#and hubs is watching it with me (it’s his first time)

[mareastrorum]

This is only half a thought so far, but maybe other people want to chime in.

I’m doing Watch Machina (currently at episode 15) and Nein Again (currently at episode 21) while I also keep up with current Critical Role content (Age of Umbra episode 4) and something that bothers me a little is Matt’s current method of narration.

In C1, Matt’s style is very informal with regard to the narration. There’s little added drama via his tone, pace, or choice of words. “Toothy maw” became a meme pretty quickly, but the point of every description was to efficiently set the scene so the players could start their RP and choose what to do. There wasn’t as much precision with his descriptions, and of course that is a talent that takes a long time to hone when you’re describing lots of different things over the course of several hours. However, the narration was far less formal and calculated than his NPC dialogue, so (in combination with voice acting) it was very easy to determine when Matt was in character or not. It wasn’t a bad thing; Matt’s very casual narration and formal dialogue leading up to the Chroma Conclave’s attack on Emon was excellent because it was so sudden, leading the players and the audience to experience the exact same shock the NPCs would have. It’s not a bad way to narrate. If anything, it made the heartfelt moments so poignant, especially at the end of the campaign. That description of snow drops would not have been nearly as impactful if Matt had narrated that way all the time.

In C2, Matt started getting more descriptive and slowed down his narration to match. As Aabria would put it, he “paints a word picture” and includes more environmental storytelling for the setting itself, not just things for the characters to expressly interact with. I think this is part of what led to the Nein interacting with the set dressing more: Matt mentioned it, so it must be important! This led to some fun hijinks as time went on, and it gave Wildemount a different feeling than Tal’dorei. I couldn’t tell you that Emon had a particular vibe to it other than it being a big city, but howdy do we know that Berleben is full of nosy, bored people in a smelly swamp, and we sure know that Zadash is a bustling city with stark class segregation while Nicodranas is a beautiful trade hub with a mixture of different cultures. I think part of that may have come from working on the source books (they have similar language for the plot hooks and location entries). However, that method of narration was mostly limited to first descriptions of a new place or events (“cutscenes” like the attack in Zadash). Within a scene, Matt was still fairly casual in his discussions with the players.

But currently in Age of Umbra, and with a good chunk of C3, Matt’s narration is far more deliberate. There is a consistently slower pace compared to earlier campaigns, usually only speeding up in combat. Part of that may be for production purposes (easier for transcriptions and closed captioning), but it also impacts the pacing of the game itself. There’s also that presence of a new character: the narrator himself has a voice, and that is now part of the story. It’s extremely noticeable when the cast gets Matt to “break character” as the narrator to only be a DM. It requires a baseline level of formality for that to happen, and Matt committed to it in nearly every scene, regardless of the context of the scene. While that doesn’t feel all that strange for Age of Umbra (it fits well with the soulsborne style of game), it does make me realize that it’s part of why C3 felt incongruous. Like, sorry about the dead horse, but I was expecting C3 to be pulpy, which very much benefits from the narration style of C1 rather than the formal narration style Matt prefers currently. Punchy, informal narration sets a player expectation of “you’re here to get something done and I’ll tell you if it works,” while the current style instead lends itself to “you’re part of my story and this is the tone.” The former is great for fast-paced roleplay and the latter is suited to unhurried storytelling—which wouldn’t feel as mismatched if C3 hadn’t been a story where the PCs needed to prevent a second calamity within the course of a few weeks.

I wouldn’t go so far as to say that this was a mistake. Matt clearly enjoys how he narrates currently, and every DM is entitled to their preference. However, I think there’s a lesson in here that varying the narration style to match the purpose of the scene and story would benefit the players and the audience.

To be fair here, Matt is not the only DM who doesn’t mix it up very often. Brennan Lee Mulligan (Dimension 20) is far closer to the C1 style of fast, informal narration with very limited, specific instances where he would slow down for drama; there is no “narrator” character in his players’ story. D20 has a far more casual tone to its seasons than CR does in its campaigns. Luis Carazo (Tales Unrolled) narrates similarly to Matt, with a focus on instilling an emotional reaction for the players to deal with, and the players collaboratively join Luis as the narrator for their own characters; it’s a back and forth where the DM and players contribute to that additional presence. Tales Unrolled is on the opposite end of the spectrum from D20, with a clear feeling that it is a storytelling experience.

Again, choosing one narration style over another isn’t necessarily a flaw. However, I think varied narration is a tool that most DMs underutilize. If used carefully, adjusting narration styles within sessions on the fly could enhance the experience of an Actual Play campaign for everyone involved. It could be used as a signal to the players for what type of scene this will be or when a scene is shifting. It could also signal to performers in a show for pacing within an episode (hijinks are over, time for some drama; time to cool down from the tension).

But, as always, it’s easier to point stuff out like this than it is to do it in practice.

[missinashkin]

Every time I feel my Star Wars hyperfixation begin to dissipate something brings it back to life with a vengeance

[harrysfolklore]

lando norris being down bad for his girlfriend: a compilation

summary: lando norris can’t help but talk about his girlfriend whenever he cans, fans make compilation videos about it

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

Lando Norris could be described as someone who's not scared of saying whatever crossed his mind.

And that's why he never, ever, missed the opportunity to talk about his girlfriend whenever he had the chance.

He mentioned her during interviews, press conferences, social media post and even fan interactions. To the point where fans started making compilation videos with all the moments he publicly obsessed over his girlfriend.

The most popular one gathered millions of views on YouTube, showing multiple occasions Lando couldn't help but be down bad for her.

The video started with a clip from Q&A with fans, someone asked him about his favorite way to relax after a race. Without missing a beat, Lando replied, "Cuddling up with my girlfriend, of course. Nothing beats that."

"You're really whipped man, It's embarrassing," Oscar, his teammate, teased beside him, making the audience laugh.

"It's not, really." Lando shrugged proudly.

The next clip was taken from McLaren's Tiktok account, their content creator tried to do the "Can you watch my ___ for a second" prank on Lando.

"Oh my girlfriend already did this prank to me," Lando said, laughing at the camera, "Baby, If you're watching this, I miss you. Your pranks are way better than McLaren's"

The video moved to show Lando during a post-qualifying interview, his suit hanging by his waist and his fireproofs showing, when asked about his strategy for the race, he cheekily replied, "Well, first I'm going to call my girlfriend for some good luck wishes. Then, I'll focus on getting to the front."

"Zak Brown should hire your girlfriend as your strategist then," the interviewer joked.

"That would be great but I don't think we would be getting any job done. You know what they say about mixing business with pleasure."

The next clip showed Lando with his friend and fellow driver Max Fewtrell, playing a trivia game about how well did they knew each other. Max had to answer what was Lando's worst habit.

"I'm going to say leaving dirty plates around the house," he said, showing his board, "You do mate, admit it."

"My girlfriend would agree on that," he admitted, "She's always complaining about it."

"I don't know how she's still living with you."

"Because she loves me, and I would die if she leaves me."

On the same note, a video of Oscar teasing Lando followed right after.

"Who's most likely to snore?" Lando read the question, and Oscar quickly put ut the cutout with Lando's face, "How are you so sure? You didn't even hesitate."

"Mate, I've heard you, plus your girlfriend literally complained about not being able to sleep properly last night because you kept snoring."

"I did keep her up last night, but it wasn't just because of the snoring," Lando said, a cheeky grin on his face.

"Put the not safe for work disclaimer at the beginning of this video please."

The next segment was from Lando's own Youtube channel, he was doing a little vlog in Miami before the race weekend.

"Hi everyone," he said, filming himself in the mirror with his camera, "Today I'm back with another LandoLog, I'm going to be filming some behind the scenes of this Miami weekend, so without further ado, let's go," he moved the camera around, focusing on his girlfriend who was putting some mascara on her eyelashes, "Here's my beautiful girl, who takes ages to get ready. Say hi baby."

"Hi everyone," his girlfriend waved, laughing, "I'm not taking ages, I'm just making sure I look good."

"You always look good for me," Lando said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before turning the camera back to himself, "See, I told you she's the best."

The next clip showed Lando and Oscar together once again, this time they were giving a tour around the McLaren hub.

"This is my driver's room," Lando said as he opened the door, "It's cleaner than Oscar's, clearly, and looks like I have a bed."

Lando moved to put together the small bed that was behind the door, "This is an upgrade from last year, we didn't have this. I'll be definitely giving it some good use, to nap or with my girlfriend."

"Can we have a video where you're not a horndog please?" Oscar said, putting his hands on his hips.

"You're the horndog, I never said what we were going to use it for, we're just going to cuddle."

The video moved to show one of Lando's post race interviews after winning the Miami GP, he had been asked ho would be the most excited person about this win besides him.

"My girlfriend, definitely. I couldn't have done it without her," Lando said, his voice filled with emotion, "She's been my biggest supporter, my inspiration, and my motivation. This win is as much hers as it is mine."

The video then cut to a scene from Lando's gaming stream with Max Verstappen. The two drivers were deep into a game of Call of Duty, their banter and laughter filling the screen. Lando was focused, his eyes glued to the monitor as he coordinated with Max.

Just then, Lando's phone buzzed on the table beside him. He glanced at the screen and his expression softened, the comment section noticing, "Hey, mate, I need to go. My girl needs me for something," he said, setting down his controller.

"Lando! Are you serious right now?" Max said, his eyes still glued to the screen.

"I am, see ya," he turned to the camera, smiling not so apologetically "Sorry, guys, duty calls. See you next time."

The last scene was a snippet from an interview, Lando had been asked what he saw in his future.

He paused, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Honestly? I see a lot of racing, hopefully some championships," he laughed, "but most importantly, I see her. I can't imagine my life without her."

The screen faded to black, showing a text that read: Get you a man who is as down for you as Lando Norris is for his girlfriend.

[robolvrr]

f-r-e-a-k !‿⁠✷｡✧

lost light members react to human porn (and develop some preferences of their own.)

ft. skids! megatron! rodimus! swerve! ultra magnus!

nsfw under the cut.

rodimus prime - top-five ranked

when he first heard actual, genuine human content had reached aboard his ship, he had quickly formed a half-assed meeting to announce that he, of course, being captain and all should review with ultra magnus.. and perhaps rewind too, before dispersing it out to the crew.

of course when ultra magnus expressed his surprise at this new leaf turned, eager to scour through intergalactic protocol he simply let one word out the other audial and made some grave, grammatical errors to distract the mech and let the captain do his own decision making.

he spends a lot of time nitpicking. he doesn't like movies as much so he reserves those to swerve nor does he care too much about books.

a functioning computer however....

he's bored. and curious. two demons that never dwell well together in the same room.

clearing browser history? never heard of that!

good thing the previous owner has lots of bookmarks, because he finds it infinitely easier to sift through links there than carefully type.

"porn...hub? what's that? must be some kinda uh.. uhhh... uh."

cue the fan whirring. he's hunched over and slack jawed, staring at the frankly color-clashing archive and almost pushing himself away when the cursor hovers over a video - and the humans in it start moving.

clicked the first video with a bold "#1 ranked". he really shouldn't. he really, really should just toss this tempting contraband out the nearest garbage disposal.

"unhh! harder! haaarder! ♡"

he's focused hard on the spike - cock, he learns, or dick, humans got lots of funny terms - ruts rough into you, forcing you to melt forward and squeak through sheets.

the loud, exaggerated moans make him pitifully decide otherwise. imagine him, all weak in the knees, sliding down to sit as he watches transfixed.

flesh on flesh hitting sounds a lot better when it's this and not fighting.

sooner or later, he's huffing into his servo, jacking off his spike and squeezing the tip so rough he's almost jealous seeing you bouncing away. you'd be so, so fragging soft. he can imagine squeezing your limbs and twisting you around to his liking.

overloads fast. he's almost ashamed enough to be embarrassed.

now? can't reach his climaxes unless there's some raunchy, wet-coated squeals in his memory banks. doesn't bother searching up anything because he doesn't have the patience to cultivate. you just happen to be at the top so he gladly sticks watching your holes get sticky any cycle.

skids - playboy bunny

"oh for prime's sake, chromedome don't make me feel like i'm trading for somethin' illegal."

won a "mystery stash" from a late night gamble. of course, not all of rodimus's finds stayed quiet.

he isn't sure why it's such a big deal. the cardboard box which spills open easily under a digit's care isn't filled with weaponry or bombs.

it's almost funny, this giant picking up a magazine in a pinch, helm tilted and keeping it an arm's distance away like the pages might bite.

he looks at the front cover for a long, long time.

his processor isn't catching up. then he squints. gets reaaaaal close.

there's you! all dolled up, as the humans would say. except you're really not, because half of your squishy aft is out, and your servos are covering up your chest but aren't doing a good job.

neither is the bright, blue bow christened at your pelvic area, where he realizes with a jolt is lacking any modesty panels of any kind.

flips a page. oh, it's you again. curved over a lounge. cheekily spreading yourself with a... gathering of lace twisted around your frame.

another one. you got something round in your mouth. he looks carefully at your lips.

and then he's flipping through all of it, and digging into the box and oh, he's found a jackpot because it's all you.

now he understands why it's got the markered "collectors items" on the side. he doesn't question too much when he spits lubricant down onto his spike. dedicated some of that cotton candy gossamer all over your february edition of playboy in approval.

megatron - classic erotica

a true mech of literature. now, unlike many of the lost light, he's had his run in with humanity before. not that he particularly got or wanted to enjoy their culture back then.

though when he did find his way back onto a possible path of redemption, he did indulge once upon a time.

at his spark, he's a poet. a linguist. enjoyer of golden age, art and craftsmanship.

earthen literature has its.. moments. he reads novellas and lost to the history manuscripts, plays, all of which have almost all been uploaded to more convenient means as upkeep for the paper is a pain.

however, he has found one book. a funny looking book, with a funny looking cover.

he observes, rigidly, the scandalous embrace of what he assumed to be the characters, how clothing lacked in areas it shouldn't and skin was almost.. glistening. "seven nights of passion." a chuff left his dermas.

ah, to pit with it. why not?

megatron finds himself slowly involved with the chapters despite the comedy of its advertisement. the writer, you, no doubt under a penname, push development shockingly far.. for a human.

and the intimacy? interfacing? so descriptive. while he has not seen what he is reviewing, he can imagine it. images of sweaty bodies, grinding and yearning and crying.

cybertronians have no reason or function to. the thought of a human, pushed to the brink overloaded with stimulation is... stimulating.

it is a shame when it comes to an end but he might in his free-time peruse for more. leaves his plating warm and intake dry.

the authors note suggests that your inspiration drives from personal experience.

his ... array fizzles at that. fascinating.

swerve - r-rated movie night

"wowza. that's hh. haha. woah! they all do that.. ?"

first movie he flipped onto the projector was supposed to be an "action and feel-good film with hints of romance, angst and sci-fi elements."

not even halfway through, you, the imaginary captain of the imaginary "roman's ravager" have your uniform shimmied down to your ankles, mouth mashing against your supposed rival, who everyone has been heckling for the past forty-five minutes.

some of the mechs cheer, other grumble and argue to skip, others squirm and grimace. swerve watched you push the other down, head tilting back as the camera zooms to your face.

"it's just acting, ya' degenerates, stop acting like protoforms!"

it isn't until he feels a servo smack upside his helm that he starts fumbling for the remote. too much noise but now he's getting a comm from mags asking about what the rackets for so! fast forward he goes.

at 1x.

while the chaos starts to settle, he peeks between digits. catches glimpses of your open mouth. the goosebumps down your chest. how you shake at the insinuation that someone is between your legs, servicing.

slag. when's the last time he's even played with his valve?

movie night was a hit regardless of the commotion. he has to clean up after, which thankfully didn't result in any expelled energon or skid-marks.

that also means he's alone. alone, in his bar. all by himself, staring at the rest of the discs with your pictures on the front, credits humming in the background.

it'll be good for the economy. (all of it is pirated.)

maybe it's for the best. because now, he's realizing you really are a great actor, in lots of different genres, able to adapt and really grab his attention.

it's not as if his spark pulses seeing you in costumes, or using that soft voice you do in all your roles when you make a point.

not like he's riding his digits and crunching into a fist when you're running on the beach, sand dappled and leaving little to imagination.

ends up on his back, charged up and shaking. hurts to speak, to move or to dab up the puddle of transfluid, laughing deliriously when his panels are even too much effort to close.

ultra magnus - audio praise

"you're doing such a good job. you're perfect. you know that, right? yes you do, so good for me."

when he first heard you, he damn near crushes the auditory device and full-blown shudders in the confines of his hab. he's sputtering, optics wide and there's a million reasons he should report this to rodimus and question just what he's given him.

"to help ya uh... research? take the edge off pal."

half-contemplates storming back to the bridge himself if it weren't for your sugar-coated mumbles still coming through the unpaused recording.

you'd think he was dealing with a ticking blast with how he warily handles the device, gruffly spitting out curses that he'd otherwise never allow in crew vicinity.

"i want you to reward yourself. you earned it, honey. can you do that for me? here, listen."

to his horror - and crumbling interest - a slick cacophony of sound rattles in his helm. there's panting, a shift of material that he assumes is tangled around you and frag, he's able to think up you and a thousand faces.

what's worse? is he's hypnotized. you don't demand. you coo to him, just loud enough to let him know you'd be broken too. if he let himself let down that wall, just for the twenty minutes you sing in his audials, he'll know it's done with you just as weak.

"g—gooood job ahhhh!" that does it. ultra magnus groans, shutting off his optics entirely. his large servo feels up along his frame as you suggest.

"i wish you were here. hah.. mmn! could see me. see me fucking myself to you. let you kiss me. you deserve it, sweetie. deserve me on you."

magnus and the sobbed growl to his motors reminds him just how lonely he's felt. always monitoring. always stressed. hearing the spit collect at your throat as your commands grow hoarse makes you feel real.

would you... would you kiss him? would you let him pick you up, rest you flat on his servo and have his glossa lap up your want?

he towers over nearly all. having a partner so much smaller, tinier than even an minibot, shouldn't run up a charge but it does.

he overloads when he's sticking digits near the casing of his spark, ignoring the spurts of pre sizzling down his thighs.

"w-was that as fun.. for you as it was for me?"

dazedly falls onto his berth. this isn't leaving his dermas unless he's had a drink.

a/n : a little haha funny idea i had. there's just something so funny thinking of these giant old robots realizing just how much porn is out there.

[popcornpoppypop]

Blood is Blood

Summary: You're one of the best attendings in The Pitt, Robby and Abbot trained you up themselves. When you find yourself in a tough spot and need someone to drive you home from an abortion, it had to be Robby.

Warnings: Abortion, vomit, blood, bad boyfriens

A/N: I have not had an abortion, I have had friends who had them and taken care of them after. That is mostly the information I used for this and some stories on reddit, I wanted to rely on patient experience rather than medical procedure and policy for this one.

You had only been an attending for a total of six months, and in that time, you had to help lead the hospital through a mass shooting, the idiot who let off fireworks in the trauma bay, listeria outbreaks 1 through 3, and train the new interns and med students. It had been a lot.

You had leaned on your fellow attendings, trying to learn how to be a leader and the one everyone turned to for everything. Dr. Abbot helped teach you that some people need to be pushed even if they look like they might crumble. Dr. Robby taught you how to make sure everyone was looked after. They both showed you how to carry the weight of every patient and staff member on your shoulders. You figured they would get as tense and tired as theirs were one day.

Robby and you had struck up a friendship and mentorship. It sometimes veered into something else, something neither of you had the confidence to name. Nothing more than flirty jokes and glances across the trauma bay. Besides, you had a boyfriend. Or a sort of boyfriend. You fucked a guy.

“Hey, you look like shit.” Robby smirked as you walked up to the hub desk. Your face pale, shoulders hunched, clearly dehydrated.

“Yeah. Not a great morning.” You sighed.

“You need to go home?” He asked, suddenly concerned.

“Haha. That’s so funny. I’ll be fine. Write me a prescription for Zofran and I’ll be fine.” You groaned as you sat down to start working on your morning paperwork.

“If you need Zofran, you need to go home. Maybe you got that flu that was going around, can’t have you getting patients sick.” Robby shook his head.

“It’s not the flu. I’m fine. Can you just leave it? I’m not in the mood.” You bit back.  Robby’s eyebrows knitted together in concern. You were never angry, not really and never with him or the staff. Hell, a med student vomited on your shoes and you still fussed over making sure they were okay.

“Alright. Don’t push yourself too hard.” He pointed and walked away.

You were grateful he hadn’t pushed it any further. You really didn’t know how to deal with your situation and Robby fussing wouldn’t make it better.

