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butyoudidthis4what · 3 days ago

Text

She's Here

Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x F!Reader

21.2k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: I know there’s not a supply closet on the floor plan but we’re pretending; took what I needed for the set up of PittFest from the show, storyline diverges once PittFest patients start arriving; angst; active suicide risk Robby; Robby has not been to therapy; miscommunications; Robby cries; Reader cries; suicidal ideation/suicide planning; allusions to PIV sex and oral (m. rec) sex; dry humping kind of; alcohol; joking use of daddy; mentions of blood; mentions of guns and shootings; breaking up; making up after argument; Robby puts his foot in his mouth; reader has some insecurities; grief; mentions of death/dying/coding; seizures; CPR; anxiety about partner's safety; mentions of compartmentalization; age gap kind of implied with Robby but not explicitly referenced (he's an attending when Reader starts as an intern); no use of y/n or related

Summary: The day of PittFest becomes unbearably worse for Robby. A little over four months into the relationship you've both been waiting years for, you find Robby on the floor of pedes. When Langdon throws it in his face, Robby assumes you betrayed and doesn't react well.

AN: Based on this ask sent in by @loveyhoneydovey. First Robby fic!!!!! I don't know how I feel about it!! I'm very nervous about his voice and characterization here and if it feels like him. I'm always very nervous though. We get some development of your relationship through vignettes of the past like I've done before. Dividers made by the amazing @saradika-graphics. I would love to hear your thoughts and comments and as always thank you so much for reading!!

“We’re doing it.” Robby’s voice is just above a whisper as he walks in with Jack.

“That could mean one of several thousand things, Robby.” Jack glances at him. He keeps his voice hushed like Robby’s. “You’re going to have to be a bit more specific than ‘we’re doing it.’”

“Her and I,” Robby clarifies. “We’re together. It happened today. I’m taking her out tomorrow night.”

“About fucking time,” Jack mutters lowly. He claps Robby on the shoulder as they keep walking. “I’m really happy for you brother. For you both.”

“Really? That’s all you have to say?” Jack looks at Robby and raises his eyebrows while squinting a little, asking what Robby wanted instead. “I don’t know,” Robby shrugs, “I thought you’d have some more enthusiasm.”

“I do,” Jack nods, “but given your near whispering, I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to express it right here in, you know, the middle of the entire fucking ED,” Jack’s dropped his voice even lower the further they’ve walked in, “because it seemed like maybe not everyone knew yet and I wasn’t sure if you really wanted me to be the one to tell them or make them starting asking even more questions.” He gives Robby a look for a second before softening it into a small smile and nodding at Robby.

You grin to yourself when you see Jack. You and Robby agreed that Dana and Jack had to know right away but that you wouldn’t tell Dana until Jack was here. You could tell that Dana knew something was up, though.

You walk by Robby and Jack on your way to Dana, smirk at them. “Boys.” You nod.

Robby lets out a long breath and shakes his head a little. He has no idea what to do with you sometimes, in the best way. Jack just smirks back at you a little, but softens it out just a bit at the end and nods to silently tell you he’s very happy for you.

You smile as you walk up to Dana, standing next to her as she looks up at the board. “We’re together,” you whisper, just loud enough for her to hear. “He’s taking me out tomorrow night.”

“About fucking time,” Dana whispers back. She gives you a sly smile and bumps your hip with hers. “I’m very happy for you, both of you.”

“Thank you,” you nod, making eye contact with Robby across the floor, “I am too.”

You stand up when you hear someone else enter the supply closet. You think it might be Dana coming to lovingly corner you and get info on how your date was. But it’s not her. It’s Robby. “Hey,” you call out to him.

“Hi.” His response is a little short and confuses you but you just let it go. He walks over so that he’s standing next to you. A respectable distance apart. Robby starts looking through the shelves but as you watch him it’s clear he’s not really actually looking for anything. “Heard you had a date last night.” His voice is strained, he sounds like he’s trying to hide some simmering anger. But you recognize it for what it really is. Jealousy.

You stop pulling the tubing you need from the shelf but don’t turn to look at him. How did he even know about that and why does he fucking care are the only two things you can really think about. He has no right to be mad. You and Robby have been dancing around each other for years now. At his behest. And at a certain point it felt like his reasoning for that changed.

After a couple of seconds you sigh. “I did yeah.”

You can see him nod out of the corner of your eye, mouth in a line. You have to roll your eyes at him as you pull out the tubing. “You sleep with him?”

You scoff and finally look over at him, but he’s still looking at the shelves. “I’m sorry, please tell me how the fuck that is even close to your business.”

Robby just pulls his lips down. Not sad per se but thinking. “So you did.”

You just want this conversation to be over at this point. Because it hurts. Because Robby has been and it seems always will be right there but unwilling or unable or not wanting to try being with you. “Yeah. Sorry I needed to get laid and actually went out and got it. You should fucking try it, Michael.” It’s not even a conscious decision, deciding to push him away first in this conversation, to try and act unaffected by the thought of him being with someone else.

He ignores your jabs, but the confirmation that you were with someone else makes his blood boil, jealousy ripping through him and clouding his thoughts. “You let him touch you. Touch what’s mine.”

“Ha!” you laugh. Then there’s ten or so seconds of silence as you gape at him while his words fully process because you’re so struck by his fucking audacity. “What’s yours? What’s fucking yours? Are you out of your fucking mind Michael? Please, since fucking when have I been yours?” He still doesn’t look at you. “Hey! Look at me, asshole!” You throw the tubing in your hand at him.

That gets him to turn and look at you with a scowl on his stupid handsome face. He knows that you’re not at all his. He can’t bring himself to admit it though. “Thought we were going to do this. Do us. When you’re an attending. Guess not.”

You have to laugh at his words again, exasperatedly this time. “No Michael. You don’t get to do this. I’ve wanted to do this. Do us. You are the one who hasn’t. And for a while I understood why, and even when I didn’t, I have always respected your feelings. It was you’re under me and ‘I don’t want to mess up your career or give you a reputation and have that impact us’ and ‘when you’re an attending’ that slowly seemed to turn into ‘I’m not sure if I want you anymore’ and ‘maybe when you’re an attending’ and I’ve spent the better part of a year trying to decide if you really didn’t want to do this, didn’t want me anymore, or if you were just trying to protect yourself or something. Because it went from when you’re an attending to maybe when. So why would I be waiting around anymore, Michael? I waited for years. And if it was just about me being under you and my career and people knowing I earned everything I got then why didn’t you come ask me out and say you were ready to do this the second I got offered and accepted an attending position?”

You swallow hard and have to look away from Robby. You’re so confused by him but still down so bad. Deep down you know him calling you his hit you so hard because you are. You have been. Even if he didn’t know and didn’t want you. You’d given yourself to him. But you won’t cry for him. Not here. Not at work. Not where everyone would know regardless of your explanation.

And Robby hates it. How sad you look. How you could ever possibly think he didn’t want to be with you. That he didn’t want you. He never realized at some point he’d said maybe. It was never maybe for him. But your last question floors him.

“When you what?” Robby whispers, face furrowed in confusion, lips pulled down even more.

You scoff at him again. “Don’t even try Robby. Don’t even try to pretend you didn’t fucking know that in fucking August of last year I got offered an attending spot.” You look back over at him. Robby’s still facing you but his head is dropped slightly, eyes looking left and flicking around a little. He looks half confused and half devastated. “Holy shit, you really didn’t know. How the hell did you not know, Michael?”

He shakes his head slowly, still thinking. “Gloria and I were at each other’s throats particularly bad last August. Things were crazy here and she kept harping me about needing to interview and pick an attending and I snapped one day and told her that I didn’t even fucking care, that she could pick one for all I cared.” He looks up at you again. “I never thought she actually would. And she never told me that she actually did.”

You stare at him. It’s a plausible story and you can always tell when he’s lying to you or giving you a half truth or omitting something. And it’s not like you’ve told anyone. You’re one of those people who are afraid to announce it like it’ll jinx it somehow since it’s something that will start in the future. Your one exception to not saying anything was if you got with Robby. You’d tell people and let it be known because you figured it would appease some of his worries about it seeming like you got your job only because you were sleeping with him or in a relationship with him. But he never came to you after you signed. It broke your heart more than you wanted to admit.

You’re not sure how to respond and Robby’s not sure what else to say. “Well, she did. And it was me. So hopefully that’s not disappointing news to you, I guess.”

“Disappointing ne-” He decides part way through to not even finish the thought. Because the meaning of it all catches up with him. You have an attending position. And honestly, kind of even better, you have an attending position and Robby can honestly say he had absolutely no input into the decision. So while you’re not quite an attending yet, you’re pretty damn close. And that means Robby doesn’t have to break his own heart and tell you that you guys can’t. Doesn’t have to say when you’re an attending. For all intents and purposes you are one. “You can be mine now, Kid?” It’s almost a statement but not quite.

You nod a little, look down at your shoes. “If you want me, yeah.” Robby doesn’t think he’s ever heard your voice this small and the fact that you think he could possibly not want you kills him.

“If I want you? If?” He’s quick to close the distance between you, hands at your waist and pulling you to him as he stops walking. Both of you are breathing heavier and after your eyes flit down to look at each other’s lips the tension between the two of you finally snaps.

You kiss each other hard, sliding right into tongue and sucking. Your arms wrap around Robby’s neck, hands finding his hair and running through it, tugging at it when he kisses you in a way you particularly like. Robby pulls away so you can see each other and you make a noise of protest. “There was never a maybe. And I’m sorry if I said that. There’s no if. Never has been, Kid. Never will be. So will you go out with me? Be mine?”

You smile at him, steal another kiss before nodding. “I’ll go out with you. And I’ll be yours as long as you’ll be mine.”

Robby laughs. The two of you are finally together. “Oh, I’m yours. I’m all fucking yours.”

You and Robby have been together a little over four months now. You’re pretty much living with him, you just haven’t made it quite official yet. It still feels a bit soon, even for you. Your lease will be up around ten months of dating so you think that’s when you’ll make it official and completely move in. If he wants. You’re pretty sure he will. You always hear about it the next day if you don’t sleep in the same bed the previous night.

You’re not surprised when you wake up and the bed is empty, even if you are a little disappointed. You know this is a bad day for him. A hard day. You’ve never actually been with him or around him on this day before because until now he took it off and you always inevitably ended up working it. You’re not sure what changed for him and why he feels like he’s ready to be there and work today and you’re not sure if it’s truly what’s best for him at this point, but you’ll support him, be there for him, let him lean on you, whatever he needs. You won’t give him a hard time about his decision to work.

Robby’s in the kitchen making coffee when you pad in. You’re dressed only in one of his oversized shirts. He’s not entirely certain about working today. But he’s tired of letting the day have control over him. It feels wrong. And when Jake asked for Robby’s PittFest ticket so he could take his girlfriend Leah instead of Robby it felt like a sign.

“Morning,” you say softly as you walk over to him and wrap your arms around him from behind. You press your cheek against his broad back and rest your hands on his tummy.

“Morning, Kid.” Robby squeezes one of your hands before continuing to make the coffee.

He’s been up long enough for the sleep to disappear from his voice and to shower. His hair is wet. “Sleep well?”

“I always sleep well when you’re in bed with me.” You can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Michael.” You press a kiss to his back. “Seriously.”

“I slept well, yes. I meant it.” There’s a hint of exasperation in his tone and you get it. You do. But you ask because you care about him and worry about him.

“Good.” You close your eyes and just breathe him in for a couple of moments. “You sure about working today?”

He knew it was coming. And he knows you mean well and are asking because you care about him and he loves it. He really does. Because he doesn’t remember the last time he’s had someone care about him the way you do. Because you’re in love with him and he’s in love with you even if you haven’t said it to each other yet. You both can tell the other is. But for some reason he doesn’t really understand, he just falters right before he can say it, can’t bring himself to as though that’ll somehow be what makes it more real, like it isn’t already. And he knows you haven’t told him because you don’t want him to feel pressured to return those three words.

But at the same time, you asking multiple times just in different words is going to be annoying today. That level of checking in on him. It is already. Because he just wants it to be a normal day. He doesn’t want everyone treating him like he’s made of glass just because one bad thing happened on this day. It’s suffocating. He knows it’s out of love and concern but it gets suffocating.

Just like all the PPE was on this day when Adamson died. Maybe that’s part of why it hits such a nerve.

Robby takes a second to breathe so that the mild irritation and frustration doesn’t seep into his tone. He doesn’t, however, explain or communicate that he can’t deal with the constant checking in, that it suffocates him. “Yes, I’m sure. I’ll be okay. I’ll have you there with me if I need anything.” He’s hoping that last part tells you that he’ll come find you if he needs you and so you don’t have to ask. It understandably doesn’t.

“I will, yes.” You’re quiet as you listen to the coffee percolate. You can feel how tense he is. You know you’ll never really be able to understand how hard this day is for him or in what ways it is. So you just want to be there for him, make sure he’s okay. You think maybe a distraction will help. Robby pours himself a cup of coffee as you speak. “Wanna shower with me?” you ask with a seductive lilt so he knows exactly what you mean.

He laughs softly, takes a sip of his coffee and starts to turn in your arms. You relax your arms and let him, greet him with a sweet smile. “Come here,” he whispers, sticking his lips out.

You shake your head. “I have morning breath.”

He clicks his tongue at you. “When have I ever cared about that before?”

You shrug. “It’s different when we both do.”

“Come here,” he says again, more stern this time as he makes eye contact with you. You consider it for a moment but eventually give in. You want to kiss him. You always want to kiss him. But you keep it chaste and short. There will be time for more after you brush your teeth, you’re sure.

“Shower?” You raise your eyebrows at him, a little smirk on your face, nails scratching gently at his back.

He smirks at you. “My coffee will get cold.” He holds the cup up and tilts it just slightly before taking another sip.

You breathe out a slightly incredulous and hurt laugh, take your arms from around him as you speak. First he dodges the question and then that. You tell yourself it’s just because of the day and that he’s not in the mood or mentally there and that’s okay. That it makes sense. But coffee? He couldn’t just say no? “Wow, coffee’s better than my mouth or pussy, ouch.”

Michael rolls his eyes at you. That’s not at all what he meant. “Stop. And I’ve also already showered, which I know you know.”

This time you just scoff and shake your head at him a little. “Yeah, because neither of us have ever gotten back in the shower with each other after we already showered. But okay,” you laugh quietly as you step back. Robby tilts his head at you as you walk away, he knows you have more to say. You stop and turn around to look at him before turning to go back to the bedroom and en suite to shower. “You know, Michael, you can just say no. You’re allowed to say no. I’m not going to force you to shower or have sex with me. Saying no is okay. Not being in the mood is okay, especially on a day like today. I suggested it to try and help distract you and maybe make you feel good.” The maybe is a little slip of insecurity. “You don’t even need a reason and you never have to explain why, but just, the way you communicate that no. The shitty excuses hurt. And they make me wonder about myself far more than ‘no I’m not in the mood’ does.” You turn and walk away.

Robby sets his mug down and you hear it, shake your head to yourself. “Kid!” he calls after you, pushing off the kitchen counter. He never meant to hurt you or make you doubt yourself. He never meant to make it feel like this was a you thing. Because it’s not. It’s him. It’s the day. It’s his mood.

You’re really not in the mood at this point. For sex of any kind or to have a conversation with him right now, honestly. You keep telling yourself that it’s just a really bad day for him. It has nothing to do with you or the two of you. It’s the day. You know Robby doesn’t see it well and you don’t point it out more because he has so much of his own shit going on, but you still have so much insecurity. About yourself. About the two of you. You worry you’re not good enough for him or aren’t what he expected and thought you’d be.

You walk in the bathroom quickly and uncharacteristically lock the door behind you. Usually both you and Robby leave the door unlocked or even partially open when you shower. You turn the shower on and take his shirt off quickly, wanting to just be in the shower and have it as an excuse for not hearing him. If he even tries to talk to you.

Robby almost slams into the door when it doesn’t open. He hadn’t expected it not to open. For you to have locked it. “Kid, please,” he calls loudly, hoping you’ll hear him over the water. He knocks on the door, with the middle knuckle of his index finger. “Please!” You can hear him. You just don’t feel like shouting, and again. You don’t really want to talk.

You stand under the stream of hot water and zone out a bit. Ruminate. You know that you and Robby are fine. That you’re great. You know he’s attracted to you. That he loves having sex with you. You had incredible sex last night for god’s sake. It’s the day. It’s the emotions it brings up for him. The grief. You shouldn’t have even brought sex up. He’s sad and grieving and triggered today. Why would you do that?

“Kid!” Robby calls again, still knocking. “I didn’t mean to hurt you or insinuate coffee was better than you or anything like that.” When you don’t answer Robby goes and sits on the edge of the bed and lets out a long sigh. He lets his head fall back and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. He really could do without you doing this. Without this added thing and stress. The day is hard enough as it is.

His voice brings you back and you start to do all of your normal shower things. You’re surprised when Robby’s not immediately knocking and calling for you again once he hears the shower turn off. You figure he’s probably gone back to his coffee and the thought sends a little pang through your heart.

You wrap your towel around yourself and open the bathroom door. You almost jump a little when you see him sitting on the edge of the bed with his head tilted at you. You look at him for a moment and then walk to his dresser and open your drawer, pull out a set of scrubs, an undershirt and some underwear. You grab your bra off the floor where Robby threw it last night. You can feel his eyes on you, the way he’s tracked you across the room and is watching you.

When you turn back around and see him he’s smiling to himself, it’s almost anticipatory. His eyes run up and down your towel covered body. He looks like he’s eager to see you naked when you get dressed. And he is. He abso-fucking-lutely is. It melts you a little bit. But you’re hurt still and he hasn’t offered an apology to your face. So you take your clothes and walk towards the bathroom.

Robby draws out a scoff, but the disappointment rings through more than his irritation. “So what, I don’t even get to admire you as you get dressed anymore?”

You turn at the threshold of the bathroom door to look back at him, capture his gaze. You drag your eyes from him to the open bedroom door and then back to him. You’re stoic as you shrug. “Your coffee’s getting cold out there.”

You just catch Robby’s shoulders and face fall as you turn back and step in the bathroom before shutting and locking the door. You already regret it. Wish you could take it back. You shouldn’t have hurt him just because he hurt you.

Your words sting, they hurt and sadden him. But he can at least understand why you said it. Robby lets out a long sigh and rubs his face but doesn’t get up. He doesn’t care about the fucking coffee. He doesn’t even want it anymore. He wants you. He wants to hold you close and kiss you. He wants to apologize. He wants your forgiveness. He needs all of that. Needs you.

You get dressed and finish getting ready in the bathroom quickly. You know you need to apologize to Robby and you want to, you really do feel awful. You just kind of hope he’ll also apologize to you. This is not the start to this day that either of you needed.

Seeing Robby still sitting on the bed when you open the bathroom door is unexpected. You figured he’d go get his coffee and wait for you in the living room.

You look at each other for a moment and then you break the silence. Robby wants to be the one to but the words just get caught in his throat before he can even open his mouth. “I’m sorry for being passive aggressive and saying that. I shouldn’t have. I should’ve just talked to you and worked it out.”

Robby gives you a small smile. “I accept your apology, and I’m sorry too.” He beckons you with two fingers and you walk over to him, stand between his legs when he opens them for you and rest your hands on his shoulders. He waits for you to look down at him before he continues. “I never meant to make you doubt yourself or feel unwanted. In any way. I didn’t think any of it through before I said it. Didn’t think about how it would make you feel.”

You squeeze his shoulders gently. “I accept your apology.” You’re not sure what else to say.

“You know I want you. I always want you, Kid. I did this morning, I just…” He shakes his head and sighs. “My brain, you know? The thoughts and all that shit.”

“I know, yeah,” you murmur, running a hand through his hair. “I thought sex might be a good distraction. I should’ve thought a little harder about it before I offered.”

“It usually is.” He tilts his head at you. “Can I kiss you for real now? Not whatever that was that you gave me in the kitchen.”

You laugh softly and nod. “I’d like that.” Robby wraps his arms around you as he stands up, stopping at the right height to kiss you instead of standing straight. It’s a kiss that at just about any other time would lead to far more. It certainly leads to another kiss and then another, and before you realize it you and Robby have been standing there making out for a solid couple of minutes.

He groans as he pulls away from you. “I don’t want to stop but I do want to have time to treat you to breakfast burritos and your choice of caffeine from that place down the street. Eat as we walk to work.”

“Treat me or yourself?” You smirk at him.

“You.” He shakes his head at you a little as he says it. “The fact that it’s also a treat for me is just a fun coincidental bonus.”

“Yeah, coincidental my ass, Robinavitch.” You try to keep your smirk up but it turns into a smile the more you stare at those big brown eyes you love so much. It almost slips out but you catch yourself, turn to walk to the entryway to get your shoes on. I love you.

The two of you get breakfast burritos and coffee on the way in. Neither of you say anything but you both think it’s ironic that the coffee was a whole thing and then he just left his mug and the carafe of it sitting there at home. Once you get to work you get your stuff in your lockers, stethoscopes around your neck and head to the hub.

The day passes relatively quickly. For you at least. From what you’ve gathered from others and what Robby has said when you’ve talked to him, things have not been as smooth for him as they have been for you. You make sure he has some semblance of a lunch, drinks some water.

Towards the end of the shift he comes and finds you. It’s the first time he’s really purposefully sought you out all day. You wouldn’t say he was avoiding you but a little bit you felt like that. After you asked him if he was okay when you saw him for the second time while at work and got an exasperated answer you realized he was tired of being asked. You knew he was probably getting it from Dana too. So you stopped directly asking, figuring it out subtly through other means. And he’d appreciated it when you backed off. He’d recognized when you’d done so. It had made him feel a little less suffocated and a lot loved even without exchange of the words. Because it was clear how well you knew him and how easily you picked up on what he needed.

That’s why him seeking you out has you so concerned. It has to be bad.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Robby’s voice is strained as he grabs your elbow and starts walking you towards an empty room.

Your face furrows as you let him lead you into the room. “Everything okay?” You wonder if this is about Dana and what happened to her.

He doesn’t answer, just closes the door as you walk in the room and stands with his back to the window. “I’m gonna tell you something but you have to keep your reaction really controlled, okay? And obviously you can’t tell anyone.” You nod. “Langdon’s addicted to pain meds and has been stealing meds.”

The furrows smooth out of your face and you have no real facial reaction other than in your eyes which only Robby can see. They widen just slightly with shock. “What the fuck?”

“I know. I fucking know. I sent him home but I fucking,” Robby’s shaking his head hard. His eyes are a little glassy. You know Langdon is kind of Robby’s protégé. Everyone does. Just like everyone knows you kind of are too. “I let a drug addict practice medicine and treat patients. I fucking let him.”

You tilt your head and shake it at him. “Michael, you didn’t let him do anything. This isn’t your fault. I understand you feeling like it is, and that’s valid of course, but I promise you it’s not your fault.”

He shrugs at you, looks so incredibly helpless and at a loss. It breaks your heart. You walk towards him and pull him further in the room a little bit, drawing the curtain to give the two of you a little privacy. You walk back so that you’re standing right in front of him, just enough space between the two of you that you can see each other.

You don’t say anything as you reach up and start rubbing at his shoulders and the back of his neck before he can. You feel him relax and he drops his head, eyes fluttering close while his hands come to settle on your hips.

He doesn’t understand how you always seem to know what he needs. When he needs you to talk to him. When he just needs quiet acceptance and to just be in your presence like this. How you’ve picked up on him rubbing his neck. It’s more comforting and soothing when you do it, the circles he rubs on your hips over your scrubs keeping his hands busy.

You’re a little surprised by it honestly. You thought he might reject this little bit of comfort you’re offering him. Not because of you but because he rarely accepts it at work even in private like this. You’re pretty sure his brain constantly tells him he doesn’t deserve the comfort here.

“We need to get back out there,” he finally mumbles, bringing his head back up and opening his eyes.

“Probably, yeah,” you agree. You stop rubbing his neck and loosen your arms but keep them where they are for a moment to see if he’ll hug you. You’re not going to push it on him, not going to make him feel bad when it’s too much for him right now.

Robby’s hands squeeze your hips one last time. “Thanks, Kid.” He pulls away and you drop your arms, stepping out of the room with him once he pushes the curtain back.

You both get sucked back into work and you don’t see much of Robby until him racing in from the ambulance bay catches your attention. Dana comes walking in quickly behind him and you catch her gaze, tilt your head as you walk over.

A frown and worried brows are etched deep into her face. “There’s a shooter at PittFest. MCI protocol.”

Everything freezes for a second as you hit fight or flight, limbs going cold and nausea creeping up on you. You say nothing to Dana, immediately turning and following after Robby because you know he put his phone in his locker earlier and is going to get it.

“Don’t!” you yell at him as he opens his locker. “Michael, do not call or text him!”

He doesn’t stop, grabbing his phone and starting to unlock it. “Are you out of your fucking mind-”

“If he’s hiding and doesn’t have his phone on silent it could give him away,” you rush out before Robby can hit send or call.

He freezes and looks up at you finally. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck!” That one is yelled. “Why the fuck didn’t I think of that?”

You walk over to him and cover one of his hands with yours. “Because you’re effectively his dad in a lot of ways, Michael, and so you’re too close to it, of course your first instinct was to call him to see if he was okay. I love him too and it’s not that I don’t want to know if he’s okay, and I know it’s very unlikely there’s really anywhere to hide and that it’s probably so loud his phone ringing would barely be audible, but I just think it’s better to be safe right now. He’ll know to call or text you or his mom. He’ll know. And if Janey hears from him she will call you. I know she will.”

He’s breathing hard as he looks at you before finally look away as he shuts his locker. “What if it’s David, Kid?” he whispers. Robby looks back at you and his lip trembles just slightly. The implication is clear. Robby had told you about David and everything that was going on there. You know his worry is valid. “What if I just got Jake killed? Killed another person on this fucking day.”

You let out a long breath as you shake your head. There’s a lot to unpack there. “Okay. Everything you just said, and all of your feelings make sense and are real and valid and I’m acknowledging them. I’m not trying to brush anything off. And I will be there for you whatever happens. But we don’t have a lot of time here so we’re going to have to come back and explore this all more if you want. For right now though, you didn’t kill Adamson, Michael. Covid did. You had to make a terrible decision nobody should ever have to make, but that wasn’t you killing him. And you can’t do this to yourself Robby. If and I mean if it was David, it would still be a random act of violence. You can’t control that. And right now the patients about to come in and Jake and Leah need you to focus on getting everyone ready for this and then handling this MCI and you cannot do that and be focusing on the what ifs, okay?”

Robby wants to believe you. He wants to believe what you just said but he can’t. He just fucking can’t. He did kill Adamson. He will have killed Jake. He knows you’re right about the end bit though. He has to shove all of this in a box so that he can focus on what’s about to happen and patients.

You can tell Robby wants to fight you about it but decides not to in favor of very uncharacteristically hugging and kissing you publicly at work before walking away to start implementing protocol with Dana. It leaves you standing there blinking at the wall for a second before you’re able to turn and walk back towards the hub to help.

Robby’s hugging Jack as you walk up. You and Jack exchange a look. You know that Jack knows that Jake’s at PittFest. You know Jack knows how bad the day is for Robby.

When Jack starts unpacking supplies you go in to help him.

“How is he?” Jack asks.

You can’t help the way you huff. “How do you fucking think Jack?”

When he doesn’t reply you look up at him. Jack’s looking at you with his eyebrows raised and mouth set, edges up just a tiny bit to show he’s not mad, asking excuse me? and how did you just speak to me? without a word.

You sigh. “I’m sorry.” You set down what you’re holding and rub at the back of your neck. You see Jack’s smile pull up a little more as he recognizes what you’re doing, what you’ve learned from Robby. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten snippy. It’s just Jake, you know?” The breath you let out is shuddery. “I don’t know if even I could save Robby if something happened to him and Robby couldn’t save him, Jack.”

Jack’s face softens and he squeezes your shoulder. “I know. I wish there was more I could say, but I know. I’m worried about him and that possibility too.”

The two of you start to unpack again. “I just need him to call or text Michael or his mom and say he’s okay and on his way home. I need this to not happen to him today. I mean or ever, but you know. He doesn’t need to feel more grief and loss that he thinks he’s responsible for today.”

“All we can do is be there for him,” Jack murmurs.

“Yeah. I guess,” you murmur back.

Once you finish unpacking and arranging supplies Jack faces you before the two of you walk out to where Robby is starting to gather everyone.

“I need you to promise me that if something happens with Jake, if, god forbid, he ends up here and is critical, you will let me run it with Robby. We won’t get him to not work on him, we won’t have time to argue about it with him. We both know that.” Jack nods at you. “So you need to let me be the one to work with him. You need to let me be the one to convince him we’re not getting Jake back and he has to let Jake go. Because you’re the best thing in his life. You keep him going. So I don’t want him associating being unable to save Jake with you. He might work through the emotions it brings up, he might not. But if he doesn’t… Robby’s only going to survive something like that with you by his side. He could survive it without me, he could cut me out and lose me and survive. He couldn’t survive it without you. So I need you to promise me if Jake ends up here, you’re going to let me be with Robby until TOD is called. Same with Jake’s girlfriend.”

You swallow hard as you look at Jack. It will be hard for you to stay away. You worry Robby will wonder why you’re not there, why you didn’t drop everything to come help him. But you also know that he’s not really going to be worried about that in the moment. He’ll be too focused on Jake. And Jack’s words make your heart ache. Yes, because it’s sweet that Jack knows what you mean to Robby, that he can see it and that Robby has talked to him about it. But it’s more because you recognize the sacrifice Jack’s volunteering to make for Robby and Robby’s happiness and ability to get through this. The sacrifice in running the risk of losing his best friend, because Jack doesn’t have anyone else. He doesn’t have a significant other. He has Dana but that friendship isn’t like his and Robby’s.

“I think you’re selling yourself quite short there, Jack,” you whisper.

He shakes his head to say he doesn’t care. “Promise me.”

You hold his gaze for another few seconds before you look away. “Okay,” you nod, “I promise.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

“Jack?” He turns at the threshold and looks back at you. “Thank you.”

He simply nods and the two of you walk out. You stand by Shen while Jack stands by Robby, the two of them talking things through with the group, explaining how a lot of this is going to work, who’s going to be where, what to do when different things happen.

“Communicate,” Robby tells the group. “Ask for help if you need it.”

You look at Dana when he says that. Which was the wrong move because you both end up having to stifle laughs. You know it’s inappropriate. You know it’s not funny. And you know that Robby’s really good at the whole ‘do as I say not as I do’ thing, and if what he just said isn’t a textbook example you don’t know what is. So in the moment his words just strike you as funny, in part because all of this is a situation where if you don’t laugh you’re going to cry. Dark humor becomes a coping mechanism. You at least do a good job of stifling it and covering your mouth, can tell you hid it enough and everyone was so focused on Robby and Jack they didn’t see anything.

Everyone disperses and patients start rolling in. Time loses any real meaning. It could have been forty minutes or four hours. You have no idea. You just know that patients keep rolling in. Never Jake or Leah.

Neither of you can decide in your heads whether that’s a good or bad thing. Whether it means they’re dead on the scene or that they escaped and are okay and lost their phones in the chaos and are trying to get further away from the scene before they ask to borrow someone’s phone to call people or are just trying to get home.

