/N: I thought this fic would be a little less fluffy and more spicy but I just can’t help it. Plus I love Noah Wyle’s barely there freckles. I feel like this isn’t my best work because I had severe writers block. Hope it’s good enough for yall tho 💕

My Ko-Fi :)

—

The Pittsburg Trauma Medical Center was rumored to be the 9th level of Hell. So when it was time for you to begin your schedule for trauma surgery, you prayed for a different hospital. Literally any other hospital.

But there you were, in the depths of the Pitt, working your fifth 12 hour shift of the rotation. Only 1pm, but you felt like someone had changed the clocks because there was no way that the day was only halfway done. You were reading a pediatric patient’s CBC results, getting ready to tell your senior attending for the day, Dr. Jack Abbott, that the child is anemic. But Dana’s voice distracted you:

“You can’t even stay away on your day off. Do you have a life besides the Pitt?” She said to someone out of your view.

“Trust me. This is a last resort.” You heard a man respond, the voice slightly familiar.

You turned around and saw Dr. Michael Robinavitch, the senior attending from your first four days of working here. He didn’t look too different out of his scrubs and navy hoodie that he wore at work. Black joggers and gray long sleeve athletic shirt that hugged his waist…really nicely.

“Last resort for what?” Dr. Frank Langdon called out from where he sat at his desk, charting his patient case.

“I fell of a ladder and tore up my back on the fence in my backyard.” Answered Dr. Robinav- Dr. Robby, you had to remind yourself. “I need stitches, but I can’t reach the cut.”

Langdon winced and leaned back in his chair. “Need me to stitch you up?” He asked.

Dr. Abbott walked up to the desk near Langdon and laughed. “No, he wants his friend to stitch him up. Right, Robby?” He joked, referring to himself.

Robby laughed and crossed his arms, biceps straining against the fabric of the athletic shirt. Damn. “Friend is a strong word. I don’t have friends.” He said with a smile.

Langdon scoffed. “We went fishing last weekend. What does that make me?” He asked.

“I prefer the term ‘coworker that I hang out with sometimes outside of work.’” Robby said, but you could see the teasing in the way his eyes crinkled.

Dana rolled her eyes. “You are all annoying me. Jack, go stitch him up so he can get out of here and rest.” She said before walking off to a patient room.

Robby shook his head. “No, no, just let a med student do it. Good learning opportunity.” He said.

“No med students today. Only interns.” Langdon mumbled as he continued typing on his computer.

Robby clasped his hands together and held them close to his chest. “Even better. I would love for my scar to be in a straight line.” He joked.

Abbott looked to you, who had been watching the group interact from a couple of desks over. Your face flushed slightly, realizing you probably look like an eavesdropper. He motioned with his head toward Robby. “Why don’t you take our patient to holding and fix him up? I’ll take the CBC results.” He said.

“Yes, sir.” You answered, almost a little too seriously. The Pitt was an intense environment, but these attendings did not have the same egos as the ones from your last several rotations.

Robby chuckled at your earnestness. “Hear that, Langdon? ‘Yes, sir.’ You should be taking notes.” He ordered facetiously, pointing his finger at the senior resident.

Langdon looked up from his desk as you began walking with Robby to the back of the Pitt where the holding rooms were. “You know, we tell all of our patients over 65 to be very careful when doing yard work.” He called out.

Robby shot him a bird without turning back around. You smiled at the banter, not used to the lax interactions between physicians of different ranks. Once you made it to the room, Robby sat on the bed, and you grabbed a standard suture kit.

“Is it on your back?” You asked, turned away from him.

“Yeah. I’d do it myself if I could reach it. I managed to cover it up though.” He said.

When you turned back around, his tight fitting shirt had been peeled off his upper body. Holy shit. In the last five days, you didn’t really give yourself time to fantasize about your attending. He was handsome for sure and charming when he wasn’t jumping down a resident’s throat (yet he still had the patience of a saint). His abdomen was well toned, and his chest was smooth. Not what you expected based off his hairy forearms and face.

You must have been staring too much because Robby’s shoulders hunched, as if trying to subtly cover his exposed body. “Let me just take a look at the cut.” You said, trying to come back to earth. You moved to the edge of the bed and removed the bandage that he had placed himself.

You could see the blood that had leaked through the dressing, but you were not prepared to see the extent of the cut stretch across the majority of his upper back. “Oh, shit.” You swore.

Robby chuckled. “That’s not a comforting thing to hear from your doctor.” He said, shifting uncomfortably as the cold air of the hospital struck the wound.

You shook your head in a panic. “Oh, no, I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t say that to a normal patient.” You covered for yourself.

Robby shook his head. “No, no. Listen. You’re taking everything a little too seriously. Just relax. Roll with the punches. That’s the only way you’ll survive down here.” He explained.

You nodded, taking in a stiff breath anyway. You disposed of the bandaging and picked up the lidocaine syringe. “Okay. I’m about to start injecting lidocaine around the cut. You’ll feel the burning more than the needle.” You said. You placed one gloved hand on his back, giving yourself a guide while you held the syringe in the other.

“90 degrees or 45?” He asked, making you freeze in place.