You managed your way through most of the shift, having to stop and sit a couple of times. Something Robby was keenly aware of. You were about to head into another room when your phone rang. Robby watched you take it, something that was also very abnormal for you. You had a strict policy with yourself about phone usage.

“What!? No. That’s not going to be possible.” You snapped. Robby watched as you got frantic with whoever was on the phone.

“F-fine. I’ll figure something out I guess. Yeah, keep the appointment.” You hung up the phone and shoved it back in your pocket as you stomped off to the next room.

“Hey, Dana, what’s going on with her?” Robby leaned over the counter. Dana looked up at him, glasses perched on the end of her nose, then to you and back to him with a confused look.

“How the hell should I know? You two are besties, surely if she wanted anyone here to know, you’d be the first.” She shrugged.

“She’s off today.” Robby wrung his hands together.

“She’s doing fine. You’re just nosey.” Dana laughed. Robby waved her off as he watched you scurry from room to room.

You were grateful when you saw Dr. Shen walk in. You were ready for the day to be over, you were ready before you got out of bed that morning.

“John, I am so glad to see you.” You sighed as you walked up to him.

“It’s nice to be needed.” He smiled as he sipped his coffee. You rolled your eyes as you began to rattle off your cases to him.

“You’re lucky you get Y/N as your number two. Shen still hasn’t found his drive yet. Not sure what I’m going to have to do for that kid to get motivated.” Abbot shook his head.

“Has she seemed off to you lately?” Robby asked as he watched you and Dr. Shen talk.

“No. But we only work together once a week. Why? Something up? You think she’s breaking” Jack leaned in with a concerned look.

“I don’t know. Dana thinks I’m being nosey. I don’t know. I’ll keep an eye on it.” Robby shrugged as he hiked his backpack on his shoulder. He ran to catch up with you as you left.

“Hey, you sure you’re okay? You seemed upset today.” Robby dug through his backpack.

“Just…don’t feel well.” You said, you could feel the emotion catching in your throat. Your body knew when the day was over and would start to make the wall of professionalism crumble.

“You need anything?” He asked as he handed you a protein bar. You often forgot to eat until you got home. He’d caught you when you passed out from low blood sugar once. He tried to shove protein bars at you every couple of hours.

You took it and flipped it around in your hands. You’re mind was racing, too much happening. You stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

“I…”

“Hey, you two coming to the park? I got those seltzer things you like Y/N.” Donnie smiled.

“I can’t.” You blurted out in a way that made the two men look at you confused. “I’m not feeling well.” You cleared your throat. Donnie nodded and walked off.

“You need me to walk you home? Where’s that boy you’re with anyway? He usually drives you home.” Robby looked around the street.

“We…broke up.” Your voice cracking.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Robby suddenly felt like an ass. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.” He said, guiding you by the shoulder.

You walked in silence for a while. Robby keeping on eye on you, watching as a thousand thoughts flashed across your face. He wanted to stop and ask what the hell was going through your head but didn’t want to impose. He walked you to the front door of your apartment and was going to start his goodbyes when you grabbed his hand and pulled him into the apartment.

“Whoa, what the hell Y/N?” Robby stumbled into the apartment, nearly face-planting with the force you pulled him.

“Sorry! I just, I need something and I couldn’t ask while people were around and it’s already going to be hard for me to ask and I just feel myself losing the nerve.” Your words falling out of your mouth in a rush of anxiety and desperation.

“Hey, it’s okay. Take a breath. What’s going on?” Robby put his hands on your shoulders.

“I need to ask you a favor.” You bit at your bottom lip, tasting the copper as it started to bleed. You lead Robby into the living room, gesturing for him to sit. He obliged, though his confusion hadn’t lightened.

“Are you in trouble?” Robby ran his hands up and down his legs as his anxiety started to rise.

“No. Well, yes.” You sighed. “Okay, I need you to let me just get all of the information out and then you can ask questions.” You looked at him with big, scared eyes.

“Okay, I’ll be quiet.” He agreed, his brows furrowed still.

“I found out three days ago that I’m pregnant. I didn’t notice any symptoms for so long, most of the ones I did kind of notice I chalked up to stress. When I finally went into my GP to try and get something for my acid reflux, she told me that I was pregnant. Went to the OB, she confirmed it. Problem is, I’m 12 weeks, or I guess closer to 13 now. Anyway, I don’t want to be pregnant and I sure as hell don’t have the time for a damn baby. I got set up for an abortion appointment next Wednesday. Oh! I told Darren, the guy I was seeing. He took off, screamed in my face how it was my fault and left. Prick. Anyway, I got a call today that because it’s further along they’ll have to do a surgical abortion and I’ll be sedated and because of that I have to have someone to take me home or they won’t do it. So, I need someone to pick me up and I love Samira but she’s so young and she still lets secrets slip sometimes and you’re off on Wednesday too and I trust you to keep this to yourself.” You took a breath, feeling like you just did sprints.

Robby sat there trying to decipher the information he had just received.

“Darren screamed in your face? You’re pregnant and he screamed in your face?” Robby felt himself starting to get angry, who the hell does that?

“I think you missed the important part.” You crossed your arms.

“No, I got that important part. I’m taking you to get an abortion on Wednesday. He screamed in your face? Where does he live exactly?” Robby asked as he got his phone out of his pocket.

“He’s an idiot, not important. I’m not giving you that information anyway.” You rolled your eyes.

“I bet Abbot could figure it out. He’d have some shit to mess him up too.” Robby said mostly to himself.

“Jesus, Robby!” You snapped.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. You’re right. Not important. Are you okay? I mean, that’s a lot to deal with.” Robby looked up at you with those soft, brown eyes that could melt snow.

“Y-yeah. It’s not great, but I’m fine.” You shrugged.

“You’ll tell me if you’re not.” He said it as an order more than anything.

“I will. Sorry, I freaked you out.” You tore your eyes from his in an attempt to keep from getting too worked up.

“Okay. What time?”

“Huh?”

“What time do I pick you up?” He tilted his head.

“Oh right. Duh! The procedure lasts about forty five minutes, appointment is at noon so around 12:45pm.” You nodded.

“So, 11:30am. Got it. I’ll be out front at 11:30am.” He nodded

“You don’t have to drive me. I was going to uber there.”

“Honey, Please. Like I’m letting you do that.” He shook his head, a smile spread across his face.

“Uh…” You’re mind going blank.

“I’ll see you Wednesday.” He nodded as he left.

You tried to go about the rest of the week as normal. Unsure how to feel about any of it. It was too much to think about, you put it in a box to deal with later.

You let out a groan as you forced yourself awake, Wednesday morning. You kept to your normal routine, showering, brushing your teeth, putting your hair up. The doorbell went off at 11am. Of course he would be early.

“You’re early.” You raise an eyebrow at Robby who was leaning on the doorway with two coffees.

“Wanted to make sure you had enough time to talk if you wanted.” He said, handing you a latte.

“I’m not supposed to have this.” You scolded.

“Oh we both know that it’s fine. You haven’t eaten anything right?” He asked, taking his sunglasses off.

“No, but they said no coffee.” You said sipping the latte.

“You’ll be fine. Enjoy the caffeine.” He had an Ikea bag slung over his shoulder as he barged into your apartment.

“What are you doing?” You looked at him, confused.

“Where are you going to want to rest up? Bed or couch?” he asked, looking like a man on a mission.

“Um, I was planning on staying on the couch mostly. Why?” You followed him into the living room. “I wanted to get it setup now so we aren’t worrying about it later.” He said as he started pulling things out of the bag.

“What the hell is all that?”

“Right, I did some googling,”

“Dangerous.”

“I found some Reddit posts where women talked about what they needed or wanted when they were recovering. I got you a new heating pad, a new blanket, and one of those neck massagers because it looked cool. I got some snacks, too. I got a big ass water bottle, too, that you will finish today, no arguments.” He said as he started positioning everything within arm's reach.

“Robby, you didn’t need to do all that.” You said, your throat tight with emotion.

“Yeah, well, I wanted to. So, I’m only going to ask once and then we can move on. Are you sure?” He said, suddenly getting serious.

“Thank you. Yes, I’m sure. I can’t…I can’t have a baby right now.” You looked away, the tears stinging as they formed.

“Okay. That’s okay.” He smiled. “Let’s get this done with then.” He nodded as he grabbed your sweatshirt hanging by the door and tossed it to you.

The waiting room for the OB was always so odd. Some people were there to get great news. Some for check ups, just another Wednesday. Some people were there with bad news. No one every really knew how to act. You sat in the uncomfortable chair, your knee bouncing with nerves.

“You okay?” Robby asked.

“Just nervous.” You cleared your throat.

“I forgot to ask, do you want me in there?” He shifted to face you.

“That’s asking too much.” You shook your head.

“It’s really not. If you want privacy that’s okay. But I’m more than happy to sit with you.” Robby smiled. You looked up at him, your hands were shaking and he could see how nervous you were.

“Okay. Yeah. Please.” You stuttered.

“Y/N L/N?” The nurse called out. You jumped up and scurried toward her. She brought you into a procedure room and handed you a gown.

“Hubby, you can help her get dressed.” The nurse said.

“Oh no. I’m not, I’m just here for moral support.” Robby’s face flushed red.

“Could have fooled me.” She chuckled as she left.

“I’ll just turn around, while you do that.” Robby cleared his throat as he faced the wall. You laughed as you gowned up. This man has torn the clothes off of countless patients but the thought of seeing you nude made him blush.

“You can turn around.” You said as you got settled on the bed. Your hands sat on your lap; you nervously picked at the cuticle.

“You doing okay?” Robby sat in the stool beside the bed.

“Don’t laugh, but I really have a hard time with needles and get nervous with sedation.” You sighed.

“Seriously? You’re around needles all day. You sedate people all day.” He scoffed.

“I know, other people. Not me.” You fidgeted with the collar of your gown. Robby realized you were serious and moved to take your hand.

“It’s not full sedation, just enough to relax you. I’ll be here the whole time, so you know there won’t be any mistakes. Okay?” He moved his head so you’d make eye contact. You nodded, afraid if you opened your mouth you’d start crying.

“Good morning, Y/N. It’s good to see you again.” Dr. Smith smiled as she came in.

“Good morning.” You cleared your throat.

“Is this your partner?”

“Oh no, just the moral support.” Robby smiled.

“Okay, do you need me to go over anything, I assume you understand the procedure.” Dr. Smith asked as she sat down across from you.

“No, I’m just ready to get this over with.” You took a deep breath.

“Understandable. Nurse Garcia is going to come in and get an IV going and start the sedation. Once you’re comfortable we’ll get started.” She nodded as she left.

“last chance to make a break for it.” Robby smiled.

“I can’t wait for the drugs, Jesus my hands are sweaty.” You shook your shaking hands. Robby laughed, though he could see the grief forming in your eyes.

“Hello, I’m Nurse Garcia. I’m going to get you hooked up for sedation.” She smiled. She brought a tray over with the IV supplies on it. She started cleaning your arm and your breath started picking up.

“Hey, look at me. You’re okay. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You know that.” Robby held your hand in his, rubbing the soft skin in circles to distract you.

“Yeah, I know. I know that.” You nodded. His smile made the wrinkles around his eyes form and it made your stomach flip.

“Alright, sweetheart. You’re all set.” The nurse smiled. “I pushed the sedative, you should start to feel it in a few minutes.” She said as she lowered the lights and left the room.

“Not so bad.” Robby shrugged.

“She was good.” You nodded. “You were good.” You smiled.

“Not like I’ve been doing this for thirty years or anything.” He said.

“I should bring you to every blood draw.” You chuckled.

“I’d go if you needed.” He smiled. You couldn’t tell if it was real or the meds, but Robby was flirting. You wanted to flirt back, but this was your abortion and you were starting to feel high.

“Damn, that shit hit like train.” You mumbled as you swayed back and forth.

“Okay, Trainspotting. Lay back before you fall off.” He laughed as he helped you get comfortable.

“You’re so nice to me. I like it.” You smiled up at him sleepily.

“You’re easy to be nice to.” He said as he tucked the blanket around you.

“You aren’t this nice to the other attendings. You wouldn’t tuck Abbot in.” You laughed.

“I don’t think Jack would let me. He’d be an angry sedated patient.” You both chuckled.

“You have nice eyes. I always get all giddy when you smile and they look all gooey.” You mumbled.

“Oh yeah? Gooey?” Robby leaned on the guardrail.

“Yeah, like a sad puppy. It makes my tummy all butterfly-full of butterflies.” You said. Robby should tell you to stop. He should maybe excuse himself, have the nurse sit with you. But he wanted to say the same thing back.

“Alright Y/N. We’re going to get started.” Dr. Smith came in.

“Hooray. I can’t wait to have an empty uterus.” You cheered.

“Let’s get her legs in the stirrups.” Dr. Smith said as the nurse put your feet up.

“I can’t believe I let that stupid boy knock me up. Dumb boys.” You grumbled.

“We are dumb, sorry.” Robby nodded.

“No. You’re not a boy. You’re a man. Men are stupid too but not as much. You wouldn’t scream at me. I need a man.” You grumbled.

“I’d never scream at you.” Robby said as he watched the tears quietly fall down your temples.

“A little sting now. Just to help open the cervix.” Dr. Smith said. Robby took your hand in his. You hissed as the pain hit. “Good. Alright, you’re going to feel some pressure.” Dr. Smith noted as she started her machine.

“It can help to massage her belly.” The nurse nodded to Robby.

“Right. Yeah.” Robby cleared his throat as he put his wide hand on your lower belly and gave a gentle rub.

“Hmm…Warm.” You hummed.

“Almost over.” Dr. Smith said.

“You’re doing great.” Robby said.

“Hurts.” You groaned with knitted brows.

“I know, Hun. Do your best to relax.” The nurse gave your leg a pat.

“Deep breaths, Y/N.” Robby couched.

“Ah! That’s too much!” you hissed.

“I know, just squeeze my hand. You’re nearly there.” Robby brushed some stray hair from your face.

“Okay, sweetheart. You’re all done. Everything looks good. We’ll keep you here for thirty minutes to make sure there’s no reactions and you can go home.” Dr. Smith smiled as she helped the nurse put your legs back down.

“It’s done?” You whimpered.

“Yeah, it’s done.” Robby confirmed with a soft smile. You nodded, trying to keep the tears at bay.

“I don’t want to cry.” You sighed.

“It’s normal. Nothing to be ashamed of.” Robby said, handing you a tissue.

“I wanted this.” Your bottom lip trembled.

“Doesn’t mean it was going to feel good. You’ll be okay.” He rubbed circles with his thumb on the back of your hand.  Robby felt his heart breaking for you. He also couldn’t stop thinking about Darren. That boy would be in trouble if they crossed paths.

“I’m sorry, I asked you go through this.” You sighed, the sedation starting to wear off.

“I’m not. I would hate to know you’d gone through this alone.” He smiled. You looked up at him and you felt the need to ask him if he felt what you did. You were about to say something when the nurse came back in.

“Alright, you are good to go. Remember to take it easy today, the next week if you can. Drink lots of water and good meals. You’ll be bleeding on and off for a while. If you’re going through more than a pad an hour, go to the ER.” She said, handing you some paperwork.

“Okay. Thanks.” You said moving to sit up, Robby held your arms as your head wobbled a little.

“You want some help getting dressed?” Robby asked, keeping his patient care voice on.

“I…I might need it yeah.” You sighed as you fumbled with your underwear. Robby took them from your clumsy hands. He eased them up your legs, his fingers tracing up the skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. He stopped at the top of your thighs, letting you take over.

“Hold onto my shoulders, step in.” He instructed as he got you into your sweatpants. You finished pulling them all the way on.

“Can you untie the gown?” You asked turning away from him. He hummed in agreement. He pulled the tie and grabbed the gown, tossing it in the laundry bin by the door. He grabbed your shirt and pulled it over your head, his eyes never leaving your back.

“Sit back down, I’ll put your shoes on.” He cleared his throat as he put the shoes on. You watched as he tied them tight, the muscles in his shoulders flexing with his movements.

“Thank you.” You hummed.

“Let’s get you home.” He said, holding out his hands for you. You took them and clumsily got to your feet. You wobbled a little, Robby steadying you with an arm around your waist.

The car ride was quiet, not suffocating but nearing comfortable. You let your head lean against the cool window. You were fighting the nausea, you didn’t know if it was from sedation or morning sickness. You were losing the battle.

“Robby. Robby pull over!” You gasped, suddenly bolt up right.

“Okay, Okay.” He moved the car off the road. You fumbled to unbuckle yourself, flinging the door open. Robby ran around to you, grabbing your hair as you retched into the gutter.  “You’re okay. Easy.” He helped you sit back up.

“Ew.” You groaned.

“You alright?” He asked, looking you over like the trained medical professional he was.

“Yeah. I think it’s fine for now.” You nodded.

You had always had a low pain tolerance. You would break down if you scraped your knee. The pain radiating from your abdomen made you want to break down completely. The walk from the car to your apartment was arduous. You leaned most of your weight onto Robby. He offered to carry you, but you declined due to concerns for his back.

“Okay, let’s get you some Zofran.” He said as you got comfortable on the couch.

“I don’t have any.” You grumbled.

“Yes, you do.” He came back in with the pills. “Had them filled yesterday. Perks of working in an ER.” He smiled, handing it to you. You took them happily.

“Everyone said it wouldn’t be too bad. The liars.” You groaned as you wrapped the blanket around you.

“Different for everyone, you know that.” Robby sighed. “Drink your water. I’ll be back.” He nodded and left. You were going to question where he was going but decided you didn’t really care. Your head felt heavy and you didn’t care to fight it, letting yourself fall asleep.

“Honey, you need to eat something.” Robby’s rough voice lulling you awake. Your apartment suddenly filled with the smell of food.

“Hmm, what?” You grumbled, confused. Robby was standing next to you with a bowl.

“You need to eat so we can give you something for the pain.” He said, handing you a bowl of soup.

“What’s this?” you asked, confused as to where the hell he had found soup in your apartment.

“Chicken noodle soup. My grandma’s recipe, so no jokes. Her’s was better, not sure how.” He shrugged.

“You…made me soup?” You looked up at him, confused.

“Yes. It’s got protein and iron, two things you need most right now.” He said as he lifted a book into his lap.

“What is that?” you pointed to the book.

“Well, I would have hoped you encountered a book in med school at some point.” He teased.  “It’s a book about emotional trauma. My therapist is making me read it.” He cleared his throat as he put his glasses on.

“You brought a book? How long are you planning on being here?” You cocked an eyebrow.

“Until you go to bed tonight. Or you kick me out, whichever comes first.” He said, not looking up from his book. You let out a huff, enamored with this strange man. You ate a spoonful of soup and were surprised by how good it was.

“Fuck that’s really good!” You blurted out.

“Gee thanks.” Robby chuckled.

“I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Cook is a strong word. I get around the kitchen well enough. I make pasta, soup and that’s about it. The soup is in the genes.” He winked.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever made me soup.” You sipped at the broth.

“Really? Your mom never heated up a can when you were sick?”

“Ha! My mother barely checked my temperature if I was sick. I was a nuisance if I was sick. She never stayed home to take care of me. If I didn’t look sick enough, I was faking. I heated up my own soup.” You shrugged.

“Every time you tell me more about your life, I get sad.” Robby laughed.

“Oh, please.” You swatted at him. “You don’t need to stay here. I’m going to be asleep, mostly.” You said.

“Someone needs to make sure you hydrate. You’re terrible at it.” He said, flipping a page. You were going to retort but felt the distinct gush of blood that told you, you needed to change your pad at the same time a cramp squeezed your insides. A finishing move from your reproductive system.

“Oh fuck…” You groaned, hunched over.

“You okay? What do you need?” Robby put his book aside and put his hand on your back.

“Cramps. Blood. The usual.” You groaned. “I need…I gotta go change.” Your face red.

“Okay.” Robby didn’t hesitate to help you up.

“There’s going to be blood everywhere, just turn around.” You warned.

“Oh please. Like blood has ever bothered me, you know better.” Robby chuckled.

“But it’s different blood.”

“Blood is blood and I don’t give a shit.” He shrugged. “You go to the bathroom, I’ll clean this up.” He nodded. You grabbed his hands and heaved yourself up. Sure enough, blood everywhere.

“Damn, I liked that couch.” You shook your head as you hobbled off to the bedroom to get changed. When you came back out, the couch was cleaned up and a new blanket lay ready.

“I got you some OTC pain meds if you need them.” Robby’s glasses sat on the end of his nose as he scrolled on his phone. “Your color is still a little off. Do you want some apple juice? I got one that has iron.” He offered as you stood in front of him, looking confused.