Robby and you both glance at Dana every chance you get. She has Robby’s phone so she’ll know if Jake or Janey get in touch with him. The patients in front of him at least help distract Robby somewhat. That anxiety about Jake never goes away. The feeling of responsibility never goes away. But it goes to the back enough that he can focus and be a good doctor.

Patients continue to arrive. In ambulances and cop cars and civilian cars and business vans.

But never Jake and Leah.

You’ve been at the Pitt a year and a month now. You’ve been an R2 for a month. You’ve already learned a lot. You’ve already had devastating losses and incredible saves. You’ve already thought about staying here past your residency. You’ve already grown close with a number of people. You’ve already grown very close with one person.

Michael Robinavitch. Robby.

You know how bad it could seem. How bad it might already seem. But you and Robby both know it’s there. Something far beyond platonic. You both feel it. And it only grew over your intern year and is continuing to.

You haven’t discussed it outright but the energy and attraction between the two of you is so clearly there and you’ve seen it in his eyes. When he’s leaning in close to you to help teach you something and his pupils are a bit more dilated than they should be in the lighting. When he sees another man flirt with you and they blaze with what seems like anger but is really jealousy. When you’ve just pulled a double together and have hit silly and are laughing so hard you’re both crying at something so incredibly stupid and his eyes crinkle with affection that never appears for anyone else.

And Robby’s seen it in your eyes. When something horrible happens and your eyes find his before anybody else’s and a little spirit comes back into them just from making eye contact with him. When he’s hiding how badly something with a patient or family has shaken him and turns to find you and you’re already looking at him with soft eyes full of recognition and understanding that make him feel so seen in a way he hasn’t felt before. When you bring him some sort of treat, sweet or savory, and pass him a post-it note that you pretend is a note about a patient but really says it’s in the fridge with his name on it and your eyes sparkle with an adoration he’s yet to see you look at anyone else with.

Robby knows he cannot do anything, there cannot be anything between the two of you, not even some semblance of anything until you’re an attending or maybe an R4 if you’ve already accepted an attending position. Being with you before you’re an attending wouldn’t look professionally great for him, but that’s not what he worries about. He worries how it would look for you, like a young woman sleeping with her boss, how people would at the very least have in the back of their minds that you were sleeping your way to the top or you got given things because you were sleeping with your boss or were eventually offered an attending position because you were sleeping with your boss.

Robby knows not everyone would think that. And he knows it absolutely would not be that. But he doesn’t even want you to risk it. Not for him. He knows your career and reputation have to be your first priority.

Dana and Jack have both asked him about you after observing the two of you together. He assures them that while, yeah, he has some feelings for you, it is strictly platonic between the two of you, him mentoring just like he does everyone else.

And so neither of you have ever made any really overt move. Because you both know you can’t.

So there’s been no real discussion about ‘one day’ or if there ever could be a future for the two of you.

But now that you're a month and a bit into being an R2 and don’t have the label of ‘intern’ and feel like you have a better handle on being a doctor you’ve grown more confident. Not over-confident or cocky. Not even close. Just a bit more sure of yourself. Professionally and personally. And so your joking around with and screwing with and flirting with Robby has intensified a little. It’ll continue to do so your entire residency.

And while Robby is a bit more reserved, particularly when it comes to flirting and anything vaguely sexual, he still gives it back in his own way. It is overwhelmingly not one sided.

It’s not just sexual. You and Robby are close. You go to each other with problems and to vent. You seek each other out for comfort. And it’s comfort that forces you both to acknowledge it and discuss it, this thing between you.

You find yourself sitting on the roof, back pressed up against the wall and legs out in front of you. You’re technically off. You want to be anywhere other than this fucking hospital. And yet you can’t bring yourself to move.

You stay quiet and still when you hear the door to the roof open, hope whoever is up here won’t notice you before they leave.

Unfortunately for you the person who walks onto the roof has spent the last thirty minutes looking for you. And Robby’s slightly panicked about it. You’ve seemed off all day. Sad. Overwhelmingly sad. In particular the last time he saw you he felt like you looked… done. With everything. With the world.

The sigh he lets out when he sees you sitting there on the roof is of relief. You can tell that it’s not irritation or annoyance.

“Go away,” you call half-heartedly when he starts to walk over.

“Go away? I don’t think you’ve ever told me to go away before.” Robby tries to keep it light.

“First time for everything,” you mutter.

That pulls a small laugh from him. He comes and sits next to you against the wall. He’s close, your sides pressing against each other. Closer than the average mentor-mentee would be sitting for sure.

You don’t say anything and so for a few minutes the two of you sit in silence, each of you focused on the way the other feels pressed up against you. But Robby wants, maybe needs if he’s honest with himself, to know what’s wrong so he can help you.

“Talk to me Kid.” And there it is. That name he only calls you.

You shake your head a little and sigh. Robby hates how sad it sounds. He doesn’t even really think about his next move. He just reaches out and slips his hand into yours where it rests on your thigh, laces your fingers together.

With the setting and context of why you’re both up here together it’s an incredibly intimate gesture.

You’re not quite sure what to make of it but he initiated it and it feels good. Makes you feel safe and cared for. You look down at your intertwined hands for a moment. His hand engulfs yours with how much bigger it is and it’s so warm. He always runs so warm.

“I don’t know,” you finally force yourself to say. “I really don’t know.”

Robby nods slowly. “Just one of those days?” he offers.

“I guess.” You shrug. It might seem like the silence is purposeful but in reality it’s Robby trying to think of what to say. “I’m just tired, I think.” You sniffle and it’s then you realize that you’re kind of teary. “Fuck,” you mutter.

“It’s okay, Kid. I’ve had these days too. Some days you’re just tired and so it all hits harder, even shit that normally wouldn’t make you blink.” Robby rubs what he hopes are soothing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb.

“Yeah,” you take in a choked breath, “I’m just really fucking tired.” The tears start to fall freely then and you squeeze Robby’s hand hard like it’ll make them stop. They’re at least mercifully silent, it’s not like you’re totally sobbing in front of him.

But then Robby really notices how much you’re crying and lets go of your hand to raise his arm so you can lean into him as he pulls you to him, your legs shifting automatically to get in a more comfortable position as you lean into his chest. “It’s okay,” he whispers, tilts his head so that his cheek rests on the top of your head.

You shake your head but hold onto him as you cry, relish in the circles his big hand rubs on your back. You don’t cry for long. A few minutes. And it’s not loud or even sobbing, it’s just crying. Just blinking out tears that end up wetting his scrub top, the occasional shuddery or hiccupped breath.

You don’t move once you stop though and Robby doesn’t ask you to. Doesn’t shift his body to suggest you move. His cheek remains on your head and his hand continues to rub circles on your back. “I’m sorry,” you eventually whisper.

“Never be sorry for needing to let something out. It accumulates in this job.” Robby goes to turn his head so that he can kiss the top of yours but he catches himself and stops before he can. “And if you don’t let it out somehow it can become debilitating.”

You can feel the vibrations of him speaking and it soothes you further. “Everything just felt so shit today. All of the backstories of what brought my patients in today. All crime and abuse. Every single patient.”

“That’s one of the worst kind of days here,” Robby sympathizes.

“I hate that it’s one kind.”

That makes him laugh which makes you smile. “Yeah there’s a lot of kinds of worst days in this job unfortunately.”

You sigh and finally pull away from him. But his hand on your back doesn’t let you go particularly far. And when you both lean in a little your faces are close enough to feel each other’s breaths. “Does it ever get better?” you whisper.

Robby shakes his head slightly. “No.”

You both watch each other’s eyes glance down at the other’s lips. You both lean into each other even more. You both tilt your heads in the opposite direction of the other. You both let your eyes flutter closed.

But the second you truly feel the heat of Robby’s breath against your lips he pulls away. “Fuck,” he mutters.

You look down, embarrassed and disappointed and guilty. But despite the almost kiss and Robby pulling away neither of you have otherwise moved. You’re still close together.

“I’m sorry.” You murmur.

“No!” Robby laughs, a heavy dose of self-exasperation in it. “Don’t be. God, fucking don’t be. And don’t think I don’t want to. That I don’t want… that. With you. But your name and reputation and career… we can’t. We can’t.” Robby moves his head back so he’s looking at you, uses his free hand to guide your chin up so you’re looking at him. “When you’re an attending, okay?” You nod at him and he repeats it. “When you’re an attending.”

The sinking feeling in your and Robby’s stomachs intensifies as more patients come in who aren’t Jake or Leah and at the lack of phone call or text. You get your patient in Walsh’s hands to be taken up to surgery and change into a fresh trauma gown and step outside, checking on triage but also getting some air.

“You good?” Robby asks, walking up behind you. He doesn’t really wait for your answer, continuing to walk towards Shen and Ellis. But the quick press of his ungloved hand against your lower back as he walks by makes up for it a little.

You don’t bother voicing an answer, nor do you follow him to ask him the same question. You already know the answer.

As Robby’s talking about getting gurneys to the right angle and helping fix them a truck comes squealing in. Shen and Ellis jump up and start yelling out colors. You put on a pair of gloves pulled from your pocket and wait nearby to see if there’s a red coming. But then you hear it and are hopping up on the tire of the truck to look in the bed. “Michael!”

You yell his name. And Robby immediately knows it has to be Jake. He has never heard you yell his name before and there’s only a handful of reasons why you would today. He tells himself there’s a tint of hope to your tone. “Jake?” Robby yells as he runs over. But he hears Jake’s voice and a wave of relief passes through him now that he at least knows where he is and that he’s okay enough for right now to speak.

“Red zone. GSW left chest,” Ellis assesses Leah.

“Jake, are you shot?” you ask him as Robby arrives.

“I don’t know my, my leg maybe, it’s Leah. It’s Leah’s blood, she was shot, was shot in the chest and I’ve been putting pressure on it the whole time, and I don’t know-”

“That’s good,” Robby cuts him off, “you did good, okay?”

You get Leah onto a gurney and Jake out of the truck. He walks in holding onto the side of Leah’s gurney opposite Robby. “Get him a wheelchair!” Robby calls. He notices you walking away while he argues with Jake about getting in the wheelchair and staying there and out of the way. He finds it odd, is a little miffed that you’re abandoning him with Leah and Jake.

But you’re speedwalking to Jack. “Leah. GSW left chest. I don’t think there’s any way. It had to have shredded her heart,” you say just loudly enough for Jack to hear as you take the bag of blood he’s squeezing into his patient from him. He nods at you, gives you a rundown on the patient in front of you as he walks backwards towards Robby, turning when he’s finished.

“Samira!” you call out to her when you see her look around. “Jake.” You flick your head at him. “Probable GSW to the leg. But head to toe. I’m concerned he’s in shock and it’s masking another injury.”

“Got it.” She nods and is off to Jake, finding a gurney for him to get on.

Robby glances at Samira with Jake. “What the fuck?” It’s loud enough for you to hear.

“Me, Michael!” you call over to him. “I sent her to do a head to toe. I’m concerned he’s in shock and not feeling another injury.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, giving you a vague nod as he turns back to Leah. He can’t believe he didn’t think about that either. That’s twice now you might’ve saved Jake. First telling him not to call just in case. Now this. He’s lucky. He’s beyond lucky to have you. “Jake you do whatever the fuck Samira tells you without a fucking word of argument!”

You get the patient you took from Jack stable and up to surgery, start working on the next red to roll in. They stabilize relatively fast and you find yourself squeezing in blood again. But this time your eyes are flicking between the patient and Robby and Jack and the way Jack is having to talk Robby into accepting that Leah is gone. You can’t hear any of it but you know that’s what’s happening based on the expression on Jack’s face and how he keeps chasing Robby’s eye contact.

After a minute everyone stills and you watch Robby write on Leah’s card and circle around it. You know he called it. Jack’s back over to you quickly, taking the blood from you this time as you give him the rundown on this patient. “Michael!” you call as you walk over to him quickly.

“I have to go tell Jake,” he mutters, shaking his head and turning to look in your direction but not at you. He’d been watching them wheel Leah into pedes.

“Do you want me to go with-”

“No. No it’s fine, thanks, I got it. Santos was looking for an attending, go find her.” He walks away without looking at you. He can’t bring himself to. The shame he’s feeling at not being able to save her, at failing Jake a little too heavy to let him lift his head to look at you.

You watch him for a second as he walks away. Your heart aches for him, for the man you love and the news he has to go deliver to a teenager he considers his son in a way. You can’t ruminate though. Too many other people need you.

So you do what Robby said and go to find Santos. You get involved with her and by the time you’re done you look around but you can’t spot Robby. “Dana, have you seen Robby?” you ask her as she walks by.

“I think I saw him taking Jake to pedes.” She grimaces at you.

You nod and make your way there, opening the door and stopping short. “Michael?”

Robby’s on the floor, knees up to his chest and holding onto his necklace while reciting a prayer through tears. He doesn’t acknowledge you. It hurts to see him like this. It’s physically painful. But he needs you so you set it aside.

“Michael,” you say softly as you sit down next to him so that your sides are pressing against each other’s. “I’m here.” You grab one of his hands, hold onto it harder when he tries to pull it away.

“You need to go back out there,” he sniffles. “They need you.” He flicks his eyes up at you.

There’s truth in his words. But there’s also truth in yours. “Not as much as you do right now.”

“I can’t,” he whimpers. “I, I…” He shrugs at you before breaking down in tears again, but this time letting himself fall into your gownless lap.

“Okay,” you whisper, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve got you.”

“I couldn’t save her,” he chokes out, “another person I couldn’t fucking save. Another I killed. Another I let down. It’s two because Jake. I let him down too and he knows it.” You curl around him as much as you can, move his gown and kiss at his shoulder. You let him have a moment and get it out. Because you both know you don’t have much longer than that. “And the worst,” he sobs, “the worst part is it should’ve been me, Kid. It should be me on that gurney. It was my pass that I gave him for her.”

That last sentence is hard to hear. Because you can’t imagine a world without Robby in it. A world where you have to bury him. You want to tell him not to say shit like that, but you swallow down your upset because he doesn’t need that right now. You know there’s very little he needs right now in a sense. He doesn’t need a lot of words or you trying to make this better and discuss his feelings and emotions. He just needs to let some of this out.

Robby knows that’s all he needs right now, too. To let some of what’s eating away at him out in the one place he feels safe.

You.

You’re his safe place. He didn’t realize just how much he needed you here with him until you walked in and sat next to him and took his hand. You make it better. You make it hurt less. Just by being here for him.

“You didn’t kill Adamson or Leah,” you murmur after a minute. “And you haven’t let them or Jake down. Your feelings are valid Michael, and I know I can’t begin to understand on multiple levels but the way you are feeling makes sense. We can work through your feelings. You can work through them. You can get through this. No matter how hopeless and impossible it feels right now.” You pause, have to swallow hard and blink away some tears. “And I wish that nobody was on that gurney. I don’t want anyone on that gurney. I wish none of this had ever happened. For you and Jake and Leah and everyone involved. And maybe saying this is wrong of me. It’s probably selfish. Maybe I’m a terrible person for it. You can hate me for it if you need to and like I said I truly wish none of this happened and nobody was on that gurney. But I am really fucking glad it’s not you on that gurney Michael because I have no fucking idea what I would do.” You let out a shuddery breath. “And I wish we had more time and that I could say more and hold you more and that all of this was over but it’s not.” You scratch at his scalp a little. “They need us.” He nods and sits up, looks over at you. “They need you.”

“Yeah,” he whispers. He’s let himself grow numb. Because right now that’s what he needs to be to get through this right now.

“I need you,” you whisper back. He knows what you mean. He knows what you’re worried about. Him taking a walk off the roof or something.

“I’m not going anywhere, Kid.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.” He nods.

“Good.” You nod and stand up, hold out your hand to him. He lets out a soft laugh as he takes your hand and lets you help him up.

You both take a second to wipe your faces a bit. “Find me if you need me, okay?”

“I will,” Robby promises again.

You nod and open the door, both of you walking out. Within seconds both of your names are called.

“Hey.” He grabs your wrist gently before you can go. You look at him with raised brows. He wants to say it. He wants to say it so badly. But he can’t. “Thank you.” I love you.

Robby slips off his stool at the high top a group of you are sitting at and follows you up to the side of the bar, takes his drink with him. You were sitting across from him at the end of the table and the rest of the group was so focused on their conversation he doesn’t think anyone even realized he followed you. A little bit he doesn’t care if they did.

You’re down near the last two stools at the bar, waiting for the bartender to get you your drink. It’s busy so you’re sitting while you wait, wanting to be off your feet after a long shift. Robby setting his beer down startles you for just a second. But you can quickly tell it’s him.

By the sweatshirt sleeve rolled up. By the smell of his cologne lingering just enough under all the hibiclens you can appreciate it since you know what it smells like very well by now. By the hand that sets down the beer. By his fingers.

You look over at him with raised brows. His glass is still over half full. He came to talk to you.

“You’ve been calling me Michael lately.” He keeps his face pretty stoic, for him at least. But you can see the slight crinkles at the corners of his eyes and his beard shift just slightly as the corners of his lips twitch up.

“What an astute observation, Dr. Robinavitch.” You keep your smirk to a minimum. “I don’t have a gold star sticker on me to give you but I can buy you another drink.” Very little in life gives you as much pleasure as screwing with Robby. If you were together like you wanted you could think of at least three body parts that would be added to that list.

Your words earn you the slightest raise of his eyebrows. “Why?”

“Why what?” Your eyes sparkle with mirth as your drink gets dropped off and you take a sip. They’re beautiful sparkling like this. They always are but Robby finds them particularly beautiful like this, when you’re happy and light-hearted and teasing.

And it’s just like you to make him say it. Be specific. “Why do you call me Michael? Why’d you start?”

“Makes me feel special.” You smirk fully this time. “It makes me feel special because there’s a handful of people you let call you it, especially at the hospital, and you actively try and make people not call you it. I wasn’t actually sure you were gonna let me call you it at first. Guess being an R3 has privileges. But then again, I’m the only R3 you let call you it.”

“You’re the only R3 who has ever called me it. None of the others have tried. And you didn’t answer the second question,” he points out.

“I mean yeah, I kind of did. I started because it makes me feel special.” He gives you a look and you sigh. “In part because I wanted to see if you’d let me. In part because, I don’t know,” you smile softly to yourself and look down, “I like it. Calling you Michael. It makes me feel close to you.” Robby’s never seen you look so shy and it rocks him a little. But the shyness fades quickly for you as you look back up at him. “And in part because some of the new interns got comfortable a couple of months in and were getting a little too flirty with you for my taste. So you can imagine how smug and pleased with myself I was every time I called you Michael in front of them and you said nothing and every time one of them called you Michael and you had to correct them and tell them it was Robby or Dr. Robinavitch until they finally got the picture.”

“So jealousy?” He smirks. It makes him feel good in a way, knowing that you were jealous of attention he was getting. That you care about him and want him enough to be jealous. To feel a little possessive. “And that’s why you needed to feel special? A little petty of a response, no?”

“Oh Michael,” you chuckle, take a sip of your drink. “You and I both know you are so not the one to talk about being petty as a response to jealousy. Should I start listing things you’ve done in response to me being flirted with?”

“You really shouldn’t call me it.” He’s grown a bit more serious again.

“Are you telling me to stop?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “And I don’t want you to. Just… You shouldn’t.”

“Why?” Your brows furrow a little in confusion. You don’t get why it matters unless he doesn’t want you calling him it for a personal reason.

“People will wonder why you’re allowed to. It makes,” he gestures between the two of you as you take a sip of your drink but doesn’t name anything, “obvious. People will start thinking and seeing it.”

You choke on your drink, coming close to spitting it out all over him. The coughs you get out once you’ve managed to swallow turn into laughter. “Michael.” You cock your head at him and give him an incredulous smile. “You cannot actually believe that me calling you Michael is what’s going to give this thing between us away. Because it’s been given away. It was given away for sure by the end of my intern year. Nobody asked me anything during my intern year I’m guessing because I was an intern, but a couple weeks into being an R2 I was getting questions. Dana and Jack never asked you or talked to you about it? Because they’ve certainly asked and talked to me.”

Robby blushes at the realization. Deep down he probably always knew that everyone could see it and he’d just managed to convince himself otherwise. “Of course they did,” he answers your question, not sure how to respond to everything before it. “I just thought it was because they were more… perceptive. That they knew me better and could see it in me.”

You have to laugh a little and bite your lip. “You know, you’re sitting here pointing out that halfway through my third year of residency I’ve just started calling you Michael, your first name, and it’s almost like you’ve forgotten you always call me Kid. Only me. Since my first fucking day here. I don’t remember the last time I heard you say my first or last name for something other than introducing me to someone, in front of a patient or in some very formal situation. And I’d like to point out that not a single god damned person has ever heard you call me Kid and then tried to call me Kid unlike with me calling you Michael. I wonder why that is? It’s almost like it comes across as a little more than a nickname to people.”

He looks at you for a second. “I…”

You hold your hand up and half wave him off. “It’s okay. I’ll stop calling you it, Robby.” It’s half teasing and half serious.

You slide off your stool and grab your drink intending to walk back to the table. Robby’s quick to slide off his stool and stand in front of you though, blocking your path. He looks at the stool you were sitting on pointedly and then back at you. You follow his silent order and sit and set your drink back down.

He leans in a little closer to you than he was. “I never asked you to stop calling me it, nor did I say you needed to.” He raises his eyebrows at you and bobs his head. “Nor do I want you to. I like it when you do. A lot.”

You smirk at his admission and shrug at him. “You were making an awfully big deal about it.”

“Yeah because it, it…”

You’re genuinely not sure how he wanted to end that sentence. “It what Michael?”

Robby shakes his head at you. “Just… you’re not an attending yet. Maybe when you’re an attending, okay?”

You know Robby isn’t talking about you calling him Michael. Isn’t saying that you can’t call him Michael until you’re an attending. He’s saying what he’s said since that time on the roof that when you’re an attending the two of you can act on the feelings you clearly have for each other.

But the maybe in front of that phrase is new and hits you like a slap across the face, heart twisting as it sinks into your stomach. He’s never said that before. It’s never been a maybe and not a certainty. Robby watches your face fall and hurt cloud your eyes. He replays what he said trying to figure out what part it was that hurt you, that made your entire demeanor change. If you’re just that disappointed you didn't change his mind and aren’t suddenly a couple or if it’s something else. He can’t figure it out.

You swallow thickly, tears sting your eyes but you’re quick to blink them away. “Yeah.” You nod at him finally. “Maybe. But you know, that assumes I become an attending here, Robby. In Pittsburgh at the very least. And I don’t know if I will.”

You slip off your stool, leaving your half empty drink and heading over to the table. You tell everyone the exhaustion has hit and so you’re going to head home. They’re sad to see you go but nobody questions much. You cover well enough that if anyone had noticed you and Robby talking they wouldn’t think you were hurt by him and running away. Which you know is kind of what you’re doing instead of just asking him about it. Asking him if he doesn’t want to try the two of you anymore. If he doesn’t want you anymore. If that’s why it’s a maybe all of the sudden.

Your words throw Robby for a second because he realizes that you’re right, neither of you know for sure if you’ll get an attending job at PTMC or anywhere else in Pittsburgh. He realizes the two of you have never had a real conversation about if you want to stay in Pittsburgh, if you’re going to apply for attending spots in Pittsburgh or if you want to go somewhere else. And then he realizes you called him Robby.

He’s not sure what to do with that. What it means. He slides off his stool and goes to look for you at the table, doesn’t see you but thinks you’re in the bathroom until he’s told no, you left. He has to play it cool and nod like he isn’t internally panicking about whatever the fuck just happened. And he can’t just leave because it’ll look suspicious. He has to wait a respectable amount of time, ends up leaving when Samira and Langdon do.

Robby calls you as he walks home. No answer. He has no idea what to even say to you right now so he doesn’t leave a message. He decides to text you instead. He’s worried about you and whether you’re okay and got home safe. He’s always worried about you when he doesn’t have eyes on you.

R - Let me know you got home safe R - Please

You don’t reply immediately. Or within five minutes. Or within ten minutes. It’s almost long enough to make him start panicking and change his direction to walk to your place and see if you’re there. Because of course he knows where you live and has been to your place before. But then you finally reply.

You - I did, yeah, thanks. Was showering. I hope you have a good rest of your night

It’s the truth. You were in the shower. In the shower standing under almost scalding water ruminating on ‘maybe when you’re an attending.’ Maybe. When did it become maybe for him? And why? You hate how bad it hurts, the thought of never getting to even try with him. The thought of him not wanting you anymore, of his feelings for you just disappearing. It makes you anxious.

And more than anything right now, you’re confused. So fucking confused because he’s still flirting with you just as much and as hard as he always has when you guys are alone together or when you’re close enough to whisper. His hands and fingers still linger just a couple of seconds too long when he passes you something or wrap over yours to show you how to do something. You still feel his eyes on you when you talk to other men, especially if the men flirt with you. You still notice him checking you out sometimes. But now it’s maybe. Maybe.

Robby lets out a breath when your message comes through. He debates calling you again to try and talk on the phone but he’s still not sure what to say. He walks into his apartment and drops his stuff, heads to his room and takes his scrub top and pants off before letting himself sit on the edge of the bed and reply.

R - Good. R - Are we okay? You left quickly and without saying bye

After you finish getting ready, you slide into your bed and turn the tv on while you think about what to say to his message. Tone is so hard to get out of texts but you can tell he clearly still cares about you and whatever is between you. Enough to ask if the two of you are okay. It helps your anxiety a little bit.

You - Yeah, we’re fine

He believes you but the word ‘fine’ also scares him. It’s not good or great or perfect or even normal or like we always are. So he can’t let the conversation die. Not when he’s still so unsure about whether you guys are okay or if he did something or if you still want him or if you’re mad at him.

R - Are you working tomorrow?

You - Yeah but at night. I’m starting a string of six nights to help cover.

Robby knows you’ll be with Jack every night. He remembers Jack mentioning a string of six on. He’s not jealous in a romantic sense. He’s jealous of the time Jack will get to spend with you and is already thinking of excuses to stay late to be with you. He’s sad that he won’t see you for more than maybe an hour or so for the next six days.

R - Abbot’s going to try to steal you from days permanently

You type out your reply. It’s genuine but you know it’s going to seriously fuck with him and that the idea will freak him out and make him scared of losing you. Or will it? You don’t seem to know anymore. And that hurts. And hurt people hurt people. But you pause. You erase your last sentence. ‘Maybe when I’m an attending.’

You - He just might. Going to bed at 7 in the morning rather than getting up early enough to be at work for 7 in the morning kind of appeals to me

Robby stares at your response, a wave of deeper anxiety passing over him. You can’t go to nights. He’d barely see you. You can’t be serious about this.

R - Really?

You - Yeah. Why?

Fuck. You are serious about this. And what the fuck is he supposed to say in response to your question? He knows you know why. He knows you know how he feels about you. How he wants you too. How he can’t wait for you to be an attending or even accept a position because then he can finally have you.

R - Would be a big loss for day shift. You’re one of the best

That hurts a little. That you switching to nights would just be a loss to day shift to him. Not a loss to him personally. That he wouldn’t miss you apparently.

You - You guys would be fine

R - I’d miss you. I’ll miss you this week

You smile at him saying he’d miss you and that he’s going to this week. But part of you struggles to believe him after the bar.

You - Would you? Will you?

He can’t believe you’re even asking that. And because it’s a text he can’t hear in your voice whether those two questions are serious or teasing. It hurts him to think that they might be serious.

R - Of course

You - Well I really doubt I’ll end up switching. So you’ll only have to miss me for a week

R - Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?

You are so confused by this man. It’s ‘maybe’ and ‘a loss to day shift’ but then it’s also he’ll miss you and his heart will grow fonder. But it was a good line. And between him telling you he’ll miss you unprompted and that being away from you for almost a week will deepen his feelings for you, you’re starting to feel back to your usual self and, while the change has been subconscious mostly, you go back to texting him like your usual self.

But before you can reply Robby sends another message. It terrifies him. He’s not sure how he even worked himself up to asking you. He just needs to know. Needs to know if the two of you are really okay.

R - Will you miss me at all?

It’s an incredibly vulnerable ask. You know it. He knows it. He knows you know it. He needs a very ‘you’ answer to it. So you give him one.

You - 🙂‍↕️

R - Good

You - Did you have to google what that emoji meant? (P.S. You should have added girl after good)

Robby laughs to himself and shakes his head at you. This feels better. Normal. Like you.

R - Did you just call me old? (P.S. Stop it)

You smile to yourself. You know he means the stop it playfully. He’d have said way more if he actually wanted you to stop.

You - 😶🤐 You - Did you change the font size on your phone?

R - I’ve changed my mind about missing you

You - Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night, Michael

R - Go to bed, Kid R - Don’t R - Don’t even think it

You giggle to yourself. He’s lucky he was so quick to realize and send the ‘don’t.’

You - Does it make it better if I told you it was going to be daddy and not dad?

Robby groans to himself a little. No. That’s what he wants to tell you. No, it makes it worse in a way. It has him half hard pretty quickly.

You - I’ve been in bed this entire conversation too, so

You know you’re getting close to Robby’s limit of this shameless of flirting and overt sexualness. You’re toeing the line. It hits just right though. It makes him harder. Fully hard. And Robby has to groan to himself a little louder this time because if you guys were together he’d work himself up to sending you a picture of his very obvious erection under his boxers, or facetime you and make you talk him through it. But you’re not together. And you’re an R3. And he can’t.

You - Wanna know what I’ve been doing?

You wait a few seconds just to let him start to think before you hit send on the picture you took of your tv that shows you’re watching some trashy reality tv show he hates. Or pretends to hate. Because he always knows enough about the last episode to talk to you about it. Maybe he hated it before you, maybe he still does kind of hate it, but now he watches it for you.

You - I’m sure that’s what you were thinking I was doing. Anyway. Did you make it home safely?

Robby lets out a quiet laugh. You’re so ridiculous. So perfect for him. He’s so spectacularly fucked when it comes to you.

R - Yes and I’m going to shower. You go to sleep

You - 😏😏 You - Alright I’m stopping You - Sleep tight and try not to miss me too much this week

R - Sleep well, Kid

Robby throws open the door to the stairwell and walks in. He’s shaking, closer to tears than he wants to admit to himself and he is pretty sure he has never felt this much rage in his life. All of his emotions, all the grief and loss and sadness and guilt have turned into anger.

And all because Langdon had to come back and then run his fucking mouth. He’s trying to calm down, to let go of the anger before he goes back out there and does or says something he’s going to regret because his mind is too clouded with anger. His hand rubs the back of his neck as he paces to try and burn off some of the adrenaline.

He replays the confrontation in his head over and over. Eventually he’s struck by one thing in particular. How the fuck did Langdon even know about what happened in pedes? You were the only one who saw him-

Robby stills. It feels like another part of his world is coming crashing down around him. The only way Langdon could have known is if you’d told him. Or you’d told someone else who’d told him. If you were gossiping about him. About something so incredibly private and intimate.

The door to the stairwell gets thrown back open and Robby walks further into the Pitt, head on a swivel looking for you. His jaw clenches when he sees you standing alone and charting. He stalks over to you.

