pascal-rascal424

[pascal-rascal424]

Almost Romantic (Dr. John Carter x Reader)

Summary: it’s Valentine’s Day and Carter is working that night. He’s extremely bummed about it because it’s his first Valentine’s Day with his new girlfriend.

(He’s such a sweetheart, i love him so much, angsty sad boy Carter. Fluffy)

He had bought roses, made dinner reservations, and even gotten her jewelry for the occasion. He was really looking forward to spending the night with his girlfriend. He had called her earlier that morning to remind her of their plans. He was now regretting that he had forgot that agreed to work this shift months ago.

He was sitting at the nurses station, his stethoscope hanging around his neck, looking glumly at the charts in front of him. His mind kept wandering to the dinner reservations that would now go unused, and the roses that were wilting in his apartment.

Dr. Greene walked past him, taking one look at his face. "Carter, how many more hours you got?" He asked softly, leaning against the counter. Carter looked at his watch, "6 more hours".

He nods and asks, “you got a cute date?”

Carter blushed slightly, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah". He admitted softly. Dr. Greene smiled sympathetically. "Too bad you're stuck here on Valentine's day". he commented, walking away. Carter groaned internally. "No shit". He muttered under his breath.

He stormed into his apartment the moment he got home, tossing his coat onto the couch. He saw the roses sitting on the table, now wilted and dying. He picked up the bouquet and slammed it back down on the table, cursing under his breath. He felt terrible, like the worst boyfriend ever.

He stomped into his bedroom, kicking off his shoes as he goes. He heard the answering machine beep, indicating a new message. He paused, his anger subsiding slightly out of curiosity. He walked back into the living room and pressed the play button on the answering machine. He heard her voice… it soothed his temper immediately as her soft voice fills the room.

“Small message. I just wanted to call and say I’m not mad about missing Valentine’s Day. I hope you’re learning and saving lives. your education and residency is more important than a silly holiday.. call me when you hear this. I’d love to hear your voice.. okay.. that’s all. Bye.”

Carter listened to her message, his shoulders relaxing. He felt like an idiot for getting mad and smashing the roses. She was always so understanding, putting his career first. He smiled softly. "Damn, she's too good for me".

He picked up the phone, pressing it against his ear. "Hey". He said softly. He could hear rustling on the other end, like she was sitting up in bed. "Still awake?" He asked, running a hand through his hair. "It's kinda late."

“Yeah.. did you just get home?”

He sighed, collapsing onto the couch. "Yeah, just got home. It was a long shift." He paused, glancing over at the wilted roses. "Listen... about earlier... missing Valentine’s Day..." He ran a hand over his face sheepishly. "I'm sorry".

“It’s okay baby..” she says softly through the phone.

He smiled, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease. "You're too good to me, you know that?" He said softly. "I feel like a jerk for even getting upset about it." He paused, looking at the roses again. "Those stupid roses are all wilted now."

“We can do something when you’re free and have the day off if you really feel guilty about it.”

He chuckled softly, his heart warming at her understanding nature. "Deal. When I finally get a day off, we'll make up for it. Dinner, movie, the whole shebang." He paused, yawning. "God, I'm exhausted."

“Oh.. I don’t wanna keep you up..” she says softly a hint of guilt in her voice.

He smiled softly, his voice gentle. "It's okay, really. I just needed to hear your voice." He shifted on the couch, getting more comfortable. "You go back to sleep, okay?"

“Okay pretty boy.. get some sleep”

He laughed softly at the nickname, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Night, beautiful." He hung up the phone, setting it down on the coffee table before turning off the lamp. He lay there in the dark, a small smile on his face as he drifted off to sleep.

[pascal-rascal424]

Daylight: Month Four

Michael Robinavitch x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of PittFest, Robby opens up about his family history (mention of camps), a really emotional chapter tbh but it’s a bit shorter than the rest

Chapters: Month One, Month Two, Month Three, Month Four

Description: Robby and the reader have someone important reveal their baby’s gender, and Robby finds an old family heirloom as their baby’s first gift.

—

Robby’s knee bounced with anxiety, eyes focused on the door of the cafe. He hadn’t even touched his coffee, arms crossed over his chest. You, on the other hand, were contently munching on some kind of pastry that you couldn’t pronounce, but maybe that’s why it tasted so good.

“Need your nicotine gum?” You muffled through bites of your treat.

Your fiance pulled his lips to the side, revealing the gum he was already chewing between his teeth, eyes riveted on the door. “This isn’t a good idea.” He gritted.

You placed a hand on his bicep, squeezing gently. “Robby. It’s gonna be fine. You two have made great progress.” You soothed.

Robby only looked away from the door to the envelope that rested in the middle of the table. “I just don’t want to overwhelm him. I don’t want to backtrack on the progress.” He confessed.

You took a sip of your decaffeinated iced coffee to soothe your cravings. “You’re overthinking this.”

Your level-headed response almost annoyed him. He looked at you, sipping on your iced drink with not a worry in the world. “You know, when I say that to you, you get angry at me.” He protested.

You shrugged and winked at him, and he rewarded you with a small smile that quickly vanished when the bell rang over the cafe door. Jake walked in, scanning the tables until he spotted the two of you. He grinned and headed over.

You rose to your feet and threw your arms around him. Even though you were closer in age to him than you were to Robby, Jake had quickly warmed up to you. Even after PittFest, you continued to talk with him while he and Robby mended their relationship slowly but surely. For a while, you served as a middle man for their communication, mediating the best you could.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you!” You greeted, hugging him tightly.

Jake laughed as he returned your embrace. “Good to see you, too. Sorry I couldn’t make coffee last week. Had an exam to study for.” He apologized.

You waved him off. “No worries. You better be making A’s.” You teased.

The boy smiled proudly. “Always.” He replied.

Robby stood awkwardly behind you, waiting for his turn to speak, rustling his faux hawk as he ran an anxious hand through his hair. Jake looked to him, and the tension was still there. The memories of blood and tears and hateful words that could never be taken back. Leah’s lifeless body underneath his hands. Before the shooting, Robby would have hugged him as tight as he could, but now, he was afraid to even shake his hand.

Instead, Robby just offered his fist, and Jake bumped his against it. “Hey, man. How are you?” Robby greeted.

Jake shrugged but smiled slightly. “Can’t complain.”

The small talk was forced. But at least they were talking. You sat down at the table again, and they followed suit. Jake’s favorite drink and pastry were already on the table waiting for him, just like every time he and Robby met up.

“So, what’s the surprise? Are we going on a fishing trip?” Jake asked, looking at Robby as he munched on his pastry that looked a little too good and maybe you were going to have to get Robby to get one for you.

You looked at Robby and gave him a smile of encouragement. Robby folded his hands in front of him on the table, fidgeting with his thumbs. “Um…” He mumbled. “We’re having a baby.”

The words were simple and quiet. But Jake’s eyes widened. “A baby?” He repeated, mouth agape.

Robby nodded and couldn’t help but smile a little bit. “Yeah.” He confirmed.

After looking between you and Robby to see if there was some kind of punchline, Jake beamed with excitement. “No fucking way!” He exclaimed, tapping his hands on the table.

You giggled at his reaction, and Robby broke into a laugh of pure relief. “16 weeks.” You announced.

Jake leaned in closer. “Is it a boy or girl?” He asked, eyes shining with curiosity.

You waited for your fiance to answer, knowing that every interaction was calculated and diligent. “Actually,” Robby pushed the white envelope toward Jake with a shaking hand, “we wanted you to tell us.” He answered.

Jake met Robby’s eyes, his smile dropping a bit. “You want me to know first?” He asked earnestly.

Robby smiled as naturally as he could, trying to mask his anxiety. “The nurse said it’ll be in the top left corner of the paper.” He explained.

Jake took the envelope and flipped it in his hands until he found the seal. Robby’s hand grasped yours tightly, trying to ground himself through the whirlwind of emotions he was experiencing. You felt your heart speed up as Jake tore open the envelope and unfolded the paper.

“Are you ready?” Jake asked before letting himself read the results.

You and Robby both nodded, breathing shakily at the anticipation. Jake’s eyes scanned the paper, and a smile broke on his face. He looked directly at Robby, and it was the first time in months that he smiled at him like that.

“It’s a girl.”

A girl. The words echoed through your mind. You were having a baby girl. Tears stung your eyes, and you placed your free hand on your belly. Robby took in a shaky breath, and his entire face went red, all the way to his ears as he fought back tears.

“A girl?” He breathed and looked to you, bottom lip quivering. “We’re having a baby girl.”

You nodded and squeezed his hand tightly. “I know you wanted a boy, but-“

Robby shook his head, clenching his eyes shut. “No.” His voice cracked. “I’ve always wanted a girl.”

Jake laughed with joy, reading the paper again. “I’m gonna have a baby sister?” He asked without missing a beat.

Robby’s eyes snapped to Jake, widened with shock. The question was simple, but the implication was so much more. After berating the old attending just a few months ago when Leah died. Denying him the position as a father figure in a fit of anger despite doing more for the boy in just a few years than his real father did his entire life. When patients asked him if he had any kids, he no longer answered with “Yes, I have a step son.” He would just quietly shake his head with negation.

Then the dam broke. Robby’s body wracked with sobs, and he let go of your hand to cover his face, trying to mask his unexpected reaction. Instinctively, you scooted closer to him and threw your arms around him. Jake did the same, their first hug since PittFest. Unconscious tears fell from the teenager’s eyes as the catharsis mended an old wound. Robby was surrounded on both sides with embraces from the people who loved him most.

He eventually pulled you both in closer to him as he managed to catch his breath. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.” He apologized with a breathy laugh, voice cracking through the emotions.

You wiped some of the wetness on his cheek away with your thumb, ignoring the tears that fell down yours. “The barista probably thinks Jake just told you that you’re dying or something.” You teased.

And your little family all laughed together for the first time in months in that cafe.

—

After an hour of catching up, you and Robby parted ways with Jake, promising to see him again next week for coffee. On the ride home, Robby held your hand across the console, rubbing circles on the dorsum of your hand with his thumb. You looked over to him when he stopped at a red light. He had a smile on his face that hadn’t faded since the cafe.

“So this whole time you were trying to gaslight me into thinking the baby was gonna be a boy?” You asked, a playfulness in your voice.

Robby chuckled and shook his head, eyes still on the traffic light. “No. I was trying to gaslight the baby. Because I figured whatever I wanted, the baby would be the opposite.” He explained.

You rolled your eyes but laughed nonetheless. “Crazy old man.” You muttered, squeezing his hand. “I think you’re meant to be a girl dad.”

He let off the brakes as the light turned green, continuing the journey home. “Why do you think that?”

You shrugged, watching the pedestrians on the sidewalk as you drove by. “It’s just your vibe.” You replied simply.

“My vibe.” He repeated the youthful lingo in his mouth with a small laugh. The car was silent following that, with just the radio playing as background noise. As Robby pulled into the driveway of your house, he gave your hand one last squeeze. “Go on in. I need to get something from the attic.” He said.

You did as he said, stepping inside your warm home. Without a thought, you walked into the spare bedroom. It would become the nursery. You sat on the guest bed, crossing your legs, imagining the color that you would paint the walls, where the crib would go, how many stuffed animals to collect.

Robby walked into the room, holding a tiny, weathered box. His eyes were fixed on it, not looking up as he sat next to you on the bed.

“Whatcha got there?” You asked.

He silently opened the box. He gingerly lifted a small, dainty bracelet that hung from his large fingers. A Star of David charm clung to the chain, and you could just barely see a Hebrew word etched into the Star.

“It was my savta’s when she was a baby.” He explained and took in a deep breath. “It was the only thing that wasn’t taken when they…” His voice caught, struggling to recall his family history. “When they sent her family to the camp.” He swallowed thickly, and you rubbed a calming hand on his back. “When she went back to their house years later, she found it tucked under a floorboard where her mother had hidden it.”

He opened your palm and let you hold the small bracelet. In that moment, you felt a powerful connection to his past, something you didn’t get to hear about often.

“Before she died, she gave it to me and told me to give it to my daughter. To tell her how Robinavitches persevere. To tell our family’s story.” Robby explained, brushing his thumb over the charm. “I never thought I would ever have a daughter to give it to.”

That’s when his eyes met yours. They glimmered with tears, but he smiled anyway. My God, it’s so beautiful when that boy smiles. You closed your hand over his, encasing the bracelet in between.

“What was her name?” You asked.

“Elisheba Rabinovitch. The “a” and the “o” were swapped around when she moved to America.” He explained.

“Elisheba.” You repeated. “Is it Hebrew?”

He nodded, unconsciously rubbing the pendant underneath his shirt. “Yeah. It translates to Elizabeth.”

“Was Rabinovitch always her last name?” You asked.

Robby nodded. “Her husband died before my dad was born, so her last name passed on to him.” He explained.

“Did she ever call you Robby?”

He laughed and shook his head. “Oh, no. Always Mikhael.” The Hebrew pronunciation rolled off his tongue with ease. “But I like being called Robby. It feels like I’m more connected to her in that way.”

You smiled and rested your head on his shoulder. “She would be so proud of you.” You noted.

Robby just hummed in acknowledgment, hopeful that your words were true. You moved his hand with yours to rest on your swelling stomach, pressing the tiny bracelet against it. As you held your daughter’s first gift in your joined hands, you decided on her name. You didn’t tell Robby then, but your mind had been made up.

Elizabeth Robinavitch.

—

A/N: I cannot WAIT to write the next chapter because Jack and Robby are gonna set up the baby’s nursery (or: how many ER attendings does it take to put a crib together?) 🥰

[pascal-rascal424]

Yes yes yes yes!! So here for the harry willson love!💕

Dancing

Harry Wilson x Reader

Summary: Harry's impromptu dance lessons in the kitchen lead to a spicy encounter.

WC: 1.4k

Rating: T

TAGS: Feelings confession, First Kiss

A/N: I am only on episode 4 so please be nice to me I'm fragile and don't have his characterization down yet. but if you enjoy don't be afraid to like and comment, thank you!

The kitchen is spacious, with granite countertops and dark wood cabinets. The radio is playing a soft, romantic melody. The setting sun's soft, golden light illuminates the kitchen. It glints off the tiles as it enters through the windows. The rain has just stopped, leaving everything with a delightful, fresh rain smell.

Harry walks up to you. He smirks. "May I have this dance?" He holds one of his hands outstretched to you.

You let out a slight chuckle, feeling a bit embarrassed. "I don't really know how to dance, Harry." You admit, looking down at your feet.

Harry grins at your admission, finding your shyness endearing. "That's alright. I'll guide you through it." He reassures you, taking your hand in his and gently pulling you closer to him. "Just follow my lead."

You nod, feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement as Harry leads you into a simple dance step. You stumble a bit, but he's patient with you, laughing softly at your clumsiness. "You're doing great," he says encouragingly. "Just relax and let go of any overthinking."

Looking up at him, you saw that Harry was gazing at you gently, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. As Harry continues to lead you in the dance, he can’t help but admire you. "You know, you're doing great," he murmurs, his voice low and intimate. The soft sunlight streaming in through the windows dances across his features, enhancing the crinkles at the corners of his eyes as he smiles down at you. His hands, warm and firm on your waist and yours on his shoulders, seemed to hold you even closer, keeping you balanced and secure in his arms. The kitchen was quiet except for the quiet music playing and their soft breathing.

You can’t help but smile back, feeling a warmth spread through you at his praise. "I don't feel like I'm doing great," you reply, blushing slightly. "I'm stepping on your feet."

Harry just chuckles, his eyes never leaving yours. "Don't worry about it," he says softly. He spins you around, effortlessly guiding you into a gentle twirl before pulling you back into his arms. The way he moves is graceful, and you can’t help but wonder where he learned to dance so well. As you lean into him, Harry's voice drops even lower, taking on a huskier quality. "You're a natural, cheri," he whispers. The words send a shiver down your spine, and you feel a warmth pool in your chest as he uses the sweet nickname.

The name sounds even more endearing with his Southern accent, and you can’t help but smile at the way it sounds coming from him. Harry's eyes flicker down to your lips, as if drawn by some magnetic force. The tension between you seems to grow with each passing moment, and you find yourself staring at his mouth as well. The space between you continue to dwindle until your noses are almost touching, his face mere inches from yours.

The kitchen fades around you, leaving only the two of you. Your heart was pounding in your ears, and you were holding your breath, anticipating what was about to happen. Time seems to slow down, every second feeling like an eternity. Then, without warning, Harry closes the small gap between you and presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is soft and tentative at first, but as the moments pass, it deepens, becoming more passionate and demanding. One of Harry's hands move up to cup your cheek, tilting your head slightly to give him better access. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, seeking entry, and you willingly part them for him. You forget all about the dancing, focusing only on the sensation of his mouth on yours. Harry's other hand moves down to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. The kiss is a mix of slow, sensuous exploration and fiery need, leaving you both breathless and craving more.

Finally, he reluctantly pulls back, breaking the kiss and resting his forehead against yours. Both of you are breathing heavily, trying to catch your breath. Harry's eyes met yours, and you can see a mixture of desire, affection, and maybe even a touch of surprise in them.

"Wow," he says softly, seeming slightly dazed by the intensity of the moment. "That was... something." He gently strokes your cheek with his thumb, his touch sending another shiver down your spine.

"Yeah," you whisper, barely recognizing your own voice. "It was." You can still taste him on your lips.

The room seems to slowly come back into focus, and you can hear the soft music from the radio again. But the world feels different now, as if the kiss somehow changed everything. Harry is still holding you close, his hand warm on your cheek, and you find yourself reluctant to move, wanting to prolong this moment for as long as possible.

He caresses your cheek with feather-light touches, and you close your eyes, savoring the sensation. Harry's voice is tender when he speaks again. "You know, I've wanted to do that for a while now," he admits, a hint of vulnerability in his tone.

The confession surprises you, and your eyes flicker open. You look at him, seeing a rare glimpse of softness in his expression. "You have?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Harry nods, his eyes never leaving yours. "Yeah," he replies, his thumb continuing its gentle caress on your cheek. "From the first moment I met you, there was just something about you that...drew me in." He pauses, seeming to weigh his words carefully. "And every time I spend time with you, that feeling just gets stronger."

The earnestness in his voice makes your heart flutter. "Harry, I-I didn't know you felt that way," you stutter, a mix of disbelief and happiness swirling inside you.

Harry's smile turns a shade more self-deprecating as he speaks. "To be honest, I wasn't sure how you'd react, given the age difference between us," he admits, a hint of insecurity in his voice. "I thought I was being a dirty old man for even thinking about you in that way." He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture perhaps.

You're touched by his vulnerability. "You thought you were being a 'dirty old man'?" you tease lightly, gently poking his arm. "And here I am, thinking I hit the jackpot because of your age." You wink at him, hoping he would see the playful flirtation in your eyes.

Harry's eyes widen slightly at your words, and a hint of disbelief washes over his face. "You...you're into the age thing?" he asks, an adorable blend of surprise and curiosity in his voice.

You nod, feeling a bit mischievous. "Absolutely," you confirm, smiling at his reaction. "I've found that older men are just...more attractive." You can’t help but relish the slightly shocked expression on his face.

Harry's mouth twitches into a small smile, the disbelief slowly melting away. "More attractive, huh?" he echoes, a hint of amusement in his tone. "Never thought I'd hear that from a gorgeous woman like you."

"Well, believe it," you retort, feeling a giddy thrill at the direction the conversation was taking.

Harry's smile widens, and he steps a bit closer to you, his gaze turning more intense. "You just might be a little minx," he teases, his voice deepening with a hint of a southern accent. "Playing with a man's heart like this."

"Who, me?" You feign innocence, batting your eyelashes up at him. "I would never." You try to keep a straight face, but the corners of your mouth are twitching with laughter.

Harry chuckles at your feigned innocence, clearly seeing through the act. "Oh, sure," he drawls sarcastically. "You're just a pure, innocent little thing, aren't you?" He reaches out and tucks a few strands of hair behind your ear.

A giggle escapes your lips. "Hey! I am innocent," you protest, swatting his hand away. "You're the one corrupting me here."

Harry laughs, clearly enjoying this banter. "Oh, am I corrupting you now?" he says teasingly. "I'm such a bad influence." He steps even closer, leaving only a few inches between you.

Your heart rate quickens as Harry closes the distance. "The worst," you retort, trying to maintain your playful tone despite the flutter in your chest. His proximity is intoxicating, and you find yourself subconsciously leaning towards him.

Harry's eyes fixate on your lips as you lean closer, his gaze unwavering. He reaches up to lightly touch your chin, sending a shiver down your spine. "Oh, I can be much worse," he whispers, his voice dropping an octave.

MASTERLIST

[pascal-rascal424]

Oh my Shayla! 😭

I had a feeling this was coming but still hurts. I love how pope immediately goes into protective mode and how she has to make sure J is okay. So excited for more!

Well Enough Alone: Part VII

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Andrew "Pope" Cody x f!Reader (nicknamed Hawk) Prologue Cut the Loss (companion piece) Part I Part II Chicken Hawk (companion piece) Part III Part IV Trespassing (companion piece) Part V Part VI Slowly We Unfurl (companion piece) Hold on to the Thread (companion piece) But I'll Always Remember (pre-WEA companion piece)

Masterlist Pope Cody Playlist

General Synopsis: Pope and Hawk's night out gets hijacked by Smurf. Word Count: 4.8k Content Warning: violence, blood, injuries, typical animal kingdom warnings AN: My most heartfelt gratitude to everyone who gave this fic a shot and is still rolling on with me in my delusions about this man. I've enjoyed all of the comments and messages I've gotten so far! This is the most engagement I've ever received on anything I've ever written, so thank you!!!! please comment & reblog :)

“I’m sorry,” Pope breathes out as he glances over to Hawk in the passenger seat of his truck. 

“It’s fine, Pope. I’m sure if she’s calling you, then she really needs you.” Hawk tried to not show how much this bothered her. The boys had been effectively boycotting Smurf up until this point, running their own jobs and doing things their way -that’s what Pope told Hawk anyway. Regardless of who was running the jobs, it still twisted Hawk’s stomach something fierce whenever Pope mentioned they were running a job in passing. 

They were on their way to the Oceanside Sunset Market to have a relaxed early night out after Hawk had the wedding from hell that she delivered for earlier in the day. Pope had just put the truck in park when his phone rang. Hawk watched him contemplate answering it for a moment before he swiped his finger over the screen, and she knew in that moment that their night was effectively ruined.

It wasn’t missing the sunset market that bugged her, it was the fact that she and Pope had a quiet night out with just the two of them for the first time in a really long time and it was almost like Smurf could sniff that out. It wasn’t Pope’s fault, she had to tell herself. That loyalty, as hard as he tried to sever it, was still hanging on by a thread. 

“You can just drop me off at Smurf’s since we’re already heading that way and I’ll hang out there until you get back.” Hawk knew Pope wouldn’t cancel their night out if it wasn’t important. She knew that, but it still irked her. 

“You sure? It might be a while before we get back.” She nodded, smiling reassuringly at him. He reached a hand over and she placed hers in it. He brought the back of her hand to his lips, holding it there for a few seconds before bringing it down to rest on his thigh. “I can drop you off at home. It’s not a long trip back, Hawk.” She shook her head, squeezing his hand. 

“It wouldn’t be my first time sleeping at Smurf’s. I think I’ll live,” She said with a playful roll of her eyes. “I can hang with J if he’s there.” 

The sun had set over the horizon when Pope dropped Hawk off at the gate to the driveway of Smurf’s. She leaned over the middle console, pulling him to her by his shirt and gave him a kiss to let him know that she was mad -not at him, anyway. 

“Stay safe, please?” Pope nodded, giving her another peck before she let him go and he pressed the button in his truck to open the gate. She sent him another wave as she opened the front door and Pope didn’t leave until the gate was completely closed. 

“Haven’t heard from you in a while, kid. Everything alright? School going okay?” There was still a palpable tension between Hawk and J as they sat across from each other on the sofas in the den. They hashed everything out after the blow out they had, but there was a new distance placed between them that Hawk absolutely hated. 

“Been busy,” Hawk frowned. “Schools…fine.” J’s eyes shifted away from hers and he started picking at one of his fingers. Hawk immediately caught his tell that told her he was lying. “And you?” He changed the subject. 

“Things are good. I miss you,” She extended the olive branch and J’s mouth lifted in the corner. His shoulders dropped, the tension leaving them. 

“I miss you so much, Hawk.” J admitted, sadness flooding his eyes. “This place is a freakshow.” Hawk cackled. 

“Don’t gotta tell me. They treating you alright?” J shrugged. 

“Yeah,” He breathed out, his brows furrowing. “Pope’s been weirder than usual. He’s uh…he’s nicer to me, I guess. It’s more awkward than anything.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Pope’s making an effort for her sake. 

“I don’t know what it is, Hawk. I want to say that I get it, but I genuinely don’t. He’s a felon, at the barest minimum. He’s dangerous, to a degree I don’t think you get.”

“I know who Pope is, J.”

“So why are you doing this?” It felt like an accusation coming from J, and if Hawk was being honest, it didn’t feel good to be questioned by a seventeen year old. 

“Because I deserve to be happy, J.” It was the simplest way Hawk could put it. Pope got her in ways no one else ever had, and she got him. As much as she would like to deny that she overlooks the things he’s done and will do, she does overlook it. It was normalized in her sphere, though she was separated from it to a degree, but that didn’t matter. They were a crime family and she was associated with them.  

What could J say to that? That Hawk didn’t deserve to be happy if that happiness came in the form of his deranged uncle? He saw the men that came in and out of his mom’s life, violent men that were users and abusers, and while he didn’t think Hawk would stay with an abuser, her decision to jump into a relationship with Pope of all people made his head spin. 

“Hawk! Hey!” Nicky’s face held surprise as she walked into the den where Hawk and J were in the middle of their conversation.

“Hey, Nicky. What are you doing here?” Hawk blinked up at the teen girl who seemed to appear out of thin air. 

“Smurf’s letting me stay here for a while.” She explained with a shrug, not realizing she stepped in the middle of a serious conversation. 

“Oh?” Hawk glanced at J, who looked more interested in what was happening anywhere else in the room than the conversation that was happening in front of him. 

“Yeah, my dad has a thing going on in Guam and I didn’t want to go because who the hell goes to Guam, so Smurf’s letting me crash here until I can figure out what I’m doing. She’s been really cool about it, ya know? She said you lived here for a while when you were my age.” Nicky stepped further into the den, sitting on one of the arm chairs. 

“Did she?” Hawk’s brows went up to her hairline. “I’m sure only good things were said about it.” Sarcasm flooded Hawk’s voice and Nicky knew she shouldn’t have said anything. 

“Sorry,” She mumbled, but Hawk waved her off. 

“Didn’t you say you had some chem homework you needed to finish?” J questioned, trying to ungracefully get Nicky out of the room. Nicky blinked at him, looking between J and Hawk, before nodding dejectedly. 

“Give me a few minutes with J and then we can order a pizza and throw a movie on or something, alright?” Hawk softened J’s blow, shooting a glare at him. He at least had the wherewithal to look away sheepishly. This perked Nicky up and she nodded before giving the duo some space. Once Nicky was out of the room, and out of earshot, she leaned towards J.

“Alright, spill it. What the hell is going on between you two?” 

“We broke up.” J said, shrugging as he sat back on the sofa across from Hawk. 

“And she’s living here?” Hawk asked, confused. 

“She’s screwing Craig.” Hawk’s jaw dropped at J’s point-blank delivery, her wide eyes blinking at him as she processed what he said.

“She’s what?”

“Yup.” 

“Who knows about this?” J looked at Hawk like she had six heads.

“Everyone? It’s really fucking weird.”

“Weird? J, it’s illegal!” Hawk was baffled, her mind racing a million miles a minute as she tried to put Craig’s age together in her head. “He’s at least thirty!” It felt like deja vu having this same conversation twice with the same kid regarding an inappropriate relationship. 

“It was initially in retaliation for breaking up with her and the whole Alexa thing, and then it just…didn’t end.” Hawk ran her hands down her face. 

“Oh my god!” She shouted into her palms, the sound muffled. “Does Pope know?” Hawk leveled her eyes on J and he nodded, an uncomfortable expression blanketing his face. Hawk lowered her voice to an exasperated whisper so the girl on the other side of the house didn’t hear their conversation. “You’ve got to be kidding me! I’m the only one who didn’t know? And they just, what? Accept that it’s happening? That a thirty year old coke addict isn’t grooming a seventeen year old?!”

“Well, when you put it that way…” 

“This isn’t funny, J. This is so not funny.” Hawk pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“If you saw the way they interacted with each other, you’d think it was. It’s so fucking weird, Hawk.” He repeated, “It used to get to me, but now I think Craig knows it’s weird too because he looks like he wants to crawl out of his skin every time she comes into the room when we’re around.” 

“He’s not going to have skin to crawl out of the next time I see him.” 

The trio ordered some pizza and instead of throwing on a movie, Hawk gave the teens privacy to work out whatever was happening between them. 

Hawk felt her phone vibrate in her back pocket.

“I’m gonna head outside for a bit, alright? Can you put the pizza in the fridge, J?” He nodded and Hawk swiped the phone, putting it up to her phone as she stepped outside, sliding the door closed behind her. 

“Hey,” Hawk greeted Pope. 

“We’re on our way back. Everything alright?” Pope asked as Hawk walked around the pool absentmindedly. She sat on one of the pool loungers, kicking off her sandals so she could stretch her legs out comfortably on the chair. 

“Were you ever going to tell me that Craig is fucking a teenager?” Pope sighed on the other line. “Other than that, yeah everything’s fine here.”

“Didn’t know how to approach that one.” Pope mumbled.

“Yeah, the next time I see Craig, I’m taking a nine iron to his kneecaps -just so you know. That shit is so gross, Andy, I swear to god.” She heard him sigh again, and she knew he didn’t want to have this conversation with Smurf in the truck with him so she let it go for the time being. “Everything okay with Smurf?”

“Yeah. We’re about an hour and a half out.” Hawk looked through the windows to the kitchen and saw J getting very close with Nicky. Interesting, she thought with furrowed brows. Whatever was happening in this house was, unsurprisingly, fucked up and Hawk didn’t know if she even wanted to step her foot into the mess so she stayed outside on the lounger.