“You got me apple juice with iron?”

“Well, you need to keep your blood sugar up so it’s easier for you to replenish your cells and you are bad about eating well. I knew making you drink juice would be easier.” He said putting his phone away. You watched him for a minute, trying to understand this man that was taking care of you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Do you want to fuck me?”

“Whoa, what!?” He looked shocked, his face going red.

“I’m so confused.” You shrugged, going to sit back down.

“Are you feeling okay? Should I be worried about neuro symptoms right now?” Robby gave a nervous chuckle.

“Maybe it’s my bad luck with men or humans in general, but I’ve never had anyone take care of me, let alone to this level, unless they were trying to get something from me.” You wrapped the blanket around yourself.

“Honey, the fact that you weren’t looked after at any point in your life makes me want to take even better care of you.” Robby sighed, leaning on the back of the couch.  “To answer your question, no. I don’t want to fuck you.”

“Oh.” You said, your face flushed with embarrassment.

“I don’t want to fuck you because you just had an abortion and feel like shit. That would be very fucking weird of me.” Robby smirked. “But, if you’re asking if I have feelings for you, then yeah. I thought it was obvious.” He said.

“Obvious? In what world!?” You chuckled.

“I never wanted to make you uncomfortable. But you said that butterfly comment today, and even though you were high, I didn’t want to push it away anymore.” He sighed. “I wasn’t going to say anything tonight, by the way. Was just going to take care of you and go home. You forced my hand.”

“Jesus, Robby! You realize that all of this,” You waved your hands around the apartment and up and down his form. “would make any woman fall desperately in love with you? I already was, but you never gave a girl a chance!” You laughed.

“So, what I’m hearing is that you love me.” He winked.

“You were ready to beat up Darren for screaming at me,”

“Still debating on not doing that.”

“you googled how to take care of me in recovery, drove me to get another man’s fetus aborted, held my hair while I vomited, made me soup.” You scoffed. “Cleaned up my blood! I don’t even know the last time I had a man that didn’t cringe when I leaked through a tampon, let alone helped clean up! Of course I love you!” You shouted.

“Okay then!” He mimicked you.

“So, what now?”

“Now, you take those meds and drink some juice.” He said, looking at you like it was obvious.

“No. No, I mean with us?” You said, grabbing the pills and sipping your water.

“I don’t know. I’m leaving that at your feet, Honey.”

“Why do you always call me Honey? You’ve been doing that since I was a resident.” You cocked an eyebrow.

“You don’t remember? You were fixing up a wound and using an entire jar of Manuka honey on it, when I came in, you had it everywhere. I think that’s when I knew I was done for.” He smiled.

[internetdaddy98]

The Quiet Fury 

Previous | Next [Series Masterlist] Pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!SeniorResident!Reader Summary: Your authority is tested by a cocky fourth-year med student who mistakes the ER for his personal playground. 

Word Count: 1.3 K Content Warning: Medical procedures, blood, will most likely be medically inaccurate at times, unresolved tension.

By 1:14 p.m., the ER had the brittle, caffeinated energy of early afternoon. The trauma bay had been turned over twice, a stroke alert rerouted to neuro, and the stack of charts on your tablet had reached an aggressive number. Your hair was falling out of its clip. Your lunch remained unopened in the lounge fridge. And your intern was flirting with a nurse during rounds.

James Whitmore was a fourth-year med student on rotation, assigned to shadow you for the next four weeks. Technically still a student, practically a problem. He had the kind of polished smile that belonged on an alumni magazine cover and the overconfidence of someone who had never been truly scared in a code room. You could already feel it,  that subtle entitlement, the lack of preparation, the empty glances when you gave instructions.

You had tried, the first two hours. Gently redirecting. Clarifying. Giving him room to prove he was more than charm and an upward trajectory. But he was more interested in chatting up the new ED nurse than examining his patient. More concerned with what you were doing later than documenting the rhythm strip you’d asked for.

“You know,” he said now, grinning like this was a meet-cute and not an ICU board, “you don’t look like someone who leads a trauma team. No offense.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t even look up.

Instead, you clicked through labs on the tablet and murmured, “ABG’s back. Go interpret it. Present to me in five.”

He lingered. “You always this serious, Dr. Sheridan?”

You finally met his eyes.

“Only when someone’s dying,” you said coldly. “Which is usually.”

He gave a half-laugh, unsure if it was a joke. You didn’t clarify. You moved past him and toward Bed 6, where a patient was vomiting blood into a basin while her mother cried softly in the corner. Your pulse recalibrated, not with nerves, but with necessity. You could be tired later.

Whitmore followed, his stethoscope still around his neck like a fashion statement, it was getting harder for you to not roll your eyes. 

Later, as you updated notes in the hub, you caught a glimpse of him across the hall, leaned too casually against the counter near two of his intern friends. You weren’t listening. Not at first. But you felt it, a shift in the room. Dana stiffening behind the desk. A nurse's eyes narrowing. The slight drop in temperature that meant someone had said something wrong.

Across the floor, by the medication station, Robby was finishing up notes on a post-code debrief when he caught Whitmore’s voice, low and smirking, drifting toward the central hub.

“…yeah, she’s cute in that mean, icy way. You know, a challenge. I give it three shifts before she cracks. Bet she’s crazy once you get her to—"

He didn’t finish. Someone coughed, startled. A tech turned sharply. Robby’s hand paused mid-scroll over his tablet.

He blinked once. Then turned.

He was forty feet away, but he could already feel it like a fissure in the tile beneath them, the cold fury in your eyes, the way you were walking toward Whitmore with the unhurried precision of someone who had not yet decided whether to destroy a person publicly or in private. Your hands were calm. Your shoulders square. You didn’t yell.

You didn’t need to.

“Mr. Whitmore,” you said, voice flat as steel. “Step into the staff lounge. Now.”

The kid hesitated.

Wrong move.

Robby watched you disappear behind the door. Watched the team shift around the hub in respectful silence. No one said a word. Even the printers seemed quieter.

You closed the door behind you.

Then, still calm, still composed, you turned to your intern.

“I don’t know what kind of rotations you’ve done before,” you began, your voice quiet but sharp as frost. “But I am not here for your amusement. I’m not here to play games with you, or compete with your insecurities, or make your ego feel bigger when you get bored during rounds.”

He opened his mouth.

You raised a hand. He stopped.

“You are in an Emergency Department. You are a guest in my house, and if you can’t show basic respect to your patients or to your senior, then you can leave now. I’ll sign the damn form. But what you will not do is treat this place, or the people in it, like a frat party you wandered into by mistake.”

His face changed then. A flush of something like embarrassment, something like shock. You didn’t care which.

“I suggest,” you continued, eyes not wavering from his, “that you get with the program. Fast.”

He swallowed. “Yes, Dr. Sheridan.”

You nodded once. “Good. You’re on labs until further notice.”

You opened the door for him to leave, only to find Robby there, leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed. His eyes flicked between you and Whitmore, unreadable.

The student mumbled something, not quite an apology, not quite coherent, and headed toward the lab station like a dog with its tail tucked.

You didn’t speak. You moved to close the door again and turn back toward the lounge room. He waited a beat, then two. Long enough to give the illusion of space. Long enough not to look like he’d been watching. Then he followed.

He knocked once on the edge of the lounge door before stepping in. You stood by the sink, filling a cup with water, back turned. Your grip on the plastic rim was too tight.

"You handled that well," he said quietly.

You didn’t turn around. “Thanks.”

A pause. You took a sip, then set the cup down, your shoulders rigid.

Robby moved to stand beside you, leaving a careful amount of space between them. The hum of the fridge filled the silence.

“He won’t do it again,” you said, eyes fixed on the sink.

“I know,” he said. “Not if he values his career.”

You gave a short, humorless exhale, not quite a laugh.

He glanced at you,  then away. “You okay?”

Another pause.

Then you nodded, still not looking at him. “Yeah. Just annoyed.”

“Okay,” he said. “But if that changes…”

You looked at him for a long moment. Then offered the faintest curve of your mouth, not a smile, but something close. Gratitude maybe. Recognition.

“Thanks, Dr. Robinavitch.”

He gave her a smile in return. “Anytime, Sher.”

And with that, he stepped out, leaving the door open behind him. Just a crack.

Enough for her to breathe.

Whitmore was alone at the lab station when Robby found him. Still cocky, despite it all. The kind of cocky that didn’t learn until the lesson was painful.

Robby approached quietly.

“You got a minute, Mr. Whitmore?”

The kid turned, startled, then nodded. “Yes, Dr. Robinavitch.”

Robby didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t even look angry. That was the worst part.

He just stepped closer, lowered his voice, and said, “You ever speak about Dr. Sheridan like that again, and I will personally end your chances of matching into anything but urgent care in rural Alaska. Are we clear?”

Whitmore blanched. “Sir, I didn’t—”

“You did,” Robby said, cool and clinical. “And I suggest you use your remaining days here wisely. Listen. Learn. Show some respect. Because you’re not the smartest man in this room. And you sure as hell aren’t the toughest.”

Whitmore swallowed. “Understood.”

“Good.” Robby offered him a smile that wasn’t really a smile. “Now go run the troponins.”

Robby didn’t move for a while. Just stood there, hands in his pockets, watching the chaos of the ER reassemble itself. His gaze flicked to the patient board. To the rooms. Then, finally, back to you.

You were at the end of the hallway now, instructing a nurse, your voice steady again. Calm. Efficient. But he could see it in the way your fingers tapped against the tablet. The way your jaw stayed locked.

——————————————

Two chapters in one day!

I couldn’t help myself bahhahah I needed y’all to read this one. My toxic trait is buying the people I love presents and needing to tell them what it is or I’ll explode.

I told myself I was going to pace myself but all chapters are sitting in my queue tempting me.

[linaaparkes]

PAGING DR.LOVE

𝙈𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙅𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝘼𝙗𝙗𝙤𝙩...

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: 𝙅𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝘼𝙗𝙗𝙤𝙩 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝙎𝙮𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨: 𝘾𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙘𝙤-𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠𝙚𝙧'𝙨 𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙛𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙙, 𝙗𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙙 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙪𝙨𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙙'𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙 𝙗𝙮 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙣𝙚𝙬𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨 𝙝𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧, 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩.

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝙃𝙤𝙨𝙥𝙞𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙨𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙩𝙮𝙥𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡 𝙢𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙛𝙛, 𝙣𝙤 𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙮/𝙣, 𝙣𝙤 𝙥𝙝𝙮𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡 𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙘𝙧𝙞𝙥𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨, 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙞𝙨 𝙖 𝙥𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙖𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙘 𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙜𝙚𝙤𝙣, 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙫𝙚𝙨.

𝙬𝙘: 1.7𝙠 +

It was in these moments that made your life as a pediatric surgeon worth it. You smiled, clutching the hand of your patient's mother, and answered her gratitude with the grace of someone well accustomed to receiving such reverent appreciation. At times it hits you that the little body you stand over in the operating room is not just a case but a living, breathing human— and their life rests in your hands. The delicacy of human life is something those in the medical field know all too well, how their patients are always toeing the line between life and death, but you'll always be there to nudge them in the right direction. The unmistakable rush of dopamine flooded your system, and the smile was permanently etched onto your face even after you've delivered parting words to the emotion-riddled parents, now clutching each other in newfound hope— for the future.

A sharp ding is heard from the pager attached to your scrubs, and your hands shoot out to grab it and check it. A page from Robby, your brows furrowed in concern, but you didn't bother thinking about it much longer; dodging patients and staff, you hurried down the bustling hallways to the elevator and down to the ever-chaotic ER.

Donna's voice rang out from behind you, "Trauma head 2, lovie! You've got an MVA with multiple lacerations, likely one or two fractures or breaks, and a possible concussion." Grateful for the breakdown so you know what you're getting into, you shout out your thanks, snap on a pair of gloves, and grab a nearby disposable apron—not wanting to dirty yet another pair of scrubs.

Pushing open the door to trauma two, you yelled out, "What do you have for me, Robby!?" and zeroed in on the lead attending, Michael "Robby" Robinavitch. You ignored the several heads that snapped in your direction, no doubt being the several new residents your dear husband had mentioned to you in passing before you left the house for a shift that wasn't yours in the first place. You internally rolled your eyes, fondly exasperated at your husband's grumpiness and his displeasure with your job "keeping you all to itself."

With nurses fluttering around you, passing back and forth instruments, Robby wasted no time in giving his thorough examination, and with the help of the stiff but eager newbies, the case went by quickly.

Okay, it can't just be me that's seeing this." Said Trinity Santos, leaning against the nearest wall beside Whitaker and Javadi— they were taking advantage of their break; well, that's not the correct term for it. When the influx of patients slowed down, all patients were treated and accounted for, and weren't dying on their watch; they allowed themselves to relax during the momentary reprieve.

They not-so-secretly stared at the two attendings sitting at the hub, each occupied filling out their respective patient charts— but wasted no time in sharing jokes and lighthearted barbs, no doubt having a previous rapport built. It wasn't just like this between them in times of peace; when the chaos of a trauma reached them, they worked as smoothly as a pen gliding across paper. Each completing tasks before the other finished their sentence, they worked swiftly and efficiently— their comradery silent but ever present.

Javadi's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, a frown tugging at her lips before she pointed out, "I heard Dana call her Dr.Love, but that's obviously not her name, a nickname, maybe?"

Santos snorted, a self-assured smirk creeping up her lips as she assessed the two continuing their banter, watching their easy smiles and fond expressions. "How much do you want to bet they're together?"

Whitaker Sputtered and tore his eyes away to stare at Santos, fingers nervously twisting together. Santos shot him a smirk and nodded her head. "How about this pipsqueak? I'll start. I'm betting $50 they're dating on the down low, or fucking at least."

Whitaker and Javadi still didn't seem convinced, and only after a minute of poking and prodding (more like condescending insults) did they each place their bets. Santos stood confidently, her head raised high, clearly assured in her opinion. "Let's observe them for the rest of the day, and whoever was right about them takes all."

A short distance away, Perlah and Princess overheard their conversation and shared sneaky glances. They both knew the truth of the matter and snickered in amusement at how wrong the trio was. Not wanting to let this opportunity escape them, they approached and placed their bets— each placing more than the newest Pitt doctors. Santos raised her eyebrow in confusion, her confident expression faltering slightly before she nodded and accepted, no doubt refusing to be wrong in this matter.

Let the show begin.

The three quickly understood why she was called "Dr.Love," similarly to Dr.Mohan, but not as slowly; she took the time to assure her patients, as well as their parents, that everything would be okay. She shared jokes with the kids, asking about their interests, school, hobbies, and favorite movies. The children would all grow to love her, sharing excited smiles with their parents as they expressed how "awesome" their doctor was— or when she was in their vicinity, they couldn't help but get shy, bashful of the effortless attention she lavished upon them. She was a beloved doctor, and for that, they nodded in acceptance.

For the rest of the day, she could feel eyes on her, more eyes than usual. If she turned around quickly enough, she could catch a glimpse of the newest Pitt doctors assessing her, then shooting a speculative glance at Robby. She huffed in amusement as she pieced two and two together; she went along with it and told Robby about his mischievous little ducklings.

Naturally, being too caught up in the hustle and bustle of the ER, he hadn't caught on but shared a laugh when she told him. It wasn't every day that doctors were "shipped" together by others, so why not have a little fun out of it? She pursed her lips in excitement and came up with a genius plan.

By the time a new trauma came along and they had to return to their respective fields of expertise, they both nodded at each other, knowing what their roles are now. As they passed in the hallways, they brushed against each other; Robby's eyes lingered long after she walked away, sharing long and secretive gazes at each other, as if they couldn't bear to be parted and their eyes were the only thing keeping them together. Numerous times she had to turn away, her shoulders shaking in silent laughter. Their expressions were to die for. Santos in all her smug confidence, Javadi hiding her "knowing" smiles, and Whitaker blushing as if she and Robby were actively making out in the middle of the hallway.

Dana caught on and shook her head in exasperation, muttering something to herself along the lines of "children, the lot of them, this isn't a playground," but didn't bother stopping them. In the ER, anything lighthearted that won't get in the way of their jobs is always welcome.

As the hours spanned on, and it was time for the night shift crew to clock in, everything came to a halt.

The three observed Robby and her talking to Dana at the end of their shift, ready to head out together, they assumed. She glanced up at the taller man, and using the desk in front of her for support, she leaned up and pecked his cheek. Santos smiled, knowing she's got this in the bag. She spoke up as they huddled together, "Pay up losers, we all know who's the winner here," and held out her hand. Whitaker sighed, opening his wallet and placing down $40, and Javadi did the same with $30. She snickered, counting the money in her palm, only interrupted by Whitaker nudging her shoulder. She looked at him, noted his look of shock, and Javadi as well, and swiveled to see what they were looking at. Santos paused, plunging confusedly at the sight. She had completely walked away from Robby, happily bounding over to…… Dr.Abbot?

It was truly a sight to see; the normally nonchalant attendant that shared dry jokes here and there looked affectionately at the woman now in his space. He grasped her hand and brought it up to give her knuckles an affectionate kiss, or rather the silicone ring wrapped around her finger. They all gaped, expressions varying in degrees of shock and disbelief. Perlah and Princess practically skipped towards them in accomplishment, with Princess holding out her hand. They both bet $100 that she was married to someone else— the three doctors disregarded their opinions but still accepted their bets. They chuckled and smirked at each other as they split the earnings between them.

Just another day in the Pitt.

In the early hours in the morning, when Jack Abbot climbed back into bed with his beautiful wife, he sighed contentedly as she shifted to curl up around him. He lay on his back, her head resting on his shoulder and his arm curling around her shoulders where he absentmindedly drew slow circles. She was still half asleep but had the energy to ask about his day. The soft light of sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm, golden hue across the room. The bedroom was quiet; only the faint sounds of birds chirping outside and the quiet breathing of his wife next to him reached his ears. His mind slowed, but one last thought came to his mind before he drifted off completely. Brushing his lips gently across her forehead, he couldn't help but ask. "Is there any reason as to why the newest residents stared at us like we were some spectacle?"

His wife let out a soft laugh and burrowed her head into the junction of his neck. A quiet moment passed before she hummed in contentment before replying. "I'll tell you about it later; get some sleep," giving his neck a small kiss. Jack huffed, knowing better than to press the issue, and sighed blithely— letting his mind slow, the tensions of his shift rolling off of him as his mind quieted.

a/n: The Pitt has unfortunately become my newest hyper fixation haha, don't mind me :)

[frflyavenue]

Exam Stress - Matz ver.

Pairing: Boyfriend!Matz x Stressed!Uni student!Reader

Warnings: MDNI (18+) — Stressed reader, sleep deprived reader, university exam season, crying, eating, fluff and smut, fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving, m receiving, f giving), vaginal sex, spit-roast, threesome smut, slight power dynamic, soft dom!Hongjoong, switch!Seonghwa, lots of praise

Author’s Note: Giving you guys this update early as compensation for not posting anything on Tuesday—First time writing smut, so let me know what you guys think! UYT chapter 3 still on track to be updated tomorrow <3

WC: 5.1k

School sucks. You’re a great student, one of the best performing in your major, and, according to your boyfriends, the hardest working person they’ve ever seen. You’re positive they’re just gassing you up because they love you, but you’re happy that your work is at least recognized. But it’s getting towards the end of the semester, meaning the whole University is filled with students working overtime. Exams are just around the corner, major essays and projects are being finalized and the party hubs of the city have died down as students rush to get their grades up enough to pass. You’re doing well in your classes, of course, but the end of the semester is always a rough time.

You’ve been working non-stop for the last few weeks, studying for your exams and trying desperately to finish your thesis paper for one of your classes. You lost count of how many hours you’ve worked in the library over the last few days, staying until they close around midnight and going home just to keep working. And while you’ve been able to handle the stress and exhaustion, today it all seemed to come to a head.

You haven’t slept more than a total of 10 hours the last four days, and you haven’t eaten nearly enough to sustain yourself. But honestly, the hormones from the stress were enough to suppress your hunger, so you didn’t pay it much attention. You’re exhausted, honestly, yearning to lay down in bed or even just curl up and sleep on the floor of the library, desperate for rest. But you don’t have time. You huff, slamming your laptop shut, earning a few glances from the other students working the library. You don’t dare look at them, stuffing your laptop in your bag with a sigh. You snatch it up and turn to leave, completely silent as you drive yourself to your apartment.

You fumble with your keys lazily as you try to open the door, finally sighing as it squeaks open. You slip into the apartment, taking off your shoes at the door and heading to the bedroom you share with your two boyfriends. Seonghwa, hearing you, turns around with a warm smile to greet you.

”Hey darling, welcome home. We missed you.”