“We need to talk.” The anger in his voice is palpable. And unlike the last time he sought you out, this time he’s not asking to speak with you. You saw him follow Langdon out so you assume it must be related and Langdon really must have done or said something. “In here. Now.”

He’s seething. He leads over to the supply closet and opens the door, walks in behind you, locks the door behind him. “What happened?” you ask, brows furrowed.

Robby just stares at you. It’s like he’s waiting for you to admit something. And you slowly realize his anger isn’t at Langdon or that situation or at anything else.

It’s at you.

He finally speaks. “I cannot fucking believe you.”

You shrink back at his words and tone. “What?”

“There are a lot of fucking people here who I would expect this shit from or not be surprised when they did it. But not you. Not fucking you,” he spits out. “How could you? How could you fucking gossip about that?” Robby tells himself the tears forming in his eyes are ones of anger and nothing else. “How could you betray me like that? I trusted you. I fucking trusted you.” His voice cracks on the second trusted.

To say you’re confused would be a massive understatement. Your stomach twists with anxiety. You don’t like any of this. You don’t like how he thinks you betrayed him or broke his trust. Because you’re not sure if your relationship could survive him truly believing that. “Michael, please believe me when I say that I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The confusion written all over your face just pisses him off more. It’s like you’re trying to be the victim. “No. Don’t do this shit. Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what I’m fucking talking about. Don’t try to be the fucking victim. The very fucking least you could do at this point is own the fuck up to it.”

You are desperately trying to play your day through your head to see if you can figure out what he’s talking about, figure out what you did that apparently betrayed him and obliterated his trust. You and Dana talked during the day but you never told her anything, just expressed your concern about him and him saying and acting like he was fine. You and Jack spoke while organizing supplies, but again, you just expressed concern about him and how he’d react if something happened to Jake. You said nothing to either of them that they didn’t already know because Robby had told them. You have no idea how he could consider any of that gossiping.

“You’re really going to make me fucking spell it out for you, hm?” He bobs his head condescendingly.

Tears spill over your lash line and slide down your cheeks because of the way he’s talking to you, the way he’s treating you. Because you know exactly where this conversation is headed if he won’t explain to you and then listen to your response. Because he’s slowly breaking your heart.

“You told someone, Langdon or whoever the fuck else, about what happened in pedes. About me breaking down in there and being on the floor. You just fucking blabbed that to whoever,” he scoffs, a few tears running down his cheeks. Out of anger, yes.

But out of heartbreak too. You gossiping about this, you breaching his trust like this, shatters Robby. Because he loves you. Even if he hasn’t said it. He’s stupidly in love with you. He has been. He thought you were the one. That you were it. His end game. He pictured a proposal and a wedding and a house and maybe kids.

And then you broke his heart.

“Okay,” you sniffle through some tears. “I know you don’t believe me but I have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t tell anyone absolutely anything about pedes. I never would-”

“Well nobody else came in and saw me so how the fuck else would Langdon know? Hm?” he snarls. “You fucking gossiped about it. Like it was this casual thing.” He shrugs at you as more tears fall down his face and he glares at you. “We’re done. Because I will never be able to trust you again. Not with anything like that, with how I feel, to see me when I’m vulnerable. And I deserve a partner I can trust with that.” His anger slips for a moment, the trembling of his chin and the way his eyes soften into hurt and grief give it away. “We waited all this fucking time, I waited all this fucking time for you and you do this before we even hit six fucking months?” You can see when the anger returns as his primary emotion in addition to hearing it. “You threw it all away! And for what. For fucking what? Please tell me. Because I don’t fucking understand.”

You’re at a total loss. You know that it ultimately doesn’t matter what you say. Robby isn’t in a state of mind to truly hear or listen to anything you tell him and even if he was, he doesn’t want to. Not right now at least. He just broke up with you. For, as far as you can tell, nothing. Your heart is shattered just like his. You thought he was the one. You knew he was deep in your heart. He was always there when you pictured your future.

It takes you a moment to gather a few thoughts and calm your crying down enough to coherently talk. You clear your throat and sniffle before starting.

“You very clearly aren’t interested in listening to anything I have to say, but I’m going to say a few things anyway and hope you do listen, or think about them later. I did not tell anybody anything about pedes. I would never. Even now.” You take the briefest pause, worried that if you stop for any longer he’ll cut you off and not let you say anything else. “I love you, Michael. I’ve been in love with you for a while now. I never said it because it felt like you weren’t ready to hear it or say it quite yet, or I don’t know, maybe I mistook things and you didn’t, don’t love me.” You shrug. “I was so proud of you when I watched you pull yourself together in the face of multiple things, any one of which let alone all of them combined would have kept most people on the floor of that room, and go out and save lives and rally a team and support others and hold others up while you were dying inside. And I really hope one day, that for yourself, you’ll be able to learn and speak with Langdon or whoever else you need to and know that I was telling the truth and didn’t say anything to anyone and never would’ve. I loved you, Michael. You were amazing today. You are so much stronger than you think or give yourself credit for. I’m proud of you. You should be proud of yourself even through all the hurt, Michael.”

“No.” Robby shakes his head. He’s too angry and hurt and grief stricken to see anything clearly or even truly process your words. He stoops so that he’s face to face with you and you’ve never seen Robby look this angry and hurt. He makes sure you’re looking at him dead in the eyes as he speaks. “No, you don’t get to call me Michael. Or Robby. It’s Dr. Robinavitch to you.”

He stands back up, unlocks and throws the door open and walks back out. Like it’s nothing. Like he didn’t just issue you your very own scarlet letter by telling you that you can only call him by his full name and title, a stark contrast to the intimacy of Michael and even the casualness of Robby that everyone, except for you now, gets to call him. Like he didn’t just break up with you. Like he didn’t just shatter your heart. Like you’re not even worth hearing out or having an actual conversation with or listening to. Like you’re nothing.

Pretty fucking cruel of the world for it to end where it started. In this supply closet.

You lock the door behind him and slide down it, give yourself a few minutes to quietly sob, thoughts racing. But you don’t want to do this here. You can’t and you won’t. You open a pack of gauze and use it to clean off your face, unlock the door and peek through it until you see a good moment and sprint to the bathroom.

You press a cold paper towel beneath your eyes. You know it’s probably pointless but maybe it’ll help a little. You’re focusing on thinking about how to get out of here and have the least number of people see you as possible. After a few minutes you toss the towel, splash some cold water on your face and dry off. You stare at yourself in the mirror. Marginally better, you guess.

You slip out of the bathroom and look around. You should tell someone you’re leaving. The only two you decide you’ll be able to bring yourself to talk to are Jack and Dana. You spot Jack first.

“Hey,” you greet Jack as you walk up to him. Janey has arrived and Robby’s over talking with her so the hub is free of him for now. “I’m heading out.”

Jack looks up at you. To anyone else it would seem like he didn’t react. But you know him well enough to see the slightest raise of his eyebrows and the corners of his lips turn down. You have a fake smile plastered on your face and even with the damage control you did in the bathroom, someone would have to be an idiot to look at you and not know you’d been crying. And you know Jack is far from an idiot.

You know he knows when his eyes leave you and go to Robby and then back to you. “Okay… We’ll probably do some sort of debrief and then I’m sure some people will go to the park. Robby’s probably going to be here for a little bit yet.”

“I figured, yeah.” You nod. “Thanks Jack.” You spin and start walking away before Jack can say anything further or Robby can walk back over or even look in your direction. You don’t want to feel it. You have enough already. His glare at you, livid and disappointed and betrayed and disdained and hurt. And even though you know why he’s with her, seeing him with his ex is hard. Especially when you realize you’re now just another ex for him to be seen with too.

You wonder if they’ll bond over their fear for Jake before they knew he was okay and get back together as you walk to your locker. You grab your backpack and take the back way out to limit the chances of anyone seeing you and manage to hit the street without encountering anyone else.

You have a few things of Robby’s in your locker that you’ll have to figure out how to return to him. More things at your place. You’re going to have to go home and still see him. Have his presence there. Thinking about it makes tears sting at your eyes. But you refuse to break down until you get home, you won’t do it even out here. You need to be home before you break down. About any of it. Robby or the mass casualty incident you just went through. And it’ll mostly be about Robby. Probably 99%. You’re numb to whatever it is you saw and went through, focused on losing Robby.

And as brokenhearted and sad and hurt you are, part of you is mad. That Robby could even think you would do such a thing, much less believe it enough to accuse you of it and end your entire relationship over it without a real conversation. You know it was a bad day for him. Beyond a bad day. Probably one of the worst days of his life. But that’s not an excuse or justification for how he treated you. He didn’t even listen to you, wouldn’t even contemplate it being possible that someone else saw him and he just didn’t see.

Part of you knows that with the day being what it was and what it became, Robby’s mind was trying to protect himself. That his mind could only see loss and grief and convinced him that you were going to leave him at the end of the day after seeing him like that in pedes. So when he saw an opportunity to control it, to set the terms of losing and grieving you, he took it and didn’t ask any questions.

Robby does not want to gather everyone and give some kind of debriefing speech, but he knows he has to say something to everyone. Once everyone is gathered he starts talking and as he looks around the group he realizes you’re not there. He tells himself he doesn’t care but he absolutely does. Even with how much you hurt him he misses you. He wishes you were here to ground him a little. He thinks he could forgive you, especially if you had an explanation. Maybe you didn’t mean to say as much as you did to whoever.

But as everyone walks away and goes back to whatever they were doing he slips back into anger because it’s an easier emotion to process and feel at the moment. You’re an attending now. It’s your job to be here for things like this. To stay for debriefings. No matter what might’ve happened in your personal life.

So when he feels his phone vibrate and pulls it out and sees it’s you calling him he rolls his eyes and sends it straight to voicemail on the second ring. And he gets annoyed when you don’t leave a message and immediately call him again. This time he just lets it ring until it hits voicemail. Maybe you’ll get the hint this time, he thinks. He figures you must because you don’t leave a message again and don’t try calling him a third time or send a text. Robby gets involved in another case with Jack and one with Mel and doesn’t think much of it. An hour and a half passes in the blink of an eye.

When he walks out of one of the trauma rooms and stops at the hub the exhaustion finally slams into him full force. He’s hungry too, can feel his blood sugar dropping. His ability to regulate and deal with his emotions is going further out the window with both of those developments. Which, he presumes, is why when he sees Langdon walking towards the ambulance bay doors to leave he walks over to him quickly.

“Why the fuck are you still here?” Robby glances down at his watch. “I told you to leave over two fucking hours ago!”

“Why the fuck do you care? I’m leaving now.” Langdon doesn’t stop walking.

Robby stands there for a second watching Langdon walk away. He needs to know he was right. That it was in fact you who told Langdon.

“Hey!” Robby yells at Langdon and walks to catch up with him. “Who fucking told you?” He knows Langdon will know what he’s talking about.

“I’m not fucking telling you,” Langdon laughs dryly. “Unlike some people here I’m not going to rat out-”

Robby interrupts him by saying your name. “Was it her?”

Langdon laughs, shaking his head at Robby before he apparently realizes the question is serious. “You can’t be fucking serious.” Robby’s lack of response makes it clear he is serious. “Of course it wasn’t her! She would absolutely never spread shit about you, especially something like that. Someone else saw you in there on the floor firsthand. They’re glass fucking doors, Robby!” Langdon lets out an incredulous laugh.

Fuck. Fuck. Robby’s heart drops into his sinking stomach and everything starts to spin, his extremities turning to ice. He knows Langdon is telling him the truth. He knows he monumentally fucked up. He just broke up with you for nothing. He just destroyed your heart for nothing. He just shattered the most precious and important and meaningful person in his life. He just imploded everything for no fucking reason.

He just lost the best things in his life, your relationship and you, the person who kept him going. And he has nobody to blame but himself.

He vaguely hears Langdon start to say something else to him but he’s taking a deep breath to try to get his dizziness to pass and walking back inside. Robby thinks about how he spoke to you. The words he said. How he barely let you say anything and didn’t listen to what he did let you say. He’s not sure if the two of you can recover from this. He’s not sure he deserves you giving him a second chance. If anything, he’s more sure he doesn’t. But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try, if he doesn’t apologize and ask for a second chance.

His eyes skim across everyone on the floor he can see once he’s back inside. He walks by most of the rooms and doesn’t see you in with any patients. You’re not in the breakroom. Maybe the bathroom. He doesn’t want to stand around waiting though.

The roof. You saw him go up to the roof this morning because that’s where Jack was getting some air. He’d told you he was going up there to talk with Jack. Maybe you’re up there trying to clear your head. As he gets to the elevator and presses the up button it hits Robby. You could be standing on that ledge. You could be thinking about jumping. About disappearing from his life permanently. About really and truly leaving him forever. Nothing left but a grave to visit.

The only thing that stops Robby from turning to give into the feeling and be sick in the trash can is the elevator doors opening. He slips inside and hits the button for the roof, holding the close door button down the entire way up as though it really does anything. He tries to tell himself he’s just projecting his feelings onto you and that he has no reason to think you’re on the ledge.

Robby can’t decide whether he’s relieved that you’re not on the roof. Certainly he’s relieved you’re not on the ledge but it means he still doesn’t know where you are. He stands in the middle of the roof sucking in huge breaths of air trying to come down from the panic that’s starting to consume him. It’s not really working though. It’s just turning into hyperventilating.

“Well you’re almost in my spot,” Jack calls to Robby as he walks out onto the roof. “What is going on? She-”

“I fucked up Jack,” Robby blurts out. “I fucked up so so badly and I don’t, I don’t know if I can fix it.” He slips completely into hyperventilating at this point as it plays in his head again. Him destroying everything in that supply closet.

“Okay you’re having a panic attack, Michael-”

“No, no I’m not, I’m not, I’m just,” he’s shaking at this point, his body and his voice, “I just lost her and I, I, I…” Robby can barely put that three word phrase together.

“I promise you that you are having a panic attack, Michael, believe me I know.” Jack steps in front of Robby and catches his gaze. “You have to follow my breathing, okay?” Robby shakes his head for a second and squeezes his eyes closed trying to fight back tears before starting to nod. “Look at me.” Robby opens his eyes and watches Jack. He watches Jack’s exaggerated breathing and tries to follow it. By focusing so hard on following Jack’s breathing Robby’s mind stills for a few moments. “Alright, better?” Robby nods at him. “What the fuck happened?”

Robby’s quiet for a moment and turns and takes a step so that he’s not facing Jack anymore. It’s a little too much. “I broke today. During the middle of it all, after Leah.” Robby’s voice cracks on her name. “She found me crying on the fucking floor in pedes and helped me get through it and back.” Robby pauses and lets out a huffed laugh. “For this to make sense I have to tell you that Langdon’s addicted to pain meds and stealing meds. Fucking, I don’t even know what to say about that right now.” He can see Jack’s slightly surprised expression out of the corner of his eye. “Anyway, after everything calmed down Langdon and I had it out in the ambulance bay and he threw it in my face. What happened in pedes.”

“Mmmm,” Jack cringes in acknowledgment. Robby knows he knows where this is about to go.

“She was the only one I saw see me in there. So I assumed she told fucking Langdon or someone else who then told him. That she was gossiping about it.” Robby shrugs and sniffles. “I dragged her into that fucking supply closet with me and lost it. Asked her how could she, told her I couldn’t believe her, all while she was looking at me confused which just pissed me off more in the moment. She said it wasn’t her but I wasn’t listening. I barely let her speak. And then,” Robby pauses, lips trembling hard. “And then she said she loves me and is proud of me and she ended her last sentence with Michael and all I said was that she didn’t get to call me Michael or Robby. That it was Dr. Robinavitch to her. Then I walked out. I saw Langdon just now and he told me it wasn’t her and I know he was telling the truth.” Robby takes in and lets out a big breath quickly, sniffling again and wiping some tears away. “So I broke up with her and broke her heart for nothing. And I’ve been trying to find her to apologize as if she’ll ever take me back. She shouldn’t. I know she shouldn’t but I have to try Jack.” Robby looks over at him. “I have to try.”

Jack takes in a deep breath and lets it out. He looks like he’s trying to decide what to respond to first. He runs a hand through his hair and then drops his hands to his hips. “Yeah,” he draws the word out. “That’s…” he sighs. “You guys might be able to work this out. It’s very obvious she knows you and how you think, better than you probably, and she is so fucking in love with you,” he tries to give Robby a somewhat reassuring smile, “so, I don’t know. You have to try, I agree. But she left, Robby.” Jack glances at his watch. “Two hours ago.”

“What?” Robby whispers, turns back to face Jack. He glosses over everything Jack said to try and give him hope because he can’t take any possibility of false hope right now, as much as he knows Jack wouldn’t lie to him.

“When you were talking to Janey. She came up to me at the hub, looking like she’d just had the conversation you described with you and said she was leaving.” Jack shrugs. “I said we’d do a debrief and some people would probably go to the park after and that you’d be here for a bit yet and she said she figured that and thanks and walked away.”

“Did you actually see her leave?” Robby doesn’t know why the thought of you leaving and being at home in your bed sobbing, or having already sobbed yourself to sleep makes it all feel worse.

“No-”

“So she could still be here.” Robby nods as he says it. “She could have gotten involved in a case or something and not left yet.” He starts walking back to the elevator.

“Theoretically,” Jack agrees. “I think she probably left, Robby. You know her locker code? See if her stuff is there.”

“Yeah, yeah I do.” Robby nods as they step in the elevator. “That’s good, that’s a good idea.” He’s praying that your stuff will still be there. That you’re not at home alone crying over him and how he treated you and the end of your relationship. Because he doesn’t want that. He’s not sure anymore if that’s really what he wanted when he was so sure you gossiped about it.

As soon as he’s off the elevator Robby’s speed walking to the lockers, Jack following behind at a more normal pace. Robby hears Jack stop a few feet behind him as he opens your locker. Your stuff is gone. You’re gone. At home alone. Just like he didn’t want.

“Michael,” you pant as his lips move down your neck and to your collarbone where he sucks a bruise into your skin making you moan softly again. “We should stop, you, you should go home and get some sleep before work.” The hand in his hair tugs at it to get him to look at you.

It’s the night of your first date. After dinner you guys came back to your place. It started with just sitting and chatting on the couch, having another drink. Then you started kissing as you talked. Then you were kissing more than you were talking. Then you straddled him. And now he’s laying on top of you on your couch, bracing himself with his arms to not put too much of his weight on you. You have to have been making out like this for the better part of an hour. You’ve both been shamelessly grinding into each other, pulling little sounds you’ve always wanted to hear from the other. Robby’s painfully hard. Your underwear has to be soaked through or close to it.

“What?” Robby’s already halfway gone, mind hazy with thoughts of you. It takes a second for what you said to process. “What? No first date sex for me?” he pants softly. You know he’s teasing you, that he truly didn’t come here with any expectations and he would absolutely never pressure you.

“Nope.” You smile at him as you pop the ‘p.’

Robby groans a little at you as he moves off of you to sit normally on the couch, helping you sit up next to him. “Why not?” He pushes his bottom lip out at you a little as you climb into his lap. “That hardly seems fair.”

You give his bottom lip a quick nip before kissing it. “Because I care about you and this. Us.”

“But if there’s already an us…” he trails off with a raise of his brows at you. “And we’ve been basically dating for four years.” You snort a laugh and give him a look. “Okay, we’ve been close friends with feelings for each other for four years. That should count for something right?” He lets one hand rest at your hip and the other in your lap.

“In a way, yes, of course it does.” You run your hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp a little just to see the way his eyes flutter closed. “I still need to keep you interested though. Make sure you have a reason to ask me out again and keep me around.”

Robby scoffs as he opens his eyes. He gives you a look. “Kid, you really think that after pining for you and dreaming about you for four fucking years that I’m going to finally get inside of you and then just decide I’m romantically done with you?”

You shiver at his words and the thought of him inside of you. “Maybe I won’t be good in bed or you won’t feel a spark or it’ll be flat.”

Robby lets out a breath as he takes your face in his hands. “I can pretty much guarantee you none of that will be the case. Having sex with you is just going to make me more obsessed with you, Kid.”

You nod, give him a small smile and lean into one of his hands. “Maybe I just like torturing you.” A slow smirk pulls onto your face. “You made me wait four years. And yes I understand and respect and appreciate why. But I still think it means you can take me on a date for every year you made me wait, and then maybe I’ll let you put your cock inside of me, Michael.”

He groans, dropping his hands back to your hip and lap where they were. “So breakfast, lunch and dinner dates tomorrow?”

You giggle at him, lean in and give him a kiss. You love knowing how desperate he is. It makes you feel good. But while you and Robby have known each other and been dancing around this for four years, that’s almost what makes you feel like the sex is going to be more meaningful and like for some reason you should wait just a couple of dates. Because you could fall in love with Robby. Because you know you already are starting to fall in love with him. That you have been since you met him.

“No.” You shake your head at him. “But that was a great try.”

“Can I at least do four days in a row?” he whines.

You hum in fake thought for a few seconds. “I’ll allow that.”

“Good.” Robby leans in and kisses you again, deepens it when you open your mouth a little for him when his tongue presses at your lips. He’ll never get enough of this. Enough of you. He pulls away just a little before you’re both desperate for air and rests his forehead against yours. “I’m going to make you break before the fourth date.”

You chuckle. “Oh, Michael, Michael, Michael.” You pull your forehead from his and give him an almost sympathetic look. “You should know better than to challenge me by now. Because now that you’ve said it, I absolutely won’t let you break me.”

“Yeah,” he sighs the word, “I was trying so hard to be hot and sexy for you I forgot how incredibly stubborn you are.”

You roll your eyes at him playfully. “You know you don’t have to try, Michael. You just are hot and sexy.”

He just hums at you and squeezes your hip and thigh. “Come on, I’ll go. We both do need to sleep before work.” You sigh a little about it as you get off his lap and stand up. You don’t really want him to leave but you know it’s better to do it this way. “I’m gonna use your bathroom before I leave.” Robby kisses the top of your head as he passes you.

You get a thought and slip to your kitchen while Robby’s in your bathroom, quickly getting your bottoms off. You make sure your underwear adequately reflects how turned on and wet you got just from making out with him and then them off and get your bottoms back on. You tuck the underwear in the back of your waistband and pull your shirt down over them.

You wait for Robby on the armrest of your couch, smiling at him when he reappears. The two of you walk to your door together. “I had a really great time tonight, Michael.” You’re smiling so widely your cheeks hurt.

“So did I, Kid. The best time.” Robby’s hands find your waist again, just holding you gently. “Will you go on a second date with me?” he asks like you don’t both already know the answer.

“You know it.” Your smile somehow widens a little more and you have to fight to get it off your face so that Robby can kiss you when he starts leaning down and in. Neither of you are surprised or mad when the kiss turns into making out for a couple of minutes in front of your door.

You break apart naturally when you need air and you let your forehead fall to rest on Robby’s chest. After a second you pull back.

“Here.” You grab your underwear from your waistband. You let them dangle off your finger for a second to make sure Robby knows exactly what they are. “To get you through the night and proof you don’t need to try to be hot and sexy.” You smirk at him as you shove them in his pocket. “Took them off while you were in the bathroom. You can feel they’re still warm. And maybe if you’re good you’ll get a pair at the end of each date.”

Robby swallows hard, breathing picking up a little just at the beginnings of thoughts of what he could do with them at home and how you’ll know he’s doing something with them and how you want him to. He presses his palm against his pocket. They’re still warm like you said. A blush creeps up his neck to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. He has to close his eyes for a second as he tries to regulate a bit. “You’re gonna kill me, Kid,” Robby breathes out.

“I’m a doctor, remember? I would never let that happen.” You and Robby exchange soft laughs as he opens the door. “Text me when you get home safely please. Or on your way home.” You grin at him.

“I will.” Robby nods at you. You lean up and give him a soft and lingering kiss. It’s simple, but the perfect way to end the night.

“Have a good night, Michael.”

“Have a good night, Kid.”

There’s very little thought to it. Robby just follows the instinct that tells him to run after you. Doesn’t grab his backpack. Doesn’t say another word to Jack. He just turns and runs.

Robby knows that you’ll be at your place. That you won’t have gone to a bar or something. You’ll just want to be alone. He hates himself for it, hates the thought, can picture you curled up alone and crying or sniffling heavily in your sleep because you finally cried yourself out.

He books it to your place, comes close to being hit once or twice when making a few unwise crossing decisions. He’s panting hard by the time he gets to your building and fumbles with his key to get in the main door, taking the stairs two at a time as he hauls ass up to the third floor. He’s running on sheer adrenaline.

He doesn’t take a moment to collect himself when he gets to your door, just starts knocking. When you don’t answer he uses his key to let himself in. He knows he shouldn’t, he knows he should respect you not wanting to see him and wanting to be alone right now, but he needs to see you and apologize and make everything okay again.

But your apartment is dark when he steps in. Hot. Like the AC has been off because you’ve been at his the past week. You’d have turned the AC on if you were here. He checks anyway though. But you’re not there. Not in your bed or the shower or on your couch. And so Robby’s left a sweaty and panting mess as he closes your bedroom door and leans back against it.

He tries to take a moment to calm down, get his breath back, some focus back so he can think about where else you might be. But he can’t.

Instead, Robby slides down your bedroom door, bringing his knees to his chest and starting to cry again. Just like he did in pedes. It’s more sobbing this time, especially because of how hard it is to breathe, how out of breath he was before he started crying. Some of his tears are for the loss, Adamson and Leah, for his guilt at giving Jake his other ticket and thoughts that it should have been him to get shot and not Leah, for the damage to his relationship with Jake, for Langdon, for breaking down in the middle of an MCI and letting his team down.

But most of them are for you. The loss of you. The way he’s already grieving you while praying and hoping and wishing that he’ll be able to stop, that you’ll take him back and so he won’t have to keep grieving the loss of you in his life. For accusing you of something horrible like that. For yelling at you. For the way he snapped at you all day. The way that, although you were quick to shut it down most times, he took out a lot of his emotions on you over the entire day. Took out his emotions on you who was only ever there for him whenever he needed it. Who kept him together and in check. Who saw only the best in him and stayed. Who saw the worst in him and stayed. Who was proud of him. Who he needs to survive this. And for the way, he realized on his run over as he replayed the scene in the supply closet over in his mind, your tense changed. You love him to you loved him. Love to loved. An audible breaking of your heart.

Robby looks over at your kitchen. Maybe it would just be better for you and Jake and everybody if he just disappeared. If he just ceased to exist. He told you he wouldn’t. He promised you he wouldn’t. But maybe you want him to now. He’s tired of feeling. Of hurting. Without you he doesn’t really have anyone. Jake hates him. Jack and Dana will be fine without him. You have sharp enough knives. He knows exactly where to cut.

His phone ringing pulls him out of it for a second. He sniffles and clears his throat as he moves to pull his phone out of his pocket. He knows it’s not you because you’d given yourself a special ringtone and it’s not the one playing.

It’s Jack. If you’re there at the hospital still with Jack then he won’t. He’ll keep his promise and run back. Apologize. Beg. Grovel. Anything. Everything.

“Did you hear from her?” There’s no greeting. Robby’s straight to the question.

“Robby, she’s here.” Jack’s voice is strained. He sounds exhausted, but more emotionally than anything. He sounds pained. Like speaking these words is physically and emotionally hurting him. He didn’t sound like that when Robby left. But Robby brushes it all aside.

“Oh fuck, okay thank you.” Robby lets out a sigh of relief and wipes at his face. He sniffles again and lets out a little laugh. Because at least he knows where you are. “Keep her there Jack, please. I don’t care how you do it, lock her in a room or use restraints, just keep her there. I need to talk to her. I need-”

“No, not like that,” Jack tells him, voice clipped, still strained. “Like-” Jack gets interrupted. Robby can hear what sounds like a door opening, muffled movement and beeping of monitors. He can just make out a female voice tell Jack ‘she’s seizing again.’ Jack’s voice is muffled like he’s holding the phone away from him but Robby can hear him say ‘yes’ to what sounded like the shout of a medication order, followed by Jack yelling ‘and where the fuck is neuro?’

“Fuck. You need to get here, Michael.” Jack rushes it out but Robby recognizes Jack’s tone clear as day because he’s used it so many times himself.

It’s the tone they use when stressing to family members that they need to get to the hospital as quickly as humanly possible because a loved one is about to die.

Tears start to stream down Robby’s face again because he knows. Robby knows exactly what Jack means when he repeats it. “She’s here.”

I know. 😶🥲😶‍🌫️😭

I've affectionately called this Robby's No Man's Land. It was named the same way too. Obviously there will be a Part 2 unless nobody wants one. 😂 I PROMISE that what happened in NML Part 2 will not be repeated in the Part 2 to this.

I hope it was okay and that you were able to enjoy! Again, I really love hearing your thoughts and comments, they give me serotonin and motivation and inspiration!! Liking, replies and reblogging are always so so appreciated! My inbox and DMs are always open for thoughts, comments, and general screaming (or (lovingly) screaming at me I suppose)! 🙂

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azzibueckers5 · 3 days ago

Text

take another drag (turn me to ashes)

synopsis: messy fwb pazzi, extremely unserious angst, alcohol usage, sexual content, situationship final bosses paige and azzi but they're like really really chill about it, um. the only hint that i'm giving in terms of the smut is possessiveness. enjoy!

wc: 6.5k (part 1/2)

a/n: title is from lana's diet mountain dew. you gay bitches won you get the first half tonight. enjoy the repercussions (sexual frustration). this was a tad rushed so i could get it out before the weekend so there's bound to be typos i am. Sorry. also roommate pairings are entirely made up #sorry

azzi tilts her head back against the couch cushions behind her and closes her eyes for a second, trying to assess what level of drunk she’s riding in their game of truth or drink in preparation for her next turn.

her teammates are scattered precariously around the room, all twelve of them making themselves at home in evina, aubrey, and piath’s small living room, and the half full handle of titos sits in the middle of the lopsided circle like some sacrificial token, daring azzi to test it.

she’s been spared from any truly invasive questions so far, only having to answer one about her first kiss (a random boy named carlos in the seventh grade after a movie date that had been nothing short of terrible) and what the most scandalous place she’d ever hooked up with someone was (she’d hesitated before answering this one, not because a hotel pool had been that embarrassing, but because her counterpart in that particular rendezvous was sitting directly next to her, fingers fidgeting in her lap and eyes refusing to make contact), so she hasn’t had to drink to avoid anything.

this was a team bonding event though– and the last one before the season officially started– so naturally azzi had been coerced into doing two separate rounds of shots by nika, in addition to sipping on a drink with god knows how many more, and the buzz in her limbs was starting to make tipsy feel like a thing of the past.

it was at least mildly reassuring that everyone around her also seemed to have reached that tipping point as well, and she could feel the atmosphere descending into that loose, rowdy environment that only happened on the rare nights when they didn’t have an early practice the next day.

amari is getting grilled about, like, her ex boyfriend’s dick size or something– azzi’s trying hard not to pay attention– which means azzi’s turn is next. she lifts her head up from the couch and ignores the slight dizziness that accompanies it, focusing instead on the feeling of paige’s hand repeatedly poking her thigh.

she tilts her head towards the blonde lazily and sighs, exaggerating her exasperation, and catches paige's finger in her own, stilling her.