“Drive safe.” He grunted affirmatively and the call disconnected. Hawk leaned her head back, looking up at the darkening sky above her. The sky was clear and stars twinkled above, setting a serene atmosphere to relax in. She closed her eyes, letting herself sink further into the chair to get some sleep before Pope got back. 

It felt like Hawk had only just closed her eyes when she was gently woken up to something pressing into her cheek. She cracked an eye open, ready to threaten whoever decided to rudely awaken her, but she was met with a man she didn’t know pushing the barrel of a gun into her face. 

“Don’t scream.” The man said instructed. Hawk’s eye twitched as she nodded, staring down at the barrel. “Who else is here?” Hawks mind raced to J and Nicky. 

“No one.” Hawk whispered, shaking. His gun pressed further into her cheek in a silent threat and she winced, her breathing increased as she internally panicked. He tilted his head to the three other guys Hawk had just noticed, and motioned for them to sweep the house. He brought his mouth to her ear. “For your sake, you better not be lying.” The butt of his pistol whipped Hawk across her face, cracking the bridge of her nose and splitting her top lip, splattering blood across Smurf’s cushions. 

Hawk screamed out of shock and pain, flailing off the lounge chair, but the man grabbed Hawk by her arm roughly and threw her to the hard cement at the pool’s edge. 

He rolled her into her stomach with his knee on her back, her hands restrained tightly behind her as she kicked and screamed. Blood pooled on the concrete below her face as it streamed steadily from her nose. The man wrapped a cord around Hawk’s wrists just as J was physically kicked through his bedroom door that led to the backyard and onto the ground outside. They kept kicking and kicking and the man holding Hawk down chuckled. 

“You lied.” The man sneered down to her. “Now you’re gonna see what happens to people who lie to me. Bring him over here.”

“No!” Hawk begged through tears. All she got was a well landed punch to the side of her head to silence her. More blood pooled out of her mouth when she dropped her head. “Dont fucking touch him!” She threatened weakly. 

“Hawk!” J shouted when he saw the state she was in, struggling to get to her. He was just as bloody as Hawk was and it took two guys to subdue him enough to get him fully on the ground next to her. The man turned back to Hawk.

“Hawk. Chickenhawk if I remember right.” Hawk could only stare blankly at the man who recognized her, but she couldn’t place. “I don’t expect you to remember me,” the man admonished, his forehead resting against her temple. “But I remember you.” Hawk looked to J, her eyes pleading with him not to do anything stupid for her sake. “I’ll give you one more chance, J. Who else is in that house?” He knew who was inside. He had his guys casing the place all day. J looked at Hawk and she gave the tiniest of a shake of her head to not out Nicky. 

“It’s just us, Javi.” J groaned out. The name was there, somewhere in Hawk’s mind, but she couldn’t place his face to it. Clearly he knew her or of her, but Hawk’s head felt like a bell was ringing inside of it, obstructing her from trying to recall much of anything. 

“I’m not going to ask you if he’s telling the truth because we’ve already found out that you,” He tapped the end of his gun on Hawk’s broken nose, “are a proven liar.” She recoiled in pain as Javi looked around the yard, then up at the door J was pulled out of. 

“Go check the bedroom.” Javi ordered one of his guys while the other tied J’s wrists like they tied Hawk’s. J and Hawk were facing each other and J felt completely helpless as he watched Hawk’s tears mix with the blood that was still flowing out of her broken nose and mouth. He could feel the fear radiating off of her and J never hated his family more than he did in that second for whatever bullshit brought this monster to their doorstep -to Hawk. 

“Smurf isn’t here?” Javi asked J. 

“She went to —she went to meet you.” J ground out, eyes following the man that got closer and closer to the door. 

“She didn’t show.” Javi weighed J’s response before nodding and ordering his guys to pick both of them up. Hawk’s head was pounding behind her eyes and she didn’t know which way was up as her limp body was dragged across the patio. The next thing she knew, she was thrown into the shallow end of the pool with J held beside her. Javi squatted at the edge, gun held as a sign that he would use it if they didn’t play their cards right, as he took Hawk and J in. 

“Where does Smurf keep her money, J?” He sounded almost bored.

“I don’t know, man!” 

“He’s full of shit.” The man holding Hawk said and before she knew what was happening, she was pushed under the surface. A hand held her down by the back of her neck as she thrashed her legs and exhaled in a panic. Hawk felt the skin around her wrist rip and tear as she tried to free herself from her bindings. Her lungs screamed and burned as she tried to fight the impenetrable grip he had on her and just as black dots were starting to take over her vision, she was pulled up. 

“One more time, where’s Smurf’s money? Huh?” Hawk gasped for breath, coughing out pool water mixed with blood and saliva. She barely wheezed a real breath in before she was pushed back under again when J didn’t answer quick enough. Hawk’s panic increased when she saw J fighting for his life underwater next to her. Both of them were pulled up again, Hawk sobbing as she gasped for air in her waterlogged lungs. 

“Where is it?!” Javi shouted. 

“I told you! I don’t know!” J coughed out, water and blood spraying from his mouth. Hawk went down again. She could feel the fight leaving her with each second that passed as that hand held her under. She did little more than sputter when the hand pulled her back up. 

“Please,” She wheezed, mouthfuls of water heaved out as her body rejected it. Hawk was only afloat because of the assailant holding her up. If he let her go, she’d sink straight to the bottom. 

“Where is it?!” Javi yelled again, still not getting an answer from J. 

“She doesn’t have enough here!” J yelled out. He was pushed under again and again as Hawk’s watched on disoriented, flitting in and out of consciousness as she continued to choke up water. They pulled J up once more, holding his head up to look directly at Javi.

“You have one more chance to tell me where the fucking money is or the next time she goes under, she’s not coming back up.” Javi threatened, voice as cold as ice. 

“Behind the dryer!” J relented, head hanging when the hand released it. “Smurf keeps shoe boxes in her closet. That’s all that’s here that I know about!” He pleaded, praying they’d take the cash and leave before Hawk was killed or Nicky was found out. Javi finally stood, gun ready in his hand. 

“Get 'em out.” He ordered his men and they dragged a semi-conscious Hawk and mostly coherent J out of the pool and were dragged next to each other flat on the ground. “Check the dryer.” Javi ordered one, “Check her bedroom.” then rounded back on J while the fourth man watched over Hawk, who just groaned and tried to roll onto her side so she didn’t choke to death. He kicked her in the ribs and she felt something snap. Hawk stayed still out of instinctual self preservation, legs curling in as she wheezed and gasped for breath.

“Don’t,” J begged weakly. “Hawk doesn't know anything.” The man smacked J roughly on the chest and he groaned out in pain. “She doesn’t know anything.” He repeated weakly. 

“Aquaman, you better not be lying to me. You lying to me? Huh?” He punched J square in the face and J took it because it's all he could do. 

Screaming suddenly echoed through the house along with glass shattering and Hawk started to squirm once more before getting kicked in the ribs again as Nicky was dragged out of the kitchen slider by her hair. Hawk tried to scream, to cry, but the pain was too intense to do anything other than exhale in a silent, wheezing, horrific wail. 

“No one else here, huh? No one else here?!” Javi punched J over and over again, relentlessly taking his frustration out on the seventeen year old. 

“Stop!” Hawk tried to speak, the right side of her face immediately swelling after the man holding her down punched her directly on the mouth to silence her. Hawk felt her teeth slice the inside of her cheek as her vision wavered in and out and her ears started ringing. “Please, please…” Her voice slurred as the back of her head hit the concrete as she fought to stay awake. 

Hawk could hear J screaming in agony and Nicky crying behind a gag, but she couldn’t physically move on her own, much less open her eyes. Her entire body felt like it was weighed down by a slab of cement and she focused on trying not to choke on the blood that filled her mouth. 

“Toss her in.” Javi ordered, then Hawk was lifted and tossed unceremoniously into the deep end. The feeling of the water jolted her and she gasped, inhaling a mouthful of water as she sank to the bottom. She kicked, trying to right herself, but with her hands tied behind her back, she could only spin around. Her bare toes scraped against the bottom, trying to find grip so she could push herself towards the stairs in the shallow end. 

The water around her head was tinged red, blinding her vision. She could vaguely see the steps a deceivingly long distance from where she was, and her vision was starting to black out at the edges and her lungs tried to simultaneously expel the water and inhale. 

The irony of dying in the house she desperately tried to escape in her youth was not lost in Hawk. Her legs started to lose their energy and the pushes she tried to do off the bottom of the pool were becoming less and less stable with every step. Her lungs burned and screamed for a gulp of air from a surface that was so close and so far from her grasp. 

Just as the last bits of consciousness were letting go, she felt a push from behind, then nothing. 

Over on the other side of the yard, Hawk’s phone buzzed on the chair she had fallen asleep on earlier in the night. Pope’s name scrolled across it as it buzzed incessantly until it fell off the cushion and onto the bloody pavement below. 

J got Hawk to the stairs and got her head above water, but he couldn’t hear or see her breathing and her lips were losing color. He knew time was of the essence, but his hands were tied behind him and he couldn't get her out of the pool, much less do CPR. 

“J?” He heard Smurf’s voice from inside the house “Pope get out here!” J felt relief flood his body when he saw Smurf and Pope rush through the broken slider. 

“She’s not breathing!” He gasped out, still trying to push Hawk up with his shoulder. “Get her out!” J slipped, his face submerged for a moment before he got his footing again. Without a second thought, Pope stepped down into the water and grabbed Hawk, dragging her to lay on her side while he cut through her bindings. 

“How long has she been out, J?” Pope asked methodically. He needed a time frame to know how long Hawk had been without air.

“Couple of minutes.” J’s voice shook. “Where were you?” He asked Smurf, anger pushing through. Smurf tried to help J up onto the steps so he could painfully wiggle his way onto his stomach, gasping for breaths as he watched Pope start compressions and mouth to mouth. “Javi was looking for you and found her first.” The rage in J’s voice was unmistakable as Smurf untied him. He scrambled over to Hawk once he was able to, ignoring the pain that radiated through his entire body. 

“Come on,” Pope grunted, starting another set of compressions. Water started bubbling out of Hawks mouth, then it shot out of her as her lungs hacked out the intrusion. Pope rolled Hawk onto her side as she coughed mouthful after mouthful of water out of her body, gasping for air when it was finally expelled. Pope rubbed between her shoulder blades. “Get it out, come on.” He begged. Pope was shaken when he pulled Hawk’s lifeless body out of the pool, but he went immediately into survival mode. Now, that adrenaline was winding down, all of that fear built mountains inside of him. 

“Andy,” Hawk’s voice was so small, like she couldn’t believe she was seeing him. Pope’s hands instantly grasped her face, careful of the cuts and bruises that littered it. She coughed and sputtered, her body trying to regulate itself, but she couldn’t stop the onslaught of tears that kept pouring. Pope carefully pulled her face to his chest, her hands gripping his t-shirt

Smurf threw a towel to Pope as she passed by so she could wrap J up. 

Hawk’s arms shook as she tried to lift her weight on them, then they collapsed altogether, but Pope was there to catch her. 

“You’re alright,” His hand came up to her bruised and beaten face, cradling it as she sobbed in pain. “Stay down.” 

“Where’s J?” Her voice was strangled and rough, as she tried to find him. “Help him. Help him,” She choked out, hyperventilating. Pope kept a firm grasp on her to keep her still as she fought against him weakly. 

“I’m here,” J reassured her, his hand reaching for her to feel. This seemed to relax Hawk just the tiniest bit before her wide, wild eyes met Pope’s. 

“Where’s Nicky?” 

“You need a hospital.” Pope kept his voice low, trying not to upset Hawk any more than she already was. 

“And tell them what? I fell down the stairs?” Pope leveled her with a look that said he found zero humor in this, but Hawk wasn’t trying to be funny. What would she say happened to her when she got to the emergency room? She’d love to get a dose of dilaudid, but even she knew that the cops would be on her like flies on shit and she was a horrible liar at best. “The last thing I want right now is anyone else touching me other than you.”

Hawk was sitting naked on Craig’s bed, fresh out of the shower and wrapped in a clean towel, and it took everything in her to not think about what she could possibly be sitting on. Hawk had bigger things to worry about. 

The door to the bathroom that was shared with J’s room was closed and Hawk could hear the shower running. Pope kneeled down on the floor, checking every inch of her out, but J was just on the other side so they made sure to keep their voices down. 

Pope had seen the damage when he helped Hawk shower, but it still didn’t stop his sharp inhale when he saw the bruises growing even larger. Hawk’s abdomen and back were swollen and her skin was mottled with heavy bruising where there were very obviously fractured ribs. Pope was more than familiar with the injury and the longer he looked at it, the angrier he got -with himself and with Smurf. Mostly with Smurf.

“Looks like at least three are broken,” He said softly as he prodded around. Hawk hissed every time he touched one of the fractured ribs and his fingers immediately flinched away. Pope carefully picked Hawk’s hands up, twisting them in his palms as gently as he could so he could see the damage on her wrists. The cord bit through the skin when she struggled and the deep frown on Pope’s face only got deeper. 

It was the damage done to Hawk’s face that hit him the hardest. Whoever hit her didn’t hold back, not in the slightest. The right side of her face, at the highest part of her cheek, was swollen and bruised, and the bruise extended up to her eye socket. Pope took a butterfly bandage from the first aid kit he had laid out next to Hawk, and placed the strip over the area above her upper lip, bringing the split together. 

To her credit, Hawk tried to put a brave face on through Pope’s examination, but she felt herself fracturing like a sheet of glass every time she saw the way he looked at her -like she was damaged. She hadn’t seen what she looked like yet. The mirrors in the bathroom were covered in steam, and even then she was too incoherent to pay attention to her reflection. 

Pope moved on to her nose, the tips of his fingers touching the tender skin around the bridge of it ever so slightly. It was obviously fractured as well, but it wasn’t out of place, so that was one saving grace in Hawk’s corner. Hawk’s bottom lip started to wobble when their eyes met and Pope felt something inside of him shatter. 

“I want to go home.” Hawk’s broken voice sucked the air out of the room. She groaned in pain as she leaned forward to rest her forehead against his. “I want to go home, Pope.” 

please comment and reblog :)

[pascal-rascal424]

Lean On Me (Part 5/7)

Pairing: Dr Michael 'Robby" Robinavitch x younger! Langdon's little sister! reader

A conversation that needs to be had, is had....

Warnings: casual drinking, work in a strip club, general lack of clothing in the workplace slow burn

(I know nothing about working in a strip club, so this is all based off media representations, sorry for any mistakes)

part four / part six

taglist: @dayswithoutcoffee, @hagarsays, @4ishere, @omgbrianab, antisocialfiore, eugene-emt-roe

“Michael what the fuck!” you hiss, ripping your arm from his grasp as soon as the door slammed shut.

You clock your colleague Holly marching towards you, with a baseball bat raised high.

“It's okay! He’s my-”

“Boyfriend?”

“Friend!” 

Holly puts the bat down and smiles at Michael, who's still glaring at you. He runs his hands through his hair, and his breathing is heavy. You know whatever conversation that was about to happen could not happen in the change rooms. 

“Holly, can you watch my section for a minute,” you say a lot calmer than you feel, “I’m going to take Dog and him,” pointing at Michael, “outside for some air.”

Holly agrees because of course she does. You two have been at this club for years together, she was a single mum of two, who's been caught dancing by many ex-boyfriends, she knew what conversation was about to be had. 

Not that Michael is your boyfriend.

Dog is sitting patiently under one of the makeup desks, her tail wagging as she watches you pick up her lead.

“You bring your dog to this place.”

It's the first words Michael has said all evening and you turn to him, all fake smiles gone.

“Of course I do! I work 10 hour shifts some days, I can’t leave a dog in Frank's apartment for half the day!”

Michael says nothing, but ever the gentleman, he holds open the backroom door for you as you and Dog wander into the alley way.

The back alley behind the bar is as safe as any place can be in Pittsburgh after dark, it has two large gates on either end and only staff at the club know the combinations to the locks. It was where you have spent a lot of time either chain smoking when you were young, or internally screaming as you got older. 

You let Dog off the lead, who trots off to do her business and turn to look at Michael, who was looking around the alley, his brows raised. You could still feel the anger coming off him.

“So?” you start, crossing your arms until you realise all that's done is press your tits up and make them even more obvious to the red faced doctor.

“You’re a stripper.”

“Waitress technically- I lost my spot on the stage when I went to Europe.”

“Why?”

“Why did I lose my spot or why am I here?”

He rolled his eyes, “Why are you here?”

“Oh I just love getting my breasts out for random strangers.” the sarcasm drips from your mouth, you can’t help it.

“Sweethea-”

“No Sweetheart! No! You can’t just walk into a stripclub, then get mad when a woman has her tits out!” 

“I didn’t want to come to a strip club.” he said weakly, his own argument falling flat.

“Oh your old mate Jack just pulled you in here under protest?”

“Well-”

“What are you really mad about, Dr Robinavitch?” he flinches at the formal name and you can’t help but smirk.

“Why are you here?”

“Money.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously, I make more here in one night than I would in a week somewhere else. It's good, fast money!”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you need to make fast money?”

The question has you laughing, maybe not with humour but with amusement. Dog wanders off as you drop her lead to gather yourself.

“Why? Why do I need money? Oh I don’t know, maybe because my big brother is in rehab? Or because my parents are in a facility that has exorbitant bills their pension doesn’t cover? Rent? Vet bills? I’ve maxed out four credit cards since I have gotten back, so those need to be paid off as well? How else should I make my money, Dr Robinavitch?”

He’s silent, and the rage has simmered behind his eyes but his hands flexed between open and fists as if trying to ground himself.

“What about your degree?” he said, each word a challenge.

“What degree?” you huff, “I dropped out of school at fifteen.” 

The rage rose again as he took in your words.

“What?”

You move to lean against the wall of the club, it was cool (and a little gross) against your exposed skin.

“My dads a high functioning alcoholic and my mum- my mum is a self centred bitch who only cares about two things, my dad and Frank.I was an unhappy accident.” You close your eyes, you haven’t admitted any of this to anyone, ever, “Dad lost his job when I was fourteen, Frank was fifteen, and the bills started the pile up. Sacrifices had to be made, and that included my dance classes which I was mad about but I was told by my mother, young ladies do not complain. Then dad got a new job and it was okay for a few months but he hurt himself and ended up on workers comp. Then the bills piled up again and mum sat me down and told me that I needed to pull my weight around the house.”

“What about Frank?”

“Frank was top of his class in everything, he was on the football team and looking at a scholarship to any college he wanted. I was not doing so well in any of my classes, which got worse when I started working at the local diner every night. We chatted about it but he didn’t want to drop out of school so it was decided, I would.”

“That's not fair.” Michael said and when you opened your eyes he was in front of you, his hands on your face, tilting your head up so you could look him in the eye.

“You shouldn’t have been saddled with that.” 

You lean into his touch, and feel his breath on your face. It would take only a moment to breach the distance between you. You could almost taste him on your lips as you look him in his eyes.

The anger is still there, seething behind the golden brown colour but you can see something else there as he looks from your eyes to your lips. 

You need to break the moment before you kiss him in the alley.

It was a cliché to kiss someone outside of the club in this alley, plus your boss had cameras rigged out here 'for your safety'.

“But I was. I left school and started odd jobs, waitressing, working at a grocery store, I was even a cleaner at your hospital for a few months. But nothing was covering all the house repayments, Frank's textbooks or my mum's spending habits.”

Michael was now shaking his head, his thumb gently grazing your cheek.

“I know Frank, he’s an ass but he wouldn’t have let you pay for everything.”

“My folks didn’t tell him everything, and I didn’t want him to know. He couldn’t be distracted, he had a plan and a path and it was my job to keep him on it.” You didn’t sound bitter, the words could have been bitter. Others might have thought you would be bitter, but you weren’t, not at Frank. 

He had always been the kid who was going to make it.

You were just the little sister that was going to help him get there.

“I got a job here just before my sixteenth birthday, started as a dish-bitch, worked my way up to dancing by the time I was seventeen.”

“Seventeen?”

The grip on your cheek is tighter, as you watch him school his emotions, he got a little crease between his brows that looks like a ‘v’ as you watch him swallow a further remark.

“Yep- I had a fake ID in case the cops ever came in but they never did, at least not to raid us.” you joke but the brow on Michaels brow just got deeper, “No one cared really, I had boobs, and ass and was willing to work every night. So I did, I paid off my parents house, I covered Frank's textbooks, the excess of his college living costs and got him the best birthday and christmas presents. They never asked where the money came from, maybe they never cared enough to, I think Frank might have an idea but he never brought it up.”

Michael pulls away slightly, still in your personal bubble but no longer touching you. You try not to verbalise a whine as you try to lean back into his touch.

“You made enough to pay off your parents house.” A statement not a question.

You could tell Michael was processing, his hands were now in his pockets and his entire body language had changed, he stood taller, ridged as he blinked slowly. He walked away from you, suddenly on the other side of the alley.

“Michael?”

“You paid off your parents' house, and Frank's bills, just by dancing?” There was something under those words, an accusation you couldn’t quite place. Somehow during your confession he had picked up something that he couldn’t get through.

“Yes.” Your voice was small, and you realised your hands were shaking. You had just poured your whole truth out to this man and while you hadn’t expected open arms, his response had you thrown.

“You managed to pay off your parents' house, just by dancing on that stage?”

There it was, the judgement and the disgust. 

Michael was an understanding Doctor, a person who would advocate for those less fortunate.

But all people have their own hang ups, the thing they would never be able to look past.

And you just found his.

“Stripping is not prostitution.” You say through gritted teeth.

“I didn’t say that-”

“You didn’t have to! I heard it in your voice!”

“I didn’t-”

You want to cry, the tears are there but you won’t cry in front of him, how had you gone from flirting over pancakes to being judged in a back alley.

“We are done here, have a lovely rest of your evening, Dr Robinavitch.”

You push past time, snapping for Dog to follow you. She does, stopping only for a moment to sniff Michaels pant leg before trotting back inside, excited to see who was backstage and ready to give her cuddles.

“Why did you come back to it?” 

You look behind you, “What?”

“When you came home, why did you come back here?”

You sigh and just shake your head.

“Because Frank needed me.” You admit before closing the door and returning to your shift.

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

Michael’s table of friends are still there when you come back, your fake smile plastered wide on your face.

You couldn’t wait until the club closed and you could go home and cry into your pillow.

But there were still four hours left.

Michael returned to the table a few moments after you, but left almost immediately, making his excuses to the bachelor and Jack. You stayed well away until you saw Michael leave, letting Holly and Joe fill any drink orders.

Jack's eyes stay fixed on you for moments after Michael has gone, tracking your every movement.

You smiled back at him, daring him to say anything. You could do with a fight tonight you thought to yourself as you passed out wings, and whiskey glasses to another table that had come in. 

But he’s gone after you pick yourself up off a table, belly button still wet from a body shot.

You look around for him or any of Michaels friends as you tuck the $100 bill into your purse, but the table was empty, bar their finished glasses and a tip.

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

The liquor was flowing at almost every table by the time 2am rolled by, and Holly had just taken her place on stage. You wanted to laugh as she sent you a wink and a kiss mid-dip.

Joe is still behind the bar but he stops what he's doing as you shuffle up, exhaustion and sticky heels wearing you down.

“You okay?”

You laugh and give him a gentle push, “I think that's the third time you’ve asked me that tonight.”

He shrugs and pushes you back, “You spend half your life looking after everyone else. Someones gotta check in.”

After the conversation with Michael and the rollercoaster the last few weeks have been you can’t help but hug the older man. Pulling him in and clinging to him as you whisper your thanks. You had known Joe since you were fifteen, he had stood behind you for your first week, snapping the fingers of anyone who tried to touch you while you washed dishes in the ugliest frumpiest clothes he could talk the boss into letting you wear. 

“I think the crush is over before it even began.” You admitted as you pulled away, grabbing shot glasses for the table closest to the stage. They wanted to do tequila shots with Holly, so you poured four tequila shots for the guests and one shot of water in a ‘special’ sparkly glass for Holly. It wasn’t against the rules to drink during a shift, when someone wants to buy you a drink, but you knew Holly had an early school run the next morning and the last thing she needed was a hangover.

The shift goes on, and you go through the motions. Pouring drinks, folding your tips into your little purse and every so often taking money for a dance.

It was like you somehow ended up on autopilot, just doing everything with a smile on your face and a bounce in your step as your mind continues to just replay your conversation with Michael again and again.

“You managed to pay off your parents' house, just by dancing on that stage?”

He had asked the question again and again, and maybe it was your own insecurity but each time felt heavier and heavier. 

You had paid off your parents' house by dancing on a stage.

You had gotten your brother through college by dancing on a stage.

And you would get him through rehab with lap dances and body shots.

And you were not less than him for doing so.

The bar lights came on as the clock turned to 4am. You hadn’t even noticed the hours pass by, but as one last patron tried to grab your ass you waved goodbye to the stragglers and let out a sigh of relief.

Your feet hurt, and you just need your bed. 

Joe’s changed the music to a remix of ABBA’s greatest hits and you take a moment to remove your heels, enjoying the feel of the trainers you keep in your bag.

You're half way through putting chairs on tables when the front door slams open.

You turn ready to tell whoever was there to go home to their wife when your voice fails you.

“Can we talk?”

[pascal-rascal424]

Stranger Like Me: Chapter Three

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Summary: From a young age, the animal kingdom had fascinated you, and maybe that's why you chose to pursue that passion. You quickly became a force within the field, becoming the leading expert on ape social structures, which is how you found yourself on an expedition into the African jungles searching for a troop of gorillas. What you weren't expecting, however, was to run into the local wild man on one of your excursions... (Tarzan!AU)

Content Warnings: Language, Suggestive thoughts, Suggestive commentary, Frank being crass, Jack and Boots in their feelings, Jack's horny thoughts, caressing of female body parts. I think that's it, but please let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 2.75k

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Writing Info || Blog Rules

You had settled into an easy routine over the past two weeks, the first trying to iron out the different kinks. Dr. Robby had determined that your ankle would take around four weeks to heal if you kept off of it, and as it turned out, Jack was more than happy to assist. You could think of only a handful of times that you had been on your feet, the wild man appearing first thing in the morning to carry you around camp.

Of course, the others had given you endless shit about it, Frank being the loudest. The second morning after your accident, Jack had waited for you outside your tent as you changed, his deep, brown eyes surveying the jungle stoically. He had wordlessly scooped you up in his arms as you hobbled towards the entrance, carrying you effortlessly to where the others were already gathered for breakfast. Victoria had raised an eyebrow in question, but said nothing. Whitaker was too busy going over something with Robby to pay you much mind, the same to be said for the others and their own research. Frank had walked over from his tent at the same time and let out a loud snort at the sight of you.

“Is this going to be a regular thing now?” He had snickered, gesturing to where you clung to Jack. “Is he a taxi service now?”

“I’ve already tried explaining to him that I don’t need him to carry me everywhere,” you scowled at the botanist. Jack placed you gently on the bench before plopping down right next to you, Frank taking up the space on your other side. “He’s just insistent upon doing it, is all.”

“If I didn’t know any better,” he drawled as Mel placed a plate of eggs in front of you, “I’d think you like him carrying you around everywhere.”

You cast him a sideways glance as you shoveled a fork full of egg into your mouth, brow pinched together in indignation.

“I don’t.”

“Sure,” Frank hummed, giving you a knowing look before bumping your shoulder with his. “And jungle man over there also doesn’t get a hard on every time he looks at you.”

“Frank!” You exclaimed, cheeks warming as Trinity cackled and Dana cleared her throat, her own cheeks growing a nice shade of pink at the turn in the conversation along with Victoria and Mel’s. Whitaker and Robby looked over at the two of you, matching shocked expressions on their faces.

“Don’t be crass,” you hissed at the man, swatting at his arm. He rolled his eyes, accepting the plate Mel handed him with a quiet thanks.

“Is it really being crass if I’m telling the truth?”

“Yes,” you snapped, cognizant of the fact Jack had been inching closer to you as each moment passed. Frank rolled his eyes at you, but said nothing more.

The next couple of days had you struggling to figure out how to do various chores around the camp. Cooking was easy enough until you needed to get up and grab something.

The first time you had stood up, Jack’s head had shot up from where he was flipping through one of the sketchbooks Robby had laying about. His honey-colored eyes watched you intently as a frown tugged on his lips, standing when you made to move.

“No,” he said, pushing down on your shoulders gently.

“Jack, I have to-”

“No,” he said again, more firmly this time, eyes intense and brows pinched. “Hurt.”

“I’m not so hurt that I can’t walk the three feet to grab a spoon,” you scowled at him. He raised an eyebrow at you, turning and walking the few, short steps across the eating area to pluck a spoon out of the container and bringing it to you. You accepted it with a huff, not missing the satisfied smirk that appeared on his face at the small victory.

Laundry was done down by the river, an ever watchful Jack sitting on one of the stones beside you as you scrubbed the various articles of clothing. He watched you carefully, an unreadable expression on his face as you worked through your task.

After the first half hour, you began to grow increasingly self conscious once you realized he hadn’t taken his eyes off of you for more than a couple of seconds at a time the entire time you two had sat there.

“Aren’t you bored?” You asked him, wrinkling your nose. “I mean, it can’t be fun to just sit here and watch me do all this. Wouldn’t you prefer to help Dana or Robby or someone else? I’m sure they’re having much more fun than we are.”

Jack’s gaze hardened in confusion. Shaking his head, he shifted slightly, leaning closer towards you.