You look up at him, but the second you see his warm expression, you feel your throat tighten, so you quickly look away. “Ah, yeah, I missed you guys too.” You clear your throat. “I have to work on my paper, so I’m gonna go work for a bit.” You don’t wait for him to respond to walk away to the solace of your bedroom.

Seonghwa walks with his mouth slightly agape as you turn your back to him, not able to say anything. Almost immediately after he gathers his thoughts, he rushes over to the living room, where Hongjoong is splayed out on the couch working on a song. He gently tap his shoulder, and Hongjoong removes one side of the headphones to hear.

”Joongie… I think something’s wrong with our Y/N.” He says worriedly, and Hongjoong snaps his eyes up from the screen to look at him.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Seonghwa runs his hand through his hair, clearly worried. “She came in so quiet, and her face seemed so tired… she hardly acknowledged me when she walked in.”

Hongjoong’s expression grows thoughtful, his eyebrows scrunching slightly. Your recent stress hasn’t gone unnoticed by your two boyfriends for the last few weeks. They’ve watched your eyes grow more and more tired every passing day, and while they’ve tried their best to bring you little snacks or cheer you up with little kisses to your temple when you’ve been working for a while, they’ve mostly let you to your work, not wanting to disturb you. But for Seonghwa to be this concerned now… Hongjoong trusts his boyfriend in thinking that something’s wrong. “Okay… why don’t you go talk to her, hm? I don’t want to overwhelm her with both of us, but I want to check on her.”

Seonghwa hesitantly nods, and Hongjoong presses a comforting kiss to his forehead before letting him go visit you.

You hardly register the knock at the door until it creaks open, and you freeze up, looking over at him with wide, guilty eyes. There are tears streaming down your face, your nose running and your sleeves wet from wiping your eyes. Seeing him, with his beautiful, elegant face twisted in concern taking in the sight of you, you only feel worse. You turn away, desperately attempting to dry your tears as he approaches. You hiccup helplessly as he turns the office chair around so you’re facing him, optnig to hide your face in your hands.

Seonghwa steps closer so he’s standing between your legs, gently pulling you into him. You let your face, still covered by your hands, lean into his stomach, feeling one hand resting protectively on your back while the other rests on the back of your head, his thumb rubbing comforting cicely into your hair. Almost immediately, you let go to wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face deeper into his tummy and sobbing against his hoodie.

Seonghwa feels himself tear up at the sound, his voice softly shushing you while he cradles your head against his body. He doesn’t move, holding you just like that, not planning to ever let you go.

Hongjoong, hearing the gut-wrenching sound from the other room, sneaks into the room, standing behind Seonghwa and rubbing his back. The taller man is blinking back tears, his hands holding you close to him as you let out pitiful sobs of frustration and exhaustion, sounds he’s never heard from you in the two years you all had been dating. Hongjoong, too, feels his throat tighten, distracting himself by silently comforting Seonghwa in the meantime. The three of you remain like until the sound of sobs dies down to sniffles, and Hongjoong moves to kneel next to your chair. He places a hand on your thigh, gently rubbing there.

”Hey, beautiful.” He whispers softly, gently easing your hands down for you to look at him. You do, your swollen eyes meeting his. “Hey… there she is…” His voice is soft and quiet, almost as if he’s talking to a kitten. You're grateful for it, the sound not overwhelming your mind.

You snuffle, leaning into his hand when he moves to cup your cheek. “I-I’m sorry…” you squeak out, and he immediately shakes his head, shushing you.

“No, no ‘sorry’. I can speak for both of us when I say that Seonghwa and I want you to be happy. But part of that means taking care of you when you’re sad, hm?” He just watches you for a moment, gently holding your face in his hands as he kneels in front of you. “…What’s the matter babydoll?”

You close your eyes and try to clear your blurry eyes, opening them again to look down at his loving face. “I… I just got frustrated.” You explain, your voice wobbling pitifully. “I’m so tired, and I have so much to do. But I feel stuck on this stupid paper, and I have to finish it, and…” You trail off, your throat burning as tears slip silently down your delicate cheeks and onto Hongjoong’s delicate hands.

Hongjoong nods, gently wiping the little drops of water away with his thumb, not breaking his gaze. “It’s okay, we’ve got you now. We’re going to go take a break, baby.”

You open your mouth to refuse, but Seonghwa shushes you before you can say anything. “No, no, he’s right Y/N. You need to eat and take a break, or you wont be able to get anything done anyways.” He pauses. “My mom always used to tell me that productivity is subjective. Sometimes, the most productive thing you can do is take a break, eat some good food, and get some sleep. Right now, that’s exactly what would be most productive to you, understand?” His voice is gentle but firm, and his tone gives you no choice but to tentatively agree.

Hongjoong smiles proudly up at Seonghwa, dropping his hands from your face and standing up, offering his hand to you. You take it, letting him pull you up. You sigh longingly as Hongjoong closes your laptop shut, and Seonghwa places a guiding hand on your back as he walks you three to the living room.

While it pains you to step away from your work, you immediately feel relieved as Seonghwa pulls you with him onto the couch, instinctively finding your position on his chest as he lay down with his head resting on the cushy armrest. His hand tangles in your hair, the other rubbing your back up and down in slow, repetitive motions. The steady thumping of heart under your cheek is enough to make you come undone, and your shoulders relax.

Smiling fondly at the sight, Hongjoong sits next to your tangled bodies, opening his phone. “We’re ordering in tonight. What are you feeling, pretty girl?”

The corners of your lips twitch up, though you don’t bother to open your blissfully closed eyes. “Pasta?” You respond, the thought of noodles making your mouth water.

Hongjoong laughs and pats your butt affectionately, ordering you guys a few of your favorite pasta dishes to share.

In the meantime, Seonghwa struggles with the remote, trying to put on a cute animated movie to cheer you up. Finally figuring out what buttons to press, he finds a selection of studio ghibli movies and let you take your pick. Hongjoong calls in to order the food while the two of your start the movie, and as soon as he’s done, he walks back over to the couch. You turn around so you’re laying on your back against Seonghwa’s chest, his arms wrapping around your waist while you reach your arms out to Hongjoong. He smiles brightly before climbing into your arms, laying with his head resting on the soft pillows on your chest and his arms joining Seonghwa’s around your waist. Content to be between both of them, you sigh.

It’s the best you’ve felt in weeks. Seonghwa’s chest rising and falling steadily against your back, Hongjoong snuggled up close to you, letting you tangle your fingers in his hair, the soft strings of the ghibli movie—it was perfect. When you drift off, hands resting limp and calm against Hongjoong’s back and hair and head resting comfortably back against Seonghwa’s happily beating heart… your boys can’t help but feel the same.

NSFW content following the cut ———

You awake groggily at the sudden loss of the comfortable weight on your chest, grumbling at the cold air hitting your front. You open your eyes, Seonghwa giggling lovingly at your state from behind you and Hongjoong nowhere to be seen. You pout, looking around.

”He’s getting our food.” Seonghwa explains softly, his voice hardly above a whisper. You nod, not bothering to move as you hear Hongjoong open the front door and thank the delivery person. He returns with a slight grin, holding up the bag of food victoriously.

You smile, sitting up and moving to get up off the couch. Seonghwa clicks his tongue in dissatisfaction, pulling you back to stay. “Where do you think you’re going?”

You giggle, wriggling weakly in his grasp. “To the table? To go eat dinner?” You respond, your voice already containing more of it’s usual happiness.

Hongjoong laughs and shakes his head, his eyes making pretty crescents. “No, silly, we’re gonna eat in the living room today. It’s treat.”

You gasp, turning to look at Seonghwa. Usually, he’s the one scolding you and Hongjoong about your cleaning and organizational habits, always keeping you both in check. So for him to be letting you eat in the living room…

Seonghwa rolls his eyes, but his grin never leaves his face as he gently lest go and helps Hongjoong unpack the food onto the coffee table. You gasp excitedly, sitting crisscrossed on the floor in front of the couch. Seonghwa ruffles your hair before going to making the three of you bowls of pasta.

The food is delicious, of course. You hum with satisfaction, not remembering the last time you ate a proper meal. Sure, pasta isn’t the healthiest meal, but it sure does hit the spot after not eating anything but protein snacks and the random fruits your concerned boyfriends brought you every once and a while. They seem to notice, not taking their eyes off you as you go silent to eat, eagerly slurping up pasta. Proud to see you feeling better, they also find that the food is especially good—maybe just because you look so happy eating it.

You listen intently as Hongjoong talks about the songs he’s working on, never having felt so happy just to hear him ramble as you are now. Seonghwa is silent, too focused on his food, but he occasionally bumps your shoulders with his legs, still sitting on the couch as you sit on the floor between his legs. It’s been so long since you’ve all gotten to just sit and eat together, between the weird schedule of your classes and studying for finals, Hongjoong’s production, and both of the boys' dance practices. Looking at Hongjoong’s happy face and gently rubbing Seonghwas calf as it cages protectively around your form, you feel yourself tearing up.

”I missed you guys.” You whisper in a beat of silence, taking another bite of pasta to counteract the sentimental tears forming. Hongjoong looks up at you, giving you a delicate smile. Seonghwa sets his bowl down, gently massaging your shoulders as he, also, tries not to cry, not wanting to make you upset.

”We missed you too, babydoll.” Hongjoong replies, and Seonghwa squeezes your shoulder as well in emphasis. He looks thoughtful for a moment, before clearing his throat and setting his bowl down. “Y/N?”

You look up, swallowing your big bite of pasta before responding. “Hm?”

Hongjoong laughs softly, before shaking his head and scooting closer to you, gently taking your hand and holding it in his lap. “Hwa and I love you so much. We never ever want to see you so stressed, yeah? We understand that you have a lot to do—we’re in a similar position a lot of the time. But… just like how you make sure to take care of us when we’re feeling overwhelmed, we want to take care of you too.”

You blink, taken off guard by his sudden seriousness. Senoghwa gently reaches around to tuck your hair back behind your ear. “He’s right. It’s okay to get frustrated, stressed, tired… even just sad. But it’s not okay to completely isolate yourself from everyone around you and push yourself past what your body and mind can handle.” He adds, gently combing through your hair with his fingers. He’s right, you realize. Unknowingly, you had been avoiding your friends and even your two beloved boyfriends, hiding in the library to avoid coming home and staying cooped up in your bedroom at every opportunity under the pretense of discipline. Seonghwa’s words from earlier echo in your mind. Productivity is subjective… Sometimes, the most productive thing you can do is take a break…

You nod slowly, setting your own bowl down. “Yeah… you guys are right,” you admit with a slight look of guilt. “I’ve probably been stressing myself out more than necessary because I’ve been getting so frustrated.” You explain, earning a nod from Hongjoong. You continue. “And… I promise from now on, I’ll rely a little more on you guys. I’m sorry for worrying you.” You meet Hongjoong’s eyes and gently squeeze Seonghwa’s calf, and they coo.

”Such a sweet thing…” Seonghwa praises, squishing your cheek even from his odd position behind you. You blush, suddenly shy, and Hongjoong laughs, lightly hitting Seonghwa’s thigh. The three of you go quiet for a minute, the air lighter.

Interrupting the silence, Hongjoong clears his throat, looking up at you. “Y/N?”

You nod, giggling at his tone. “What? You’ve said my name like that twice already, it’s so cute~”

Hongjoong scoffs and nearly argues, but his blush creeps up his face before he can rebut. He shakes his head. “I’m being serious here!”

You and Seonghwa laugh, but you quickly shake your head and squeeze his shoulder. “Sorry, sorry. Go ahead, honey.”

He blushes at the nickname, his personal favorite from you, and clears his throat again. “Well, Hwa and I were talking while you napped, and we wanted to ask if you’d like to let us take care of your stress for you tonight? You know, help you relax a bit..?”

You smile, shaking your head innocently. “No, I’m sorry. There’s not really much you guys can do, my paper is built off of research I’ve been doing all semester. I appreciate the offer, of course, but I should really just write it on my own.”

Hongjoong blinks. He’s known you for a long time, but he will never not be astounded by how your sweet, dense brain works. He laughs in shock. “Hah… geez, Y/N… for somebody so smart, you sure are slow.” He says, and Seonghwa coughs back a laugh before pretending to scold him. You tilt your head.

”Uh… sorry?”

Hongjoong shakes your head, and Seonghwa moves to sit on the floor with you guys, feeling awkward not being able to see your face.

“No, not like that my dear.” He explains. He gently takes your hand and presses it to his lips. “We want to take you to bed, our love. It’s been a while since we could take care of you, hm?”

Your face heats up immediately. Seonghwa has always been the best of you three at initiating this kind of intimate affection, so it shouldn’t come at any surprise. But even after sleeping with your boyfriends hundreds of times… they only get sexier You subconsciously press your thighs together.

Seonghwa just chuckles at your cute reaction, standing up and grabbing the trash from your dinner. “Think it over while I clean dinner up, hm?”

You watch with your mouth slightly agape as he takes the trash to the bin in the kitchen, stunned silent. You turn to look at Hongjoong, who tucks your hair back affectionately.

”Kiss me?” You whisper suddenly, looking up at him shyly through your eyelashes.

Hongjoong smiles softly at your request, cupping your jaw and tilting your head up so he can access your lips. He kisses you softly, his plush lips molding naturally against yours. He turns his head to the side after just a moment, gently licking at your bottom lip, and you part your lips to grant him access. He eagerly intrudes your mouth, tangling his tongue with yours. His hand slowly comes up to rest on your waist, his thumb slipping under the hem of your shirt and rubbing easy circles over the smooth, delicate skin there. You hum into his mouth and rest your hands on his shoulders for support, desperate to taste more. It’s been a long time, you realize, since you’ve done anything like this with your boyfriends. You’ve missed it.

Seonghwa returns, raising an eyebrow at the sight and sitting on the side of the couch, opting to just watch for a little while. He knows he’ll get his turn.

Sure enough, Hongjoong pulls away just for a moment at seeing Seonghwa sit down, leaving you whining. He clicks his tongue.

”Tsk tsk… patience babydoll. Lie down on the couch for me, hm?”

You nod and quickly position yourself comfortably on the couch, happy when Hongjoong climbs over top of you and continues kissing you. To your dismay, he refuses giving you entrance back into his mouth, instead moving to press slow, open mouthed kisses down your jaw. You breathe heavier at the sensation, letting out shameless little gasps and whimpers when he nips sensitive parts of your neck. Almost too swift to notice, Hongjoong slides his hands up under your shirt, pulling it up over your head in one smooth motion before crawling downward to kiss your collarbone, lingering around the straps of your bra. Just before you feel yourself growing impatient, he unclips the fabric barrier as if reading your thoughts, gently sliding it down your shoulders to reveal your soft breasts.

He exhales in wonder at the beautiful sight, reaching one hand up to gently palm at the flesh there. “God, baby… how could I have ever forgotten how much I missed these pretty things, hm?”

You blush shyly at his praises, his tone of voice one that always gets you in a space ready and wanting to please. You arch your back impatiently, the cold air leaving you desperate for their touch. Hongjoong smiles, letting you get away with it for now and leaning down to gently take the soft flesh of your breast into his mouth.

You gasp slightly as his tongue caresses the bud of your breast, comforted with the feeling of his mouth tenderly kissing the plush skin there. You pet his hair in return, and Seonghwa reaches a hand up to rub Hongjoongs back encouragingly, fond of watching his lovers feeling good.

After a few minutes of getting you slowly more and more needy from Hongjoongs touches, Seonghwa finally moves to tug at the waist of your pants, easing them down your thighs and folding them neatly on the other side of the couch. He repositions himself to be propped on his elbows between your thighs, and you shiver when you recognize the position. His breath brushes against the heat between your thighs as he leans forward, turning his head to suck at the skin of you plush thighs. He gently kneads the soft flesh under his hands, slowly easing your thighs further apart as he inches up closer to where you need him. You roll your hips forward, desperate.

Seonghwa smiles, finally leaning forward and licking a fat stripe from your leaking entrance up to your clit, stopping there to suck on the bundle of nerves there. You gasp at the sudden stimulation, arching your back into his tongue and earning a delicious hum from him. “God, you taste so good…” Seonghwa moans into your dripping folds. He rolls his tongue expertly over the now erect bud while Hongjoong switches to sucking small marks into your collarbone, the combination sending you reeling.

When Seonghwa suddenly slides two fingers inside of you, you finally let out a full moan, earning a smile from both men. Hwa’s fingertips brush against the perfect spot inside, and combined with his tongue messily lapping up your juices and Hongjoongs attention back on your breasts, you nearly cum on the spot.

Hongjoong places a hand on Seonghwa’s head, signaling for him to stop.

You pant as you come down from the edge. “I want more,” you manage to get out in between breaths, looking up at Hongjoong.

He chuckles. “Such a needy little thing, hm?” You pout, and he giggles, finding you cute. “Bend over the side of the couch.” Seonghwa glances over at him with surprise at his suddenly domineering tone. Hongjoong just shrugs. “If our baby wants it so bad, then let’s give it to her. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how naughty our girl is, hm?”

Seonghwa glances over at you with concern, wanting to make sure it’s really what you want. He doesn’t have to worry for long, though, since you’re already scrambling to bend over with your elbows propped up on the armrest of the couch. He lets out a surprised laugh. “God, Joong. Maybe I did forget.”

Hongjoong smirks, his adoring eyes raking over your submissive position. “Seonghwa, tell me baby, do you want her pussy or her mouth? You get first pick today.”

The pretty man needs no time to decide. “Can I please get her pussy today, Joongie?”

Hongjoong nods and presses a sweet kiss to Seonghwa’s cheek. “Of course you can, love. Thank you for asking so nicely.”

While you can’t see them talking behind you in your current position, the way they talk to each other alone makes you blush. The three of you all love each other so much, there’s no doubt about it. And even when Hongjoong takes over a more dominant role, he’s never really mean, making sure his partners know that his priority is always taking care of them. You smile softly, in your thoughts, when you feel Seonghwa climb on the couch behind you.

You grip the arm of the couch in anticipation. Seonghwa presses the head of his dick against your folds, rubbing it along your clit and spreading your love juices around. You drop your head at the feeling, biting back a moan. When he finally slides in, though, you can’t help but groan out his name, pushing your hips back against him until he’s fully seated inside of you.

Hongjoong hums in satisfaction as he watches, reaching to rub comforting circles on the smooth skin of your back. “Deep breaths, baby. Does it feel good?”

You nod immediately, a little too eager. “Y-yes…” You hiss.

Hongjoong chuckles. “Good girl. Seonghwa, baby, don’t move until I tell you to.” Seonghwa groans but agrees nonetheless. Hongjoong walks around to the side of the couch where you’re facing, cupping your jaw. “Stick out your pretty tongue for me.”

You obey, parting your lips quickly and letting your tongue drop out for him, too far gone to be embarrassed about how much saliva you’re producing. He bites his lip, stroking his fully erect length in front of your face, giving you the most perfect view. When he finally rubs the bulbous head of his pretty cock against your tongue, you hum. He doesn’t do much more for a while, leaving both you and Seonghwa, who is essentially just being cockwarmed, impatient. But just before you lose your composure and ask hm outright to just fuck your throat, he finally slides his length into your mouth.

You eagerly wrap your lips around him, tightening them expertly and sliding your tongue over the underside of his pretty length, making him roll his eyes back.

“Hon- ah god… you’re so good, baby. So perfect-“ He pants, placing a hand on the back of your head and bottoming out in your throat. While he isn’t quite as long as Seonghwa, you’ve always thought that his dick fits perfectly in your mouth. Just enough to make you feel full without causing any painful gagging. You hum around him, and he finally breaks. “Oh god- Hwa, baby, move… I don’t know how long I can last…”

Seonghwa doesn’t have to be asked twice. Without warning, he starts thrusting in and out of you firmly, holding onto your waist for support. You gasp, not caring about volume anymore as he pounds into you, each thrust calculated and firm. Hongjoong can feel you rocking from Seonghwa’s relentless pace, and he lets out a low groan, holding tightly onto a fistful of your hair. “Babydoll, can I fuck your throat? P-please?”

You blink up at him expectantly in response, and he tilts his head back as he finally slides slowly in and out of your mouth.

Hongjoong slowly begins to fuck your mouth, savoring every inch as he watches your throat stretch around him. His hand remains steady on the back of your head, but he never pushes further than you can take—he knows your limits too well. Your eyes water slightly from the fullness, but the way both your boyfriends are moaning, praising you, touching you, has your arousal spiking all over again.