“what.”

paige grins, crooked but blinding all the same, and azzi knows immediately that she is also hurtling towards drunk by the slightly dazed look on her face. she tries to smother the excitement that bubbles up at the idea of what usually happens when they get drunk together, and only halfway succeeds.

“nothin,’” paige says, unashamedly fishing for attention.

azzi rolls her eyes, and ignores the flutter in her chest when paige laces their fingers together instead of letting go.

“you’re an attention whore,” she declares, trying to scrunch her face into something that resembles annoyance.

“don’t act like you don’t love it,” paige drawls, and, yup. definitely a little drunk, because she’s slurring the end of her words a little, in a way that shouldn’t be endearing but always is anyways, and is flirting a little more brazenly than she otherwise would, especially in front of the team.

azzi is spared from having to respond when dorka kicks her right leg that’s splayed out on the ground in front of her and informs her that it’s her turn.

“you ready to drink, princess?”

she blinks away from paige’s face and scoffs, trying to catch up to the rest of the room. the last thing they need right now is for someone to accuse them of flirting again.

she pulls her fingers out of paige’s with a squeeze and says, defiantly, “m’not drinking. hit me with your best, dorka.”

the older girl smirks from across the circle, and anxiety pools in her stomach. she prays this question isn’t about her sex life.

“last person you got with. out with it.”

what a surprise. a sex question.

azzi internally sighs and tries to keep the panic off her face, tries to ignore the flash of memory at the question:

paige, kissing her in the dingy bathroom of ted’s, hands on the back of her thighs under her skirt; paige, dragging them stumbling back to azzi’s dorm, fingers tangled; paige, pressing azzi into her bedroom door, mouth moving down her neck; paige, fingers between her– she shoves the memory away, willing her face to stay unimpressed.

her rescue comes in the form of paige herself, which is, admittedly, a little incriminating, but she’s grateful nonetheless. “ya’ll must be extra horny today. how bout you go get laid instead of interrogating all of us about our sex lives.”

azzi nudges their ankles together in thanks, just as christyn groans somewhere to her left and says “don’t be a loser paige. we tryna make it actually fun,” and piath throws a piece of popcorn at paige and says “of course paige is defending azzi.”

damn it.

there’s a chorus of agreement from the girls around them, and azzi sighs, glaring at the glass handle in front of her and mentally prepping for the shot that’s going to curdle in her stomach.

but then, evina, who’s already properly sloshed, calls out impatiently, “yeah, come on az, last guy you got with. not that hard,” and azzi smiles.

blessed reprieve in the form of heteronormativity.

before anyone can object to the question, she blurts out “last guy i got with was james,” and hopes everyone is too drunk to inquire further.

got with is kind of an exaggeration– they’d kissed at the afterparty at prom and azzi had let it happen for approximately thirty seconds before his hands had started wandering and she’d broken away to run off and find her friends– but it's not her fault if people assume it was more than that.

she knows paige is gonna be sulky about the mere mention of him anyways, but that’s her problem. they’ve agreed to stop the whole messy hook up thing, what with basketball really gearing up and the fear of making things complicated, and that includes getting jealous when other people are brought up. never mind the fact that they’ve been absolutely terrible at adhering to that new rule.

christyn narrows her eyes suspiciously and asks “what do you mean by guy,” just as aaliyah says, rather shocked, “your prom date? as in not since may?”

azzi takes a sip of her drink and smirks. she should probably be a little bit more careful at what she’s insinuating, but she’s giddy at getting away without having to take a shot for a third time and also definitely a little drunk.

“i haven’t hooked up with a guy since may. that’s what you asked. paige’s turn.”

but they aren't letting her off the hook so easy, and olivia’s voice rings out over the rest of them, loud and laced with disbelief. “you brought someone home last month after the bar. nika and i had to sleep with pillows over our heads.”

nika is one of the two other people in this room that knows that that had been paige. azzi expects her to help them out a little bit here.

“yeah, azzi, what was that about?” she says instead, smarmy and annoying and so totally enjoying this.

so much for assistance.

dorka piles on with “liars have to take two shots to make up for it,” and azzi shoots a death glare at nika and sighs.

“m’not lying. evina said who’s the last guy. i answered the question.”

the room erupts again into shrieks of surprise and someone says “the princess is into women?”

azzi just takes a large gulp of her drink, pushes down the feeling of indignation at the thought that it's this shocking she’d be into women, and tries really hard not to look at paige.

she fails.

paige, for her part, is putting up a solidly mediocre performance on how to be nonchalant: lazy smirk, legs spread casually, and eyes refusing to look at azzi for too long. azzi knows her inside and out though, and can see the clench of her jaw and the shift of her fingers on the perimeter of her solo cup, the way her gaze is flitting around the room, cataloguing the different reactions to azzi’s sentence.

she pulls her eyes off paige’s silhouette before she gives them away and fixes her stare instead on aaliyah. “dunno why you assumed i’m straight, that’s your problem. somebody ask paige a question already. i answered mine.”

christyn makes a couple more attempts at getting azzi to spill on who this mystery woman is, but she refuses, and eventually the group moves on to start plotting on how to get paige to drink.

tomorrow, azzi will worry about the consequences of inadvertently revealing that she’s into girls– both because it makes her rather intense friendship with paige that much more suspicious, and because coming out to some of her closest friends via a shitty question in truth or drink is a admittedly a little pathetic. she’s never exactly tried to hide her sexuality though, it just turned out that when you’d only ever kissed one girl and were also trying to keep the fact that you were kissing said girl a secret, things tended to stay under wraps.

azzi breathes out a sigh of relief at her turn being over and shifts her thoughts to trying her best to prepare for paige’s interrogation, knowing that it’s fairly likely the question will pertain to her in some capacity, seeing as the team is hellbent on asking about sex escapades.

honestly. you’d think they were at a sleepover with sixteen year olds.

she hopes everyone around them is drunk enough to miss the tension in her shoulders, and the glances she keeps taking at paige’s face. she pointedly ignores caroline’s knowing gaze from the other across the circle, the only other one in the room besides nika who’s aware of the tangle of something more between them, and again, takes a rather large chug of her drink.

the relief of being out of the hot seat does not last long. because somehow the question that’s almost unanimously decided upon for paige is, in azzi’s opinion, seventeen times worse.

“p, how many bodies you got by now?” calls aubrey from where she’s stretched out against the tv stand, glee evident in her voice, and azzi’s heart sinks into her stomach.

she’s confident the answer is somewhere between three and five, but despite the fact that her and paige have never kept things from each other, azzi has made a point to actively avoid hearing about paige sleeping with other people. it was sort of an unspoken rule– they didn’t talk about the girls paige got with before azzi came to uconn, and they didn’t talk about the boys azzi had gotten with her senior year of high school.

they had a lot of unspoken rules.

they’d been each other's firsts (azzi stops herself from thinking too hard about the fact that she wants to be paige’s last, too), fumbling around in the dark of a hotel room (azzi reminds her self that that had meant more than any rushed hookup paige had sought out since), and though they’d maintained the conviction that the other was allowed to do whatever they wanted with whomever they wanted, they’d never been exactly good at sharing.

as the group around her debates what, specifically, has to meet the requirements for a body when it comes to having sex with girls, azzi racks her brain and tries to remember the last time paige had hooked up with someone other than her.

it had only been three weeks since she’d made one of her more terrible decisions to let the fear that paige had starting meaning more to her than basketball dictate the parameters of their relationship, and she’d initiated the rule that during basketball season (and the few weeks leading up to it), the two of them should halt the rather non-platonic aspects of their friendship for fear of making things too complicated.

she’d been half expecting paige to push back, would have most likely caved with merely a few sentences and a makeout as a counter argument, but paige hadn’t argued whatsoever, and they’d since been mostly successful at pretending everything was fine.

they’d only slipped up once since the implementation of the new rule– a rather heated makeout session in the locker room of all places when they’d been left alone post practice, sweaty and sports bra clad (they’d never stood a chance)– and they had somehow miraculously managed to spend just as much time together as they’d had before, so azzi doesn’t think paige has had time to add to her body count.

(god help both of them if she had, because azzi’s crashout would probably cause world war three)

that left only the ones she’d accumulated over the course of her freshman year, because paige and azzi had been effectively inseparable (and effectively exclusive) since their arrival at summer session workouts in may.

still, this doesn’t halt the twist in her stomach at the idea of paige with anyone else, and she fights the icky feeling in her stomach with a sip of her drink.

but azzi can handle this, definitely, and she’s prepared for paige’s answer when she takes a lazy sip of her drink and drawls out “four.”

what she’s not prepared for is the general disbelief that echoes around the circle, and the insufferable comments from various teammates about how “that can’t be true,” and “it’s gotta be more than that.”

azzi wants to hit someone. preferably all eleven other people in the room.

and then, her irrational anger at the rest of the circle refocusses to just paige because she humors it, leaning back and smirking. “what can i say? i’m picky,” grinning at the comments about how much of a whore she was the pervious year. as if it’s funny.

if azzi believed in things like auras and spiritual colors, hers would probably look like a christmas monstrosity right now– green for jealousy clashing with the crimson of her fury.

she shifts over, removing her leg from where it had been subtly pressed up against paige’s, and tucks her glower into the rim of her cup, plotting several murders as the group around them howls with laughter and continues reminiscing on paige’s escapades like it was a hilarious, wonderful time, and not the root of many sleepless nights for azzi.

she really has enough when evina giggles out something about how “paige needs to get back out there” and christyn agrees, slurring about how they miss “big daddy bueckers.”

azzi coughs. hard.

and then she finishes the rest of her drink in one swig, ignores paige’s searing gaze on the side of her face, and stands up rather aggressively to go fix herself another. if she subtly kicks paige’s foot on the way past, that’s nobody’s business but hers. she’s not doing a particularly terrific job of subtlety right now, but no one is sober enough to notice.

nika joins her in the kitchen, and bursts out laughing as soon as she sees the expression on azzi’s face, contorted into what is probably a rather hideous scowl.

“someone’s jealous,” she taunts, as she watches azzi pour a healthy amount of vodka into her cup.

“i’m not jealous,” azzi hisses. jealousy would imply azzi had a right to care about who paige gets with. which she does not. she adds another glug of tito’s for good measure.

nika eyes the amount of liquid in her cup and raises an eyebrow. “no?”

azzi glares. “nothing to be jealous over. paige can do whatever she wants.”

nika has the audacity to laugh at her. “ooookayy,” she drags out, hands raised beside her head like azzi is a feral animal. she sort of feels like it. “as someone who witnessed paige last year, it wasn’t nearly as crazy as they make it seem.”

azzi wishes this made her feel better, but in all honesty it’s information she already knows, which reminds her of how irrational she’s being, which in turn makes her more upset, at like, the world.

she huffs. “that’s none of my business.”

“uh huh. that’s why you were eye fucking eachother in the living room and are now pouring yourself a triple.”

nika muhl and her psychology degree can kick rocks.

“we told you, we’re not doing that anymore,” azzi muttered, doing a terrifically bad job at keeping the contempt out of her voice.

nika eyes her with exasperation. “and who’s fault is that.”

azzi’s frown somehow deepens at the accusation. “it’s no one’s fault. it’s just the right thing to do.”

nika blinks, disbelieving. “if you say so. when paige walks out of your room tomorrow morning with her hood up i’m going to say i told you so.”

“not happening.”

nika just raises her eyebrows. azzi decides she’d through with this conversation.

drink made, she stalks back to the living room, nika following close behind with thinly veiled amusement. she’s officially been added to azzi’s shit list of the night, directly behind one paige bueckers.

she plops back down next to the blonde, careful to keep the space between their bodies reasonable, and takes a sip of her drink, wincing at how strong she’d made it.

paige looks inquisitively at her, and azzi tries to ignore it, but then her head tilts back against the base of the couch as she sideyes azzi, brows furrowed in an unspoken attempt at asking if she’s good, which exposes the long, pale, extremely biteable column of her throat, and azzi jerks her head away before she does something stupid like lick it in front of their entire team, and ignores her.

she’s still mad at paige. not for having four bodies– that would be ridiculous. just for other, secret reasons. definitely.

she listens intently as nika immediately gets interrogated about the football guy she’s down bad for instead– serves her right for accusing azzi of being jealous– and decides that if the next question she gets asked is about her sex life, she’s going to take the shot. paige doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of hearing an answer that’s probably about her.

but then, when her turn rolls around and olivia’s nosy fucking question of “azzi who’s the best you’ve ever had and why” causes paige to smirk next to her, azzi decides that simply taking the shot would feed paige’s ego far too much.

so, she lets a smirk of her own cross her face and slurs out a massive fucking lie: “this guy i got with last year- charlie- very talented with his tongue,” and lets the room erupt into madness.

the look on paige’s face is delightful.

paige is by far the best azzi’s ever had– by, like, a factor of ten– and charlie had only been a brief fling senior year to (unsuccessfully) distract azzi from paige. he’d been mediocre at best. by the look on the blonde’s, face she knows that too, so the offense and shock laced into the outrage of her expression is beautiful. her eyes bore into azzi’s, drunk and disbelieving and pissed, and azzi swallows at the intensity of her gaze.

serves her right.

she’s forced to tear her eyes away when christyn calls out “i’m sorry, you got with a girl last month and you expect me to believe that the best you ever got was from a guy?”

azzi flushes, but she holds her gaz, shrugging, and then decides to pour metaphorical gasoline on the fire that is currently raging next to her. “wasn’t really impressed with her skills.”

paige honest to god chokes beside her, and the room erupts into hoots and hollers.

azzi lets the drunk commotion roll off her back, and makes the mistake of turning back to paige, feeling heat pool in her belly at the intensity she finds.

“i don’t believe you,” rasps the blonde into the admittedly small space between them, low enough that no one else can hear her over the chaos that’s taken over the room.

azzi smiles sweetly. “too bad.”

paige scoffs, and opens her mouth to respond with something presumably filthy, but then it’s aubrey’s turn to throw popcorn at them, telling paige to “lock in” for her turn.

paige’s anticipatory smile at aubrey is more of a pained grimace, and azzi lets satisfaction settle in her bones for now, knowing she’s gotten under her skin.

she knows better than to think this conversation is over. she’s rather excited about that fact. stupid stupid stupid alcohol.

the older girls convene in front of them for a second whispering ideas, and then they all seemingly agree on one with a chorus of excited yeses and christyn spins back to the rest of the group and grins.

azzi braces herself with a shaky inhale.

“tell the class about your favorite sex position, paigey,” christyn singsongs, and azzi's mind goes blank for a second.

she tries to stop herself from thinking about it, about what position paige might be thinking about, but fails miserably, and then a series of images are flashing through her brain:

perhaps how much paige loves to be between azzi’s thighs, used to beg the brunette to let paige go down on her, or even more so maybe how much she loves azzi between her legs, tongue tracing lines against her clit and fingers dancing inside, or maybe even that one time paige made azzi work herself back onto paige’s fingers, bent over the bed, and paige had come untouched just from watching her, or when they’d put the small bullet vibrator azzi had secretly bought between them, grinding on it and each other until they’d both fallen apart more than once, or when– jesus.

she needs to chill the fuck out.

azzi is not built for the sexually frustrated lifestyle.

she takes a large, large chug of her drink, and tries to focus on the burn of vodka down her throat, and not her absolutely filthy thoughts, nor the flush that’s coursing through her veins and making her skin hot.

beside her, paige smirks– a daring, cocky thing that pulls at the inside of azzi’s stomach– and doesn’t even think about answering, instead pouring herself a hefty shot from the handle in front of them and ripping it back, clearly enjoying the group’s groans at her refusal to answer.

azzi tries extremely hard to ignore the peek of her tongue as she licks the residual vodka off the rim of the shot glass, but her whole body feels hot anyways. she blames it on the mixture in her cup.

“bruh, you just wanted to take a shot,” accuses evina, off to the left, as everyone watches paige wince and grab for a chaser.

when she collects herself, she rasps out “yeah, or maybe i just think some things should stay private.”

she says it to the broader room, refusing to look at azzi, but she knows the words are meant just for her anyways, and as anger rolls off of the set of paige's shoulders and curls in the now much wider space between their bodies, azzi juts her chin out in defiance.

whatever– let paige be mad. that is not azzi’s problem.

she sees amari eyeing them warily, and caroline and nika have switched seats, no doubt so they can giggle to themselves about the tension they apparently think is hilarious, and azzi decides she needs a break.

when the group conversation derails a bit, partly due to the collective level of hammered and partly due to the boredom of the game they’ve been playing for an hour now, azzi decides a pee break is in order, both because she actually has to pee, and because the heated glares paige is sending her from beside her are fucking with her head.

she stands up off the floor– very wobbly mind you, the head rush at her upright position reminding her of the abundance of liquor in her cup– and stumbles down the hallway to the bathroom, trying to ignore how positively sloshed she feels.

the silence of the bathroom is a welcome reprieve from the chaos on the other side of the door, and azzi takes a deep breath as soon as she closes it, leaning back against it and cursing herself for letting paige get under her skin.

she knows she’s being unreasonable– that getting mad about the fact that paige has hooked up with people other than her is entirely ridiculous, one because it's information she already knows, and more importantly, two, because they're allowed to see other people– but she just looked so smug bringing it up. and the team thought it was so funny. and azzi wants to hit someone.

lying as payback had been fun– the look on paige’s face absolutely worth it– but now azzi feels like she’s going to crawl out of her own skin at the tension between them and the inability to do something about it.

she paces the small space for a second (noting in that slightly hysteric, satirical way that only come from drunkenness that evina’s bath mat is a hideous shade of orange), reeling with entirely unwarranted jealousy and fury and trying to pretend that the copious amounts of alcohol have not hit her bloodstream.

she stops short when she catches her own eye in the mirror. she’s flushed, the range of feelings that aren’t hers to have painted across her face, and she looks exactly like a movie character in a melodramatic shitty pg-13 romcom who’s realizing she’s too drunk and too sad in a party bathroom.

stupid stupid stupid stupid.

she spins away from her reflection, remembering that she does actually have to pee pretty bad, and plops down on the toilet, content to wallow in sexual frustration and misery for the remainder of the night.

but then, while she’s washing her hands– rather aggressively scrubbing as if she can wipe away the itch in then that yearns to be on paige’s skin– azzi’s peace and quiet is shattered by the arrival of the one person she’s currently trying to convince herself she doesn’t care the whereabouts of.

because of course paige had followed her.

she doesn’t even knock– the audacity– just barges right in like azzi’s not having a private moment to herself (a mental break).

“paige!” she huffs out indignantly, moving out of the way of the door and doing her very best to glare menacingly. “get out- i could’ve been peeing or something.”

paige looks entirely unbothered by that prospect. she closes the door behind her gently without turning around, arms crossed and jaw tipped down.

she looks infuriatingly good. azzi wants to hit her. like. with her mouth.

“nothin’ i ain’t seen before.” she pairs this aggravatingly calm sentence with a step into azzi’s personal space, and it's outrageous how affected azzi is by simply being in close proximity to her in private.

and how pretty she is. god damn it.

even with the edges of her vision blurring from the liquor, and the fact that her feet feel rather unsteady on the hideous bathmat below her, azzi can tell that paige is mad.

that type of focussed, heated anger that very rarely laces their interactions, not just simple annoyance. it unnerves her as much as it excites her, which is surely another sign that she’s going insane.

she chooses not to respond to the insinuation that paige has seen her in every state of undress, for her own sake, and tries not to think about her and paige in states of undress at all. which is actually a supremely difficult task, particularly when, again, they’re in such close proximity.

she’s starting to deeply regret that last chug of her drink.

the silence hangs around them, tense, and she suddenly realizes that somehow paige has backed her up into the sink. which is odd. considering last time azzi checked they weren’t merely inches apart. so that’s. concerning. or exhilarating. who’s to say? not azzi.

paige’s smirk is a little mean on her face, eyes wild, and she tilts her head, using the measly one inch she has on azzi to try and make her feel small. azzi refuses to let her.

“charlie?” she says, voice unimpressed. her hands coming up to rest on either sides of azzi on the sink, caging her in. “really?”

they’re not touching– not yet– but azzi feels the ghost of her hands anyways.

“what about ‘m,” she breathes. their faces are really close. and paige’s eyes are really blue.

“you expect me to believe the best head you’ve ever received was from a guy named charlie?” the and not me is unspoken, but azzi hears it loud and clear.

she scoffs, spurred on by the fire in paige’s eyes. she delights in this game. “why wouldn’t it be?”

paige’s eyes narrow. “i don’t know, maybe because last time i ate you out you came so hard you cried.”

azzi’s blood gets impossibly hotter at the reminder, but she stays strong, lifting her chin even higher. “was faking it,” she breathes. “like i said earlier, i wasn’t impressed.”

“really,” is all paige drags out, low and dangerous, and azzi feels the tension crackle between them like a physical brand on her skin. they’re not even fucking touching yet, and she can already feel the lining of her underwear growing impossibly wet at paige’s anger.

she refuses to contemplate the implications of that.

she hums in agreement and doesn’t say anything else, and paige just looks at her, lets the weighted silence settle around them.

and. okay. azzi’s not proud of this necessarily, but paige is looking like that in front of her and her mouth is turned downwards because she’s jealous and trying to hide it, and her sweats are slung low enough on her hips for azzi to see the waistband of her boxers, and.

and then they’re kissing because azzi apparently has absolutely zero self control.

her hands come up to grip paige’s shoulders, immediately opening for it, and though azzi was the one to close to gap between them, the one to tug paige down into a kiss, it’s paige that sets the pace, immediately rough and unforgiving, pining azzi hips against the counter with her own and nipping at her lips.

and god is it good, and god has she missed this in the last few weeks.

she’s vaguely aware of their new rules, that there are reasons they’re not supposed to be doing this whole kissing thing anymore, reasons she came up with, but she can’t for the life of her remember why she’s supposed to give a singular fuck about that right now when paige’s hands splay out across the skin of her sides underneath her shirt, and her hips are pressing into azzi’s, and her mouth is doing that delicious thing where she licks into azzi’s mouth and slide’s their tongues together, and.

and azzi decides that this can be an exception.

she groans into the kiss, tangling her fingers in paige’s hair, and lets her press closer, relishing in the feel of paige all over her for the first time in too long.

the kiss is mean, claiming, and azzi knows without a doubt that paige is trying to remind her why she will always be the best azzi’s ever had.

it makes liquid heat pool endlessly in her stomach, and she lets out a strangled cry when paige shifts to press her thigh between azzi’s legs, letting the taller girl swallow her sounds and somehow press impossibly closer.

fuck.

it’s always so, so good with paige. it almost makes azzi angrier, and she lets her hands tug at paige’s hair a little rougher, bites into the kiss a little meaner.

paige must be aware that they’ve only got a few minutes before people get suspicious, because she’s sliding a hand under the waistband of azzi’s shorts and boxers after only a minute or two of making out.

which makes the fact that azzi’s completely soaked all the more embarrassing.

she breaks the kiss to gloat, rasping out “you get this wet for charlie?” against azzi’s lips, and.

azzi’s completely forgotten about why he’s relevant. and then she’s yet again reminded of why paige is insufferable, because why did she have to bring that up. azzi figured the whole kissing furiously against a bathroom sink thing sort of implied charlie didn’t hold a candle.

however. azzi would never be the one to back down from what was clearly some version of a competition, and despite the fact that, no, she’d gotten nowhere near close with him, azzi locks eyes and breathes “yeah, you’re not special.”

her voice gets choked up halfway through because paige decides to slide two fingers down and circle the entrance of her cunt, because she’s a smug bitch, and. jesus christ. azzi is criminally wet.

paige knows that they’re both aware of this.

“is that right,” she taunts, the hand that’s not currently working lazy circles on azzi’s clit coming up to grip the base of the younger girls neck.

self-assured prick.

azzi only has the brain capacity to gasp out “uh huh” in response, and paige smiles at that, wicked and. pretty, actually, even though she’s an asshole.

“want me to prove you wrong?” she pairs the question with the breach of a finger at azzi’s entrance, and.

god help azzi.

she whines out a “please,” before catching herself– this is a game, afterall– and adds “can’t hurt.”

somewhere in the back of azzi’s vodka-and-paige addled mind, it occurs to her that paige is being suspiciously forgiving, but she lets that thought go in favor of the approving kiss paige gives her, their mouths moving together in that delicious, all consuming way that quiets every part of her brain.

she has half a mind to protest when paige pulls away, slipping her hand out of azzi’s shorts and tearing their mouths apart, but before she can, paige is sliding down her body to be eye level with the tops of azzi’s thighs, knees cushioned on that horrible bathmat.

god.

azzi lets out a strangled whine when paige’s hands come up to the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. the vision of paige below her is too much, and she has to close her eyes for a second.

“you wan’ it?” she asks, looking up at azzi like a fucking siren, eyes wide and pleading like she wants it just as bad.

and. azzi should say no, considering their entire team is on the other side of what is surely a very flimsy door, and getting eaten out on a bathroom sink that isn’t hers is probably a little distasteful.

unfortunately for said teammates, azzi is despicably wet and paige is between her legs looking like she’ll die if azzi doesn’t say yes, and, most of all, azzi is too drunk to give a single shit if someone hears them.

she chokes out a “yeah, need it” and is too focussed on paige’s answering grin to care about how desperate she sounds.

instead of tugging down her basketball shorts, paige rucks up the material around one of her thighs, and latches onto the inner most sensitive part, sucking hard. she’s merely inches away from where azzi desperately needs her, and the feeling lights azzi on fire, head thumping back against the mirror behind her as pleasure takes over.

paige works on the mark, intent on claiming, biting the sensitive flesh and then laving her tongue over it to soothe, and azzi feels drunk on not only the vodka but the pleasure too, whining quietly when paige presses a kiss to the darkened skin and pulling back with a smile.

and fucking then.

paige breathes “too bad,” matter of fact and smug, into the mark.

azzi’s confused as fuck at her words, has forgotten what they were saying, and then. and then paige just. stands up.

“should call charlie to deal with that, hmm?” she pouts, fake pity lacing her words, and then she fucking pats azzi’s thigh in mock consolidation and walks out of the bathroom.

azzi’s disoriented wail of “wait,” is too late, paige already out the door like she hadn’t been on her knees seconds prior, and azzi is suddenly alone with her muddled thoughts once more, breathing uneven, skin flushed, and rage bubbling up inside of her.

along with, like. intense sexual frustration.

what the actual fuck.

azzi should’ve known paige would be too petty to let that go, and she’s both furious at the blonde for setting a fucking trap, and herself for falling into it. but what an fucking self-inflated egotistical asshole.

god.

azzi wants to march right out of the bathroom, knee paige in the stomach, pour the remainder of her drink on top of her stupidly perfect head, and then maybe possibly lick off said drink from the dip in her collarbone. and the line between her breasts. and perhaps her bellybutton.

being mad at and being attracted to paige were two sides of the same coin on a good day, but on a drunk one? azzi wanted to solve their issues with bitemarks and bruises. which was entirely stupid and counterproductive and irrational, three qualities that seemed to follow azzi around almost as much as paige did.

she inhales, several times, trying to clear the fog from her brain and calm the racing of her heart, and tries to push away the lingering disappointment that she won’t be coming apart at the hands of paige tonight, or anytime in the future really, seeing as– due to most of their roommates not knowing and the fact that azzi was far too prideful– she couldn’t exactly drag paige back to her room and have her way with her.

this, coupled with the fact that it wasn't like she could just stroll in to paige’s room in two days time when they both inevitably got sick of the fight and wanted make-up sex because of the stupid fucking rules, meant that not only was azzi angry at paige for her little stunt, but she was also a little annoyed at her apparent disregard for their limited opportunities to have sex.

paige was wasting extremely precious time in which they were alone and drunk, guards lowered, and neither of them had had a singular orgasm.

what a fucking stupid bitch.

azzi checks her phone, happy to see that it was already past 11:30, meaning an acceptable time for her to feign exhaustion, and, with renewed anger, pushes herself off the edge of the sink and stalks out of the bathroom, intent on socializing for maximum ten more minutes before retreating to the solitude of her bedroom and getting herself off.

to the thought of paige.

which was something she’d unfortunately become quite familiar with ever since she’d had her awful, horrible, no good very bad idea to stop letting paige get azzi off instead, the much preferred but decidedly unavailable option.

whatever. at least paige would probably also die of sexual frustration, and then they could rot in hell together.

a/n: sorry to edge you (paige and i will make it up to you <3) as always pleaseeee tell me if you liked it and i will die of happiness and probably kiss you <3 i hope to have the second part put early next week!

#paige bueckers x azzi fudd #pazzi fics #paige x azzi #pazzi smut #pazzi #i always feel like im forgetting tags but alas

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jinusajas · 2 days ago

Text

06/27/25; 03:45pm

{ 18+ drabbles / headcanons }

[ you become their bride ]

featuring: jinu, abby, baby, mystery, romance

warnings: unedited; blood mention; virginity loss

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

“if your soul attracts a demon, you’ll either be devoured by them-

or be forced to become their bride because of how enticing it is.”

jinu became a man obsessed the moment he first laid eyes on you. the sweet scent wafting off of you was enough to make his mouth salivate as he thought of ways to seduce you-

to bring your heart so much closer to him before wrapping his darkness around you, extracting your soul for his taking alone.

yet the more he sees your innocent smile-

the more he realizes how beautifully your soul shone within the darkness of his world each time you gazed lovingly at him. the once loyal demon to gwi-ma found that he was utterly weak when it came to you.

so instead of devouring your soul (destroying your light), he chooses to claim you forever as his bride instead-

tying you to him the moment he sinks his teeth into you, partaking in your blood as his cock traces at the outer lips of your cunt. the sweet taste of you causes him to become drunk, golden eyes going hazy as he lovingly frames at your face.

he basks in your soft expression, relishing in your bedroom eyes and the way your breasts heaves in tune to your rapid breaths. he licks away the stray traces of your blood from his lips, teasing your entrance with the tip of his cock.

with a wicked grin on his face, jinu slaps his cockhead against your swollen clit, earning a gasp from you as you arched your body against the bed. he shakes his head before descending upon you, taking your legs as he wraps them around his waist before slowly pushing into you.

“i think it’s finally time that we consummate our bond, love.”

your mewls immediately turns into broken moans of his name when he completely sheathes himself inside of you, setting a brutal pace that takes your very breath away.

and with your innocence taken away by him, you knew that you would never be free from him-

now bound to jinu as he confirms his promises of forever with you.

abby never knew the difference between a want and a need.

ever since he became a demon, he never had a care in the world. he would spend days feeding his hunger, devouring the souls of beautiful women that fell for his trap-

seducing them until they became putty in his hands as he quite literally devoured their souls from what had to be their sweetest spot between their legs.

he never denied himself of his wants-

yet that all changes the moment he met you.

you, who’s soul seemed so warm in comparison to the cruel world he has always known.

you, who he swore he could hear the blood pumping through your veins calling out to him-

and that was the first time he realized the true difference between a want and a need.

abby quenching his hunger and thirst for vulnerable young women was simply a means to an end, to satisfy him for a mere moment.

but how he felt for you was an all consuming need to devour you-

to tie your life together with his as he swore to spend the rest of his days worshiping the ground you walked on.

which was why he had you settled back in his bed, naked, with your legs spread as he ate out your pussy like a man starved, devouring you with a fervor that sends you over the edge multiple times throughout the night.