“Like being with you,” he murmured, the hint of a smile on his lips as he looked at you. The heat on your cheeks had nothing to do with the sweltering jungle heat, and you quickly averted your gaze, pretending to inspect a stain on one of Whitaker’s shirts. Your eyes darted up when Jack crept towards you, and for a moment, you were reminded that this man was raised by apes, not humans. His leg stretched out to rest beside you, the rest of him slinking after until he crouched right in front of you, his nose almost brushing yours. Your eyes wandered down the length of one of his legs, taking in the sight of the various nasty looking scars scattered on his right leg in particular.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you swallowed thickly as he reached a hand up to brush his fingers across your cheek. His eyes darted down, lingering on your lips as they parted. A shiver ran up your spine as his fingers trailed down, running over your bottom lip, and the intense look in his eye became hungry as you let out a quiet gasp. He let his fingers linger for a second before pulling them away and towards a strand of hair that hung in your face. Slowly, he pushed it back behind your ear, letting his palm cradle your jaw as the two of you sat silently watching each other.

The sound of jungle leaves rustling broke the two of you out of your trance, and Jack let out a growl as he positioned himself in front of you, glaring intensely at the spot where the noise was coming from.

“Hey, you two!” Robby called, coming into view with a smile. Jack immediately relaxed back into his spot beside you, but the frown remained. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was annoyed. You cleared your throat, your head still clouded from the intensity of the prior moment.

“Hey, Robby,” you greeted, attempting a smile that you were sure came out as more of a grimace. “What brings you by?”

“Oh nothing,” he grinned. “Just wanted to see if you needed any help with the laundry. It’s very kind of you to offer to do it while you heal up. I know it’s not the greatest chore.”

“I want to feel useful,” you offered, shrugging.

“Well, nevertheless, it’s appreciated,” Robby smiled. “Do you need any help carrying everything back?”

“No,” Jack snapped, leveling Robby with a glare. The researcher looked a little taken aback by the ferocity of Jack’s answer, but recovered quickly, shooting you a brief, knowing look.

“I see,” he hummed, trying and failing to hide his smirk. “Well, if the two of you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and headed back towards the camp. Once he was out of sight, Jack huffed, turning back to look at you.

“What’s got you so grumpy?” you asked him, chuckling slightly. Jack didn’t answer, instead, reaching out to twirl a strand of your hair in between his fingers, bringing it up to his nose and taking a long, deep inhale before giving you another heavy look. Your cheeks heated up once more before you ducked your head down to start the process of scrubbing the laundry once again. You tried not to think about how Jack’s muscles had bulged when he was crouched in front of you or how his intense look made your thighs clench together.

You were sitting in one of the research tents a week later, transcribing some notes for Dr. Robby the following week, having begged the older man for ways to be of use given you were slowly losing your mind doing all of the mundane chores. Jack was perched in a chair next to you, flipping through the rough sketches Whitaker had made of some of the baboons and wrinkling his nose.

“What’s that face for?” You giggled, glancing over at him. Jack huffed and shook his head, giving you a solemn look.

“Baboons are annoying.”

You burst into a fit of giggles, resting your chin on the palm of your hand as you looked at him fully. Jack’s gaze softened as he listened to you laugh, a tinge of pink coating his cheeks.

“Yeah?” You asked him. “How so?”

Jack straightened up in his seat, rolling his eyes as he thought back to the countless run-ins he’s had with the creatures.

“They scream a lot,” he scowled, lips pursed as he gives you a serious look. “And they steal my food sometimes. It’s hard to catch them because they climb the trees so fast.”

You had quickly grown used to how articulate Jack actually was over the course of the last week and a half. You supposed it was no surprise considering he’d had twenty years of practice, but even Robby had seemed surprised when he walked in on Jack telling you a story one day, the wild man animatedly telling you a story about a trick he played on one of the younger members of the gorilla troop he lived with. Now you wondered if the older researchers even knew if Jack could string together more than a couple of short sentences.

His sentences could still be choppy at times and his answers short and direct, sure, but the more you showed interest in what he had to say, the more he found himself opening up and saying more. Jack found that he liked the way you reacted to what he had to say, and he tried to practice at night once he knew you were asleep. He found himself visiting with Dana and Robby more, asking them questions about different words for different feelings and ideas. He wasn’t sure why, but he wanted you to know him, to know what he thought about things and how he felt about the world. Maybe it was because he wanted to know those things about you too and to talk about them with you.

“They are pretty fast, huh?” You asked, leaning forward a little more, unknowingly pushing your breasts together and exaggerating your cleavage. Jack’s eyes flickered down, and he felt a familiar stirring in his groin. He found that this feeling also happened quite frequently around you, and it was often the simplest of things that set it off. It happened when he watched you bend over and dry your hair after a bath one day. It happened when you stretched after sitting hunched over too long, your back arching as you raised your arms over your head. It happened sometimes when you looked at him through your lashes, your bottom lip captured between your teeth.

He shifted in his seat, unable to tear his eyes away from your chest. He felt an overwhelming need to touch them, to touch you. He often found himself thinking of you. How good you smelled. How soft you were. He wanted to touch you, to mark you as his.

The troop leader, Mutubo Robby had named him, had several offspring, so Jack wasn’t unfamiliar with the concept of mating, or sex as Robby and Dana called it. However, he wasn’t so sure that his family experienced what he was feeling, at least to this extent. Without thinking, Jack reached out, running his fingertips over the exposed area, his shorts growing tighter as he felt the soft, warm skin.

You sucked in a breath, your cheeks heating and eyes going wide as Jack caressed you. His gaze was intense as he touched you, and you felt a shiver run up your spine when his brown eyes darted up to meet your own. The brown was practically swallowed by black, and you had to muster all of your self control to not throw yourself at him then and there.

“I should, um,” you stuttered after a second, “I should go see if Dana has started dinner yet.”

You stood abruptly, Jack following suit. He moved to pick you up, but you took a step back, shaking your head.

“No, I,” you sucked in a breath, “it’s not that far. I think I’ll try walking there.”

Jack frowned at you, but before he could argue, you beelined out of the tent and into the open air. It was unprofessional to be acting this way, especially with someone who didn’t understand the intricacies of human relationships.

The end of the week brought movie night, and you were giddy when you remembered that it was your turn to pick. Frank and Trinity groaned loudly when they saw your choice. You ignored them, taking a seat on one of the couches Dana and Robby had managed to snag while in the city not too terribly long ago. Jack immediately sat next to you, his thigh pressed against yours, filling you with an odd sense of comfort.

“What are we watching?” Mel asked as he entered the tent.

“The Princess Bride,” you grinned as Frank plopped down on your other side.

“You couldn’t have picked anything with explosions?” He asked, wrinkling his nose at you in mock disgust. You rolled your eyes, shoving him lightly.

“The Princess Bride is a classic,” you argued. “Don’t be such a guy.”

“I think the Princess Bride is great,” Mel offered, earning dual eye rolls from both Trinity and Frank.

“You would,” Frank threw back at the bespectacled woman with a grin.

“Explosions and gun fights does not a movie make,” Victoria scowled. “It’s good to mix it up every now and then.”

“Exactly!” You exclaimed. “I had to sit through so many hours of Fast and Furious of all things. The least you can do is sit quietly through my movie.”

“Hey, do not knock the Fast and the Furious,” Whitaker warned, raising his pointer finger at you with a serious look. You rolled your eyes once more but let out a giggle.

“I’ll stop knocking the Fast and the Furious when the movies start being good,” you grinned.

“So, never,” Victoria snorted, earning scowls from the others. Before the argument could continue, both Dana and Robby strolled into the tent.

“Oh, The Princess Bride,” Dana grinned, plopping down onto the other couch, Robby not too far behind. “One of my favorites!”

Once everyone was settled, you started the movie, absentmindedly curling into Jack’s side more and more as the minutes stretched on. Jack’s fingers came up to play with the strands of your hair, unknowingly lulling you into a deep sleep.

Jack knew the second you fell asleep, and he smiled softly as he listened to your breathing even out as you relaxed against him. He liked this. He liked how safe you felt with him and how at ease you made him feel. Jack was somewhat paying attention to scenes in front of him, lost in thought as he tried to understand what was going on. There was one thing that stood out to him, though. A word, actually. He had heard Dana and Robby say it to each other on rare occasions, but Jack had never given it much thought before he met you. But, when he saw the two characters on the screen look at each other and say that word, he felt that it might be important. That maybe he should ask them what it meant. You stirred against him, and Jack felt an ache in his chest as he looked down at your sleeping form. His curiosity could wait for now, he thought. He’d make sure to ask Robby and Dana what it meant later. For now, he just wanted to stay by your side.

A/N: I'm going to see Thunderbolts tonight by myself before going with friends tomorrow. Then we're having movie night at my place on Saturday. What are y'all doing this weekend?

As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. I no longer do taglists, so if you would like to be notified on when I post, please follow my sideblog ( @arcanevagabond-library ) and turn on post notifications! You can find me and my works on AO3 under the username arcane_vagabond. Until next time!

[pascal-rascal424]

Stranger Like Me Masterlist

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Summary: From a young age, the animal kingdom had fascinated you, and maybe that's why you chose to pursue that passion. You quickly became a force within the field, becoming the leading expert on ape social structures, which is how you found yourself on an expedition into the African jungles searching for a troop of gorillas. What you weren't expecting, however, was to run into the local wild man on one of your excursions... (Tarzan!AU)

Series CW: Language, Inaccurate science jargon, Inaccurate field jargon, Poaching, Animal Cruelty, Inaccurate Climate Depictions, Wild Man who doesn't know much, Wild Man in the big city, Exploitation, Corporate Greed, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Violence. Individual chapters will have their own warnings.

All posts related to this series will be tagged with "SLM," "Stranger Like Me," and/or "Tarzan!Jack”.

*Denotes Smut

Main Masterlist || Jack Abbot Masterlist || Blog Rules || Writing Rules

Series;

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three (Coming Soon)

Drabbles;

Nothing to see here yet…

[pascal-rascal424]

Stranger Like Me: Chapter Two

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Summary: From a young age, the animal kingdom had fascinated you, and maybe that's why you chose to pursue that passion. You quickly became a force within the field, becoming the leading expert on ape social structures, which is how you found yourself on an expedition into the African jungles searching for a troop of gorillas. What you weren't expecting, however, was to run into the local wild man on one of your excursions... (Tarzan!AU)

Content Warnings: Language, Dead animals, Injury to self, Reader is a bit of an idiot, Baboons, Jack not understanding boundaries, The crew make fun of Boots. I think that's it.

Word Count: ~3.3k

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Writing Info || Blog Rules

You woke up to the sound of yelling coming from the Frank’s tent. You scrambled out of the sheets, barely pulling on a pair of shorts over your underwear before running out of the tent and towards the camp. Frank and Whitaker were standing outside the tent, looking uneasily at each other as Mel, Trinity, and Victoria all came running up with you.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, a little out of breath from your run. “What happened?”

“Well,” Whitaker started, glancing over at Frank as the brunet ran a hand through his hair.

“Wild man left a goddamn fish in my bed,” he snapped, glaring disdainfully into the tent.

“He what?” You questioned, pushing past them to look in through the opening. Sure enough, a large, bloody fish sat atop the usually pristine sheets. You grimaced, backing up to stand with the others. “What kind of fish is that?”

“What?” Frank hollered, looking at you incredulously. “Who gives a shit? There’s a fish in my bed, Boots!”

“Do you think he’s threatening you?” Mel asked thoughtfully, stroking the length of her jaw as he eyed the fish. Frank turned to look at her, a surprised look on his face as if the thought only just crossed his mind. He looked back at the fish with pursed lips.

“Jack isn’t like that,” Whitaker assured, placing a gentle hand on Frank’s shoulder. “I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.”

“There’s a fish in my bed,” Frank gritted out, waving wildly towards the tent. You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“Quit being such a baby about your gift,” you scowled. Frank began to splutter, face going red as he fought to form a coherent thought. At that same moment Robby and Dana came walking up from where they had been fixing dinner.

“What’s going on?” Dana asked, glancing around at your little group. Frank pointed a finger into the tent, taking deep breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth as he pinched the bridge of his nose. The two older researchers pushed past you and Trinity to peer into the tent, their eyebrows shooting up their foreheads at the sight.

“Huh,” Dana laughed out. “He must have seen you working with the plants this past week.”

Frank stared at him for a second, blinking slowly as he processed what the brunette just said.

“Pardon?”

“He sees me growing some of the food here,” Dana explained, gesturing towards the small patch of land she had set aside to grow some vegetables for the camp. “I use fish from the river to help fertilize the crops. He helps me with it sometimes, in fact. He must have thought you’d want some fish to help with your research.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet,” you sighed. Frank stared at you, an unreadable expression that slowly morphed into one of distraught.

“But,” he murmured, waving uselessly back at the fish, “my bed? Why?”

“Now that is a bit of a mystery, I’ll admit,” Dana hummed, staring confusedly at the bed. Robby rolled his eyes.

“Is it though?” He muttered, giving you a knowing look. You shifted uncomfortably. Surely he wasn’t implying…

“Boots, we’re going to have to take a raincheck on going down to the waterfall,” Frank sighed, looking at you now.

“What?” You frowned. “No way! It won’t take you that long to clean up! We can just go after!”

“This is going to take me forever to clean up,” he argued, shaking his head. “No, we’ll just go tomorrow or something.”

“Frank, if I have to spend one more day in this godforsaken camp, I’m going to lose my mind,” you scowled. “I’ll just go on ahead and you can meet me when you’re finished. How does that sound?”

“It sounds like a terrible idea,” he frowned. “The jungle is dangerous, Boots. God only knows what’s out there waiting to snatch you up.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” you snapped, glaring at him. “I’m just as capable as the rest of you. I can take care of myself. Mel, tell him.”

Mel sucked in a breath, eyes darting between the two of you as you waited for her to say something.

“I don’t know if I feel comfortable getting in the middle-”

“Fine, whatever,” you hissed, turning back to Frank. “Frank Langdon, I am a capable woman who can take care of herself. I’ve done this plenty of times before when you aren’t here to infantilize me.”

He mulled over your words, but it was Trinity who spoke up first.

“I mean,” she started, crossing her arms, “all of us go off all the time. She should be fine on her own, right?”

Frank gave her a hard look before huffing.

“Fine,” he relented, “but don’t go too far, okay? I’ll join you when I’m finished with this. Hopefully, it won’t take me too long.”

You smiled in victory, turning to head back to your tent and get ready. It didn’t take you long, just changing into a fresh set of clothes and filling up your canteen with water before grabbing your backpack. You were just about to leave camp and head towards the falls when Dana stopped you.

“I packed you some lunch,” she said, handing you an old container. You took it from her, smiling gratefully as you shoved it into your backpack.

“I’m guessing there’s something else you wanted to say to me?” You asked, earning a chuckle.

“Just,” she hesitated, shoving her hands in her pockets as she gazed into the jungle, “be careful. I didn’t want to say anything in front of Frank, but Victoria and I spotted a leopard by the river not too long ago. It’s possible it’s moved out of the area, but I wanted to let you know just in case. Just stay vigilant.”

“Yeah, I will,” you smiled, readjusting the strap on your shoulder.

“I’m sure Jack will be keeping an eye on you too,” she added. “You should be fine.”

“Thanks, Dana,” you nodded, turning and heading into the jungle before you.

The sun shone brightly, some of the rays penetrating through the canopy above. It was strange being out in the wilderness by yourself, the strange new noises keeping you slightly on edge as you continued to trek through the leaves. You took another swig from your canteen, the cool liquid easing the unsettling warmness that surrounded you. You tried in vain to wipe away the sweat accumulating on your forehead, letting out a frustrated sigh and grunt of disgust when you just ended up smearing more sweat onto your face. You shoved the canteen back into your pack, stopping when you heard a chattering sound coming from up above.

You looked skyward, seeing a couple of baboons racing along the trees. You grabbed blindly for your notebook, eager to jot down some notes and sketches of the creatures for Robby and Whitaker to go over when you returned. You trotted after them, now digging in your bag for a pen as you continued after them. The baboons noticed you, chattering at each other loudly as they took you in. Seeming to taunt you, they waved their arms at you, tilting their heads as if to say “can’t catch me.” You huffed out a chuckle, twisting and turning through the trees as you chased them. You were so caught up in trying to jot down some notes that you didn’t notice the dip in the ground or the tree root that arched out of the dirt beneath you. You fell with a panicked yelp, hitting your head on another one of the large roots, the world going dark around you.

You weren’t sure how long you had been out, probably not too long since the sun still beat down through the canopy. You touched the sore spot on your head, wincing at the slight sting, but sighing with relief when you checked your fingers and found no blood.

The baboons were still shrieking and chattering above you, almost as if they were laughing at your unfortunate predicament, and you cast an errant glare upwards at them. Damn monkeys.

An ache rippled up your leg from your ankle, and you bit your lip as you shuffled back to lean against one of the trees, hoping against all odds that you hadn’t done anything too bad to it.

Your head pounded, a wave of dizziness running through you that was most certainly not helped by the intense humidity and heat of the jungle. You let out a groan as you experimentally moved your ankle, hissing when a jolt of pain ran up your leg. Yeah, definitely sprained. You huffed out a sigh, leaning your head against the trunk of the tree.

The cacophony of noises did little to ease your aching head, and you wished you had waited for Frank to finish cleaning his bed like he had insisted. Now you were stuck out in the jungle, hoping and praying someone would find you before something else did.

You groaned at the thought of what Frank would say if he could see you now. That smarmy look he’d give you as he looked you over. The “I told you so” that would follow. You would never hear the end of it, but a chilling thought ran through you. The group had to find you before Frank could be his insufferable self, and as far as they knew, you would be down by the waterfall. How far away were you? You scolded yourself for straying away from the trail markers that had been laid out. How was anyone supposed to find you now? You sniffled, biting back the tears that threatened to spill over.

You checked your canteen, grimacing at the sound of the half empty container. Setting it down with a thud you gazed at the canopy above, wiping the sweat from your brow. It could be hours before someone realized you were missing. You hoped sooner.

Another wave of emotion rushed over you, and this time you allowed yourself to let a few tears slip down your cheeks. How could you be so foolish?

The sound of rustling foliage drew your attention across the small clearing, your heart rate picking up at the sound. Your thoughts raced back to what Dana had told you before you left the camp. Victoria and I spotted a leopard by the river not too long ago. Inwardly groaning, you lamented about your situation, hoping that whatever was hiding in the foliage wasn’t a giant cat. You stayed as still as possible, praying for whatever it was to continue on. From the sounds of it, whatever it was, was huge, and it was getting closer.

You gripped your canteen in your hand, ready to throw it at whatever came out of the dense leaves. It wouldn’t do any lasting damage, but perhaps it would daze the creature long enough for you to scramble away and towards help. Surely Jake was done by now? How long had you been out here?

You bit back a shriek as the leaves parted to reveal...a man?

He so unfairly handsome. Tanned skin stretched across bulging muscles, greying, brown hair curling at the top of his head. It was his eyes though, that captured your attention. Deep, mesmerizing honey-colored eyes that stared at you intensely, as if trying to make sense of you.

"Who the hell are you?" You asked, voice tight as he crouched down, inching closer to you with slow moments. "Where did you come from?"

He didn't answer as he crept closer, his movements almost like that of the apes you observed during your travels. His hand reached towards you, his knuckles brushing against the tips of your fingers. You jerked your hand back, regarding him wearily.

"Human?" He asked, cocking his head to the side.

"Me?" You spluttered, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. "Of course I'm a human! What did you think I was?"

His eyes narrowed at you, his lips pressing into a thin line as he seemed to consider you.

“I see," he spoke, his English seemingly broken. "What kind?"

It took you a second to figure out what he was asking you.

"I'm a woman. A scientist like Robby and Dana and the others," you told him, a sense of unease filling you. Was this the man that Robby and Dana had told you about? What was his name again? Jack, right?

“Seen you at the camp,” he continued, watching you for a moment. “Smell good.”

Your cheeks warmed even further at the comment, and you cleared your throat before shifting where you sat, wincing as the movement jostled your ankle. Jack glanced down at the swollen appendage, frowning at the redness that seeped to the surface.

“Hurt?” He asked, leaning forward, his face so close to yours. You swallowed thickly, eyes roving over his face and hesitating on his lips. The scruff that grew on his face wasn’t a bad look on him, quite the contrary actually, and for a second you wondered what it would be like to feel it on the skin of your thighs as he-

You blinked rapidly, trying desperately to clear the depraved thoughts from your head. You chalked it up to the combination of the African heat and the fact you hadn’t been laid in God only knows how long. You cleared your throat and briefly met his gaze before looking away.

“Yes,” you answered him, cursing at the shakiness of your voice. “I think I hurt my ankle when I fell. Do you think you could go back to the camp and tell the others where I am?”

Jack frowned at you before shaking his head.

“Boots hurt,” he rumbled. “Can’t leave here.”

“Then how do you expect the others to—hey!”

You yelped when Jack slid one large hand under your knees, the other coming up to rest on your back as he lifted you off the ground. You scrambled to find purchase, finally wrapping your arms around his neck, eyes widening when he turned to look at you, face so close, your noses were practically touching. You tried desperately not to think of the hard curves of muscle you were being held against, willing yourself to think about anything else.

“This is,” you began, swallowing thickly as you stared into his eyes, “this is not the most practical way of doing this.”

He stared at you for a moment, blinking at you in confusion.

“Practical?”

“You know,” you mumbled, tearing your eyes away from him, “the best way to do this.”

He frowned at that, giving you a challenging look as his grip on you tightened. You gasped as he held you closer, a spark of mischief in his eyes.

“Can you walk?”

“What?” You blinked. He chuckled, bringing his face even closer to yours which was not helping you form a coherent sentence.

“Can you walk?” He repeated, the corners of his lips tugging up just a hair. You processed his question, scowling at him once you realized he was messing with you.

“No,” you huffed, meeting his gaze with a glare. He gave you a smirk as he turned and started walking through the jungle.

“You don’t have to be so smug, you know,” you grumbled, relaxing a little when you felt confident that he wouldn’t drop you. He hummed, the smirk still painted on his face as he continued on.

“So you know what smug means, but not practical?” You groused. Jack spared you a look before turning his attention back to where he was walking.

“Dana calls Robby smug,” he supplied. You hummed, but didn’t say anything else as the two of you carried on.

“Boots?” Whitaker asked as you and Jack appeared from the jungle. He was standing by the fire pit, a confused look on his face as if he couldn’t quite figure out what it was he was looking at. Frank and Mel glanced up at the sound of your name, the brunet scrambling to his feet when he saw you in the arms of the wild man.

“What happened?” He asked, crossing the distance to come stand beside you. Jack let out what could only be described as a growl as he swung you away, fixing Frank with a glare. Frank gaped at him, jaw slack. “What the hell-”

“Jack?”

All of you turned to see Robby and Dana walking up from the other side of the camp, looks of concern as they glanced between you and the man whose arms you were still currently in.

“I, uh,” you stammered, glancing around at everyone. “I fell.”

“You fell?” Frank asked accusingly, already eyeing your swollen ankle.

“I was following some baboons,” you admitted, refusing to meet his gaze. You could already feel the accusatory look he was giving you. “I was taking notes, and I tripped over some tree roots. Jack found me and brought me back here.”

“You were supposed to go straight to the river,” Frank accused.

“Yeah, I know.”

“You strayed off the path, didn’t you?”

“Frank-”

“Dammit, Boots,” he growled, running a hand over his face. “You could have been seriously hurt!”

“Speaking of,” Robby interrupted, moving forward to examine your ankle. “Let’s get you looked at. Jack, would you mind setting her over here?”

Jack looked over at the bench that Ice gestured to, pausing for a moment before walking over. He plopped down, situating you on his lap, his arms still wrapped around your middle. You let out an indignant squeak, glaring when Trinity, Frank, and Whitaker snickered, trying to cover them up with coughs.

“Looks like wild man is already attached,” Trinity quipped, earning another glare.

“Why don’t you come over here and say that,” you snapped, feeling the heat on your cheeks grow even warmer. Robby looked like he was struggling not to laugh as he crouched in front of you, and you just barely caught the smirk that Dana had on his face. You winced as Robby began his examination, biting your lip from the pain. You felt Jack’s arms tighten around you, and you gripped onto his arm a little tighter to keep from crying out at the red hot spike of pain that shot up from your ankle.

“Looks like you sprained it,” Robby finally announced. You let out a groan, leaning back into Jack as you rolled your eyes.

“Just my luck,” you grumbled. “How long am I stuck here for?”

“I’d say at least four weeks,” he surmised. “Maybe six if you don’t keep off of it.”

“Looks like wild man will just have to carry her around everywhere,” Trinity snickered, the others joining in with her.

“Would you be quiet?” You growled. “This is going to be a nightmare!”

“Serves you right,” Frank smirked, that smarmy look you hated already on his face. “You should have waited for me.”

“I hate you,” you mumbled, crossing your arms with a huff. Robby chuckled, moving to stand.

“Jack, would you mind bringing Boots to the medical tent for me? I should have a bandage for her to wear.”

You scrambled once again as Jack lifted you, clinging to his shoulders as he began to walk after Robby across the camp. The others were barely holding in their laughter as they watched you, breaking out into fits of giggles as you flipped them off.

Jack was none the wiser as he held you, his hold gentle as he took care to not jostle you too much. You supposed the next couple of weeks wouldn’t be so bad.

A/N: How are we feeling? Are we staying hydrated? Go drink some water ya silly goose.

As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. I no longer do taglists, so if you would like to be notified on when I post, please follow my sideblog ( @arcanevagabond-library ) and turn on post notifications! You can find me and my works on AO3 under the username arcane_vagabond. Until next time!

[pascal-rascal424]

BLUEBIRD

(andrew “pope” cody x f!reader)

part two: flight | mdni | previous | MASTERLIST

—For someone who appears so tremendously stoic, you are mystified by the pained shudder in his breath.

tags: angst, stalking, pain kink, mentions of pope's suicidal tendencies, unwanted proximity bordering on assault (not with pope), heavy yearning, canon-typical mommy issues wc: 5.1k cat says: yeah i'm posting this a few hours earlier YES idk why i bother tagging 'angst', i feel like it's an inherent part of anything involving pope cody

This, he tries to tell himself, is better.

Because at least he is contained and resolute outside your house. At least he is here and not in that blinding suburban hell. At least he isn’t parked up on someone else’s street, waiting—desperately hoping—for her to come running back.

No, instead, he placates the memory of that child by watching you from his pickup truck, here and there, throughout the day. Not every day, just some odd ones. Sits opposite your humble one-storey abode and memorises the yard and the low, red brick border and the porch and the font of the street number on your mailbox and the way you sit on your front steps in the morning as you nurse a mug in both hands. Sometimes joined by your daughter, who entertains you like she was born to make you break out into laughter. Sam, he remembers. Of course he does. He remembers exactly what you were wearing the first and second time he saw you. Remembers the charms clinking against your car keys and the press of your hand on his wrist as you tried to shoo his money away last week.

He doesn’t know how you like to make your coffee on the mornings you sit outside. Doesn’t know if you’re even drinking coffee. Not at all privy to the finer details.

But he studies you like he’s planning a job.

There is a day where he finds you at a park around the corner from your house. It seems to be a routine between you and Sam—not every day, just some odd ones. He’s not sure how he manages to keep himself composed at the familiarity of it. A swing set and a girl and something…akin to penance? To a fleeting pardon? He is aware of how foolish it was to think that the love of a child could grant him absolution; could clean him.

This is the picture of innocence, though. With a wide smile splitting your mouth, you pull Sam’s seat as far back as you can while she squeals in the delight of anticipation. You count down, gathering momentum. Harnessing wind. A big push, and your baby takes flight. He is convinced, for a fraction of a second, that Lena is the one suspended in air, her hair blowing out around her like wings. But you’re cheering Sam on as she settles back down with slow, declining kicks.

Pope is gone before he can let himself unspool like an old cassette tape. Like something nobody wants anymore—something everybody has moved past.

You should really pay attention to your surroundings. He thinks you’re too easy to find, too easy to see without being seen himself (or he’s just disturbingly perceptive and he doesn’t like to think about the fact). But he has to remember your life and his are not one and the same. You have absolutely no reason to be as paranoid, as perceptive, as he is. You are not conditioned, he presumes, to go in with all teeth the moment you’ve been found out.

He knows that you pick up double shifts at the diner so your daughter doesn’t go hungry. He knows you sit in your car, before and after work, with your hands gripping the steering wheel as you press your forehead to the curve of the gap between them. What else is he to do with all of this time on his hands? If he’s not on a job, if he’s not in the fighting cage, if he’s not sitting in Lena’s old room, what more is there?

That’s what it is—a life without. He was built to saunter through battlefields in blood-stained stupor, not to live. His brothers might do this for the bountiful rewards that a good, well-structured job would bring. But this is way he was engineered. A steel-bodied machine; a soldier. The wolf in the black of night.

For as long as he can remember, ‘living’ is a hollow promise. ‘Living’ is the last thing Smurf raised him to do. He’s been on decades-long orders to traipse the darkness, eyes peeled and unblinking, watching for the threat of movement since childhood. He doesn’t know that, sometimes, he is the mirror of his long-dead father. Bogged down in the same paranoid craze that Colin wrestled with before Pope and Julia were nestled in Smurf’s womb—the sodden mire that seems to keep expanding. How strange it is to perfectly reflect a man and his hysteria without ever having known him. To inherit his father’s ghosts like warm heirlooms and spend his life wondering why he is the way he is.

No old photographs, no worn-out clothes, no well-loved car to be passed down to him. Just the name of a hockey player his father liked—Feels like a boy to me. Hey, Andrew, come on out and prove me right, you hear me?—and, of course, the loose screw. The thing in the cavity of his brain that ticks away like a faulty fire alarm. So, no, he can’t say that he ‘lives’ as much as he is haunted.

—yeah, after Andy Bathgate. Greatest hockey player of all time. You don’t like it? “Andy” for short.

Andrew David Cody, growing in a belly beside his sister as their father speaks only with him (Smurf has always held the belief that Andy would’ve softened him. In a good way. Had Colin lived long enough to give their son the nickname he wanted).

The haunting is why Pope doesn’t fight his habits. On the contrary, he clings to them like he’s hanging from the chin of a cliff, clawing for permanence so hard that his nails are scraped raw and bloody down to bone. He is intimate with this—latching onto pain. It saves him every time, and it pools on his tongue like blood medicine.