Behind you, Seonghwa is groaning softly under his breath, his thrusts now faster, deeper, his hips snapping into yours with growing desperation. “Fuck, you feel so good, love,” he pants, leaning forward to press kisses to your spine as he grinds into that sweet spot that makes your whole body shiver. His fingers tighten on your waist, and you can feel how close he is by the way his movements get a little sloppier.

“God, she’s dripping, Hwa,” Hongjoong murmurs with a breathless laugh, hips stuttering forward as you suck him harder, slurping around his cock like it’s the only thing you need. “Our baby’s soaking you.”

Seonghwa lets out a shaky whine, the sound sending heat straight to your core. “I—fuck, Joongie, I’m gonna—”

“Not yet,” Hongjoong growls through his teeth, voice tight with restraint. “Wait for her. Baby,” he coos down to you, pulling slowly out of your mouth with a wet pop. “Do you wanna cum?”

You nod frantically, voice hoarse with need. “P-please—I’m so close…”

“Then do it,” Seonghwa chokes out, slamming into you just right as he reaches around to rub quick circles on your clit. “Cum for us, baby. Let us feel you.”

It takes nothing more. Your orgasm crashes over you, thighs shaking as you scream out their names, walls clenching around Seonghwa’s cock in desperate pulses. He gasps, loud and broken, and finally lets go, spilling inside you with a deep, satisfied groan, hips grinding into you to ride it out. His head drops between your shoulder blades, breath hot and fast.

The sight of his two lovers feeling so good is enough for Hongjoong. He jerks himself off over your tongue, the pace of his fist desperate and sloppy. He jerks forward, trembling as he cums in front of you, thick spurts of release painting your tongue. You swallow up every drop on instinct, humming softly as he pants and wipes the corner of your lips with his thumb, utterly dazed.

For a long moment, all that fills the room is the sound of your shared, panting breaths. Seonghwa slowly pulls out, careful not to hurt you, and places a tender kiss to the curve of your lower back before helping you back onto the couch properly.

You collapse back onto Seonghwa chest, arms wide open for Hongjoong as he makes his way back around to the seat of the couch.

“Holy shit,” you mutter with a breathless laugh as Hongjoong climbs in next to the two of you, placing a loving hand on your thigh.

Hongjoong kisses your forehead, smiling contentedly. “We’ve really missed this.”

Seonghwa hums his agreement against your shoulder, holding you tighter.

You smile, eyes fluttering closed as exhaustion finally catches up with you. “Me too,” you whisper, yawning. Wrapped between your two lovers, bodies warm and sticky and pressed together, it’s hard not to feel sleepy.

The two men notice with fond expressions, glancing at each other.

Seonghwa kisss your cheek. “Alright, love, let’s go get you cleaned up. Something tells me it’s bedtime.”

You let out a breathy laugh, nodding.

“I love you guys.”

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Shelter - 3

Summary: You saved Soap's life. Your life continues to go off the rails.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley/F!Reader (No Y/N)

Warnings For This Chapter: Continued military inaccuracies, my attempt at writing accents, slow burn romance, canon typical violence and death, ...soft!Simon

A/N: Thank you to everyone who commented or liked the last chapter! Your continued support means the world to me.

Previous Chapter

“Quiet, Johnny.”

The Scot muffled his chuckle into his palm as he walked beside Simon, leading the charge up to the house. Gaz and Price were hauling the bags up from the car behind him. And Simon…Simon was carrying her.

The safehouse was up near the Scottish borders, quiet and secluded. And old. Well stocked, if Laswell’s promises meant anything (they almost always did) and Price said he’d used it before, calling it “basically a B&B.” The last stretch of the trek had been on a dirt road that hadn’t shown up on any sort of navigation system and they had to refer to a poorly drawn map. They’d hit more than a few rocks.

She was a heavy sleeper. Hadn’t moved when the entire SUV jostled over the uneven terrain or when it came to an abrupt stop outside. Simon had tried to poke her. Nudged her. Called her name. And nothing. Well, that didn’t leave him much choice. He wasn’t going to have her wake up alone in the car in an unfamiliar place. So, after removing the bag from over her face, he just scooped her up and tried not to jostle her too much.

But it was the way that she nuzzled her cheek into his chest, uncaring of the rough fabric of his tac vest catching her skin, that had his grip tightening a fraction. She wasn’t built like a model but she was weightless in his arms. Just because she…

Simon wasn’t sure what to do with that thought as he trudged up the house’s stairs and toward the small bedroom at the back of the hallway. The bed was small, made smaller still when he set her down. He expected her to roll away immediately, curl into the blankets, something. Instead, she let out what Simon could only describe as an angry meow and her arm flopped back toward him as he stepped back.

Again, something twisted in the dark confines of Simon’s chest. He couldn’t, wouldn’t name it.

He turned on his heel and left the room.

“Steamin’ Jesus, LT!” Johnny groused as Simon rounded the stairs. Her small bag was in his hand. “When did ye even get up here?”

“Been ‘ere the entire time, Johnny. Keep up.” He took the bag from the sergeant’s hands without asking and pivoted back to her room. He set the bag—that he definitely didn’t have to rifle through when they first retrieved it from the hotel—down in front of the small dresser near the door. She was curled around the pillow now, hugging it basically into her face as continued to sleep. And if Simon watched her chest rise and fall with the next few breaths, well, that could be his little secret.

The safehouse wasn’t awful. You’d actually describe it as charming if you weren’t abundantly aware that you were basically a government informant against your will. It was two levels with three bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs, the eat-in kitchen, living room, office, washroom, and primary suite below. The appliances and decor were dated but again…charming. You weren’t dumb enough to walk into the office that Price had claimed. They had started setting up a hub of sorts with a satellite laptop, an assortment of phones, and a large array of weapons stored along the back wall. Not that you were cataloging everything in the house that you could use to make an escape. You weren’t that stupid.

God. You really needed to work on being more positive.

The sun was still rising by the time you’d found your bearings in the house and you took a chance to slip out the back door, hinges groaning in protest, and found a small stone patio leading out to a long stretch of tall, wild grass abutting a thick forest. A pair of rusty lawn chairs were positioned around a cold fire pit and you settled into one, content, for now, to not be in the way of everything going on inside. This was better.

Positive. Think positive. You wouldn’t have shitty paychecks anymore or have to deal with Doctor Brookes breathing down your neck and making you uncomfortable whenever he ‘surprised’ you down in the archives. You could finally pick up pilates. Maybe.

The wind whistled through the trees and rustled the grass. It was quiet here. You often fell asleep to the quiet scream of the city back in Chicago and London had been little different for the few days you’d managed to have before shit hit the fan. You’d always gone from one city to the next. You were sure you would miss the buzz of it soon, but for now? For now, this was nice.

You shut your eyes as another gust of wind brushed your face and you pulled in a reedy breath, trying to remember the techniques your therapist had taught you. Years ago. You probably should call her again after all this. Maybe. (You probably wouldn’t but it was a nice thought.)

There was a noise on the other side of the door, it could have been an argument, but you didn’t open your eyes or turn back toward the house. Wasn’t your problem. The less you heard, the better. Hearing things you weren’t supposed to was how you got into this mess in the first place.

Your head fell back against the chair as the sun finally started to peek out from behind the ever present clouds and you tried to angle your face to let the warmth wash over you. The crick in your neck from the flat hospital pillow was gone. The pillow on the little bed upstairs was comfortable. And no, you were not thinking about how someone must’ve carried you up to that tiny bedroom. And no, you weren’t hoping it was Ghost. He had been quiet and warm beside you during the drive to wherever-the-fuck-you-are and he’d been…nice. Sort of. They all had been. A little cold. A little guarded. Not that you could blame them. You were probably the same or worse in their eyes. And that was another reason you were out here, out of their way.

“-she?”

Your face scrunched as you caught the last bit of a question asked on the other side of the door. Were they talking about you? There was an answering rumble and then a, “fan out! Couldn’t’ve gone far.”

What on earth…? Whatever. Not your problem. You kept your face angled toward the sun and-

The door behind opened with a screech, banging against the stone wall and you hurried to your feet, turning with your heart in your throat to see Soap standing on the patio, chest heaving. His bright blue eyes trained on you. “What were ye doin’ out here, lass?”

“Sitting.” Out of habit, you pointed unhelpfully at the chair.

He glanced down at the chair, too, frowning, before turning and hollering into the house. “Found ‘er!” Soap waved you back inside and herded you into one of the chairs around the small dining room table and stood at your back as the others filtered in. Ghost was the last to come in, dark eyes unmoving from your face as he moved to lean against the far wall, a mass of black fabric against the cream colored plaster. Soap explained that you had gone outside. “Didnae look like she was running.” He even patted your uninjured shoulder like you were a kid. Wonderful.

“I told you I was sitting. I thought it would be better for everyone if I wasn’t, you know, bothering anyone.”

“How did you get outside?” Price asked.

“Door was open.”

Stupid.

The noise came from Ghost again and you still weren’t entirely sure if he was laughing. And perhaps the ridiculousness of the situation was making you bold, but you opened your mouth again. “Am I not supposed to go outside?”

“We just weren’t sure if you were pulling a runner,” Gaz supplied, helpfully.

They didn’t trust you. Still didn’t trust you. Great. And you really should’ve known that. You didn’t even know their names. Or what Ghost looked like under his masks. “I just…” The words were stiff on the back of your tongue. “I didn’t want to be in the way.” You’d also been kept in a tiny room for the last handful of days and the sun let you feel like a human again. But that felt like oversharing.

Price looked at you, his blue eyes a different shade than Soap’s but no less alarming. “You’re not in the way. You’re a target.” He paused and you tried to brace to be told to stay in your room or- “We’re here to help you. You help us, we help you, yeah? You kept my men alive and we’d like to return the favor.”

And to your abject horror, the simple statement had tears stinging your eyes. He sounded sincere and you were always so used to people saying stuff like that only to get what they wanted out of you. But this… “Right.” The single syllable warbled. God, this was embarrassing.

Ghost knew her routine.

It had been two weeks since they’d arrived at the safe house and she’d been a shadow for most of it. He wasn’t entirely sure why but she’d taken it upon herself to have coffee made first thing in the morning, waiting for them in the kitchen alongside a kettle ready to be warmed for tea. It was usually sitting beside a mountain of pancakes or waffles or some other sweet pastry. Today, she’d made fresh bread and set it beside the carafe with butter and jam.

She was never around to have breakfast with them. Or lunch. Or supper. She was a shadow when she was inside. She also seemed to be a reader, if the stack of books that had disappeared from the living room and reappeared on her bedside table was any indication (the phone and tablet they’d nicked from her bags back in London were also stuffed full of books). And he’d watched her take a book outside to read in the back garden whenever Price said it was allowed. She was also attempting a new workout regimen that Kyle said was supposed to be pilates but “it doesn’t look like she has the patience for it.” But Simon didn’t mind watching her stretch.

“Lass makes good breakfast,” Johnny said around a mouthful of buttery toast.

Simon grunted his agreement and grabbed another slice, smearing the raspberry jam across the top. On instinct, his eyes tracked to the stairwell, willing her to arrive. She never did. The only time she appeared was when Price called for her, wanting her to review what she’d overheard in the tunnels before one of Laswell’s other contacts went out to investigate and destroy anything they could. It chafed at all of their nerves, knowing they needed to stay put for now, laying low to throw Makarov off their own scent.

Simon hated that phrase, too. For now.

But Johnny was alive. Their team was safe. His teammates’ families were being looked after, just as a precaution. And they had at least some sort of intel on Makarov. He tried to focus on that.

And not on the curve of her lip or how he could smell her perfume on his clothes long after he had left her in that small bedroom upstairs. And not how he could hear her sigh through the night, thinking everyone else had gone to sleep.

Simon kept eating, devouring half the loaf she’d left before he noticed. Kyle gave him a tired glare over his own plate and took two more slices before Simon could stop him. And then Johnny did, too. And Price watched it all from over the edge of his tea before sighing and getting up. He disappeared into the kitchen for a moment before returning with another loaf of bread. “I guess she knew you lot would be hungry.”

Simon ignored how something twisted in his chest. Again.

It was better to just take another bite and think of what Farah and Alex should be reporting to Laswell soon, if all went to plan.

Price had said they wanted to keep you alive, a thank you for saving Soap. And they were kind to you, now that the initial rigidity had somewhat subsided. Gaz always checked on you throughout the day, made sure you took your medications with his megawatt smile and a joke or two. Soap could talk your ear off about anything and everything and you could almost understand his accent all the time now as you slowly made your way through your physical therapy requirements alongside him. And Price was usually all business with you when you needed to verify this or that, but he always thanked you and never minded when you asked for more books to read or food to be delivered so you could make more breakfast (which was all you could do, really. They were keeping you safe and you didn’t really have any skills to reciprocate except your weird ability to make a good breakfast so you offered it to them every morning before they woke up and skittered out of the way like a feral cat). And then there was Ghost. Who watched. He just watched and seemed to disappear whenever you had to blink. But he was just there. With his mask, cloth that reached just beneath his dark eyes and painted with a skull’s jaw (at least it wasn’t the one that looked like he’d sewn a piece of an actual skull onto some fabric), and that noise he made that you still couldn’t figure out if it was a laugh or not. He had helped you with your stitches, which was a kindness he didn’t need to extend to you but he did anyway.

And you hated that you sometimes thought about the weight of his hand on your back whenever you couldn’t sleep at night. The closest thing to an actual conversation you’d had with Ghost was when he’d snuck up on you (intentionally or not) when you were reading out in the infrequent sunshine and your embarrassment about being caught off guard manifested, as it often did, with you sticking your foot straight into your mouth. “So, do you have to special order all your skeleton stuff or do you hit up a hobby shop whenever you need it?” Ghost didn’t dignify that with a response other than that damn sound again.

And it didn’t really matter because you still needed to get back to Kirby. Her due date was barreling toward you and you were slowly trying to work up the courage to just ask if you could go see her. You had a speech planned out and you hoped that the breakfasts had at least softened them to you. The four men seemed to be at ease in the house, like things had been going their way in regards to the Makarov situation.

And Soap had said that he would talk to someone about you wanting to leave. You had to trust him in that regard. He didn’t seem the type to lie about that.

As you gnawed on the side of your thumb, making your way through another book, you heard the heavy steps of one of the men downstairs. They weren’t usually loud but men of that size didn’t move without a sound…most of the time.

Except for Ghost.

He was unnervingly quiet. Or would be, if it were anyone else. You found yourself wondering why you didn’t seem to mind when he appeared out of seemingly nowhere, like a wraith or…well, a ghost. Stupid. But the name did seem to fit.

You turned another page just as something thumped downstairs. And you knew you shouldn’t pry. It wasn’t your place and overhearing things was the reason you didn’t have a job, weren’t back in the States with your sister, and currently holed up in a safe house with men whose names you didn’t know. But when a second thump came and it was quickly followed by a grunt, you set your book aside and walked to your door, chanting that you knew this was stupid under your breath.

“Are they safe?” came Soap’s voice. Biting. Barely restrained. You’d never heard him like that before.

“They’re safe.” Laswell’s voice crackled over a speaker—probably the laptop Price was always glued to.

Peeking around the corner when you reached the ground floor, you saw Soap nod before turning quickly, dragging stiff fingers through his mohawk. It looked like someone had swiped one of the shelves clear of its contents, spilling books and baubles across the floor. That was probably what you had heard.

“They’re all safe, boys. I made sure of it myself.” She was using that same tone she used with you when you woke up on base. Placating. Cool confidence. It scratched at something in the recesses of your brain, pinging warning bells that something was very, very wrong. More than a mission. More than a brother-in-arms out in the field.

“What about-”

“All of them. I personally saw to it.”

There was another stretched silence and you took the chance to inch closer to the office. Well. You tried to inch closer before a hand clamped over your arm and you were tugged back into the stairwell. Ghost stared down at you, unblinking.

“I heard something,” you whispered, the words tumbling out of your mouth before you could think of a better—less suspicious—explanation as to why you’d been creeping in the shadows.

Ghost didn’t say anything.

“Is…” You licked your lips as your heart gave an uncomfortable lurch behind your ribs. “Is everything okay?”

“Listenin’ like that ain’t a good look.”

Something hot and angry slithered down your spine. Did he really expect you to just stay upstairs and only come down when called like a dog? You’d had enough of that. “I’m not doing anything wrong. I heard a noise.”

“And ‘id in the shadows.”

You could feel the sneer starting to curl your mouth. “I’m sorry, did I take your hiding spot?”

And then he made that fucking noise again. That sharp breath. “Heh.”

“Are you laughing at me?”

And then he did it again. “‘course I am.”

Really, you should have been absolutely pissed. And you were. But that snarl started to twist and push and you found yourself fighting a smile because his laugh was ridiculous. A man that large should not be allowed to laugh like that. “Whatever.”

His grip on your arm tightened a fraction, thumb pressing into the delicate crease of your elbow, before he tugged you back toward the office. You halfheartedly tried to ignore how his fingers trailed against your arm when he dropped his hold. And it didn’t seem like he did it on purpose because he was busy talking to Soap about something—you heard the word sitrep and you weren’t about to ask what that meant.

Not when you realized you were staring at the remnants of a destroyed home. Pictures upon pictures filled the small screen of the laptop and your stomach sank the more you looked. That was someone’s home. A couch was gutted and overturned. A stereo was broken into pieces. And frames were smashed. It was one of the last pictures that had your veins turning to ice. It was a picture of Soap, surrounded by women who could only be his family, bright, shining smiles behind shattered glass.

That was Soap’s family home.

And you were sure Gaz, Price and Ghost all had families, too. There were pieces of their lives scattered on that small screen. They had been targeted. Or at least their houses had been.

Gaz was the first one to catch your eye and he gave you a tight smile. “Didn’t think you would want to see this, love.”

“I…” The words you could have said dried on your tongue. What could you say to someone who just learned that their family was in danger? “Is there anything I can do?”

Simon watched her retreat back up the stairs. It had been kind, he supposed, for her to offer her help. She couldn’t do anything. Nothing that she hadn’t already done. But he saw the flash of concern in her eyes before it disappeared again as she nodded, quietly leaving the office when told to do so.

“Has there been any movement against her sister?” Kyle asked but Simon saw his eyes dart to the picture of his dad’s overturned office.

“We have her monitored, but I don’t think Makarov knows of her either. She isn’t on any sort of official documentation we can find.”

“Shouldn’t there be birth certificates? Where’s their mum?” Price asked.

Things weren’t adding up. There were holes in all of this. Simon crossed his arms as he let the others talk.

“Her mother’s dead. Dead for decades. And before you ask, Kirby has a different mother. Only Kirby has a father listed.”

“Same father, then?”

“A possibility. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s dead, too.” Laswell sighed, crackling the line.

Simon’s eyes dragged across the destruction Makarov had brought across his teammates’ families’ homes. His stomach churned, just for a moment, remembering a different home, a different family, with no one there to shuttle them off to a safer haven.

Just as quickly as the thought came, it left. Just as it always did. And the scent of her perfume lingered and how she looked more sad than scared when she saw the pictures.

You hadn’t really known what you could do when you asked if there was anything you could do so it only stung a little when you were dismissed. After sneaking a bit of dinner from the kitchen, trying to not listen to anything still coming from the office, you readied for bed and managed to fall into a dreamless sleep after finishing your book.

Brief, bright light had your eyes snapping open. You waited for a moment, your frown growing deeper, wanting to know if it would happen again. And it did, bursting through the small window for a split second.

Someone was outside.

Scraaaaape.

You frowned at the ceiling and tried to filter through the possibilities. Animals. Wind. But the scraping sound came again and it twisted at something in your gut. You were supposed to be alone out here. Isolated.

Safe.

But something was screaming at the back of your mind that this wasn’t right.

The noise came again and you slid off the bed as your heart inched its way up your throat. Something was wrong. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. On quiet feet, you moved toward the window, trying to keep your back pressed to the wall, hidden in shadows. And then you heard the scrape again. And then a rhythmic thudding across the dead grass.

Something glinted, catching the moonlight. And your heart nearly stopped before beating a painful staccato against your ribs. Guns. Men with guns. Men with guns were surrounding the house, sliding out of the trees behind the house and slinking closer. One of them held a flashlight—that had been the light.

“Fuck.” You turned and tried to find something, anything that could be used as a weapon. The only thing that you thought could work was the lamp, heavy enough to cause some damage but only once. It was better than nothing. You slid back toward it and-

The room tilted as a tight grip dug into the back of your neck and hauled you backward. Before you could scream, another hand clamped over your throat. Your next breath wheezed out from between your teeth and you blindly tried to pry the thick fingers from around your windpipe but only served to have the grip on your neck tighten. “There you are, little brat.”