“hah… abby… ngh! i-it’s too much.”

he grunts, shoving a finger inside of your scorching heat as he works on pumping his fingers in and out of you. with the tip of his tongue still buried within you, abby gives you a devilish expression.

“c’mon babygirl… you can cum for me one more time, right?”

you swallow thickly, only managing to give him a single nod before abby dove straight back into you, his ministrations now more pronounced when he covers the entirety of your sex with his mouth.

needless to say, you didn’t get much sleep that night.

“damn you for making me feel this way.”

baby grunts, fucking himself into your heat as his cock kept ramming into you over and over again. your sweet moans and keens of his name was enough to send the demon into a frenzy-

unable to stop slamming his cock back into your scorching heat. he had you pinned on your side, thrusting into your center with this new angle just to reach deeper into your depths. your soft mewls of his name was driving him crazy, making him lose his damn mind as he focused solely on the way your slickness around his stiff cock made him feel.

“ngh, hah! baby… baby it’s t’much…! hah… so… deep.”

letting out a dark chuckle, he kisses at your ankle before speeding up his already swift pounds into you, “shut up and take it. this is what you get for making me so damn obsessed with you.”

after a particularly hard thrust, baby felt a sudden wetness around his cock, making his eyes go wide when he sees the way your cunt froths around his dick. your embarrassed whimpers were all the confirmation he needed to know that you had just came around his cock.

but even if you had reached your completion, he was far from being done with you.

when mystery tore off all your clothes and put you on your hands and knees, you swore you had never felt so vulnerable before in your life.

you felt the bed dip with his added weight as mystery braces himself above you. with his hands settled on top of the sheets, you felt something hot and hard brushing against the underside of your cunt.

smooth lips were felt kissing against the shell of your ear before a particularly hard thrust makes you cry out to him. as he reaches his hands to your front, he plays with your breasts, admiring the way they bounced in tune to his each and every thrust.

a low growl was heard coming from him, and you let out a soft moan the moment he pinches at your hardened nipples, all while biting down against the shell of your ear before hotly whispering, “mine, you’re all mine.”

being taken in this position made you feel so achingly primal. you were unable to see him, yet could hear his each and every grunt of your name-

feel the way his cock was perfectly nestled inside of you each time he impaled your slick walls over and over again as you became drunk off of the pleasure of it all.

you were so close to reaching your release-

able to taste it on the tip of your tongue when mystery suddenly pulls out of you-

making you gasp as you felt the pain of having your climax suddenly ripped away from you.

“myst… t-that was so cruel! i was so close and you just stopped-“

mystery ends up stopping your furious tirade with a kiss, distracting you before slotting his cock back inside of your heat. whispering apologies to you, mystery ends up continuing his lovemaking while in the missionary position.

with his cock back where it belonged, all was forgiven on your end as your nails raked down his back, with you relishing in the pleasure he had given you.

yet perhaps what made your copulation all the sweeter were his whispered words laced with adoration,

“forgive me… i just wanted to see you.”

“ngh… hah! r-rome…!”

romance was basking in your soft mewls of his name, entirely focused on peppering every inch of your skin with his wet kisses.

from the top of your hair to the curve of your breasts, the man was utterly obsessed with how soft you felt against his hard body. he never believed he could feel this way after so many years of being empty-

yet here he was, entirely wrapped around your finger simply because your soul was the only one that spoke to him.

being close to you was like basking in sunlight, where he could feel his entire body become filled with warmth due to your mere presence alone-

and he was becoming addicted to this sensation.

when his hot mouth reaches your chest, he immediately curls his tongue around the hardened bud of your nipple. feeling a sense of pride when he was able to make you arch your back against the bed, he continues to suckle and gently bite at your sensitive skin, not stopping until your moans echo throughout the whole room.

he smirks against your skin, continuing to distract you as his large hands travel lower…

tracing against your hips before spreading your thighs as he slots the palm of his hand over the entirety of your entrance, pushing in two of his fingers before making scissoring motions within your heat.

your reaction was immediate, already clawing at the sheets as you begged him to give you what you oh so desperately craved for, “r-rome please! just give it to me, give me your cock, mph!”

he cuts off your pleas with a searing kiss, swallowing your moans as a cheshire cat grin spreads across his features, “be patient love, and let me take my time enjoying this… enjoying the way i can make you fall apart for me before i even give you what you want.”

end notes: i have such brainrot for the saja boys, it’s not even funny anymore 🙂‍↕️ gonna post this rn bc my phone is heating up and is on only 30% battery.

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

#jinu smut #abby smut #baby smut #mystery smut #romance smut #jinu x reader #abby x reader #baby x reader #mystery x reader #romance x reader #jinu saja x reader #baby saja x reader #abby saja x reader #mystery saja x reader #romance saja x reader #kpop demon hunters #kpdh smut #kpdh x reader

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wildflowersandvibranium · 2 days ago

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Honey & Steel

Chapter One : The Elevator Meet

Pairing: CEO!Bucky Barnes x SingleMom!Reader

Series Summary: "A chance encounter in a broken elevator ties together the lives of a hardened , emotionally closed off CEO James Barnes and a struggling single mother balancing her daughter , her new job , healing old wounds , and building something neither of them expected , a family."

Word Count: 3k+

Content/Warnings: infidelity (not bucky) , nudity , anxiety/panic attack , mentions of single parenthood struggles and financial instability , mild profanity , mentions of emotional manipulation and betrayal in past relationship(s) , mild child separation anxiety

a/n: new series yayayay! So excited to begin this era and the love has been felt already , so tysm and i hope you enjoy this first chapter! Theres about 20 chapters I have planned right now but who knows where it will go!

I've been struggling with anxiety recently and writing really helps me get out of my own head , so seeing comments and likes and kudos , messages and all of that , makes me feel so happy and loved beyond words , so from the bottom of my heart truly thank you for making this feel like a family and community!

series masterlist coming soon... read on ao3 coming soon...

6:42 a.m. Y/N’s Apartment

The creaky run down and stuffy apartment smells faintly of that morning's , very burnt toast and faintly wafting through the air the small of a kiddie strawberry shampoo which was specifically bought and begged for because of the paw patrol characters that were on the packaging.

Y/N was already three steps behind , out of routine , and the day had barely begun to start.

"Madelyn , where are your nice pink shoes?” Y/N called out throwing stuffies off her sweater she layed out the night before but was quickly covered in a dogpile of stuffed bears , bunnies and giraffes.

“I already have shoes on mommy!” Madelyn was sprinting around the apartment clomping about , in her butterfly rain boots.

“Baby, we don't have time for—" Y/N was really tiring to be calm but her body was running low on patients as her daughter argued.

"I don't wanna go!" Madelyn wailed from down the hallway , clutching her baby pink baby blanket like it was a plea or lifeline. Her face was scrunched up red, her pigtails crooked from the rushed hair-brushing session in the bathroom that ended in tears and a now empty bottle of detangler.

Y/N glanced at the clock above the stove as it blinked her way taunting her.

6:43 a.m. Her interview was at 8:00 am sharp. All the way across the other side of town. In Midtown. During rush hour.

“Great” She breathed out dropping her head taking a deep inhale.

"Maddie , baby , please , Miss Helen is waiting for you next door , and Mommy really needs this job, okay?" Y/N knelt down and smoothed her daughter’s gruley hair out of her face , trying not to cry herself.

Her heart was breaking. She wanted nothing more than to be home with her baby girl, but this was survival. This was motherhood. Well….single motherhood.

Y/N met Madelyn's father through a mutual friend who claimed they would be “soulmates and the perfect match”.

So after a few months of dating Y/N actually began to love the guy and when she found out they were unexpectedly expecting a baby , a little girl too , she was beyond ecstatic.

They moved in together right after the news to both be there for the baby and were both happy.

It was now 6 months of dating and Y/N decided she wanted to do something special for the two of them before the baby made , three of them. She made reservations at their favorite Thai place downtown , bought him a very expensive watch and cologne he raved about in a magazine he showed her one night and had it all ready to surprise her love , the father of her baby.

She walked into their shared apartment , gift bags in hand and looked around the place , which was very nice thanks to his job and hers which she was very proud of getting and slowly began climbing up the chain there.

She slowly tiptoed through the home dodging haphazardly kicked off shoes and things on the floor. When she reached their bedroom door knowing around this time he would be napping or “resting his mind and eyes” as he put it. She giggled under her breath , she loved his silly ness , loved him.

Swinging open the door, smiling brightly holding up the bags her eyes immediately filled with tears.

In her bed , in her home , with her boyfriend. Laying a naked redhead woman sleeping…it was her boss.

She dropped the bags suddenly, making the woman shriek and call her boyfriend's name.

Luke came running out , towel around his waist and in shock eyes flipping from the two of them.

“Y/N?! , you were supposed to be at the OB?!” He cursed under his breath and threw the woman's dress that was on the floor at her on the bed as she scrambled to get modest.

“I…” Y/N couldn't move , couldn't breathe couldnt believe this was happening to her and her baby.

She put a hand over her barely there bump as her eyes burned and her feet , like concrete not letting her move an inch.

When her boss- her friend , was now dressed and running off slightly bumping into her , that's when Y/N began to sob.

She picked up the closest thing , being their lamp on the bedside and threw it at Luke. He dodged it and cursed at her running out after her boss.

So that's how she and her perfect precious daughter were in the cheapest little place she could afford , behind on three months rent and in between jobs.

And.. At this very moment consoling a crying four year old and there was nothing she could do , she needed this job so badly , needed it to all work out. For her girl.

Madelyn sniffled and wiped her eyes with her pink weather sleeve. "I don't want you to go Mama."

"I know , sweetie , I know. But this job could help us get a real car , that pretend food play set you wanted and maybe even a yard. Remember , you wanted a yard for bubbles and chalk and so Flopsy could run and play?"

Madelyn glanced at their rescue bunny Flopsy sitting in her cage eating hay , she sniffled feeling conflicted.

Eventually her little teary gaze moved back to her mom who was giving her the best half smile she could make , and she gave her a tiny nod. Y/N exhaled loudly like she’d just run a marathon.

“Okay baby , let's grab your lunch bag and head to Miss Helens alright?” She booped her daughter's little button nose.

“I can't forget to say bye to Flopsy!” She giggled running to the crate whispering to her rabbit as Y/N scooped up all she needed and called Maddy to follow her out the door.

Helen , the elderly neighbor , God sent , who'd babysat in emergencies before for the girls , stood at the door in her fluffy white robe and a sympathetic look over her aged features. Y/N handed her the bag with snacks , instructions , and emergency contacts to her neighbor mouthing a quick thank you.

"I'll hopefully be back by lunchtime. I promise. Thank you so much , Helen."

"Go," Deirdre waved her off , her eyes twinkling. "Go get that job , us girls will be just fine.”

Y/N knelt to her daughter's level and kissed her nose making her squeal and wrapped her tiny arms around her moms neck. “I love you so much my angle , i'll be right back okay”

“Okay mommy , for the yard!” She pulled back and wiped tears that slipped past her waterline.

“That's right , bye baby”

7:58 a.m. Barnes Medical Prosthetics Co. Lobby

Y/N barreled through the sleek intimating lobby of the towering glass building that housed inside “Barnes Medical Prosthetics Co.” Her cream blouse stuck to her back from the sprint down 6th Avenue after a crazy man tried to get too close to her on the subway making her ditch that plan , and her heels which she plans on returning right after this interview had become two little medieval torture devices.

She made it to the elevator and hit the elevator button with the up arrow five times , as if that would make it arrive faster.

She checked the time on her phone waiting , and as soon as she did she hadn't heard the loud ding that sounded and now only saw the doors slowly shutting.

"Hold the door, please!" she shouted , breathless tucking her phone away again gripping her paper resume and coffee cup.

A tall man in a navy almost obsidian suit turned her way at her voice and hastily and caught the door with one hand.

He looked like something off a GQ or Men's Health magazine cover. He had a perfectly kept and trimmed beard , hair swept back like it never dared move without permission the lavish product he had layered in making it do so , and those sharp blue eyes that flicked to her figure with curiosity.

"Thanks," she huffed , stepping inside and pressing the 32nd floor.

The doors slid closed , the man gave her a polite nod and the loft began to ascend. She was cursing the machine to go faster as she was a minute late now and then the elevator groaned.

A came to a shaky abrupt stop.

Y/N blinked in disbelief and fear , looking at the buttons pressed 32 again. Nothing.

She hit the emergency call , and of course no answer. Panic began to bubble in her chest and belly.

"Oh no. No, no, no," Her palms were instantly sweaty as she tried to wipe them on her sweater and her stomach churned.

The man beside her didn’t flinch , he was standing still and tall , unmoved by the halt on the lift. “It's been getting stuck between floors recently. Usually it resets in a few minutes."

Y/N's breath came faster as she tried to nod to his words and closed her eyes. She pressed a hand to her chest feeling the constant and hard thump that pulsed and picked up with each moment she was stuck in here. "I can't be stuck. I have an interview. I need this job." She slid down the wall in a full anxiety headspace.

He crouched down slowly. "Woah , hey. It's okay. Just breathe."

She shook her head , sliding down the wall , her legs didn’t trust her to stand anymore , her knees jello-like and useless.

She kept her hand on her chest trying to slow her breathing and all she could think of between harsh fast breaths was her kid.

"This morning was already a disaster…” Breath in …”My daughter didn’t want to let me go, and I barely made it here.” Breath out “...And now I’m going to miss the interview for the one job that could actually change our lives…and…and."

She covered her face pressing her palms to her eyes , she refused to cry in front of this handsome well put together stranger. "God , I'm so sorry I ramble when I'm nervous. I'm sorry."

"It's alright. I don't mind," he said gently , placing a hand on her shoulder. "Tell me about your daughter , she seems to help when you talk about her.”

Y/N hesitated. But his voice was calm , and something and some reason in his presence she felt safe.

"Madelyn. Her name is Madelyn. She's four. Funny as hell , but too stubborn for her little body. She's obsessed with pink and bunnies and sparkles. She’s all I have. Her dad….It's just the two of us."

The handsome man nodded , his face unreadable but not harsh. "Sounds like she's lucky to have you."

“I'm the lucky one, I-”

Her phone buzzed. Helen.

She glanced at the man as if asking permission and he sank down fully sitting by her nodding , she answered the phone of course expecting the worst.

But it wasn’t Miss Helen on the other end.

"Hi Mommy," came the tiny voice beaming with joy and love.

Y/N's entire demeanor softened in an instant as she left out a shaky exhale she didn't know she was holding so tightly. "Hi , baby. Are you being good for Miss Helen?"

"Mmhmm , I miss youuuu." Her little voice was blaring through the speakers , loud enough for Y/N to slightly wince and for the man next to her to hear the high pitched sound.

"I miss you too , honey. But guess what? Mommy's going to do her interview so lightning fast and then I’ll be home before you know it , okay? Be good for miss Helen and we can have a sleepover in my bed tonight okay?"

"Okay Mommy. I love yousss."

"I love you more my baby , bye honey."

She hung up , blinking back tears , and realized the man had been silent through the whole thing but listening carefully.

"That was Madelyn ," She wiped her eyes.

He nodded and took out his handkerchief and gave it to her. "She sounds adorable."

Y/N exhaled slowly, smiling , accepting the cloth and dabbing her wet eyes letting out a watery laugh. "Sorry. Again. I’m nervous and stuck in an elevator with a stranger and my life is imploding in front of you , so of course I’m running my mouth and now my daughter-."

"You haven't even told me your name yet , so can’t be that bad ," he said with a smile.

"Y/N."

He hesitated saying her name in his head. "Bucky."

Before she could respond , the elevator jolted and whirred to life, suddenly spooking both of them.

"Oh thank God," she gasped , scrambling to her feet , Bucky's hand shot out in case she needed balance but she managed upright and wiped the wrinkles out of her pants.

They reached the 32nd floor , and the doors opened widely with a perfect ding. Y/N rushed out grabbing her things , calling out without looking behind her, "Bye , Bucky! Thanks for listening!"

8:12 a.m. 32nd Floor of Barnes Medical Prosthetics Co.

"Miss Y/L/N?" a sandy blonde man in a navy polo stood outside a sleek glass office. Was everyone who worked here a model and built like a superhero? She wondered.

"Y-Yes! I am so sorry. The elevator—"

He waved it off. "It happens , quite alright , I'm Steve Rogers , I'm conducting the interview today as the position will be right under me."

She nodded , trying to compose herself. He nodded his head silently saying to follow him and she did , right on his heels.

Just as they turned to enter the office where he said the interview will be held , a familiar voice boomed behind them.

"Morning , Steve."

Y/N froze and spun slowly afraid to meet the eyes of the man she just one , had a panic attack in front of and two , she told her life story too before even knowing his name.

Except he wasn’t just Bucky from the elevator.

He was James Buchanan Barnes, CEO of Barnes Medical Prosthetics Co.

She turned red from hairline to collarbone.

“Well what a lucky day for you , Ms. Y/L/N this is James Barnes our Ceo and sadly my best friend for many years.” Steve smiled, gesturing to Bucky.

Bucky snorted at Steve's words as he met her eyes with a soft look giving her a slight smile and a nod before turning and walking away.

She wanted to melt into the floor and never come up again. But Steve acted like it was normal. As if the CEO randomly showing up to say good morning to the newest maybe hired girl , like it was no big deal.

Y/N shook her head and focused again and sat down , cheeks still warm as she spoke up. "I didn’t realize—"

"Don’t worry about it," Steve said kindly. “Ready to begin”

She nodded and slid over her resume , and somehow , she found her footing.

“My name is Y/N-”

After the interview ended and Steve escorted her out she peeked a slight glance at the large sleek double doored office next door with the plaque “James Barnes CEO” scripted on the door. It was empty , the door wide open , and she couldn't tell if she was slightly disappointed or relieved.

9:47 p.m. Y/N’s Apartment

"Okay angel , bath time is over," Y/N laughed , as Madelyn splashed holding her rubber ducks and toys giggling.

Y/N got her snuggled and wrapped in a warm fluffy unicorn towel and then changed into the softest of jammies.

Their move they started was long forgotten as Madeylns slow sleep filled breaths filled the bedroom and Y/N taken in the serene moment rubbing soothing circles on her daughters back as she breathed in the peace.

That peace was very short lived as her phone rang loudly.

She cursed under her breath and scrambled to silence the intrusion making Madelyn whimper in her dream state and stir.

When she finally got a hold of the device she saw it was an Unknown number , clicking answer.

"Hello?"

"Hi , is this Y/N Y/L/N?"

"Yes this is her."

"I'm sorry to call this late but this is Steve Rogers from Barnes Medical Prosthetics. Just wanted to say congratulations, we'd like to offer you the position."

Y/N nearly dropped the phone and her heart sped rapidly.

"Really?"

"Really. Welcome to the team Y/N we expect you to be available by Monday of next week , will that work for you?."

“Y-Yes absolutely thank you so much , see you Monday sir.” Ending the call.

Madelyn looked up with glassy sleepy eyes clutching her moms collar with tiny fists. "Mommy?"

Y/N smiled, kissing her daughter's head whispering into her hair "Mommy got the job baby."

And for the first time in a long time , things started to feel like they might be okay.

10:18 p.m. 32nd floor of Barnes Medical Prosthetics Co.

Bucky sauntered into his best friend's office slowly , one hand was wrapped in his suit jacket and the other holding a crystal glass of whiskey.

“You made the call?” He leaned against the door frame eyebrow raising as he took a long sip of the amber liquid.

“Yeah jerk , I did…You gonna tell me exactly why you were so adamant on it being her?”

Bucky gave a half shrug and began putting his jacket back on. “She's gonna do great here.” Was all he gave his friend with a salute and a goodnight as he walked out the room.

What Steve didn't see was the grin his friend and boss had plastered across his face.

-end

If you want to be added/removed to series tag list message me or comment <3 (sometimes it can get lost in comments but im trying my best!)

Comments , Reblogs , Likes and Requests are always loved!

(although if you liked this fic please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience)

They let me know that you are enjoying what I'm publishing and gives me motivation to write more and more! :33

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odairloverr · 3 days ago

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common misconceptions with loa, manifestation, and shifting 𐙚

coming from someone who has shifted 3x and has mastered manifestation

disclaimer: this is my perception of manifestation, shifting, and law of assumption. you do not have to agree with my views. whatever your belief is is valid, but this is what has worked for me time and time again and i simply wish to share. lmk what questions u have! i've been manifesting my entire life (knowingly for 6 years) but i've only been into shifting for a matter of months. thanks @hrrtshape <33 i owe her for my current mindset towards shifting ! also my first tumblr post omg.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

loa/manifestation:

- “ within manifestation, you have to try hard to receive your results “

you don’t even have to “try.” law of assumption is simply assuming what you want has already manifested. you have your desire already, so why would you be trying? if you want to manifest something, simply understand the fact that you already have your desire and it’s done. unless you BELIEVE you have to, there’s no need to affirm, listen to subs, visualize. no need to wait, anticipate or expect because you are in a reality where you have your desire. at the end of the day, what YOU believe is correct.

i listen to subliminals for fun (i believe they give me results, but i am not reliant on them to manifest) I visualize for fun, i affirm for fun. what REALLY brings my manifestations to me is knowing i already have it and letting go.

- “ my desires aren’t showing up in the 3d. i’m doing everything right, why am i not receiving them? “

i’ve heard this issue from quite a few people and all i can say is. read that again? view everything you speak as truth. i have been quite wary of any thought or word that i speak recently. by saying you don’t see any results, you are affirming you do not see any results.

example: “you want a new phone. it’s been a few days, and I’ve been expectantly waiting for signs, listening to subliminals, affirming for hours; but still no new phone. you feel demotivated. maybe manifestation isn’t real. you don’t see any results, so you might as well stop trying. it’s taking too long”

well… you kind of just affirmed that. you DIDDD manifest that if that is your view of manifestation. if you expect the new phone will take a long time, it will. it may seem difficult to some people to overcome the 3d, to ignore it and KNOW your manifestation is done. but if you practice this, simply being content in the fact you know you already have everything you want, you will slip into this practice habitually. don’t give into your doubts. your doubts have no power until you grant them authority.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

shifting:

- “ i’m going to try to shift tonight / i can’t wait to shift tonight. ”

i love the excitement for you honey but u are viewing shifting as a destination whether that’s intentional or not. remember your body is not physically traveling, you are shifting your awareness to a universe where you already exist. if you already exist there, then isn’t it already done? if you shift in the same way as me (assumption) try to embody the fact that you are already present there?

i will say though there’s no right or wrong way to shift. what works for you works for you. it comes down to what you believe in.

- “ what method should i do to shift? ”

you don’t have to do any! don’t feel pressured to attempt a method because it worked for others. try different ones around if you want, if that’s helpful for you! they can be fun, comforting, or routinized which might help others, but they are NOT obligatory in shifting. if you don't like the method for any reason, don't!

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

requested questions:

"how to really settle into the mindset of "3d is a reflection of the 4d" and "the 3d can lag" and how to grow more comfortable with that?"

work on your self-concept and reprogramming your mindset. this might sound complicated but I promise it isn't! with "3d is a reflection of the 4d," it tells us that thoughts, beliefs, emotions, assumptions, imagination, and self-concept will affect what we see in our physical world. so how would you adjust to that mindset? you change how you think. practice gratitude to the universe, positivity, and overall just believing in your own power. HYPE YOURSELF UP. u can literally do anything and you have no limits. FELL PROUD OF THAT. in my personal belief, I believe that whatever you think and say is true and vibrates throughout the universe, so being careful to always speak positively and practicing self love and gratitude are very important! i have a self concept subliminal playlist I listen as well if that helps.

now the 3d lag part.... im gonna be so honest idgaf ab that imo. ive always found myself scrolling past posts about that because.. the 3d isn't lagging? you already have ur desire, why would you be tell yourself you don't? that's js how i view it :)) again, if that is your belief, just practice working on how you think! everything you think and say is a manifestation (ect. my stomach hurts, I'm going to go eat) now, how to grow more comfortable with this mindset? practice! believe in yourself STRONGLY. nothing can stop you. there's no limits, no boundaries, no exaggerations. nothing is impossible and you have everything you could possibly want in your grasp. "what's ignoring the 3d and how to do it?" ignoring the 3d is not reacting to your physical reality when it contradicts your manifestation. i did go more into detail about why we do it above but here's how:

you know your manifestation is already yours. why worry about it any longer. let go of it as you are content that it is already factually yours. if you have a new phone, you aren't going to be constantly checking "did my new phone finally manifest? well you already have it! view all of your manifestations from the lens. it's already done and nothing can change that! again, working on self concept, self love, gratitude can help you to to fall into that mindset "how does your subconscious interpret each thought + how it works with manifestation and shifting" your subconscious does not argue. it does not analyze. it does not fight you. it's very willing and pliable. whatever you feed your subconscious it will accept! when you affirm or assume something, your subconscious does not filter that into "true or not true" it just accepts it! this is why working on self concept / reprogramming is not only important but extremely effective. your conscious mind / ego is the judging, critical part. and u don't listen to that ho. ur ego us like ur overprotective friend who's trying to stop u from being embarrassed. when u are manifesting, ur ego might tell u its not possible. it's okay to doubt yourself, you are human. BUT. are u going to give into those doubts? NO. never let those untrue doubts control YOU. basically. whatever u feed ur subconscious will be accepted as fact and then reflect into ur physical reality. that's it! "how do you use loa as a beginner in shifting? how do you assume? what keywords do you use when shifting?" it's quite simple! you assume by accepting whatever you want is true! you aren't hoping that your desire will manifest, but KNOWING it did. in shifting, this is simply knowing you are in your dr, that you are a master shifter, that shifting is fun and simple. affirmations and visualizations are good and completely valid, but letting go has been extremely helpful for me. knowing what you want is already yours and simply letting go. you don't obsessively check if it worked. it's done already! be happy and proud that you've achieved this!

when I shift, I affirm myself a bit for fun and go to sleep KNOWING I am already aware in my dr. thats literally it no visualization or robotic affs or some crazy sleeping position. just embodying the truth. "how do you know you've found the right subliminal?"

there is no right subliminal! as long as u are listening to a trusted sub maker (look in the comments for good reviews and making sure there's no bad affs layered in there) sub are effective! it depends on if you believe in these subs! i have never failed a manifestation in my life and a lot of those in the past were from sub makers, various different creators! I do have preferences for some submakers but at the end of the day it doesn't matter which u listen to! what you desire is already yours! if you feel off about listening to a sub, turn it off and maybe research the creator online. ok THANKS FOR READING love u guys! happy shifting and manifesting! remember how amazing, powerful, and valuable you are. ⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃🎐 ⋆ with love, liz.

#manifesation #manifesting #subliminals #law of assumption #shifting #shifting antis dni #shifting community #shifting blog #desired reality #loa #reality shifter #odairloverr

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slvbum · 2 days ago

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ᤢ ♥︎⠀ 14 ⠀⠀‌⸻ ⠀ aperol spritz / rafe cameron!

content WARNING: pregnancy hormones, smut, piv, unprotected sex, praising, tit sucking, teasing, +18 MDNI.

At seven months pregnant, Y/N was a whirlwind of hormones, her body and desires in overdrive. The calm serenity Rafe adored was often eclipsed by a restless, insatiable need that had her craving him 24/7. Pregnancy hormones had her feeling like a live wire, her thoughts drifting to Rafe at all hours. She’d catch herself staring at him; his broad shoulders, the way his jaw clenched when he was focused, and her body would hum with want.

Tonight, that want was unbearable.

Rafe was in his office, papers from Cameron Development spread out as he reviewed contracts for a new coastal project. It was late, Theo asleep, the mansion quiet except for the faint scratch of Rafe’s pen. She had slipped into a new purchase from Agent Provocateur, a sheer black babydoll, its lace barely concealing her curves, the hem skimming her thighs. She felt bold, powerful, and desperately needy as she padded barefoot to his office, her hair loose and tousled. Wild just as her.

She paused in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

Rafe glanced up, his pen freezing mid-signature, his eyes darkening as they raked over her. The babydoll left little to the imagination, her nipples visible through the lace, her skin flushed.

“Hey, handsome,” she purred, a velvety sound. “What’re you doing all cooped up in here?”

Rafe swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he set the pen down, leaning back in his chair.

“Just… going over some contracts,” he said, his voice already betraying the effect she had on him. “You should be resting, love. Long day.”

Y/N sauntered in, her hips swaying, and perched on the edge of his desk, crossing her legs so the babydoll rode up, revealing more of her thighs.

“Resting’s overrated,” she said, picking up a random paper, pretending to scan it. “Tell me about this. What’s the big Cameron Development plan?”

Her tone was casual, but her eyes were locked on his, smoldering, her perfectly manicured fingers trailing along the desk, brushing his hand. Rafe’s lips twitched, a knowing smirk spreading as he caught her game.

“You don’t give a damn about these papers, do you?” he said, standing, his chair scraping back. He stepped closer, towering over her, his hands bracing on the desk on either side of her hips, caging her in. “What do you really want?”

Her breath hitched, her body humming as she tilted her chin up, her lips inches from his.

“You,” she whispered, her hands sliding up his chest, tugging at his shirt. “I want you, Rafe. And I want you now.”

Her voice was raw, needy, the hormones making her bold as she pulled him into a kiss, her lips hungry, tongue seeking his with a moan that sent a jolt straight to his cock. Rafe groaned into her mouth, his hands gripping her hips, lifting her fully onto the desk, papers scattering to the floor.

“Fuck, you’re killing me,” he rasped, breaking the kiss to trail his lips down her neck, nipping at the sensitive spot that made her shiver. “Look at you, so fucking gorgeous, driving me insane in this thing.” His hands slid under the babydoll, finding her bare except for a scrap of lace panties, already soaked. “My perfect little wife.”

She whimpered, her legs parting as he pushed the babydoll up, exposing her subtle bump and breasts, her nipples hard against the lace.

“Rafe, please,” she begged, her hands fumbling with his belt, yanking it open, her fingers wrapping around his hardening cock through his boxers. “I need you so bad. Been thinking about you all day.”

He growled, shoving his pants and boxers down, his thick cock springing free.

“You’ve got me, baby,” he said, hooking his fingers into her panties and ripping them off, the lace tearing with a snap. He spread her thighs, his eyes drinking in her glistening pussy, her arousal dripping onto the desk. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me.” He teased her clit with his thumb, circling slowly, watching her squirm, her moans filling the room.

“Rafe, now,” She demanded, her nails digging into his shoulders, pulling him closer. She wrapped her legs around his waist, guiding him to her entrance, desperate. He didn’t make her wait, thrusting into her in one smooth motion, filling her completely, her tight heat enveloping him. “Oh God, yes,” she cried, her head falling back, the sensation overwhelming as he stretched her, her body aching for this. Rafe gripped her hips, careful of her bump, and set a deep, steady rhythm, each thrust driving her higher.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, his eyes locked on hers, then dropping to her breasts bouncing under the lace. “My horny little wife, can’t get enough, can you?” He leaned down, sucking a nipple through the babydoll, his tongue teasing until she arched against him, gasping.

“Never,” She panted, her hands clutching his hair, her hips rocking to meet his thrusts. “I love you—fuck, I love you, Rafe.”

The hormones amplified everything—every touch, every sensation—and she was already close, her walls tightening around him, her clit throbbing as his pelvis ground against it with each thrust.