Won’t change a thing about Lena’s room in the Cody house. Won’t stop chipping into the fund he’s built for her. Won’t stop buying the food she used to eat and letting it go stale and mould-green because he obviously isn’t purchasing that shit to eat it. He is nourished by memory. Remembrance feeds him full.  

It draws him back to the stupid grocer’s a week after seeing you. Though, he is here on a different day and a different time, hoping you’re not around. He can’t stomach that. Can’t force himself to remain poised and pretend the thought of you alone doesn’t make his head spin. It always did back then. With somebody else. That beach house and that little girl and that woman who stopped seeing him the way she used to as soon as he was thrown in a cell. Couldn’t even look at him when he got out. What is he left with now? His ghosts? His father’s ghosts?

Everything festers—

Six different brands of amber-brown maple syrup stare back at him from their shelves, and it’s torture. She should be here. She would tell him which one to get. Try her best to strain her little legs and reach up high for a bottle until he has to pluck it down for her. She would probably pout about it—I almost got it. He would nod—I know. Pope wonders if her brand new parents and her brand new sister take her out to get brand new maple syrup for their brand new pancakes and he feels his fists stiffen into stone weights at his side.

And then something tumbles into the side of his leg and lands on the floor with a thump and a small yelp that soon turns into sore snivelling. He frowns at the syrup before looking down to his left where he finds Sam all curled up, snotty-nosed and weeping as she firmly presses her hands over her right knee. When she meets his gaze, she’s suddenly sobbing in a way that chokes her words. He wonders if the fresh evidence of his recent cage fight has frightened her. The little white butterfly stitch. The colours blemishing his skin are rich and ugly after all—plum purple and screaming red. Her eyes dart all over his bruised face as if her collision alone was turbulent enough to hurt him in such a way.

“I’m sorry, mister, I’m really sorry,” she hiccups. “I’m sorry, I promise I’m sorry.” Apologies keep stringing from between her chattering teeth while he watches her fuss over her knee.

Pope lifts his chin and surveys the surrounding aisle in search of you before looking down again. He can’t really leave her—not that he would do such a thing anyway. He knows how helpless children can be. For him, driving a pocketknife into someone’s jugular vein is an easier feat than abandoning a lost child.

“Where’s your mom?” he asks. Sam blinks away her tears and drags her free hand under her leaky nose.

“I dunno,” she mumbles, bottom lip wobbling. “She told me to get a jar of honey and- and wait for her.”

He looks around once more, waiting for you to show up. Part hope, part dread. It doesn’t really occur to him that he might look uncaring or indifferent to the observing eye. He’s too caught up in the familiarity of this. Transported back to a time where he would’ve caught Lena to steady her with one hand before she could even hit the floor. Gravity was secondary to his caution for that girl. Light and physics be damned. Had Lena fallen like this, he wouldn’t think twice before scooping her up in his arms.

“We’re gonna look for her,” is all he says before leaning down, leather jacket creasing around his shoulders as he hauls Sam up by her underarms. The moment he hitches her on his hip, he has to anchor himself before his world tips over. It was instinct—the lift, the motion, the hold. Muscle memory. Just someone else’s daughter this time. Yours.

“Is your knee okay?” he asks, carrying her down the aisle like she’s weightless; eyes searching as he turns a corner. Sam nods before her arms loop around his neck and it feels like they’re locking. Feels like he’ll never be able to get out again.

Lena used to cling to him just as tight when he carried her, as if mere air would rip her away from him if she didn’t hold on with her life (but he never really let that happen, remember? Gravity? Light and physics? Laws that bent to his will. Logic that yielded to his love. Until he looked away for only a moment and everything slipped—). She’d get tired and rest her head on his shoulder, little nose tickling the crook of his neck. Craig once joked that Lena always latched onto Pope like a baby spider monkey.

“Yeah, she’s got the eyes too,” his brother laughed.

Pope shrugged, “Well, spider monkeys nurse on their mothers for at least three years.”

“Right, so they grow up like any normal kid,” Craig scoffed and flicked Deran a look, who only shook his head and minded his beer. The frown pulling Pope’s brows weighed deeper then.

“The mothers take their young everywhere,” he said, some faraway look blooming in his eyes. Remembered he had to pick her up from school soon. “Y’know, a lot of female monkeys tend to stick with their mothers long after they’ve grown up. It’s not uncommon in primate families.” Craig and Deran listened without absorbing anything, but he was elsewhere. Thinking about attachment, and the sheer force of it; the endurance. How, at the time, it felt like nothing in the world could tear through it—through him and his child. A fool’s dream. “Severance is harrowing,” he murmured, “for the both of them.”

Aisle after aisle, he walks across the far end of the store with his head stiffened to his right, pace picking up as he scans through the gaps until he freezes. A man towers over you in the middle of the drinks aisle, locking his hand around your wrist and gritting harsh whispers against your temple. You’re shaking your head, trying to claw at the man’s forearm with your free hand. A scene of proximity so clearly unwanted that you’re squirming against him the way a joint-locked animal twitches under pressure with little fight left in it. Pope feels his body load up like a gun. Safety off.

Electric heat charges through his legs, ready to storm forward with purpose, but then the heel of your palm cracks against the man’s cheek and the sound of it is sharp. Cuts through the low buzz of the radio hits from the store’s speakers.

Sam stirs in the warm crib of leather-clad arms, “Mommy?”

You fight whiplash at the speed of your own split of attention, head snapping to your left where you find your daughter wrapped around the torso of your friend who is not your friend because you’ve only met him twice before. Your friend who wears vivid contusions like he was kissed all over the face. The touch of bursting knuckles instead of your a soft mouth.

Andrew.

The sight of him holding your daughter at the end of the aisle has you ripping yourself away from your foe with a strength you thought you had misplaced until hearing her voice. Pope watches you rush toward him, hands reaching for Sam’s face like lungs stretching for air. But his eyes creep back to the man you’ve left behind, who contests Pope’s undaunted glare. He’s taller than Pope, but lean. Hair sweeps over his forehead, spine hunches slightly with a carelessness. Could snap the bastard in seconds.

“Hey, baby, hey,” you smile weakly, stroking a thumb over Sam’s chin before combing your fingers through her hair. Pope is roped back in. Can’t focus on anything but your gentle fretting and fussing. “Didn’t I tell you to get me some honey?” You ask and Sam nods, eyes downcast like she’s about to apologise. Again.

“I ran too fast,” she whispers.

It’s clear to you now—how he’s holding her. As if he has held her like this since before she could walk. You feel his eyes on you as yours drop to find a pale blotch of red flushing through the skin of her knee, bent leg tucked beneath the crook of his elbow.

The man behind you gnashes your name in his teeth. Pope is near ready to pounce again.

“You move on fast, don’t you?” He laughs bitterly, burrowing his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. Sam peels her arms away from Pope’s shoulders and he takes it as a sign to let the girl regain her footing. She’s encircling your thighs with the tight lock of her hands as soon as he eases her down. Your fingers trace over her shoulders as she hides her face.

Pope steps closer and lowers his head to look into your eyes like he thinks it’ll give you no other choice but to meet his gaze. Like he’s quite confident you’ll let him in that way. His voice is only for your ears when you do. “You want me to handle him?”

Maybe this is the first time you really start to consider using the word ‘strange’ to describe him. His generosity seems to know no bounds and it just confounds you. The chocolate pretzels, the cash, bringing Sam back to you. Strange. A complete stranger. You’ve never met someone with such a reclusive disposition who’d still give the shirt off their back to…you. Of course, it makes you feel sceptical. Of course, you’re going wonder if he’s trying to get something in return.

But those bruises suggest he has many means of getting what he wants. His face, his knuckles. Not just today, not just last week, but even the first time you met him, though the marks were the least visible at the time. It’s gotten consecutively worse over the three instances where you’ve run into each other. You can put two and two together. Must be a pastime of some sort, and a strange one at that. Strange. If he has some other agenda, you’d wager he’d have already taken it by force. He must pity you, then? Thinks you can’t take care of yourself so he has to do it for you?

(Unbeknownst to you, he is so inexplicably drawn in. It’s been too long since he’s allowed himself to dive head-first into this kind of naivety. You seem to nurse the promise of oasis and, of this, Pope is almost certain).

“I’m okay, trust me,” you nod once but his frown only deepens with doubt. He has never been this close before. Not uncomfortably close, but close enough that you think you can see the broken capillaries of the skin of his purple under-eyes. The thin adhesive strip closing the wine-red wound of his cheekbone. A part of you wants to press on a small welt. See if it hurts. See if he’s just stone.

He keeps searching your eyes, unrelenting. It takes the soft pressure of your palm on his sternum and a whispered please to disarm him. You see it, too.

The shift in his face reminds you of the fierce thoroughbreds you grew up watching. Creatures of majesty, condemned to the never-ending racetracks where their victories were gambled on. Raised to fill the pockets of insatiable betters and disposed in meat trucks when they no longer served their purpose. But you remember visiting these gentle giants in their stalls, sneaking a sugar cube or two in your little hands. The way their ears perked forward at something sweet. Nostrils flaring, head lowering. Trusting you enough to guide them to the reward in your hand.

He looks at you with the same keen interest and that rapt hunger you could only ever find in the eyes of an animal—this formidable racehorse leaning into your open palm. Mighty Orphnaeus surrenders.

Neither of you notice the man’s absence until Sam coughs into your leg. Pope still feels the phantom shape of your hand on his chest after you’ve stepped away to look over your shoulder. Paralysed, he watches the angular muscle flex in your neck as you turn. He’s itching to get out; escape. Thick, sinewy arm choking between iron bars as he searches for the lock to his own cell.

He can’t figure out if you make him feel twice as caged or closer to freedom than he’s ever been. Either way, Libertad brands the skin you touched through his shirt. Any closer to the left, and he’s confident you could’ve torn his heart out with its caustic chambers and rotten valves, leaving shreds of flesh and clotted blood dribbling down your wrist. Any closer, and he’s terrified you could’ve discovered that he was never in possession of anything resembling a heart to begin with. Though this wretched organ batters his ribs with persistence, the absence of it would not surprise him in the slightest.

“Where was she?” you ask. Pope blinks back into his senses. Has to wet his tongue like a sponge just to speak.

“She ran into me in the,” he struggles to remember now, “breakfast aisle. I think she hurt her leg.”

You gently tip Sam’s head back and tuck your chin to your chest to make eye contact, “Now, what’ve I told you about running in places we shouldn’t be running?” You wear some faux pout of sympathy as her brain tries to download an explanation. “Did you apologise to Mr. Andrew?”

Sam nods her head vigorously before craning her neck around to ramble another string of I’m sorry’s.

“I’ll be alright,” he says, voice tight.

Momentarily, you’re crouching to take a look at the bruise on her knee—a fresh but fading blotch the size of a quarter. It could be a longing for childhood or a longing for the child he lost, but when she balances a hand on your shoulder as you pull up the bend of her knee to kiss it better, he aches something fierce. There were times, of course, before Smurf’s love turned acrid; perverse. Times when his only sibling was Julia, times when innocence was preserved. When a kiss on a bruise was the only aid he needed, no strings attached.

“Thank you, I’m sorry she’s—” you push yourself up from the floor, “—a bit unaware of her surroundings sometimes.”

“They tend to be,” he agrees.

“You got kids?”

It’s a harmless question in your head, but you can’t say the same for him. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think a bullet just narrowly missed his ear and fucked with all the gears in his brain. Cogs bursting apart.

“Uh, she fell off her ATV thingy. Got a few scrapes.”

“Where’s Baz?”

“I don’t know, man.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? Put her on the phone.”

“Okay.” A beat, and distantly: “It’s- it’s Uncle Pope.”

“Hi.” Relief, then. Waves of it, rivalling the crashing shore in front of him. Roaring at him with foam and ferocity in the cool of this night. Like it was God who saw him draw the gun to his head and knew only her voice would lift his finger off the trigger.

“Hey,” he breathed. “Are you alright?”

“He tackled me.” She had been crying.

“What? Who- who tackled you?”

“A man. So I wouldn’t get hit by the car.”

The parties always bothered him, but he was never really driven to shut them down like he did now. Grabbing the shotgun from the fireplace and pulling the cords from the speakers. The sea was his oracle that night—the child, his saviour.

“No,” Pope answers flatly. You’re perceptive enough to recognise that the pause before might be an indication of something he’s chosen not to share. So, you nod.

“Well, can you let me repay you?” Your hands rest on your hips. “For last time, at least, because that was absurd,” you laugh.

“It wasn’t a loan.”

“What were you shopping for?” You ask, ignoring his rejection to your offer. He narrows his eyes like he’s caught on to a game you’re playing.

“Nothing. Just maple syrup,” he says. “I don’t need it.”

You roll your lips into a line, trying to force back a smile. For many reasons beyond you, the enigmas he has presented over time don’t necessarily scare you away like they probably should. Shadow, retrospectively speaking, has never been good for you. Furtive men who show you mere glimpses of the skeletons in their closet before tightening the padlock. They give you a thirst you can’t slake. You’re always left to jam your way in, and what you find has you staggering back. Isn’t that how one of your exes ended up cornering you in this aisle? Isn’t that why you sent Sam to find something you didn’t need? Isn’t that how your thoroughbred brought her back to you?

But he is so singular in his ways. Remarkably giving. Stuck between deciding if he should glue his eyes to yours or look at everything in existence but your face. You haven’t forgotten the way his shoulders had tensed at your closeness before resting upon touch—like he was bracing for impact. Like you have the power to tear his very soul asunder. For someone who appears so tremendously stoic, you are mystified by the pained shudder in his breath.

His body seems to translate what he refuses to confess. He betrays himself.

“Then why do you look for it?”

He thinks on it—“Habit.” No matter how little sense it makes to you, that is all he knows. Habit. Repetition. Return. Chases his own tail like a blind mutt most of the time.

In the suspension of sound, he says—doesn’t ask—he’ll walk you and Sam out to your car. He almost pays for your groceries, but he’s afraid it might frustrate you the second time around. You’re doing all the talking at the self-checkout while he quietly passes items for you to scan, ears keen for the stories you recount about Sam as a toddler. At one point, you draw the faintest ghost of a laugh from his chest and it fills you with this ludicrously enormous sense of accomplishment. You yearn to hear the sound of it once more—to actually see it grace his face, too.

He learns that Sam is actually ‘Samantha’, and that you named her after a friend with whom you no longer speak. Not for any tragic reason, just time, you tell him. A high school friendship that ran its course. He wonders, then, if you’ll somehow keep him in your life for longer than these passing grocery run-ins (longer than his frequent observations from his pickup outside of your house—outside of your knowledge).

Sam skips ahead of you as Pope, who had silently collected the bags of food against your objections, walks by your side like he’s holding feathers. The leather of his jacket catches on your arm sometimes.

“Can I ask about the bruises?” You ask out of nowhere, keeping an eye on Sam as you all walk the crossing. “Don’t tell me I should see the other guy.” A breath, just short of another laugh, leaves his throat.

“Maybe you should,” he says, adjusting his hold on the bags. He won’t say anything about the other bruises he’s hiding under his jacket, and how it hurts a little to carry the weight of the food. “Sort of a hobby. Hole-and-corner cage fights and the usual betting.”

—formidable racehorse.

“And how does one get into cage fighting?” You look at him, brows raised with astonishment.

He locks his gaze ahead, looking around for your sedan. “My…mother puts me in. For catharsis, I guess.”

“And is it?” you press. “Cathartic?”

The three of you settle by the trunk of your car. Sam crouches in front of a tyre to trace over the bolts while you wait for Pope to give you an answer. You wait until it’s clear to him that you’re expecting something. Truth.

“Sometimes, yeah,” he shrugs. “It doesn’t require much thought and I s’pose I’m good enough at it.”

“And the bruises?” You finally move to pop the trunk, prompting Sam to jerk a door open and hop into the backseat out of boredom.

Pope bends at the waist to lower the bags into the empty compartment before stepping back and shutting the rear for you. “I don’t really mind them.” He would’ve called them reminders. Or punishment. Or penance. Only if he was sure you wouldn’t ask why.

“Maybe you should,” you playfully echo his words from earlier and he rests his hands in the pockets of his jacket. The corner of his mouth creases at your quip, and it might rival the feeling you get when a glass of wine plunges you in a heady buzz. Blurring the world around you with a dull kind of bliss. He dizzies you with a fucking quarter of a smile and you open your mouth before you can give yourself a chance to think. “Can I do something?”

He is wordless again. Searching. Again. Narrows his eyes like he did in the store, like he’s trying to feel around in the dark despite seeing your pleading face shining before him in broad daylight. Then, a nod. Then, stillness. Your hearts leap into a synchronised crescendo of beating as you let yourself approach him, slow as the sun breaking out of its horizon. There is not a single moment where his eyes aren’t locked on yours, even when your hand finds the side of his neck and he feels your thumb barely graze a welt on the corner of his jaw.

Pain is nothing to him here. Pain is almost sublime when you softly press your lips to the tender skin near his butterfly stitch. Ghosting the scar that aches most. He shudders the same way he did when your palm was on his chest in the drinks aisle. A kaleidoscope of light deluges his vision and all he can do is close his eyes to absorb the heat from your mouth, permeating the skin of his cheekbone. All he can do is clench his fists in his pockets and pray that you’ll move the pressure up to the stitch. Kiss him where it really hurts. Kiss him better.

He’s not sure he can remain standing any longer when your warm mouth and your soft palm leave him untouched again.

You don’t know what possessed you, but you can’t pretend it hadn’t been on your mind for a while. You can’t pretend the bruise isn’t calling you back to make contact again. To cradle his jaw, to caress his wounds in a way that impels his hands to tear out of his pockets and search for purchase of your hips in a desperate attempt to steady himself under your touch.

His eyes peel open to find you again, only a breath away.

Courage embraces you once more. “Give me your phone.”

He is so stunned, he can’t compute the image of you adding your number to his contacts but that’s exactly what you’re doing as he struggles to make fucking sense of what you just did.

“Invite me to a fight,” you say, short of breath as you return his phone. “Or whatever you want. Or don’t, it’s up to you.”

Pope barely nods, too distracted by his phone displaying the standard digits of your number and the print of your name above it. Mouth, too dry to give you words. He’s still lingering by the trunk when you climb into the driver’s seat.

Once you click in your seatbelt, you can really feel the sheer velocity of your heart, like it’s darting all over your body. Electrifying you.

Sam kicks your seat, eager to go home.

“Okay, baby, I know,” you calm her down as you adjust the rearview mirror to find…nothing. Just the utter absence of him. Maybe you really should’ve kissed him; pressed your mouth against his properly. Maybe he wouldn’t have liked that. Would he? He’s still a stranger in most ways—in every way that’s supposed to make you keep your distance.

You toss and turn in bed with grating regret over how forward you were in the parking lot. If anything, you must’ve looked vain. So arrogantly sure of yourself that you’re convinced you can peck someone on the cheek and order them to give you their phone so you can insert yourself into their life before they have the chance to object.

But once the tail of sleep curls itself around you, your phone lights up, vibrating on your bedside table as it bears a foreign number on its screen.

—this formidable racehorse leaning into your open palm. Mighty Orphnaeus surrenders.

[pascal-rascal424]

Somatic Response

Previous | Next [Series Masterlist]

Pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!SeniorResident!Reader Summary: Robby, once so disciplined, gives in fully to his obsession with learning every hidden part of you, the quietest girl in the ER. Word Count: 1.8 K Content Warning: 18+ MDNI, Explicit Content, Explicit Language,

He should’ve known better than to think he could spend the whole day with you without making you fall apart in his hands.

But restraint had never been his strong suit when it came to you. Not since the first time you made a noise for him, soft, sweet, breaking against his mouth like something sacred.

Now it was an addiction. A study. A need.

He wanted to find out and he wasn’t going to rest until he tested his theories. 

You stood barefoot on the hardwood in his old college hoodie, sleeves swallowing your hands, hair messy from the pillows. He handed you coffee, one sugar, just how you liked it, and leaned against the counter, eyes dark over the rim of his own mug.

“Sleep okay?” he asked.

You nodded, lips parted around the rim of the cup, cheeks already flushed. You didn’t answer out loud. He took the cup from your hand and set it down, then stepped close and tilted your chin up gently with a finger.

“You don’t have to talk,” he murmured, voice barely audible. “But I’m going to find a way to hear every sound you’ve never made before.”

You shivered. And when he kissed you , deep, slow, the kind of kiss that unraveled time, you made the softest sound against his tongue.

He smirked.

That was one.

—---------------------------------------------

You had undressed to get in the shower. He followed you in.

You didn’t protest.

Water traced down your skin, he pressed your hands to the tiled wall and kissed down your shoulder, your neck, the space just behind your ear, and when his hands moved lower, you whimpered, biting your lip.

“Don’t do that,” he said against your skin. “Don’t hide from me.”

You didn’t. Not after that.

The way you gasped when he slid two fingers into you while whispering exactly what he planned to do later, you said his name like a prayer.

It was filthy. It was holy.

That’s two.

—-------------------------

Lunch was abandoned somewhere around the fifteen-minute mark.

You sat straddling his lap, the remains of a takeout container on the floor, your knees bracketing his thighs. He had his fingers hooked under the hem of your shirt, running the pad of his thumb in slow, lazy circles beneath the fabric while you tried to finish telling him a story about your intern.

Tried.

Failed.

Because every time you paused to catch your breath, he kissed just below your ear. Teased the edge of your bra. Bit lightly at your collarbone. Your voice faltered completely when he slipped a hand into your sweatpants and found you already warm and wet.

“You were telling me something,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple.

You arched into him. “I can’t, I can’t think, fuck Michael-”

He grinned into your hair. That’s three.

—--------------------------------------

He wanted to ruin you.

Not cruelly. Never that. But intimately. With admiration. Like someone learning how to worship.

He laid you out in the middle of his bed, the sun soft on your skin, your fingers tangled in the sheets as he edged you with his mouth over and over until you were gasping.

Your thighs shook against his shoulders.

Your hand fisted in his hair, tugging with helpless need.

You weren't quiet anymore.

You were begging.

“Please, Michael, please”

He gave in only when he was sure you’d never be able to forget what it sounded like when you broke.

You sobbed his name when you came. Loud, raw, completely unguarded.

That was Four. Five. Six. Maybe more.

He’d lost count.

—-----------------------------------

They were supposed to make dinner.

He kissed you up against the fridge instead. Your legs wrapped around his waist. His hands under your thighs. Your hair wild, your lips swollen, your breath caught in his mouth. You moaned into his neck when he pressed himself against you.

He leaned in, voice gravel-rough and low.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to fuck the shyness out of you?”

You whimpered.

“I’m going to make you say everything you’ve ever swallowed down. Every noise you thought you had to keep quiet. I want to hear them all, Sher.”

You kissed him hard, desperate, teeth catching on his lower lip.

He carried you to the counter without breaking contact.

Dinner was forgotten.

—---------------------------------------

They were watching some movie you loved. Or trying to. You curled beside him, worn out and pink-cheeked, your head tucked into the curve of his neck. But your hand had crept under the blanket to his thigh, and he couldn’t focus on a single damn frame.

“You’ve made your point,” you whispered, teasing.

He turned his head slowly. “No.”

His voice was velvet. Dangerous.

“Not even close.”

You smiled and leaned into his chest.

And he knew he was done for.

By the time you left the next morning, his bed still smelled like you, and he didn’t care that he’d have to walk into the ER like he hadn’t spent twenty-four hours losing his mind to the quietest girl in the hospital.

But you weren't quiet anymore.

Not with him.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’d come in fresh from a day off, lips still swollen from his mouth, thighs still sore in the best way. You wore your hair tied back tightly, your pink hoodie unzipped, your ID badge not-quite-straight.

You told yourself you could be professional.

You told yourself he could, too.

But you hadn’t counted on the look in his eyes when you walked past him in the morning huddle, when he leaned over your shoulder to grab the chart out of your hands like it hadn’t been an excuse to let his breath skim your neck.

You hadn’t counted on the way his voice had dropped low and close when he said your name during rounds, or how your fingers clenched the chart too hard when he called you “Doctor Sheridan” like it was something filthy only he got to say that way.

You hadn’t counted on needing him like that.

Not again. Not this soon.

Definitely not here.

You’d just finished bagging a code, your hair was a mess, you smelled like adrenaline and blood and antiseptic, and he looked at you like he wanted to rip your scrubs off with his teeth.

You were trying to chart. You really were.

But then he came too close, leaning over your shoulder, watching the screen, one palm flat beside your hand. You could feel the heat of him at your back, the outline of his chest brushing yours.

“You missed a timestamp,” he murmured, mouth right near your ear.

You looked up at him, your breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your spine.

“Fix it for me, then,” you whispered.

His mouth twitched. “Don’t tempt me.”

You already had.

You’d gone into the supply closet for IV tubing.

He followed you.

Of course he did.

The door clicked shut behind him and you turned, and he was already there, backing you against the shelves, one hand braced beside your head, the other curling around your hip.

His voice was rough. Low.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

You swallowed hard.

“We’re at work.”

He kissed you anyway.

It was nothing like his usual restraint. It was teeth and tongue and possessive heat, his hands sliding up your scrub top, palm grazing over your bare skin. His fingers found the waistband of your pants. You gasped.

“Michael!”

“I need to hear you,” he growled against your neck, hand sliding lower. “Just one sound. One.”

You almost gave it to him. Your back arched. Your mouth parted. You were seconds away from moaning his name right into the collar of his scrubs when—

“Shit! someone’s coming.”

The sound of footsteps. Two voices, probably Santos and Whittaker, arguing over something like usual.

He didn’t pull away. His hand was still down your pants. His eyes locked on yours. His body flush to yours in that dark closet that suddenly felt too hot, too small. Your heart was pounding.

The voices passed.

Silence.

“Do it again,” you whispered, your hips jerking forward without permission. “Please.”

He groaned into your neck, kissed you like he couldn’t breathe without it, and pulled his hand back just as your knees nearly buckled.

“Later,” he promised, voice thick and dark. “I promise.” He barely made it through the end of the shift. Every chart blurred. Every trauma became a haze of motion and barked orders and adrenaline soaked in lust. You hadn’t looked at him once after that closet. Not directly.

But your hands were trembling.

And when you handed off the final signout sheet and turned toward the exit , you didn’t even ask.

He was already following.

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

His front door had barely clicked shut before he shoved you against it, mouth covering yours in something messy and starving. His hands were everywhere, under your shirt, fisting the fabric, tugging at your scrub pants, yanking your hair back just to see your face.

“You knew what you were doing,” he muttered against your neck, biting just hard enough to make you moan. “Walking past me in those scrubs. Talking back to me. Letting me touch you and acting like it didn’t drive you just as fucking crazy.”

You whimpered. “It did.”

“I know.”

He spun you then, pressed you against the wall with a hand firm at the back of your neck. His other slipped between your legs again, not tentative this time. Not cautious.

“You’re always so silent at work,” he said lowly. “So careful. Little mouse, let’s see what it takes to pull every goddamn sound out of you.”

And then he was on his knees.

Right there in his hallway.

You gasped. Tried to say his name.

He silenced you with his mouth.

Later, it was the couch. The kitchen counter. The edge of his bed, where he bent you over with your pants around your ankles and whispered, “You can take it, sweetheart. You’re mine to take.”

Every time you cried out, he bit back a groan like he could bottle the sound.

He needed to hear you come undone.

He needed to be the one to do it.

He didn’t even know who he was right now, just a man with shaking hands and a never ending hard-on that had been torturing him all shift, drinking down the sounds you made like they were water and he’d been parched for years.

And you, you took it all. Soft thighs spread for him. Fingers clawing at his shoulders. Voice finally breaking in gasps and pleas he never imagined he’d hear from your lips.

“Michael—please—don’t stop—”

He didn’t.

Not until you were shaking, legs weak and messy beneath him, throat raw from moaning his name into his mouth. Not until he knew no one else would ever get this. No one would ever hear you the way he had.

After, in the quiet, you curled into his chest.

You didn’t say much.

You didn’t have to.

Your body said everything, the way you reached for him without hesitation, the way your cheek tucked beneath his chin like you belonged there. He kissed the top of your head and joined you in deep slumber.

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

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[pascal-rascal424]

Hold on to the Thread (Well Enough Alone Companion Piece)

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Andrew "Pope" Cody x f!Reader (nicknamed Hawk) Prologue Cut the Loss (companion piece) Part I Part II Chicken Hawk (companion piece) Part III Part IV Trespassing (companion piece) Part V Part VI Slowly We Unfurl (companion piece)

Masterlist Pope Cody Playlist

General Synopsis: Hawk and Pope have a discussion regarding kids of their own. Word Count: 1.4k Content Warning: talks of having kids & pregnancy. Spoilers for A Cure for Wellness? AN: I am child-free to the bone, but Pope does something to me, man. I'D CONSIDER IT FOR A BRIEF SECOND IS ALL I'M SAYING 🫢 please comment & reblog :)

“She’s seven. You put her in front of a TV all day. Maybe she’s trying to get your attention.” Pope pointed out like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Got any other parenting tips for me, man?” Baz asked rhetorically, but Pope -in Pope fashion- still answered him.

“Yeah, I know kids don’t like it when you scream at them.”

“You know what, Pope? Why don’t you figure out your own shit before telling me how to raise my kid?” Baz snapped.

“Her mother left and you’re banging some woman she’s never seen before in her mother’s bedroom. It’s not Lena’s fault that your girlfriend doesn’t like your kid, Baz.” It was harsh, but it needed to be said.

“You don’t know shit and you never will.” Baz said defensively. “Do you get that? No one's ever gonna have a kid with you. You think Hawk wants that? Give me a break, man. She already raised Julia’s kid. You think she wants to raise yours too?” She’s raising yours, Pope wanted to say, but knew it wouldn’t help anything. If anything, Baz would cut his time with Lena out of spite, so he kept his mouth shut. 

“Come on, Lena. Let’s go.” Was the only thing Pope ground out in response before escorting his niece out to his truck.

Pope would never outright express it to anyone, but what Baz said earlier in the day really bothered him. The thought lingered, burrowing itself in him like a parasite that couldn’t be removed. Hawk could tell Pope was stuck in his head as they lounged on the couch, watching some horror movie where a young stockbroker went to a wellness facility in the Swiss Alps to bring his company’s CEO back to New York. There were eels involved. It was…a lot. 