The accent was harsh and flashes of your time in the tunnels sped through your mind. They were back. Makarov’s men.

“Now, tell us what-”

“I know nothing,” was your wheezed reply. It was a knee jerk reaction and not a complete lie but that hardly mattered with your heart beating wildly behind your ribs.

But the grip on your throat tightened a fraction more. “You’ve been living with them for weeks. You know nothing? Useless American,” the man sneered, spittle splashing against your cheek.

Your therapist had once said you were impulsive. And she might have mentioned trauma and the need for continued meetings but that didn’t stop your tongue from lashing. “You call me useless?” Black dots were lining the edges of your vision. “I wouldn’t tell you a-anything even if I did know. Go fuck yourself!” The last word was garbled on your leaden tongue as the grip on your throat tightened and completely cut off your airway.

“What did you tell them, then, hm?” More spit landed your face. He grumbled something in Russian your addled brain couldn’t comprehend and the black edging in on your vision grew darker, lungs burning with each empty pull you tried to take. Your nails dug into the man’s hands around your throat but his grip didn’t falter. Even as your vision tunneled, you knew you had to do something.

Anything.

Kirby was waiting for you. Blindly, you thrust a hand out and the tips of your fingers slipped across the lamp’s shade. You thrashed against the man’s grip and you might have heard him laugh but you still tried again until your hand closed around the flimsy shade and you yanked it up and backward with a croaked shout. It cracked in your grasp but it made contact, raining shards of porcelain against the side of your face.

Your next breath burned as the vice of his hands opened. You didn’t waste a moment and yanked yourself away from him, only managing to collapse onto the bed on your belly as your knees knocked together. A slew of curses punched out of his mouth and you turned to see blood pouring from a large cut above his eye.

Good.

He wiped at his face, smearing blood across his cheeks, before lunging for you.

You threw yourself off the other side of the bed, legs slamming against the floor but he did not follow. You stood and turned, ready to-

-a hand pressed over your mouth and stifled the scream you felt blooming behind your teeth. “Quiet,” Ghost whispered.

It was then you noticed the man, unmoving on the floor. A knife embedded in his left eye.

You nodded, the fabric of Ghost’s gloves scratching your lips. He was here. He was with you. It snapped and fizzled at something in your belly but was quickly snuffed out by the quick pop-pop-pop of gunfire downstairs. Ghost didn’t flinch at all—not that you expected him to. Instead, he dropped his hold on you and grabbed one of your hands, moving to thread your fingers through the belt loop on his side, a silent command you followed readily. He pulled a gun from its holster and turned, quietly tugging you along as he moved out into the hallway.

The sound of more gunfire battered your ears as Ghost led you down the short hallway and down the stairs. You didn’t say anything as you stepped over one, two, three bodies on your way down. Ghost was a solid mass in front of you, unwavering and his gun ready. Before you could blink, he moved, shoving you to the side and you tightened your grip on his belt loop as he fired off two rounds right where you were about to step.

The next body hit the floor without any fanfare and he continued to tug you along. The house wasn’t big—you knew this—but it felt massive as he continued to lead you toward the front door. As you stepped out into the living room, both Gaz and Soap emerged from the shadows, guns drawn and tac vests thrown over their shirts. They flanked you as Ghost continued to lead you out onto the front yard where the SUV rumbled, Price behind the wheel.

A quick flash of light caught your eye and you saw the left side of the house catch fire–quickly. And then the world tilted on its axis, sliding beneath your feet—oh wait, no. Ghost had just grabbed your shirt and wrapped an arm around your waist and threw you into the car. No one screamed at Price to “move move move” like they did in the movies but Ghost hauled himself in behind you and immediately grabbed the back of your neck and shoved you down toward the floorboards. “Keep down,” he said, voice just a touch above his usual drawl. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to, the grip on your neck smarting. You’d probably be bruised before the sun came up. You did chance a look up as the car rocked side to side, racing through the field and over the hidden bumps and rocks. Gaz and Soap had guns trained on the back window as Ghost kept his hand anchored on the back of your neck. But you shivered when his thumb brushed against your hammering pulse.

He must have felt it because he did it again.

What a way to end the night.

Next Chapter

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think! I'm not going to lie, getting less than 1/3 of part one's notes on part two bummed me out. I'm considering only posting this on ao3 as I seem to get at least a little more engagement there. Let me know what you think! Because, yes, while I write for me, it is shared with you guys and I'd like to know if you're enjoying it.

[driverlando]

✧.* #LANDOLEAKS

synopsis- Lando said your sex tape was for his eyes only…until it wasn’t

before you continue: this is sort of a continuation to my pr nightmare fic for lando! if you enjoyed, please reblog and give me a follow xx

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

—

—

✧.* yours and landos reaction

You groggily open your eyes to the persistent buzz of your phone on the nightstand. Beside you, Lando stirs, rubbing his eyes as he reaches for his own phone, mirroring your confusion.

“What time is it?” you mumble, squinting at the bright screen in the dim room. The soft glow of dawn filters through the curtains, casting a muted light on the chaos that’s about to unfold. Lando doesn’t answer, his attention captured by the flurry of notifications and messages flooding his phone. His brows furrow in concern, and you can feel the tension in the air.

You glance at your own screen, eyes widening as you see the trending hashtag: #LandoLeaks. Your heart skips a beat as you click on it, a mixture of dread and disbelief washing over you. There, in stark reality, are snippets of a private video you and Lando thought was secure, now shared for the world to see.

“Oh no,” you whisper, the words barely audible over the pounding of your heart. Lando looks at you, his expression mirroring your own shock and dismay.

“This can’t be happening,” he mutters, running a hand through his tousled hair. “How did this get out?”

You feel a wave of anger and violation surge through you. “Someone must have hacked into your iCloud,” you say, trying to process the situation. “We need to do something, and fast.”

Lando nods, determination replacing the initial shock in his eyes. “First, we need to contact our teams and get this taken down,” he says, already dialing numbers on his phone. “Then, we’ll figure out who did this.”

As you watch him spring into action, you can’t help but feel a mix of emotions—anger, fear, but also a strange sense of resolve. Together, you would get through this. You always did.

With a deep breath, you start typing a message to your publicist, hoping that amidst the chaos, you and Lando could reclaim some sense of control over your lives.

In the next few hours, the house becomes a hub of frantic activity. Calls and emails fly back and forth between you, Lando, and your respective teams. Legal advisors, publicists, and social media managers are looped in to manage the crisis. The video is being taken down from various platforms, but the damage has been done. Screenshots and clips have already spread like wildfire.

Your phone rings, and it’s your publicist. “We need to get ahead of this story,” she says urgently. “A statement from both of you, emphasizing your privacy has been violated, and that legal action is being taken.”

You look over at Lando, who’s on the phone with his own team. He catches your eye and gives a nod of understanding. “We’re on it,” you reply, ending the call.

Lando finishes his conversation and sits beside you. “How are you holding up?” he asks softly, placing a hand on your knee.

“Honestly? I’m furious and embarrassed,” you admit, fighting back tears. “But we need to stay strong and united.”

He pulls you into a comforting embrace. “We will get through this,” he reassures you. “Let’s draft that statement.”

You both sit at the dining table, laptops open, drafting a response that conveys your anger and frustration, but also your determination to reclaim your privacy.

—

—

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc and 85,638 others

yourusername Well, this is not how we planned to go viral. 🙃 While we appreciate the interest, we kindly ask for privacy during this time. Also fuck whoever hacked into Landos iCloud, you bet your ass you’re getting sued 😙

view all 9,267 comments

carlossainz55 sue that fucker!

user1 search up #landoleaks on Twitter to see the videos!!

↳ user2 Landos thrust game is on point

↳ user3 can you not? y/n clearly asked for you to respect her privacy

↳ user2 well they shouldn’t have been making these videos then. they knew what the risk was

user4 can we talk about that one video where he has his backwards cap on in doggy 🥵🥵

↳ user5 or the one where y/n’s filming him eating her out and he’s looking right into the camera

↳ user4 they’re SO hot and kinky

↳ user6 respect their privacy 🤦‍♀️

user7 Sending love and support to the both of you! This is not okay. 💔

user8 McLaren will probably have something to say about this 😳

↳ user9 if they fire lando over this I’ll go insane

—

—

—

—

landonorris

liked by yourusername, lewishamilton, charles_leclerc and 1,628,725 others

landonorris Life in the fast lane comes with its unexpected bumps. Thanks to everyone for the support and understanding. We’re keeping our heads up and looking forward to getting back on track. Remember, change those iCloud passwords! 😉

view all 13,527 comments

user10 show them how it’s done! 💪

user11 did they find the hacker?

↳ deuxmoi yeah they did, apparently it was a fan 🫡

yourusername come put those hands to good use

↳ user12 we all know how skilled his hands are now, so i totally understand her constant thirsting

↳ user13 she’s back at it again

user14 our unbothered king!! #Legend

↳ user15 love how he’s just training and preparing for his next race, not giving the hacker any satisfaction

oscarpiastri excellent advice mate…should’ve taken it earlier

user16 he’s excluding major big dick energy

↳ user17 I mean from the leaks, he has every right to exclude it 🤣

—

EXCLUSIVE: Formula One Star Lando Norris and Influencer Girlfriend Y/N Y/L/N’s Intimate Video Leaked in iCloud Hack

By: Sasha, Rumour Radar

In a shocking turn of events, Formula One sensation Lando Norris and his influencer girlfriend Y/N Y/L/N have become the latest victims of a devastating iCloud hack. Early this week, the couple’s private videos and photos were leaked online, sending social media into a frenzy and causing the hashtag #LandoLeaks to trend worldwide.

The intimate videos, believed to be stored securely in Norris’s iCloud account, was maliciously accessed and disseminated, violating the couple’s privacy in the most invasive manner. Fans and followers of the McLaren driver and his popular partner woke up to the unexpected scandal, as the videos spread like wildfire across various platforms.

Privacy Breach Sends Shockwaves

Sources close to the couple reveal that Norris and Y/L/N were awakened by a barrage of notifications on their phones, alerting them to the unauthorized leak. “They were in complete shock and disbelief,” says an insider. “This is a deeply personal violation, and they’re understandably devastated”

In an exclusive statement to our publication, Norris’s management team expressed their outrage and confirmed immediate action is being taken to remove the content from the internet. “We are working with legal experts and cybersecurity professionals to address this breach of privacy and ensure that those responsible are held accountable,” the statement reads. “This is not just about Lando and Y/N, it’s about everyone’s right to privacy”

Digital Safety

The leak has sparked widespread condemnation from fans and fellow celebrities, who are rallying behind the couple with messages of support and solidarity. Many are calling for stricter measures to protect individuals’ private data and prevent such invasive breaches from occurring in the future.

As the couple works to regain control of their personal lives, the incident serves as a stark reminder of the vulnerabilities that even high-profile figures face in the digital age and also highlights the importance of digital privacy and responsible online behavior.

Our thoughts remain with Lando and Y/N during this challenging time, and we urge our readers to approach discussions with empathy and respect for all parties involved.

Stay tuned to Rumour Radar for the latest updates on this unfolding story and more celebrity gossip.

—

[criminalyapping]

due for trouble | the secret’s out

the pitt masterlist main masterlist

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader

a/n: finally time for some other beloved pitt characters to join the fray!! also can you tell i’m not the most knowledgeable about how buying a house actually work? bc i can lol

next time is baby shower!!

warnings: unplanned pregnancy, age gap, language

< part 12 | part 14 >

At work, most of Jack’s personal life remains a mystery. He considers himself close to Robby, being genuine friends outside of the walls of the hospital. The others, not so much.

The bottom line is that Jack’s a private guy, and doesn’t want to air out his business to be discussed and speculated about down every hallway of the hospital.

One thing he does love, though, is the feeling of smug satisfaction he feels when he surprises people.

“Ellis, Shen,” he calls to his night-shift coworkers as he sees them, backpacks on and ready to leave early in the morning.

They both turn towards him, waiting.

“What are you guys doing on Saturday afternoon?” he asks.

They both open their mouths to speak, but Jack interrupts them before they can make a sound.

“Well, you’re invited to a baby shower, so actually don’t do anything,” he instructs with a carefully crafted look on neutrality on his face. “My house, 1pm.” he finishes with a smile.

The two doctors in front of him gape, questioning looks on their faces as they stare him down. He keeps his smile bright.

Shen snaps out of it first, unflappable as always.

“Cool man, I’ll be there.” he agrees.

Ellis shakes her head in disbelief.

“I’m sorry, I’ll need a few more details,” she says sarcastically, “what?”

“A baby shower.” Jack reiterates.

“Yeah, I got that. For who?” she asks.

“Typically they’re kind of for a baby.” he replies matter of factly.

“Oh my god,” she mutters under her breath. “Who’s pregnant?” she asks.

“My girlfriend.” he tells her with another smile.

“You-“ she stutters, “since when do you-?” she stops herself. Sighing and rolling out her tense shoulders. “Whatever, I’ll be there.” she agrees.

“Awesome, thanks, I’ll send you guys my address.” he smiles, leaving them standing there with unanswered questions as he walks back toward the hub, looking for Robby.

He finds him, hands on his hips as he observes the boards. They had already done turnover, so the ED is alight with movement and all the day shift doctors.

“Hey man,” Jack greets as he claps Robby on the back.

“Hey,” Robby greets as he takes on his glasses.

Dana looks up from her computer, eyeing Jack skeptically.

“You better get out of here Jack, we know you and sunlight don’t get along.” she jokes.

“Yeah, yeah; I’m getting better about it, though.” he says, pointing at her.

“Baby shower, Saturday at one, can you make it?” he asks Robby.

His friend nods his head, “Yeah, yeah I’ll get it covered.” he agrees.

“Invite whoever isn’t working from day shift, just send ‘em my address, they’re all invited.” he tells Robby.

Dana slides herself along the counter closest to the two, looking at Jack expectantly.

“I’m sorry,” she starts, “I think my ears are playing tricks on me. Baby shower?” she asks.

Jack nods. “Obviously, you’re invited too, I hope you’re not working Saturday.”

“I’m not.” she says, deadpan. “You’re having a baby?” she asks, a wide smile crawling over her face.

“Sure am.” he confirms, a matching smile on his.

“Well I’ll be…” she trails off with a grin.

“Invite the people,” he says, turning back to Robby, “and come early to set up.” he tells him.

“Aye aye, captain.” he agrees.

Jack turns and leaves, watching as Dana’s eyes turn to Robby with a look like she’s about to sink her information-seeking claws into him and not let go.

He heads home, eats a quick breakfast, and falls asleep hard.

He’s in the trenches of trying to buy that house, so he wakes up earlier than he wants to be able to exchange some messages with the working public while the day isn’t almost over. Working night shift makes doing normal human tasks much more difficult.

He’s able to exchange a few texts with you while you work, smiling as you tell him about your work problems.

You had sent Jack pictures of decorations you wanted for the baby shower, so he picks himself off the couch to head to a party supply store.

Yes honey, whatever you want honey, he had told you when you stressed to high heaven about how you would have enough time to get all the decorations, send invitations, cook the food, and set up for the party before Saturday came. He volunteered to get the decorations, assured you that you don’t need invitations, and asked what food you wanted to be catered, not made my either of them.

He enjoyed life much more when you weren’t stressed about things that didn’t need to be stressed about, and happily does whatever he can to take some of the stress off of your shoulders.

Today is shaping up to be a good day, he thinks, after dropping the baby bomb on his coworkers, successfully buying everything on the list you had made for him, and especially now, he things looking down at his phone.

He had just gotten an email from his realtor that his offer on the house was accepted, and he was now under contract. With how quickly that went, he has a sliver of hope that they could move in before they have their December baby.

Right now, Jack Abbot could not be happier with his life, and can’t wait for Saturday.

tagging: @michasia24 @veggieburgerwrites @bruher @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @catmomstyles3 @qardasngan @fuckalrighty @rae4725 @beebeechaos @thatssomebadhat89 @cari87 @livingdeadblondequeen @wowitsafemale @neonpurplestars89-blog @starswin @celiacallsitcausal @vinceelser @glamorizethechaos @nerdgirljen @namgification @li22ie2017 @misshoneypaper @gardeniarose13 @peachjellyy @babybatreads @spooky-librarian-ghost @foolishseven @cannonindeez @wisps-writes-fic

let me know if you want a tag, too!

[docrobinavitch]

say goodbye like you mean it | part three

dr. robby x f!charge nurse!oc content: 18+ mdni, swearing, canon medical events, vague age gap (oc mid to late thirties) words: 6.1k PART ONE | PART TWO | PART FOUR synopsis: while gwen and robby continue to explore their relationship, langdon returns to the pitt. gwen grapples with the feeling that robby means more to her than she does to him. a/n: hi guys thank you for the patience while i was traveling and thank you so much for all the love on the first two parts!!! i can't thank u enough for real. i love hearing your feedback so please do not hesitate, even anonymously. i had so much fun writing this part. there will be at least one more part, i will keep y'all updated.

“Dana,” Gwen frowned as she watched Dana walk toward the hub with a tray in her hand with three coffees, “I didn’t know you were on today.”

Dana handed her one of the coffees, “I’m not, but it’s… gonna get weird in here today. Thought you could use the help.”

Gwen sipped her coffee, but continued to watch Dana with confusion, “What’s going on today?”

Dana stared at her quietly for a moment, “It’s Langdon’s first day back. Robby didn’t mention?”

Gwen and Robby had been casually seeing each other for two months now. They acknowledged that they were seeing each other exclusively, but hadn’t defined the relationship otherwise. On top of that, they rarely saw each other on their off days. Right now, their relationship was mostly confined to after shift dinners and sleepovers.

To be clear, Gwen was okay with this, but she had wondered if Robby was intentionally keeping her at arms length. She hadn’t yet been brave enough to ask him about it. In truth, the sex was really good and she didn’t want to risk ruining it.

But here was a clear marked warning sign that he was, in fact, keeping things from her.

“Is Langdon a student, or?”

Dana sighed heavily, “Shit. I thought since the two of you were dating now he would at least be confiding in someone.”

Gwen flushed and looked to her computer screen, “Not sure you can call what we’re doing dating.”

Just then, Robby stopped by the hub, “Hey, how are we looking today?”

Gwen looked at her iPad while Dana handed him one of the coffees she had brought in, “ICU took two of our boarders during the night shift, we have one more waiting on an ICU bed and two waiting on psych.”

“Good,” Robby said, looking up at the board, “Any callouts?”

“Yeah, three.”

Robby whistled, “We doing anything about that?”

Gwen shook her head, “Nobody’s available to cover. There are less nurses on chairs today to accommodate.”

Robby nodded and then looked to Dana, “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what are you doing here today?”

“Just here for emotional support captain, thought it might be a… challenging day.” Dana gave him a knowing look.

Robby’s eyes darted quickly from Gwen back to Dana before he gave her a sharp shake of his head, “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

Robby turned back to Gwen, “Rounds with me in five?”

Gwen nodded and then he was gone. She turned to Dana, “He seems fine to me.”

Dana laughed, “Oh, kiddo. Talk to me in five hours.”

***

Fifteen minutes later, Gwen and Robby walked in lock step around the ER while she got him up to speed. Again, he seemed fine to her, if a little more distant than usual, but the things Dana had said had stuck with her.

“Hey, um,” She stopped him with a hand on his forearm, “You’re okay, right?”

“Jesus,” He sighed, “Not you too.”

She dropped her hand, “Look, I don’t know what’s going on or who this Langdon is, but—“

“You’re right, you don’t know. So just stay out of it, okay?”

Gwen frowned at him and took a step back, “I’m going to need you to recalibrate your attitude.”

He began walking away from her as he caught the eye of Dr. Mohan who was flagging him down for a consult, “There wouldn’t be an attitude to recalibrate if you just stay in your lane. Please.”

Robby had never really been short with her in the entire time she knew him. For a second, she just stood there, staring after him. Finally, Gwen scoffed and turned to go back to the hub where a tall, lanky young doctor was talking to Dana.

“Dr. Langdon, this is Gwen Keating, our charge nurse.” Dana introduced.

Gwen gave a tight smile, “Nice to meet you, Dr. Langdon.”

Langdon frowned looking from Dana to Gwen, “You weren’t kidding,” He said slowly to Dana, “About leaving?”

“Serious as a heart attack, kid. But I’ll still be around helping for a while.”

“Man,” Langdon said, “Robby must be a wreck about it.”

“Nope,” Dana said, “Gwen here runs an even tighter ship than I do, right kid?”