“Love you too,” he growled, one hand sliding to her clit, rubbing fast, slick circles. “Come for me, baby. Let me feel you.” His words pushed her over the edge, her orgasm crashing through her, her pussy clenching around his cock as she cried out, her body shaking, nails raking his back.

Rafe followed, his thrusts faltering as he came hard, spilling inside her with a guttural groan, his face buried in her neck, whispering, “My perfect girl.”

They stayed there, panting, his cock still inside her as he kissed her softly, his hands gentle on her bump. Papers were crumpled beneath her, the desk a mess, but neither cared. She giggled, catching her breath, her fingers tracing his jaw.

“Hormones,” she murmured, half-apologetic.

Rafe chuckled, kissing her again.

“Keep those hormones. I’m not complaining.” He helped her off the desk, smoothing her babydoll, his touches delicate, almost reverent.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ©slvbun(m) — written with love.

#slvbun #AS!Rafe #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x female reader #outer banks rafe #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe cameron smut #rafe smut #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron series

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thejimmycultoffical · 3 days ago

Text

We reblogging this without going it. Our bad. Answering for our Ooc, while we're in character. Ooc character answer / in character answer.

He does with his Father, but not his mother. / We don't have parents.

His best friend. / No one. But we love our followers.

He regrets a lot. / No.

He is. / No.

He's single. / Single.

He wants something either of his own accord, or something instant. / We're immortal.

Goldfish. / We don't eat.

He used to play soccer. / We don't participate.

He picks them. / No.

Never. / Never.

He thought about it, but no. / No. I suppose we could, but we would move straight to marriage.

No. / We don't sleep.

He hates the people who have hurt him and his friends. / We are in capable of hate.

He misses his best friend. / No.

He has 3 dogs and a cat. / No, but we always could get one.

He's stressed, tired, and sad. / Content with our many followers, and proud of their existence.

No. He hasn't kissed anyone. / No.

He isn't scared, he just doesn't enjoy their presence. / No.

Yes. But to change minor details. / No.

Never. / Never.

Sleeping. / We have an election on Saturday.

No. He might adopt one. / We are incapable of having children. We have cult members.

He had the basic ear piercings. / No.

Honors English, theater, and stagecraft. He generally had good grades in all his classes, so those are just his favorites. / We didn't go to school.

Yes. / No.

He's craving goldfish. / More cult members.

He doesn't think so. / We divorced Duolingo.

He was borderline cheated on. / No.

He doesnt think so. / Again, Duolingo.

The way the person who hurt him had no consequences. / @/officalverse-offical.

His best friend. She said so. They love eachother platonically. So does a few of his other friends. / Yes. My cult members.

Light pink. / Blood red.

He thinks he might, but only a little bit. / No.

The world ending. / We don't sleep.

His friends. / Our cat, out of happiness for the mass amounts of support we have.

Yes. / No.

He doesn't know. / We don't do either.

In some aspects, yes. / Yes.

Surprisingly, he hasn't. / We haven't and never will. We also don't age.

No. / No.

Pasta or chocolate. / We don't eat.

Maybe. He isn't sure. / Yes.

He cried and sent a very long text to his best friend. / We don't sleep.

No. / No.

He doesn't think so. / No.

0. / 0

Yes. / Perchance.

He likes Sun storms. / Cloudy.

He does. / No.

Yes. / Perhaps.

He thinks so, but it's never happened. / Perhaps.

His best friend, baking, cats, art, music. / Our cult members.

He's trans. He already has. / No.

He hasn't kissed anyone. / We haven't kissed anyone.

He'd panic and cry. He wouldn't know what to do. She is litterally his world, but he would never want to date her. It has always been platonic, and always will be. / We don't have a best friend. Yet.

Yes. His best friend. / We don't have really any close friends yet.

His best friend. / Most likely U-Haul Jesus.

His best friend. / No one.

He does. / We'd need proof.

His best friend. / No.

70 horrible questions ... Fuck it

01: Do you have a good relationship with your parents? 02: Who did you last say “I love you” to? 03: Do you regret anything? 04: Are you insecure? 05: What is your relationship status? 06: How do you want to die? 07: What did you last eat? 08: Played any sports? 09: Do you bite your nails? 10: When was your last physical fight? 11: Do you like someone? 12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours? 13: Do you hate anyone at the moment? 14: Do you miss someone? 15: Have any pets? 16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment? 17: Ever made out in the bathroom? 18: Are you scared of spiders? 19: Would you go back in time if you were given the chance? 20: Where was the last place you snogged someone? 21: What are your plans for this weekend? 22: Do you want to have kids? How many? 23: Do you have piercings? How many? 24: What is/are/were your best subject(s)? 25: Do you miss anyone from your past? 26: What are you craving right now? 27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart? 28: Have you ever been cheated on? 29: Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry? 30: What’s irritating you right now? 31: Does somebody love you? 32: What is your favourite color? 33: Do you have trust issues? 34: Who/what was your last dream about? 35: Who was the last person you cried in front of? 36: Do you give out second chances too easily? 37: Is it easier to forgive or forget? 38: Is this year the best year of your life? 39: How old were you when you had your first kiss? 40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked? 51: Favourite food? 52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason? 53: What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night? 54: Is cheating ever okay? 55: Are you mean? 56: How many people have you fist fought? 57: Do you believe in true love? 58: Favourite weather? 59: Do you like the snow? 60: Do you wanna get married? 61: Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby? 62: What makes you happy? 63: Would you change your name? 64: Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed? 65: Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? 66: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around? 67: Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to? 68: Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? 69: Do you believe in soulmates? 70: Is there anyone you would die for?

#thejimmycultoffical #thejimmyreligion #officalverse #theofficialjimmyreligion #theofficialjimmycult #jimmy preaches

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lambilegs · 2 days ago

Text

A LESBIAN'S GUIDE TO MEHENDI FESTIVITIES. (SEVIKA X READER)

you and sevika attend your cousin's mehendi and you guys are complete lesbians about it, pretty much.

contains: reader is from a family that's portrayed as desi, reader is mentioned to be wearing a sari and makeup, one makeout session but no explicit nsft content, flirting and sexual tension, homophobia, internalized homophobia, some angst, lots of fluff

divider by: @/cursed-carmine

a/n: so, pride month is (sadly) coming to an end, and I thought I'd post this before june is finished to commemorate this great month. happy pride to all you lovely, wonderful readers. and to my desi readers specifically -- this entire fic is truly dedicated to you guys. being both desi and queer is no easy feat, and the world often tries to convince us that we have no place in it that reconciles and allows every part of our identities to co-exist. but, I promise, being queer and desi are never aspects of yourself where you need to give up one in order to have the other. our culture is intertwined with queerness, and the judgement we receive is a product of society, not our heritage. and I wish you all community and peace wherever you can find it — I know it's not easy for all of us to do so, for things like our families, our communities, our fear, our lack of safety can all contribute to why we nee to keep certain things hidden. but I truly hope every one of you find support, kindness and acceptance in any way you can, whether it be now or in the future when you have the independence or finances required to do so. whether that be through an online community, a friend group, art, or one day separating yourselves from people who are pressuring you. your existence is such a beautiful, empowering thing, and I'm proud of you for embracing your queerness even if it's only with yourself right now, for even that is a major step and one you should take pride in. your life is worth so much, and I admire all the ways you work to carve out a safe space for yourself within your community, your family, or even just in yourself. I love you all so much, and inshAllah, I pray we all have an abundance of freedom in the future. and I’m always here to talk.

“And my mom asked me to tell you to not start an argument with anyone,” you say, smacking your lips together to rid them of the residue of lip gloss.

Behind you, already dressed and ready since a half hour ago, Sevika sits on the edge of the hotel bed with her arms crossed. She watches you complete the finishing touches of your makeup, barely hiding the way her eyes linger on the open back revealed from your sari. Everytime you catch the movement, your stomach flips in anticipation.

She snickers. “Hey, it’s not my fault that your cousins say stupid shit.”

“Exactly. Which is why I’ll only warn you to avoid calling them out in front of her. Otherwise, she’ll hassle me about it,” you mutter, slowly prodding in one jhumka into your ear.

Your eyes flicker to the time and you hiss in shock, fumbling for the other earring. When you shakily move too fast, your face contorts into a sting as your earring pricks a patch of skin.

You hear Sevika’s shift on the bed, her heavy footsteps ringing behind you. Her hand is on your waist a moment later, coaxing you into turning around.

Quietly, she tuts, taking the earring from you. “Always in such a damn rush,” she mutters, her fingers brushing your jaw as she tilts your ear to face her.

With careful, practiced precision, she holds onto your ear with a gentle touch, so different from her usual demeanor. That’s one thing about her. While on the exterior, she seems so rough and fast and quick to act, she’s impossibly gentle. Way more than most people expect her to be. Maybe in some sort of strange juxtaposition, it’s her strength that makes her so soft when it comes to touch. Maybe she knows just how much power she wields in her rough hands, her bulging arms, and so, because of that, wills herself to be infinitely tender when someone opens themselves up to her touch. Maybe. It’s just a theory, really. Many of those have been created within your girlfriend’s presence.

You try to stop a smile from stretching over your face as she nudges the earring in, her grey eyes honed in on the spot. When you wince slightly, her eyes flick to yours momentarily, but she keeps pushing in, most likely knowing that freezing up will only hurt more.

When it’s inside and secured, she nods. “There. Don’t rush it next time.”

Always needing to end a love gesture with a scold – that’s her. It’s hard to take it badly, though, when in every syllable, laced are the sentiments, Be more careful and I don’t want you to hurt yourself.

“Yes, sir,” you drawl, a grin spilling onto your face like yolk, shells broken and discarded.

She smacks your ass as you make your way to the door. “Don’t push it.”

On the ride to the mehendi, she grips your thigh the entire time, kneading the flesh and toying with the stitched embroidery of your sari. The entire time, you rub the hairs of her forearm, slowly stroking your thumb over the soft strands of it. You love her hair, how unabashed she is in the keeping of it. To her, it’s just another form of rebellion she’s committed herself to. Another way she’s carved out comfort for herself in the pain and hurt of life. Another thing about her that without her even knowing, rouses admiration and motivation amongst so many other people.

Including yourself, your own arms now dusted with hair, a physical marking of your heritage. A sight that brings you more comfort the longer you keep it.

“Did I mention how handsome you look?” you tease softly, lifting a hand to stroke through the blunt ends of her short hair.

Handsome is an understatement, truly. She’s sporting a maroon kurta, one that her aunt got her from Delhi, and it hugs her arms just right, the fabric rough with threaded texture. The first few buttons are undone, revealing the tattoo at her collarbone, that of which is sharp and defined. On her right wrist, she wears a simple, gold bangle, one from her mom’s wedding set. Lip piercing to match, and she’s practically radiant.

The corner of her mouth twitches up. “Only about fifty times.”

“Only?” you echo. “I’m not doing well at all, then. You deserve a whole lot more than fifty.”

She huffs a silent laugh, shaking her head. “You’re an idiot.”

You roll your fingers into her hair, tugging on her head lightly. “Oi. That’s no way to talk to your girlfriend.”

She shoots you a narrow-eyed stare. “Can you not? I’m driving.”

Petulantly, you hum, releasing your hold on her hair and sliding your palm down her face.

Before your fingers can drift past her chin and back onto your lap, she catches your wrist in her grasp, pressing a soft kiss to the warm inside of your palm.

You turn your head to the rolling greenery gliding past the window’s view, seeking refuge so that you can let the smile itching at your mouth bloom in full.

You two reach the lavish length of your cousin’s home, the wide expanse of her family’s backyard more than enough room to house multiple tents to shield relatives from the scorching sun. You suck in a deep breath. A crowd has already gathered and grouped together under the white fabric, tables adorned with glasses and cutlery and vases with pink and cream bouquets. Beaming string lights are hooked everywhere, and you can already picture how beautiful they’ll look once dusk settles and paints the sky in hues of deep blue and purple.

The image is gorgeous, yeah, but it’s the people who concern you most. Everyone knows about you and Sevika, but that doesn’t mean everyone is welcoming. Or even tolerant. And you’d think that after months of uncomfortable side glances and disgusted stares levelled at you two from elders, you’d be used to it. But, you’re not. You’re really not. You can barely touch her at these kinds of events without feeling the weight of a hundred eyes upon you. Without feeling razor-sharp judgement slicing through the bubble of comfort you and Sevika have built to surround yourselves in.

It only kills you how understanding she is. You suppose it’s expected, considering she herself is familiar with this kind of dynamic in her own family. But, where your truth has always been meekly admitted, half-veiled and tailored to maintain the peace as much as possible, hers is brutal, practically set aflame. It’s unforgiving to anyone. If you offered it, she’d hold your hand in front of anyone, anywhere.

“All okay?” she asks, the back of her knuckles stroking along your arm.

“Yeah.” You tightly nod, flashing her a smile you hope looks convincing. “Yeah, I’m good.”

She says nothing, only nodding in response, watching you carefully as you flip your mirror back up. Silently, she exits the car then rounds the length of it to open your side of the door. You paw at her wrist as you stumble, trying hard to clutch onto the layers of fabric so you don’t trip.

“I don’t know how you do it,” she says, voice split between incredulity and exasperated admiration.

“It’s an acquired skill,” you say with mock haughtiness, tipping your chin up at her.

She shuts the door, your purse in her other hand. “Yeah, lucky you.”

“Awe, are you jealous? Maybe I’ll teach you one day.”

“Yeah, maybe when Hell freezes over.”

“Hey, I mean, I did manage to learn a ten minute dance in one week. I’m probably the best tutor you’ll get.”

It’s true, though it makes the entire ordeal sound way simpler than it actually was. The sister of the bride, otherwise known as your younger, menacing, pain-in-the-ass cousin, decided to plan a dance for the mehendi at the very last minute. She sent each of you a video on WhatsApp containing what movements to do, and you had spent every evening after work diligently practicing. Locked away from Sevika, of course, who kept eyeing you with a snarky smile and pointing out whenever something looked stiff.

Sevika snorts, her head dipping to your ear so she can whisper hotly, her prosthetic fingers dancing along the bare skin of your back, “Last time I checked, you only got that dance down after two breaks downs and making me promise to use the strap after.”

Your entire body writhes, skin fluttering with goosebumps from the cool touch of metal. With a light shove to her side as you reach the gate (with a whole worker keeping track of the guest list, mind you), you trot on forward.

How the next hour or two goes is exactly as you expected. You barely get to talk to the bride except for two kisses on the cheeks, her arms being diligently worked on while her sister feeds her. You and Sevika sit with your immediate family, everyone catching up on how life has been during the past few weeks. Your mother makes you physically turn around to check if you put the sari on correctly (you don’t miss how Sevika, who spent four hours helping you with it, clenches her jaw). Your cousins make stupid, bigoted jokes, and Sevika’s deadpan glare is enough for their laughter to subside. And the younger children, the ones who haven’t been exposed enough yet to be tainted in such a way, come running to you, asking you when you’ll take them to the park next, and if you can propose a beach trip to the family.

You humor them the entire time, one toddler on your lap while the older one rambles on about how grade school is like as of late, fumbling over her words and pausing every now and then to run her fingers through your bangles.

From the corner of your eye, you see Sevika watching the interaction with a thoughtful gaze, her arm naturally sliding along the back of your chair and giving your neck a free rest spot to lean against. You can see your mom’s gaze dart to the movement, but you try to ignore the anxious squeeze in your stomach and focus on the eager young girl in front of you.

When the lot of you squeeze into the packed line for food, you manage to pinch and encourage Sevika into picking up the youngest of the kids, your three year-old cousin with the ruffled, dark hair and big brown eyes. With a heavy sigh, she picks him up, groaning when his pudgy little hands go to her lip piercing, plucking at it as though it’s a toy.

“Sevi Didi,” the little girl at your side says, her hand locked in yours, “will you be dancing tonight?”

You laugh outright, barely able to contain your amusement. “Please. Sevi Didi has all the rhythm of an uncle with a broken hip.”

“Hey,” she shoots back with a glare, readjusting your cousin so his entire torso is leaning into the side of her chest.

You shrug with mock innocence. “It’s true.”

The little girl to your side clutches onto your fingers tighter, bursting into a fit of giggles. “She should– oh, she should join our dance.”

“The little kids’ dance?”

She nods, her chipped teeth flashing at you as the apples of her cheeks glow in a bright, mischievous grin.

“She might be a bit tall for you guys. Could cause an accident or something,” you coyly respond, glancing at Sevika over your shoulder.

She snickers, raising an incredulous eyebrow at your youngest cousin, as though he can understand the exchange to its full extent.

Your heart practically throbs at the sight. Sevika has never had the most fondness for kids, usually finding them to be disruptive and a bit too nonsensical for her naturally low tolerance for human interaction. But, you know, underneath it all, is an effortless empathy she distributes to them. Maybe it’s due to her own lack of care received during childhood, but you’ve never seen her behave cruelly to a child, always handling them with gruff distance, yet tender touches and subtle smiles.

After loading your cousin’s plate with a bit of rice and samosas, she goes eagerly racing back to your aunt. As you, Sevika, and the curious child she’s still carrying (who’s continuously pulling and tugging at her hair and making her sigh in exasperation) continue on at a slower pace, you smile shyly upon feeling her metallic fingers drifting along the sheer fabric hanging at the back of your sari.

“Can you not?” you whisper, feeling your face flame up.

“You’re the one who showed me all those idiot Bollywood films, remember?” she says, nose tickling your earlobe. “I know what gets you riled up.”

“Yeah, and it’s very much not engaging in exhibitionism in front of my family,” you hiss back.

She snorts, but relents, leading back and dutifully following you until you set both of your plates down on the table.

Your cousin, as it would have it, enjoys the warmth of Sevika’s lap and the free toy her short hair seems to provide him with. And so, she spends the rest of the meal with him resting on her lap and staring at her curiously as she rips off pieces of roti and dips it into her curry. When she confirms it with you, she shares little bits with him, the corner of her lips curling up as he eagerly gobbles it down.

You only deal with one (singular, so there’s a win) uncomfortable moment through the evening. Well, at least one direct moment.

One of your mother’s friends asks if she should set you up with a nephew she has, and your mother immediately straightens up, sending a panicked look to the other woman.

You want to be quicker than whatever vague explanation your mother has to offer, which pushes you to awkwardly pat Sevika’s back and splutter, “No, uh – this is my girl– partner.”

The entire table falls into silence, as per usual. No one agrees or nods along, as per usual, and everyone sits frozen, gazes casted down. It’s one thing to have Sevika here. Not that that’s a small deal, you’re well-aware that it’s already a huge thing to have her present. But, having her here and making no action or declaration of romance allows people to forget that you two are a couple. They get to look at you two and convince themselves that you guys are just two good friends currently in a phase, or that you brought her here only as a guest.

But, then uttering the words “girlfriend,” “partner,” and reaffirming what she is to you – that’s different. That’s public, that’s bringing it to attention what the two of you are. It’s shining light onto a truth that everyone would rather keep shoved into a dark corner that grows puffy with dust and thick, stifling air.

It takes a few minutes for conversation to rouse back up after that. No one mentions what just happened.

Sevika squeezes your knee under the table. You both meet in the bathroom after dinner, so that you can weep in peace in her arms while she rubs your back and shushes you. It’s a familiar cycle of events. So familiar that by the end of the fifteen minute meeting, she has you laughing through the tears, her lips pressing kisses to your nose as she grumbles about the annoying shitfaces out there.

And she makes it up to you in a series of moments dotted throughout the rest of the event. Moments that make you appreciative of having her here in spite of all the tense conversations that render everyone quiet and shifting. Moments that make you almost astonished when you think of things in the plainest of terms. You’re here, at a relative’s mehendi. With your girlfriend. Your dashing girlfriend who’s clad in the sexiest kurta, rolling her eyes when any uncle approaches her, but begrudgingly engaging in conversation anyways.

Even if it’s not as perfect as you’d wish, the two of you are cementing a place for yourselves in this family. You’re doing what years ago would've been the impossible. You’re forming an image that the young kids here can absorb and recall when they’re one day older and maybe realizing how similar they are to you both.

Even Sevika, in the traditional wear usually designated to men, is slowly exposing a whole new world to the younger people here. One where it’s okay for your cousin’s curls to grow out even if it means he gets mistaken as a girl. One where the girls can take offense to their mothers telling them it’s inappropriate to play tag with the boys after dinner.

It’s these thoughts that linger in your mind as you get your mehendi done, watching as the hired artist methodically dances with the pipe, the paste transforming your palm into a mosaic. The scent fills your nostrils, rich and heady. Unlike your cousins who used to wretch and groan from it, the smell feels familiar to you, like an old friend coming home. It carries memories of countless aunties and grandmothers, hands wrinkled and withered from years of hard work, delicately holding onto you with one hand while tracing beautiful shapes with the other. So much hard work just to leave you adorned and decorated for a mere two weeks. There’s a certain poeticism to it, you suppose. Another human being devoting so much time and focus just to stain your body with something beautiful and intricate, even if it’s only temporary.

In the middle of it, Sevika pulls a foldable chair next to you, spreading her legs out unabashedly and tossing an arm behind your chair. You toss her a curious glance, lips cracking when you find her eyes roaming over your hands. You know how attractive she finds the mehendi, and it only makes your mind run through millions of scenarios. The kind of mehendi you’ll get on your arms, feet, and even back, one day in the future if you two get married. The way she’ll kiss up all the patterns and trace her tongue over them.

You blink hard, trying to get a grip.

Doesn’t help that she leans in and quietly asks, “Gonna get my initials in there?”

You glare at her despite the way your tummy flips with the question. “You do realize it’s not our wedding, right?”

She chuckles dryly. “And? You’re always telling me I need to work harder for it.”

You cast a wild gaze between her and the henna artist, hoping you can silently convey the message of Oh, my God, shut up.

The artist does nothing but grin, her eyes flicking between you and Sevika. “You guys are cute.”

Despite the embarrassment of the moment, only furthered by how Sevika winks at you as she’s tugged away by some aunty wanting to hear about her degree, relief washes over you at the artist’s clear approval and acceptance. Lots of people would tell you that you ought to not care so much. That you should be loud and queer, and not seek the opinion and comfort of others. It’s easier said than done, though, when the very roots you’ve been raised in demand attention to community, and are tangled with the soil of family and connection. Especially in a space like this, it’s hard to just dismiss the opinion of others, to care only for yourself when your very actions keep the thread linking you to your family intact. And God knows that thread already has its strays.

You try your best to keep said strays to a minimum, you really do.

But, it’s hard when Sevika has you whisked away to some abandoned corridor once the women are moved to the inside of your cousin’s home, thumb pressed into the corner of your mouth as her tongue slips into the hot crevice of it. Her other hand roams all over your body appreciatively, sneaking under the fabric to grope and squeeze your tummy, sharp edges making you shiver.

“Sevi,” you gasp, barely getting the words out as she keeps interrupting you with more wet, sloppy kisses, your lipgloss smearing all over her chin. “The dance– I need to–”

“You need a good luck kiss,” she mutters, her voice a deep rumble from her chest.

Her thick, steady arms wrap around your waist, coaxing you to stretch on your toes to reach her. And pressed against the wall like this, lodged between it and her hard, warm body, you feel all your senses circling around her like a vulture. Wanting nothing but to consume this formidable woman, her unbreakable spirit. Your girlfriend.

Dried flakes of the mehendi scatter about the ground as you loop your arms around her neck, panting into her mouth as she massages yours with her lips, tongue licking against your bottom lip. When her teeth graze against the plush inside, a warning, before sinking in, you release a choked up whine.

“So pretty,” she groans, her lips moving to your cheek to press slow, mindless kisses down your skin, the slide of her tongue making you shiver.

Those words echo in your head when you’re dancing minutes later, lips completely bare from the mess you had to quickly wipe off after your little escapade. Meanwhile, from across the room, the light skims over the streak of product left along Sevika’s neck. A mark of her as yours. You told her to wipe it off, but she insisted barely anyone would see, claiming that she likes having a reminder of you.

It’s a bold statement, but doesn’t come close to the way you point to her then beckon her over when you’re at the front and center during the dance. Up until that point, you had been a little meek, filled to the brim with embarrassment over having your girlfriend see a messy, uncoordinated dance filled with giggles and tripping. It didn’t help that she was braced against a pillar and smirking the entire time, eyes hooked on your figure and wandering about shamelessly. Whenever you stumbled or one of your cousins slammed into you, you could see the mirth gleaming in her eyes as she watched you in oh-so-cruel amusement.

So, wanting to both impress her (an urge that never dissipates no matter how long it’s been), as well as engage in your own little act of boldness and love, you playfully smile at her and crook your finger at her when mouthing the lyrics. You try to ignore the confused, bulging eyes the aunties direct between you and Sevika, and try instead to focus on the hoots and whistles of the crowd, mostly from people your age. And how the bride slowly turns to Sevika, then sends you a wide-eyed, eager stare that says, Tell me everything. And the way the rest of your cousins follow suit, playfully blowing kisses at their husbands and winking at their boyfriends.

And, of course, the way your beloved’s sweet little gap shines as she bursts into one of her rare, but beautiful, bouts of laughter. Wickedness gone, she’s an angel.

And it might not feel like much, but in that moment, her here, her initials imprinted on your fingertip, it feels like a moment of revolution.

info:

the initials of a groom are often hidden in the mehendi of a bride, and it's a joke that if he finds it, he gets to sleep with her on their wedding night.

didi - older sister

jhumka- a kind of earring

sari and kurta - types of traditional wear

#s.writing #sevika #sevika x reader #sevika x you #sevika arcane #sevika fanfic #arcane x you

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starryeyed-apple · 2 days ago

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paper rings (and all my dreams)

summary: you find the shoebox of memories that xavier has kept of all your lives together.

★pairing: xavier x reader/MC ★wc: 1.3k ★content: fluff, emotional and really mushy. established relationship, reader is aware of past lives, nostalgia, talk of previous lives, in the moment proposal, very brief suggestive words. nickname for xavier: love. nickname for reader: starlight. ★a/n: I've had this idea for a while, and that trailer drop gave me the motivation to finally write it!

Silence isn't a foreign reaction when it comes to Xavier.

The man had always been quiet, aloof. Stoic with strangers, and it had taken you time to learn the subtle intonations of his voice, the shifts in his expression when he was happy or sad.

He'd slowly gotten better at portraying his emotions to you, just as you had learned to read him as well as his favorite books that lined the shelves of his apartment.

But when he walks into you sitting cross-legged on the floor of his bedroom, in the center of miscellaneous memorabilia, he's completely silent again, harder to read than he used to be.

"Sorry," is the first word from your mouth, setting down the folded paper in your hands.

Xavier stares at the pale blue paper, and the lavender colored paper ring it goes with, both sitting innocently in front of you.

There's a distant, hazy memory of folding them. A late afternoon, school uniforms, a wooden sword. A sweet smile that had always been for you, then and now. Butterflies in your stomach, heart racing in your chest. Promises in paper of never being apart.

Something that felt like yours, but not. A dream, or a vision. A promise of something that was supposed to come, or already had. The strangest rush of déjà vu you'd ever experienced.

Xavier's eyes glaze over, far away from here, and you rush out, "I just—I was looking for that photo album, and I didn't—I was curious, and I didn't think you'd mind. I'm so—"

"It's okay."

His voice eases you in an instant, and he carefully steps around each preserved physical memory until he's sinking down next to you. He lifts a folded note, handing it to you, and your heart skips a beat when you open it.

Words are scrawled back and forth along every inch of the lined page, along with doodles of shooting stars and flowers. You brush your thumb over the familiar scrawl of his letters, asking to meet up after class again, and then look towards the even more familiar handwriting.

"Was this…" You swallow, brows furrowed, still struggling with the surge of countless memories that swam through your mind now. "…me?"

"Yeah." His voice is soft, pensive, as he rests his chin on your shoulder. Reading over the innocent conversation passed between friends in the back of a classroom. "I kept stuff from the first time I met you. And the second. And now, too."

"I can tell," you murmur, glancing over the movie tickets from one of your first dates. Used hotpot coupons, pressed flowers, bookmarks he'd borrowed from you, leftover photobooth pictures.

"I'm sorry," he's the one to mumble it this time, and you try to look at him, but his face is buried against your neck, refusing to let you see. "I need you to know that I don't expect you to be anybody other than who you are now. I just…"

"I know, love," you whisper, carding your fingers through his hair.

For as long as he lived, and long it was, he never wanted to forget.

He never wanted to forget you.

You let him hide his expression against you until he's ready to show it, and you smile down at him when he lets you see his honesty, and his anxiety. Face flushed, eyes wide and uncertain, then fluttering closed when you press a kiss to his frown, easing all that tension away.

"Tell me about it?" you ask, any possible trepidation erased by hope, nostalgia you wanted to make your own as much as his. "About…me?"

You gravitate towards the faded charms that are tied together, two stars linked. His lashes flutter when you lift it, tears clinging to the ends when you smile at the plush fabric.

Turning back to him, your smile widens, thumb wiping away the tear that stubbornly escapes his eyes.

"About us?"

He blinks a few times, wiping his other eye, and reaches for the paper rings.

"The first time I met you, you were sweet, and shy, and saw me when nobody else did." He runs his thumb along the purple paper, tracing each crease in the folds. "I liked you so much, but we ran out of time."

He takes your hand in his.

"The second time, you were fierce, a force to be reckoned with, and fought me on everything." He smiles, a chuckle caught in his throat, as his fingers gently caress your ring finger. "I knew I was in love with you then. I knew I always had been. But I let you down. I'm sorry I let you down."

"And now?" you breathe out, meeting the question in his gaze with a nod.

"Now," he whispers, sliding the paper ring up onto your finger until it's nestled where it was always meant to be, "you're kind, and you're relentless, and I love you. You're the strongest person I know, and you feel like home, and the rest of my life. You're everything to me."

Xavier's forehead rests against yours, his nose nuzzling against yours. Then along your cheek, until his lips are pressed to your ear, so you don't miss a single word.

"I want our life in pictures that I can look at with you. I want our books sharing the same shelves. I want to grow a garden together. I want to go to sleep with you, to dream of you, and wake up to you."

He's holding you tighter and tighter, and you're giggling, burying your face against his neck when he keeps rambling.

"I want you to tell me my cooking is bad, and that I drive too fast, and that I snore a little sometimes. I want you to get mad at me and I want to make it better. I want to be a better person for you."

"Xavier—"

"I want to get a little jealous sometimes—"

"A little?"

"And I want to keep you in our bed for days until you can't walk—"

"Xavier!"

You're laughing, and he's laughing, and you pull back to cup his face in your hands. You see him now with no more masks, no cards kept against his chest. Just him, and you, and what sounds like…

"Xavier," you say again, slowly, watching his eyes widen when you ask, "are you proposing right now?"

The prettiest pink blooms across his cheeks, and his eyes dart away, then back again when you gently shake his face for his attention.

"I'll do it again. I'll do it better," he promises, and you laugh, a choked but happy sound. He looks back down at the paper ring on your hand, his blush spreading to his ears. "I'll get you a better one."

"I like this one," you stubbornly insist, and now he laughs, his body beginning to emit a golden glow that only grows brighter.