When he came back to the house with Lena earlier in the afternoon, he was off. He brushed off any of Hawk’s attempts to get him to talk, so she gave him his space. He’d talk to her when he was ready. Now that Lena had been put to bed for the night, they decided to throw a movie on and relax, but Pope was doing the opposite of relaxing and that in itself was not letting Hawk relax.

Pope’s hand had been absentmindedly rubbing Hawk’s waist, then moving over to her stomach where he’d lay his palm flat against it for a while, moving up or down ever so slightly just below her belly button, before going back to her waist. The more she noticed it, the weirder it felt because he kept doing it as the movie went on when that wasn’t something he did previously. 

“You alright?” Hawk tilted her head up from her spot notched in his side as he brought his hand to her stomach once again. This time she raised a brow at him. 

“Fine,” Pope’s voice was clipped and he cleared his throat, breaking free of whatever was going on in his head. He looked down at Hawk then back to the movie. His other hand tapped on the sofa’s armrest, a tick Hawk picked up on that he had when something wasn’t quite right. “Is that an eel?” Pope asked, his face scrunching at the screen.

“There’s been eels, Andy. They’ve been in the water and now they’re growing inside of the patients. Where have you been for the last hour?” She asked with a laugh, not wanting to stir the pot, but definitely wanting to know what was going on with him. He got a pained look on his face and Hawk knew right then that something was bothering him. Hawk grasped the hand on her stomach in hers and held it up to her chest, tenderly kissing his forearm. “Something’s up with you. You can talk to me.” She encouraged softly.

“I don’t want to scare you off.” Hawk wanted to laugh so badly at that, but she knew that if she did -not with the intention of being mean about it- he’d close up like a goddamn clamshell. So she kept it in, biting her lip to ground herself so it didn’t slip out accidentally. 

“You won’t. I promise.” He analyzed Hawk for a moment before nodding to himself. She gave him all the time and patience to gather his thoughts so he could say what he wanted to say and how he wanted to say it. 

“Have you ever thought of…having kids of your own?” He intentionally left the ‘with me’ out of the equation. He didn’t look at Hawk when he asked it, feeling much too vulnerable at the question even leaving the confines of his mind. Hawk blinked, not expecting that to be what was bothering him, but the question combined with his handsy mannerisms that night suddenly made total sense to Hawk. 

“I don’t know,” She shrugged, her fingers playing with Pope’s. “I think at one point maybe I had the urge, ya know? Right after J started going to school. I missed having him with me all the time and the thought did cross my mind, but I was nowhere near a stable enough relationship with anyone to even consider it. But it’s been a long time since I felt that way.” 

“Would you ever reconsider it?” His voice was so quiet, like he was afraid if it was any louder, it would shatter the confines of the conversation. He tried to sound blasé, like her answer wouldn’t bother him one way or the other, but he had to know. Baz’s voice rang over and over in his head and it was eating him alive from the inside out. 

Hawk felt Pope’s stomach clench and the arm he had around her twitched in her hold. She only held onto him tighter to let him know she wasn’t running from the conversation. 

“I feel like I’m a little late in life for that now,” Hawk answered honestly. “-but I’m not completely closed off to it. There are some aspects to pregnancy that scare the shit out of me though. I was there when Julia had J and both pregnancy and childbirth are…traumatizing.” 

“Women your age have kids all the time.” Hawk shifts on the sofa, looking up at Pope with curiosity in her eyes. “You’re not old by any means.” He pushed and winced again when he realized how that sounded. Hawk squeezed his hand to let him know that he was fine.  

“What’s got you so worked up about kids? Do you want them?” She didn’t ask him in a judgmental way, merely out of genuine curiosity. They’ve never broached the subject, but his shift with Lena, and J in more recent times, was noticeable to her. Very much so. 

“I used to think a kid didn’t deserve a father like me and the fucked up life I would give them. They didn’t deserve what I would pass on to them, this shit I have in my head. I don’t wish that on anyone, much less someone who didn’t ask to be here.” Pope spoke from experience, Hawk knew.

“Both of my parents had no business having a kid, not with what they had going on, but maybe…if the kid was only half of me," Half of the crazy, is what he implied, and Hawk didn't care for that one bit. "-then they’d have a better chance, you know? If their mom was normal, then they’d be able to have a normal life.” Hawk felt her heart break at Pope’s admission. She brought his hand up to kiss the back of it affectionately. “I’ve thought about all the things I missed with Lena when I was locked up.” The baby years, Hawk said mentally. “And I think about what it would be like to hold something so small that was a part of me. Something good I’ve given to the world.” And a part of you, he wanted to say. “To love them so much and to watch them grow. Do things with ‘em that my dad never did with me. Give them a life that I never had. Being with you and Lena, it’s opened my eyes to what we could have -what we could’ve had this whole time. If that’s something you’d even want.” We, Hawk’s heart skipped when he finally said it. He tacked on that last bit when the vulnerability became too much and the self consciousness set back in. 

“We’ll, I’ll tell you this -I’m not against it, but we are still in the early stages of this relationship. Let this thing grow some roots, focus on Lena and J for the time being, and then we’ll revisit this conversation, alright?” Pope looked down at her, his eyes a little glassier and his cheeks flushed just enough for Hawk to notice in the dim living room, and he nodded. “Come here,” She pulled him down gently by the front of his shirt so her lips could meet his.

please comment & reblog :)

[pascal-rascal424]

Companionship | pt. 13

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: You score tickets to a Penguins game for Michael’s birthday — but you have more than one way to celebrate in mind.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: I can’t always answer all of your lovely comments or reblogs, but thank you all so much!! I appreciate all the interactions you guys give this series💜

I’m sorry this wasn’t out yesterday! I got a migraine at work and then it just wouldn’t go away all day. It proceeded to stick around for a good chunk of this morning as well lol

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: age gap, foul language, violence at a hockey game, birthday blowjob (oral, m! receiving), pet names (sweetheart, honey)

not beta read

How you had been able to save enough money to afford the tickets really was beyond you. When Michael picked up your utility bill, you put the money you would have spent and put it into savings. You were then able to buy the tickets for the Penguins vs. Predators game at the PPG Paints Arena after saving for nearly two months.

“So…your birthday is coming up.” You ventured one night, rubbing a thumb into your palm.

He half groaned, rubbing a hand down his face, “Don’t remind me.”

“So that’s a no to your gift then?”

His interest piqued, looking back over at you, eyebrow raised. “You got me something?”

You pulled the card out of your bag, “It’s a little early…but you’ll understand why in a moment.”

The card was quaint, with your sprawled handwriting with his name on the front. You hadn’t gotten physical tickets, so the inside of the card was empty, except for the heartfelt little note you had written. Then at the bottom was: you are now two Penguins vs. Predators tickets richer!

Michael read over the note a few more times, before looking back up at you and blinking. He brought a hand to the back of your head and pulled you in for a kiss.

“You really didn’t have to get me anything.” He said, still holding onto you.

“I wanted to.” You smiled and gave him a quick peck. “Not sure if you want to take Jack, or Jake maybe, but I wanted to give you enough notice in case you needed to take time.”

He scoffed like he was offended, “I’m taking you.”

Your smile grew, “Yeah?”

“Of course I’m gonna take you, sweetheart.” He said, kissing you again. “This was really nice of you, thank you.”

Your cheeks warmed, “Sorry I couldn’t do more. Once I’m a CPA—”

“None of that. This is a great gift and I’m looking forward to spending time with you.”

You nodded, taking in his genuine smile.

“I would like you to meet them. Jack and Jake, I mean. And a few other people from the hospital, in a more official manner than showing up for stitches.”

You smiled at him, but anxiety filled your chest at the thought. Jake was his surrogate step-son, and had been in Michael’s life since he was just a kid — you worried over the fact that you were much closer to Jake’s age. You wondered if he was the judgmental sort. And Jack. From everything you had heard about him, he was not likely to sugarcoat anything — if he didn’t like you, you’d know about it.

“I’d like to meet them.” You said, twisting your hands together.

As if sensing your unease, he kissed the side of your head. “They’ll love you.”

“I’m sure it’ll be nice to put all those rumors to rest.” You smirked, thinking back to how everyone hovered both times you had been at the hospital.

He chuckled, “All the people who need to know do now.”

Your face heated, thinking that you had done the same.

You swung your legs into his lap and cuddled close to him, “Good, I did too.”

—

The trek to Saturday was a busy one, hardly having time for each other. When Michael was working, you were studying, and when you were working, he was trying to occupy himself with mundane chores. By Wednesday night, he had showed up on your doorstep with takeout and a smile. You had thrown the door open and crashed your lips together, giggling and saying, “I missed you.”

You found a Penguins t-shirt in the back of your closet to wear for the occasion, slipping on a simple pair of jeans and your favorite sneakers.

You arrived at Michael's apartment with coffee and bagels — set to spend the majority of your day there while you waited for gametime. You lounged around and watched shitty tv reruns, and it was a welcomed lazy few hours for the both of you. Stolen kisses that left you wanting more, and soft touches that made you want to throw your plans out the window.

You ate dinner at a bar near the arena, excitement brewing at being to your first hockey game.

“I don’t wanna jinx it, so I’m just going to hope we have an enjoyable game.” You said, sipping your drink.

Michael chuckled, “Cheers to that.”

The arena was not overly packed, but it felt crowded navigating through the halls and to your seats. You had paid for decent seats, in the last row of the first floor, on one corner near the home bench.

Michael kissed you softly, “These are great seats.”

You beamed at him, and intertwined your fingers. He brought your hand up to kiss the back of it.

At puck drop, you traded conversation over predictions, and hoots and hollers at your favorite players. You laughed and held onto each other when the other team got too close to scoring. You cheered when the Penguins scored their first goal, standing with your hands in the air. You held your breath every time a fight broke out, squeezing Michael’s hand. And you enjoyed the way he knew the game well enough to make calls before the referee’s did — announcing “icing!” or “offside!” before the whistle blew.

During the first intermission, you went together to get a beer before heading back to your seats. The crowd around you was rowdy, but not uncomfortably so. You were enjoying the atmosphere.

Second period came with a few idiotic calls from the referee’s, but also another point for the Penguins. You cheered loud enough you feared you would lose your voice, and Michael watched you affectionately.

In the second intermission, you wandered off to get cheesy fries while Michael got another beer, and you met back at your seats. You were bouncing on your heels in excitement, though did not dare to utter the W word, in fear of jinxing it.

During the third period, the Penguins scored another goal toward the latter half.

“This has been the best game,” You laughed, munching on a cheese fry.

Michael pulled you in close, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. He kissed your head.

By the time the buzzer sounded, the Penguins had won in a 3-0 shutout game against the Predators. You gave a relieved laugh, as you had been standing on your feet for the last minute of the game when the Predators had gotten too close. On your way out, you asked a random couple to take your picture.

You added the photo to your favorites on your way out, taking in Michael’s smile, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, his other hand in his pocket. Butterflies fluttered around in your stomach.

You looked over to him with the widest smile, admiring how handsome he was.

“Something on my face?”

“No,” you said, heat blooming in your cheeks. “Can’t a girl take in the view?”

He grinned softly, making his smile lines crinkle. He brought a hand to cradle your face, rubbing a thumb across your cheek. His eyes flickered between your eyes, and your heart started racing. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it, leaning down to kiss you instead.

You melted into him, wrapping your arms around his neck, wanting to savor it for as long as you could.

When you returned to his apartment, adrenaline filled your senses, suddenly having the urge to get on your knees for him — half desperate to taste him, half addicted to the sounds he made when he was enjoying himself.

“It’s late…you should stay over.” Michael said in his dim living room, the one side table lamp being the only thing illuminating the room.

“I didn’t bring anything.” You said, a sheepish smile on your lips.

“I’ve got plenty of things that’ll fit.”

Your smile widened into a grin, heart racing at the thought of wearing his clothes. You pulled him down for a kiss, tongue sweeping across his bottom lip, and he opened his mouth. His tongue entered your mouth and you hummed against him.

Something bubbled in your stomach at the feeling of him getting hard, and your thoughts spiraled downward. You moved a hand to the waist of his jeans, pulling at the button until it unbuttoned. Michael’s breathing hitched, bringing both hands to either side of your head and kissing you fiercely.

As the zipper lowered, so did you, getting onto your knees and looking up at him.

He stared down at you, shoulders moving up and down with his breathing, face half shadowed. Though his brown eyes pooled desire low in your belly.

You pulled down his jeans to his knees, running your hand over his length through his boxers, watching as his eyes flickered closed. When you pulled them down, he opened them again, looking down at you with half concealed desire.

“You don’t have to—” he choked on his words when you grabbed hold of him, your hot breath on his tip.

You wet your lips, “I really really want to.”

He cursed lowly, running a hand through his hair, “Fuck, okay, honey.”

You licked tentatively along the head, and you noticed how his stomach quickly clenched and unclenched. Your smile was hard to hide. You took him into your mouth, tongue swirling along the tip before you descended deeper.

Michael let out a low groan from the back of his throat, head pointing up at the ceiling. HIs hand found the back of your head, not pushing, but simply holding you.

You took him until his cock hit the back of your throat and tears quickly gathered. You set a slow pace, using your hand to pick up the slack closer to his base, unable to take the full thing into your mouth. You moved your other hand to cup his balls and he moaned.

Your pussy pulsed at the sound of it, feeling yourself grow wet. You looked up at him through your lashes, and he was watching you intently, eyebrows drawn in.

“So beautiful, sweetheart. Fuck.”

You hummed around him at his words, and his apartment was filled with the sound of his quiet moans and grunts while you unraveled him. You took him deeply again, trying not to gag, flattening your tongue to apply pressure upwards while you hallowed out your cheeks.

“If you keep that up—fuck—I’m going to come down that pretty throat of yours.” He warned, though his voice sounded wrecked.

You looked up at him and didn’t stop, easily saying that that was exactly what you wanted.

He let out a few pants, one hand going to his neck, while his body tensed. You could feel that he was trying not to thrust into your wanting mouth. You ran a finger over his balls still in your hand and picked up your pace.

Michael came with a low groan, eyes squeezing shut, and you took it all. You swallowed his spend until he was twitching from overstimulation. You let go with a wet pop, which made him jolt. He quickly pulled you up in a kiss.

“Yeah, I need you in my clothes right now.”

You met his eyes, noses touching, and you smirked. “You gonna make me, handsome?”

A sly smile grew as he pulled up his pants, “I can certainly do that.”

He chased you into his room, your laugh echoing off the walls.

[ Next ]

want to join any of my taglists? shoot me a message!

Companionship taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @clementine111002 @virgomillie @emily-b @kaygilles @lt-jakeseresin @imonmykneessir @kniselle @gabsgabsvaz @rosiepoise88 @calivia @holdonimwalkingmysnail @valhallavalkyrie9 @blahkateisdone @shadowhuntyi @fuckalrighty @elli3williams @yournerdmodziata @i-know-i-can @dickheadturner @dcgoddess @pittobsessed @glamorizethechaos @blueb33ry-cat @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange @burningpenguinwitch @evienorville @equallyshaw @heyysolsister @justrandomthougt @babygirlagenda @lauracantsleep @rogersbarnesxx @longlivecandice @misshoneypaper

Dr. Robby taglist: @cherriready @seeyalaterinnovator @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @bxxbxy @18lkpeters @flyinglama @hagarsays @mayabbot @anakingreys @happyfox43 @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @girl-obsessed-with-things @laurenkate79 @woodxtock @rosie-posie08

(50 tags have been reached with the combo of all three taglists, so unfortunately some of Dr. Robby & all of The Pitt taglist for this series will be added in a reblog right after this is posted - I’m sorry if this is an inconvenience!)

three parts to go + the epilogue😭

[pascal-rascal424]

seeing double

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader x michael "robby" robinavitch summary: A night out with two of your closest colleagues turns into something you never expected—or did you? Between cocktails, dancing, and old tension, the line between friendship and something more finally blurs. warnings/content: nsfw | 18+ MDNI, porn with a whisper of plot, pining, threesome (m/f/m), p in v + oral sex (m&f receiving), jack and robby are both soft/pleasure doms, protective/possessive/jealous tendencies, praise kink, no condoms but IUD use, domestic fluff, banter wc: 10k a/n: wine drunk alone on a friday night + one very rare instance of dreaming = this monstrosity, excuse any mistakes, not religious but i will pray for forgiveness for i have sinned because jfc—

It started like any other post-shift outing: exhausted, half-delirious, desperate for something that didn't smell like ammonia.

Robby had slung his arm around your shoulders the second you walked out of the ER, pulling you toward Jack with a bright grin. "First round's on me. Hell, second round too if you both promise not to ditch me for charting."

Jack had just smirked, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "We'll see how intolerable you get after two shots."

It wasn't always like this—the three of you tangled together like gravity and inevitability. When you first joined day shift, it was Robby you bonded with. Quick jokes in the trauma bay, quiet coffee runs between codes, the kind of easy camaraderie that came from surviving the same battlefield night after night. His touches had started out friendly—a pat on your shoulder after a long shift, a gentle squeeze on the same shoulder when you nailed a tricky procedure—but over time, the air between you shifted.

Every glance lingered longer. Every touch sparked hotter.

Robby's hand on your lower back when you squeezed past him in the supply room, the way he’d always seem to find reasons to stand just a little too close, his thumb brushing yours when you handed him charts—it all built slowly, unbearably. You’d catch him staring sometimes, his round, dark-rimmed frames lingering a second too long on your mouth or the curve of your neck before he’d grin and deflect with a joke.

There was the night after a particularly brutal trauma when Robby had tugged you into a half-hug outside the ambulance bay, squeezing you so tightly you had to laugh. "You're a badass, you know that?" he'd said against your hair, voice rough. And for a second—just a second—he hadn't let go.

When you switched to night shift for extra trauma training, you met Jack. At first, he was just your attending—brilliant, relentless, intimidating. He kept a careful distance, crisp in his authority. But slowly, cracks showed.

One night, after a rough code, you’d slumped against the nurses’ station with blood-streaked gloves still on. Jack appeared beside you, two coffees in hand, sliding one toward you without a word. You’d blinked at him, fingers brushing his when you took it, and for a moment he didn't move.

"Thanks," you’d muttered, voice rough.

He’d just shrugged, but there was the ghost of a smirk on his lips. "You’re welcome, hotshot."

You caught him smirking more often after that—at your dry jokes, your quick comebacks—offering gruff praise when you pulled off a save. Once, when you fumbled a suturing kit in a rare moment of exhaustion, Jack crouched beside you and murmured low, "Hey, breathe. You've got this."

His hand brushed your back—brief, grounding, unbearably warm—and your heart stuttered so hard it was a wonder he didn’t hear it.

Jack was slower to open up. The late-night rooftop coffees, both of you leaning back against the ledge, city lights blinking below as you traded quiet stories about worst patients, favorite saves, tiny admissions about sleeplessness and fear. The stolen glances across the nurses' station, like magnets catching without meaning to.

There were nights the ER would blur around you—patients screaming, monitors wailing—and Jack's voice would cut through the noise, steady and sure: "You with me?" 

And you’d always nod. Always.

Once, you'd both reached for the same suture kit and your hands had collided, his fingers wrapping around yours instinctively. Neither of you pulled away immediately. His thumb brushed your knuckles before he let go, the moment stretched tight enough to snap like a stale rubberband.

By the time you'd rotated back onto a blended shift with Robby and Jack, you were caught in the pull of both of them. Two different kinds of push and pull. 

If working with the both of them had taught you anything, it was that Michael Robinavitch and Jack Abbot were combustible—two sparks waiting for a reason to ignite, especially when it came to you.

They both had a tendency to be overprotective, possessive, and if they were honest, being around each other's orbit didn't help. When you’d come in for night shift and bid Robby goodbye as he ended his day, Jack would eye the way you laughed with Robby, the way Robby’s hand lingered at your elbow or lower back. More than once, Jack had swooped in, pretending to need you for a case, cutting the conversation short with a clipped, "You ready, Dr. L/N?"

Robby noticed. His wide grin supersaturated with disbelief, like he knew exactly what Jack was doing, clapping him on the shoulder harder than necessary as he left.

Likewise, when you clocked out in the morning and Robby was coming in to start his shift, it was Jack’s turn to be on the receiving end. You’d be talking with Jack at the nurses' station—usually laughing softly, leaning in closer than strictly necessary—and Robby would stroll up, insert himself easily into the conversation, his arm bumping yours as he reached for a chart.

Jack would tense, jaw ticking, shooting Robby a look that practically screamed, "We'll talk about this later," even if the words never came.

And when it came to the new interns—the accident magnets they were—their protective instincts bordered on alien.

Santos once knocked over a cart dangerously close to you and before you could even flinch, Jack had caught the edge of it with lightning-fast reflexes, his body shielding yours. He turned to Santos after, shooting him a look so sharp it could’ve drawn blood—the kind of glare that promised slow, premeditated murder if he didn't start paying more attention. Santos paled visibly, stammering an apology that Jack didn't even acknowledge.

Another time, Whitaker had nearly swung a door into you during a code and Robby had yanked you back by your waist, muttering a sharp, "Watch it," without even looking. A few minutes later, Robby—with all the casual malice in the world—assigned Whitaker to shadow Myrna for the rest of his shift as punishment. The look on Whitaker's face had been priceless; the vindictive smirk on Robby's face afterward, even better.

Javadi once sent a gurney skidding wild around a corner and you barely sidestepped—only for both Jack and Robby to step in front of you at once. Both of them looked ready to grill Javadi, who froze like she'd been caught committing arson. Before either could open their mouths, you clicked your tongue at them in warning, stepping around them to calm the sleep-deprived child genius, "Are you okay, honey? Let's get you some coffee."

You shot Robby and Jack a narrow glare over your shoulder—a silent command to stand down—and, grudgingly, they obeyed. But not without Jack muttering something about "rookies" under his breath. You, for the most part, played innocent—but you weren’t completely blind. You saw the way they watched you, the way they bristled and circled, each trying not to cross some invisible line neither had the nerve to define.

Once, you’d even caught them at the end of the hallway near the staff lockers, deep in a heated whisper-yelling argument. You were too far away to hear it all, but you caught pieces as you slowed your steps.

"...not yours to stake out," Robby hissed, shoulders tense.

Jack’s jaw flexed. "Maybe I’m what she needs," he snapped, voice rough with something almost broken.

Robby stepped closer, the space between them charged. "You don't get to decide that."

You’d ducked away before they could notice you, heart pounding, pretending you hadn't heard a single thing. You hadn't known then—not really. But you'd be lying if you said you hadn't had an idea.

In the weeks that followed, you noticed the air between them eased—less tense, less brittle. They started joking again, nudged shoulders in passing, teased you in tandem during transitional shifts. It almost felt normal again. Almost. But underneath it, something still lingered—a crackling undercurrent that neither of them could quite hide. Not from each other. And certainly not from you.

Little did you know that tonight would be the night where things completely shifted.

The bar was loud and too warm, the floor sticky, the music a little too old to be considered vintage and a little too new to be classic. It didn’t matter. It was freedom.

Robby bought whiskey for himself, beer for Jack, and whatever alcohol-masked cocktail you pointed at on the menu.

"To surviving," Robby toasted, clinking glasses.

"To making it out without a lawsuit," Jack amended dryly.

You laughed, rolling your eyes, and drank deep.

It was easier than it should have been to relax. To let the haze of alcohol smooth the sharp edges of exhaustion. You grabbed Robby's hand and tugged him toward the makeshift dance floor, singing, "Come on, old man, dance with me!"

He hesitated, shaking his head and smiling to himself—then grinned and let you pull him. Robby spun you first instead, taking you by surprise, his laughter warm and easy against your ear. You laughed as he caught you against him again, both of you breathless and loose with happiness.

Jack leaned against the nearby wall, watching with that steady gaze of his, beer bottle dangling from his fingertips.

"C'mon, Jack," Robby called over the music. "Get your ass over here."

Jack held up a hand from where he leaned against the wall, a silent 'I'm good,' his mouth quirking in a reluctant smile. But you weren't having it. You weaved your way through the crowd toward him, leaning up on your toes to whisper something warm against his ear.

"Dance with me, Jack," you whispered through the noise, your voice low and warm, meant only for him. Jack stiffened for a second, breath catching, and when you pulled back, his eyes were dark, hungry. He pushed off the wall without another word and followed you to the floor, his beer forgotten.

Robby spun you again, and when you stumbled laughing into Jack, he caught you with hands that lingered a little too long on your waist. His palms were warm, steady, the faint smell of his cologne—clean soap and cedar—curling around you. Robby pressed back into your other side, the scent of whiskey and his usual lazy citrus aftershave filling your senses.

Their touches blended together—Jack’s firmer grip at your hips, Robby’s looser, teasing sways—and yet you could still tell exactly who was who. Jack's breath was slow and deliberate against your temple; Robby’s laughter rumbled against your back, a low vibration that soaked into your bones. For a moment, you were suspended between them, the music, the warmth, the want—utterly theirs.

You were on cloud nine, swaying to and fro like you were caught between the ocean and the moon—their touches the tide, pulling you back and forth, holding you steady.

Jack’s fingers flexed, and for a moment, the world tightened down to just the three of you—the heat, the gravity pulling you closer.

Robby pressed in behind you, his hands finding your hips, swaying you to the beat. Jack didn't step back. He stepped closer.

The music pulsed around you. Your head tipped back against Robby's shoulder, your eyes locking with Jack's.

Jack’s hand brushed your cheek, feather-light, like he was giving you the chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

Robby's breath ghosted your ear. "God, you’re beautiful."

Jack's thumb traced your jawline. "You drive us crazy, you know that?"

Your pulse thundered. Your body ached in ways that had nothing to do with fatigue.

You leaned in close, hovering near Jack's lips, but didn't kiss him—not yet. Jack froze, his hands tightening just slightly at your waist, pulling back just enough to make the boundary clear. You could see it written all over him—the hesitation, the unspoken rule he lived by: he wouldn't kiss you or anyone without explicit consent, either given or received.

You smiled softly, brushing your fingers lightly along his jaw. "I'm sober enough to give consent," you assured, breathless but certain.

Then you turned to Robby too, catching his eye as your fingers brushed his cheek, your voice low but sure. "To both of you." His fingers tangled with yours easily, his grin soft and a little stunned as he let you loop him into your orbit—exactly where he’d always wanted to be.

Facing Jack again, you saw relief flash across his face—followed almost immediately by want. Jack leaned in, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath fanning your lips, his nose brushing yours. He hovered there, still hesitant, giving you one last chance to pull away. When you didn't—when you leaned into him instead—he surrendered. His mouth claimed yours unapologetically, slow and aching, like he had all the time in the world and no intention of ever letting you go.

Robby kissed your neck at the same time, teeth scraping lightly against your pulse point, one hand splaying over your stomach, pulling you closer. His beard scraped roughly against your skin, a delicious, rasping contrast to Jack's lighter stubble as Jack’s mouth moved against yours—a difference you felt everywhere they touched you. Robby's touch was warmer, softer, always teasing; Jack's was firmer, anchoring, a bundle of hot coals beneath your skin. Different, but the same in the way they both made your nerves light up, made you feel like you were being pulled apart only to be put back together better, more whole, by the both of them.

You whimpered into Jack’s mouth, dizzy from the dual sensation, from the way they bracketed you, claimed you without a single word. Jack's hands shifted, strong and sure, spinning you gently—a slow, deliberate turn—until you faced Robby. For a moment, you stood suspended between them again, heartbeat thundering in your ears.

Robby met you with a grin that was all heat and mischief, and then he kissed you—hotter, deeper, needier. His beard scraped deliciously against your jaw, a rough contrast to Jack's lighter stubble still teasing the skin of your neck, leaving a trail of heat and shivers in his wake. Jack's mouth found your pulse point, sucking and nipping, while Robby's tongue traced the seam of your lips, coaxing you open.

You gasped into Robby's mouth, hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt as Jack’s teeth grazed your throat, a low growl rumbling against your skin. Every nerve ending sparked, overwhelmed by the heat, the dizzying contrast, the way their hands and mouths knew your body like a song they'd always known by heart.

You couldn't tell how long the three of you had been standing there, tangled up, swaying in the sticky heat of the bar, the music thudding faintly around you. It could’ve been minutes or hours—time had stopped mattering somewhere between Jack’s lips and Robby’s hands.

Jack dipped his head, his breath skating warm against your ear, sending a fresh shiver down your spine.

"Do you want to get out of here, sweetheart?" he murmured, voice low and rough, a rasp of barely leashed need.

You nodded immediately, the word tumbling from your lips like a prayer. "Yes," you breathed—needy, desperate. The delicious ache between your legs had built to a throbbing pulse you couldn't ignore anymore, and feeling their firm bodies sandwiching yours, pressing into you from both sides, did absolutely nothing to help your self-control.

Robby chuckled, low and rough. "My place?"

"Fuck, yes—anywhere," you breathed, a laugh bubbling out of you, unable to stop the grin pulling at your lips. Jack grabbed your hand. Robby wrapped an arm around your waist.

Together, you stumbled out into the night—drunk on each other—laughing, touching, wanting.

Robby’s apartment wasn’t far—just a few blocks—and the fresh air hit your overheated skin like a balm.

The three of you walked fast, heads down, hands brushing and grabbing. Jack’s hand found the small of your back, steady and grounding. Robby kept an arm slung around your shoulders, pulling you close enough that you stumbled a few steps, giggling breathlessly against his chest.

The streets were mostly empty, just the faint hum of distant traffic and the sharp sound of your shoes hitting pavement. Every so often, Jack would glance over at you, his gaze dark, searing through the haze of streetlight. Robby would squeeze your side, lean in to murmur something low and wicked that made your cheeks burn and your thighs clench.

By the time you reached Robby’s building, you were buzzing with need, clinging to both of them without even thinking.

Jack opened the door for you, hand lingering low on your back. Robby herded you inside, already crowding close, already reaching for you like he couldn't wait a second longer.

The door slammed shut behind you with a thud, and before you could even blink, their hands were on you again—urgent, hungry, claiming.

It was dizzying, overwhelming, intoxicating.

