#putting him in the michael wave for save keeping

[capricioussun]

This is still so funny to me. Why did I draw him like that.

[traumaone]

Lead The Way

pairing: Michael Robinavitch x Senior Resident!Reader

wordcount: 3.3k

warnings: mentions of cheating, age gap (late 20s and late 40s), brief mention of human trafficking (suspected in a patient)

synopsis: after over a year of pining over Robby, reader gets into a relationship to try and get over him, and gets cheated on. Robby (after putting up with a snippy reader) comes to the rescue

masterlist

!! not proofread so apologies for any mistakes !!

5:34 am

An hour on the treadmill this morning and the loudest, grittiest metal playlist you could find had done nothing to burn away the pure vitriol coursing through your veins.

Eight months of your life now wasted with one of the stupidest men on earth just so you could find him screwing a med student in your apartment. It hadn’t even been the act of catching them that had hurt the most, no, it was the fact that you hadn’t had a chance to break-up with the asshole before he’d screwed you over.

Embarrassment and rage were working double time to keep the fire burning in your chest even as you stepped through the doors of the ED. Your home, your sanctuary, now tainted by your thoughts about the fact that you’d been cheated on by a plastic surgeon.

Dana knew something had happened the moment she’d spotted you walking through the waiting room, back a day early from holiday and almost an hour before your shift, had you even been working, would’ve started.

“You look like you’re about to bring the wrath of God down on this place, kid.” Dana teased, but there glint of concern in her eyes.

“I don’t even have the words right now.” You leaned against the front of her desk, gripping the counter so hard you were sure it would leave marks.

“Let's start with why you’re back a day early from the break you desperately needed.”

That simple sentence sent another wave of wrath through your body.

“I’m well aware I needed the break, and it was fantastic until I came home last night to find my boyfriend screwing one of his med students in my bed.” You spit out the last part in a harsh whisper, careful to not let the elderly patient being wheeled by hear you.

“You’re fucking kidding me.” Dana’s mouth was agape.

“I save lives for a living, Dana. I’ve lost count of the number of patients I've treated.” You ranted, running your hand down your face in exasperation. “I have manually pumped a human heart with my own hand, and he pumps implants into trophy wives… and he cheated on me.”

“Woah, woah, you got cheated on?” Ellis had somehow, despite having a usually recognisable gait, snuck up on you, her brows furrowed in concern and anger.

You let your head fall against your folded arms, letting out a groan as you heard Dana chuckle. Ellis’ hand rested on the middle of your back, comforting and familiar.

“Is this that asshole you met at the conference Gloria sent you to?”

You let out another groan at the memory. Gloria had insisted someone from the ED attend a conference on the modernization of emergency medicine (read: how to prioritize money over patient care). Robby, Gloria’s favourite man to torment, had been the obvious choice. He was an attending, pretty much the face of the ED at this point. And you, an ex-nightshift senior resident, not enough of a people person to be sent to a conference meant for networking, were completely powerless against the look in his unbelievably sad brown eyes when he’d complained to you about it over coffee, and offered to take his place.

It had been miserable, a weekend filled with board members who had never set foot in an ED telling you, an actual doctor, how you should be doing your job. Coping came in the form of multiple glasses of whiskey in the hotel bar, and that was when you met Preston. Overly charming, a little slimy, even, but he was there, sitting in front of you, and the man you wanted was not.

He’d wooed you, paid for your drinks, commiserated with you over how stupid this conference had been, asked to take you out to dinner when you both got back to Pittsburgh, and you’d agreed. An obvious mistake, but hindsight is always 20/20.

“The very same.” You nodded, peeking out from beneath your arms.

Ellis scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief. “Who was that guy anyway? You never talked about him.”

A fact you were very grateful for at this moment.

“He was a plastic surgeon at Presby.” You explained, wincing as the words left your mouth. “I caught him with one of his med students last night.” 

“Of course you did, he was a plastic surgeon.”

You shot Ellis a glare.

“Okay, sorry.” She relented, raising her hands in surrender. “Not the time.”

“Not the time for what?” Abbott, the newest member to your pity party, questioned, regarding the three of you with a suspicious glance.

“Not the time to keep digging into my personal life.” You recovered quickly, halting any attempts from Dana or Ellis to spill your problems. “Got a case for me?”

Abbott frowned, but pointed at the board above you. “Got a girl in central fourteen who needs pain management for endometriosis.”

“I’ll head there now.”

You pushed away from the central counter with a soft smile from Dana. Abbott tracked you across the room with his gaze, not unusual, but you knew he wasn’t going to let what he’d seen at the front desk go easily.

As predicted, once you’d set your bag down at your desk Abbott had appeared at your side, his head slightly tilted as he tried to catch your eyes.

“You okay?”

Abbott was your oldest, if not your closest, friend since you’d started at the ED. you’d done your first three years of residency with him before switching to the day shift. According to Robby, he still called you his best resident. It’s not exactly a false statement. During the massacre that had been pitfest, the two of you had fallen back into your old rhythm, moving like a well oiled machine even after a year apart.

“I’m fine. Just had a rough start to the day.” You forced a smile that in no way convinced Abbot.

“You wanna go get some air before you start?” He offered, a knowing look on his face.

Abbott had introduced you to his ‘special spot’ after you’d lost your first patient. You never crossed the railing, not like he did, but you had found there to be something humanising about watching the sun set over the city.

“I’m good, I promise.” You assured, giving his shoulder a quick squeeze. “Just need to get in the groove.”

“If you change your mind you know where I’ll be. Sunrise is looking real nice this morning.” Abbott raised his brows at you, nodding towards the door to try and lure you away.

“Unlike you, I’m not a slacker.” You laughed, pushing at his shoulder. “Now leave me alone. I’m busy.”

“You don’t even have a patient yet.”

“Busy!”

7:22 am

Your first hour had passed by in a blur. You made your way through a patient needing pain management, road rash after a triathlon, botched boob job (not done by your ex, unfortunately), and an incredibly cute baby with an overcautious new mom before Robby had walked through the door.

He’d shown up in his usual uniform; dark cargos, scrub top with a clean white tee underneath, and his favourite hoodie with the sleeves pushed to his elbows. A simple outfit, yet somehow the most alluring thing you’d ever seen a man wear.

He’d taken a quick glance to the board, said a good morning to Dana, and taken the long way to the stairwell, sparing a quick glance into the room of your only current patient on his way. He and Abbot had created a small morning routine, meeting each other on the roof where they could debrief in private before descending to the chaos of the ED.

You envied that kind of relationship. You and Ellis had been close when you were still on night shift. The only two female residents on shift, commiserating over your dead social lives and keeping a tally of all the drunken patients who’d hit on you. She’d made work fun for you.

Collins, Landgon, and Samira weren’t bad company, they were honestly great, but shifting your entire work crew after three years had thrown you for a loop. They were all welcoming, but three years of working together had naturally formed bonds that unintentionally kept you on the outskirts, not as much anymore, but things had been lonely at the start.

Robby, however, had taken you in immediately. You’d spent years hearing stories about him from Abbott, reading the notes he left in your charts, hearing patients talk about how handsome the doctor from the shift before had been. He’d been intimidating at first, but it had only taken you your first shift to realise the two of you got on like a house on fire. Even Gloria had made a comment on it.

“Um, excuse me?” Whitaker’s voice brought you out of your reverie.

“Whitaker, good to see you.” You greeted, tapping into your computer to edit a chart. “How’re you doing?”

“Not too bad, a little tired.” He answered, shrugging his shoulders. “How are you?”

“I’m not doing too bad. Do you need me?”

Whitaker’s cheeks flushed at your phrasing. “Oh, um yes. A patient just came in with who she says is her aunt, but their dynamic’s a little… off.”

“Aunt’s answering questions for her? Patient checks in with the aunt before answering anything on her own? Both insist on not being separated?”

“Yeah, exactly that.”

You nodded. “And just to double check, the patient is above eighteen?”

“Yes, she’s twenty-six.”

That made you turn your head. “Okay, could just be a strange dynamic, but let's flag Kiara and I’ll come check it out.”

Whitaker led you to the patient, taking you straight past the stairwell Robby and Abbott had just emerged from.

Robby caught you by your shoulder, guiding you back so he could see your face. “You got a minute?”

You shook your head, pulling away from his touch. “Whitaker needs me for a possible case of trafficking. I’ll come find you after?”

His brows furrowed, his eyes searching your face for something you couldn’t figure out, but he nodded.

“Sure.”

8:07 am

“Hey, you still need me?”

Robby sat reclined at your desk, his glasses sitting low on the bridge of his nose as he read over a chart.

“How’d things turn out with Whitaker’s patient?” He asked, peering at you over the rims of his glasses. 

God, you loved it when he did that, but your moment of enjoyment cut itself short for professionalism.

“It was a good catch on his part. We put the girl in a private room under the guise of a pelvic exam and Kiara is with her now.”

“Nicely done. Keep me updated when you learn any new information.”

“Yes, sir.” You nodded, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet. “Did you need me for anything else, or…”

“Abbott mentioned that you seemed a little bit off this morning. Came in a day early, at five in the morning no less.”

“Rat.” You muttered under your breath. You should’ve known that Jack would say something. “I’m fine, just caught a case of cabin fever. ‘M not used to having so much time off, just needed to get into the groove of things again.”

Robby nodded, but you could tell immediately that he hadn’t fallen for the lie.

“Okay, just remember I’m around if you need me.”

“Of course.”

11:48 am

Robby should’ve been focusing on his patients, focusing on the med students he had been tasked with teaching, but each time you crossed his path he couldn’t help but take a moment to admire you.

He could still remember the first shift he’d ever worked with you.

You were Abbot’s best resident, the nurse's favourite doctor (donuts and coffee every Sunday had secured you that position.), and despite being an R3, the two of you had never crossed paths.

Sure, he’d seen glimpses of you from across the ER, read the sticky notes you left scattered around your desk, had a million and one patients ask for the ‘charismatic, young doctor’ from the night before.

After almost three years of unsatiated curiosity, Robby had made peace with the fact that you’d become nothing more than an urban legend in his life. That was until a year ago when Abbott had needed him to cover a night shift, something to do with the wedding of an old friend he’d served with.

You’d greeted him with a smile and a fresh cup of coffee, shook his hand, and told him Abbot talked about him so much you felt like you already knew him. Robby had repeated the sentiment and tried to match your smile, but he was slightly too aware of just how soft your hand felt against his.

It had taken him less than an hour to realise why Abbot liked you so much. You were incredible at your job, even better with the patients, and the moment an urgent trauma had crossed the doors of the ambulance bay, you transformed. Warmth had quickly been traded for brutal efficiency. Your every move was clean, smooth, practiced to perfection.

Robby had been hooked on you by the end of the shift.

He hadn’t made a move on you. Even after only an hour he’d known you were miles out of his league, not to mention that the gap in age hadn’t been anything to blink at. He’d been sure you’d have no interest.

He’d clearly been wrong.

The shift had ended without incident, only a few immediate cases had come through the ambulance bay, but other than that it had been the victims of drunken brawls, sick kids, and elderly people falling in the dark.

You’d stopped him outside, laid a hand on his arm, offered him the sweetest smile he’d ever seen and told him how much you’d loved having him on this shift, and made him promise to say hello when your shifts crossed paths. It hadn’t been a declaration of love, but it had opened a new door.

He’d spent the next few weeks clocking in just a few minutes earlier, catching you just as you crossed the threshold back into the outside world. Robby would flirt (in his own way), and you’d flirt back. It had been a good start to his mornings, made him feel a bit younger, put a new pep in his step.

After a particularly long day, he’d found himself up on the roof with Abbott, staring out at the city looking for a reason to keep going, and Jack, as if he’d read his mind, had dropped the bomb that you were switching to the day shift. He hadn’t specified why, had just accused Robby of stealing his best resident. That simple sentence had kept him fueled for the next week.

The true nail in his coffin had been almost a year ago. You’d fallen on the sword for him, taken his spot at yet another ridiculous conference Gloria had insisted someone from the ED attend. That had been the moment he knew he was falling in love with you. And he fell fast.

He’d spent the entire week you were gone thinking about you, planning the best way to ask you out for dinner without forcing you into a corner if he’d read the signals wrong. And then you came back, exasperated by the amount of ridiculousness you’d put up with over the last week, as happy to see him as he’d hoped, but with a dinner date for a week ahead locked in your calendar.

You were incredible, he couldn’t blame another man for noticing, he’d just wished he’d noticed sooner.

Robby had spent the next eight months watching parts of you slowly fade away. Your smile lost its usual sparkle, your hair didn’t shine under the fluorescent lights the same way it used to. He had asked you about it, pressed you for details on more than one occasion to no avail. You always seemed to be carrying a weight on your shoulders, until this morning.

Even without Abbott’s words bouncing in his head, he could tell something in you had changed. Your eyes looked tired, shadowed by bags under your eyes, but that weight he’d noticed had finally seemed to leave your shoulders. Even with your exhaustion (and snappy attitude), you seemed lighter, happier than he’d seen you in months.

He knew he’d get the information out of you eventually, but for the time being he was just glad to see your true smile again.

7:21 pm

One death, four close calls, and one too many idiot patients later, You found yourself on the cool bench across from the hospital, beer in hand as you laughed with your coworkers. Robby sat next to you, as usual, a serene look on his face as he watched Perlah and Princess argue semantics about an old patient.

As the calm night washed over you, the guilt of snapping at Robby finally settled in your stomach. It hadn’t been fair of you, it wasn’t his fault your ex had turned out to be a piece of shit. A cruel part of you had still blamed him though, thinking that if he’d acted on the feelings you hoped he had for you, you wouldn’t have had to put up with subpar treatment for eight months.

One by one your coworkers headed home, wishing you a good rest of your night and promising to see you again in the morning. Before you knew it, only you and Robby were left in the comfortable silence.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you today.” You spoke softly, picking at the tab of your beer can. “I took out my anger on you and it wasn’t fair.”

“Thank you.” Robby nodded. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Do you remember that guy I’ve been seeing?”

Robby nodded again, a small frown furrowing between his brows.

“I found him in bed with one of his med students last night.”

Robby let out a heavy sigh, his head shaking slightly as he looked down at his shoes. “That is…”

“Yeah.” You almost laughed. He didn’t even need to speak for you to know what he would’ve said.

A moment passed before he spoke again. “You don’t deserve to be treated that way, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” You let the laugh escape you this time. “He was an absolute asshole.”

Robby laughed with you. “I didn’t know much about the guy, but what I did know, I didn’t like.”

That shot a strange feeling up your spine.

“Wanna know the worst bit?” You asked, pushing down the feeling.

“Of course.”

“I was more upset about the fact that I didn’t get to break up with him first than I actually was about the cheating.”

He laughed, a true deep laugh, the kind you heard rarely but loved.

“You shouldn’t have to put up with that shit.” Robby lectured, resting a hand on your knee where it almost brushed his. “As cliche as it sounds, it’s worth waiting for someone who you know will treat you right.”

“Someone like you?” You questioned, suddenly emboldened by the alcohol coursing through your veins.

Robby paused, his eyes flitting from your eyes to your lips for a split second. “I’m not sure I’m the man you want.”

“I know you are, Robby.”

His calloused hand moved to rest against your face, his thumb tracing over the ridge of your cheek. In the subtle glow of the park lights you could perfectly see his features, those gentle brown eyes you could never seem to forget. You leaned in, brushing your nose against his in a quiet invitation.

The feeling of his lips against yours had been more perfect than you’d imagined. They were slightly chapped, warm, and just right. His beard scratched against your cheeks in a way that made your thighs ache.

He pulled away after one kiss, ever the gentlemen, and rested his forehead against yours.

“Let me take you back to my place.” He begged, brushing a quick kiss against your cheek. “I’ll wash your clothes, walk you back to work in the morning.”

You struggled to bite back the smile on your lips. “Lead the way.”

[randompiecesofwriting]

I'm Okay

Summary: Robby’s girlfriend is a reporter with the local news station sent out on a field assignment she was exceptionally excited for, covering Pittfest

Pairing: Michael “Robby” Robinavich x Reader

Word Count: 5.5k

Warning: Pittfest fic! Mass casualty event, shooting, reader gets a bullet in the arm, medical inaccuracies, swearing, so much angst

Author’s Note: Took a break from my Jack fic to write an obligatory Pittfest fic because I don’t have one yet! Thank you so much for all of the kind messages notes and tags that you all have left on my work as I’ve said before it means the absolute world to me and I do read each and every one over and over again because I love them all. Thank you!!

The nurse behind the desk barely spared you a glance before waving you and Jake in, the two of you sharing a small smile as you bypassed the line of people waiting, shuffling back into the ER, pointedly ignoring the jealous glares that were being thrown your way from the waiting room as you did so.

Because the two of you were on a mission, get into the ED, grab Jake’s tickets to Pittfest then get out hopefully soon enough to give you enough time to get ready before you started your broadcast. You only had three hours of time blocked off to get this done so honestly you were cutting it close.

Your first stop once entering the ED was, as always, to Dana at the nurses’ station, the woman herself grinning as soon as she spotted the two of you entering, her eyes dancing back and forth between you and Jake with a small smirk. “Y/N on babysitting duty then”

“Definitely don’t need a babysitter” Jake cut in with an exasperated groan that had you and the charge nurse chuckling.

“Besides I’m working anyways” you cut in with a shrug “so he’s ditching me for a girl”

Dana’s gaze cut to Jake eagerly as she did her best to tamp down the shit-eating grin on her face.

“Who’s got a girl” Langdon, however, made no such effort, sliding in beside Dana eagerly making Jake duck his head slightly in response as he tried to hide his flushed cheeks.

Deciding to put the poor kid out of his misery you jumped in to save him “Today all I’m good for is gas money”

“That’s not true” Jack assured you with a mischievous glint in his eye, clearly not properly appreciating your save from Langdon “your press badge will let us skip the line too”

You elbowed Jake in the side fondly as he erupted with warm laughter, so distracted with getting your revenge you missed the footsteps that approached you from behind, jumping slightly when a hand at your hip was all the warning you got before Robby was pressing a quick kiss to the side of your head as he flew by. “I’m still upset you get to meet the girlfriend before I do”

He clapped Jake on the shoulder fondly despite the tease as he swung around the desk, Jake shrugging with a smirk in response “I like her better”

Robby snorted at the jab, eyes already scanning the desk for his next task. And you could see the exhaustion in him that had sunk to his very bones, could see the desperate need within him to keep moving, to distract himself. But you knew better than to call him on it now, knew he just needed to work through it in his own way, knew he’d find his way back to you at the end of the day.