You paused for a moment, almost afraid to say your answer in fear of being incorrect. “90.” You answered.

“Why?”

At this point, the needle was hovering just an inch above your first injection site. “Recent studies show that patients report less pain with a 90 degree angle.” You said, confident in your sources.

Robby smiled, but you didn’t see it. “Very good.” Was all he said.

You injected the first round of lidocaine, and he hissed at the burning around the open wound. You kept moving around the cut, injecting small doses. “You’re doing great, Dr. Robby.” You praised, just as you would with any patient.

“Fuck, I say that to patients all the time. No wonder it makes no difference.” He grumbled.

You smiled slightly and injected the final dose. “All done.”

Robby let out a heavy breath, hanging his head as the skin slowly numbed where you worked. You began to open the suture kit and sort out its contents on the metal tray near the bed.

“What stitch?” He asked.

You grabbed some gauze and antiseptic from the drawer in the room before returning to his side. You cleaned the skin around the wound where the blood had dribbled down his back in a mix with sweat from working outside.

“Running stitch. The cut is long but not at risk of tension.” You answered. Robby nodded in approval. You carefully started on your first stitch, delicately inserting the curved needle into his skin. “So, you were on a ladder?” You asked.

Robby huffed in slight irritation. “Yeah. Trimming some branches that were reaching over the fence into the neighbors’ yard. I misstepped on the way down and lost my balance.” He explained.

You grimaced. “That sucks.” You said matter of factly.

“Yeah. Maybe Langdon is right. I’m getting too old for that kind of stuff.” He said with a chuckle.

Your hands carefully moved as they continued to sew. “You don’t look old.” You said.

Robby smiled to himself, not expecting you to respond at all. “You think so?”

“Yeah.” You said, glad he couldn’t see your involuntary blush. As you continued to stitch, you noticed all of the spots and marks that dusted his back and shoulders. “I like your freckles.” You noted.

Robby’s mind halted. It was a compliment he had never received. Your words went straight to his chest, and for the first time in a very long time, he felt flustered.

“My freckles?” He repeated.

You smiled and nodded. “Yeah. You got ‘em on your face too?” You asked.

Robby turned his head, not to present his face, but because he was still surprised and wanted to see if you were being genuine. And there they were. A light scattering of freckles across his cheeks and bridge of his nose.

“Yep. They’re precious.” You said after inspecting and returning back to your stitching. Robby’s face flushed, and you could especially see it in his ears as you worked. “You know, my mom used to tell me that freckles were angel kisses. Every time I got a new one, I thought an angel had kissed me. I went an embarrassingly long time into junior high before realizing it was just a tall tale.” You explained.

Robby smiled at the charming story, feeling an unusual feeling of comfort. “My grandmother used to say the same thing.” He said.

You grinned. “Looks like the angels couldn’t get enough of you then.” You teased.

Robby chuckled and ran a nervous hand across the back of his neck, careful not to pull against the skin as you worked. “How’s it looking back there?” He asked, trying to continue conversation.

“I need to run about five more stitches. Then you’ll be on your way.” You said.

He nodded and folded his hands in his lap. “Are you working tomorrow?” He asked.

You thought for a second, honestly not sure. “I don’t think so. My first off day since I started.” You replied. “Are you?”

“No. Seven on, seven off.” He said.

You pulled at the last suture and cut the remaining thread. “All right, Dr. Robby. You’re all cleaned up.” You announced.

“Great.” Robby hopped off the bed and stood up straight, popping a few kinks in his back from being hunched over. He towered above you, losing the intimacy that you temporarily had. “Take a picture and show me.” He said.

You pulled off your gloves slowly, unsure of how to respond. “Of the stitches?” You asked, afraid that he was going to grill you for sloppy suturing.

“Yeah, just to see the damage.” He responded.

You pulled your phone out and stood behind him. Fuck, even his back looked good. You snapped a picture and zoomed in to show him your work. Definitely saving that for later. “Does it look okay?” You asked timidly.

Robby nodded, impressed. “Actually yeah. Don’t think I could’ve done it better myself.” He complimented.

You laughed in relief. “Oh, good. I still need more practice on different suture patterns. I’m just lucky you were a simple case.” You said.

Robby looked down to you, letting his eyes linger as he watched you put your phone away. “If you aren’t busy tomorrow, maybe I can give you a masterclass. All ER docs have to know every suture.” He offered.

You looked up to him, suddenly very aware that he was still shirtless in front of you. You smirked and crossed your arms. “Sure. But only if you teach me just like this.” You said, looking him up and down. “You know, because you’ll need to let those stitches breathe.”

Robby grinned. “Wow. That was pretty smooth.” He admired.

You shrugged. “Just rolling with the punches.” You responded, repeating his quote from earlier. “Give me a call tomorrow.”

And you left. Robby stood there, smiling to himself. He pulled his shirt on and walked out to the desk hub. Langdon was still charting, but caught the attending before he snuck out. “What’s that goofy smile for?” He asked, even though he knew the answer.

Robby shrugged, hands in his pockets, unable to shake the smile off his face. “I don’t know.” He said before walking away to leave.

Abbott leaned against a desk near Langdon. “His ears are red.” He noted. “That motherfucker is in love.”

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