But somewhere between Jack's mouth brushing your neck and Robby's fingers slipping under your shirt, clarity cracked through the haze. You shifted slightly, placing a hand on each of their chests, feeling their hearts hammering under your palms.

"Wait," you breathed.

Immediately, they froze—Jack pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, Robby's hands pausing where they'd met your hips.

You took a shaky breath, sobering a little more with every heartbeat. "I just… I need to ask… what's going on between us?" you said, voice rough with nerves. "I want this—I want both of you—but are you two okay with that? With… us?"

You glanced between them, heart hammering, terrified of the answer but needing it all the same.

Robby's grin softened into something gentler, thumb brushing the bare skin of your waist. "Been wanting this longer than I should probably admit."

Jack's hand found your jaw, thumb stroking your cheekbone, gaze burning into yours. After a moment, he exhaled slowly, seeming to gather himself. Then, with a gentle but firm touch, he guided you to sit on the couch behind you.

"Come here," he said softly. "Let's talk."

Robby, reading the mood immediately, peeled away toward the kitchen. "I'll make some tea," he said over his shoulder—giving you space, but also clearly knowing this conversation might take a minute, and that sobering up a little more wouldn't hurt any of you.

Jack sat down on your left, still close but not crowding, his thumb brushing lightly over your knee. "Talk to us, sweetheart," he murmured. "Whatever's in your head—we want to hear it."

You fiddled with the hem of your top, nervous energy humming under your skin. "I... how did we even get here?" you asked. "You, Robby—this thing between the three of us... Are you two really okay with it? With… sharing me? Sharing each other?"

Jack's lips twitched like he almost smiled but held it back, something more serious glinting in his eyes instead. Robby set down mugs on the table and dropped onto the arm of the couch on your right.

"Yeah," Robby said, voice softer now. "More than okay."

Jack reached up, thumb tracing the edge of your jaw. "Been a long time coming, if you ask me," he said quietly. "And if we weren’t good with it, sweetheart, you’d know already."

Robby leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, flashing you a crooked grin. "If it's any consolation," he said, voice teasing, "I liked you first."

You scoffed, the tension easing a little, even as your cheeks heated. Jack snorted under his breath, giving Robby a sideways look. "Congratulations. You had a head start and still fumbled it."

"Hey!" Robby protested. "Some of us play the long game."

You shook your head, warmth blooming in your chest, feeling the old familiar dynamic between them—sniping, nudging, teasing—but now all focused on you.

"So," you said, biting your lip. "Was that what you two were arguing about that day by the lockers? A few weeks ago?"

Jack sighed through his nose, and Robby grinned like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Yeah," Robby admitted. "You caught the tail end of it."

Jack's hand slid down your arm, squeezing gently. "We were... figuring it out."

"Mostly... arguing over who was gonna make the first move," Robby added, winking.

You laughed, soft and breathless, the last of the nerves bleeding out of you. Robby bumped your shoulder gently with his, his eyes crinkling with affection.

"Old school here wanted to make some grand gesture," Jack said, jerking his thumb at Robby. "I was ready to just tackle you and confess."

Robby shook his head, tongue poking the inside of his cheek, the corner of his mouth twitching. "And you wonder why I didn't trust you to lead."

You let out a giggle you couldn't quite suppress, heart squeezing at how easy this felt—how they both looked at you like you were something precious. Jack shifted closer, his knee brushing yours, while Robby draped his arm casually across the back of the couch behind you.

"Whatever pace you want, sweetheart," Jack murmured. "Whatever you need. If you want this—us—we're in."

"We're not going anywhere," Robby affirmed. "Only if you want us too."

Cradling the warm mug between your hands, you smiled to yourself, giddy and a little dazed. Surrounded by them—their warmth, their steadiness, their absolute certainty—you felt a slow, overwhelming peace settle into your bones.

Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined either of them liking you—let alone, outside any professional context—but this? This was beyond anything you dared hope for. A dream you hadn't even let yourself dream.

Still, nerves prickled under your skin. Nerves hummed just beneath your skin. "I’m nervous," you admitted, voice soft but steady. "I’ve never done anything like this before. What if I’m not enough? What if I disappoint you? I don’t know if I’m built for relationships—let alone something this delicate. I’m scared I won’t be able to give each of you what you need."

Robby immediately set his mug down and reached for you, his hand settling warmly on your thigh, squeezing gently. "Hey," he said, voice low and sure. "You’re already enough. You, exactly as you are."

Jack leaned in too, his fingers brushing the back of your neck, grounding you with each slow stroke. "We’re not asking for perfect," he murmured. "We just want you."

Their certainty cracked something open inside you, something you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding shut—and slowly, steadily, the fear loosened its grip.

You set your mug down, heart hammering, and looked between them, searching their faces one more time. Robby gave you an encouraging tilt of his head; Jack’s hand never left your skin, tracing slow, grounding patterns.

You cleared your throat. "So how does..." you gestured vaguely between the three of you, "this work? Sharing me, I mean."

Robby chuckled. "Well, we'd figure it out together," he said easily. His fingers traced lazy circles over your knee, comforting, teasing. "It’s not about splitting you up or taking turns like it’s a damn schedule. It’s about both of us making sure you feel wanted. Taken care of. Every second."

As he spoke, Jack leaned in, lips brushing just below your ear, his stubble scraping lightly against your skin. Goosebumps bloomed across your skin. 

Robby's voice dropped, a smirk playing on his lips as he tilted his head toward Jack. "Though he’s better at explaining the rules."

Jack's hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face toward him. "No rules, not really," he murmured, mouth dragging along your neck. "Just tell us what you need. When you need it. And we—" he pressed a lingering kiss just below your jawline, "promise to give it to you."

You exhaled shakily, caught between the heat of Jack’s mouth and the warm weight of Robby's hand sliding higher along your thigh, the both of them slowly, steadily, setting you aflame.

Jack leaned in first—not demanding, not pushing, just giving you space to meet him halfway. You did, pressing your mouth to his, a sigh escaping against his lips. His kiss was slow at first, savoring, a promise.

When you broke apart, Robby was already there, catching your chin between his fingers and drawing you into him. His kiss was hotter, rougher, all pent-up hunger and laughter and want. You gasped softly into his mouth, fingers curling in his shirt.

Hands roamed—Jack’s warm and patient, stroking slow, steady paths along your inner thigh, while Robby’s fingers flirted shamelessly with the hem of your shirt, tugging it higher inch by inch. The pace between them built naturally—Jack’s touch grounding and possessive, Robby’s teasing and featherlight, like a promise he was aching to keep.

Jack’s hand slipped under the fabric of your top first, palm splaying flat over your bare stomach, the heat of him searing straight through you. Robby followed a breath later, fingers brushing just beneath your ribs, making you arch into them, helpless and wanting. Jack’s mouth was back on your neck, teeth scraping lightly against your pulse, while Robby pressed kisses along your jaw, slow and coaxing, both of them winding you tighter with every breath.

The duality of it—the steadiness of Jack’s hands anchoring you, the playful, maddening tease of Robby’s touch—left you trembling, gasping, caught between them, aching. They didn’t just touch you—they learned you, charting every gasp, every shiver, every breathless plea with reverent, greedy hands. And you gave yourself over to it completely, trusting them to catch you as you fell.

Jack's hand slid higher, fingertips brushing just beneath the band of your bra, while Robby nudged your shirt up over your ribs, planting slow, open-mouthed kisses along your exposed skin. They worked in tandem, peeling your shirt away with practiced ease, leaving you shivering and bare between them.

Jack kissed along your collarbone, featherlight, while Robby's hands coasted down your sides, making you arch and sigh into their touch. You felt dizzy with it, lost in the contrast—Jack's slow, claiming heat, Robby's teasing, daring warmth. Every nerve in your body sang for them, thrumming with the need to be touched, devoured, loved.

Jack's mouth returned to yours in a slow, bruising kiss while Robby leaned in, hands slipping beneath the band of your bra, rough thumbs brushing over your nipples. You gasped, the sensation sparking through you like lightning, hips shifting restlessly against the couch cushions.

Robby grinned against your shoulder, murmuring low against your skin, "Sensitive, huh?"

Jack chuckled into your mouth, his hands steadying your waist. "Good to know..."

You whimpered, nodding, surrendering completely to their slow, relentless worship—your body already unraveling under their hands and mouths, and they were just getting started.

"Too many clothes... off," you gasped breathlessly, tugging at the hem of your own top and glancing meaningfully between the two of them.

Robby grinned, wicked and eager. "Thought you'd never ask."

Jack hummed low in his throat, his hands already sliding up your sides, helping to peel the rest of your clothes away with deliberate slowness—as if unwrapping something precious they both intended to indulge in to the fullest extent.

They stripped you bare first, taking their time, every inch of skin revealed under their hungry, adoring gazes. After, you leaned back against the couch, heart hammering, feeling their eyes rake over you with something between adoration and possession. Then they undressed themselves—shirts pulled off in swift, unceremonious movements, revealing solid, muscular frames. Jack's arms flexed as he tossed his shirt aside, lean but powerful, while Robby's broader chest gleamed under the low light, his biceps straining deliciously as he shucked off his own layers.

You couldn't help it—you toyed with the hem of your underwear absentmindedly, admiring them, drinking them in. The dips of their hips, the strength built over years of unrelenting shifts and physical work. The noticeable bulges pressing against their briefs made your thighs squeeze together instinctively, seeking relief from the growing, delicious ache.

Both of them noticed. Jack prowled closer first, his eyes dark, focused, reverent, like he was already memorizing every inch of you. Robby followed, his grin dropping into something hungrier, need coiling thick between the three of you.

Jack knelt between your legs, his hands trailing slowly up your calves, your knees, coaxing them apart as Robby lowered himself onto the couch behind you, sliding you down lower, pulling your back flush against his chest. His arms bracketed you securely, anchoring you against the firm heat of his body, while you melted between him and Jack, breath catching at the feeling of being completely surrounded.

You felt their heat everywhere—Jack's breath fanning against your inner thighs, Robby's heartbeat hammering steady against your spine. Jack's hands were firm on your thighs, thumbs stroking slow, deliberate circles that made your skin prickle with anticipation. Behind you, Robby's hands roamed shamelessly, toying with your stomach, skimming higher to tease the sensitive peaks of your breasts, brushing and rolling your nipples until you gasped and arched into their touch, caught helplessly between them.

Jack glanced up at you through his lashes, a slow, devastating smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Let us take care of you."

Robby murmured into your ear, his lips brushing your temple. "Just lean back. Let us show you how good this can be."

You whimpered softly, head falling back against Robby's shoulder, fully surrendering to them. Jack's hands squeezed your thighs, steadying you, while Robby's fingers skimmed higher, teasing circles around your nipples until you were trembling with need.

Jack pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee, then another, working his way slowly, deliberately up your inner thigh, each one hotter, wetter, more possessive than the last. Robby kept you anchored, his free hand brushing your hair back from your face, murmuring low praise against your skin, grounding you even as you unraveled.

Every brush of Jack's stubble against your sensitive thighs sent shivers skating down your spine. You barely managed to pant out, "Please," before Jack's mouth hovered dangerously close to where you needed him most, the heat of his breath making you writhe against Robby's chest, desperate and burning and so beautifully undone.

Jack hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, tugging it down with agonizing slowness. Once it was off, he balled the fabric in his hand for a moment—then tossed it up toward Robby without a word. Robby caught it without missing a beat. He lifted it to his face, inhaled deeply, and groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your back. "Fuck, baby," he rasped, his grip tightening around your waist.

And then—finally—Jack's mouth found you. One slow, deliberate lick that made you cry out, made your whole body tense and shudder against Robby's.

Jack groaned into you, hands digging into your thighs like he could hold you open forever. He ate you out like a man possessed, like he'd been starved for the taste of you and was finally allowed to feast. Messy, desperate, utterly pussy-drunk. He mouthed and sucked and licked you like worship, dragging obscene sounds from your throat with every flick of his tongue. The wet, filthy sounds of it filled the room, each lap of his tongue driving you closer to the edge.

You were soaked—shamelessly, beautifully wet for him—and Jack reveled in it, letting out a low, wrecked groan every time you bucked against his mouth. His face was drenched in you, slick and shining under the dim lights, the evidence of your pleasure painting his jaw and chin as he worked you over with single-minded devotion. Robby pressed kisses along your temple, whispering praises into your ear, but it was Jack who owned you in that moment—Jack who wouldn't stop, couldn't stop until you shattered for him, drunk on nothing but the sound and taste and feel of you, desperate for everything you would give him.

Jack slid one thick finger inside you, curling it expertly, pulling another whimper from your throat. He didn't give you time to adjust before slipping in a second, stretching you so sweetly, working you open with slow, devastating precision. Robby's fingers trailed down your stomach, teasing lazy, featherlight patterns until they found your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to make your thighs jerk. Jack held your right thigh open with one firm hand, while Robby used his left leg to nudge your other knee wider, keeping you perfectly spread for them—completely, gloriously exposed. The contrast of their steady pressure, their control, only heightened the burning pleasure already coiling low in your belly. 

Overwhelming was an understatement to describe the state of your sensory cortex—Jack's tongue and fingers working deep inside you, Robby's slow, relentless pressure on your clit. You felt your soul begin to slip from your body, floating somewhere above, untethered by the sheer, unbearable pleasure. Everything was too much—the wet, filthy sound of Jack feasting on you, the breathy filth Robby was murmuring in your ear, the way they both knew exactly how to break you apart.

It hit you like a flashfire—white-hot and consuming—and you exploded with a choked cry, body arching helplessly between them as the orgasm ripped through you, shattering you into a thousand glittering pieces in their hands.

Jack didn't stop—not at first. He licked you through it, groaning into your core like a man possessed, savoring every trembling aftershock you gave him. Robby held you tighter, grounding you while your vision blurred and your body spasmed with the force of it.

You whimpered, boneless and wrecked, hips twitching as Jack finally eased off with a final kiss to your sensitive clit. When he pulled back, his face was a mess—slick with your release, shining under the dim lights, utterly wrecked and utterly in love with the taste of you.

He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth—completely unashamed—and smirked, voice rough and low. "You taste even better than I dreamed, sweetheart."

He lifted his hand—your essence webbed slick between his middle and ring fingers—and held it up toward Robby. Robby caught his wrist without hesitation, wrapped his lips around Jack's fingers, and sucked them clean, slow and deliberate. The sight—Robby moaning low around Jack’s fingers, Jack staring down at you like he wanted to devour you all over again—nearly made you die and ascend straight to heaven on the spot.

Robby licked his lips, eyes molten. His voice was low and rough when he finally spoke. "Which one of us do you want first?" 

You could barely breathe, still half-falling from your last orgasm. Your body was limp, floating, buzzing with overstimulation—but the way they looked at you—hungry, waiting—set a fresh ache rolling through your gut. 

You bit your lip, gaze flickering between them. Robby—broad and steady behind you, heat radiating from his bare chest now damp with sweat. Jack—still kneeling between your spread thighs, resting his head lightly against your thigh like it was a pillow, his face slick with you, shining under the dim lights. He stared up at you with a look so raw, so utterly reverent, it made your breath catch—like you were something holy, something he couldn't believe he was allowed to touch.

You opened your mouth to answer—but all that came out was a wrecked, breathy little giggle.

Jack chuckled, low and wrecked. "Yeah," he rasped, thumb brushing your thigh possessively. "We might've broken her a little."

Robby grinned wickedly against your shoulder, pressing a slow kiss to your neck. "We haven't even started yet, baby."

You found the strength to lift your head, heart still hammering against your ribs. Jack and Robby seemed to feel it too—the need to slow, just for a second, to gather you back into yourself.Jack kissed your thigh softly while Robby stroked lazy, grounding patterns along your ribs and stomach, whispering, "Breathe. We've got you."

Their touches soothed the wild, frantic buzz in your veins. You melted between them, savoring that brief, perfect moment of care—before the tension, the heat, the hunger started sparking again.

You leaned forward, pulling Jack up onto the couch, crashing your mouth against his in a heated, desperate kiss. You tasted yourself on his tongue, slick and filthy and devastating—and it only made you kiss him harder, grinding your hips against Robby in wordless, frantic need.

Robby groaned, feeling you start to move against him, and his hands slid possessively down your sides to anchor you. Jack pulled back just enough for you to gasp a shaky breath, eyes dark and blown wide, before you started moving, trading places—Robby got up with a low groan, adjusting himself slightly as he moved aside. You slid off Robby's lap, allowing Jack to fall back onto the couch cushions, legs spread, inviting. Kneeling between Jack’s thighs, your fingers fumbled at his waistband. He hissed softly when you freed him, the heavy, flushed weight of him slapping against his stomach.

Robby kneeled down behind you—his hands tracing down the delicate arch of your back, then slipping lower to spread you open. You shuddered as he leaned in, pressing a soft, teasing lick along your folds, tasting you again before standing up behind you, lining himself up.

Jack held his hand up toward Robby and paused for a beat, gaze searching yours. "Do you want us to use condoms?" he asked, voice quiet but serious.

You shook your head instantly, breathless but certain. "I want to feel you. Please, I need you like this..."

That was all the permission they needed.

Before he could push in, you turned your head slightly, your hands reaching back. You found Robby's cock in one hand and Jack's in the other, stroking them both slowly, deliberately, savoring the way each man shuddered under your touch. You gave yourself a moment to take in their differences: Robby was longer, while Jack was thicker. Robby had a dark, full bush of hair at his base, while Jack was trimmed short, neat but not bare. Both of them were perfect—different textures, different shapes—but each exactly the right length and girth to fulfill your every need. Your mouth watered just thinking about it, your thighs instinctively pressing together in anticipation.

Robby leaned down, kissed the curve of your shoulder, and then pointed toward Jack with a tilt of his chin, a silent handoff. "It's okay, baby," he murmured against your skin, voice thick with need. "We've got you."

With that, he gripped your hips, steadying you, and with one slow, devastating push, he slid inside—filling you completely, making your knees tremble.

"Fuck." You couldn't tell which one of you said it but all of you understood. 

Sandwiched between them, your mouth found Jack’s cock, wrapping your lips around him as Robby filled you from behind, and you thought—half-delirious—that heaven had nothing on this.

"I'm considering getting it taken out," you admitted to Samira one sluggish morning, slumped at the nurses' station after a brutal overnight shift. "I haven't had sex in forever. And honestly? After that disaster of a 'date' last month—if you can even call it that—I’m swearing off men altogether."

Samira snorted into her coffee. "Babe. It's an IUD, not a vow of celibacy. Just leave it. Who knows? One day you’ll trip and fall onto someone worthwhile."

You laughed weakly, swirling your pen between your fingers. "Yeah. The odds of my toys and I having a long, happy life together are becoming more and more likely."

Neither of you noticed Jack and Robby just around the corner of the nurses' station, both frozen in place, pretending to sift through charts as they listened intently—Jack’s jaw clenched tight, Robby’s fingers twitching like he wanted to strangle something. Robby cleared his throat a little too aggressively.

Samira sipped her coffee, then grinned over the rim of the mug. "Please. The perfect man could walk in, naked, with a six-pack and a stethoscope and you’d still roll your eyes."

You snorted. "Exactly. Unless he’s got magic hands and a brain with emotional intelligence to match, I’m not interested. And even then…" You shrugged. "Battery-powered and drama-free is winning right now."

Jack's pen snapped clean in two, the sharp crack making you and Samira both glance up. He didn't even flinch, just grabbed another pen—handed to him silently by Robby, like nothing had happened—and kept moving. You and Samira shared a puzzled look before continuing your conversation.

"I'm just saying," Samira continued breezily, unaware of the storm brewing behind the divider, "maybe keep it. Future you might thank you."

Jack’s voice floated in a second later—low, rough, a little too casual. "Keep it."

You blinked. "Uh… thanks for the unsolicited medical advice, Dr. Abbot?" you teased lightly.

Jack just shrugged, gaze unreadable. "Saw a teen pregnancy case come through last night," he said, voice low and rough.

Samira let out a soft exhale. "Shit."

You winced, the image settling heavy in your chest. "That’s awful."

Jack tipped his chin down. "Reminded me how fast things can change. Better to be protected. Even if you think you won’t need it."

You nodded slowly, assuming he meant it like any good physician would—just another reminder in a world of unpredictable chaos. At the time, you didn't know that when he said "keep it," he wasn’t thinking about some random case or an oath of ethics.

He was thinking about you, and Robby, and the secret, filthy hope that someday soon, it wouldn’t just be hypothetical anymore.

The thing about Jack and Robby was this—they both prided themselves on being brilliant doctors, but even more so on remembering the little things.

Especially when it came to you.

A particularly deep thrust snapped you out of your mind wandering. Robby set a brutal pace almost immediately, hips slamming into yours with deep, relentless thrusts that made your entire body jolt forward. You moaned around Jack's cock, drool slipping from the corners of your lips, your throat vibrating with every desperate, broken sound you made.

Jack hissed, his hand tangling in your hair, the vibrations from your moans sending sharp waves of pleasure up his spine. "Fuck, sweetheart," he groaned, head falling back against the couch. "You're perfect like this."

You could barely think, overwhelmed and soaked, the rhythm of Robby pounding into you from behind driving you forward with every thrust—until your lips slid further down Jack's length, gagging slightly as you fought to keep your composure.

"That's it," Robby growled, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, the other sliding up your spine. "Look at you… taking him so well while I wreck you."

Jack moaned low in his throat, eyes dark and glassy as he watched your mouth stretch around him. "Jesus Christ," he breathed, his voice rough and reverent. "You're gonna make me lose it."

Robby laughed softly behind you, breath hot against your shoulder as he drove into you with another sharp, delicious thrust. "She loves it. Don't you, baby?"

You could only let out a faint, muffled whimper, your mouth still stuffed full of Jack. Jack leaned forward, his hand curling into your hair and giving a firm tug at the roots—just enough to sting, just enough to make your eyes roll back with the delicious ache.

"He asked you a question, sweetheart..." he cooed, his voice dark silk in your ear.

He pulled you off his cock slowly, strings of spit still connecting your lips to him, a line trailing messily down your chin. You turned your head to look back at Robby, dazed and trembling, lips swollen, your chin slick, eyes red-rimmed and glassy with the threat of a tear, and a blissed-out, filthy smile curving your mouth.

"I love it," you managed, voice hoarse, breath catching between words. "I love everything you're doing to me. Please... don't stop."

Robby’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of you. His eyes darkened, hands tightening on your hips. "Fuck," he rasped, stunned and awed. "You’re gonna be the death of me."

Jack leaned in, brushing your hair away from your face with a surprisingly gentle hand, his other palm cradling your cheek. "You’re doing so well," he murmured, voice a smooth, deep rasp that curled low in your belly. "So fucking perfect like this. Look at you, taking him so well. Can you feel how much he loves being inside you?"

You whimpered, nodding as Jack’s fingers trailed down your jaw, tilting your chin up so he could look into your eyes. "That’s it," he whispered. 

Jack brushed your cheek with his knuckles, tugging you into a messy, open-mouthed kiss, his hips slowing just enough to keep you balanced right on the precipice. You moaned against him, the sound helpless, raw—your body trembling with need. Robby's smirk brushed your skin where he pressed kisses to your shoulder, still moving inside you with slow, devastating thrusts. He pulled out suddenly, making you whimper as the high you were balancing on ripped cruelly from your grasp. You barely had time to recover before Jack's hand wrapped around your throat, firm but careful, beckoning you to follow his lead.

"On the couch," he ordered, voice rough silk.

Dazed but obedient, you moved quickly, positioning yourself laterally across the couch and head perched on the raised armrest. Robby stood directly above your head, cock glistening and heavy, while Jack moved below you, one hand stroking your chest possessively before gripping your thighs.

You braced your elbows on the cushions, breath catching as Jack lined himself up. With one strong, devastating push, he filled you—thicker, stretching you even more, making your mouth fall open in a ragged moan. Robby guided your face toward him, his hand gentle on your cheek, his cock brushing your lips. You blinked up at him, wrecked, lips parted around a gasp as Jack pounded into you, driving you up with every punishing thrust. Robby watched you with hooded eyes, stroking himself lazily, the sight of you completely wrecked making his cock twitch in his hand.

"Come on, baby," he said softly, thumbing the center of your lip. "Open up for me."

"Look at you," Jack rasped. "You're fucking perfect. Made for us."

Both of them were drinking in the sight of you—your hair damp and stuck to your forehead, lips swollen and slick. Your moans were breathy and ragged, a near-constant stream of gasps and incorrigible cries. Robby's gaze was half-lidded, jaw tight. Jack’s hands gripped your hips like he never wanted to let go, his eyes devouring every inch of you like a man deprived of oxygen. The raw awe in their stares made your stomach twist with heat.

It was too much. The stretch of Jack's thick cock filling you, Robby's taste still lingering on your tongue. Surrounded by their heat, their sounds mixing with your own, the pressure finally crested. Your pleasure broke like a supernova, sharp and wild, tearing through you. You came again with a single, desperate cry, your entire body convulsing between them, walls fluttering and gripping Jack so tightly it dragged a guttural, broken groan from his throat.

That did it for Robby.

He thrust into your mouth with a sharp snap of his hips, then again, and again—desperate, ragged, chasing his own high. You could barely keep up, still shuddering from your orgasm as he fucked your throat, one hand braced on the back of the couch, the other in your hair.

"Jesus fuck—" he gasped, voice unraveling. "Just like that..."

With a final, wrecked moan, Robby came, hips stuttering. Hot release spilled across your tongue as he groaned through clenched teeth, fingers flexing in your hair as he slowly stilled, trembling with aftershocks.

You swallowed greedily, drinking him down without hesitation, eager for every drop. His taste sent another flicker of arousal through your spent frame. The hunger in your body didn’t fade—it only simmered lower, deeper, tethered to the way Robby was still trembling, cock pulsing with the last aftershocks of his release. His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, cheeks flushed, a dazed but satisfied smile curling at the corners of his lips as he memorized you—every wrecked, glistening inch of you. Jack, still hard and deep inside you, kept his hands on your hips, his eyes fixed on your face like he was watching something holy.

Jack slowed his thrusts, then gestured silently for Robby to join him.

Robby leaned down and gave you a deep, claiming kiss, tasting himself on your tongue with a low groan before making his way down your body. Jack shifted, lifting you with surprising care, settling onto the couch with you pulled onto his lap—back to his chest. You were straddling him in reverse, legs spread open across the cushions.

"Just relax," Jack murmured against your shoulder, his lips brushing your skin. "Let us take care of you." 

Robby knelt down between your legs, his breath ghosting over your plump folds before his mouth latched on, tongue teasing and devouring in practiced rhythm. He licked long and deep, groaning into you, tasting both your slick and Jack's—heady, intoxicating. He held your knees wide open, anchoring you in place with firm hands, occasionally slipping one beneath your thighs to lift you slightly—helping Jack thrust up harder, deeper, driving his cock into you at an angle that made your vision blur.

Jack's hands returned to your breasts, massaging, kneading, rolling your nipples between his fingers until you whimpered. One hand slid up to your throat again, pressing just enough to make your breath catch, before traveling back down over your chest, across your belly.

If God was real, you had no doubt that this was the Biblical version of heaven. Jack filling you from behind, grinding up into your sweet spot with precision, while Robby sucked at your clit, tongue flicking and curling.

Robby pulled back for a moment with a breathless groan, his mouth slick, beard glistening, and eyes dark with awe. "So fucking beautiful," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your trembling inner thigh.

Jack's voice followed, low and wrecked against your ear.

"One more for us," he rasped. "Come for us again. Give it to us."

The word—us—shattered something inside you. The way he said it, raw and desperate, made your body clench again in anticipation, your breath hitching helplessly as the overwhelming pressure began to build all over again.

Your vision went white. The combined rhythm of Jack's thrusts and Robby's relentless mouth on your clit sent you spiraling. You shattered with a choked cry, body trembling uncontrollably, and everything dropped away for a second—blacking out from the intensity of it.

Jack groaned when he felt your walls clamp down hard around him, the aftershocks of your orgasm milking him with every flutter. He growled into your shoulder and buried himself deep, spilling into you with a rough, broken curse, clutching you tightly as he came, hips twitching with each wave of release.

You collapsed back against his chest, boneless and dazed, your heart pounding so hard you could feel it thrum through your fingertips. Jack wrapped an arm tightly around your waist, pressing lazy, reverent kisses to your shoulder as he caught his breath.

Robby made his way up the couch and slid in beside you, tucking your loose hair behind your ear before pressing a lingering kiss to your cheek. "You are an absolute vision," he murmured against your skin, voice low. Jack found your hand, intertwining your fingers, rubbing soothing circles into the knuckle of your index finger. The steady rhythm of his thumb was the only thing anchoring you to the now, holding you steady in the soft, humming aftermath.

They took their time with you after that—gentle hands roaming your skin, tender kisses mapping your body. Jack shifted you carefully off his lap, murmuring soft praises as he rubbed soothing circles over the places where his grip had been a little too rough, thumbs ghosting over faint red imprints along your hips and thighs. He pressed warm, apologetic kisses to your shoulder, to the curve of your neck, anywhere his hands had left their mark. Robby, meanwhile, grabbed a warm cloth and helped clean you up with quiet, focused tenderness, his fingers brushing your skin like you were made of glass, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the inside of your knee when he finished.

You smiled through the haze of bliss, wriggling free once you felt a little more solid. "Be right back," you muttered, voice scratchy and small.

You tried to stand—and immediately wobbled, your knees buckling.

Jack and Robby, splayed out lazily on the couch, reacted instantly. Their hands came up instinctively to support your back and arms, steadying you with a gentleness that made your chest ache. When you managed to stay upright, they let their hands linger a beat longer.

They watched you sway with twin smirks tugging at their lips, too spent to do much else but chuckle under their breath.

"Careful," Jack drawled, his voice rough but warm. "You look like you just got hit by a truck."

Robby grinned, resting his head against the back of the couch. "Hell of a good one, though."

You managed to wobble to the bathroom, limbs heavy and bliss-drunk, but halfway there, you turned around briefly—gave them both a playful glare, narrowing your eyes, and held up a finger in mock warning.