So instead you threw an arm around Jake’s shoulders and pulled him into a dramatic side hug, jostling him roughly and enjoying the chuckle Jake let out at the motion “What can I say the kid’s got taste”

Robby sent Dana a fake exasperated glance as if to ask for at least one person to be on his side.

Dana responded accordingly “Don’t look at me like that I like her better to”

He knew better than to look to Langdon after that.

Someone on the other end of the room called out Robby’s name, and his body reacted almost reflexively to move him in that direction in response as he called out back at you “Traitors, the whole lot of you”

“Wait” Jake called out after him, realizing quickly it was of no use and dropping his voice down to a speaking level as Robby disappeared within one of the rooms “he has my tickets”

You snorted at his dejected tone “honestly that’s on you for thinking we’d be in and out of the Pitt in anything less than two hours” clapping a hand on his shoulder you pulled him in the direction of the lockers “come on I stashed a bag of m&m’s in his backpack this morning lets go for the record”

-

An hour later you and Jake had long since set up camp at Dana’s desk, you sitting in a roller chair on one end of the room with a bag of m&m’s in hand calling out to Langdon who sat in his own chair on the other side “What color?”

“Red I need the contrast” You snorted at his genuine use of strategy, shaking your head as you dug through the bag, feeling the newcomer approach from behind more than see them.

“Going for the record?” You could hear the amusement in Collins’ voice even as she pretended to be exasperated by it.

You grinned up at her in response “nine feet, that’s gotta be worth at least a page in the Guinness book right”

“Least he’s good at one thing”

“I heard that” Langdon called out across the Pitt making the two of you laugh before she called back

“You were meant to”

Finaly spotting the correct colored piece you held it up dramatically, extending it to Jake as if for inspection, the kid nodding solemnly before declaring “with this piece we make history”

You snorted at how seriously they both took this, hearing Collins hide her own in her sleeve as you lined up the shot, mimicking the movement a few times before finally letting it fly.

Langdon tracked the movement with a level of concentration you’ve only seen him use in trauma situations, dipping his head slightly at the last minute just in time to catch the m&m directly in his mouth.

He was on his feet as soon as it landed with a yell, tossing a dramatic double high-five at Jake in celebration as you dissolved into a puddle of giggles on your chair, Robby joining the group just late enough to miss the record shattering catch that sparked the reaction.

“You guys are still here?”

And you couldn’t help but sober slightly at the question, worry rising within you as you started to realize how much he was throwing himself into his work today. You’ve wasted a lot of time in the Pitt waiting on him before, but never had he fully forgotten you were here.

“Yeah we need the tickets” Jake responded good naturedly, Robby’s brows rising as he realized his mistake and having Jake follow him back towards the lockers to grab them.

Langdon and Collins took that as their chance to break off as well, giving you the opportunity to slide your chair up along side Dana’s “How’s he doing?”

“He says he’s fine” She sent you a look that told you she believed that about as much as you did, making you shake your head “just need to get through this shift and he’ll be alright”

“Yeah” you sighed doubtfully, putting on a small smile as you watched him and Jake emerge with the tickets in hand, Robby’s smile noticeably lighter after the interaction.

Jake started to make his way out of the ED as you rose to meet Robby behind the desk, giving him a quick peck and a light squeeze on the arm.

“Be careful today”

“Course” you shook off his worry easily, knowing that between the two of you there was only one who warranted such concern “take a break here soon yeah? Just a quick breather”

“I’m fine” he started to brush you off, cutting himself off at the raise of your brow, another call of his name pulling him from the moment with a tired sigh “I’ll try”

“Thank you” You smiled up at him, giving him one more kiss before stepping back, allowing him to dive back into the chaos of the Pitt.

“You know you’re the only one that can do that” Dana commented with a smirk from the desk as you started to gather your things.

“Yeah well we’ll see if he actually listens” you sighed as you finally pushed your chair back into its proper place, taking a second to give Dana a hug goodbye “look after him yeah?”

“Don’t worry I’ve got him” she assured you with a smile, stepping back as you let her go and started towards the doors to the waiting room.

“Have fun at Pittfest” she called out after you “call when you can”

“I will” you called back with a chuckle, pushing open the doors to the waiting room and joining Jake as the two of you exited the building, gladly listening to him rattle off all of the bands he and Leah were excited to see play that day.

-

Robby needed this shift to end.

It was the shift from hell, every resident he knew and trusted were gone, he was left with a heard of medical students on their first day, and now Dana was talking about quitting as well.

He needed the shift to end then he needed to hibernate for the next week straight.

Then Dana’s phone rang.

He didn’t think much of it at first, another trauma inbound, some more time to beg the one last person on his side to stay with him.

Then he watched her face drop, a look he wasn’t used to seeing on the infallible charge nurse. It wasn’t exactly surprised, wasn’t exactly sad or even shocked, it was haunted.

He furrowed his brow slightly, tilting his head to try and get a better read on her.

“Turn to channel 8” her voice came out hoarse, soft, without any weight behind it as if she couldn’t comprehend the words herself.

“What?”

“Turn to channel 8” she didn’t bother responding to him, this time pitching her voice louder to ring out across the Pitt.

“Dana?” he tried to call her attention back to him but she ignored him, clutching the phone she’d already hung up tightly in her grasp as she glued her eyes to the screen.

A familiar voice rang out across the room as the channel was changed. Nancy he realized, the lead anchor for the local news station, came onto screen. You’d introduced her to him once, you two were close at work.

Her red rimmed eyes were the first thing he noticed.

“We bring you breaking news tonight with reports of an active shooter at Pittfest the city’s summer music festival”

And Robby’s mind went blank.

There was no struggling to understand, no attempt to even process the news, just flat out rejection of the base premise. Those words simply did not go in that order, they couldn’t. It didn’t make sense for there to be a shooter at Pittfest, Jake was at Pittfest. He was here earlier, goofing off with Langdon before grabbing tickets from him he couldn’t be in any danger. He was happy, he was excited, there couldn’t be a shooter. You were at Pittfest, you’d been excited for the field assignment, your favorite band was playing, there couldn’t be a shooter.

“We go live now to field reporter Chuck Newcastle who’s on the scene now, Chuck are you with us?”

Another sentence that didn’t make sense. You were the reporter on the scene. You were the one they had sent. It was supposed to be you they went live to.

His gaze sought out Dana’s only to see the woman already looking at him. She looked panicked but that couldn’t be it, Dana didn’t get panicked, she ran the ED, she wasn’t allowed to panic.

“She’s supposed to be there” His voice sounded hollow even to himself as he watched Dana’s face crumple in response, eyes casting desperately back to the screen for answers.

He wasn’t sure the Pitt had ever been this quiet before.

“As you can see behind me first responders are currently on the scene and taping off areas as they attempt to apprehend the shooter” Chuck started to describe the situation with a hand on his ear, listening to the earpiece within it, continuing on without a hiccup “we have a reporter who was inside the festival area at the time of the event, out own Y/N Y/L/N. We’ll play a clip of her broadcast here in a second, but viewer discretion is advised”

He hadn’t realized how much of him had been hoping there’d been some sort of mix up until that moment. That you had backed out at the last minute, that they hadn’t actually sent you in, that you’d been lying to him about your plans for the day the entire time, anything that would keep you from being there.

A few heads turned in his direction at the news and he could see the hesitation on their faces, could see the silent questions they sent one another, could see the pity creep in as the Pitt all collectively wondered if they were about to see Dr. Robby’s girlfriend get shot on camera.

A hand reached for the dial and the command was out of him before he could think

“Don’t”

There as an unfamiliar edge in his tone, an unquestionable authority, a deeply buried fear masked by anger.

The hand retracted and you appeared on the screen.

“Hi my name is Y/N Y/L/N and you’re joining me here at Pittfest-“ you launched into your intro with a smile on your face and Robby drank it in greedily, heart stuttering in his chest as he desperately held onto that smile even if it was just your fake one you used for the camera, committed your voice to memory even if it was the falsely sweet one you used for reporting.

Then it all broke down.

Your report came to a screeching halt as a loud crack sounded through the background, an unnatural moment of stillness passing as the world around you froze, as everyone around you struggled collectively to comprehend, to react.

Your gaze suddenly strayed from down the lens to behind it, to your camera man, a silent question in your eyes before another shot sounded.

His heart leapt as you flinched this time, knees bending reflexively to get lower. A man in the background collapsed and instructions leapt to his throat unbidden, a silent plea to get down, to get under cover, to hide, to do something.

Instead you went after the man.

He could’ve screamed.

The camera crashed to the ground as it was dropped, the entire scene going sideways with you still barely in frame as you pressed firmly down onto the man’s chest, too far away for the audience to make anything out.

The scene suddenly cut back to Chuck.

His eyes stayed on the screen long after you left it, willing you to come back, willing them to cut back to you, willing for some sort of sign that you were okay.

He felt Dana’s hand being placed hesitantly on his shoulder bringing him back. He pushed her off without a second thought, launching headfirst into his leader roll “okay everybody listen up as the nearest trauma center we are going to be getting most of the victims”

“Robby” Dana tried to call his attention

“we need all the narcotics, paralytics and sedatives that we can get our hands on” he ignored her, delegating tasks off rapidly to anyone that would listen.

“Robby”

He ignored her again, avoided the pity in her eyes, avoided everything. “We also need to establish a temporary morgue we’ll take peds for now”

“Robby”

“Dana I can’t” He didn’t mean to blow up at her, to raise his voice, to make her physically recoil back from him. With a deep breath he tried desperately to reign it in. “I can’t do this right now, I can’t think about-“ he cut himself off, stopping the line of thought before he could get to any referral of you, severing the link in his mind before it could spiral “I can’t”

“okay” she nodded in response, a steady mask slipping into place though he could still see it in her eyes, appreciating the gesture nonetheless. “what do you need me to do”

Work, he could focus on work. He could distract himself with work. Work was good. “Gurneys, make sure all the gurneys and wheelchairs you can get your hands on end up in the ambulance bay. And see if you can get ahold of Jake or even Janey” she nodded eagerly at the instruction, happy to be able to do something, he’d have to thank her for that later, “and” he continued hesitantly “just at least see if you can get ahold of-“

“I will” she cut him off before he could get too far into it, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze before ushering him off.

Work, he could do work.

-

You don’t remember much after throwing yourself into the bed of some guy’s truck. Lying flat out on your back on the hard aluminum and closing your eyes, registering nothing until suddenly a hand was tapping rapidly on your cheek.

You cracked your eyes open at the sudden movement, coming face to face with a wide-eyed Ellis hovering over you.

“Fancy seeing you here”

She didn’t laugh, instead made eye contact with Shen on the other side of the vehicle, the two sharing a silent conversation before shouting Jack’s name in unison as Ellis slapped a pink bracelet on your wrist.

“shhhh I’m fine” you pointedly ignored the way the words slurred slightly on their way out while Ellis ignored their meaning all together, gingerly helping you out of the car and towards a gurney.

“It’s just my shoulder I can walk” you tried to protest as she forced you down, a familiar head of salt and pepper curls appearing behind her in a rush, a string of curses slipping out of him at the sight of you. “Thank you Jack tell Ellis I’m fine” You used your good arm to try and fend her off as Jack pulled a penlight out of his pocket and shined it directly into your eye “Dude it’s my shoulder not my head” you protested, bringing a hand up to rub away the shadows he burned into your vision.

“Lay back or I’ll strap you down” he threatened and though Jack was usually on the gruffer side you couldn’t help but notice the edge in his voice, that being enough to make you finally lay back and let them wheel you through the doors without a word.

Ellis followed, pushing the gurney, as she rambled off numbers you didn’t understand to Jack as he started to peel away the strips of fabric you’d been using as a dressing from your shoulder making you wince.

“Go find Robby and get him over here now” he instructed Ellis without looking up at her “Take over whatever he’s doing if you have to just get him here got it?”

She left with little more than a nod.

“How’s he doing?”

The corner of his mouth ticked up at your question for a second, hands moving fast to try and stop the bleeding “not really the priority right now sweetheart”

“Well that doesn’t bode well” you hummed back lazily, letting your eyes rest for a second.

Jack jostled you by your chin suddenly, forcing your eyes back open and on him “absolutely not, you’re not allowed to shut your eyes till Robby’s here”

“Robby then nap”

He huffed at your response then went back to digging harshly into your shoulder “Robby then nap”

Forcing your eyes to stay open was harder than you thought it would be even with the sharp pain of Jack working on your shoulder, the loud murmur of the hospital in complete chaos around you, the distant sound of your name being called.

Forcing your vision to focus you realized there as a familiar looking doctor now hovering over you with wide eyes, your familiar looking doctor hovering over you, a panicked look on his face as he stared down at you.

“Hey”

He relaxed slightly at the sound of your voice, barely enough to be noticeable but it was better than nothing.

“You’re here” his voice cracked as he said it, a hand coming up to run soft fingers through your hair before you were interrupted by Jack’s small “got it” and a small ting ringing out as he dropped a small metal object into a metal tin.

Robby’s gaze hardened as he eyed the bullet Jack had just dug out of you, wordlessly taking over for his friend and yelling out your blood type without having to check with you first.

Dana descended on the scene as if she’d been waiting just feet away, hanging a bag of blood on the pole by your head before hovering over you in the spot Robby had just occupied “you were supposed to call me”

“Sorry I got a bit caught up” you responded with a lazy smile, faintly registering Dana’s hand tangling in your hair as she smiled down at you.

“I don’t forgive you yet”

You snorted at that, eyes starting to drift closed once again before you heard your name being called.

A vaguely familiar looking man appeared over Dana’s shoulder, introducing himself as a fellow reporter and talking just a bit too fast for you to keep up “you were there right? Did you see-“

He hadn’t even gotten the whole question out before Robby was yelling out Jack’s name through clenched teeth, the physician entering your field of vision swiftly to grab the reporter by the hood on his sweatshirt and yank him back from you roughly, everyone ignoring the chocking noise he made as he gagged on his own neckline.

“Jake” you remembered suddenly, calling out the name as your hand shot out to desperately grab for Dana, the only person within reach “is Jake okay?”

Robby never answered, stern frown locked into place as he stared down at your wound as he worked, leaving Dana to fill in the gaps “he’s fine don’t worry Jake’s fine”

“Good I sent him ahead in someone’s truck” you nodded weakly, relaxing back onto the gurney “wasn’t enough room for all three of us”

Robby scoffed from beside you, eyes never leaving your shoulder even as he spit out “there was enough room”

Neither the time nor the place you decided as you let it go for now, sharing a look with Dana but electing to stay quiet while Robby finished. The man himself not relaxing until he had tied off your last bandage, fingers hover over the wound a second longer than necessary before his eyes finally cut up to meet yours, the corners of them wet as he swallowed “it’s done, you’re okay”

And you knew he wasn’t talking to you when he said it but you nodded along anways, taking his hand in yours with a squeeze “I’m okay”

His other hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb grazing over the skin softly as his eyes danced back and forth between your own “you make me intubate you I’ll never forgive you”

You snorted at that as you sniffed, not realizing how close you had been to crying until you were trying to speak around the lump in your throat “just a nap I promise”

“I’m holding you to that” he whispered, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment longer than necessary before straightening back up.

“I love you” the words spilled out of you before you could even think to regret them, finding that you didn’t mind if you hadn’t said them before, or if this was probably the worst time to say them, it didn’t make them any less true.

Robby responded without thought, grabbing your good hand to press a kiss to the back of it, whispering the words back into your skin before nodding to Dana, letting the woman wheel you away “I’ll see you in an hour okay”

“One hour” you repeated weakly, nodding as you relaxed further back into the gurney, falling fully asleep before you had even reached your destination.

-

You woke to find you’d been given your own room at some point, not all that surprised Robby had pulled some strings to get you tucked away from the chaos of the Pitt, not all that surprised to see the man himself knocked out in a chair beside your bed looking incredibly uncomfortable.

You needed to sit up and get a drink but knowing Robby needed the sleep you did so slowly, desperately trying to minimize the noise as much as possible. You barely got a few inches up off the mattress before you heard him come to with a loud breath.

Taking a mere second to catch his bearings, he was by your side quickly, helping you up with soft whispered easys.

“Thanks” you whispered back to him almost afraid to break the silence in the room as he arranged the pillows around you comfortably to sit. He was handing you a glass of water before you could ask, gently pushing your hair out of your face as you greedily drank, wordlessly grabbing the cup from you to set aside when you were done.

“How’s your shoulder any pain?”

You shook your head waving off the concern “I’m fine it’s manageable”

He eyed you skeptically but didn’t say anything in response, your first warning sign that something was up as he didn’t press, didn’t insist.

Reaching out you tangled your fingers into his, giving his hand a small squeeze, relieved to find he didn’t pull away as you did so. “You look tired”

He huffed at that, taking your entwined hands up to rest against his lips as he leaned on his elbow against the bed, watching you for a moment “I had a long day” Another deep breath, a shake of his head “I had a really long day”

A pause, an internal debate you could see written on his face, and a small sigh before he pushed ahead “seeing your broadcast really didn’t help”

You winced internally at the statement, already knowing where this conversation was going.

He must have been able to read your reaction on your face as he nodded, carefully taking your hand and untangling his fingers from it, setting it gently back on the mattress before harshly digging the palms of his hands into his eyes. “yeah I saw that”

“Robby I-“

“You ran towards the guy who had just been shot” he cut you off with a glare, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his knees.

“I wanted to stop the bleeding”

“You didn’t know where the shots were coming from, didn’t know where the shooter was first” Again he shut you down “You should’ve went for cover, should’ve gotten down, I feel like I shouldn’t have to explain that to you” His voice got louder and louder as he went on, refusing to make eye contact with you as he went.