To make your point, you take his hand in yours, sliding the blue paper ring onto his finger until it fits just as snugly as the one on yours.

"I want all that too," you whisper, gazing up at him, and you hear his breath catch in his throat. "I want you when you laugh, and when you're pouty, and all jealous too. I want to kick you out of the kitchen when you make the smoke alarm go off again. I want to go grocery shopping with you, and hold hands on the subway after work, and do taxes together."

His nose wrinkles. "I hate taxes."

With a playful roll of your eyes, you kiss the pout right off his face again. He leans in for another when you pull back, and you melt into him, wrapped around each other for kiss after kiss.

"But I'll do them with you." Xavier rests his face against your neck again, your fingers running through his hair. "I'll do everything with you, my starlight. Always."

You smile, looking at the paper ring on your hand. Grateful for every version of you that you'd been, for every you that he's loved. That you found each other again, and get to be in love now.

"Always," you murmur, and hold him close.

taglist: comment here if you want to be added! blank blogs will be blocked ⭐️ Xavier fics: @santaluna @itsmysmut @onigiriinthecorner @inzayneforaj 💖all fics: @frostbitten-cherry @asiatic-apple @heartyluv @floatinginaer @sweetcalebb @princessofenkanomiya @lazygelpen @deepspacebunnieblue @cherryartchaos @kireeen @stargirlygirl @draftbeerbibi @pastelsweaters-and-bubble-t @slovesyouuu @ineffabl-y @grlyeetswrld @toelady @asiaticapple

#xavier x reader #xavier x mc #xavier x you #lads xavier x reader #lads xavier x mc #lads #love and deepspace #lads xavier x you #lads xavier #xavier lads #lads x reader #xavier fluff #xavier love and deepspace #xavier shen #lads fanfic

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quinnsdesk · 2 days ago

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Caught off guard

tim bradford x inexperienced!fem!reader

synopsis: you never expected to find tim in such a vulnerable moment. walking into his office, you freeze as your eyes land on him, intensely focused, caught in the middle of pleasuring himself. the unexpected intimacy between you stirs a confusing mix of embarrassment, curiosity, and something deeper. as tim quickly recovers, the tension between you shifts, opening the door to a new kind of connection neither of you saw coming and maybe him teaching you a new thing or two.

requested by: my lovely @sleepymissy author's note: yet another amazing req from my lovely Missy. this is a longer one and also not proofread, sorry but the ideas were just flowing! (join the taglist)

content warnings: mdni, age gap, mentions of sex work, mentions of violence, masturbation (m), hand jobs, fingering, virginity loss, p in v.

word count: 7.4k

You felt amazing. It was amazing. You were finally P2. For the longest time, it felt like your time as a rookie would never end, but finally, you'd made it. Thank goodness Grey had paired you with one of the kindest and most good-hearted men you knew. John Nolan.

John was everything you could’ve asked for in a training officer. He was patient, gentle when needed, tough when necessary, and always willing to listen. He guided you through your toughest calls and celebrated your wins like they were his own. His group of friends welcomed you easily, all warm smiles and helpful advice.

Well, all except one.

Tim Bradford.

He was stoic. Intense. Controlled. Tim was quiet in that unnerving way that made you wonder what he was thinking. His eyes, a piercing ocean blue, always seemed to be working something out that he never let anyone in on. He wasn't even part of patrol anymore. He was working metro, and yet he was always around.

At first, you didn’t understand why. He was in metro, a tight knit group who wouldn't really hang out with those outside their clique, especially not with Nolan and his easygoing friends. But Lucy had explained it one day, a little awkwardly. They used to be something. More than just partners. Because a superior dating a subordinate could put both their careers at risk, Tim had transferred to metro to make things easier. So, there was history.

And for a while, it had worked. Things between them seemed good. Solid even. But eventually, it fell apart. Lucy moved on. She went back to Chris, saying she needed something more grounded. Something stable.

"Look at you! P2." Lucy grinned as you walked into the station. She stood beside Tim, who, as always, remained composed.

"Congrats, Boot. Didn’t think you’d make it this far." His tone was dry, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away. The word Boot was meant to be a jab, something to get under your skin, yet coming from him, it rolled off you like water off a duck's back.

"Thanks, sir." You smiled sweetly, catching the faint flush that crept up his neck.

Tim would be lying if he said he didn’t notice you. You were younger. Confident. Attractive. And the way you called him sir, even now that you didn’t have to, did things to him he didn’t want to admit. Maybe it was the tone you used, teasing and respectful all at once. Maybe it was the way your eyes lingered on him a second too long. Whatever it was, he couldn’t help the way his body reacted to you. Not that he’d ever say it out loud.

___________

“So, any celebration plans now that you're a P2?” Aaron asks, his hands steady on the wheel as he cruises down the road, eyes flicking between the traffic and you.

You shrug, watching the city pass by through the passenger window. “Hm, not really. I mean… is it really that big of a deal?”

Aaron scoffs. “Uh, yeah! Most rookies wash out before they even get to this point. But you didn’t. That means something.”

You hum in reply, a small smile tugging at your lips. “If you need, I know the best caviar place."

You turn to him with a smirk, but before you can fire back, a rapid pop-pop-pop shatters the rhythm of the moment. Gunshots. Close.

Aaron’s posture snaps straight, and your hand instinctively drops to your holster.

“Did you hear that?” you ask, eyes scanning the buildings, already flipping your body around in the seat.

“Yeah. That was automatic.” He flicks on the lights and sirens, making a sharp turn onto the next street.

You both move fast. No hesitation. Radios crackle as you key up. “7-Adam-19, we’ve got shots fired near 5th and Valencia. Requesting backup and an airship. Possible active shooter.”

The tires screech as you roll up to a narrow alley choked with shadow. A black SUV is parked half-on, half-off the curb, the driver’s side door still swinging open. Shell casings glitter on the pavement like cursed confetti.

“Shit,” Aaron mutters, parking at an angle for cover. “You see anyone?”

You shake your head, already stepping out, weapon drawn, scanning.

“Clear right,” you whisper, and he answers, “Clear left.”

The two of you move together, backs tight, eyes sharp. Halfway down, a steel door slams shut at the far end of the alley, and a shadow flits behind a dumpster.

Aaron lifts his radio again. “We have movement. Possible suspect fleeing eastbound. Need Metro support. Now.”

Crackling static fills the radio before Tim’s voice cuts through. “Metro en route. ETA three minutes. Hold position if you can.”

Your grip tightens on your gun at the sound of his voice. Not because you're nervous—no, because lately things between you and Tim have felt... off. Since you made P2, he’s been distant. Guarded. You don’t know what shifted, but it lingers in every interaction like smoke in the air.

You and Aaron hold the position, watching the far end of the alley until Metro arrives. Tim’s team pours in with practiced precision, clearing the buildings, chasing the trail. But the shooter’s already fled.

When the adrenaline fades, you're left staring down at the glittering casings and the bloodstain near the SUV’s tire. A reminder of how close chaos always is.

Tim finds you shortly after. He says nothing at first, just walks over, scanning you for injuries, for damage. His eyes are sharp, unreadable.

“You good?” he finally asks.

You nod. “Yeah. We held perimeter until Metro showed. Suspect’s gone.”

He studies you for a second longer than necessary. “You did good.”

It should feel like praise. It should feel like validation. But instead, it lands heavy, like there’s something he’s not saying.

"Thanks." Aaron chirps in to cut the thick air, it was meant to come out as a joke, but he only earned a smirk from you, Tim remained his usual grumpy self. Tim nods in goodbye before joining his metro buddies. "Damn, I didn't think Tim could be grumpier than he already is." Aaron turns around with you, greeting Nyla and Angela as they walk onto the scene. "Hm, I noticed that too, I mean he's always been a bit of an ass but lately he's been a huge dick." You whispered not wanting anyone to hear your conversation.

Suddenly you went quiet, it was pathetic honestly. The image of Tim flooded your mind, his cock in hand, his heavy blue eyes on you, and only you. "Hey? You good?" Aaron opens the passenger door for you to enter, being the usual gentleman he is. "Hm? Yeah, just thinking about celebration plans." You lied.

The drive back to the station was quiet. The kind of quiet that settled not from lack of things to say, but from the weight of everything that had just happened. The adrenaline was still ebbing in your bloodstream, leaving behind the telltale ache in your limbs and the faint thud in your temples. You stared out the window, watching the city blur past in amber streaks of streetlight, but your mind wasn’t on the buildings or the traffic.

It was on him.

You tried not to think about it, about him, but the moment kept replaying behind your eyes like some slow-motion loop you couldn’t shake. Tim, storming into the alley with Metro, taking command like it was the most natural thing in the world. Bulletproof vest snug against his chest, sculpting his torso like a second skin. You knew the man was fit, had seen him train, seen him in uniform day in and day out, but something about him in that moment hit different.

Maybe it was the way he moved, fluid and sure, eyes scanning, body tensed for danger. Or maybe it was the way his biceps strained beneath the sleeves of his black tactical shirt, the fabric clinging and flexing with each movement like it could barely contain the power underneath. It looked like the seams were moments away from surrendering, and you hated how easily your eyes had locked there.

And his jaw, God, his jaw. Clenched in that firm, focused way, like he was holding back an entire storm of emotion, pushing it all down so he could stay sharp. Professional. In control. The muscle ticked as he gave orders, his voice calm but edged in steel, and the way he held his weapon? You’d trained for that. Practiced that. But when he did it, it wasn’t just muscle memory. It was precision, dominance, command.

You remembered the veins on his forearms, too, what a ridiculous detail to get stuck on, but they stood out, thick and pronounced as he moved with purpose. They pulsed beneath the skin, mapping a trail that had your stomach tightening in a way that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with desire. It was... distracting. Maddening.

You blinked, shaking your head slightly as if you could dislodge the image. You shouldn't be thinking about him like that, especially not after an active shooter scene. But the image lingered. Branded into your thoughts like heat against cold metal.

Next to you, Aaron drove in silence. Maybe he was lost in his own thoughts too, maybe he was giving you space. Either way, you were grateful. The last thing you needed right now was to talk. Especially not about what had just happened, or who had just happened to show up like a real-life action hero.

You rubbed your fingers against your thigh, trying to ground yourself, but it didn’t help much.

Because despite the calm in the car, your thoughts were anything but. And no matter how hard you tried to focus on what came next, paperwork, statements, the debrief, all you could think about was Tim Bradford. Clenched jaw. Veined forearms. Gun in hand.

___________

“Hey, I heard about the shooting. You okay?” Lucy’s voice cut through the low buzz of the station, her concern evident as she approached you and Aaron. Her brows were pulled together, eyes scanning your face for any sign of strain.

“Yeah,” Aaron replied quickly, before you could even open your mouth. “Perp got away just as Tim and his team made it to the scene.”

Lucy winced. “Shit,” she mumbled, her gaze drifting toward Grey’s office. Tim was already inside, standing tall, arms crossed tightly across his chest as he gave his debrief. His expression was unreadable, locked down and professional, but you could see the muscle twitch in his jaw as he spoke. Always in control. Always wound just a little too tight.

You were about to excuse yourself to change out of your tac gear when Grey’s voice rang out across the bullpen.

“Can I see you in my office?”

You froze for a beat, then nodded quickly, wiping your palms on your pants before crossing the floor and stepping into the office.

Tim barely looked at you as you entered, though you could feel the heat of his stare lingering just beneath the surface. He stood beside Grey, who didn’t waste time.

“We think the shooter was tipped off,” Grey began, his tone clipped and direct. “The plates on the vehicle match one of Elijah Stone’s known associates.”

You swallowed hard. That name wasn’t just any name, it carried weight. Violence. Power.

“We need someone on the inside,” Grey continued. “Someone new. Unconnected.”

Tim finally looked at you. Really looked.

“Ever worked UC, Boot?”

Your stomach tightened. Grey’s brows twitched slightly at the nickname, but he didn’t comment. Tim didn’t apologize either.

“Uh… n-no, sir.” Your voice hitched embarrassingly under their dual scrutiny. Both men stared at you like they were weighing something, like this moment mattered more than you realized.

“Chen will brief you. Get ready. Wheels up in 30,” Grey said, voice firm. Then he added, without looking up, “Unless you think you’re not ready.”

You didn’t miss the way Tim’s gaze bore into you—sharp, questioning, challenging. Like he wanted to see if you’d flinch.

“No,” you said, straighter now. Stronger. “I’m ready, sir.”

You didn’t know then what that really meant.

It hit you like a slap once you saw the outfit.

The wardrobe Lucy laid out for you was, well, it was a lot. You were being posed as a hooker.

The low-cut black tank top was tight across your chest, just barely appropriate enough to conceal the small wire and mic strapped beneath it. Over it, a cheap faux-fur jacket that reeked of desperation and stale perfume. The mini skirt was metallic gold, short enough to reveal everything with one wrong move. Paired with thigh-high black stockings that clung to your legs like a second skin, and silver platform heels that looked like they belonged on a stripper pole.

Lucy had gone full out with your hair and makeup, your ponytail was teased to high heaven, your lips glossed a sticky cherry red, and your eyes smoked out with so much liner you barely recognized your own face. The gold hoops in your ears caught the overhead lights like a beacon.

You looked… older. Edgier. Dangerous.

And, okay, hot. You couldn’t deny that. You looked like a problem.

When you stepped out of the locker room, the reaction was immediate.

Aaron let out a slow, impressed breath, shaking his head. “Damn. If the undercover gig doesn’t pan out, you could start charging entry to walk into a room like that.”

Lucy grinned with pride, arms folded like a fashion designer watching her muse strut the runway. “I told you,” she said to Angela, “this girl has range.”

Angela gave you a once-over, clearly impressed. “Lucy, you need to dress me up for date night with Wesley,” she joked, before fist-bumping Nyla.

You, on the other hand, tugged at your skirt in a useless attempt to cover more skin. “This feels like it’s… too much,” you muttered, cheeks burning.

Your hands instinctively went to your thighs, trying to smooth the fabric, but all you succeeded in doing was drawing more attention to your legs—especially the toned lines of your quads and calves, made even more pronounced by the heels.

Tim was standing off to the side, silent. You looked up at him, and that was when it hit.

He wasn’t just quiet. He was avoiding looking at you.

His jaw was tight again. His eyes flicked to you once, briefly, before darting away like your body might physically burn him if he stared too long.

He cleared his throat. “Let’s focus,” he said, but his voice was slightly hoarse, betraying him. You swore his ears had turned red. You stood a little straighter after that. Maybe the outfit was too much. But from the way Tim couldn’t meet your gaze or maybe it was just enough.

"Looking good," Grey said with a small, almost reluctant smile as he walked into the bullpen, his eyes flicking over the outfit you were reluctantly wearing.

"Thank you, sir." You gave a nod, awkwardly tugging at your tank top in a half-hearted attempt to cover a bit more cleavage. It didn’t help. The outfit was designed to draw attention, and unfortunately, it was doing exactly that. You felt the subtle stares, the quiet shift in energy from every nearby officer.

The group made their way into roll call. As the chatter died down and everyone took their seats, you remained standing near Grey at the front.

He cleared his throat. "Tonight, one of our own will be going undercover as Candy Simmons. She’s a low-level prostitute working the corner our suspect, our shooter, Luke Graham, is known to frequent."

The room tensed. The atmosphere changed in an instant, eyes sharpened, jaws set. Protective instincts quietly stirred.

“If you see her on the street, you treat her like any other working girl. Cuff her. Book her. Say it’s for solicitation. Stay in character. No exceptions,” Grey instructed firmly.

Nods went around the room, some hesitant, others grim. Lucy shot you a quick look, half support, half concern, while Lopez folded her arms with an unreadable expression, clearly not thrilled.

Tim stood up near the back and stepped forward, voice cutting clean through the quiet. “Let’s be clear. Catching Graham is the mission. But no suspect is worth losing one of our own. Her safety comes first."

His eyes flicked toward you for half a second, something unreadable behind them, controlled, but heavy.

“If she calls for backup, you respond. Immediately. And if anything starts going sideways, we pull her out. No discussion.” He barks.

You swallowed, nodding once. You weren’t a stranger to danger, but this was different. This wasn’t a vest and a badge, it was heels, makeup, and vulnerability. You were walking into this as bait.

“Understood?” Grey asked, scanning the room.

A chorus of affirmatives followed.

As roll call ended and officers filtered out, Tim caught up with you just outside the door, lowering his voice.

“You sure about this?” His tone was calm, but his eyes searched yours, clearly looking for any hint of hesitation.

You forced a confident smirk. “Candy Simmons doesn’t scare easy.”

He didn’t smile back, but you can tell he's holding one on the inside. He just gave a curt nod and walked off, shoulders tight, fists lightly clenched at his sides.

___________

"New girl! This is my corner."

The voice rang out sharp and territorial. You turned to see her, she had a short blond bob, fishnet stockings hugging long legs, and a skin-tight, hot pink dress that shimmered under the dull yellow streetlight. She looked like trouble. The kind that earned her turf.

"Plenty space for all of us," you replied, your voice dipped in a deliberately cheap Boston accent. You gave a casual smile, pulling a cigarette from the pack in your bra and handing it to her. "Candy."

She gave you a once-over, eyeing the cigarette, then you, then the cigarette again. She took it. Truce.

"Candy, huh? Bit cliché, don’t you think?" she said as she lit up.

You gave a shrug. "It sticks."

"Peach," she introduced, smoke curling from her lips. "That’s Felicity—" she nodded to a girl with dark curls and hollow eyes, "—and Nina’s the one in the silver heels."

Felicity stepped closer, arms crossed. "Where you from, Candy? You look familiar."

You blinked, maintaining your cool. “I get that a lot,” you replied with a small laugh. “Boston. Just moved down. My old man said I’d make better bag here.”

"Uh-huh," Felicity muttered, still squinting, not entirely convinced, but not ready to push either.

A car rolled up with black, tinted windows, and the window slid down with an electric hum. The man inside leaned over. “Hey, baby, wanna have a good night?”

Peach strutted forward in practiced rhythm, leaning against the car door with ease. “You’re lucky,” she cooed. “Tonight, you got options.” She winked back at you before climbing in, the door shutting with a low thump.

This was all too surreal. You shifted on your heels, cold breeze dancing up your barely-there skirt. You kept your body loose, expression indifferent. Candy Simmons might be fake, but the environment wasn’t.

You were about to reposition yourself further down the sidewalk when you felt it, a presence.

A man. Tall, wiry, with greasy hair pulled back into a thin ponytail. His clothes hung loose on his frame, and he reeked of alcohol and something more chemical. He staggered forward, eyes locked on you like you were a meal.

"Don’t think I’ve seen you around here," he slurred, stepping too close. “Fresh meat, huh?”

You forced a laugh, taking a step back, trying to remain in character. “Just workin’, baby.”

But he didn’t back off. Instead, his fingers reached out, brushing your arm, then gripping it.

“I asked you a question, bitch,” he snapped, voice low and menacing. “This corner ain’t charity. You pay to be here.”

You froze for just a second. Not from fear—you had backup close—but the sudden shift in his demeanor. He wasn’t just posturing. He meant to hurt you.

"Yo!"

The voice sliced through the night.

You turned your head to see Tim, he wore a filthy flannel, with dark jeans and his crisp white t-shirt underneath, something he obviously threw together no more than 5 minutes ago. He was storming towards the two of you.

"The hell you think you’re doin’ with my girl?" Tim barked, squaring up to the man. His voice was rough, laced with threat, and dripping with territorial menace. He was completely in character. Your so-called pimp.

The man raised his hands, backing up a step. “Hey, man, chill, didn’t know she was spoken for—”

“She’s mine,” Tim growled, shoving his way between you and the creep, now nose to nose with him. “You touch her again, I’ll bury you in a goddamn alley.”

The man stumbled back, hands shaking, and then bolted down the sidewalk like a rat scurrying into a sewer.

Tim turned, his expression still hard. He grabbed your arm—not too tight, but enough for the role—and hissed just loud enough for the mics to catch it: “You good?”

You nodded once, quick.

His hand lingered a moment longer than necessary before letting go. He looked you over and muttered under his breath, "You need to sell the act, but don’t forget what’s real. I’m right here." Was Tim being genuine and caring?

Then, louder, his voice changing back to his in-character bark, he snapped, “Get your ass back on the sidewalk. You’re not here to flirt, you’re here to work.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically, flipping your hair. “Whatever, baby.”

As you returned to your post, the adrenaline still buzzed under your skin. The mission was still on, but so was something else. Something hot and tense that simmered beneath the roleplay.

And you had a feeling the night wasn’t done testing you.

You watched as Tim walked away, a heavy feeling lodged deep in your chest. He didn’t look back. Not even once. You told yourself to shake it off, to focus, to stay in character. You didn’t have time to fall apart, not when the target was walking right toward you.

Graham stumbled out from the alleyway, reeking of cheap whiskey and bad decisions. His brunette hair was unkempt, eyes bloodshot, and a toothpick dangled lazily from the corner of his mouth. He scanned the sidewalk, eyes eventually landing on you like you were just another item to collect. You were playing bait, and he was taking it.

"You new?" he asked, voice slurred, eyes trailing your figure as he took a slow, cocky step closer.

"I am," you purred, smiling sweetly. "But I’m also unforgettable." You placed a flirty hand on his chest, fingers brushing the edge of his jacket.

He chuckled lowly, leaning in with a disgusting grin. "Mmm, I like that."

"Yeah?" You tilted your head.

Quick as a whip, your hand closed around his wrist while your other slammed into his chest. He staggered, caught off guard, and you used the momentum to body slam him into the hood of his car. He grunted loudly, face mashed against the dirty metal.

"LAPD," you growled, yanking his arm behind his back. "You're under arrest, Graham."

But he wasn’t going down easy.

His elbow rammed back, catching you in the ribs, making you stumble. You regained your footing just in time to dodge a wild punch. "You bitch!" he snarled.

He swung again, this time grabbing at your shirt. The fabric tore at the collar as you twisted away, but you didn’t let go. You landed a solid knee to his thigh and grabbed his hair, yanking him forward and off balance.

You slammed him into the pavement with a grunt, cuffing one wrist as he thrashed beneath you. "Stay the hell down!" you snapped, breath hot with adrenaline.

He kicked out, but Nyla arrived just then, gun drawn. "Graham, don't be stupid."

Seeing backup, Graham finally stilled. You locked the second cuff into place with a loud click, panting hard, shirt torn and sticking to your skin.

“Good work,” Nyla said, grabbing him by the arm and hauling him up. “You good?”

"Peachy," you muttered, brushing hair from your face, trying not to notice the cool air hitting your now-exposed bra as your torn shirt shifted.

You turned—just in time to see Tim approaching, eyes scanning over the scene.

But then his gaze landed on you.

He froze for a second, eyes darkening as he took in the ripped fabric across your chest, the pale strap of your bra peeking through. His jaw tightened, and without a word, he shrugged off his jacket and moved toward you.

"Here," he said quietly, draping it over your shoulders in one swift, protective motion before anyone else could get a good look. His fingers lingered just a second too long at the collar, eyes meeting yours, filled with concern. "You okay?"

You swallowed, nodding as you tugged the jacket tighter around yourself. It was warm, and it smelled like him.

"Yeah. Just... need a minute."

"Take it," he said, his voice gentler now. "I’ve got the scene."

And just like that, he stood between you and the rest of the world—shielding you without saying a word.

___________

As you walked back into the station, you felt every eye lock onto you like lasers. The usual buzz of the bullpen evaporated into a weighted silence. No one spoke. No one moved. The only sound echoing off the polished floors was the sharp clink of your heels.

Tim's jacket clung tightly to your chest, shielding the torn remnants of your shirt underneath. It was far too big on you, the sleeves swallowing your hands, but it felt like armor, thick, warm, and safe. You kept your gaze forward, refusing to let them see the rawness in your expression.

"Back to work!" Grey barked, snapping the room out of its daze. Conversations resumed in hushed tones, but their eyes still followed you.

He stepped toward you then, placing a broad, reassuring hand on your shoulder. His touch was firm, grounding.

"How you feeling?" he asked, his voice lower now, more personal.

You gave him a tired smile, reaching up and gently touching the bandage taped just above your brow, courtesy of Graham’s flailing elbow. The area throbbed dully, a reminder of the chaos that had unfolded only an hour earlier.

"Like I need a drink... or ten," you muttered dryly, earning the faintest tug of a smile from Grey.

He nodded, the concern in his eyes briefly eclipsing the usual stoic facade. "Get changed then go home. Rest—you need it," he said in that fatherly tone of his, the kind that brokered no argument but carried care underneath.

"Yes, sir," you replied softly, your voice laced with exhaustion.

You turned and walked toward the locker rooms. Your muscles were already beginning to stiffen, the ache settling in like an unwelcome guest. The bruises hadn’t fully bloomed yet, but you could feel them forming beneath your skin like slow fire. You’d be sore tomorrow, no doubt about it.

After changing back into your jeans and a soft, worn-in t-shirt, you stuffed the ruined blouse into your gym bag and zipped it shut. You paused for a moment, running your fingers down the heavy fabric of Tim’s metro jacket. It still smelled like him, faint hints of cologne, clean sweat, and the worn leather of the car seat he practically lived in. You slipped it over your arm.

Then, you headed toward his office.

As you walked down the hallway, your boots clicking softly against the tile floor, you heard faint mumbles coming from ahead. At first, they were indistinct, just low, almost rhythmic sounds, the kind your brain tries to dismiss as nothing more than background noise. But then, in the spaces between footsteps, you caught something more specific. Your name.

You stopped dead in your tracks, brows furrowed. 'Did I hear that right?' The station was quiet, unusually so. It was after hours, and most people had gone home. You’d stayed behind to finish paperwork, but now curiosity itched beneath your skin. It was probably nothing, you reasoned. Maybe you were tired, hearing things after an already stressful night.

Still, something pulled you forward, an invisible thread tugging at your gut.

As you approached Tim’s office, the muffled murmurs grew clearer, layered with something else now. Moans. Quiet, ragged moans. Your breath hitched as you stood frozen just outside his door. No way. Your heart began to pound in your chest. A dozen rational explanations raced through your mind, maybe he’d clicked on a bad ad while researching a case, or maybe some video started playing unexpectedly. Maybe he was listening to something with headphones, not realizing how loud it was.

But when you leaned in, just slightly, just enough to press your ear gently against the doorframe, you heard it again.

"Fuck… yes, baby..."

The voice was deep, raw, strained with pleasure. You recognized it instantly. Tim.

Your hand, without thought, drifted to the doorknob. Not turning it. Just resting there. Your mouth had gone dry, and you blinked hard, trying to process what the hell was happening.

It was probably a video; you told yourself again. It has to be a video. Or maybe a phone call. Maybe he’s not even alone in there.

And then you heard it. Your name. Not once. Twice. Moaned like a prayer, broken and desperate.

Every theory you had disintegrated in that moment.

You flinched back as if burned. The thought of knocking had completely slipped your mind, replaced with the dull roar of blood in your ears. Your heart was hammering against your ribcage, a brutal rhythm of disbelief and something else. Something darker. Hotter.

Your name. He said your name.

You should leave. You should walk away, forget you ever heard anything, pretend none of this happened. That would be the smart thing to do. The respectful thing.

But your feet stayed planted.

Slowly, cautiously, your hand turned the knob. You didn’t even realize you were opening the door until it gave way with a soft click and swung inward just a few inches.

Enough to see.

Tim sat behind his desk, slouched back in his chair, his head tilted against the headrest. One hand gripped the armrest in a white-knuckled hold. The other disappeared beneath the edge of his desk, rhythmically moving.

You couldn’t see everything. Just enough.

His eyes were shut, brows furrowed in concentration, jaw clenched tight as if he were holding back groans that threatened to spill over. His chest rose and fell in staggered breaths.

"God..."

Then he said it again. Clear. Intense. Like he meant it.

You sucked in a breath and instinctively stepped back, heart thundering.

The soft scuff of your shoe must’ve been louder than you thought.

Tim’s eyes flew open.

For a second, maybe even less, you both just stared. He looked startled, flushed, pupils blown wide with shock. And then his face twisted in panic and embarrassment as he registered what was happening. His hand shot away, grabbing at his desk, a clumsy attempt at covering what couldn’t be unseen.

“Shit!” he barked, scrambling upright. “I- what the hell—why are you-?”

“I- I didn’t mean to-” you stammered, your eyes darting toward the floor, heat blooming across your cheeks. “I heard, something, I thought you needed help-” You watched as he quickly stuffed himself back into his jeans.

“You heard something?” he snapped, standing up fully now, still clearly rattled, trying desperately to regain composure. “Jesus Christ.”

“I didn’t l-look. I swear, oh my God I'm so sorry!" You threw your palms over your eyes as he sat back down and sighed, his hands running over his clenched jaw. "Tim... say something please..." Your throat was tight, your plea coming out softer than planned. "Get over here." He ordered. Your mouth went dry. "W-what?" You stumbled towards him, his two hands on each of his muscular thighs, you could see his hard cock straining beneath his jeans.

It was almost as if he could tell from your facial expressions that you weren't used to this, not just with him but with anyone.

“Are you a virgin?” he asked again, not out of mockery or dominance, but curiosity, laced with something softer. Something deeper. He was reading your face like a case file, dissecting your reactions, watching the way you flinched, not with shame, but with exposure.

You hesitated, then gave the smallest of nods.

You were sitting on the edge of his desk, fingers curling slightly against the polished surface, heart thundering in your chest. The air between you was thick, as if time itself had paused, stretching each second out like molasses.

And yet, his eyes didn’t waver.

A flicker passed through his expression. Something primal, restrained. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t move toward you. If anything, he stayed grounded, seated, steady.

“Such a sweet, innocent girl,” he murmured, voice roughened with want, but low, measured. “No one’s ever taken their time with you, have they?”

You could barely speak. The world felt like it had shrunk to just the space between you, the weight of his gaze, and the heat building low in your stomach. You weren’t used to being looked at like this. Not with hunger, but reverence. Like you were something valuable. Worth unraveling.

His eyes dropped, trailing down your legs and back up with a purpose that made your skin flush.

You swallowed thickly. “W-what were you thinking about?”

Your voice cracked slightly, and you hated how unsure it sounded. But you needed to know. You needed to understand what it was about you that had pulled this version of Tim to the surface, unguarded, raw, wanting.

He didn’t flinch.

“You,” he said. “And those perfect legs. The way you bite your lip when you're concentrating. The way you always act like you’ve got something to prove, like you’re afraid no one’s ever going to see how brilliant you are unless you burn yourself out trying.”

You weren’t sure if it was adrenaline or something else, but your hands trembled. Not from fear, there wasn’t an ounce of fear in your body right now. Just anticipation. An ache you didn’t know you’d been carrying.

His thumb traced the seam of his jeans absently as he leaned back in his chair, still watching you like you were the center of gravity in the room. And for him? You probably were.

“I shouldn’t be saying any of this,” he admitted. “You're were a rookie not too long ago."

He stood slowly, running a hand through his hair, trying to release the tension that had coiled tightly in his shoulders.

“And yet…” he looked at you, voice barely audible. “I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you.”

There was silence again. But this time, it wasn’t empty. It was thick with unsaid things. The kind of silence that hums in your chest, waiting for someone to make the next move.