The living room echoed with bellied laughter, eyes bright despite the exhaustion, the sound warm and full of affection.

By the time you returned from the bathroom, your body felt like a jar of honey under summer sun, the post-sex haze still curling like smoke under your skin. You flopped gracelessly back onto the couch, a sigh of contentment escaping your lips. Jack and Robby had disappeared briefly into the bathroom themselves. You heard the sound of running water, a few low murmurs exchanged, and then footsteps returning.

When they stepped back into the room, you were curled into the couch cushions, fast asleep, a soft smile curving your lips—blissed out and peaceful. Jack stopped in his tracks, heart thudding at the sight. Robby stilled beside him, eyes soft.

"Out like a light," Robby said quietly, but fondly.

Jack nodded. "Yeah. She earned it."

With a quiet grunt, Robby bent and scooped you up gently, cradling you against his chest. You stirred slightly, your arms looping behind his neck, head nuzzling into his collarbone. Jack padded behind, turning off the lights as they went.

The bedroom was dim and quiet. Robby laid you down carefully, brushing the hair from your face as Jack pulled the covers up over you. You shifted sleepily, instinctively reaching for them.

They climbed in on either side of you—Robby wrapping an arm around your waist, Jack curling close behind. Sandwiched between them, you let out a little contented hum as Jack pressed a kiss to the back of your neck, and Robby to your shoulder.

And in that soft, sleepy silence, you drifted off again—safe, wrapped in warmth, held by the two men who had finally let themselves love you, together.

—

Morning came slowly, the golden haze of sunlight warming the sheets. You stirred first, blinking your eyes open and stretching slightly—only to wince at the delicious soreness that radiated from places you hadn’t known could be sore. You smiled into your pillow as flashes from the night before flared back into focus: the heat of their bodies, the sound of their voices, the way your name had spilled from their mouths.

You tip-toed to the bathroom first, brushing your teeth with the spare toothbrush Robby kept under the sink and washing your face. The cool water anchored you back in your body. When you looked up, the mirror offered you a sight to behold—patches of hickeys forming on your neck, some darker than others, scattered like constellations across your collarbone and throat. Something flashed in your core, a low ache waking up with a pulse of memory. Your smile curled with equal parts embarrassment and pride.

Voices drifted from the kitchen. You pulled on a random shirt hung on the edge of the laundry hamper and padded toward the sound, feet silent on the hardwood.

Jack and Robby stood by the stove—well, more accurately, bickered at the stove. Robby held a spatula mid-air while Jack pointed at something on the counter.

"You can’t add garlic to pancakes," Jack muttered, exasperated.

Robby rolled his eyes. "I wasn’t adding it to the pancakes. I was sautéing it for the eggs—Jesus, keep your scrubs on."

Jack gestured broadly with a mixing bowl. "They’re in the same pan, Robby. They’re going to taste like garlic pancakes."

You leaned against the doorway, grinning as you watched them. Both of them were shirtless, wearing sweatpants. His curls were still mussed from sleep, and Robby wore his sweats low on his hips. They looked like a married couple arguing over brunch logistics—and you loved it more than you could say.

"You need to flip that now or it's going to burn," Jack warned, eyeing the skillet like it had personally offended him.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Robby shot back, jabbing at the eggs with the spatula, "Did you suddenly become head chef? You're not even on omelette duty."

Jack crossed his arms and tipped his chin up. "I was until you hijacked the burner and tried to infuse everything with garlic."

"As someone who survived off of expired MREs and basically drinks hot sauce as your only condiment, you are the last person who should be judging my culinary decisions."

You couldn’t hold back your amused scoff. You cleared your throat loudly.

They both froze and turned like synchronized swimmers. Two sets of eyes locked onto you—Jack’s going slightly wide, Robby’s mouth parting like he was about to offer an excuse.

"Morning," you said, deadpan, then broke into a smile.

Their expressions melted, sheepish grins appearing in tandem.

Jack stepped forward first, slipping a hand around your waist and leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your cheek. It was soft, warm, lingering just long enough to make your chest flutter.

Robby started to move toward you too, clearly intending to follow suit, but Jack smirked and turned slightly. "Can’t let the eggs burn, can we?"

Robby glared at him but stayed put, grumbling under his breath as he gave the eggs a stir.

With a quiet laugh, you stepped over to him and tiptoed to press a kiss to his cheek. "Good morning, chef."

His grumble softened into a low chuckle, his eyes crinkling with warmth as he leaned into your kiss.

Behind you, Jack busied himself at the counter. "Coffee?"

You nodded. "Please. God, yes."

He smiled without turning around, already reaching for a mug. The air was thick with the scent of breakfast, coffee, and something much softer—something like home.

He handed you the cup a moment later, and your fingers brushed as you took it. Jack gave you a smile that was still sleep-soft and just a little shy, like he couldn't quite believe this was real.

Robby passed you a plate stacked high with eggs and a slightly lopsided pancake, and kissed your temple as you sat down. "Hope you’re hungry. I tried." Jack pinched his side lightly at the remark, smirking. Robby swatted his hand away with a glare, but he was smiling too.

"It looks delicious," you murmured, cheeks warm.

You ate shoulder to shoulder, trading quiet smiles and bites off each other's plates, content in the hush of morning. Jack poured more coffee without being asked. Robby reached over occasionally to tuck your hair behind your ear. It was nothing—and everything.

When the meal was done, you sat in the warmth of it all, sipping slowly from your mug.

Jack stretched behind you, his voice low. "We should do this again."

You looked up at him. "Breakfast?"

He smiled. "All of it."

Robby leaned back in his chair and reached for your hand. "Yeah. Us."

And for once, the thought didn’t scare you. It settled in your chest like something inevitable. Like something already yours. "I'd like that... very much..."

Jack kissed your temple again, his lips lingering a second longer, and Robby gave your hand a small squeeze. No fanfare. No big declarations. Just warmth, safety, and quiet promises in the soft morning light.

Robby nudged your plate closer. "You want the last pancake?"

You shook your head with a sleepy grin. "Only if we split it."

Jack rolled his eyes fondly and reached for a fork. "God help us, we’ve become that couple."

"Correction," Robby said, stealing a bite anyway. "That throuple."

You laughed, heart full to the brim. And as they bickered softly over syrup and coffee refills, you leaned back in your chair, wrapped in the calm after the storm—content, adored, and exactly where you belonged.

[pascal-rascal424]

Lean On Me (Part 4/7)

Pairing: Dr Michael 'Robby" Robinavitch x younger! Langdon's little sister! reader

Things heat up over breakfast but it takes a turn for the worst during your shift.

Warnings: casual drinking, mentions of work in a strip club, general lack of clothing in the workplace slow burn

(I know nothing about working in a strip club, so this is all based off media representations, sorry for any mistakes)

Part three / part five

taglist: @dayswithoutcoffee, @hagarsays, @4ishere, @omgbrianab

“I have two days off.” Michael announced as you both settled into your booth, the waitress already there filling your mugs with coffee. She didn’t even need to ask for your orders, you and Michael had been coming here every day for over two weeks now, and every day it was two cups of coffee and a large stack of pancakes to share.

You didn’t even really love pancakes, not enough to eat them every day but somehow it had become you and Michaels thing. Two coffees, six pancakes and two forks. With the last bite shared between you both. 

It was sweet, domestic, and really fucking weird, if you admitted it to yourself.

Somehow in such a short amount of time, Michael had become your closest friend and confidant. 

“I’m jealous, what is on the agenda?”

“Sleep, grocery shop and clean my place. I don’t remember the last time I gave it more than a quick hoover.”

“Oh now I really am jealous!”

Michael laughed and dug into the pancakes, a peaceful silence falling between you both as you sipped your overly sweetened coffee. Your crush on the doctor hadn’t calmed down as the days went on and you got to know him better. Instead it was getting worse with every passing moment between the two of you. 

Some days you can’t stop yourself staring into his big brown eyes, with their crinkled crows feets and soft eyelashes. His hair, receding with age, but full and salted with greys at the temple that he didn’t hide with dye or a cut, made him just look more distinguished. But the way when flustered he ran his long fingers through his hair, it was enough to make you squeeze your thighs together each time, and for you to hold yourself back from running your own fingers through the hair.

Not to mention the spark you get with every accidental touch, from a slight tap on your lower back as you enter the diner, fingers grazing together as he passes you a fork or the sugar bowl. Everytime it feels like he hesitates, holding on for just a millisecond longer than he should.

Or maybe you're emotionally wrung out and it's been a while since anyone has shown you even a little bit of affection and you don’t know how to deal with kindness.

“I also have a bachelor party tonight.”

“You do not sound that excited.”

“It's for a colleague, Dr Shen, and I’m not really sure what has been planned and the planner of the event scares me a little.”

You laugh and can’t help but love as a little tinge of pink colours his cheeks, Michael Robinavitch blushing is going to be a core memory.

“Who's planning it?”

“Jack.”

“Isn’t he like your best friend or something?”

“Which is why I know to be scared, it could either be whiskeys and steak at a fancy dinner or strippers at a seedy club and no food in sight.”

A seedy club your voice gets stuck in your throat and you can’t hear anything else he’s saying. There are over fifty strip clubs in Pittsburgh city centre and they range from fancy to seedy with yours falling somewhere just above the middle. There was no way in all of Pittsburgh strip clubs he would end up at yours.

You were not that unlucky.

“What one are you hoping for?”

“Whiskey, steaks and in bed by eleven?” he said hopefully, “because I think I'm too old for strip clubs.”

You laugh and pull the pancakes away from him and grab a mouthful, smiling as the syrup coats your lips. You may or may not have taken a little longer to lick the sweet sugar from your bottom lip.

“You’re not that old,” you croon a little, your voice dropping an octave, and you scream at yourself WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

Michael stared at you through hooded lids, suddenly finding the table incredibly fascinating.

“I’m old enough to be your father.” he practically whispered.

“But you’re not.” you say, the air suddenly thick between you both, “And-” you swallow trying to find the right words, “Maybe I need someone more mature, wise-”

“Sweetheart-” he purrs, interrupting your nervous and desperate ranting. How did a conversation about whiskey and steaks get this in two sentences, you can’t keep a grin off your lips and your coffee and pancakes long forgotten as you slide your hands innocently across the worn vinyl table.

“Doctor Robinavitch.” You drag out each syllable, and you watch as he tries to catch himself, his own fingers now edging towards yours. Fingertips touching, slowly and carefully. 

“Fuck-” You whisper as he leans further in. You can’t breathe and you can’t speak as you both now sat at the edge of your respective seats, hands clasped over the table and then suddenly you felt it, his foot breaching under the table and just touching yours.  

It's so PC, so high school, and yet the touch was enough to almost send you over the line.

“More coffee?” The old sour faced waitress asked, breaking the tension. 

You both jump in your seats, hands now pulled back in laps, feet securely under your own chairs.

“No thank you.” you both mutter, unable to look at her. 

You both quickly make excuses to leave, he mumbles something about grocery shopping and you respond saying you had to go home and walk Dog.

Normally your breakfasts end with a hug and a reminder to see the other person the next day, but after whatever had just happened inside that diner you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything but give an awkward wave and rush towards the bus stop.

You could still feel the touch of him on your hands as you tried to rub the feeling away but it lingered long after the bus lurched away from the stop.

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

You can’t get Michael Robinavitch out of your head as the night passes and you are stuck working the floor.

Everytime you get a moment to yourself, your mind wanders to his touch, the way his foot grazed yours under the table, the purr in his voice as he says ‘Sweetheart’. It pulls you in, distracting you as you handle another evening being ogled and objectified. 

Your heels stuck to the vinyl, and someone had turned the heating up to an uncomfortable level causing your body glitter to run slightly as you rushed from table to table.

It was a Wednesday night and back in the day that had meant a slow and easy night but your creep of a boss had decided that Wednesday nights was now ‘Wings Night’, where as long as you kept buying drinks, and dances, you got a free bucket of wings.

So you walked, swaying slightly to the music, from one end of the club to another, off loading beers, whiskeys and internalising every cringe as slightly greasy fingers tipped you.

“Another one here sweetheart.” bellowed a patron, whose eyes never lifted higher than your chest, his fingers slick with the sauce of a chicken wing sliding instead of snapping for your attention.

You almost roll your eyes at the nickname, from Michaels lips it could bring you to your knees, from this pathetic man it took everything not to knee him in his unmentionables.

You knew that it was part of the job, along with the tiny pleated skirt and black bra that covered nothing but your nipples, but after over ten years of the same job you did start to think that maybe you had been someone awful in a past life.

You gather the tables empty glasses and confirm they wish for another round of the same. 

More lewd comments are thrown your way and you smile in return, big and broad like you had learnt when you started.

“Another round for table seven please Joe!” you call to the bartender, Joe was an older guy who was a bartender slash bouncer and the loveliest man you had ever known. In his late fifties he had seen and done it all, and was always more than happy to dole out advice or protect the girls on and off the stage.

“You doing okay?” 

“Always!”

“Liar!” you both laugh and turn as another group of men wander into the dark club. You shrug your shoulders back and plaster a smile on your face and take a step.

Then stop.

Amongst the seven or so men stood one slightly taller than the rest, with his hands in his pocket and stunning brown eyes that seemed to glow against the glistering stage lights.

Michael.

In your club.

Your tray clangs to the floor as you lose all decorum, rushing behind the bar and ducking. 

You can’t breathe.

What is he doing here?

“You doing okay?” Joe asked, not moving from his spot, tea towel in hand as he wiped a glass. 

“Please tell me that group didn’t just walk into my section?” You prayed, there were only three of you on the floor tonight. Half the girls who had been rostered on called in sick, most likely because they didn’t want to spend half of the next morning washing wing sauce off their uniform.

“Want me to lie?”

“Fuck!” you hiss and close your eyes.

You seriously must have been a truly horrible person in your former life.

“Is there a problem?” Suddenly Joe was before you, squatting down as his knees creaked.

You laugh dryly and take ten deep breaths, each one causing Joe to frown further.

“The tall one is my brother's boss.”

“That’s awkward but-”

“Who I had the most sexually charged breakfast with this morning, and if the waitress hadn’t come over, I probably would have mounted him on top of our pancakes.”

Joe's frown disappeared and his brows shot up, “Well that's a pickle but-”

“He also thinks I work at an office supply store.”

“This is not an office supply store.”

“Oh really?” you cringe up at him but he's just smiling.

“Everyone deals with this at one point or another. At least he’s just a crush and not your husband.”

He holds up his hand and forces you to your feet. There is no good option here, you could either stay behind the bar for a moment longer, and have your creep boss find you and berate you for wasting time in front of every patron in the club, or you go out there with your head held high and take their drinks orders.

Michael looked awkward at the glance you had seen so maybe he will be too busy looking at the floor or making excuses to leave to notice you.

Wishful thinking or delusional, you can't decide which as you straighten your skirt, holster up your bra and give Joe a kiss on the cheek.

You got this you mutter as you place table sevens drinks on your tray.

You let Michael and his group settle at a table close to the stage, most of them immediately distracted by Cherry dancing to an 80s classic, her lycra outfit reminiscent of a time most of the table would have been in high school or college.

You cringe a little, it's a subtle reminder of the age gap you had been trying to ignore. You hadn’t even been born until the 90s, your parents hadn’t even known each other in the 80s! 

Distracted you place drinks in front of the wrong men, each one swapping and changing, laughing at you as you just smile through the fumble.

“Sorry guys!” You say as more notes are slipped under the waistband of your skirt. 

You take just a moment to remove the notes, placing them in the pouch you kept inside your bra, nestled in the flimsy fabric was almost four hundred dollars of slightly sticky notes. 

Your club was good enough that it was discouraged to tip in ones or twos, instead the minimum tip is ‘suggested’ to be tens or higher and with the slightly nicer atmosphere and ‘classy’ dancing, this meant it was mostly adhered to. 

Someone at Michaels table waves you down, he has a kind face, older like Michael with salt and pepper curls cut short. Military, you clock almost immediately. They are easy to recognise in places like this, you can’t put into words why but they are.

It’s Jack Abbot you guess, knowing him only from your brother and Michaels stories.

It takes only ten steps to get from table seven to their table, you lean over a spare chair at their table, smiling as the men, predictably, look south before looking at your face. You don't look at Michael purposely smiling only at Dr Abbot and the man that must be the Bachelor. 

He looked wrecked, his shirt half open and his eyes just a little glazed over. 

“I think some water for you.” you purr, some people have a retail voice or their corporate voice, you had what could only be described as a ‘slutty’ voice.

The bachelor nodded, unable to look at anything in particular. Everyone else at the table was doing okay, a few reddened cheeks but everyone was pretty much sober.

“I’ll bring over some wings, and maybe chips, let's put something in your stomach.” You say before turning to Jack, “And for the table?”

Jack smiles, looking you in your eyes, which is a rarity in your line of work, “What whiskeys do you have?”

You laugh, gently swatting him on the shoulder, “You’re in a strip club honey, we got a bottle with the word Whiskey on it and that's about it.”

“Fancy stuff?”

“It will do the job.” Both of you laugh and you lift your head up.

Suddenly your stomach is in your throat. Brown eyes meet yours and they are alight with something you can’t quite describe.

Michael is staring at you, his hands white knuckling the table as he ignores any and all attempts of his friends trying to talk to him. The air that had been sickly warm was now freezing, you look away quickly, unable to catch his eye.

“I’ll be right back with your wings and whiskey!” you chirp, your work voice long gone as you try to shrink away.

Of course he would look up at you, you had to be an idiot to think he wouldn’t look up when a waitress spoke with him, no matter the location.

You can’t get away fast enough as your heels stick to the floor.

You could feel his eyes on you as you walked away, burning a hole into your back.

“I think Dr Bossman wants to eat you.” Joe says as he gathers the glasses and Whiskey, “He hasn’t blinked since you walked up.”

You throw a cautionary look behind you, everyone at the table was chatting amongst themselves, except for Michael who was just staring straight at you.

You try to give him an encouraging smile but it falters as he stands up, his chair creaking and his friends looking at him with confusion.

You rush to tell Joe the table's order, your voice getting lost as you continue to look back at Michael whose face has now gone a particular shade of red.

It was Jack who noticed the looks between the two of you. He looks from you back to Michael and then back to you, like he was watching a game of tennis before he is laughing to himself. 

It takes Michael no time to move around his table and to get to you. Before you can even greet him with any kind of sound other than a squeak, his hand is tight around your forearm and he's pulling you towards the door marked ‘Staff- No Entry’.

[pascal-rascal424]

Oooooooh I love that they are playing house! So sweet!

Well Enough Alone: Part VI

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Andrew "Pope" Cody x f!Reader (nicknamed Hawk) Prologue Cut the Loss (companion piece) Part I Part II Chicken Hawk (companion piece) Part III Part IV Trespassing (companion piece) Part V

Masterlist Pope Cody Playlist

General Synopsis: Hawk and Pope come full circle. Word Count: 5.6k Content Warning: angst; uncomfortable conversations; typical Animal Kingdom warnings AN: you guys have been so amazingly kind about this series. if I could give you each a lil forehead kiss in thanks, I would. just know that I'm reading every comment, reblog, tag, and message you guys post and I'm giggling kicking my feet and twirling my hair. I appreciate every single one of you who have been a long for the ride so far, and to everyone who is just hopping on the Pope x Hawk train. please comment & reblog :)

Hawk’s head pounded as she woke up the next morning. The increasingly familiar hangover was nothing new for her, not recently, and she figured it would be a close companion if things continued the way they were going. The smell of coffee wafting through the air made her eyes snap open and sit up like the living dead. Hawk’s stomach rolled as she stood on wobbly legs. She didn’t give herself a single second to acclimatize herself before trudging down the hall and out to the kitchen. 

“Hey.” Pope greeted stoically as he leaned against the counter, sipping from a coffee mug.

“Hey? Ten days of absolutely no contact from you and hey is the best you’ve got? Give me a fucking break, Pope.” Hawk moved around him, grabbing her own mug and filling it with what was left in the pot before taking it back to her bedroom so she could nurse the headache from Hell that was approaching. 

“We need to talk,” He called out to her, but the only response he got back was the slam of her door that shook the whole back end of the house. 

The sound of Hawk’s cell phone ringing made her head spin. She had fallen back asleep after downing her cup of coffee and the disorientation was making her feel like she needed to puke. Hawk’s hand sloppily hit around the bedside table blindly until her fingers reached the offending tech. Her dry eyes cracked open and squinted at the name on the screen. Sighing, she hit decline before she let her face fall back onto her pillow. Another thirty seconds later, it rang again. 

“I’ve heard enough from you to last a lifetime, Baz.” Hawk’s voice was dry and rough as she spoke. “Someone better be dead.” 

“Have you, uh, talked to Cath at all, Hawk? In the last day or two?” Not to alarm you, Hawk, but we haven’t been able to contact Catherine in nearly two days. Hawk’s stomach sank and bile made its way up the back of her throat. “Hawk?”

“No, I haven’t talked to her, Baz. Is everything alright? Is Lena okay?”

“Yeah,” He paused. “Lena’s here with me. Just haven’t been able to get a hold of Cath. Can you do me a favor and reach out to her? Maybe she’ll answer your calls. She’s probably just pissed at me and I want to make sure she’s alright.” Catherine wouldn’t leave Lena. Never. Hawk wasn’t close to the woman, but she knew how fiercely she protected her daughter and would never leave her behind for anything.

“I’ll give her a call now, alright? I’ll let you know if I hear from her.” Hawk had a horrible feeling that she’d never get a hold of Catherine, not after what the police told her. If Smurf somehow found out about it…Hawk let the thought die where it began. 

“Thanks, Hawk. I appreciate it.” He hung up, not waiting to hear anything else from Hawk and she was grateful. She shakily brought a pillow up to her face and screamed until her lungs burned. 

Hawk knew Pope was watching her. He had been watching her every move since she resurfaced after Baz’s call and he attempted to approach her three more times before she got in the shower, and all times he was unsuccessful. 

Pope stood in the doorway of her bathroom, and unlike the first time he watched her in the shower, there was nothing inherently sexual about it. He needed her to say something, to look at him, to acknowledge him. He’d take anything at this point because being ignored by her was starting to do his head in. 

Hawk took her time, listening to the music she had playing from the speaker she kept in the bathroom while she exfoliated and shaved. She lathered and rinsed, lathered and rinsed, and Pope knew she was doing it to drag this out as long as she could. 

The shame Pope used to feel when he upset Smurf, and occasionally still felt, was nothing compared to what he was feeling currently. Now, it was amplified to a degree that made his fingers twitch at his sides and made his jaw tick. He’d look away when she turned in his direction because Hawk looking through Pope was worse than not looking at him at all. 

After the third time she brushed Pope off, he gave Hawk her space, but still moved from room to room with her as she went about her day. It was a Monday and the shop was closed, so she had nowhere to go and only had time to kill. 

Pope haunted every room Hawk inhabited and it killed her when he looked at her like a wet cat. When Hawk sat on the sofa, Pope sat on the armchair, both in silence as she flicked through the channels on the tv. When she made herself lunch, he stood in the entry to the kitchen and watched as she moved around the kitchen. After a while, he started straightening things out in every room they occupied because it was the only thing his brain could control in the situation. 

Every tidy. 

Everything in order. 

Everything in its place.  

The shower turned off and Pope continued to watch as Hawk grabbed a towel to wrap around herself before stepping out of the shower and around Pope like he was an obstacle. He followed her, as he had all afternoon, and sat on the edge of her bed facing the closet while she got dressed. Pope’s fingers continued their nervous tapping against his thigh, jaw clenched, and he looked ready to puke if this went on for much longer. 

Hawk was still slightly damp when she bypassed Pope to grab her sunglasses on the nightstand. He swallowed thickly when the scent of her body wash enveloped him, teasing his senses in the worst way. Hawk slid the door open to her private area on the deck and stepped outside. She heard him sigh from inside as she lowered herself to sit on the top step. 

“Please just talk to me.” Pope broke as he came to sit next to Hawk, his knee boldly resting against hers, searching for any form of physical contact he could get with her. 

“I haven’t heard from you in over a week, Pope. You did that, not me. I tried to fix this and you wouldn’t let me so as far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing that needs to be said.” The warmth of the sun was relaxing in an otherwise tense setting. 

“There’s plenty that needs to be said.” Pope’s eyes squinted, brows pinched together, as he looked out to the horizon. “I know it wasn’t you. I confronted Smurf about the pills.”

“I heard.” He glanced over at Hawk quizzically. “Baz stopped by a few days ago. I’d say I was disappointed you didn’t actually strangle her, but I’d never want to put that on you. Not when I could do it myself.” Hawk mumbled the last bit under her breath, but Pope still heard it. 

“We had a job-” He started to explain, but was swiftly cut off.

“-Yeah, Pendleton.” Hawk chuckled sardonically. “How’d that go, by the way? Considering you haven’t landed yourself back in lock up, I’m going to assume things either went fine or you haven’t done it yet.” 

“You really want to know?” Hawk shrugged, looking to the flowerbed she missed a few weeds in. “How do you know about Pendleton?”

“It doesn’t matter. Is that why you iced me out? So you could focus on the job?” Hawk picked at her nails, doing everything she could to not look at him. 

“No.” Pope admitted, “Not completely, anyway.” Hawk scoffed, turning her head in the opposite direction of where he was sitting so he couldn’t see her face at all. “I had some shit I needed to figure out, Hawk.” Vin, Cath, Smurf, Lena, the job. 

“And you couldn’t have just said that? Jesus Christ, Pope, I didn’t deserve that.” Hawk shook her head, turning back to Pope. “Ten days, Pope. Ten fucking days of silence. In what world does what I did require that kind of punishment?”

“I wasn’t punishing you.”

“That’s exactly what it was.” She snapped. “You were punishing me because you couldn’t punish Smurf.” Baz’s explanation regurgitated through Hawks’s mouth and the words, although true, felt acidic like bile. “You were punishing me because you knew I’d care that you did, and that it would hurt me if you did it because I hurt you -and that gave you control over the situation.” He didn’t deny it. 

“That’s part of it.”

“Well that doesn’t work for me, Pope.” Hawk’s voice was firm, reprimanding, and she didn’t know how much longer she could keep her spine about her when he looked at her like that. Like he knew he disappointed her. It was scarily similar to the look J gave her the night before -a Cody trait shared with J’s mom’s twin. “And that’s not even the biggest problem we have right now.” Hawk turned to face Pope fully and he could feel a tug in his chest at how goddamn defeated she looked. 

Hawk sat for a moment, contemplating her next words as she let out a sigh. 

“You have been purposefully lying to me since you stepped foot in my house.” She removed the sunglasses from her face to reveal her bloodshot eyes. Pope blinked, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for something to say. “From day fucking one, you’ve lied to me.” 

Pope’s heart raced. The only thing that crossed his mind was Catherine, but the timeline didn’t line up and there was no way Hawk could’ve learned about what he did. He and Smurf were the only two people alive on the planet who knew about what Pope did, and Smurf wouldn’t rat him out to Hawk of all people. Not about this, even at her maddest. Still, it felt like his stomach was trying to escape through his throat the longer she held his eyes with hers. 

“I was so unbelievably angry with you. I wanted to scream and yell and take all of my anger and frustration out on you when you finally decided to grace me with your goddamn presence, but now the fight’s left me, Pope. Now I’m hurt more than anything because you of all people know what it’s like to be deceived by someone you cares about you.” It wasn’t even the latest pill incident she was referencing. A lifetime of deceit from his own mother and Baz had its hooks dug deep into Pope. He carried that weight with him, unable to release it because there was nowhere to release it. That feeling stuck around like an old friend and he never wanted Hawk to feel that, not intentionally. Pope knew he fucked up something, he just didn’t know what it was or when it happened. It’s hard to keep track of the skeletons in your closet when it’s filled to the brim, even when you’re as meticulous as Pope Cody.

“What are you talking about?” Pope’s voice was low, genuinely confused at the direction Hawk had taken this conversation. This couldn’t just be about the time he fell off the face of Hawk’s Earth. 

“J, Pope.” There it was. Everything lined up and Pope finally understood. Somehow, probably from the kid himself, Hawk found out about J’s little field trips. “I’m talking about J and the shit you’ve pulled him into after telling me, promising me, that he wasn’t involved in any of it.” Hawk glared at him. “I don’t know why you did it, but you kept it from me and you lied about it when I asked you point blank.” She broke eye contact with him, looking back out into the yard. “I understand that I hurt you in my own way, Pope. I’m not minimizing that, but these are two very different situations.” Pope released a breath of relief, as fucked up as that was. With everything else going on around him, this was one of the smaller problems he could deal with -and he would deal with it. 

“I know. ” Pope squinted again as he looked over the backyard with her. He needed to fix this rift that he let split between them, and Pope wasn’t the type to lay his feelings and emotions out in the open, but he had to let Hawk know that he understood. “I saw Julia in him, Hawk, and I hated it. I hated how close you were to him and I guess…if I could bring him in, destroy some piece of him so I could let go of her, but I realized that yeah, he looked like Julia, but everything else?” He turned to Hawk, “That was all you and by the time I figured that out, he already got a taste of it.” Hawk rested her elbows on her thighs and she let her face fall into her hands. 

“You don’t understand the lengths I went to, Pope, to keep this from happening.” Pope squatted in front of her, forearms resting on his thighs. “Josh is supposed to go to college, have a life, maybe have a family one day. He was supposed to exist in a world where this shit didn’t touch him and you helped decimate that. All I’ve thought about was him either ending up in prison, or worse -dead. I can’t lose him too. I won’t come back from that.” Pope didn’t have the heart to tell her that Prison was the worst option of the two. If J was lucky, he’d end up in a casket before it ever got to that, but looking at Hawk, he silently vowed to himself to look after the kid. As much as he could without being obvious about it, anyway. 

“I told you before that everything I touched...” Turns to ash. “J was no exception.” Hawk picked her head back up and leveled Pope with a look. 

“Just because it’s been that way, doesn’t mean it has to stay that way.” He nodded, standing back up. Pope turned his back to Hawk so he could face the ocean and cut that line of vulnerability so he could take a breath. His hair was a brighter red under the direct sunlight, Hawk noticed as she watched Pope. 