“I couldn’t just let him bleed out”

“And look where that got you” his gaze was cutting, his tone harsh “he’s still dead and you’re here with a bullet hole in your shoulder”

“That’s not fair”

“I don’t care about fair” he took a pause, took a deep breath, maybe he realized he’d started yelling at you or maybe just realized if he pushed any further he’d start to break down, you weren’t sure which was true “I care that god forbid you’re ever in a situation like that again that I know I can trust you to at least try and keep yourself safe instead of running directly into the next bullet”

“That’s not even when I got hit” The defense sounded weak even to you but you couldn’t help it, couldn’t take him looking at you with such disappointment, such frustration.

“I don’t-“ He cut himself off, forced another deep breath, forced himself to calm back down before continuing “tell me then was is before or after you sent Jake ahead”

“Robby”

“Was it before or after you sent Jake ahead”

You stared back at him in silence, setting your jaw, knowing there was no getting out of the question, knowing that the answer would be easy enough to get from other sources anyways. “Before”

He swore loudly as he stood up suddenly, pacing the room at the foot of your bed anxiously as he ran an exasperated hand through his hair.

“There wasn’t room-“

“That’s bullshit and you know it” he cut you off with a glare “you had a bullet in your shoulder you could’ve squeezed in there easily so why the fuck weren’t you in the car when it left”

You stayed silent beneath his gaze, offering no defense.

“Y/N”

“There was a kid” you shouted back in frustration, practically exploding with the phrase before taking a page out of his book and pausing for a deep breath “there was a kid crying alone and I couldn’t leave him there”

“So you grab him and take him with you”

“Leah didn’t have time for that” you dropped your voice at that, both of you knowing it was true, neither of you particularly liking it “I couldn’t look Jake in the eye and ask him to risk his girlfriend’s life for a random kid”

“So you just decided to do it to me”

You were taken aback by that, those words hitting you harder than you had expected, you hadn’t considered it like that before “That’s not fair”

“There were no more ambulances” he shot back quickly, putting his hands on the end of your bed and leaning into them “the roads were shut down, no one could get through that very well could’ve ben your last chance to make it here and you just let it go”

You clenched your jaw but stayed silent as he made his way back to your bedside, bending down slightly to capture your gaze, keeping your eyes locked on his.

“You risked at best decreased functionality in your hand. And at worst? Infection, losing the entire arm, blood loss, getting hit again”

And you knew you should let him finish, let him get it out, let him unload. Instead you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him.

Robby cut himself off immediately, his entire body freezing beneath your touch. He stayed like that for several seconds, his entire body tensing within your hold, long enough to make you start to doubt if you had just made everything worse, before he finally brought his arms up around you in response.

He robotically positioned them around you, steadily tightening their hold on you as he finally started to relax, softening further and further into the hug before he all but melted into you. One arm tightened almost uncomfortable around your waist while the other bunched up the back of your shirt into a fist as he buried his nose into the base of your neck, holding you as closely as possible, clearly afraid to let go.

“I thought-“ the words were thick as he whispered them into your skin.

“I know” you cooed softly, tightening your arms just as much around him “I’m so sorry Robby”

You stayed like that for long enough to grow uncomfortable, your back starting to ache at the awkward angle, but you didn’t dare move, not until he did, not until he was ready.

Slowly he sat up straighter. Hands snaking along your back and up to the nape of your neck to hold you in place, to keep you close, his face coming back just far enough to keep your noses from bumping.

“We’re going to have a fight later”

“I know” you nodded with a wet chuckle, refusing to let go of his sweatshirt long enough to wipe away the tears.

“I am so angry with you right now” his voice cracked halfway through the sentence.

“I love you”

The tips of his mouth ticked up at that, just barely but it was enough.

One of the hands that were at the nape of your neck moved to cup your cheek, wiping away the wetness from your skin for you “I am so fucking glad you’re okay”

You couldn’t help but laugh again at that, the sound ringing out tragic and broken but still a reprieve from the day, a single band that had been tightening around your chest loosening at it.

“me too”

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Mom of the ER

Fandom: The Pitt

Pairing: Dr. Robby x F!Reader

Summary: You and Robby are labelled as the Parents of the ER. You do nothing but fuel those allegations.

The Pitt Masterlist

Due to a large group of college students getting into an accident, Robby gives you a quick call that he has to extend his shift. You hear the exhaustion and defeat in his tone, so you immediately know what you have to do. You make a large pot of strong coffee and pour it into a large thermos. You also go by a donut shop and buy two dozen boxes for him and his team.

When Ahmad sees you, he lets you in, "It's crazy in there so be quick," he says while grabbing a donut for himself.

"Will do! Thanks, Ahmad!"

"Yeah, and thanks for the donut!"

You walk further into the ED, getting closer and closer to the central hub of it all. You see doctors and nurses scrambling left and right.

"Woah," is all you can say amidst the chaos.

Robby spots you and quickly excuses himself from a speaking with Perlah, "Something happen?"

You shake your head, "No, um, I brought you coffee from home and some donuts for you and the team. Looks like you're going to have a long night."

His eyes soften, "Thanks. I know everyone will appreciate a treat after all this chaos," he says, crossing his arms over his chest.

You can already see how exhausted he is. You reach out and pat his cheek, "I'll put it in the breakroom," you tell him.

He nods, "Thank you. I'm sorry I can't-"

"DOCTOR ROBBY!" Dr. Collins calls for him. The call of his name has him sigh and hang his head low.

You shake your head, "Baby, it's fine. Really. Go save lives," you quickly peck his lips, "I love you."

"I love you. I'll let you know when I'm coming home," he says as he starts heading to a room where Samira is shouting for him.

"Sounds good!" you give him a wave and head to the break room. You set his thermos by the coffee maker. You place the donuts on the small table, writing on the lids: 'For your late night cravings. Keep up the good work, everyone!' paired with your name.

When you step out of the break room, you nearly run into Frank, "Woah! Robby know you're here?"

"Yeah, just saw him briefly. Brought some donuts for you guys," you gesture to the break room.

Frank looks over your shoulder, "Godsend! So happy Robby married you! Truly, the mom of the ER." he says before heading down the hall.

You scoff, "Thanks?" your eyes follow him confusedly. You shrug and head back towards the entrance.

You salute Ahmad, "Have a good night, Ahamad!"

"Stay safe out there, Y/N!" he says with a wave.

"I'll try!"

Later that night, you receive a text from Samira, it's a selfie of her with Collins, some of the residents, Frank, and Princess. They're all posing with donuts in their mouths. The text along with it says, "THANK YOU FOR THE FUEL, ER MOM!"

You text back: anytime! <3

Ever since you and Robby got married, his colleagues and residents have been jokingly calling two to the Parents of the ER. Robby was the stern, tough love parent while you were the very loving and caring one. More often than not, you'd swing by with food for him and his department. You kept up with everyone's lives, would hang out with them even if Robby couldn't make it. It was nice though, feeling like his department was your family.

Your phone then rings in your hand and you smile seeing Robby's name, "Hey."

"Well, that was a shitshow, but your donuts and coffee definitely make up for it."

"Yeah? Any casualties?"

Robby lets out a long, tired, deep breath, "Three. It's...been a long day."

"But you're coming home soon, right?"

He sighs again, "Yeah, in a bit." he pauses, "Got some paperwork to fill out but I'll be home. Thirty minutes, hopefully unless Gloria comes to chew my ass again."

"I'll leave you to it then."

"Wait."

"Hm?"

"You know I love and appreciate you, right?"

You snort, "I know, Michael."

"No, sweetheart, I'm serious. You've taken all of this in stride even before we got married. And you treat my team so well. I just want you to know that it doesn't go unnoticed by me or anyone here. Thank you for not only taking care of me but everyone who works in my department."

You shrug even though he can't see you, "You guys take care of everyone else, someone has to take care of you guys, right?"

Robby chuckles, "Spoken like such a mom."

"God, I thought you hated when they called us that!"

[at-this-point-i-dont-even-know]

Always and Forever

Jack Abbot x Reader

About: Jack Abbot lost his wife in the war, and her memory haunts him for six years, three months and twenty four days.

Warnings: I don't know anything medical or anything military so everything is just a guess , this also might get angsty

part two

Six years, three months and twenty four days.

That was how long Jack had been considered a widower.

Six Years, three months and twenty four days since he kissed his wife goodbye and put you on a helicopter never to see you again.

And every night, for those six years, three months and twenty four days, he has woken from the same nightmare.

He’s standing in the desert, the camp behind him as he waves his wife off, your face smiling down at him from the open door as you yell out something he can’t quite hear. He smiles up at you and then turns his back, just slightly, for a half a moment to talk to someone whose face he no longer remembers, and then the blast forces him onto his back, his face burning from the explosion and the helicopter he had just put you on is alight in the air. Your screams cut through the ringing in his ears as he tries to crawl to the rubble falling from the sky. Trying to get to you as you fall, gracefully and lightly to the ground. A dead weight against the world as he finally gets to you, your face and body burnt beyond any recognition.

Every night he would wake screaming from the dream, his hands clutching the sheets and his breath ragged as he tried to pull himself back to reality.

A reality that didn’t have you in it.

He hadn’t been there the moment you died, no one had, your helicopter had gone down over enemy territory after a routine day. There were no survivors and no opportunity to retrieve your body. 

So every day Jack got out of bed, poured a strong cup of coffee with equal amounts of coffee, sugar and milk, before turning on his police scanner and doing the work outs given to him by his physical therapist. Every day he goes through the motions, eating, drinking, chatting to friends, talking to his therapist, helping in the ER and every single day he is reminded that you are gone.

He moved to Pittsburg once he had been honourably discharged a year after your death and after his reckless actions had cost him his foot. Before Pittsburgh, your home had been an army issued backpack and whatever tent you both collapsed in after performing surgery for 23 hours straight in a makeshift hospital. Your address in the States had been a house in Arizona that you both had put all your life savings into, bought without seeing and sold before either of you had moved in a single box. You were gone before the ink had dried and Jack couldn’t go there without you, so it had gone back on the market and he had moved to Pittsburgh at the insistence of your sister, a woman so much your polar opposite he could not believe you were related let alone see you in her.

Emery Walsh was a force to be reckoned with, and while she may never forgive Jack for talking you into another tour (in her opinion, you were going to go no matter what your husband decided), she had taken one look at him at your gravesite, an empty coffin below his feet, an empty wine bottle in his hands and moved him to her city. Got him a job in the Emergency Room, where she could keep an eye on him without hovering. 

And the days went by.

Six years, three months and twenty four days to be exact.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a better day than most when everything changed.

Jack had been rostered on the day shift, which he was starting to think wasn’t as bad as he had originally thought. His friend Dr Michael Robinavitch had brought him a coffee and the Nurse Dana manning the ship it was easy to fall into a comfortable banter with his colleagues. 

“I don’t know how you can drink that stuff!” Dana quipped, as she scrunched her nose at Jack's coffee order, and sipped her own black coffee.

“It brings me joy- which is a good thing i’ve been told.” he laughed as she rolled her eyes.

“If you keep seeking joy, people are going to think you’re more than a grump.”

“Who called me a grump? I am a pocket full of freaking sunshine!” he said, as dryly as possible.

“Sure-” Dana said before her next words were swallowed up by an incoming emergency. 

And the day continued on, Jack was working on a teenager with too many bullet holes in his chest to survive, when Walsh slammed her way into the Emergency Room, it was her day off so instead of the surgery scrubs she normally wore she was in jeans and a fluffy jumper.

A joke about her outfit was on Jack's tongue when it faded away the moment he caught her face.

Emery Walsh was a stone cold bitch, with a face that normally gives nothing away as she deals with life's challenges. 

Jack keenly remembered her face on the day of your funeral, dressed in Military garb she had remained stoic beside your parents, she had made an emotionless speech about your character with no stories of your shared youth and when your empty coffin had been put in the ground she had simply walked away. 

Jack had never quite forgiven her for that, but on the other side of that argument, who was he to judge, you died, he drank and then marched head first into a firefight with no backup and no worries for his own safety. It was Walsh’s unit that had pulled him out, screamed at him and then Walsh had taken leave of her own tour to stay by his bedside, not for emotional support but by some kind of twisted familiar duty for her sister.

But today, her face is white, and her eyes bloodshot red as she scanned the ER, her hands wringing as she fidgeted on the spot.

Jack moved towards her, ripping off his bloodied gloves and apron and yelling at someone else to help the kid, and grabbed her by the shoulder pulling her attention to him.

“What's wrong?” His voice is commanding, military, which pulls Walsh a little bit back to herself.

“I need Robby, now.” She says, each word an effort.

“Emery-”

“I need Robby- not you!” she hissed before turning on her heels and marching to another end of the ER.

“Dana?” Jack called out as the Charge Nurse rounded a corner.

“Yes?”

“Where’s Sad Boy?” The nickname had stuck months after the Pittfest Shooting much to Robby’s disgust. 

“Ambulance Bay- I think he’s trying to get some second hand smoke.” she laughed as she wandered away. 

It was a running joke, Robby trying to quit smoking, every couple of months he goes a few weeks before giving into the temptation. Jack always thought it was the biggest joke in the medical world, the fact that so many doctors, who all know the risks, still smoke so much. But who was he to judge, he ends most of his shifts at the edge of the roof. 

“Marsh!” the brunette turned to him, her eyes wide and her hands still shaking, “Ambulance bay!”

He wanted to follow her, to find out what had made the woman so shaken up but as he stepped forward he was bowled over by Dana who called him over to the incoming trauma.

--------------------------

It was almost an hour before he was finally back into the bullpen and away from any patients. 

Jack couldn't get the picture of Emery’s pale face and shaking hands out of his mind the whole time he coded his last patient, he didn’t even celebrate the small moment when they came back to the world of the living, instead briskly walking away leaving one of the residents to tell the family the good news. 

As he walked past Dana’s desk, he couldn't locate the charge nurse, Robby or Walsh. 

Where is everyone he thought to himself as he looked subtly behind curtains.

He wandered through the ER, nodding to people and stopping to ask some where Robby or Dana was but everyone was none the wiser.

He was starting to get frustrated, it was unusual for both leaders of the ER to disappear at the same time, normally they take turns having little meltdowns. 

As he headed towards the peds room he finally stopped the Charge Nurse. Dana was leaning against the door and typing quickly on her mobile.

“Hey! Have you seen Robby or Walsh?” 

The nurse looked up, like a deer in headlights, she went immediately ridged and stood between him and the door.

“He’s busy, can you man the front?” she asks, gently trying to push him back but he pushes his heels in.

“Dana? Where is Robby?”

She flicked her eyes between him and the shut door behind her.

“Please Jack- Go back out the front.”

“Why?”

“Jack-”

“What's going on Dana?”

“Sweetheart, I need you to go back out there.”

Icy filled his veins and suddenly he felt like he was back in the desert, having the worst news delivered to him by a patchy radio and uncaring radio operator who didn’t know who they were talking to on the other end. Whatever was behind that door was enough to have Dana calling him a pet name, and her eyes almost brimming with tears. 

He gently moved her to the side and slammed the door open to peds. 

The sight before him stopped him in his tracks. 

Robby and Emery stood over a bed, Robby putting in an IV line while Emery sat on a stool holding the hand tight of the person in the bed. 

“Who-” he whispered before taking one further step into the room and Robby turned to look at him. The attending eyes are wide and filled with emotion as he realises who walked into the door but Jack couldn’t look at him further. 

Jack felt his knees buckle as he took in the patient in the bed.

Pale and sleeping with a ragged breathing pattern, covered in black and blue bruises and a scar now running from brow to lip but he would know that face anywhere.

Jack Abbot had been a widower for six years, three months and twenty four days.

But it was you.

You were there, in the bed.

Alive.

“What the fuck-” he whispered before his knees gave out and darkness took over.

[shunsuiken]

DON’T FORGET WHO’S TAKING YOU HOME (and in whose arms you’re gonna be).

pairing(s). kaeya, childe, ayato, kaveh, neuvillette x fem!reader

genre. fluff

wc. 200-400 for each character

an. AND SING WITH ME 🎤🎤 SO DARLING SAVE THE LAST DANCE FOR MEEE michael buble literally left no crumbs with this song i had to write about it omg + ALSO happy valentines day everyone !!! i may not have a valentine this year but im happy to post this for anybody feeling a little lonely today !! you are so so loved okay ?!!! come and collect a kiss from me before reading on 💋 MUAH have a lovely valentines day !!! <33

kaeya alberich

you’re really good at hiding, kaeya thinks to himself with a huff and a smile on his lips. searching all over the plaza for you was making him break a sweat in his navy blue tuxedo. with another turn around the corner he decides to remove his tuxedo jacket for the time being, folding it over his arm to carry instead.

“no, no, no klee! stop it! you can’t play with your things here, if you blow things up-”

“-master jean will put me in solitary confinement…”

oho, kaeya recognises these two voices very well. he finds it so hilarious that at the end, his feet lead him right to you! not even a single thought was processed as he turned the corner two seconds ago but here you are.

he hides behind the large potted plant, listening to the conversation you and the beloved spark knight share. he stays there until it becomes quiet between you two.

“kaeya, you peacock, i know it’s you.”

kaeya lets out a baffled noise, finally showing himself from behind the plant, offended by the ridiculous nickname you gave him. “snowflake, how dare you?”

“klee, don’t eavesdrop on people like this man when you grow older, yeah?” you point animatedly at your lover, who’s folding his arms and scoffing at you.

klee only giggles, nodding her head. “i gotta go find albedo now!” you watch as she skips off towards the plaza, waving goodbye.

you then turn towards your next problem that stands behind you. “i thought you were out dancing?”

“i was, but they’ll start playing the last dance soon and how can my last dance not be with you?” your lover walks towards you, pulling you closer by your waist with his free arm. you immediately wrap your arms around his neck, smiling softly at his intentions.

you hear an announcement echoing from the plaza before you can reply, and you figure it might have been mika because of how timid the voice sounded.

“good evening everyone, please bring all your friends and company over for the last dance of the night!”

“sounds like our queue.” you slide your arms off his shoulder to grab his hand, pulling him with you without warning.