Your gaze dropped to the floor. You were overwhelmed, your body, your thoughts, your heart all screaming different things.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted quietly. “With any of this.”

“I know,” he said gently. “That’s why I’m going to teach you every step of the way. And make you feel so good, if that's what you want?" He brushes a strand of hair to exposed more your neck and collarbone. "Yes... please." You whined as he sat back down on his chair. He patted on his lap for you to sit down before unbuckling his belt and releasing his cock.

You gulped nervously as he stroked himself a few times, taking a deep breath and inhaling your scent. You slowly take his cock in your hand and stroke him. "Hmm.. doing s'good baby." He hums before closing his eyes, releasing a deep breath. "You can go a bit faster if you want." His one hand gripping the armrest while the other is rubbing your back. You sped up earning a groan from Tim. "L-like this?" You peep, watching as his smirks. "Fuckin' perfect." He throws his head back.

You unintentionally let out a whine as Tim pulled your hand away, fixing himself up before making you sit on his desk. "Relax baby, I don't wanna cum just yet. Gotta savor the moment." He helped you pull your jeans down before spreading your legs.

"Tim!" You gasped as he slowly pushed one of his large digits into your soaked cunt. "That's it sweetheart." He cooed watching your big, beautiful eyes grow from pain and pleasure. You arched your back as he rubbed is thumb on your clit, you almost saw stars. Tim placed a hasty kiss on your lips as he grinned, watching your chest rise a fall from the stimulation.

You felt a coil form in your lower belly, but you hadn't recognized it, "Gonna cum baby?" He looks up at you as a little bead of sweat rolls down your temple. You nod, realizing you were approaching your orgasm.

"Hey!" You yelped as he removed his fingers, unbuckling his belt for the third time before pushing your legs back apart. "I need to be in you." He groans, gripping his desk before aligning his cock with your folds. Your eyes grew at his size, surely there was no way he was going to fit without a fight.

"We'll take it slow, okay?" He looked deep into your eyes, "We'll stop at any time." You nodded again, wrapping your legs around his lower torso. He slowly pushed himself into you, a loud whine leaving your lips as Tim stretched you out. "Shhh baby, you're bein' so loud." He placed his large palm over your mouth before continuing with his painfully slow thrust.

"God, baby yes." He groaned into the nape of your neck as he finally reached your hilt, your hymen now torn. "Thank you so much, sweetheart." He slowly pulled back out before thrusting back in, making sure to maintain a slow pace to help you adjust to his size. "Tim.." You moaned as you felt him filling you up. "Yes, c'mon, just like that." His hands were planted on his desk on the either side of you, as you held onto his shoulders and your legs maintained their grip around his torso.

"Cum baby." He panted, his head in the crook of your neck. You moved one hand to grip the back of his head, as your involuntarily clenched around him. "Tim!" You whined cumming all over him and arching your back as you felt his heavy cock pulse inside of you. "Pull ou-" You panted as Tim's thrusts got sloppier and lazier. "What?" His voice was high pitched, you swore you almost heard a voice crack. "Pull out, Sir!" You moaned a little too loud, you felt him pull out - almost too late and cum all over your lower belly and thighs.

"Shit." His body went limp on top of yours, your muscles were on fire. Hell, your whole body was on fire. "Here." He used his spare shirt to wipe you up, the gesture being more sensual than Tim had intended it to be. "Tim... you don't have to." You were still sitting on the edge of his desk; he was now kneeling in front of you. "I want to." He gently padded the swollen and painful area, feeling back every time you winced before handing you your jeans.

“Can I walk you out?” Tim asked quietly as you slung your gym bag over your shoulder, the soft hum of the nearly empty precinct wrapping around you like a late-night secret.

You glanced up, catching the flicker of something unspoken in his eyes, and smiled warmly. “Of course.” You locked your phone in your bag and slipped your arm through the strap. Together, you stepped out of the bullpen, the lights dimmed to just a few overhead bulbs casting long shadows down the hall.

The station was nearly deserted now, only the night shift remaining, their murmurs and shuffles barely audible. The usual clatter and buzz of daytime activity had faded, replaced by a calm hush that seemed to hold its breath.

Tim walked beside you, his steps steady and easy, but there was a tension to him you hadn’t noticed before, something in his jaw tightening, in the way he kept his gaze low. Finally, as you reached the row of cars outside, he sighed, the sound heavy and a little vulnerable.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low.

“For?” You looked up at him, unlocking your car doors and balancing your bag on the roof.

Tim swallowed, hesitating before he looked you in the eye. “I didn’t—well, I didn’t want your first time to be in… there.” He gestured vaguely back toward the station.

You smirked, leaning forward to place a deliberately innocent kiss on his cheek. The warmth of your lips made him shift under your touch, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.

“Are you kidding? I don’t regret it at all.” Your smile deepened, the playful glint in your eyes promising a little mischief.

He chuckled softly, the sound rough but genuine, and leaned casually against your car. “If you let me buy you dinner tomorrow night… maybe we can spend most of the night in my bed. I still have a few more things to teach you after all.”

You raised an eyebrow, folding your arms across your chest as you studied him with amused disbelief. “Who are you? And what have you done with the real Tim?”

His grin widened, and he playfully punched your shoulder. “Guess I’m full of surprises.”

The air between you crackled with unspoken desire and the thrill of possibilities yet to come.

You turned back to him, a mischievous smile curling your lips. “So… what you were doing in your office earlier, is that a regular occurrence?”

Tim’s face flushed a deep shade of red, his eyes darting away for a moment. “N-no, God no. Not at the office.” His voice was hurried, almost defensive.

You cocked your brow, the corner of your mouth twitching into a knowing smile. So it was a regular occurrence… just not at work.

He cleared his throat, looking slightly embarrassed but also a bit cocky now. “But seeing you tonight, dressed like that, the way you owned that op, the way you called me ‘baby’…” He took a step closer, lowering his voice to a sultry whisper. “I couldn’t wait to get home. It was only a blessing that you walked in and made my fantasy a reality.”

The confession made your heart skip. Tim, usually so controlled and composed, was nakedly honest in a way that made you want to reach out and pull him closer.

You moved toward him, fingertips brushing along his jaw. “Good,” you breathed. “I’m just getting started.” He grinned.

His eyes darkened, hands sliding around your waist, pulling you flush against him. “Yeah?” you teased, voice thick with promise. “What else you got planned?”

He smirked, “Dinner first. Then… well, you’ll just have to wait and see.”

Tim chuckled, kissing the tip of your nose. “I don’t mind waiting. As long as you’re by my side.” You smiled.

A comfortable silence settled between you, broken only by the distant sound of traffic on the street. For the first time in a long while, everything felt right.

You leaned your forehead against his, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your skin. “Thanks for walking me out.”

“Anytime,” he murmured. “Hell, I’ll walk you anywhere.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your smile softening into something more sincere. “Then don’t be a stranger tomorrow night.”

“I won’t,” Tim promised, reaching into his pocket for his phone. “I’ll text you the time.”

As you slid into your car, he gave you one last look, equal parts tenderness and hunger, and you knew this was only the beginning. Not just of something new, but something worth fighting for, worth savoring.

Driving away, your mind replayed the night, the feel of his hands, the way he’d looked at you like you were the only person in the world who mattered. And with a smile, you knew one thing for sure:

You were exactly where you were meant to be.

tags: @jessewesmitchellfan @w1ldf1owers @mrsmaugic @jaded222 @cosavuoi-me @winchestersbgirl @bradleybeachbabe @whatasadlittlelife @thesupersecretboyband22 @vinos-things

#divider by v6que #the rookie #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford #tim bradford smut #eric winter #the rookie smut #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x reader smut

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writingsonsaturn · 2 days ago

Text

long story short

{ masterlist } { the 'taylor swift' series }

🪐 - yall this is my longest fic to date, i love you guys

wc - 5.5k | content warning - attempted suicide, vomiting, reader has a bad mother, non-sexual nudity, panic attack, mental health talk, please if this is a trigger for you do not read this, I have other fics and will be putting more out, take care of yourself

summary - when the weight of the world falls on you, Jack is there to dust off the rubble

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Life always seemed to either move too fast or too slow, never in-between for you. Your body felt as if it was floating through time, never giving you a second to breath in the air around you.

When you were little your parents wanted you to be great, to be what they couldn't since they had you so young. Your mother encouraged you to be a doctor, always telling you how sharp your senses were, or how beneficial your steady hands would be in the medical field.

You would argue there was never a choice as to what your job would be, you didn't get to dream about being a chef, or a hair stylist, only a medical physician. Now in all fairness, you weren't completely uninterested in this career path — infact you truly loved learning medicine, you just wished you had more of a choice.

Throughout medical school you went through ups and downs mentally, the never ending stress that being in this profession gives humans can be unbearable. Exams, clinical rotations, and so much more had began to weigh on you heavily — so much so you started contemplating taking your own life.

Assuming it would be easier to do that then disappoint your parents.

You were a fourth-year med student when you attempted, working at PTMC. Your attending Dr. Jack Abbot told you to go home early, he noticed your distant stare, the way you refused to look anyone in the eye, he saw all the signs he experienced himself; still he sent you home.

Dragging your feet up into your small apartment, locking the door behind you, setting your stuff down on the floor next to the door and walking into the bathroom. You met your own eyes in the mirror, the dark circles embedded themselves in your sockets and you sighed.

There was no will left in your body, so you reached a hand into your medicine cabinet and took a handful of pain meds you had been prescribed a year ago after hurting your shoulder. You choked on the pills as you swallowed them dry, then sat yourself on the bathroom floor waiting for darkness to wash over your body.

Jack felt it in his stomach that something was off, he knew he shouldn't have sent you home alone.

He saw it in the way you were holding yourself up just enough to get through the shift. He was beating himself up for it, so he decided to go check on you after work; you had only gone home an hour before your shift was set to end, and he is praying to whatever will listen that he won't be too late, that he was just overreacting.

The two of you were close, he had grown fond of you — more specifically your kind personality. You were always ensuring good bedside manner, even when Gloria was on his ass about you working quicker to get more patients into beds.

After losing his wife Jack swore he'd never love again, then he saw you and everything changed. He yearned to get to know you, he needed to see what you looked like when you woke up in the mornings, if you sung in the shower, your comfort foods, any and all things that had to do with you he wanted to know.

The inner voice in his head shamed him for liking a woman that much younger than him, nearly 20 years her senior, but she was perfect. In everyway possible Jack could not find anything to reel his feelings back from you, he tried everything but he just wanted to pull you closer every time.

Jack made his way up the rickety stairs of your old Pittsburgh apartment, rubbing his cold hands together as his achy knees counted one step at a time before finally reaching your door.

Three knocks echoed through the hallway

"Kid? It's Jack, can you open the door?"

Silence.

Jack knocks again.

"Y/n, open the door please! I know you can hear this!"

He knocked one more time, banking on the possibility you were asleep.

"I'm gonna break the door down if you don't open up, hon"

Waiting a few moments, he pressed his ear against the door trying to listen for any movement but was only met with the sound of his own racing heartbeat.

Jack's hand's begin looking for an extra key anywhere outside of your door, but found nothing. So, Jack proceeded to the next step which was breaking your door open, one of your neighbors had come out to inspect the commotion in the hallway and saw your door with split wood coming from the siding.

Wandering into the house Jack yelled your name out, seeing your purse and coat laying down on the floor next to the door, he knew you were home, it was just the matter of finding you.

"Y/n? Where are you, kid?" he whispered the last words more to himself as he walked through the kitchen and towards what he assumed was your room.

There was an eerie sense of stillness in the air when he walked into your room, as he looked around he saw the lighting of your bathroom illuminating the wall. Jack felt his heart plummet towards the floor, he hurriedly walked over to the slightly ajar door and saw your limp body laying there.

"Holy fuck, hey! Baby, wake up!" Jack's voice cracked as he knelt down next to you, Jack put his pointer and middle finger on your carotid feeling for a pulse.

It was faint but there.

Your neighbor had come in when he heard Jack screaming your name, Jack was startled at first before begging for the man to call 911.

"Tell them we have an overdose, faint pulse, and slowed breathing!" Jack yelled over the sound of his own erratic pulse.

"Please baby, please be okay." He picked you up bridal style, and carefully rushed you down those hazardous stairs to meet the paramedics. They arrived swiftly 8 minutes later, Jack was eternally grateful you had a place so close to the hospital. Rushing out a bunch of medical jargon, making sure they understand how serious your condition is.

Jack rode in the ambulance with you, holding your hand the whole time. Doing his best to comfort himself with comforting you, his thumb rubbing rhythmically over your knuckles.

He couldn't bring himself to look at your face again, the lifeless expression it rested at was enough to make his lip quiver in agony, your cheeks were stained with dried tears — he couldn't wipe your sadness away, only forced to meet the possibility of your death.

Everything became a blur to him, the moment the gurney wheels hit the ground and entered the ER it was chaos. The moment Dr. Robby's eyes laid upon your unconscious form he stuttered, which was unusual for him, when you were working the day-shift Robby was your guiding light; he always had the answer to your question, and never once hesitated.

This was different. You were the patient now, you were the life he is supposed to save.

"You gotta save her, man!" Jack yelled out a plea to Robby.

"I need you to go, brother!" Robby replied with haste, as he got the charcoal drink prepared while the nurses pump your stomach.

Dana started pushing Jack out of the way, as much as Abbot tried to hide his feelings for you, everyone, and truly everyone, knew how he felt about you; except for you.

"C'mon hon, lets get you a chair" Dana was nursing a motherly tone, she was doing her best to keep Jack off the ledge while still doing her job.

"She was so fucking c-cold" Jack's voice cracked under the pressure of the tears he was holding back.

There was nothing for him to do except wait, and that was the most agonizing part of all, he wasn't aware of if you were coding, or if the charcoal was working, or hell if a white sheet was being placed over your dead body while they solemnly called your time of death.

God, you are so loved in the ER. Everyone loved the cookies you would bring every other Saturday, "just cause." The radiance and sheer excitement only a med student has, but it was all a facade, you were internally crashing in front of everyone and Jack was the only one who noticed the light fading from your smile.

Yet, he still let you fucking leave alone.

Word after word went through Jack's mind, every sentence he said to you that shift and how he felt he had been a little harsher on you today because you weren't giving your full potential. He thought if he could just break you in, just a bit, you would give the fire in your hands the opportunity to escape.

You were good, so, so fucking good. Everything you did was smart and well planned, your answers to on-the-spot questions were quick and concise. This career was practically born with you, your care for humans was unmatched, and he hated himself for never thinking about what you were over-compensating for.

He was stuck sitting in this lousy , uncomfortable, professional lawn chair re-thinking all the outcomes that this could lead to — the worst of them being your death.

Robby walked in with a sigh and quickly explained your situation to Jack before being talked over by a million questions.

"She is going into the general ward upstairs, we have not detected any neurological anomalies, however, we are still waiting on the CT-" Robby takes a breath before continuing "-she is really fucking lucky you found her when you did, you can see her when you're ready," he finished.

Jack went in for a hug, an unsaid 'thank you,' and rushed to the elevator to get right back to his rightful place next to you.

The day was long and Jack didn't get a wink of rest, every twenty minutes he looked at your vitals himself even though there was a nurse routinely checking them as well, he needed to check for himself.

Robby had come up after his shift ended, he had tried to get Jack to go home. Telling him "she likely won't wake up for another couple of hours, you should go home and change." Jack only then realized he still had his scrubs on, but he didn't care, he wasn't going to leave you alone again, not now.

With a shake of his head, Robby patter Jack on the back and left without another word.

Then at around 11:27pm, your hand twitched, and a groan escaped your throat, slightly panicky as you realized where you were. Jack was quick on his feet, bringing his face into your view so you would calm down, "hey, hey shh, it's okay" Jack rushed in a whisper, trying his hardest not to startle you.

Your hand searched quickly for his and he was even quicker to grab a hold of it. First has pushed the call button to get a nurse in, then he asked you a question-

"Honey, do you remember what happened?"

The look in your eyes was enough of an answer for him, you remembered everything.

"Oh, baby" Jack's other hand gently caressed your head, smoothing out your hair. He saw a tear stream down the side of your face and quickly wiped, selfishly happy he was able to. He swore to himself you would never experience this alone ever again, he was gonna help you through this.

You winced as you swallowed, your throat raw and scratchy with the amount of trauma caused. Jack noticed your painful action and went to grab you some water in a dixie cup, and while he did this, the nurse also had come in to check on you.

"Hey sweetheart, how are we feeling? Any pain I should know about?" The nurse, Stella, asked kindly. You shook your head, not yet trusting your voice to speak.

"Her throat is bothering her, but that's to be expected" Jack told Stella, Stella nodded in agreement with a soft smile directed at you that made you feel safe. After Jack gave you the water, Stella gave you a little while to get your bearings before explaining any next steps to you.

You knew what was to happen next, likely a 72 hour hold in the psychiatric ward. Kiara had come to talk to you, first asking if you would consent to inpatient — which you did — and than walking you through your next course of action. You asked if you were at risk of losing your position and were ensured you would be okay, Jack insisting he won't let anything happen.

Jack went over all the paperwork with you, making sure you understood everything and reassuring you that he would be there everyday to during visiting hours. You were terrified, this wasn't how you thought things were going to lay out.

After all papers were signed and sent to the system you and jack waited together for an available room, you gasped when you realized your parents were going to have to know eventually. Tears gathered in your eyes once more, thinking how disappointed they'll be.

"I'll take care of it, okay kid?" Jack said, pulling your head into his chest and rubbed your back carefully. He wanted nothing more than to take away all the things burdening your thoughts, he continued assuring your worries as you gripped onto his scrub top like a vice.

"Alright dear, are you ready?" A new nurse, Erin, asked.

You nodded numbly, hugging Jack and him kissing your forehead, telling you he'd see you tomorrow, then you went of with the nurse.

Those three days were horrible for you, you couldn't even piss alone.

You were absolutely elated to be going back home, you were prescribed anti-depressants and mandatory 2 months therapy. Jack drove you home, taking your little things he brought to you back up. Jack had looked through all of your stuff — with your permission — and took away anything you could use to harm yourself that was not necessary to life.

He also had stocked up your fridge with a weeks worth of food.

You felt a little light return to your body at seeing how much effort this man put into making you feel safe, your eyes landed on air mattress that was neatly laid out on the ground in your living room.

"Uh, I hope you don't mind, I figured the first couple of days I could stay with you" Jack reasoned.

"Yeah-yes, of course" You spoke a little too fast, thankful you won't have to be alone.

That night was quite, Jack made dinner for the two of you and he enlightened you with the knowledge that '10 Things I Hate About You' is his favorite rom-com, that brought a genuine smile to your face.

To jack though, that smile was equivalent to a star exploding and creating a new galaxy.

After you went to your room for the night, you lingered a little bit on the other side of your door, taking a deep breath and wondering how you got this lucky, maybe, just maybe, the universe decided to cut you some slack.

Unfortunately however, you had a rough night sleeping.

Your back was turned away from your bathroom since you couldn't quite get yourself to go in there yet, Jack mentioned he cleaned it up a tad while you were in inpatient, but you still couldn't find the strength. Sadly for you, that meant sleeping on the side of your body that was least comfortable to you, just to get away from facing the music.

You sat up straight in bed and looked over at the clock that now blinks a harsh red light of 5:15am. Your warm feet hit the cold floor as you got out of bed and made your way into the short hallway towards the living room, you secretly hoped Jack was awake — to your genuine surprise, he was.

"Hey, you okay?" he asks sincerely sitting up from his position on the air mattress, "this is weird, but- uh, I don't wanna sleep alone" you finish weakly.

Jack is quick to lift the blanket up on the side that is empty, a gesture to invite you in. You felt ashamed to be doing this, having to sleep in someone else's bed to keep the bad thoughts away felt childish, stupid even, but as you climbed in next to him you felt the warmest you ever had.

You curled into his side, seeking comfort in his arms,

In return he pulls you taut against his chest while rubbing your arm, giving you a quiet "I got you" before you were finally taken away to dreamland. Jack stayed awake a little longer after you, memorizing the way your body felt against his with each breath you took.

The both of you woke up roughly at the same time, tangled in each others limbs. Jack pulled you against him with a gentle squeeze, "Sleep well?" he asked with a sleepy smile. "Yeah, thanks" you responded than got out of the bed and padded towards the kitchen where your toothbrush sat next to the sink.

Unconventional sure, but so was a lot of what you did these last couple of days.

Jack also brushed his teeth in the kitchen along side you, hoping it made you feel less weird with someone else doing it to. "So, I have to go to the hospital to grab something, you gonna be okay here?" Jack's concern always melted you even though it was common human decency.

"Oh, yeah, I'll be okay, swear" you said with a reassuring grin that didn't meet your eyes. You understood why he was hovering, and you weren't upset about it in anyway, but you were thrilled to have just a little time to yourself. You were watched for 24 hours straight for three full days, finally being able to breath with no lingering eyes was going to be great.

Once Jack left you felt weird, you hadn't been alone in a room in what felt like an eternity and you weren't quite sure what to do with this refound freedom. So, you did what you always did when you were overwhelmed and cleaned, the kitchen had a few things out of place from dinner last night. Your room was a disaster with what looked like a laundry bomb had exploded and covered your sanctuary in dirty clothes, so you decided what a better way to distract yourself then to do laundry.

You knew you needed to take a shower, and you were hitting yourself for not getting the other floor plan of "2 bath 1 bed" option but you figured you wouldn't need it. Now you were here, trying to hype yourself up to shower in the same bathroom you thought would be the last thing you ever saw.

Luckily for you there was a knock on the door, well you thought you were lucky.

"Mom? What are you doing here?" You were shocked to see your mother who lived halfway across the country to be at your doorstep. "What were you thinking?" she greeted with an angry tone bubbling under her voice, normal mothers would be over the moon at their child still breathing, but not her.

"Mom, please I don't want to argue about this" You pleaded with exhaustion, this wasn't a confrontation you wanted to deal with right now. You were physically and emotionally drained from the last four days and you just wanted to turn your mind off and give your body rest.

"How could you be so stupid, you have your whole life ahead of you, and you want to make a selfish decision like that?" Her voice echoing through your mind.

Selfish.

Stupid.

Every horrible adjective she could think of she was hurling at you.

"Please leave, I can't do this right now" You tried to shut the door on her but she held her hand out to block it, she forced her way in and continued to exclaim how much of a disappointment you had become, which had been exactly what you were most afraid of.

You couldn't think as you tried to get her out of your apartment, begging her to jut leave and that you would call her later. She just wouldn't listen, wouldn't agree to let you be.

That was when your saving grace came in, Jack had quickly opened the door when he heard voices reverberating throughout the building, "what the hell is going on here?" he exclaimed loudly over the voice of your mother.

"Who are you?" your mother asked, wide eyed at the foreign man in her daughters apartment.

"He is the only one who has actually gives a single shit about me being alive, so please mom, get the fuck out of my home" you said sternly, now crying.

She looked at you with a disgust in her eye before huffing and leaving your apartment, pushing past Jack aggressively.

Jack was stunned to say the least but that didn't last long before he was closing and locking the door then walking over to your shaking form. You were sobbing hysterically, your breathing was unstable and you couldn't catch your breath. "Baby, you gotta slow down, you're hyperventilating" Jack said steadily trying to calm your unsteady breaths.

"I-I think I'm g-g-gonna be sick" You gagged out, Jack was fast to react and quickly lead you to the bathroom.

The bathroom.

Everything was so overwhelming. Mind was racing with a million thoughts a second, dry heaving into the toilet. You could feel Jack's hand rubbing circles on your spine, "I know baby, I know" He comforted you, wishing nothing more than to take you away from this pain.

As you finished up you leaned back into Jack's chest, you had long stopped crying. The feeling only being replaced with exhaustion, Jack talked you into getting up off the floor.

"I need to shower" you say plainly, no emotion found in your raw voice.

"Okay, I'll leave you to it, holler if you need-" Jack was caught off by your small voice, "could you help me?" your eyes never met him as you requested his assistance. "Of course" He replied.

There was nothing sexual about this, you were distraught and just needed someone to wash your hair and keep you afloat. Jack suggested a bath for you instead, to which you agreed, feeling stupid after forgetting his leg. You tried to apologize but he refused to hear it, joking about how he's learned to walk on the prosthetic so well you forgot it was on him.

It drew a quiet laugh, a sound only meant for him to hear.

He took his time with you, keeping your comfort at the forefront of his mind, letting you wash your own body and eyes never once wondering. Focused on the mission at hand, like he was back in the military.

You sat in the warmth of the bath for a while with Jack sitting right there next to you, he opted in reading a book — the one that rested on your nightstand — aloud.

He got through three chapters before you mentioned you wanted to get out.

Jack held out his hand for you to take, helping your unstable legs out of the tub and wrapping a towel around your midsection, covering your naked body. He left the bathroom to allow you to dress yourself whilst he patiently waited on your bed, Jack knew you were going to be exhausted so he got your bed ready to slide into.

You crawled into bed sluggishly, your body giving out the moment it hit the soft silk sheets. Cold hands touched Jack's skin making him jolt slightly at the unexpected touch, quickly though he knew what you wanted and he settled in right beside you.

"I don't wanna feel like this anymore" your words rang through Jack's ears like the sound of a gunshot, sharp and painful.

"We'll get through this, I'll be here for you the whole time" Jack responded.

"What about after I feel better?" you wondered.

"Let's talk about that when you're feeling better, okay?" he smiled at you then kissed your forehead and urged you to rest.

The world around you became more bearable with every moment Jack spent with you, giving you a support system to lean on had been detrimental to your recovery and mental health.

Jack came by your place nearly everyday after staying with you for about a week and a half, coming to kick it and watch a movie while debriefing about the shift, or bringing you some food on your days off — you knew it was his way of making sure you were properly eating, but you didn't mind.

After six months of mandated therapy you were finally back to working your normal shift schedules, back to the high of being in the ER. You graduated med school last month, and luckily matched with PMTC for your residency in emergency medicine.

You jumped with joy when you got your match, Jack attended the ceremony with you and helped calm your nerves of not getting the program you wanted. He explained that no matter what happened you were going to be okay, and it would be great for you — but secretly he was hoping more than you were that you would stay at PMTC.

The night had been a drag, nothing adrenaline inducing was introduced.

Shen was on his way to get yet another iced coffee when a trauma came in, your feet were in front of you before you could think about the idea of walking. Quickly racing over to your new patient and began accessing for external injuries.

However, as you heard the paramedics talk to Jack, you heard one word.

Overdose.

Everything all around you went quiet, loud ringing replacing the continuous beeping of vital monitors and groaning patients.

You removed yourself from the situation having Ellis take your position, she didn't complain or wonder — not that there was anytime to do so — she just nodded her head and gave you a subtle reassuring arm squeeze while you went to the closest private spot in the hospital, which was a single empty employee bathroom.

Your chest was heaving in a way you knew all too well, uneasy and hard.

Suddenly, your body was warm with sweat, everything felt like it was closing in on you, the room felt like it was getting smaller.

Was it getting smaller? No. No, of course not.

Trying to ground yourself you gripped the cold ceramic of the sink, the sensation feeling like a shock to your system at the night and day difference. Deep breaths were fighting through your airways to escape, but they just couldn't get out — your eyes were beginning to grow dark in the peripheral.

A knock at the door bounced against the walls of your head but you were too far away to acknowledge it, you wanted to open the door but the idea of moving anywhere felt like a death-wish.

You gently sat yourself down on the cold tile of the floor, not quite caring how unsanitary of a place that would be for you. All you could think about was the night you were brought in that horrible night 6 months ago, wanting nothing more than your time of death to be called.

Now, you were here. On the other side of what could've been, forced to look at the very same fate you had chosen for yourself. Too much. That was all you could think. This is too fucking much.

The door was opened gently, a muscled figure appeared in front of your eyesight bending down next to you.

First you felt his warm hand on your own, bringing your wondering mind back down to earth with his. Gently, Jack brought your hand to his chest; forcing you to feel the way his body inhaled, then exhaled, inhale, exhale. He didn't speak, didn't need to, the man was well aware of your mental state at this moment and you getting enough oxygen to your head was more important to him.

It took you a few more minutes of the continuous guidance before you finally came to. "I'm sorry" You whispered, feeling like more of a burden than ever, you can't just breakdown in a place like this, it's unethical.

Jack thought differently though, "don't you dare, it's only been six months sweetheart." He paused for a minute, bringing your face right in front of his, "this is a very, very, valid reaction to seeing a situation you were just in not long ago."

He took a deep breath before speaking again.

"The first time a patient came here in need of an amputation, I reacted the same way, knowing what this kid was going through. It killed me." His voice cracked but he stayed firm, "You are allowed to feel things, you did the right thing by stepping away, there is nothing, and I mean nothing, wrong with you."

You held his gaze for a while, maybe searching his eyes for annoyance but you never found it. All he held for you was love.

Taking one final deep breath and closing your eyes with a new found acceptance of your feelings, the two of you got up from the hard tile and left the bathroom together. Luckily, no one was around to gossip about Dr. Abbot and the new resident suddenly leaving a lockable bathroom together.

As the shift carried on you overheard a nurse talking about the patient who overdosed on some opioids, saying how she would make a full recovery. Realistically, she wasn't your patient therefore you had no right to go into the room they settled her in but you made the decision to do so anyways.

Stepping into the quiet room you immediately felt the heaviness way down on your bones, you looked around the curtain to see a young girl, no older than twenty, looking at the wall with no expression on her gray appearance.

"Hello, I'm Dr. L/n, I came in to check on you. Any excess pain anywhere, or confusion?" You asked timidly, this isn't what you came in here for but you needed to make her feel safe.

She answered with a slow shake of her head, still not acknowledging you.

You took a seat in the room with her, though you did decide to check and log her vitals you took the next step in talking with her more in-depth.

"You know, we aren't really supposed to come in here and talk to patients like this, but you remind me of myself and I want you to know if you wanna talk, we can" You paused for a beat, letting the woman digest what you were saying. "I can also leave you alone if that is what you would like, I just figured, maybe having someone who was in this position to talk to would help you not feel so isolated, if you need absolutely anything do not hesitate to hit that call button" finishing your spiel, you definitely didn't mean to go on and probably wasn't very helpful to the patient, you got up and began making your way towards the door.

"You ever feel like, like you're drowning?" a small voice filled the silent room.

"All the time" you replied stopping short and sitting right back down.

"How do I stop feeling like this?"

Her question broke your heart, not only because of how hopeless she sounded but that you didn't know the answer, you were still trying to figure it out yourself.

"I still feel it sometimes, that growing ache in your body and the voice in your head that just won't stop, but you find something or someone to grab ahold of, to keep your head above water and hold you afloat when your legs ache from fighting the waves. I wish I could tell you there was a cure, but I can't." The back of your throat became dry but you fought through it, "life is an abusive piece of shit, but you can fight it, there is people who haven't met you yet that will love you till their heart gives out, you just have to hold on."

She looked at you like time had stopped and only the two of you existed, like something clicked in her head. "What happens now?" she asks, voice less constricted than it had been.

"You will be taken to the psychiatric ward, if you consent to that, and you will fight through this" the hard truth slipped out at the end, soft isn't what this girl reacted to.

"Is it rude to ask you, what happened to you?" she queried.

"Long story short, it was a bad time, but I survived it, and so will you."

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