Gwen was lost in thought, watching Robby work. They hadn’t spent much time talking about what it was they meant to each other, but Gwen had assumed he felt the way she did. That they could lean on each other, emotionally. The way she had leaned on him, confided in him about James. But now there was this doctor standing in front of her who very clearly was eliciting some sort of emotional response in Robby and he was responding by completely cutting her out.

“Hey, Keating.” Dana pulled her from her reverie, “You good? I don’t need you off your game too.”

Langdon had left the hub and Gwen watched as Robby’s eyes followed him, “Sorry, yeah, I’m fine, I just… You were right, about Robby. He’s off.”

Dana nodded slowly, looking over Gwen with concern, “Yeah, it’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

She sighed, “I know it’s stupid, I just thought… I thought he would’ve told me. If something was wrong.”

Dana smiled sadly, “Don’t take it personally, kid. He’s crazy about you.”

Gwen laughed, “Right. Yeah. I should go check on… some labs.” She said quickly, hoping she could drown out her thoughts with the work.

***

Gwen spent the next couple of hours attempting to be as far away from Robby as possible. Him being short with her earlier had her rethinking everything. Maybe she didn’t really know him at all. She really didn’t want to think about the fact that while she was pining over him, maybe it was all just about fucking for him. And then she felt stupid for caring. He had never implied it was anything else. Why did she expect more from him?

She walked from patient to patient, called the lab every hour, checked the board, answered all of the incoming EMT calls and directed where to put them.

“Hey, Gwen?” Samira walked up to her, “Do you know where Robby is?”

She shook her head, “Haven’t seen him.”

“Okay, I have to run to a different patient, but could you let him know the labs are back on South 7? Blood tests came back clean and negative EKG.”

“Yeah, of course.” Gwen said, and then Samira disappeared, “Fantastic.” She sighed.

Gwen made her way slowly through the ER, trying to find Robby while fielding calls and questions on the way. She finally found him in a room with Langdon, both of them had their hands on a patient who was struggling to breathe, if the alarms were any indication.

“Langdon, she’s been down for too long and we can’t see the vocal cords, it’s time to crike.”

“No, Robby, I can do it, I can—“

“Mateo, prep for a crike—“

“No, I’m close, Robby I swear—“

“Frank, hands off the patient—“

“Dr. Robby—“ Gwen started.

“What?!” Robby snapped.

The volume of his voice made her wince and Gwen pinched the bridge of her nose as she spoke, “Labs are back on South 7, everything came back clean, negative EKG. Dr. Mohan thought you should know.”

She heard Robby sigh heavily as she turned to go, “Fuck, Gwen, wait—“

“It’s fine,” She called back over her shoulder.

Very quickly, she made her way back to the hub, collapsing in a chair next to Dana.

“You okay, kid?”

She sighed heavily and swiped her badge on the computer to log in, “He is in rare form today.”

“And your sweet disposition has done nothing to soothe him?”

Gwen barked a laugh and popped a jolly rancher in her mouth, “Oh, Dana. If I was your last hope I am sorry to say that we are fucked.”

Dana patted the back of her hand reassuringly, “He’s had worse days. The day he kicked Langdon out was the same day as Pitt Fest. Now that version of Robby…” Dana whistled.

Gwen opened and closed her mouth, then looked at Dana, “Was Robby working during Pitt Fest?”

Dana watched her face, seemingly looking for any indication that Robby had told her something that he obviously hadn’t.

Gwen blinked and looked back at her computer screen, “It’s like I don’t even know him sometimes.”

“Be patient with him, kid. He’ll get there.”

Maybe that was true, that he’d finally trust her enough to tell her everything. That she wouldn’t be flouncing around this ER with everyone knowing she was sleeping with the attending regularly, but he didn’t think she was worth confiding in.

But more and more, and especially today, it felt like she was just a warm body to him and that was all she’d ever be.

***

“Mom and dad are fighting,” Santos said softly to Whitaker and Javadi as they looked at the board. Gwen had breezed past them just moments ago.

Whitaker frowned, “Robby and Gwen? About what?”

Santos shrugged, “Not sure, but they’re definitely off. I don’t think Robby’s looked for her since morning rounds. Normally he follows her around all day like a lost puppy.”

Just then Samira joined them, “Robby and Langdon are acting so weird.”

“Weird how?” Javadi asked.

“Like Robby is dying to deck him.”

“Oh my God,” Javadi said slowly, “Do you think Langdon was hitting on Gwen? I saw them talking earlier at the hub.”

Samira narrowed her eyes at Javadi, “I think it’s more likely Robby is still holding onto his anger with Langdon. They haven’t seen each other since… Since Pitt Fest.”

Santos smirked, “You have to admit though, it would be really funny to see Robby and Langdon fight over the same girl.”

Samira rolled her eyes, “You guys don’t know anything about adult relationships.”

“Why are half my doctors socializing around the board instead of treating patients?” Robby called, causing them to scatter immediately, “And where is Keating?”

“She’s outside, I sent her out for a little break.” Dana said, “What d’you need?”

Robby looked at her blankly, “Oh, uh, nothing. Nothing.”

Dana smiled at him knowingly, “She’s fine, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He nodded, “I wasn’t asking, but if I was, that would be helpful to know.”

“Right,” Dana said, “Frank’s looking for you in south twenty, he’s got a six year old, fever, lethargic, nothing on the labs yet. Dad’s getting impatient.”

Robby sighs and rubs at his face, “Yeah, okay.”

“How’s it going with him?”

He shrugged, clearly exasperated, “Fuck if I know.”

Instead of heading immediately to south twenty, he walked outside to the ambulance bay.

Gwen was leaning against the wall, a cigarette in her mouth.

“I didn’t know you smoked.” Robby said, leaning on the wall next to her.

“I don’t normally, but I really needed one today. Dana let me bum one.”

“Oh good, I’ve pushed you to self destructive behaviors and it’s only been a couple of months. That has to be a new personal record.”

Gwen rolled her eyes, “Don’t flatter yourself. This is hardly the first time an attending has taken out their frustrations on me.”

He sighed and looked down at his feet, “I’m sorry I was short with you this morning, I’m just… Langdon and I have a lot of… unresolved… stuff.”

Gwen nods, “So I’ve heard.”

She feels him looking at her, knowing he’s waiting for her to look at him, to accept his apology. But she wasn’t feeling that generous just yet.

She puts out her cigarette and starts to head back inside, but Robby grabs her arm as she passes.

“Hey,” He says softly, “I’m trying.”

Gwen sighs, “You had months to tell me about Langdon, about Pitt Fest, instead I had to find out when I came in this morning. Everyone assumed I already knew. It’s embarrassing—“

“I didn’t mean to keep it from you, I just wasn’t ready to talk about it—“

“And are you ready to talk about it now? Because I still don’t know what’s going on besides the fact that every time Langdon walks by you, you look like you’re thinking about jumping him.”

He stares at Gwen for a few moments and then looks down, “I don’t…” He says slowly, “You don’t understand what it was like that day—“

“You’re right. And how could I understand if you never tell me?”

He closes his eyes, “I can’t do this right now.”

Gwen scoffs, “Fine, don’t bother. I’m sure one of the residents can fill me in. Seems to be the only way I get information around here.”

“Come on, don’t be like that—“

“You know, Robby, you told me once that this,” She gestured at the space between them, “Wouldn’t work if I didn’t talk to you. Does it not go both ways?”

He nodded, “You’re right. Look, I will tell you everything after the shift—“ Gwen’s already scoffing and trying to walk away, but Robby gently takes her by the shoulders to keep her in front of him, “What I will tell you is that Langdon’s ability to… disperse medications has been revoked.”

Gwen stilled and looked up at him.

“Anything he orders, a nurse gets it for him and gives it to the patient. Unless it is absolutely life or death emergent. In which case, at the end of the shift, as charge nurse I would ask that you double check all of his orders today to make sure everything is where it should be.”

She blinked at him, “Are you telling me this as your colleague or as your… friend?”

“Both, I hope.” He curls a piece of her hair around her ear and then follows the line of her jaw until he holds her chin,”I know I can be… difficult at times, but I really do care about you. I hope you know that.”

Just then Dana came through the double doors, “Robby, patient’s wife in North 13 is looking for you. Gwen, they need you in chairs, people are getting testy.”

They both confirmed for Dana that they’d heard, but they don’t move just yet.

“We’re okay?” Robby asked softly, and for the first time, Gwen thought she heard a note of fear in his voice.

“Yeah, I just,” Gwen bit her lip, “If things get bad for you today, you’ll come find me, right?”

He nodded and brought both hands up to cradle her face before softly kissing her.

It wasn’t like them to show affection at work, so Gwen was caught off guard by the kiss, but only for a second before she leaned in.

“Well, this is very touching,” Dr. Langdon stood at the ambulance bay entrance, Dr. King just behind him, “But some of us are trying to save lives. Robby, we need you now.”

They broke apart, not acknowledging Langdon as they headed back into work. Gwen didn’t notice the way Robby stared after her even when she disappeared through the double doors to the waiting room.

***

The yelling immediately upon entering the waiting room was jarring. Gwen helped security separate two teenagers and their parents, who were each threatening to press charges against one another. Luckily, it was one of the teens turns to head to the back anyway.

“Nicely done,” Mateo whispered as he ushered the family to the back.

Gwen sighed and then gave the room a quick once over. She spotted an older man sleeping on the far side of the room. Frowning, she began walking over. That was a lot of commotion to have slept through.

“Sir?” She said as she got closer, but no response. “Are either of you with him?” She asked the patients on either side, but they both shook their heads.

“Sir,” She said again and rubbed her fist against his chest in the hopes of rousing him, but still, no response. She pressed her fingers to his carotid. No pulse. “Shit. I need a gurney! Now!”

In a moment, Perlah was next to her with a gurney and two other nurses to help. They moved him onto the gurney and Gwen immediately climbed on top to start chest compressions.

“Somebody get a doctor, tell them we’re coming. Perlah, go get a crash cart ready.”

“Where are we going?” A nurse asked as they made it into the back.

“Dana!” Gwen shouted.

“Trauma one is open.” The relief Gwen felt at the sound of Dana’s voice was insurmountable.

“Can you get Robby?” Gwen asked, out of breath as she continued CPR.

“I’ll see if I can find him.” Dana said and then she was gone.

In moments, the man was hooked up to a cardiac monitor and Dr. Langdon flew in, “What do we got?”

“Guy from chairs, found him unresponsive. Unknown downtime, no pulse.” Gwen said.

“Hold compressions.”

Gwen pulled her hands up and winced as the monitor gave one long, monotone beep.

“Asystole.” Langdon said, “Resume compressions. Push epi.”

“Let me take over?” Perlah asked softly as Gwen resumed CPR.

“I’m okay.” She said, “Not yet.” In her head she was beating herself up for the fact that she had been responsible for assigning nurses to chairs. But as she assigned them this morning, there had been three call outs. She had made the decision to short chairs, rather than a bed.

And now this man was probably dead.

“Why the hell didn’t anyone catch this sooner?” Langdon said.

“We’re shortstaffed today—“ Perlah began.

“It’s my fault.” Gwen interrupted, “We had three call outs, no one on call. I thought we could manage with less nurses on chairs.”

“This is not your fault.” Perlah hissed.

“And did you run that decision by Robby first?”

This whole situation was ridiculous, bordering on comedic. Was she really being admonished by a resident right now? A resident who had been accused of stealing drugs from the hospital no less.

“I keep Robby informed of all my decisions.” Gwen said, breathless and sweating now from the CPR, “But he doesn’t get final say, I’m not a student. I manage the ER to the best of my ability with the resources given to me.”

“Well you’re doing a pretty shitty job of that, if this man’s any proof.”

“Dr. Langdon.” Perlah hissed.

“Hold compressions.” Still asystole. “Resume compressions. Push another round of epi.”

“It’s fine, Perlah.” Gwen said as she resumed CPR.

“It is not fine.” She said, “Langdon, would you talk to Dana like that?”

“She’s not Dana. And Dana wouldn’t have made this call.”

“Yes she would have and in fact she has made that same call many times. Things changed while you were gone, asshole. Get over it.”

“All that seems to have changed to me is that Robby’s sleeping with the charge.”

The air in the room crackled with tension as Langdon’s words settled around them. Gwen continued compressions.

“Hey man,” Donnie said finally, “Not fucking cool.”

“What?” Langdon said, “We’re all thinking it!”

The room erupted in chaos and shouting from the nurses and Langdon as Gwen continued compressions.

“Hey!” She tried to shout over the din, to no avail, “All of you, shut the fuck up!”

Finally, she was met with silence, “We have a patient coding here or did everyone fucking forget? Dr. Langdon, if you have a problem with my decisions we can talk about it with Robby when a patient isn’t fucking coding. The rest of you,” She looked to the nurses, “should know better than to rise to the fucking bait. Let him antagonize me all he wants, the patient comes first. And he’s still fucking coding.”

“Hold compressions.” Gwen sighed at the sound of Robby’s voice and lifted her arms from the patient. Still asystole. “Perlah, take over for Gwen. How many rounds of epi has he had?”

Gwen climbed off the patient, out of breath and muscles shaking.

“Two.” She heard Langdon say.

“Push one more. If there’s still no response, then call it.” He reached out for Gwen as she passed, “Gwen—“

“Uh-uh,” Gwen said, walking away from him, “Not now, later.” And she headed for the staff lounge.

***

Robby watched Gwen walk away, barely tempered rage brimming in his chest. He had heard what Langdon had said about sleeping with her and had been ready to physically haul out Langdon by his collar before Gwen got things under control. He was unfathomably proud of how she had handled it, but he suspected she was hurt despite what she had said.

“Dr. Langdon, a moment?” He said once Gwen had disappeared.

“Could you possibly walk me through why you’ve decided to piss off the nurses today?” Robby asked when Langdon was close enough. He was trying really hard to keep his rage in check around Langdon, but he worried this conversation might be the one to push him over the edge.

“The reason that man coded in chairs was because Gwen didn’t properly staff the waiting room. The most important job of the charge is to make sure all areas of the ER are properly staffed.”

Robby nodded, “And so you thought the appropriate response to that was sexually harassing her in front of her staff?”

Langdon gave a short laugh, “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

Robby closed his eyes, exhaling slowly, “Langdon, this is not the road you want to go down.”

“Why, because she’s your girlfriend?”

Robby glared at him before placing both hands on his shoulders and pushing him none too gently towards a private room.

As the door slammed shut, Langdon started speaking, “Robby, I—“

“No. You shut the fuck up, now.” Robby said firmly, “Regardless of any personal relationships, she is the charge nurse and you will show her the proper respect or so help me God, Frank, I will go to HR and recommend your expulsion from the residency program. They will not have any reservations considering I had to beg on your behalf to give you a second chance.”

Langdon paled considerably as Robby’s words sank in.

“Have I made myself clear?” Robby said quietly.

Langdon shook his head, “I—“ He sighed, “Yeah, you’re right, I don’t… I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Do you want to be here?”

Langdon looked up at him, “Yes, of course.”

“Then act like it.” Robby said, “And I expect you to apologize sincerely to Gwen and the rest of the nurses by the end of the shift. Understood?”

Langdon nodded, “Yes.”

***

When Robby walked into the break room, Gwen was sat on the floor, her iPad and stylus in hand, and an open Red Bull and potato chip bag at her side.

“North 7 and 15 have gone up to ICU, South 11, Central 3, 9, and 12 are being discharged or moved to the hallway.” She said without looking up, “North 5 responded to Narcan, he just needs to be monitored for a few hours before we can discharge.”

Robby lowered himself next to her, joints protesting as he did so. She wordlessly handed him her Red Bull as he did.

He took a sip and then grimaced, handing it back to her, “Never liked that shit. Tastes like artificially sweetened battery acid.”

She huffed a laugh, but still didn’t look up from the iPad.

“You handled that situation with Langdon really well,” He said softly, “I’ve spoken to him about it, shouldn’t happen again.”

“Okay.”

Robby stared at her, waiting for more, but she wouldn’t give it, “Do you… Want to talk about it?”

She sighed and finally looked up at him, “Do I want to talk about it? Let’s see… A patient coded on my watch because of my fuck up and a resident thought it would be fun to humiliate me for it while the guy was on the table because he doesn’t like that his daddy got a new mommy. Do we have time to unpack all of that, you think?”

Robby sighed, “A simple no would have sufficed.”

Gwen laughed, “Wouldn’t have been as fun, though.” Finally, she looked up at him, “I’m okay, really, mostly just upset at myself for not putting enough nurses on chairs.”

Robby shook his head, “You did the best you could with the resources given. Gloria needs to hire more nurses.”

It soothed her to hear him say her own words back to her, “I know that,” She shrugged, “Doesn’t make it easier to carry though, does it?”

“No.” He said quietly.

“Are you okay?”

He sighed, and then chuckled, “You’ve had a much harder day than I have.”

Gwen placed a hand on his thigh, squeezing gently, “It’s not a competition, Michael.”

His eyes traveled from the hand on his thigh to her eyes, “You are not allowed to call me Michael in the workplace.”

She smirked playfully, “Oh? And why is that?” She asked innocently.

He took her hand off his thigh and placed it on her own, squeezing and then leaning into her so that his hand slid to her inner thigh, “Because it reminds me of how you moan my name when you cum.”

He stood then and Gwen giggled and looked back to her iPad, “Thank you.” He said as he headed to the door.

“For what?”

“Distracting me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She said, but she was still smirking as he let the door fall shut behind him.

***

Gwen rubbed at the back of her neck as she reviewed some charts. Pain radiated from her shoulders, to her neck, to her head. She was prone to tension headaches, especially when under stress. And this had been a bad shift. Luckily, there was just over an hour left.

Just then, Perlah stopped at the hub and placed a white paper cup with two pills in it in front of her along with a blue gatorade.

“Langdon seems torn up about what he said earlier, but I say we let him sit in it for a while.”

“He apologized to you?” Gwen asked. Perlah nodded, “Good. What’s this?” She gestured to the pills in the paper cup.

“Ibuprofen.”

Gwen frowned, “How did you know I needed ibuprofen?”

“Oh, Robby asked me to get it for you. He said you should eat something, too. There’s pizza in the lounge, I can grab you a slice?”

Gwen looked around central until she spotted Robby, who was watching her out of the corner of his eye while Whitaker was talking to him. She smiled and tossed back the ibuprofen and took a sip of gatorade.

The corner of his lips tugged up into a smile and he gave her a subtle thumbs up.

“That’s alright, Perlah, I can get it myself. Thank you.”

Gwen takes the gatorade and her iPad with her to the lounge, hoping to finish scheduling for the next week before leaving.

When she pushes the door open, Langdon’s there, a piece of pizza halfway in his mouth. Weirdly, she feels as if she is intruding and immediately begins to back out.

“No, no, stay. Please.” Langdon says, “I was actually hoping to talk to you if you have a minute?”

Gwen eyes him warily, wanting to be as far away from him as humanly possible. Feeling disgusted with herself as she recalls what he said about her and Robby and then anger for feeling disgusted. Despite it, she takes a step in and lets the door close behind her.

“Look, we don’t have to do this—“

“Yes we do.”

Gwen smirked, “Why, because Robby said so?”

“No,” He said, shaking his head, “Because…” He sighed deeply, “The last time I was here, Dana was running everything and she was the only thing keeping everything together. Keeping Robby together. And then I come back and… you’re running the show and Robby actually seems like maybe he’s been sleeping through the night. I don’t really know why I lashed out at you, I guess it felt like, like my absence wasn’t noted or missed. I… I don’t know what I expected.”

Gwen watched him as he tried to work through it in his own head, and for the first time, she saw Robby in him. The overwhelming need to be needed and if he’s not needed, then what was the point of any of it? And seeing that piece of Robby in him, she felt herself softening to him.

“I was awful to you when that patient was coding and I’m so sorry. It wasn’t your fault. And… the comment about you and Robby was out of line and I promise it will not happen again.”

Gwen let the silence fall between them for a moment. “I appreciate that,” She said slowly, “And I get the feeling that maybe nobody has told you this yet, so I’m going to say it, though I realize it won’t mean as much coming from me: You’re needed here and you’re a great doctor.”

He huffed a laugh, “You’ve only known me for one shift, how would you know that?”

“Because Robby taught you.” She said softly, “He cares about you, you know? I haven’t known him very long and I don’t fully understand what went down between the two of you, but I’ve seen other attendings with their residents. If he didn’t care you wouldn’t still be here. I know he’s a bit prickly right now, but it’s because he cares. So don’t fuck it up, okay?”

Langdon gave her a small smile and nodded, “Thank you.”

Just then, the staff lounge door opened and Robby walked in, “Oh, shit, sorry. Am I interrupting something?”

Langdon stood, “No, I was just leaving.”