“oh snowflake, hold on-” kaeya almost trips on air and the sounds of your laughter bounce off the concrete floor and walls as you drag him down the staircase leading to the plaza.

childe

you can never refuse ajax’s request for a dance, because he won’t take no for an answer. especially when it comes to dancing. your feet hurt so much. you’re so ready to just fall on top of your bed and go to sleep. but the only thing that keeps you wide awake, heart pumping and everything is the look on your lover's face.

his gaze usually has this inhumane and dull look to them, but you find that whenever he looks at you or when he participates in something he loves, his gaze finally twinkles. it works so miraculously too. like all of a sudden life was returned to him and he could see.

the smile on your lips grows when you think about this. you think it’s sweet how you’re one of the reasons that the life in his eyes returns.

ajax notices the tighter grip you hold on his forearm, making his lips curl in curiosity. “what’s going on in your head, baby?”

you zone in on the situation, you’re still dancing, and you shake your head in response. “nothing, ajax.” you want to keep your thoughts to yourself but when ajax smiles at you like that, with the most expectant look on his face, you can’t help yourself. “actually, i just thought about the dance.”

he twirls you around to the music before connecting arms with you again. “you just thought about the dance?” his brow quirks in amusement.

“no, no not like that,” you say with a sheepish chuckle before continuing, “i just thought that this number is the longest one so far.”

“well of course,” ajax responds with an eye smile. “it’s the last song.”

“it… is?” you look up at ajax while trying to fight the urge to look anywhere else.

if this is the last song… and you’re dancing with him… then that can only mean-

when the choreography allows ajax to pull you against his chest, he leans down so he can whisper in your ear, “you will be my final dance partner tonight.”

kamisato ayato

these few days at fontaine have been strumming the strings of your heart like a guitar—ayato has been spending so much time with you that you’re beginning to think of such ridiculous conclusions. his eyes that linger on your face, his hand that hovers on the small of your back when leading you out of a hall and it’s just these little things that he does with you that makes you want to claw an entire curtain off its rod. one time he even poured you a glass of wine before taking a sip with the same glass—it’s like he’s forgotten he’s the yashiro commissioner!

thoma and ayaka barely bat an eye. but also, they’ve known ayato for much longer than you have since you were a recent (and lovely) addition to the little family. so… perhaps this is just how he acts?

“uh-huh, when he’s courting someone that is.”

the sentence that thoma said offhandedly is the only thing that rings through your mind. but your thoughts must’ve shone through your expression because ayato is quick on his feet to smoothly guide you off the dance floor, gloved hand still holding yours as he brings you to a less crowded area—the balcony.

“you appeared to be distracted, that’s why i pulled us away,” ayato breaks the silence and your train of thoughts.

he’s still holding my hand—is what you’re repeating in your head. your eyes can barely focus on a single object within your field of vision. your bottom lip quivers at the revelation you’re carefully starting to uncover.

“i am not distracted,” you inhale sharply when you accidentally meet ayato’s gaze. “i…” your brows crease as you try to get words out of your mouth.

ayato brings your hand up to his lips, placing a chaste kiss on the back of your hand and you can physically feel the blood rush up to your fingertips. “would my lady like to return to the hotel?”

your voice leaves your throat in but a hoarse whisper, “what did you just call me?”

you hear a chuckle from ayato and it makes you snap your head around in embarrassment. this new term of endearment rolls off his tongue way too easily, the rascal must have been practicing!

“oh no, no, no, my lady, you must look at me,” a grin appears on ayato’s face at your attempts to hide your expression and when he finally gets you to look at him, you’re caged between his arms.

“why would you call me that?” you whine at his teasing.

“well i just couldn’t keep it to myself anymore,” ayato murmurs, a dust of pink decorating his cheeks. “will you allow me to call you that?”

kaveh

three hours. it’s been three hours since you and kaveh decided to learn a cute couples dance routine ‘for funsies’. whose idea was this again? weren’t you two supposed to be just friends? doesn’t kaveh have a client meeting tomorrow that he should be preparing for?

“so we do this—then this and then we’re supposed to oh—!”

the silence is deafening. the song playing in the background fades as you both stare at each other, even mirroring the same expression. eyes as wide as saucers. lips just inches from connection.

kaveh’s breath fans over your lips and you can hear the audible gulp he makes at the closeness. he’s also entirely aware that the red in his cheeks has reached his ears by now. while you, on the other hand, have started hearing the percussion of your heart in your own eardrums.

“o-oh…” your legs are frozen in place and hang on a second, why haven’t either of you let go?

his hand is respectfully sat on your waist, while the other is occupied holding your hand. you hear him inhale and it grabs your attention before you can get anymore lost in his gaze. his gaze observes your lovely face, eyes flickering from one feature to another as he whispers, “has anybody ever told you you’re pretty up close?”

you shake your head ever so slightly. “no.”

kaveh likes this answer, humming as he ponders for a moment.

your eyes sparkle when that handsome smile of his appears on his lips. he chuckles shortly at your expression, your palm feels so warm when connected with his.

“i’m glad i’m the first to tell you.”

neuvillette

“oh dear, neuvillette,” you chuckle softly, walking towards him as he takes another sip of his water. he stands in a more secluded corner of the hall, briefly greeting guests with a nod of the head. which is why he stands out like a sore thumb—arctic white hair, designer blue suit and a piercing gaze.

but that gaze doesn’t fool you. the dragon sovereign is probably pondering on retiring for the night and is only still present to keep up with appearances.

“yes, lady y/n?” it’s to nobody’s surprise that he heard you from metres away.

when he turns around, your eyes immediately land on the problem you’ve sensed since you returned from the dancefloor.

“your tie,” you reply, standing in front of his figure, nonchalantly raising your hands in preparation to adjust the garment. “will you allow me to fix it?”

the gears in neuvillette’s mind pause abruptly at your question. he certainly has no problem readjusting his own tie. his hands aren’t holding anything else other than his cup of water—which he can definitely put down on a nearby table!

but why can’t he bring himself to say no?

the ‘of course’ leaves his lips faster than he would have liked, but that’s no matter, your expression shows no sign of displeasure. instead, he watches your sweet smile brighten.

when your fingers reach the tie, neuvillette notices how you tiptoe to reach him. so he does what any normal person would do—he leans down.

it catches you off guard, the tips of your fingers just slightly grazing against his neck in the process. you profusely apologise in whispers to which neuvillette can only chuckle at.

“it is no trouble lady y/n, i appreciate the kind gesture.” the corner of neuvillette’s lips curve, his hands neatly tucked behind him as he allows you to redo his tie.

neuvillette’s lips only seem to further break into a smile as he watches you pat on the tie in completion.

“there, all finished.” you look up at the iudex, chuckling, “you ought to learn how to do this yourself.”

neuvillette hums, “perhaps you could teach me.” he takes your hand, gently brushing his lips against your knuckles before kissing it. “but for now a dance shall suffice, would you care to join me?”

[bumblebeeswrite]

APOLOGY OVER TEA | MICHAEL

summary: michael is not the best with your pregnancy, but he's trying

CW: pregnancy complications/scare (non-graphic), arguments, emotional distress, discussion of feeling dismissed/unheard, mild language, hurt/comfort themes.

The flat was quiet, save for the low hum of the refrigerator and the occasional sigh that escaped your lips. You were curled on the sofa, a mountain of pillows attempting to accommodate the significant curve of your belly. Third trimester had hit you like a runaway train – aches, fatigue, and a persistent anxiety that hummed just beneath the surface. Michael was rattling around in the kitchen, the clatter of a mug against the counter echoing slightly in the small space.

He’d been… trying. You knew he was. The impending arrival of your baby seemed to both thrill and terrify him in equal measure. He’d become fiercely protective in some ways, overly cautious about what you ate or if you were getting enough rest. But in other ways, the ways that involved navigating the unpredictable landscape of your emotions or physical discomforts, he sometimes fumbled. Badly.

A sharp, pulling sensation low in your abdomen made you wince, your hand flying protectively to the spot. It wasn’t the usual Braxton Hicks tightening you’d grown accustomed to. This was different – sharper, more localized, and accompanied by a wave of nausea that wasn’t morning sickness. You took a few deep breaths, trying to assess. Was it serious? Was it just another weird pregnancy thing? The uncertainty was exhausting.

“You alright over there, love?” Michael called out, his voice slightly muffled. He appeared in the doorway a moment later, holding two mugs, steam curling from one. He had that slightly hesitant look he got when he wasn’t sure what kind of mood he was walking into.

You tried to smile reassuringly, but it felt weak. “Yeah, just… a weird pain.”

He ambled over, setting his own mug on the cluttered coffee table before handing you yours. Chamomile. He remembered you liked chamomile when you felt stressed. A small point in his favour. He sat on the edge of the sofa, careful not to jostle you too much, his gaze scanning your face. “Weird how?”

“Just… sharp. Down low,” you murmured, taking a tentative sip of the tea. The warmth helped slightly, but the underlying throb remained. “Probably nothing. Just feels… off.”

Michael’s brow furrowed slightly. He reached out, his hand hovering uncertainly near your bump before settling gently on your knee. “You’ve been saying things feel ‘off’ a lot lately.”

There was no accusation in his tone, not exactly, but there was a weariness to it that instantly put your teeth on edge. It was the echo of previous conversations, previous pains dismissed, previous anxieties waved away.

“Because things are off, Michael,” you said, your voice firmer than you intended. “My entire body is doing gymnastics I didn’t sign up for. Things feel different day to day, hour to hour.”

“I know, I know,” he said quickly, holding up a hand. “I get it. It’s just… you said your back was ‘killing you’ yesterday, and then you were fine rearranging the bookshelf five minutes later. And the heartburn thing last week…”

You pulled your knee away from his touch, the warmth of the tea suddenly feeling sickening. “Are you comparing a sharp pain in my uterus to heartburn? Or me needing to stretch my back?”

He looked flustered, running a hand through his already messy hair. “No, course not. Not like that. Just… sometimes, y’know, you get worked up. Hormones and all that.”

Hormones. The word landed like a slap. It was the ultimate dismissal, the catch-all explanation for any feeling he didn’t understand or didn’t want to deal with.

“It’s not just hormones, Michael,” you said, your voice rising despite your efforts to keep it level. The pain pulsed again, a sharp counterpoint to the growing anger in your chest. “Something feels wrong. I’m telling you, this pain isn’t like the others.”

“Okay, okay,” he soothed, though it sounded more placating than genuinely concerned. “Deep breaths. It’s probably just the baby shifting, yeah? Or maybe those practice contractions you were reading about.”

“They’re not supposed to hurt like this, Michael! Not sharp like this!” You shifted, trying to find a position that eased the discomfort, but it only seemed to intensify it. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes – from the pain, from the frustration, from the awful feeling of not being believed.

“Alright, maybe you’re just… being a bit dramatic?” The moment the word left his mouth, he winced, like he knew he’d stepped on a landmine.

The air went still. The hum of the fridge seemed deafening. You stared at him, the tears now threatening to spill over. Dramatic. He’d used variations before – ‘overthinking it’, ‘worrying too much’, ‘sensitive’ – but ‘dramatic’ hit differently. It felt like a deliberate minimization, a flick of the wrist dismissing not just the pain, but you.

Your voice was dangerously quiet when you spoke again. “How many times are you going to call me dramatic when I tell you something is wrong?”

The question hung between you, heavy and accusatory. Michael’s face fell. He looked genuinely taken aback, maybe even hurt, but the damage was done.

“I… I didn’t mean it like that, Y/N,” he stammered, reaching for you again. “Shit, I just… You know I worry too. Maybe I just don’t want it to be anything serious, so I…” He trailed off, unable to articulate the clumsy defence forming in his mind.

“So you dismiss it?” you finished for him, the first tear finally escaping, tracing a hot path down your cheek. “You make me feel like I’m crazy for listening to my own body? Especially now? Do you have any idea how scary that is, Michael? To feel like something might be wrong with our baby, and the person who’s supposed to be my partner, my support, thinks I’m just being dramatic?”

The pain flared again, sharper this time, stealing your breath. You gasped, clutching your abdomen tightly.

“Okay, okay, you’re right,” Michael said quickly, his own panic finally starting to surface as he saw the genuine distress on your face. “Shit. Okay. Is it worse? Do we need to call the midwife? Or go to the hospital?”

His sudden shift to concern felt jarring, almost insulting. It took you doubling over in pain for him to take it seriously.

“I don’t know,” you choked out, pushing yourself upright with a grunt. The movement sent another wave of agony through you. “I just… I need a minute.”

“Let me help you,” he said, trying to steady you.

You recoiled from his touch as if burned. The hurt was too fresh, the sting of his words too sharp. All the times you’d brushed off his dismissals, all the times you’d told yourself he was just awkward or scared, all the times you’d swallowed your frustration – it all came crashing down.

“No,” you said, the word stark and cold. You looked at him, your eyes swimming with tears but your gaze firm. “I want to be alone.”

Michael froze, his hands dropping to his sides. He looked utterly lost, his face a mixture of confusion, guilt, and a dawning understanding of how badly he’d messed up. “Y/N…”

“Please, Michael,” you whispered, the fight draining out of you, replaced by a profound weariness and a desperate need for space. Space from him, space from the pain, space from the fear. “Just… go. Please.”

You turned away, focusing all your energy on breathing through the persistent ache, and slowly, carefully, began to make your way towards the bedroom. You didn’t look back to see if he followed, but you heard his hesitant footsteps falter in the living room, the silence stretching between you like a chasm.

The bedroom door felt impossibly heavy as you pushed it closed, the click of the latch echoing the finality of your words. You sank onto the edge of the bed, wrapping your arms tightly around your belly. The pain was still there, a low, insistent throb, but it was momentarily overshadowed by the ache in your heart. You weren’t just scared about the baby anymore; you were scared about this. About Michael’s inability to truly hear you when it mattered most. How could you rely on him? How could you bring a child into this if he couldn’t even trust your instincts about your own body, about his child?

Tears flowed freely now, silent sobs shaking your shoulders. You felt utterly isolated, the weight of the pregnancy, the fear, and the crushing disappointment settling heavily upon you. You wanted comfort, yes, but right now, the hurt was too fresh. Being alone felt safer than being misunderstood. You laid down carefully on your side, curling around your bump, and listened to the silence, broken only by your own quiet weeping and the distant, muffled sounds of Michael existing somewhere else in the flat, shut out by more than just a wooden door.

Michael stood frozen in the living room, the echo of the bedroom door clicking shut reverberating in the suddenly too-quiet flat. Your words, “I want to be alone,” hung in the air, sharp and painful. He ran a hand over his face, his stomach twisting with a sickening mix of guilt and panic.

Dramatic. Why had he said that? He’d seen the flash of hurt in your eyes, the way you’d flinched. It had been a stupid, thoughtless defence mechanism. Because the truth was, hearing you say something was wrong, really wrong, terrified him. The idea of something happening to you, or the baby… it was a primal fear he didn’t know how to handle. So he’d deflected. Minimized. Like he always did when things got too heavy, too real.

He looked at your abandoned mug of chamomile tea on the coffee table, the steam long gone. He’d been trying to be helpful, trying to be the supportive partner you needed, but he’d failed spectacularly. Your question ��� How many times are you going to call me dramatic? – sliced through his pathetic excuses. It wasn’t the first time. He knew it wasn’t. He remembered the time you’d had that persistent cough you were sure was turning into bronchitis, and he’d told you it was just a cold. Turned out you’d needed antibiotics. Or the time you’d felt faint at the market, and he’d chalked it up to the heat, only for the doctor to say your iron was dangerously low.

He wasn’t malicious. He knew that. He loved you, more than he often knew how to express. But he was clumsy with emotions, especially fear. His own upbringing hadn’t exactly been a masterclass in healthy communication or vulnerability. He tended to hoard his own anxieties, letting them fester until they spilled out in clumsy, hurtful ways.

But this was different. This wasn't just about you; it was about the baby. Your baby. And you were scared. You’d tried to tell him, and he’d shut you down with the most dismissive word he could have chosen.

He sank onto the sofa where you’d been sitting, the cushions still holding the faint indentation of your body. He could hear your muffled crying from the bedroom, and each sob felt like a physical blow. He should go to you. He wanted to go to you, to apologise, to hold you, to make it better. But you’d asked for space. You’d said you wanted to be alone. And maybe, just maybe, the first step in actually listening to you was respecting that boundary, even though it killed him.

He sat there for a long time, the silence pressing in. He thought about the sharp pain you’d described. What if it was serious? What if he’d wasted precious time dismissing you? The thought sent a fresh wave of panic through him. He pulled out his phone, his fingers hovering over the midwife’s contact number. Should he call? Would that be overstepping the ‘alone’ request?

No. Your health, the baby’s health, came first. His bruised ego and your current justified anger were secondary. He dialled the number, his heart pounding.

He explained the situation briefly, calmly, relaying the symptoms you’d described – the sharp, localized pain, the fact it wasn’t easing. The midwife listened patiently, asked a few clarifying questions, and then advised monitoring closely. If the pain intensified, changed, or was accompanied by other symptoms like bleeding or reduced fetal movement, you should come in immediately. Otherwise, rest, hydration, and call back if anything changed.

Hanging up, Michael felt a sliver of relief mixed with continued anxiety. It wasn't an immediate emergency, but it wasn't nothing, either. He’d been wrong to dismiss it so casually.

He needed to apologise. Properly. Not just a quick ‘sorry’, but a real acknowledgement of his behaviour, of the pattern, of the hurt he’d caused. He got up and went back to the kitchen, not rattling this time, but moving quietly. He put the kettle back on, found your favourite mug – the oversized one with the slightly chipped rim – and selected a calming lavender blend tea. He found a small packet of biscuits you liked and arranged them on a saucer. A peace offering. Pathetic, maybe, but it was a start.

Armed with the tea and biscuits, he approached the bedroom door, his stomach churning. He knocked softly, barely a whisper against the wood.

“Y/N?” he called gently. “Love? Can I… can I come in? Or just… talk through the door for a sec?”

Silence. Then, after a moment that stretched into an eternity, your voice, thick with tears but quiet, replied, “What?”

“I, uh… I called the midwife,” he said, keeping his voice low and steady. “Just to be safe. Told her what you said. She said to rest, stay hydrated, and monitor it. If it gets worse, or anything changes, we go straight in. Okay?”

There was another pause. “Okay,” you whispered.

He took a breath. This was the hard part. “And… Y/N, I am so, so sorry. For saying… that. For calling you dramatic. It was a shitty thing to say. And you were right.” He leaned his forehead against the cool wood of the door. “You asked how many times I was going to do it… and the answer should be none. Not ever again. Especially not now. I was scared, I think, and I acted like an idiot, and I made you feel unheard. And that’s the last thing I ever want to do. I know I mess up with this stuff. Talking. Listening. But I am listening now. I promise.”