“J is a part of my life, a very big part, and he always will be.” Hawk left no room for speculation. “If this is going to be a continuous problem, then you need to say something now because I will never leave him behind. For anyone. You understand that, right?” The slightest of nods was given to her, though he didn’t turn around. “J is with me for life, Pope. We’re a package deal. You don’t get one without the other.” Hawk hoisted herself up and walked over to Pope to stand next to him. “But that doesn’t mean I give anything less to you, Pope. They’re different parts, each one a different type of love. One is just as important as the other. Are you okay with that?” Pope turned to fully face Hawk, initiating touch with her once more by bringing his hand up to cup the side of her neck, just under her jaw. Her eyes closed at the contact and she took a step closer to Pope.

Hawk missed him, even as pissed off as she was, she truly missed his presence in the house -in her bed at night. He was quiet, observant, but dutifully by her side when he was home. She missed his touch, his presence, his cologne -him. She missed the space he took up, even though he didn’t try to take up any of it. From being alone for so long with J coming and going as he got older, to having Pope fall back in and out of her life, the whiplash Hawk was experiencing was hard to manage.

“I get that now, believe me.” Pope bit his lip before letting it go. “I don’t have any more problems with J. He’s not a bad kid,” His shoulder raised in a half shrug, “-especially to have around you. He’s smart, loyal.”

“Not nearly smart enough and loyal to the wrong people apparently.” Hawk scoffed, thinking back to the fight she had with J the night before. Hawk tried to give J some leeway, she really did, but it was hard. She experienced what he did, albeit just slightly different. It was easier for her to say no to the temptation because the people she was saying no to were her age at the time. J, on the other hand, was dealing with four grown men who were at least twice his age and had decades of experience being who they were. They were pushy, aggressive, even downright mean at times. She was in denial, Hawk realized. As long as J was in that house, he was never coming out unscathed. 

You left me, Hawk winced, shaking the thought out of her head as she pulled away from Pope.  

“He cares about you.” His eyes followed Hawk as she stepped around the yard. “He loves you. He’d die for you. That alone makes him okay in my book.” Hawk turned to walk back towards Pope, determination filling her.

“And you?” Hawk put Pope on the spot. His face hardened, but not in anger. Pope matched Hawk’s seriousness as she stopped directly in front of him. 

“You know I do, and I would.” Pope said without hesitation, as if his admission wasn’t absolutely earth shattering to Hawk. Pope’s eyes stared into her soul as he reached his hand out to take hers. Hawk let him pull her hand up to his lips, both of them yearning to feel any part of each other that they could before bridging that gap. He gently pulled her closer, coaxing her in just close enough to lean down to press his forehead to hers.

Pope let his confession settle for a moment before continuing, his voice lowering even further as he spoke. It was intimate in a way Hawk had never heard Pope speak before. “My time locked up -I don’t need to tell you how bad it was.” The feeling of his lips moving against her temple was soothing, and the more he spoke, the more she craved him at a molecular level. 

“The day you showed up, I felt like I could breathe again, you know? You’re all I thought about for three years, Hawk. This,” he held up their conjoined hands, “is all I thought about -what I imagined you felt like, the way you smelled, your warmth. Everything. And every time I closed my eyes, it was you. Every call and every visit kept me going and made me feel like I was dying a slow agonizing death all at the same time because I was stuck there…” He trailed off, letting the impact of his words hit her. His hands, both of them this time, returned to her jaw. 

“I’m sorry for pulling J into this.” He nodded with his words, “I did it for selfish reasons, plain and simple. My head wasn’t screwed on right.” He swallowed thickly, “I was just released, I finally got to be around you without any kind of barrier and that was overwhelming. Julia was dead, and then here comes this kid -her kid, who knew every single thing about you. He lived in your house. He spent time with you. He existed alongside you for years. He loved you and you loved him back so fiercely in a way I didn’t think anyone could love their kid. He’s not even blood and you’ve done everything to give him the best life he could have because you loved Julia.” There was something underlying there, and Hawk knew exactly what it was. Pope resented Baz for how Smurf treated Baz as opposed to himself -her actual son. This didn’t excuse what Pope did, but it was starting to make a little bit of sense to Hawk. 

“Smurf gave him my room like I was never coming back -they sold my house. J had you, he had Smurf, he had my things. And it was like I was obsolete and replaced with something new and untainted. I was territorial, unadjusted, and backed into a corner, but he was still a kid who didn’t ask for any of this. None of us did.” Finally, Hawk wrapped her arms timidly around Pope’s waist. He allowed her head to drop to his chest and let his eyes close after finally truly feeling her against him. 

“We can’t do this, Pope.” Hawk mumbled against his shirt. “Not if this is how this relationship is going to function. I can’t live like this -I won’t.” 

“It won’t be.” He promised. “I can’t lose this, Hawk.” Pope’s hands ran up and down between her shoulders as he held her. Pope was very obviously uncomfortable with the conversation, but he was willing to be vulnerable with her -for her. “There is no one else and there never will be after you.” Hawk pulled back just enough to create a little bit of space between them without actually letting go.

“I’m not ending this, Pope, but this” Hawk pointed between them, “is a partnership, and we are supposed to act as a unit. I’m too old to be doing this. I’m not asking for the world, just you. Not Smurf, not the bullshit. Just you.” 

“Okay.” Hawk’s palm held Pope’s cheek so his attention stayed on her as she spoke. 

“Then all of that ends now. The lies and the scheming -all of it. Do your jobs, but you don’t bring any of that shit home. If you need to talk about it, that’s one thing, but anything physical stays out.” He nodded. “We do this our way. If something is bothering you, if something happens, you need to talk to me about it. You don’t disappear and then reappear when you’re ready because I won’t be here waiting again. The same goes for me. We talk and work things out, but we always stay honest with each other.” Hawk thought for a moment. “And we don’t go to bed angry. I’ve had too many of those nights as of recent and I’m done with it. Those are my stipulations for this.” Pope nodded again. “I mean it, Pope. No more lies. I need to hear you say it.” 

“We talk things out. Stay honest. Never go to bed angry.” His eyes were earnest and Hawk genuinely believed him as he said it, but that little bit of doubt that stuck around -like a gnat flying in her face- kept itself nice and cozy in the darkest recesses of her mind.  

“Okay,” Hawk whispered, closing the distance between them for the first time in ten days. 

It’s fixed. Can we talk?

That’s the text Hawk receives from J while she’s working at the shop a few days later. She stared down at her phone for a moment, typing and then deleting what she wrote, then typing it out again. 

When I’m ready. Was Hawk’s response. She wasn’t mad at J -not anymore, but the hurt still lingered and she needed time to work through everything that had come to light between him and Pope. She’d invite him over for dinner soon and they’d hash out what they needed to so they could move forward. Hawk meant every word she said to Pope about J -she’d always be there for him. In no way was she okay with what he was doing, nor did she know just how deep he was into it, but they would make it out of this. 

“Still no word on Cath?” Hawk asked as she got comfortable in the bed. Two months had passed since Pope essentially vowed his heart and soul to Hawk. Things had moved slowly between them, both reacclimating with the other. Pope tiptoed around Hawk, needing to be reassured that he was fine and that his presence was wanted.

“No,” Pope answered as walked out of the bathroom fresh from a shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. Hawk wiggled her eyebrows at him and checked him out very obviously, causing a furious blush to travel from his chest, up to his neck, then flushing his cheeks. Pope rolled his eyes knowing that was the reaction Hawk was going for, but she still saw the tilt of the corner of his mouth nonetheless. 

Pope did not inherently seek attention. He avoided it at all cost, but he did secretly love it when Hawk threw it at him in the intimate confines of the house. Just to be a tease, he dropped the towel coyly as he stepped into the closet, giving her a show of his perfectly sculpted ass and muscular back.

“Watch it or I’m liable to start howling at the moon.” Hawk called out to him as she flipped the comforter over her legs. She heard Pope laugh, ever so lightly, from inside the closet as he fumbled around for a pair of pajama pants. He was typically a nude sleeper, but when Lena was in the house he made sure he was appropriately clothed at all times. Both of them did after Lena tried to climb into their bed after she had a nightmare.  

It had been over two months since Catherine left, or went missing. Hawk leaned on missing considering the fact Pope said Lena was left alone in the house the night that Cath disappeared, but he also mentioned that she stole cash from Smurf -ten grand. That wasn’t chump change, but it also wasn’t enough to just disappear without a trace. The thought of disappearing was one of the scariest things Hawk could think of. 

Lena was the light of Cath’s life. She lived for her daughter  and even Hawk knew she would’ve never left without Lena. Something didn’t add up with any of it, and Hawk spent more time than she’d like to admit dwelling on it. On the other side of things, Baz wasn’t equipped to be an actual father to a child (ironically). Cath did all the nurturing -school drop offs, doctors appointments, feeding, and all around caring for Lena with minimal help from Baz, so that left the young girl in the hands of Smurf when this whole catastrophe started.  

The interesting turn of events for Hawk was when Pope casually asked her one morning over breakfast if it was alright to bring Lena over occasionally. “Just to get her out of Smurf’s.” He said, like he needed to convince Hawk. He still considered himself a guest in the house they both essentially shared, and he wasn’t the type of person to assume anything under someone else’s roof. Pope had taken to his niece like a house on fire and it was genuinely endearing to see him interact with Lena. They were kindred spirits of a sort, an unlikely pair, but they connected with each other when the remainder of the family neglected them. 

Of course, Hawk was perfectly fine with Lena coming over and so “occasionally” turned into “most of the time”. Taking care of Lena brought a spark to Pope that Hawk didn’t know he had and it was refreshing to see someone who lived such a tortured existence let go.

Hawk’s heart hurt for Lena. The first couple of weeks without her mother were trying on everyone at Smurf’s, according to Pope. Hawk wasn’t around the house during that time for obvious reasons, but Pope made sure to tell her what was going on between the family. 

Lena had a lot of questions, as a young child who was attached at the hip to her mother would, and she didn’t get many -if any- answers back. Baz was short with her, Pope said when he brought up the idea of Lena initially coming over. Baz’s annoyance and short temper at having to actually parent was actually baffling to Hawk. Lena was well mannered, quiet, and liked to express herself in ways that mostly involved some kind of coloring utensil and a coloring book. She was a dream kid if Hawk ever saw one, considering who her father was as a child. Smurf, on the other end of the spectrum, let the kid run amok eating whatever she wanted, staying up as late as she wanted, without a single rule in the house. Not that Lena was bad by any means, but structure, even a little bit, was needed for any kid as they grew up. Hawk learned that very early on with J. 

After a couple weeks of Pope bringing Lena around, she became attached to Hawk. Hawk was maternal in a way her grandmother wasn’t and she latched onto any kind of comfort she could -and that happened to be Hawk. Lena didn’t smile often anymore, reserving herself after being told to stay quiet by her father time and time again, but with Pope and Hawk, she was as happy as she could be in the absence of her mother. Pope also told her about how Baz would yell at the little girl and how Lena would act out in ways that weren’t destructive, but just annoying enough to get a reaction out of her father. She needed attention, nurturing, and love - things that children were owed, and Lena wasn’t getting any of that from Baz. Hawk almost blew a gasket when Pope mentioned Lucy’s presence in all of this. She told herself that if she ever saw Baz in the street, she’d hit him with her car first and ask questions later.

In her own way, Hawk also became attached to Lena. It was a familiar feeling she remembered having when J was little. J and Lena were similar when J was her age. Both were kids with easy temperaments who just wanted to matter to the people who brought them into the world, and both had been let down spectacularly. 

Lena was kind, smart, polite and as cute as a button. She had an adventurous streak to her and she also had a very peculiar sense of humor when she wanted to come out of her shell. Pope, out of everyone, seemed to be one of the only people to be able to get her comfortable enough to do that. 

The spare bedroom that Pope had occupied when he first moved in was turned into a bedroom for Lena so she could have her own space. Sage walls made way for a pastel lavender that Lena picked out herself one weekend when Hawk and Pope took her shopping for some things to call her own, and the queen sized bed was swapped for a twin canopy bed that Pope was all too happy to put together the same afternoon they bought it. Pope paid for it, all of it, even when Hawk argued to just split. He insisted that Lena was his responsibility and that letting her stay in the house was more than he could’ve ever asked of Hawk. 

Childrens clothes, shoes, toys, and books slowly started to fill up the pastel room. Dress up costumes had their own rack that Pope mounted to the wall. Then came a little desk so Lena could color and draw in the comfort of her own space. Hawk’s mind imagined what it would’ve been like to have Pope here while she was raising J and she wondered if he could’ve ever loved J as he very openly loved Lena. How different things could’ve been for all three of them.  

Before Hawk knew it, she couldn’t imagine Lena and Pope not occupying the house with her. Pope, in turn, had moved into Hawk’s bedroom -now their bedroom. Lena spent nights over frequently, more frequently than Smurf would’ve liked. At one point, about a month after Hawk and Pope made up, the hatchet between Smurf and Hawk was finally buried. Hawk still kept Smurf at arm's length, but Smurf was all too happy to have her back in the circle.

Pope padded back into the bedroom after finally finding his chosen pair of pajamas for the night. They were blue with little birds on them and they hung dangerously low on his hips -low enough to show off the v-cut of his lower abdomen that disappeared beneath the waistband. It was distracting, and as Pope got more and more comfortable in his own skin around Hawk, the saucier he’d get around her. This was one of the things he knew drove her crazy.

“My eyes are up here.” Hawk barked out a laugh of surprise at Pope’s deadpanned joke. 

“Your eyes may be up there, but mine are down there.” She motioned with her eyes to where she was looking before, then rolled them back up to meet his. Pope crawled up the length of the bed until he reached her. His hand immediately attached itself to her waist as Hawk pulled him up to meet her kiss and toyed with the waistband of his pajamas with a single finger, letting it slide just under the hem to get his blood pumping. 

“Not while Lena’s here,” Pope mumbled against her lips, knowing she was teasing him. 

“I know, but who’s to say we can’t make out like a couple of horny teenagers?” Hawk challenged with a grin that told Pope she was up to absolutely no good. She wiggled her eyebrows once more for good measure and that was it for him. “Make up for lost time.”

“Can’t say no to that.” His mouth captured hers once more, both of them pawing at each other.

please comment & reblog :)

and just like that, we've transitioned to season two. there's plenty more to come for hawk and pope.

[pascal-rascal424]

The Long Shift 

Previous | Next [Series Masterlist]

Pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!SeniorResident!Reader Summary: Dr. Robby and Y/N attempt to return to normalcy, but neither of them can stop thinking about each other. They try to keep their distance, but stolen moments betray their restraint. Word Count: 1.5 K Content Warning: Medical procedures, will most likely be medically inaccurate at times, unresolved tension.

The days after felt like an aftermath.

She’d slipped out of his apartment before dawn, her clothes quietly tugged on in the living room while he lay half-awake in bed, painfully aware of the absence beside him. The air still smelled like her, like the soft press of skin and sweat and sex and shampoo, and when he exhaled, it clung to his lungs like smoke.

She left behind a note, curled in his coat pocket, a single word: Sorry, early shift <3

Two days later, you were all business.

No one would have guessed that he'd had his hands between your legs two days ago, whispering things into your mouth that made you gasp and claw at his shoulders like he was the only thing tethering you to the world.

But he knew.

He watched you from across the trauma bay, tracking the path of your lips as you spoke to a family. Noticed how your hands trembled slightly when you passed him a chart. You didn't flinch when your brushed shoulders in the hallway, but you did go quiet, eyes downcast, breath a little too shallow.

You were trying so damn hard to be good.

But he could smell the memory of you on his skin.

The first stolen kiss happened in the supply closet. He hadn’t meant to follow you in. You hadn't meant to linger when you saw him behind you. But the moment the door clicked shut and the lights flickered dim overhead, you turned, and he stepped forward, just once, deliberately, and that was it.

You exhaled his name like a secret. "Michael" soft and unguarded.

He cupped the back of your neck and kissed you like he was starving. Like he was claiming something he never should’ve touched.

Your fingers curled into his chest like you needed something to hold onto, and when he pulled back, just enough to see the dazed, needy look in your eyes, he leaned in again, mouth to your ear, and murmured, “You think I don’t remember the sounds you make at night? You think I haven’t thought about them every hour since?”

You made a sound then, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, and he nearly lost it again. But instead, he let you go. Walked away with his hands clenched at his sides and your taste still on his tongue.

The second kiss was worse.

Because it wasn’t planned.

Because it happened in the stairwell behind the ICU where no one went unless they were falling apart or hiding something.

You had followed him, god, you shouldn’t have, but you did. Quiet footsteps. Your voice saying, “Hey, can we talk?”

He turned to you, already raw. Already ruined.

“Okay,” he said. And then kissed you.

Harder this time. Desperate. His hands braced against the wall behind your head, caging you in, while you reached for his collar and dragged him closer like you wanted to disappear into him. When he pulled away, you were flushed and panting, lips kissed raw. Your fingers still clutched the fabric of his shirt like you weren’t ready to let go.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” you whispered. 

Good.

“Welcome to the club,” he muttered, then ran a thumb across your bottom lip before backing away like a man on fire.

He thought about you all the time now.

Your laugh when you let your guard down.

The curve of your thighs in his hands. The way your voice broke when you begged for more, quiet, breathless, “please” like you were still too shy to say what you really wanted.

He didn’t want to just have you.

He wanted to ruin you.

Take that stoic, soft-spoken exterior and fuck it out of you until you cried for him. Until you stopped being careful and just was. Just his. And yet, he still called you Dr. Sheridan in front of the interns.

Still said, “Good work today,” instead of come home with me.

Still walked away when your eyes lingered a little too long.

But it was fraying at the edges now, all of it. And when you smiled at him over an iced coffee cup in the break room, cheeks flushed from a run to trauma, he watched the way your lips wrapped around the straw and thought.

You’re going to be the death of me.

Night shifts had always been where he could breathe again. Until you started haunting them. Now every slow hour past midnight just made him hungrier.

It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed how you moved in a dark hallway, how your scrubs clung too well to the shape of your hips, how you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth when reading charts like you were doing it just for him. But lately, he couldn't stop watching you. Couldn’t stop wanting you.

You had this infuriating habit of standing too close. Smelling like warm skin and hand lotion. Soft eyes. Softer voice. A steel core beneath all of it that only showed when you were pressed hard enough.

He lived to press you.

And now, standing across from you in the dim hallway outside of the on-call room, he could feel your tension mirrored in him, tight, coiled, waiting for something neither of them could hold back.

You turned when you sensed him behind you, still sipping your coffee like it wasn’t a loaded gun between them.

“You avoiding me, Sheri?” His voice came out low, almost rough. Unshaven and feral around the edges.

Your gaze didn’t waver. “I’m not trying to.”

“But you are.”

There was something in your expression then, guilt, want, defiance. You wanted him to chase it down.

So he did.

He had you against the door before he even realized his hands had moved. Your breath hitched in surprise, but you didn’t pull away. And when his mouth found yours, finally, finally, you gasped like you’d been waiting to breathe again.

It was a kiss that was simmering for the past four hours, and it landed with the weight of everything unsaid. His hands were in your hair, tugging slightly at your top to expose your throat, his mouth dragging down the soft column until you whimpered.

He felt you arch into him, seeking, trembling, and God, he wanted to fuck you then and there.

He backed you into the bed, lowered you onto it with a grip too firm to be tender. You let him, your eyes wide and dark, pupils blown with need. And still, you reached for him like he wasn’t the one unraveling you, like you were going to be the one to break him.

Your scrubs came undone with a rough tug. His hands slid under the thin cotton of your top, palms roaming over your waist, ribs, the soft undercurve of your breast. When he rolled your nipple between his fingers and bit gently at your collarbone, you made a sound that snapped something in him in two.

A low, breathless moan that was only for him.

He groaned into your skin. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

“Yes, I do,” you whispered.

You didn’t make it to undressing fully. It was clumsy and fevered clothes half-shucked, your bare legs wrapped around his waist, his belt undone just enough. But it didn’t matter. He needed to be inside you more than he needed air.

And when it happened, when he finally slid into you with a desperate groan and you gasped his name into his neck, he swore he saw stars behind his eyes.

You were warm, tight, trembling beneath him. His hand cradled the back of your head, his other braced beside you, trying not to lose control. But it was no use. Your nails raked down his back, and he snapped his hips forward with a grunt, drawing another beautiful, breathy moan from your mouth.

He whispered her name like a curse. “Sher, fuck, sweetheart”

“Don’t stop,” you begged. “Please don’t stop.”

Like hell he would.

He moved rough and deep, dragging pleasure from you like it belonged to him. His mouth never left you, your jaw, your throat, your lips, like he couldn’t get enough, like tasting you meant keeping some piece of his sanity intact.

But he was losing it anyway.

You whimpered again when he bit down softly on your shoulder. A sharp growl escaped him, and he buried his face into your neck, thrusting into your core harder, rougher, deeper.

“I think about this every night,” he rasped. “I dream about the sounds you make. How I’d kill just to hear them again.”

“Michael” You moaned so sweetly, so shamelessly, and his rhythm stuttered.

He was gone.

You shattered together in the quiet dark, sweat-slick, shaking, breathless. He held you in place while he spilled inside you. And afterward, he held you close, your hair damp against his chest, your fingers tangled with his. He kissed your temple. Your cheek. Your lips, softer now, like a secret.

Neither of them spoke the words that hung in the air between their hearts.

But he knew them.

He was hers. He’d always been.

And he didn’t know how the hell to go back.

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

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[pascal-rascal424]

Sweetpea

Former BAU F!Reader x Jack Abbot Sequel!

Sum: Working with your now bf Jack Abbot is a dream, until your former teammate Spencer ends up in your ER.

CW: spencer gets shot twice but hes okay! F!Reader, age-gap relationship and power dynamics tech bc you work with and are dating Dr.Abbot. Morgan and the team calls you sweetpea. Huge medical innaccuries! Smutty activities and flashing mentioned but not explicit. MDNI not well proofread. I need to stop writing GSW fics 🤧

Story that inspired this: link

Tag list: @a-lil-bit-nuts

Waking up to Jacks arms around your waist, your head on his hard chest and legs intertwined was officially your favorite thing.

Dr. Jack Abbot was everything you dreamed of in a partner. He was caring, funny, sarcastic, and brilliant as hell. You loved your old man and his ways.

You especially loved how open and honest both of you could be about your past in the BAU and his as an army medic now. It took you time but he understands you in ways you didn’t think was possible.

Nuzzling your head closer, a smile graces your lips as he places a kiss on your head. The both of you had an unusual day shift today, before finally being able to enjoy some off time.

“Come on baby we gotta get up” Jacks rough morning voice reaches your ears, his hands running up and down your body.

You couldn’t help but pout at the thought, squeezing him tighter, getting a little laugh from him. To the Pitt you go.

——

Despite all the bribes and begging, you remained pretty tight lipped about your past as a BAU member. Most people assumed you were a tax agent that brought down someone big, much to your amusement. The only person who truly knew anything, was Jack.

You can’t help but peak over at him talking with Robby, eyes trailing over his body. His sexy peppered hair, magnetic eyes, strong biceps, and his tongue, oh god his tongue, which you now knew quite biblically.

You feel yourself heat up thinking about last night before shaking the thoughts away. The last you needed with to pull him in the supply closet and be almost caught by one of the med students again.

You hear Dana call out that a GSW, multiple wounds, was on route. Sitting up straight, you watch Abbot and Robby gather Langdon, Jakarta and Collins for the case. You catch Abbots eye and he shakes his head at you, since you had dealt with the last major case.

Heading back into charting, minutes later you hear a deep and familiar voice call out a very specific name for you —

“Sweetpea”

Your head shoots up to see one Derek Morgan, his handsome face and eyebrows crinkled together as you rush to him.

You hug him something fierce before looking him over, patting him down like a worried mother duck.

“What happened? What’s going on?, are you okay? Where is everyone?” You rush out, fear creeping in quickly.

“Hey hey it’s okay, it’s… it’s Spencer. GSW in the stomach and arm”

It was like cold water was dumped on you, as you realize it was the one Dana called out for earlier. You rush to her after asking Derek to wait there for you.

“What room is the GSW in?” You all but demand frantically but she stops you.

“Shushh no, it’s okay. You know them?” She nods towards Derek, who’s pacing nervously and catching the eyes of nurses in the area. You vaguely pick up “maybe an exboyfriend? Him or the other guy?,” being said in the background before focusing.

“Yes. Please Dana it’s my family,” you beg quietly but she shakes her head.

“You know the rules. Listen, take your friend to the staff lounge. Both Robby and Abbot are in there. You know it’s going to be okay. Trust them” she gently leads you to the lounge while signaling Derek to the room.

“Ah I’m sorry Dana. This is SSA Derek Morgan, Derek this is our amazing charge nurse Dana Evans. She’s basically our JJ and Emily combined” you smile introducing them.

They shake hands, and you can’t help but notice the little blush on Dana’s face giggling. She gives you a look before telling you you’re good to wait. You thank her before hugging Derek again.

“It’s going to be fine, Spencer’s in there with Abbot and Robby. They’re the best you can ask for” you reassure Derek.

“But what happened? Where’s the rest of our team?” You ask as you both sit, letting Derek hold your hand for comfort.

“Unsub we started tracking this morning got the best of us from the back. Thankfully, Hotch was able to tackle him down before any more damage. They’re dealing with him now, should be here any minute… we miss you out there Sweetpea” Derek looks at you with his beautiful puppy eyes and you can’t help but laugh.

“It’s not my fight anymore, you know that. But I’m always here for advice.” You share a smile and then notice a few pairs of eyes watching you through the staff lounge door window. Oh boy, you couldn’t help but think, already knowing you’d be bombarded with questions again.

“Should we call the team?,” you continue, needing to distract yourself and Derek. He smiles, knowing what you’re doing, before reaching for his phone.

“Baby girl, it’s me and Y/N. We’re at her hospital, Spencer’s in surgery now.”

“Oh god, oh god. Hi my love, I miss you and I wish this under better, you know. Everyone’s on the way but how is he? Please" Penelope’s frantic voice comes through the speaker, making your eyes water.

Damn you missed them. "Hey Pen. It’s okay, Abbots working on him now, I know he’ll be okay" You wipe a tear from your eye as you promise both of them you’ll go check.

"I’m gonna go check on Spencer okay? I’ll be right back,” you whispers to Derek, squeezing his hand one more time before leaving.

——

"Dana anything? please?,” you ask her as she stares at the patient board. She looks at you with worried eyes but your conversation in interrupted by a large hand on your shoulder. Turning around you can’t help want to cry. It’s them. Your team. Your first family.

Hotch gives you a firm hug first, placing a kiss on top of your head before passing you go to hug JJ, Emily, and Rossi.

“Good to see you kid" Rossi smiles as he places a kiss on your cheek. "How is he?"JJ asks, as Dana answers for you.

“They should be out any minute.” She smiles, as you all look relieved.

“SSAAgent hotcher, I apologize for going over the patient family limit,” he shakes Danas hand she introduces herself.

“S’alright, I’m sure we can make an exception for our fav girl here" tilting her head towards you.

—

“For the GSW, I’m assuming" You turn around to see Robby and Abbot. They both look tired, but happy enough, so you know it went well.

“Correct, SSA Agent hotcher, this is SSAs’ David Rossi, Jennifer jareau, Emily Prentis, and I believe Derek Morgan is here as well. How is spencer?" Hotcher introduces himself again, shaking both of their hands.

"I’ll go get him" Dana offers before Robby answers.

“He’s good, wounds were easy enough as far as bullets go, and we don’t think you’ll have to worry about damage. Just a lot of rest. I can take them for you Dr.L/N" Robby looks at you, his brown eyes asking if your okay.

You smile at him, reassuring him. “Yes please, if that alright. I owe you one Robby”

"Dont worry kid. Alright motley crew, room 3 follow me"

After they’ve walked away, you can’t help but hug Jack. "I’m sorry I.." He shushes, you placing a kiss on top of you head. "I got you, it’s alright. Don’t be sorry" as you sink into him.

"Sweetpea?"

You release Jack to see Derek and Dana. "Ready to see spence?,” you ask smiling, as he gestures you to lead the way. The tension from his shoulders leaving at the news.

——

The three of you enter the already crowded room as Spencer looks up from his chat with Robby and Hotch.

“Y/n!!,” his smile is contagious as you go to hug him gently.

“Hey spence" A small tear slips from you as you hold eachother.

"I’m okay,” he whispers. "Your boyfriend fixed me quite well,” he teases you as you turn red.

“Spencer!!!" You can’t help but hit him lightly on the good shoulder, getting wet laughs from everyone as you move to stand next to Jack, who holds your hand.

“Sweetpea and beanstalk, at it again. Who had 10 seconds" Morgan asks the room.

“That would be me thank you very much" Emily smugly says as everyone passes her $20s.

“Seriously!,” both you and Spencer shout out, making Emily sigh as she passes the money to an equally smug Hotch.

“Sweetpea…and beanstalk?" Jack can’t help but teasingly ask as he watches you interact with your team.

“Our loving names for the super twins over here, curtesy of Morgan. You’d think they were twins with the way they fight" Emily answers.

“Which, I still highly contest to!" Spencer grumbles out,.

“You’re just jealous you’re not Sweetpea Spence,” JJ teases him, getting more laughs. "So is this the boyfriend we’ve heard so much about" she continues smiling at you and Jack.

You feel your face heat as you confirm and introduce both Abbot and Robby to them. You also can make out your lovely fellow doctors and nurses subtly peaking in, wondering what’s happening.

“Don’t think your cover of former tax agents gonna hold anymore" Jack mentions, making you laugh and the team snort. "It was nice while it lasted though"

“Tax agent? This the same girl who once apprehend a suspect by flashing the poor guy?,” Rossi chuckles out, making Abbot choke.

“No she didn’t" Jack asks, both him and Robby red in the face between laughs.

“Oh! There was also this one time she-"

Laughs and chatter filled the room, as stories of your misadventures were traded. You can’t help but feel extremely loved and lucky though, as Jack tucks you in by his side. "Let’s go get drinks after spencer is released yeah?”