He waited, holding his breath. The silence felt different this time – less angry, more contemplative.

He turned doorknob slowly. The door opened a crack, and he could see your tear-streaked face, your eyes red-rimmed and wary. You were still curled on the bed, looking small despite your pregnant belly.

“Are you really?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

“Yeah,” he said, his own voice thick with emotion. “Yeah, I really am. I promise. I’ll try harder. I will be better.” He held up the mug. “I made you tea. The lavender kind.”

You looked at the mug, then back at him. You didn’t move to take it immediately, but you didn’t close the door either. You just watched him, searching his face. He kept his expression open, vulnerable, letting you see the genuine remorse, the worry, the love that he struggled so hard to articulate.

Slowly, he pushed the door open wider. You patted the space on the bed beside you, a silent invitation.

Michael entered cautiously, setting the tea and biscuits on the bedside table within your reach. He sat down carefully on the edge of the mattress, keeping a small distance, giving you space but being present. He didn’t try to touch you yet, just waited.

You reached for the tea, your hands trembling slightly. You took a sip, the warmth seeming to steady you a little. The sharp pain hadn’t gone away, but perhaps it had lessened slightly, or maybe the adrenaline was just fading.

“It hurts, Michael,” you whispered, looking down into the mug. “Not just… physically.”

“I know,” he said softly, his gaze fixed on you. “I know I hurt you. And I hate that I did. There’s no excuse.”

You took another sip of tea. “I need you to trust me. When I say something feels wrong, I need you to believe me. Not question me or tell me it’s hormones or that I’m overreacting. I need you on my side. Especially now. I can’t do this alone.”

“You’re not alone,” he said fiercely, finally meeting your eyes fully. “You’re not. Even when I’m being a complete tosser, you’re not alone. I’m here. And I’ll listen. I swear I will. You tell me something’s wrong, I believe you. No questions, no stupid comments. Okay? We call the midwife, we go to the hospital, whatever you need. Whatever we need to do.”

You searched his eyes, seeing the sincerity there, the raw honesty that often hid beneath his awkward exterior. A tentative tendril of relief unfurled in your chest. It wouldn’t fix everything instantly, the hurt was still there, but it was a start. A real start.

You shifted slightly, wincing as the pain made itself known again. Immediately, Michael was alert. “Worse?”

“No… just still there,” you murmured.

He hesitated for only a second before reaching out, his hand hovering over your bump. “Can I?”

You nodded silently. His hand settled gently on your belly, his thumb stroking soothing circles just below the source of the ache. His touch was warm, grounding.

“We’ll figure it out, yeah?” he said quietly, his gaze soft. “Whatever it is. We’ll figure it out. Together.”

You leaned into his touch slightly, letting out a shaky breath. “Okay,” you whispered.

He didn’t call you dramatic. He didn’t minimize the pain. He just sat with you, his hand a steady presence on your belly, his eyes full of apology and a fierce, protective determination. The flat was quiet again, but this time, the silence wasn’t empty or cold. It was filled with the weight of his apology, the tentative beginnings of trust being rebuilt, and the shared, anxious hope for the little life you were both so desperate to protect. It was a start. And right now, that felt like enough.

[bullet-prooflove]

Sweet Dreams: Dean Winchester x Reader

Companion piece to:

You, Me & Tennessee - Dean always returns to Tennessee.

On The Mountain - Dean wishes he was back on the Mountain with you.

Six Pack (NSFW) - You realise the man waiting for you isn't Dean Winchester.

Memories (NSFW) - Michael invades your home whilst you're away.

Dean blames himself for putting you on Michael’s radar. He didn’t understand what he was doing at the time, the personal cost it would take. Michael’s faith in humanity had been waning and Dean was trying to prevent him from doing something drastic. He had been immensely dissatisfied by the answers he was receiving whilst questioning humans about their desires.

Love, a home, a family.

All of them were concepts the archangel couldn’t comprehend because he had never experienced them. The first blush of love, the comfort of a place you could always return to. Michael has never known any of the things that make the human condition worth living.

“I may as well just eradicate you all.” He had told Dean as they sat across from each other at a table of his making. “You’re nothing more than a disease.”

They had argued for hours after that. Dean fighting for humanity with everything he had, trying to convince Michael that they were all worth saving. He’s at the end of his tether when he finally comes up with the idea, why not let the archangel experience it for himself. So he hands him the memory, gives it to him like it’s a gift and everything that happens after that it’s entirely on him.

The memory that Dean gives Michael he thinks is an innocent one. It’s from the Fourth of July five years ago. The two of you are sitting on the beach by the lake, the waves crashing against the shoreline as you watch the fireworks erupt in the sky. He tilts his head to look at you and in that moment he feels that rush of emotion you hear about in romance movies.

That’s the night that he tells you that he loves you, that despite the months you’ve spent apart he hasn’t so much as looked at another woman.

“What happens after that?” Michael asks him and Dean, he snatches the memory back because everything else that happened afterwards is 18+ but Michael, he never let Dean keep his secrets. He tears it away from him and that’s when it starts. This obsession with you, this desire to feel everything that Dean feels when he’s with you.

Humanity is long forgotten because suddenly Michael has emotions. He has memories of a woman his body has loved but he certainly hasn’t. He wants to recapture that, to experience it from himself.

That’s why Micheal’s in your bed naked for the second night in a row, his face buried in your pillow as he dreams of you, his head in your lap, your fingers stroking through his hair.

It’s another one of Dean’s memories, one from the last time he was here.

Love Dean? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

“Sweet dreams.” You had whispered, your lips brushing over his temple and Micheal’s dreams…

They're just the sweetest.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 101 (A Visit From Father Clement)

Early on Winterfest morning, Ash woke Conrad and his mother with excitement. They opened presents together by the tree, with Ash receiving a doctor playset from Father Clement and fantasy books by renowned authors like Layla Delarosa and Mercury Medley.

As a little genius, Heather Father Clement thought he might one day want to become a doctor, but she didn't voice her opinion as her son opened his gifts. The Landgraabs couldn't be upset if their precious heir became a surgeon - Nancy could turn Malcolm and Miko's infant daughter Bridgette into Landgraab Corp's CEO, instead.

"I like it, mommy. Surgeons make lots of money, too."

Heather forced a smile over her stunned expression. There was that Landgraab greed again. "You can be whatever you want to be when you grow up," she said. "No matter what you decide to be, I'll support you."

She would never push her son to be anything he didn't want to be, but she wanted him to know he had choices, even if Nancy talked about his future running her company as though it was a foregone conclusion.

As they got through presents, wiggly, happy Lavender woke ready to join the festivities. After a quick breakfast, the foursome travelled to Heather's childhood home in Henford to spend the day with her family.

Four-year-old Michael was curious about his older cousin, Ash, and the toddler followed him around for most of the day with their grandparents. Heather pleased her dad by cooking the grand meal - a fish dinner like they used to have growing up, since they always had plenty of fish with Daisy and Holly around!

"So now that there's a ring, when will there be a wedding?" Neal wondered brusquely. "Before or after he's done with his current case?"

Heather shrugged. She hoped it would be after, but she didn't want to talk about the case in front of the kids. "It's still too cold for a wedding. We're happy being engaged and we just want to enjoy the rest of the season."

"As long as I'm the best man when you finally make it official," said River.

"Whose? Mine or Conrad's," said Heather. She spoke for her fiance after he stepped into the bedroom to check on a napping Lavender.

River and Cassandra's youngest son, Sammy, fussed in his crib. He was hungry, and Heather waved off Cassandra to let her enjoy her meal. "I've got this. I saw the bottles in the fridge when I was making dinner." She was happy to focus on anything other than talk about her wedding.

The thought of being married didn't stress her out at all, but planning a wedding sounded like work. And she already had plenty of work.

Daisy turned to her daughter with a curious gaze. "Conrad will claim River, so who will be your sim of honour, Heather?"

"It should be me," said Hazel with a lighthearted grin. "I'm her Little Dandelion and we're friendship bracelet besties for life."

"She was Holly's sim of honour so Holly will probably be hers," reasoned Cassandra. "You didn't even have a sim of honour at your wedding."

"She hasn't asked Holly yet," said River. The conversation about Heather flowed as though she wasn't even in the room. "Holly keeps checking in to make sure she hasn't asked somebody else."

"I should just let everyone else plan the wedding for me," Heather joked, but she was only half kidding. "It would save me time I don't have to spare already. But it's Winterfest! Let's just wait for Father Clement and put off talking about a wedding until at least the new year. Ash sit down."

"I can't sit down, I'm too excited for Father Clement! I need to tell him about the toys I still want when I open presents at Daddy's place tomorrow."

River turned to share a look with his elder sister.

"Ash, I know you're excited, but Winterfest is more about spending time with people you love than it's about gifts," Heather said.

"I understand, Mommy. I love spending time with everyone, too."

"I know you do. And your cousin Michael can't get enough of you!"

"Yeah, he's alright even though he's following me everywhere." He was too young to mask the bored look on his face, and Heather frowned. She couldn't miss River and Cassandra's quick looks of disappointment and her heart sank.

The front door opened and a man with a long white beard and blue velvet coat entered with a friendly chuckle. Ash leapt up excitedly, with Michael tailing him close behind.

"Father Clement, Father Clement! Mommy said you'd come!"

The jolly old man nodded. "I always come unless there's a glitch in the time code!"

Ash laughed out loud. "Time code! That's a good one, Father Clement."

River leaned in to talk quietly to his elder sister. "He's schmoozing with Father Clement. Is he serious?"

"Happy Winterfest, young Ash. I have a gift for you!"

"No thank you, Father Clement. You can give mine to another kid who needs a happier Winterfest. Mine was the best already!"

Heather smiled, and Father Clement laughed with his gloved hands over his round belly. "That's a very honourable choice, young Ash, and I always make honourable Winterfest wishes come true."

"Thank you, Father Clement. Have you met Michael? He's my cousin, but you might not know him because he's a baby."

"I'm not a baby!" argued Michael, and Heather's smile faded a lot faster than it took Father Clement to take his leave.

The seasonal present-deliverer wandered around the Nesbitt home for a while, checking out corners, looking quietly for a fireplace the Nesbitts had never installed. But it never got cold enough in winter, and they didn't have the space.

Finally, after Ash and Michael had gone to bed and the clock struck one a.m., Father Clement walked out the front door for another year.

Heather fretted as she watched him go, worried it was more than the spirit of the season that made her son such a brat to his cousin. What was she doing wrong?

Her son was a Landgraab in name, but he would not become a Landgraab in spirit, too. She couldn't let it happen. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: So ASH! I don't know about your own experiences with kids and the holidays, but I think a lot of kids at 5-6 get unrealistic expectations about Christmas and gifts and need reality checks when it comes to how the commercialization of the holidays can affect entitlement. Add in the fact he's got Landgraab entitlement swimming around in that brain of his, and this isn't meant to show Ash as a greedy little jerk, but more like a kid who's caught up in the gifts aspect of the holiday and needs a bit of a reality check. I think Heather might need to make time to 'volunteer with family' on an upcoming holiday.

As for how Ash is with Michael, that is a thing I can't explain and seems to be specific to Michael so far. Which sucks! But I guess all sims can't like everybody...

[vivid-wisp]

Hi I love Michael Afton and he's been living rent free in my head for weeks, here's random HCs so I can finally ramble about him or I'll actually explode.

Michael Afton headcanons (and also canon stuff I’m expanding on):

- While Michael was influenced to be a bad brother by William being absent, I do 100% believe his jerk behavior was also him acting like a typical older brother. Him being a jerk was mostly his choice, basically. I feel it adds to his agency instead of placing all the blame on his dad

- Michael was 13-14yo when the Bite of 83’ happened. 13 fits for young age, but 14 fits to get him working by FNAF2 at 18yo going by the theory he’s “Fritz Smith”

- Michael and Charlie were absolutely friends, Henry and William were portrayed to be close they totally would’ve had their kids hanging out.

- Michael and Charlie stopped being friends though once he began his bullying phase + hung out more with his bully friends. They drifted apart after Charlie put her foot down with Michael picking on CC/Dave and he argued she was being overprotective.

- I like to think Michael would go over to the Emilys’ household to get away from his family. Henry was like an actual father and Charlie was like a sister to him

- Michael was mainly driven by his guilt accidentally killing CC/Dave, and it was only after realizing his dad’s crimes that his motive also becomes about saving other kids killed by William, especially Elizabeth and Charlie.

- Michael likes watching soap operas because he watched them with Elizabeth and CC/Dave before everything went awful.

- He had tan skin as a kid cause he went outside a lot, but after CC/Dave died he became very reclusive and stayed inside constantly. He lost his tan as a result (and why he looks like that in SL’s custom night).

- He looks similar to William but they differ in that Michael has dark blue eyes while William has pale silver-blue eyes. He also keeps his hair longer so it helps distinguish him from his dad’s short hair. Michael hates the fact he looks like William

- After he gets scooped he doesn’t need to actually breathe, eat, sleep. He still does stuff like breathe and try to sleep because oops force of habit

- 100% rotting purple, the remnant just kept him from dying and that’s it. He wears a wig and that bear mask during PizzaSim so people don’t need to see his face in great detail. In FNAF3 people just waved off his rotting look as a “detailed cosplay”

- Post-scoop or just any time after CC/Dave’s death, Michael is more prone to crying and nervous breakdowns. He’s more reserved as an adult. Snark and dark humor also dialed up to 100

- Post-scoop he still chews gum because it helps with the sensation to eat without actually eating food. Only problem is that it’s annoying to pull out any remaining teeth he has from chewing gum.

- Post-scoop he has high pain tolerance. He either can’t feel any pain or it takes a lot of pain to make him feel anything.

- He’s great at drawing cause he initially did it in school out of boredom/not paying attention. While working as a night guard, he draws so he can remember details about animatronics and how to handle them by drawing out important features. Like tampering with them

- He’s so focused on fixing his family’s history that Michael doesn’t have anyone else in his social life post-scoop. He wishes he did, but he knows he lost that the moment he learned everything about William

- I personally enjoy him being aroace. I think he’s too busy being tormented by the narrative to think about settling down. Not like he’s given the choice anyway LOL

[aspiringtrashpanda]

HI TUMBLR USER ASPIRINGTRASHPANDA im a big fan of your work please keep it up!!!!!!!!

would it be too oddly specific to request raph introducing mc to hella britney spears obey me? :D

HI TUMBLR USER SHOOTINGSTARRFISH IT WOULD BE AN HONOR TO WRITE ABOUT HELLA BRITNEY SPEARS OBEY ME. 💕

Characters: Raphael, MC, appearances by Solomon and Simeon Raph shows MC his pet. pure fluff! No warnings apply

“Ah, welcome,” Simeon smiled from the doorway of Purgatory Hall. “I heard from Luke that you were coming by. Are you seeking refuge?”

You shuffled your feet, ducking your head as shame prickled the nape of your neck. “How did you know?”

His eyes squinted, that pretty jingle of his laugh filling the air between you. “I think I can see smoke coming in the direction of the House of Lamentation.” 

“Oh. Yeah, you see…” Where did you even begin to explain the domino effect that had happened this time?

“No need,” Simeon came to your rescue, gentle gaze oozing sympathy. “I know those brothers well enough to surmise what happened.”

When you winced something akin to an agreement, he ushered you inside, sheltering you from the occasionally overwhelming presence of your favorite brothers. As you toed your shoes off in the entrance, the scent of Simeon’s cooking washed over you. You may as well have turned into a cartoon caricature of yourself, floating towards the delightful smell in the kitchen. 

“Luke and I are making lunch.” As if he even had to clarify. He did, however, add, “but you’ll find Solomon and Raphael in the living room,” which was basically Simeon for don’t bother trying to help.

Making the familiar turns throughout the first floor, you lifted a hand to wave at Solomon and Raphael, only to drop it to your side when you found them. The two men stood side by side, folding laundry. Or, more like Solomon was hauling clothes out of a basket, molding them into a roughly square shape, and placing them on the coffee table… Just to have Raphael re-fold them right beneath his nose, with piercing eye contact. 

You watched for a few seconds before making your presence known. There was a twinkle in Solomon’s eyes, a twitch to his neutral lips that had you wondering if he was intentionally ruffling the angel’s - currently withdrawn - feathers. 

Solomon’s amusement was lost on Raphael. You were certain you could see the cogs whirring in his brain beneath his ashy hair. The crease of his brow told you he had absolutely no idea how Solomon could be so bad at laundry. 

“Hi,” You broke through the silence, putting on your cheeriest smile, “How is my favorite Purgatory Hall resident today?”

As you saw the confusion give way to suspicion in their twin looks of surprise, you considered that perhaps you, like Solomon, also liked to stir the pot. It was funny, how they both straightened their spines, puffed out their chests, sized the other up while simultaneously pretending to be unbothered. Subtle peacocking, in a way. 

You would do the same to the brothers, but… Well, then you would just end up at Purgatory Hall once more, wouldn’t you? Such a taunt was sure to start another fire of some sort between the Rulers of the Underworld. 

“Well, if it isn’t my adorable apprentice,” Solomon beamed, reaching behind the laundry basket to procure a bowl of pastries. “Can I interest you in a macaroon?”

“Did you make them?” You eyed the fluffy cookies. They did look good…

“Of course!”

Never mind.

“Ah, sorry Sol, I ate before coming here and I’m stuffed.” You lied. Thankfully, Raphael’s malfunctioning tastebuds saved you from further scrutiny. He lit up like the heavens above, blue gaze sparkling like sapphires as he snagged one of the sweets.

“Truly delicious, Solomon.” Despite his praise, Raphael remained as stoic as ever. Only the slightest glimmer of joy dancing in his eyes gave away his genuine gratitude. “I must get your recipe. Michael is so fond of sweets.” 

“I’ll make sure to bake him a special batch at the end of the semester,” Solomon preened beneath the compliment, “You could send him my regards.”

And just like that, the angel’s guard flew back up, an expression edging confusion finding solace in your hum of surprise. What on earth - er, the three realms? - did Solomon want to send regards to archangel Michael for? 

As Solomon turned back to the laundry, excusing himself by claiming he had to retrieve another load from the dryer, Raphael eyed you with unveiled curiosity. You shrunk under the intensity of his stare. It wasn’t often you found yourself alone with the latest exchange student from the Celestial Realm, and you weren’t sure you would ever get used to the way he watched you so carefully. Though he rarely voiced his thoughts, his stare had a certain weight to it. One that told you that he was questioning every flex of your fingers, every slope of your lips, every shift of your limbs. Why he found you so interesting, you weren’t sure. 

As for you… Of course you found him interesting! Luke had said it himself - Raphael was the youngest angel to ever be given the rank of seraph! He was quiet and mysterious and so very guarded. You never knew just what he was thinking at any time. You could examine him for hours and you were certain boredom would elude you.

In fact, you were about to find out who would win a casual staring contest between the two of you. Almost taken aback by your confidence, there was a split second where you thought he was going to cave, his jaw clenching and his lips pursing in a pout you almost considered petulant. But then, he steeled his resolve, doubled back with a burning question in his gaze.

You had no answer for his silent inquisition, but you felt scorched regardless. 

“Hey,” He blinked slowly, forfeiting. “Do you want to see my spears?”

“Actually…” You were answering before you even knew what you were going to say. “Yeah, I do.”

“Come with me,” He nodded curtly, exiting the living room with little warning. 

Nearly tripping over your feet in your haste, you raced after him, the flutter of his Celestial Realm clothes a flash of ivory turning a corner. Your heart thudding in your chest, you felt your anticipation growing with each step. You had heard so much about his rain of spears! The terrifying display of violence that struck fear into even Belphegor’s heart!

And so, you were completely flabbergasted when Raphael spun around from the corner of his temporary bedroom, brandishing… not a weapon. 

You almost considered it anticlimactic, but the disappointment lingered for less than a second. Your brain’s buffering complete, it reached a very reasonably enthusiastic conclusion: Raphael was cradling a hedgehog. Not just any hedgehog, but a shadow hedgehog native to the Devildom. Its charcoal quills quivering under your awestruck gaze, you hit the brakes on your excitement, your index finger hovering an inch away from its curious nose.

“Can I pet it?” You whispered, even though no one had told you to keep quiet.

“He likes when you rub his forehead,” Raphael matched your volume, lifting the little mammal closer to your face.

Sure enough, the shadow hedgehog squeaked in delight as you carefully ran the pad of your finger up his nose to the patch of fur between his ears. “Is… Is his name Spears?”

Raphael looked at you incredulously, as if the answer was obvious. “His back is made of a thousand spears.”

To accentuate his point, he gently stroked the needles laid flat over Spears’s back. You smiled, “Shadow hedgehogs are known to inflate like pufferfish when they feel threatened.”

Raphael regarded you with a stern frown, “I would never harm Spears.” 

“No!” You squawked, startling the hedgehog. He hissed softly, nuzzling into Raphael’s thumb for reassurance. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

A pensive hesitance fogged those sapphire eyes. Cradling his pet close to his chest, he seemed to calculate the potential risks in his head before offering, “Would you like to hold him?”

Did you ever! Your hands shaking, you extended them towards Spears, your palms pressed together in a makeshift platform. “Okay…”

It tickled, the way his little paws scurried across your skin. His nose - wet and cold - nudged against the base of your thumb, his miniature spears raising in apprehension until he deemed your hands safe. Then, he sat still and allowed you to marvel at his pristine quills and beady onyx eyes. He was an awfully cute hedgehog. 

“You know, in the human world, there’s a musician named Britney Spears.” You weren’t entirely sure why you were bringing up the pop star. You were positive she was not to Raphael’s liking. 

“Are they any good?”

You sidestepped. “They’re iconic.”

His silence seemed louder this time, his lips twisted into the smallest frown as he watched his pet tentatively lick at your palms. With a resolute jerk of his head, he decided, “I will allow Britney to be his middle name.”

“Middle name? Like, Spears Britney… Last name?” 

“His first name is Hella.” 

“What?” You blinked. Listen, you led quite a bizarre life. From being yoinked into the Devildom, to nearly dying at the hands of Levi because you lowkey cheated at a quiz show, to actually dying in a different timeline for wanting to hug Belphie, and then to somehow becoming the apprentice of the world’s strongest sorcerer. And yet, this hedgehog’s name managed to be the oddest thing you had heard yet.

Raphael shrugged, “Solomon assures me it is a name for only the most honorable warriors in the human world.”

Your lips curled inwards, sucked by the force of your inhale. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh.

Still, your voice wavered with amusement. “Hella…Britney Spears, the shadow hedgehog.”

“Yes,” Raphael confirmed, pride overwhelming his gaze as he gently took the little mammal from your hands. “The best around.”

The glint in his eye told you that arguing would only end in a rain of actual spears. All you could do was nod, thank him for sharing a piece of his life with you, and echo, “The best around.”

*・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜

My requests are open! Find out more HERE. Banner by the incredible @4laurus, Beel fan extraordinaire.

ALSO HERE IS HELLA BRITNEY SPEARS OBEY ME.

[humanpurposes]

Just for a moment, part iii

Tom Bennett has a habit of climbing through her bedroom window whenever he's in trouble // Main Masterlist

Tom Bennett x OFC

Warnings: 18+, mentions of war and death, friends to lovers, angst, fluff, smut, Tom Bennett's daddy issues

Words: 5400

A/n: Also available to read on AO3.

Monday 27th May, 1940

The morning starts off with a miserable drizzle. Kitty watches the grey fade to warmth through her shift, until the early evening sun shines brightly through the wide windows of the shop.

The month of May has very much been the same, cold and wet at first, but the weather has been clearing up nicely. Dad is devoted to the garden now, digging up the grass and planting vegetables in every free space he can. It’s on posters all over the shop: Dig For Victory. Live off spuds and SPAM when the rations run out.

Life feels mechanical; most days she doesn’t feel like a real person at all. All week she stands behind the counter, exchanging coupons for pitiful amounts of tea and sugar, stocking up the rack of newspapers and skimming over whatever horrors the headlines are screaming about that day. When she gets home, she pulls together some kind of dinner from what food they have while dad sits by the wireless. When mam gets home from the munitions factory, they gather around the table and eat in silence.

The house is so quiet without the boys. The only time it feels a little lively is when they get a letter from one of them, but they aren’t very consistent, especially considering there’s three of them.

Every so often, she gets a letter from Tom Bennett, but she tends to keep those to herself.

Her life has become a waiting game, she realises, existing between brief moments of happiness with nothing but her memories to entertain herself. She finds herself thinking about Tom an awful lot. It’s not so bad during the day when she has something to do, but when she lies alone at night, her mind can wander. She still leaves her window unlocked and huddles close to the wall because maybe— just maybe, he’ll come through the window and fill the space beside her.

Once she’s packed up the register and put up the shutters, she waves goodbye to Mr Gregory and leaves him to lock the door.

She runs into the postman at the top of Slade Grove. She feels slightly less guilty for not remembering his name when he greets her as “Catherine.” It’s what her teachers at school used to call her, and it’s what mam calls her when she’s in a particularly foul mood. Now it just puts her on edge.

“Can I give these to you now?” he says, handing her a stack of three envelopes. “Saves me a house later on.”

She flicks through them as she carries on walking. Two are addressed to Michael Wheelan and they look boring, letters from the bank or something official, but upon seeing the third she stops and smiles.

Miss Catherine Wheelan 28 Slade Grove Longsight, Manchester United Kingdom

It’s written in Tom’s handwriting.

She tears it open immediately, her eyes flickering between the page and the street ahead, weaving through any passersby.

Dear Kitty,

Sorry it’s been a while since the last one. Morale hasn’t been the best to be honest. Do you know what they’re calling the last eight months now? “The phoney war”. Apparently things are only going to get worse from here, not that it’ll help your nerves.

Thanks for checking up on dad for me. I do worry about him being on his own, with Lois being away and all. I wonder if she’ll be back yet by the time you get this. Have you heard much from your lads? I hope they’re doing alright.

You’ll be pleased to know I haven’t been picking as many fights, but sure you know me, sometimes I can’t help myself. I’ve been reading over what you said. I know it’s not helpful, I know it’s stupid, but then I’ve never been one to think things through, have I? I suppose that’s not much of an excuse. It’s instinctive. It’s like my head tells me what I’m doing is wrong, but I don’t know what else to do.

And we could die any day. Kitty, the state I’ve seen some of these men in…

The writing becomes crooked and trails off, ending with a smudge of ink.

Maybe I should write about something less depressing? Did I tell you about this gorgeous bird I met at Port Stanley?

Kitty’s heart drops.

Beautiful thing she is. The moment I saw her I knew I had to have her, so I stowed her away and brought her on board with me. She whistles a lot, and she has these lovely yellow feathers that really brighten up the bunk. She’s a noisy eater though, munches on seeds like she’ll never eat again. I’ve named her Vera.

I can see the look on your face now. Don’t worry, pretty Kitty, there’s no other bird that could ever replace you.

“Charming,” she mutters to herself.

I think I quite like these letters really, it’s nice to give myself a moment to think, even if I can’t hear from you straight away. That’s when I miss you the most, right after I’ve sealed the envelope and written your address. I hate the waiting.

She glances up, seeing she’s only a few doors down from her house.

I should have leave coming up soon. I’m looking forward to putting my legs on dry land and sleeping on a proper mattress…

She checks the top of the page. The letter is dated from weeks ago. “Soon” could mean anything.

… and the odd late-night tryst to see my fancy woman at number 28.

She scoffs a small laugh.

I bet you’d slap me for that. God I hope your mum doesn’t get her hands on this before you. Ey up Mrs Wheelan, see what I meant was, your Kitty’s a very well-mannered lady.

She purses her lips in an attempt not to laugh, coming to stop before her own front door.

Take care of yourself Kitty. Don’t spend too much time fretting over me.

Your dear friend,

Tom Bennett

Her smile fades quickly— why shouldn’t she worry about him?

It’s always the same with letters from Tom. Her heart leaps and for a few brief moments she feels so bright, just to have some kind of news from him. She could read pages and pages of his stupid ramblings and his moments of sincerity, but then it’s over all too soon. He signs off as her dear friend, then suddenly the words on the page are no longer new, and he’s still thousands of miles away, picking fights with his crewmates and launching shells at German ships.

The days pass slowly, but when she stops and looks back, the eight months have felt like nothing. Her life is flying past her and she hardly even notices, too caught up in the memory of those nights in September.

All for him to call her his fancy woman and feed her jokes about birds.

She knows better than to get her hopes up with Tom; she’s seen him go through every crush he’s ever had. He used to go through phases of ditching her for whichever sweetheart he was entertaining at the time, only to come crawling back to her when he’d inevitably cock it all up. Because he’s Tom Bennett, and he can’t help but make a mess of everything.

And like a good friend, she always kept her window unlocked for him, always held him when he needed it and did her best to set him straight. Because that’s what friends are supposed to do, surely, and he never said they were more.

Is that truly all she is to him? A dear friend, a listening ear and a convenient shag.

She rubs her fingers over her eyes because she will not cry over Tom Bennett. With the letter back in its envelope, she puts it into her bag and tries to find her keys, when she notices the smell of cigarette smoke. It’s hardly a rarity, but it makes her think of him.

For whatever reason, she glances over her shoulder at number 27. Low and behold, she sees a man with a cocky smile in a tight, white t-shirt, leaning in the doorway, lowering a cigarette from his mouth.

“Alright, pretty Kitty?” Tom says. “Was waiting for you to notice me–”

Suddenly she’s flying across the street and flinging her arms around his neck. She stands on her tiptoes to put her head over his shoulder and he leans into her, holding one arm over her back and one around her waist.

She closes her eyes. His breath is hot against her neck. He is here. He is real. He is more than a memory or words on a page.

Tom presses a soft kiss to her temple and she feels him smiling against her skin. “Take it you missed me then?”

She pulls away, holding back the urge to cry again, hardly able to catch her breath. This close, she can see every detail of him this close, the texture of his skin, the lines around his mouth and brows, the circles under his eyes, the scruff along the sides of his jaw, the little cleft on the tip of his nose. “Maybe a little bit,” she says.

She gives a little yelp of surprise when she feels him pulling her into the house. He closes the door behind them and then her back is against the wall, her handbag dropped by her feet.

Tom shrugs her coat from her shoulders before he surges in to kiss her, fiercely, desperately. Their bodies are tangled in one another, her hands in his hair, his tracing over the curves of her body through her dress.

And then he moves away. She tries to follow him only to realise he’s smirking.

“Missed me just a little bit?” he teases.

She wants to roll her eyes, but she just smiles. “Quite a bit.”

He drags his thumb over her lower lip, pulling it down to watch it come back into place.

Kitty huffs impatiently as she nudges her nose up into his.

Their eyes meet and the anticipation lasts a lifetime.

Tom hums as he leans in to kiss her again, slower and deeper, pressing her a little further into the wall by the firm hold on her waist.

“Missed you,” he utters between kisses, “so fucking much.”

She runs her hands over every part of him she can reach, his neck, the sharp line of his jaw, over his ears and into his hair.

“How long have you been back?” she breathes.

“Since this morning,” he says, coming to kiss her neck, the spot he knows will have her back arching against him.

“You didn’t come to the shop,” she says.

“Wanted to wait for you.”

She glances down the hallway, to the seemingly empty kitchen.

Tom huffs and pulls away from her, leaning with one hand against the wall. “Dad’s flogging his paper. Lois is out. Empty house for a few hours.”

She turns her head back to face him, pleased at the flush in his cheeks and the mess she’s made of his hair.

Tom’s eyes look down to her waist, where he presses his thumb into the fabric of her dress. “Come upstairs,” he says lowly, “I want to fuck you properly.”

She nods mindlessly, closing her hand around his as he leads her up the stairs, to a bedroom with two single beds, separated by a curtain. The room is about the same size as the boys’ bedroom in her house, but with only two beds, there’s enough space for two separate wardrobes. Her brothers make do with sharing everything.

Nothing about the room denotes Tom Bennett, not the floral wallpaper or the knitted throws on the beds. Not the books, perfume bottles and silver candelabras on the mantle, and certainly not the lingering scent of hairspray.

He leads her to the bed furthest from the door. She follows the stream of sunlight coming in from the window, and then she notices the details that are his. The ashtray and the empty beer bottle on the bedside table, the ditty bag and the pairs of boots at the foot of the bed, and the sailor’s hat left on the floor by the wardrobe.

The door closes and his footsteps tread softly behind her. His hands snake around her waist and turn her to face him.

She places her hands on his chest, running her hands over his torso, mapping his body through the soft cotton t-shirt. He feels firmer than he used to, a consequence of loading shells into guns and living off rations. She feels along his arms too, over muscles, veins, tendons and the scar below his bicep.

Tom presses a kiss to her forehead before he starts to undo the buttons on the front of her dress. A familiar restlessness rises in her belly, and suddenly she thinks she can’t bear to wait another moment. With the buttons undone, she puts her hands over Tom’s as he slides the dress down to the floor, along with her stockings and quickly slips out of her shoes.

She wastes no time unclasping her brassiere and muffles Tom’s awestruck groan by pressing her lips to his.

Somehow he manages to rid himself of his t-shirt and slacks without parting from her for too long, and he guides them both to the bed. She giggles as he lands on top of her and the metal bedframe squeaks.

“Now,” Tom says, pressing a delicate kiss to her neck. “Don’t have to worry about being quiet like we usually do, do we?”

“No…” Kitty breathes as he moves down, dragging his lips and tongue down her body. When he comes to her breasts, he cups one with his hand, and takes the other nipple in his mouth. Her head rolls back against the pillows but she brings her eyes back to him. She wants to cling to every moment, every sensation, all the movements of his tongue against her skin and his hair falling in front of his face.

“Eight fucking months,” he half growls as he moves further down, kissing along her stomach and running his hands over her hips. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

She instinctively bites her lip when he ghosts his lips over her clothed cunt.

He tuts. “Don’t hold back on me now, sweetheart. I want to hear how much you missed me,” he says, curling his fingers around the hem of her underclothes before dragging them along her legs, leaving them somewhere on the floor.

He trails teasing kisses along her thighs. She squirms and whines every time he edges closer to her centre, until finally, he drags his tongue through her folds, from her entrance, up to her pearl with a deliciously agonising pressure. She doesn’t hold back the moans that sound in her throat, curling her fists through the bedsheets.

He works over her pearl with his tongue and lips, groaning against her as he does it and squeezing his fingertips into the flesh of her thighs.

It’s been so long since she’s felt like this, even on the nights when she felt herself getting too desperate, she can never quite match the feeling.

In a way it infuriates her that he can make her feel so good, but what’s worse than that is that he knows it. She can see his smug, half smile as he mouths at her cunt, so pleased at the noises she makes and the way her hips are starting to move against him.

She curls in on herself as her peak washes over her, but he manages to hold her down, right where he wants her, and keeps going until her whole body shudders and her legs are quivering.

“Fuck,” she breathes, “Tom…”

Even then he doesn’t give her much of a reprieve. He moves back for a moment before he positions her legs over his shoulders. His tongue is against her again, only now he moves lower, teasing over her entrance.

She whines impatiently.

“Fucking greedy, aren’t you?” Tom chuckles. He licks over her again— too much and not enough. “Just take it, take what I give you.”

But it doesn’t take long for him to slip his tongue inside her while his nose nudges against her. His name is a dreamy chant on her lips now. The pleasure rises and burns until she’s sure she can’t take anymore. She threads her fingers into his hair, gripping at it, urging him on, just a little more, and she’s sure she’ll fall apart.

Then he’s gone without warning, but he soon compensates the loss by replacing his tongue with a single finger.

Tom gazes up at her through his lashes. He keeps his eyes on her face as he pushes inside of her, deeper, deeper, until she takes a sharp intake of breath when he finds her sweet spot.

“Give me another one,” he groans, lowering his head down to circle his tongue over her. “Come on, pretty Kitty.”

She follows it like a command. Her second peak is sharper than the first and has her gasping for breath as she feels herself come undone around him.

“There you go,” Tom grins as he brings her legs from his shoulders and starts to make his way up her body.

He props himself over her, one hand on either side of her head. His silver chain, usually hidden below his shirt, dangles in front of her as their eyes meet. They breathe together, chests rising and falling in perfect unison.

He hesitates for a moment, before he places a lazy kiss to her lips. “God,” he utters, “you’re so fucking gorgeous, do you know that?”

“Just keep saying it,” she says.

He takes one of her hands and guides it down to his briefs. She traces her fingers over the hem before she slides underneath and wraps them around his already hard cock.

“Fuck—” Tom hisses through his teeth, his brow furrowed and his jaw tight. He reaches for the bedside table and hands her a condom. “Do the honours for me,” he grins.

She tears it open and reaches back down to slide it along his length.

Slowly, he lets his weight fall against her as he slides inside of her, burying his face into her neck and letting out a shaky breath against her skin.

She brings her arms around his shoulders as he rocks into her, gently at first, but she can feel that it’s not enough. His breaths are getting sharper and his thrusts harsher as he whimpers into her neck.

She holds him as tightly as she can, hoping it will somehow soothe the ache in her heart, because she still feels the absence of the last eight months. Because she can already feel the time slipping away.

Tom withdraws from her neck. “Look at me,” he pleads.

She does, and he brings his forehead to hers. His nose presses into hers and their lips barely brush over each other.

“You feel so good,” he says. His expression fades into something darker and more determined as he fucks her harder and faster, “so fucking tight.”

She feels it too, the urgency to make up for the time and the distance with a carnal need.

They reach their climaxes together, moaning into each other’s mouths and keeping their bodies tight together. It never feels close enough.

Once they’ve caught their breath and they feel their desire mounting again, Tom lies back on the bed and brings her to straddle him.

While the position isn’t unfamiliar, the movements are, but she’s eager enough, gauging both of their reactions as she grinds her hips against his. She goes slowly, at first, bracing herself against him while Tom keeps hold of her waist to guide her movements.

“Nice and slow, just like that,” he whispers, gazing up at her with a slight smile, “show me how much you missed me.”

She doesn’t care how the bed creaks under them, that she’s breathing and moaning too loudly. There’s something freeing and unashamed about how they fuck. Seeing Tom’s face twisted in pleasure and hearing his needy whines as he starts to buck his hips to match her movements.

And when another climax tears through her, she wishes she could drag the moment out forever.

Tom takes her in his arms as they collapse back on the bed.

She feels like she’s dreaming, not quite awake but still aware of whose arms are cradled around her, whose heartbeat she feels against her ear, who reaches for a packet of cigarettes and flicks his lighter.

They talk about things they’ve already discussed over letters, the bloody war and all the misery that comes with it. Life in Longsight seems dull in comparison to Tom’s tales of sea battles and antics on board the Exeter. But even in the middle of the Atlantic, in the midst of a war that’s consuming the whole world, he still found time to wind everybody up. She can’t tell if she hates him or admires him for it.

There’s something different about him. Where he used to sound so cocksure and carefree, his voice is duller.

Tucked under his shoulder, she shifts her head to get a better look at him, propped up against the pillows, taking drags from his cigarette, pouting his lips as he exhales the smoke and tapping the ash into the tray. Her eyes tell her it’s the same person, the same jaw, the same nose, the same lips, the same shade of blue in his eyes.

No… he looks different in the way his face falls. He seems less smug than he used to be. He seems tired, older, colder.

Of course he’s different, how could he not be? The war has reached every corner of the world, but he’s been in the thick of it.

“Your dad must be glad to have you back,” she says quietly.

Tom’s body tenses underneath her. He brings his cigarette to his lips again, giving a little irritated huff as he exhales. She wonders if that’s a thread she should avoid tugging on, but it already seems to be unraveling. He reaches to stub the cigarette out in the ashtray.

“I didn’t want to go back,” he mutters, his expression stern and sad. “I thought I was doing the right thing by going. I’ve spent enough of my life making a mess of everything, I thought if I did something good then…” he glances down at her, then shakes his head. “But I was so fucking scared—” his voice breaks his eyes are glistening.

Kitty sits up and clenches her hand around his. He’s trembling.

“You’re alright,” she says, softly, “you’re alright.”

He breathes quickly and she can feel his heart thundering in his chest. His descriptions of the attacks on the Exeter and the aftermaths had been brief, which she thought must have been a way to protect her from it on his part. Maybe he didn’t want it in writing, maybe he didn’t want to think about it once he had lived it, to be surrounded by fire, smoke and death at every turn.

“I thought dad would help me. I told him I didn’t want to go back, I thought he could help me somehow.”

“And what did he say?”

His nostrils flare as he huffs again. “He thinks it’ll be a bad look for the movement. He doesn’t think I’m genuine.”

Kitty strokes her thumb over his knuckles and his fingers tighten around hers.

“For a moment I thought he’d be pleased,” he says, his voice thick and coarse, “just for a moment.

She breathes through the tight feeling in her chest. “Maybe if you spoke to him again—”

“No,” he says bitterly. “Made up his mind now. Sure, what does it matter either way? I’m not much use here.”

The light feeling in her limbs is starting to fade. She feels solid and heavy where her body meet the mattress.

“Your dad needs you,” Kitty says, “and Lois.”

He scoffs.

“Don’t tell me you’re upset with her too?”

Tom frowns. “Stupid fucking mistake. What does she think she’s going to do now?”

“She told you then?”

“She sent a letter.”

Lois had called in a few weeks ago to tell them the news. Mam already had her suspicions, even though Lois was barely showing. She and dad were horrified, but of course they didn’t make that clear until after she had left. “A baby on the way and no husband, for shame.”

“She knows it was stupid, but she’s not asking anyone else to deal with the consequences,” Kitty says.

“All because she wanted to mess around with some posh boy.”

Kitty swallows down the dry feeling in her throat. “I don’t think what she did was much different to me and you.”

Tom looks down at her with wide eyes. “Me and you are different,” he says.

“How so?”

His lips shift, like he might say something, but he doesn’t. “I don’t know, I thought Lois was more sensible than this.”

“She’s certainly not done herself any favours, but you won’t help by being angry at her.”

“But she’s always been the responsible one, you know?”

“That’s not fair, Tom, she’s your sister not your mother.”

Tom stares up at the ceiling with his lips parted. “No… I suppose not.”

He turns his head into her. “I should never have gone in the first place.”

There’s lots of things that she thinks she would want to change. Sometimes she wishes Tom wasn’t so reckless and impulsive. She wishes he’d find an interest that wouldn’t end him up in trouble with the police. She wishes he really was a pacifist, and that way he would be here, and the only thing separating them would be a single street and two windows. It hurts to think of what could have been.

But those things cannot be changed, and even then, he wouldn’t be him. He wouldn’t be the Tom Bennett she’s adored for as long as she’s had memories of him.

She shifts against him, hooking her arm over her chest and her leg over his hips. “I know things are hard,” she says. “Just don’t leave them on a bade note. You’ll regret it if you do.”

They don’t speak for a while. The evening drags on, the sun dips lower in the sky, voices and the shouts of children sound from the street and Kitty is content lie beside him, listening to his heartbeat and his slow, controlled breaths, while he plays with her hair.

“I love you,” he breathes, so softly she thinks it might be a voice in her head. “When we got hit, it was all I could think about. That I might die then and there, and you’d never know.”

She feels her mouth break into a smile. “You love me?”

“Oh leave off, I’ve said it now,” he says with a grin.

They dress and he leads her downstairs to the kitchen. While he fusses with the kettle, Kitty takes a seat at the table.

“You’ve not met Vera yet,” Tom says over his shoulder, nodding at the small birdcage on the table. Inside, a little, yellow canary with black, beady eyes tilts her head and chirps.

“Hello, Vera,” Kitty says.

Vera chirps back.

Tom turns back around with a single cup of tea and a plate of toast. “Have to be stingy with the butter and milk, obviously,” he says setting them in front of her.

“Oh,” she says, “no, I won’t have any, don’t waste your rations on me.”

Tom angles his brows at her. “It’s not a waste.” He takes a seat in the chair opposite and lights a cigarette. “Come on, you’ve been on your feet all day.”

She hesitates before she reaches for the milk, spilling the smallest dash she can manage into the cup and skipping the sugar. Then she takes a cut of butter no larger than her thumbnail and spreads it across the toast. She takes a few tentative bites, ushering some back to him and tearing off a few crumbs to feed to Vera. Even the most mundane parts of life have become luxuries now.

“How long are you back for?” she asks.

“A week.”

“And then?”

“Off to Dover. They’ve got some big operation planned.”

“And will you be back after that?”

He draws his tongue between his lips. “I don’t know.”

Before long, the front door unlocks and Lois’ heels click through the hallways as she comes into the kitchen. “Dad not back yet?” she says, tossing her coat over the banister. She stops at the head of the table and looks between the two of them. She’s holding a brown paper bag. “Hello, Kitty. I’ve just been in to see your mum.”

“Oh she’ll be wondering where I am,” Kitty says, glancing across to Tom.

His chin is tilted down, and he looks up at her through the smoke with pleading eyes, like an injured puppy.

“Tell ‘em the Gregorys invited you up for tea,” Lois shrugs. She reaches into the bag and pulls out tiny pieces of clothing that are vaguely familiar to Kitty. “For the baby,” she says. “Thank God your mum kept all your old stuff.”

“Make do and all that,” Kitty says, briefly catching Tom’s eye.

She downs her tea and hurries to the hallway. Tom had left her coat over a sofa in the front room, and her bag is still on the floor. She tuts at his carelessness and shouts a farewell to Lois as Tom comes to see her to the door.

“Thanks for stopping by,” he says formally, with the corners of his mouth curled.

“Of course,” she replies, peering round his shoulder to see if Lois can see them.

Tom looks round too and smiles back at her as he leans into her ear. “A pleasure, as always, pretty Kitty.” He catches her lips in a quick peck before he opens the door for her.

She hurries across the street and finds her keys in her handbag. Before she opens her own door, she looks back to number 27. The glow of the spring evening beams off the red bricks of the houses and Tom looks golden, watching her through the haze of smoke from his cigarette.

It’s like before, all those months ago, before he first went away.

Each night, Tom steals into her bedroom. They kiss as quietly as they undress each other and set themselves down on her bed.

It gets more unbearable with every day that goes by. Each hour is an hour closer to carrying on with her life without him, when he’ll become another person to wait for, another reason why she wants this war to end.

On their last night, he fucks her from behind, keeping her mouth covered and muffling his own sounds in the crook of her neck. His breath and the hold on her mouth only makes her more desperate.

If anything, that first evening has ruined her, going back to gentle lovemaking is excruciating.

She quietly pleads for “more… more…”

Tom clamps his hand tighter around her mouth. “No, no, no, be a good girl,” he whispers harshly, “just be a good girl for me, Kitty.”

Once they’re both too tired to carry on, he wraps his arms around her. He tells her he loves her, and she says it back.

Dover is closer than the Atlantic at least, but the distance is all the same. He’ll still be gone.

She watches him as he dresses and follows him to the window. Before he leaves, he kisses her, deeply and desperately, pulling her still bare body against him.

When they move away for breath she gazes into his eyes. She could never forget them, the storm of blue and grey rings around his pupil, but he already feels like a memory, something intangible, there but not quite.

He presses a kiss to her forehead and his lips linger there. “When I get my next leave, I’ll come straight to you,” he says.

She doesn’t doubt it’s a promise he’ll keep. Tom Bennett doesn’t often make promises to her, but so far, he’s never broken one.

Tags (comment to be added to either)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya

Series taglist: @hanula18 @azxulaa @whoknows333

[syluk-sky]

A quiet conversation between Dean and Castiel on the roof of the hospital at night. Dean's being a big brother Castiel deserves, even if he doesn't know it yet :)

The Wrath of Heaven (Supernatural AU fanfic on Ao3) The Archangel Michael hadn't planned to stay human for so long, and he certainly hadn't expected to reincarnate as Dean Winchester, the human who broke the first seal of Lucifer's cage and who by his Father's Will was supposed to become his true vessel. (AU from season 4, BAMF Michael!Dean)

Chapter 12: Rot in the Feathers

“What about you?” Dean asked. “You really buy into all this? Just following orders, doing what you’re told, no matter what it costs?”

Castiel found the man’s piercing gaze unnerving, as if it cut through his vessel, past the flesh and bone, seeing deeper, seeing his true self. It unsettled him. Without realizing it, he drew his wings in tighter. A fleeting thought crossed his mind, a thought of what Dean would say if he truly saw his true form, if he knew that Castiel bore the same taint as the Fallen that harmed him earlier.

“I was created to follow Heaven’s will,” he answered, paused, then opened his mouth to add something, but instead, closed it.

“I can hear ‘but’ coming.”

Encouraged by Dean’s gentle prompting, Castiel continued, “But… I find that I have questions. I have doubts.” His words flowed out with weary hesitance. He would have never confessed it to any of his siblings, because he had heard horror stories about Heaven’s punishment for any signs of rebellious thoughts. And yet, for some reason, he trusted Dean to keep it a secret.

One of his wings twitched, a twinge of pain running through it. Castiel brought it forward, noticing a loose black feather stuck halfway, broken and bent. He reached for it and yanked it out with force. It was sticky and unpleasant, leaving black marks on his fingers. He let the feather go and watched it dissolve into dark particles before dispersing with the gust of wind.

“I get it,” Dean spoke finally. “I really do. You spend so long following orders, thinking someone else knows better than you, that it becomes your belief, your shield, your everything. But listen, Cas.” He fixed Castiel with those piercing green eyes that appeared almost golden against the glowing town backdrop. “Faith isn’t blind obedience. Doubts don’t mean you’re wrong, and questions aren’t sinful. It means you care. And sometimes, they lead you to the real truth.”

In an instant, indignation ignited inside Castiel, rising like a tidal wave, rebuke on the tip of his tongue. ‘Heaven’s will is absolute’ was a dogma his entire existence was built around. And yet, he couldn’t voice it now, couldn’t put it into words. If Heaven’s will was absolute, why did he pray that Dean would choose to save this place? Why was he so relieved when he did?

“If you ignore your doubts, they’ll just grow stronger. And one day…” Dean trailed off, staring somewhere into the distance. His mouth cracked open in a wry smile, so full of sadness and regret, shame and guilt, it looked absolutely out of place.

Castiel wondered what kind of bad memories haunted him and if it was possible to chase them away.

Soon, Dean cleared his throat, visibly pulling himself out of the moment. “And one day, you’ll look back and regret everything,” he finished, but a touch of sadness still lingered, written in the lines of his features. “Trust me. I’ve been there.”

Castiel believed him.

[surrealisticduvet]

Album Review: And the Hits Just Keep on Comin’ (1972)

With a title that snarkily alludes to his record company’s demand for hits, which he had not been producing, this album somehow manages to be deeply personal - to me and to Michael. From the liner notes:

“One of the great advantages of being an artist is that I am able to utilize my craft periodically to write messages to myself. Basically that it what this album is all about. I have tried to be as skillful as I could in the hopes that you as a listener would not feel left out. I have tried to make music as honest and beautiful, as harmonious and graceful, as I know how to make music ... But I am afraid that I must admit, and somewhat unabashedly, that I did it for me. I hope that on whatever level of unfoldment this music may find you that it will reward your attention and contribute something to your consciousness. I personally enjoy singing along to it all... But then it's very easy for me. I know all the words. Papa Nes.”

Not only is this album very beautiful and graceful musically, it is deeply sensitive, touching, and introspective. With the base album clocking in at just over 30 minutes, I suggest you just give it a listen yourself in order to really see what I mean. 

(and the review just keeps on comin' - below the cut!)

Favorite parts of the album:

In conjunction with the points mentioned above, perhaps the dearest part of this album to me is the fact that he did not cave and try to write a hit by assembling a third instance of the National Band which would have probably been fairly mediocre, or quit music altogether (he was under a contract, but so was he during the Monkees, and he was willing to pay a very high price to quit that one.) Instead, he whittled down his lineup to just himself on guitar and Red on pedal steel and recorded ten very simple but perfect songs. Even with the inclusion of the hit “Different Drum” this album did not make any waves during its time - such was the extent of Michael’s dedication to his craft, that he was not afraid (although he could certainly be frustrated and cynical) to put out a quality work that was at best unappreciated and at worst overshadowed by a poor copy. Personal favorites off of this album are “Tomorrow & Me,” “Harmony Constant,” “Roll With the Flow,” and the instrumental and initially unreleased “Cantata and Fugue in C&W” (which you may recognize from the background of a few Headquarters Sessions tracks) which I find to be a very soothing and almost nostalgic ending to the full album with all of its bonus tracks. One last note - every time Michael says “Go, Red” before a pedal steel solo, an angel gets its wings! 

Critiques:

If there is a weak link to this album, or a song that seems out of place, it is probably “The Candidate” - it’s a perfectly good song in its own right, but its cynical lyrics and darker tone might have been better suited for an album like Nevada Fighter or Tantamount to Treason. Finally, “Listening” is one of the few times that his poetic lyrics do not translate particularly well to the format of a song - the timing can be a bit awkward or forced at times. That being said, Red saves the track with a trippy sort of melting-chord pedal steel backing, so it retains its place on my no-skip list.

Conclusion:

Michael himself seems to know this album was one of his best, as he usually played several songs off of it when doing shows in the ‘90s, and he even did a reprisal tour in 2019 highlighting the full album. There’s something very special about seeing him perform these songs decades after they were written; you can see that he still stands by the words, and I hope wherever he is now he knows that I do indeed enjoy singing along to all of them too.

[agent-barnes40]

Paying Bills

FNAF MOVIE SPOILERS

Mike Schmidt X Reader

Mike doesn't like you wanting to help pay his bills and you hear more about Freddy’s from a work friend and that raises a lot of questions

I have no clue how to categorize this so its just staying blank but expect a tiny bit of angst

Mike watched as you put on your Sparky's uniform, tying the apron around your waist. "You don't have to take more shifts for us, you know that right?" You adjusted your hair before turning to face him. "I know Mikey. I know. It's just.. this is my home too, I should help pay for the house, for the groceries." You pressed a kiss to his head before heading towards the front door. "Hey Abbs! Do you want anything from Sparky's?" "Can I get a chocolate shake?" Her voice sounded from her room and you looked toward Mike. He shook his head. "Sorry Abbs, next time! Anything else you want?"

“Do you guys still have the spaghetti?” She yelled from the door of her room and you chuckled softly. “I’ll see if we have some at the end of the night! If not, I’ll pick you up some pizza!”

You opened the door and laughed, seeing Ness sitting in his car, waiting for you. “Don’t worry about driving me, Mikey. Ness is here to drive me, guess he had something to do on this side of town.”

You gently closed the door and headed to Ness' car, opening the door and smiling at the man as you slid into the seat. Ness waved to Mike who was watching from the window before checking to make sure you were seat belted before taking off.

"Did you hear about that job councilor that went missing? His car was found outside Freddy's." Ness said as he drove and you sighed, looking at him. Your eyes narrowing at him. "Why are you bringing this up?" "Well, your boyfriend's last job was there, wasn't it a little suspicious that he and his kid got out of there safe?"

"Ness, Abby isn't his kid and if Mike knew anything that happened to that guy, he would've said something."

"Come on! You gotta be wondering what happened to that officer too! Mike was the one that brought her in!" Ness turned to look at you and you were staring him down, your hands clenched.

"Officer Shelly was hurt in a freak accident and Mike happened to be there. He would never ever hurt anyone, especially people who helped him." Your voice was tense and as soon as the car stopped in Sparky's parking lot, you ripped the seat belt off of you and quickly got out. "If you ever talk about Michael like that again, I assure you that you will have worse things to think about, Ness."

"Okay, if not Mike, then how about Abby? She's questionable too! They had a dead body in their living room!" Ness said, getting out as well, and you snapped. "You talk about that little girl again, Ness, I'll fucking key your car. Keep my family's names out of that mouth."

You stormed off toward the back entrance and had to sit next to the wall, trying to calm yourself. You didn't mean to get so defensive about Freddy's or about Mike and Abby, you just knew how hard it was to think about that night and just what that "job councilor" did to Mike and Abby.

Later that day, you ended up walking home, shoes in one hand and a chocolate pie in the other. You decided that chocolate always makes things better and you needed to give Mike a break from constantly driving you around and wasting gas. You showed up at the Schmidt house and gently opened the door, being quiet as you slid the pie onto the table.

You didn't have time to stop the smile on your face when you saw Mike and Abby curled up on the couch, asleep. You resisted the urge to just stand there and watch them, you turned to put the pie in the fridge, to save it for tomorrow and you sat and took off the apron while you just stared at them. You knew if Ness was already talking about Freddy's others were going to as well and you needed to prepare Mike for that.

You headed for the bathroom, stopping by Mike's room to grab your clothes and you got changed in the bathroom. You had dozens of thoughts in your head, mostly were about random customers throughout the day and some were about those same customers calling you a liar for hiding what truly happened to Vanessa and her father.

A soft knock sounded as you slid your shirt on and gently opened the door to see Mike and a very sleepy Abby on his shoulder. "Is everything okay?"

You smiled and pressed a kiss to Abby's head before making eye contact with Mike. "Yeah, everything's great! Sparky's was busy today, I think I got coffee in my shoes."

[flownwrong]

no tether (star trek: discovery fic)

Burnham/Rayner, rated M; tags: post s05e05 Mirrors, PWP, praise kink, ~3200 words

A/N: Fair warning: I'm not very familiar with Star Trek universe. I am here mainly through the misfortune of being obsessed with a certain Canadian actor. So if anything doesn't make sense — you know who to blame.

read on ao3

The hour is just about to turn from late into early when Michael finds him tucked into a narrow nook, in a hallway that's mostly deserted during all shifts.

He's sitting on the floor, tucked into the corner, one knee pulled up, a hand with a drink resting on it. Likely too wired to sleep, too suffocated in the solitude of his quarters. That's why she comes here, anyway. It's rare for them to be off the bridge at the same time; figures that they would end up in the same spot.

She approaches slowly, makes sure she doesn't creep up on him. Rayner doesn't move, eyes fixed on the floor, or, no—his profile is illuminated by soft bluish light. A screen, then.

"Hey," she says, leaning against the wall. "You wouldn't take the chair, but you'd steal my hiding spot, huh?"

"Good morning to you too, Captain." Rayner looks up and raises his glass in a toast. "Hiding spot?"

"Well, isn't that what you're here for?"

His eyes crinkle at the corners. "Oh, I'm just catching up on my reading."

"Kellerun classics?"

His mouth lifts at one side, that quiet pleased almost-smile she never quite expects. "Terran, actually."

She leans down to see, raises her eyebrows. "Odyssey. You're full of surprises."

He shuts it down and shrugs. "A good book can save a life." He gives her a flash of a wink.

Michael laughs, caught off guard. He watches her and takes a sip of his drink.

She lowers herself to the floor and scoots until her back meets the opposite wall. The toes of their boots touch in the middle. He doesn't move away.

"So, what's keeping you up?"

"Could ask you the same question." Rayner's eyes are fixed on her face, intense, and for a second, she struggles for words.

"Nothing. Everything. All of this"—she waves her hand, trying to point it all out, the rest of the ship, the mission—"is new. Like nothing I've done before."

He huffs an approximation of a laugh. "You could say that." He doesn't sound nearly as bitter as before, and it's a relief she didn't know she craved.

Still, she's not sure where they stand on this, where the lines are drawn, here, huddled away when they should be sleeping. She clears her throat.

"The things I saw—in the time cycles, and today."

She tries to think of an explanation. Rayner keeps silent, waiting.

"The could have beens. They're hard to shut out."

He shrugs and looks up, out the viewport. "Yeah. Never did well with those."

"Neither have I." It's late, and they're both exhausted, and she's been through way too much weird to bother, so she nudges his boot with her own. "What are you going to do? After, I mean?"

He hums dismissively. "Does it matter?"

Yes, Michael wants to say, of course it does. I want to know what you're waiting for. I want to know if you'll stay. Instead, she says, "Oh? Nowhere you would go? Home?"

Rayner looks uncomfortable, hunches in on himself. When he speaks, his voice is low, like he hopes she won't hear. "Kind of supposed I'd go out before I go home."

She'd be taken aback, except it sounds exactly like him. "Just like that?"

He gives her a challenging look, a rare one that make his face unreadable. "Would you choose any different?"

Would she? He's thought about this, Michael realises, is used to the thought. She forgets, sometimes, how much older he is. Her thoughts are filled with hope, fear, longing—she hasn't chosen how she wants to go, not yet.

Still, there's something here he isn't sharing. She files it away, out of both curiosity and necessity, and reaches out to squeeze his knee. "I don't believe you."

"No?" His sharp features are tense, his cheeks hollowed like he's gritting his teeth.

"No. For one, it would take the heat death of the universe to put you down."

He snorts. "That's flattering."

She ignores him, goes on while she has an in, "But what I mean is that there's too much wonder in you, Rayner. You don't want to go down fighting. You're out here because you want this"—she nods at the stars—"to last." And there's something you left undone, she doesn't add.

He worries at his bottom lip, one of his minute tells. His eyelashes brush his cheeks, a startlingly gentle image.

Michael tilts her head, trying to catch his eye. "Am I wrong?"

Rayner's still for a moment, then shakes his head, lips a thin line, like it costs him. "No. You're not."

"Yeah." She strokes her thumb lightly across his knee. His skin feels feverish through the fabric of his uniform, and she remembers the Kellerun run hotter than humans. He looks down at her hand, swipes his eyes up, over her knees, her chest, shoulders. When he meets her gaze, very slowly, there's a quiet, almost sweet expectation in his look.

She clears her throat. "You haven't finished your drink."

"You want it?" His smile is soft.

She hums an agreement and reaches for his glass, less than a finger of light amber liquid left in it, and he passes it carefully, his fingertips brushing hers. She expects the drink to be acidic, sweet and excessive in all the ways something called citrus mash should be, since she heard the name about seventeen times today, but it's—wow, it's a whiskey. Strong, fragrant, with an aftertaste she can't place, a sharp burn.

She coughs. "Wow. This is good."

"Fair warning, this one kicks." He looks pleased at her surprise, his whole shape looser, waiting.

Michael shakes her head, showing him what feels like the tenth smile of the night. "Thanks for the heads-up. It's good."

"Yeah? There's more where that came from."

"Not the bar?"

"Oh, no. My quarters."

"Oh," she says, appreciative. "You have a bottle with you?"

"As I learned today, keeping a good bar can prove motivational," he says, dead serious.

"Very practical."

His eyes flicker down to her hands and back. "What can I say, I'm a practical guy."

She chuckles. "Yeah, you are."

They breathe in silence for a little while, just watching each other, and Michael knows it will have to be her call. And, oh—she wants it. Wants to not think about the clues, and failed relationships, and the bridge, wants to feel good and make someone feel good—and this is oddly uncomplicated. If there's anyone on this ship she can trust with this, it's Rayner.

"I could join you. For another glass, I mean." She counts down the steps. Three.

He gives her a hard, no-bullshit look. Waiting for her to cave. When all she does is look back, he says, "I suppose you could." Two.

They get up silently, in sync. It feels good, them on the same page, an already familiar hum, the only new thing in it the simmering anticipation.

One.

As soon as they clear his door, Rayner turns, blocking her way into the room. "Captain."

"Michael," she says. She won't do this in command, not to him, and not to herself.

He nods. "Michael. Do you actually want me to pour you a drink?"

An out, then. For her or for himself, though, she's not sure. She's halfway through a no, not really when he raises a hand, halting her words, staring her down. Fine.

"Yes," she offers, as firm as she can. "Later."

He watches her with narrowed eyes for a second, then turns to go in. She catches his wrist and tugs until he looks back at her. "This isn't part of your job," she says, wanting him to know—he must, but this isn't something she can afford to misjudge.

He barks out a laugh, looking genuinely amused. "That what you think of me?"

"Shush," she says, before he locks down and this whole thing breaks. He looks shocked at the word. "This is not part of your job."

She holds very still until he tugs his wrist free, his mouth twitching in an abortive smile. "Fine." He raises his chin, but his eyes are still laughing.

Rayner drops the empty glass onto a bedside table, dims the lights, disappears into the bathroom. She lingers back, takes it in. She expected his room to be stark, impersonal. It's not. Mostly dark, now that he's turned the warm lights down. There's a soft-looking blue throw, not Starfleet issue, over the bed that's tucked neatly against the wall. An unfamiliar vine with round purple leaves framing the viewport above. A bottle with two matching glasses in the cabinet on the far wall. It's sparse, but nothing like the ascetic box she'd imagined.

He walks back into the room, barefoot, and stops, a little awkward, two steps in front of the bed, not wanting to—presume? Michael realises just then she was hoping—once they got past the questions—for urgent, for tumble into the room, fall into bed, shut everything out sex, and barely manages not to laugh out loud. Good pick of a partner here, Burnham.

So she steps closer and looks up at him. He's tall enough that she's used to it, but up close it's a new feeling. He seems to be holding his breath when she raises her hands to his neck. She undoes his collar and keeps hold of it—she could probably drag him wherever she wants like this. He exhales on a laughter, like he's getting the joke, and folds himself down to sit on the bed.

"Here," she unzips his jacket, slides it down his shoulders, until he shrugs out of it. It's weird to be undressing someone wearing the same uniform. She wonders how long it's been since he wore anything but. She bares his soft undershirt, regulation, same as hers. He smells good, spicy, not unlike his drink. Getting to look down at him—she's struck by his angles, his pale shoulders almost narrow. Nothing like Book.

And here's the truth of it, isn't it? She could say she's getting it out of her system, a distraction from the one thing she can't have, and it wouldn't be a lie, but—she wants Rayner, here. He's sharp, and audacious, and oddly easy to provoke into uncertainty, and his eyes go warm and a little lost when someone—when she's proud of him.

So she reaches out, palm on his cheek, and he turns immediately to mouth at it, slow, eyes fluttering closed. It's dizzying. "Good," she says, has to say, and he shudders with it. She traces the edge of his ear with a finger, light, sees the start of a blush right at the tip. He leans into it. This, here. Michael wonders why he's doing this. What it is he's looking for, or trying to shut out.

His eyes still closed, Rayner opens his mouth to speak—and she drops her knee onto the bed, between his legs, warm and close. His eyes fly open, bright and stunned. She slides her hands back to cradle the base of his skull. The short buzz of his hair there is soft, silky.

"Okay," he says, and moves in, stretching up to press an open-mouthed kiss just below her ear. She draws a sharp breath. Good instincts. He moves lower. Her clavicle. The dip between her breasts. She isn't guiding him. His lips are hot through the fabric covering her ribs, hotter on her belly. He goes to slide off the bed, to his knees, and she strokes the back of his neck, and doesn't let him. He scoffs—of course he does, and looks up with almost comical annoyance.

Michael scoffs right back. "You don't hold back in uniform—this is where you start?"

Rayner laughs then, full-on, a grin splitting his face. She's heard his annoyed laugh, incredulous laugh, hiding-something-important laugh. This one is a first. "Me on your knees for you is holding back?"

Blunt—there we go, blunt is familiar territory, and she raises her eyebrows at him. "Do what you want, not what you think I want, yeah?"

He watches her for a second, like he's considering the concept, then slowly, deliberately sits back, spreads his legs further.

"Good," she says again, presses her knee right where he's—yes, hard for it, and waits out his low, uneven moan.

"Come on," Michael says, shucks everything off until she's left in her top and underwear. He grabs at her blindly then, reaches her elbows, her waist, slides further up the bed and lies down, pulling her in. She climbs up after him, not quite straddling his hips, says, "come on, Rayner,do your part," and he rises just enough to match her, bare but for his uniform top and shorts, allows her hands to settle at his face again. She thumbs over his cheekbones, over the scar crossing his eyebrow, and he spreads his fingers over her lower back, pulls her down on a hard exhale.

She takes his hand and slides it right there between them, says "go ahead", has to grind down on his knuckles as he palms at himself, rocking up into his own hand, holds his face firmly until he's gasping with it. He's slick when she finally gets him out; bites off a curse when she slides down his body. He doesn't feel any different than what she knows—coarse grey hair at the base of a long, flushed cock; soft, vulnerable sack below it. There's so much heat under her touch when her fingers circle him, a vague reminder of his origin, and that's all she gets to file away before Rayner sinks his fingers in her hair, green light, going in now.

He's quiet and almost still as she takes him in, but that's to be expected, and she closes her eyes, goes slow, gets really into it for a while, until he sucks in a shaky breath, squeezes her neck and arches up hard, says "fuck", sharp and meaning it, and "please", and that's so mind-meltingly hot Michael moans around him and can't manage more than five seconds before coming up because she needs to see him, now.

Rayner's eyes are shut tight, teeth bared. His hands slip down her arms, shaky, his chest is moving with harsh, shallow breaths. "God, Rayner," she says, taking him in hand and pumping slowly, "you're—you're good, you're so good—" and he actually keens at that, an odd high sound.

"Stop," he says, "Michael," and she doesn't, and oh, to see what this costs him.

"What do you want?"

He gasps for breath for a moment, shakes his head. Michael sighs and stills her hand on him.

"Rayner. Look at me."

He makes a cut-off sound of frustration, almost a snarl, breathes in, and meets her eyes dead-on, clear and precise. "Fuck me."

She can't help her smile. "Thought you'd never ask."

She rolls over onto her back. His eyes are all pupil as he lands on his elbows above her, and she throws her legs around him, high on his waist, draws him in.

"Wait," he says, "let me," and strokes just the tips of his fingers under her top, watching her carefully.

"Yeah," she says, "it's alright," and he helps her take it off, nuzzles her neck, then down to her breasts. She feels him hard, leaking against her thigh, and she presses her heel sharply into his lower back until he thrusts against her with a gasp, slowly, and again, keeps it up as he kisses her nipples, her shoulder, the inside of her elbow. She groans, because fuck, he's honest about this, wanting her, wanting her approval, and she whispers, "hey, come here already," and then he's inside her, his hips rolling smoothly, stroking in, and she holds his shoulders, murmurs to him, "yeah, that's it, it's good, you feel good, come on," hears his breath hitch. He closes his eyes, and in the soft creamy glow in the room the planes of his face blur a little. His hair is damp at the roots, a soft white lock falling down against his forehead.

Michael rides his steady rhythm, closes her eyes, too, his long, heated body oddly malleable under her hands and heels, and then his breath is suddenly hot and close, and she looks up to see him unsure again, doesn't get it until his hand cups her cheek and he drops his head an inch closer, hovering, waiting for permission. Oh, God, he's so—Michael draws him into the kiss, soft and wet and scratchy with his beard, and he moans into it, sounding so relieved she has to kiss him harder, fists her hands in the back of his shirt and clenches around him until his hips snap forward harder, again and again, and then he's gone.

After—when he's stopped shivering, when he's finished her off with such care she didn't know what to do with it and kept her hands fisted in his hair, holding on—they lie next to each other, on their backs, for long, quiet minutes. It's peaceful. It's what she came here for.

The room is warmer than what Michael's used to. She thinks about dressing, then discards the idea, sits up and stretches instead. Rayner's eyes don't follow her.

"I'll take that drink now."

He snaps out of his daze and looks at her. "Oh. Um, that way." He nods in the general direction of the cabinet. She finally gets to see the bottle up close—thin, pearlescent material, the liquid inside almost sparkling as the light reflects off it.

She returns to the bed with her glass, sits down, hugging her knees. Rayner hasn't moved, watching her from where he's stretched on his back, hands behind his head, bare but for his shorts. She takes a drink and strokes his shoulder, lets herself look back.

There are scars on his body, paler against pale skin, more than he'd get on a ship—even in battles, even in decades. She doesn't know if he was hiding them, and if he was, why he'd show her now, after. He looks calm, steady, but his face is pale and tired, the lines around his mouth more pronounced.

She slides a hand into his damp hair, smoothes it back. "This time, do get some rest, okay?"

"Aye-aye." He catches her hand and kisses it. His long fingers circle her wrist, thumb stroking gently at the base of her palm.

Something sharp shifts in her throat, a fierce protectiveness. This, she knows, goes both ways.

She takes one more chance. "I'd like to keep you, after. As my number one."

Rayner frowns and lets her hand drop. "Let's see how this one goes first."

Michael sighs and shakes her head at him. "You don't have to swear to it. Just consider it." She gives his shoulder a parting squeeze and gets up to collect her clothes.

As she sits down on the edge of the bed to tug her boots back on, he puts a warm hand between her shoulder blades. "Thank you," he says to her back.

"And you." She raises her hand to her badge, but turns back to give him a smile, and, for once, he doesn't look trapped. "I'll see you on the bridge, Commander."