With Langdon gone, Robbie grabbed a slice of pizza and sat next to Gwen.

“How did you know I needed ibuprofen?” Gwen asked mildly as she pulled up the nursing schedule on her iPad.

“You have a tell,” He said between bites, “When you get a headache.”

She raised her eyebrows, “Oh?”

“You rub at your neck. Besides which, I’d been watching you wince and close your eyes in pain every couple minutes for the half hour before.”

She frowned, “I didn’t realize I was being watched.”

He tilted his head just slightly, “I’m always looking for you.” He said quietly.

Gwen felt the blood rush to her face and looked back at her iPad.

“Did you eat something?”

“Not yet—Hey!” The words were barely out of her mouth before Robbie snatched the iPad out of her hands and replaced it with a slice of pizza.

She glared at him while she took a bite and he watched, looking very pleased with himself.

“What were you and Langdon talking about?”

Gwen laughed, “I was wondering how long it would take for you to ask, though I don’t know why you’re pretending you don’t know.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I was just curious.”

“Hm,” She hummed, “So you didn’t mandate that he apologize to me and all the nurses who worked that code earlier?”

He was quiet for a moment, “So he apologized then? That’s good.”

Gwen rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, “Go a little easier on him, okay?”

His eyes widened, “I go any easier on the kid I’ll lose my medical license.”

“I just mean… I think he’s beating himself up enough and he already feels insecure about the… change in organization. Makes him feel unnecessary and unwanted. He doesn’t need to feel that from you too.”

“You got all that from an apology, did you?” He huffed a laugh, “He was awful to you today and now you’re best friends?”

“No,” Gwen said softly, “He just… Reminded me of you a little bit when we were talking. And I am very forgiving.”

He smiled slightly, “What I’m hearing is that you like me quite a lot, then.”

She smirked and pushed her shoulder against his playfully, “Is that news to you?”

“Yes,” He says slowly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck self consciously.

Frowning, Gwen turns to face him fully, “Robby… You can’t be serious?”

He shrugged his shoulders dejectedly and looked down at his hands, “I don’t know, I… I know you do, I just find myself wondering every day… how long until I screw it up?”

Gwen opened her mouth as if to say something, but then the door opened.

“Sorry kids,” It was Dana, glasses perched on nose and iPad in hand, “We got a STEMI coming in five.”

Robby nodded and then turned to Gwen, “We’ll talk later?”

She nodded, and before he could stand, pressed a kiss to his cheek, her hand coming up to gently cradle the other side of his face. She scratched his beard lightly as she pulled away and he turned his face towards her, looking at her tenderly. It threatened to undo her.

“You’re okay?” She asked quietly.

“I’m good,” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, “See you out there.”

***

The end of shift had Gwen feeling like it had been a week minimum since the last time she left the hospital. When she stepped outside, the air was crisp and the moon was a faint, blurry sliver against the hazy clouds.

As she waited, eyes closed and face lifted for the breeze, a pair of warm arms twined around her waist. Seconds later, she was hit with the smell of fabric softener and antibacterial soap: Robby.

He pressed his lips to the spot between her neck and shoulder and she felt her body relax into him. Wordlessly, she spun in his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his chest. He rested his head on her shoulder and they stood like that, intertwined, for a while.

“Thank you,” He murmured finally.

“For what?”

“For today. For being so understanding about the situation with Langdon. For…” He sighed, “Fuck, I don’t know. Liking me still.”

She pulled away just a bit to look at his face, “I don’t know what you’re so worried about, you’re still so charming even when you’re mean.” She teased.

He gave her a rueful smile, “You deserve better than that.”

She looked at him seriously, taking in his freckles and wrinkles, the curve of his nose. She didn’t know yet if she loved him, but she was sure that she could if he gave her the chance.

“Can I ask you something?” She said softly.

“Of course,” They began walking away from the hospital and he intertwined their fingers.

The way he had been so physically affectionate today was making her feel brave. Like maybe he thought this could be the real deal, too.

“Do you… See us having a future together?”

He quietly seemed to contemplate, staring straight ahead as they walked down the sidewalk towards her apartment. They hadn’t said it out loud, but Gwen thought this meant he intended to stay the night at her place, something that had become almost a tradition for them on Thursdays. They were both off tomorrow.

“I want a future with you,” He said, “More badly than I can remember wanting anything in a long, long time.”

He paused, but she could feel that he had more to say, so she waited patiently.

“I worry that I’m not capable of it, that I’ve always been a bad partner no matter how hard I try. And I don’t want to put you through that.”

“I want to try.” She said immediately, walking backwards in front of him so she could see his face, “I want you and I believe in this. In us.”

They had reached her apartment building and he smiled at her tenderly, “Okay, Keating,” He said, his voice rough and thick, he crooked two fingers under her chin and tipped up slightly so she was look at him, “But remember, you asked for this.”

Robby kissed her then, long and slow, his tongue lazily exploring her mouth. Her toes curled inside her sneakers as they kissed and when Robby pulled back, her face followed his, and he smirked smugly. Gently, he smoothed her hair down, cradling her head in his hands, “Do you want to hear about Pitt Fest?”

Gwen nodded, “If you’re ready.”

He bent their foreheads together, “I’m ready.” He said slowly, “But, uh, I know… Normally we go our separate ways on our days off. I was wondering if… If you don’t have anything going on if I could… stay tomorrow?”

Gwen smiled and leaned in to kiss him again, which he obliged, “I would love that.” She said softly into his mouth.

Smiling back at her, Robby led her by the hand inside and into her apartment.

PART FOUR

[ravenclaw-for-all-seasons]

His Soft Spot (13) - Mattheo Riddle

A/N: so the start of this is based of an ask, but then I’ve also had a few people ask me about making more intimate content featuring Y/N and Mattheo, so I’ve given it a shot. This is my first time writing smut so please be gentle with me, but I’d really appreciate your feedback ❤️

18+ MDNI

-

Duelling Club was always a dramatic affair.

Hosted every other Wednesday in the cavernous, echoing expanse of the Great Hall, it was a hub of competition, rivalry, and overly theatrical wand flourishes. Students from every house gathered to show off their skill—or at the very least, try not to get hexed into the wall.

You usually came to watch.

Not because you weren’t capable—but because you were a Ravenclaw. Calm, clever, and more inclined to outwit than overpower. You had nothing to prove.

Besides, most people assumed you only showed up to sit beside Mattheo. The duelling club was practically his domain. He, Theo, and Enzo were the most dominant trio on the floor—ruthless, fast, and theatrical.

So when you stepped onto the platform yourself, there was an audible shift in the room.

Someone actually laughed.

“Wait—her?” a fourth-year Gryffindor muttered. “She’s just here to swoon over Riddle, right?”

Mattheo’s expression didn’t change, but his jaw twitched. Theo snorted. Enzo whistled lowly, like, you poor bastards don’t even know what’s coming.

The person who stepped up to challenge you was a tall, wiry Hufflepuff with an arrogant smirk.

“Hope you’re not too nervous,” he said, adjusting his sleeves. “I’ll go easy on you.”

Your eyebrow twitched, but your expression stayed serene. “How kind.”

He chuckled like he’d already won.

Mattheo’s arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back against one of the columns, watching with an infuriatingly smug look. His eyes didn’t leave you for a second.

“She’s going to destroy him,” Theo muttered, nudging Enzo.

“She’s so calm,” Enzo said, blinking. “It’s terrifying. Like a cat before it pounces.”

“You three look oddly relaxed,” Blaise observed from nearby.

Mattheo smirked. “That’s because we know her.”

———

Professor Flitwick raised his wand. “On the count of three…”

You stepped gracefully into your stance, eyes focused, fingers loose on your wand like it was an extension of your hand.

Your opponent looked… amused. Poor thing.

“Three—two—one—BEGIN!”

The Hufflepuff was fast.

You were faster.

His first spell barely made it past his wand before you deflected it with a shield charm so smooth it looked choreographed. Then came your opening shot—clean, sharp, and surprisingly powerful for someone everyone thought just read books in the library.

A Stinging Hex shot toward him and hit square in the shoulder. He stumbled, blinking in confusion.

Then your second spell hit his feet, and he tripped backwards with an undignified squawk.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Mattheo’s smirk deepened. “Atta girl.”

The Hufflepuff scrambled to his feet, now red-faced and muttering curses. His next two spells were wild, poorly aimed, clearly rattled.

You sidestepped the first, spun, and with a flick of your wrist, his wand flew from his hand and clattered across the stone.

Silence.

Absolute, stunned silence.

And then…

“Holy shit,” Theo whispered, wide-eyed.

Enzo was already clapping. “Oh my Gods.”

Professor Flitwick beamed. “Wonderful technique, Y/N. Textbook precision.”

Your opponent blinked, dazed, still trying to comprehend how he was flat on his arse and weaponless while the sweet-faced Ravenclaw was calmly twirling her wand between her fingers.

You stepped off the platform, expression still demure, like nothing remarkable had just occurred.

———

Mattheo was already there, meeting you halfway. His eyes were wild—hungry—and that stupid smirk had deepened into something absolutely sinful.

“You’re lucky I don’t take you right here,” he murmured in your ear, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close.

“Mattheo,” you warned, breathless from the adrenaline.

“No, I’m serious.” He pulled back to look at you. “That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

You laughed, and he caught your chin between his fingers and kissed you hard, like he couldn’t help himself. His hand gripped your waist possessively. You were still on fire from the duel, still buzzing, and his lips on yours only added fuel to it.

“Okay, nope!” Theo announced, hands flying up. “Take it to the dorm.”

“Okay,” smirked Mattheo, grabbing your wrist. “We’re leaving.”

His voice was low. Dangerous. Hoarse with the effort it took to keep himself from losing it in front of everyone.

You barely had time to register what was happening before he was tugging you through the crowd, ignoring the whispers, the stares, the “wait—where are they going?” comments flying behind you.

“Riddle!” Theo called after him. “Mate—the club’s not—”

“Don’t care.”

“But the next duel—!”

“Tell them she forfeits,” Mattheo growled, not slowing down for a second.

Theo just stood there with his hands half-raised.

Enzo snorted. “Man’s about to combust.”

———

Mattheo didn’t stop until you were halfway down the empty east wing, slamming through a heavy wooden door into an unused classroom. He turned, kicked it shut, and before you could even breathe—

You were pinned.

Against the door, breath stolen from your lungs, your wand still clutched in one hand as his hands landed firmly on either side of your head.

His eyes were black. Completely wild. Barely restrained.

“Mattheo,” you breathed, heart still racing from the duel. “What—?”

“You can’t—” He broke off, jaw clenched like he was trying to tether himself to reality. “You can’t just do that and expect me to sit there like a normal person.”

“Do what?”

“Destroy someone like that,” he rasped. “You walked in there like you were just humoring them—and then you obliterated him. You didn’t even blink.”

You blinked now. “Was that… bad?”

He actually laughed. Low, disbelieving. “Bad? No. Fuck no. It was…” He shook his head, stepping in closer. “It was the most insanely hot thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Mattheo—”

“I mean it. I’m done. You’ve ruined me.”

One hand slid to your waist, dragging you forward, the other trailing down your arm until his fingers found the edge of your wand and plucked it gently from your grip, placing it behind you on a desk like he couldn’t risk you accidentally stunning him next.

Then he crashed his mouth to yours.

It was raw. Heated. Desperate. He kissed you like he couldn’t get enough, like if he didn’t taste you right now he’d self-combust. Your hands fisted in his shirt as he pressed you further into the room, mouth moving urgently against yours, jaw tight with restraint he was clearly losing by the second.

You gasped into him. “What’s gotten into you?”

“You,” he growled. “It’s you. You just turned into this vengeful, elegant, terrifying creature and acted like it was nothing. Like—like you didn’t just make everyone in that room scared and obsessed with you at the same time.”

“You’re exaggerating,” you whispered.

“I’m not.” His hands were all over you now—your waist, your back, cupping your face like he needed to feel you to believe you were real. “I’ve never wanted you more. You walked in there like a dove and walked out like a goddess.”

You smiled against his lips. “So, you liked it then.”

“I’m feral, sweetheart. I’m a wreck. I’m in pieces.”

Your laughter lit up the room, and Mattheo’s eyes fluttered shut like that sound alone could undo him.

“I’m serious,” he murmured, forehead pressed to yours. “They think I’m the storm in this relationship. But you… you’re worse. You hide it better. That’s why it’s dangerous.”

You slid your hands into his hair. “You like dangerous.”

He looked at you, gaze molten. “I like you. Every version. But this one? This one’s my favorite.”

Then, with zero warning, he scooped you up and dropped you onto the professor’s desk behind you, stepping between your knees and pulling you forward like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Mattheo,” you whispered, wide-eyed.

His grin was wolfish. “Tell me not to, and I’ll stop…”

You didn’t say anything.

So he kissed you again—slow now, deeper. Worshipful.

His hand disappeared under your skirt, fingers trailing upwards until they found their destination.

You let out a soft, startled moan that echoed off the stone walls like a secret neither of you meant to let slip.

And Merlin, if it didn’t undo him.

Mattheo stilled, just for a moment, breath trembling against your lips. Then he laughed — not cruel, not amused — but wrecked.

“You can’t do that,” he said, his voice a rasp of disbelief. “You can’t sound like that. Not now. I’ll fucking lose my mind.”

You pulled him back in, lips chasing for his, your fingers clasping at his belt and starting to undo it.

He growled.

“Fuck, you could destroy me,” he said into your mouth, voice so low it made you shudder. “And I’d let you. I’d crawl on my knees and beg for more.”

A beat of silence.

“Then beg.”

Mattheo pulled back to look at you.

Your eyes were wide, pupils blown, but you looked dangerous. Not in the way he was — not with fury or chaos or dark magic in your veins — but with intent. Like you knew exactly what kind of power you held over him. Like you’d just discovered you could command the monster and he’d thank you for it.

Mattheo didn’t move. He didn’t speak.

He just watched you. Waiting. Wanting.

“On your knees, Riddle,” you said softly, and your voice was silk over steel.

He blinked — slowly, like he hadn’t heard you right. Or maybe like he had, and it was undoing him cell by cell.

A flicker of something hot and dangerous danced behind his eyes — but he dropped. Smooth and silent, knees hitting the cold classroom floor like he belonged there.

The sudden shift in the power dynamic between you was electrifying.

You smirked and slid backwards on the desk — slow, deliberate — and let your legs fall open, spreading them with purpose. You hitched your skirt up just high enough to tease him, to show him exactly what was his prize was.

He choked on a breath.

You leaned back on your palms, your voice like velvet and dominance all at once.

“You want this?” you asked, head tilted in mock curiosity.

He choked on a breath.

He looked wrecked — a trembling breath escaping his lips as his gaze flicked between your eyes and the bare skin you’d offered him.

“Please,” he whispered, eyes wide and reverent. “I’m begging, darling. I’m begging. Let me have you. Let me worship you. I swear—fuck—I swear I’ll be good.”

You let the silence hang between you for a few moments, making him squirm, making him earn it.

And then, you spread your legs further, the movement slow, devastating, final.

His mouth parted like he’d just been punched in the gut.

“Because you asked so nicely,” you whispered teasingly.

Mattheo didn’t need telling twice. He dove forward, burying his face between your thighs. He’d tasted you a hundred times before, but this? This was something else.

He continued with a fevered hunger, losing himself in the bliss of your taste and the noises you were making beneath him.

You arched your back, whining loudly as you managed to croak out “I’m so close, Mattheo. Please.”

Something shifted in him at your admission.

You felt it — like magic changing direction, like heat rolling off him in a sudden wave. His shoulders tensed. His breath hitched — not with fear, not even with desperation.

With possession.

He looked up at you from between your legs, mouth wet, face flushed, and his expression had changed.

Gone was the desperate, trembling Mattheo on his knees.

In his place was something darker. More dangerous.

Mattheo rose slowly, licking his lips, dragging his hands along your thighs without asking this time. His voice was low — smooth and dark and feral.

“You think you’re in control right now?” he murmured, eyes hooded. “That’s cute.”

You blinked — your breath catching as he stepped between your legs, hands gripping your waist, fingers digging in like he couldn’t get close enough.

“You made me beg,” he whispered against your throat, kissing up the column of your neck — slow, open-mouthed, claiming. “And I let you.”

He kissed you — deep, possessive, devouring. Not asking now. Taking.

“Now,” he growled, dragging his lips across your jaw, “I’m going to remind you why no one else should dare even look at you. Why you’re mine.”

His voice was barely human — low and rough and reverent, as if even he was shocked by the depth of his obsession.

You were breathless, dazed — but grinning.

You loved this side of him. Loved when the storm cracked open and he stopped holding back. Loved knowing it was for you and you alone.

“Good,” you whispered, fisting your hand in his shirt and yanking him down. “Because I’m yours. So take what’s yours.”

That was it.

He groaned — low and guttural — and his hands were everywhere, gripping, tugging, lifting you like you weighed nothing as he laid you back against the desk. His eyes were wild, but his movements were precise — reverent in their urgency. He was kissing you like he needed it to breathe, like you were the only thing anchoring him to this world.

Your hair was splayed out around your head like a halo — soft and wild and glowing in the flicker of the classroom’s candlelight.

He hovered over you, palms braced on either side of your hips, his breath ghosting across your face. “You look like a fucking angel,” he whispered, voice rough. “But you ruin me like a demon. I’m so fucking ruined for you. There’s nothing left of me that isn’t yours.”

“Then show me,” you whispered back, voice hoarse.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes shining with something terrifyingly pure — devotion that bordered on madness.

“I’m not going to be gentle now,” he warned, voice shaking. “Not after that.” Without waiting any longer he slid his length into you.

The noise you made was sinful.

Your hand reached up, fingers brushing his jaw, your smile wicked and loving all at once.

“I don’t want gentle,” you said, breathless. “I want you.”

And gods, he gave you everything.

Every ounce of his darkness. Every violent, burning piece of his soul. And all of it belonged to you.

———

When Mattheo finally slowed down, he held your face in both hands and kissed your forehead with the softest touch of the night.

“I’m still shaking,” he admitted, resting his forehead against yours. “I thought I’d have to protect you from everyone. But now I’m wondering if I need to start warning people to protect themselves.”

You smiled, breathless.

“I’m yours,” you whispered.

And he looked at you like he’d never heard anything more dangerous.

“Then Merlin help everyone else.”

Taglist: @hisonlyobsession @loonyladystardust

[trulybetty]

third time is a charm | part two

pairing: dr. jack abbot x gn!reader word count: 1,888 warnings: grumpy x sunshine, minor mentions of a laceration reader receives, talk of a minor medical procedure, very tame to what is shown on screen, competency kink continues to be itched estimated reading time: 8 minutes summary: it seems the universe is intent on throwing you in the path of dr. jack abbot ao3: linked

« part one | part three »

Jack was halfway down the hall of the ED, mentally counting how long was left in his shift, when Lena, the night shift charge nurse, flagged him down.

“Hey, I need you on four,” she said, tapping the corresponding file folder on the counter of the hub, the heart of the Emergency Department. “Been waiting over two hours, and I need that bed.”

Jack glanced at the assignment screen, where there weren’t any details assigned to the name and the bed number, then back at Lena. “Then throw it to one of the interns.”

“I would, but they’re all with Robby on that MVC overflow. It’s either you or we let triage back up even more, and we wait for Gloria to come down and complain—again.”

He sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Anything I should know?”

“Nope,” she popped on the pronunciation, “Deep hand laceration. Bleeding had stopped by the time they brought them back.” Lena cocked an eyebrow at his exasperation, “You’ll survive.”

Jack muttered something that sounded like obscenities under his breath, but still turned towards bed four. Given the brief descriptor and the late hour, he was expecting some college kid or maybe a drunk idiot hurt in a bar fight. What he wasn’t expecting was you.

You were sitting up on the gurney, one hand wrapped in a polka-dot dish towel, which once upon a time had been mostly white, scrolling through your phone like you were in line at the DMV, not waiting on stitches.

His steps slowed.

While it had been a few weeks, he still recognized you instantly.

Looking up from your phone at the sound of the curtain being opened, you blinked, recognition dawning. Then smiled. “Oh, hey.”

Jack pulled back the curtain to close off the ward outside. “Please tell me this has nothing to do with your car.”

You shook your head, “In my defence,” you said brightly, “this wasn’t on purpose.”

He dropped onto the stool next to the bed and nodded at the dish towel around your hand, “Is that… from your kitchen?”

“It was the only clean thing I had,” you eyed it warily, “Well, clean-ish.”

Jack exhaled, heavy, “Of course it was.”

He rolled to the supply drawers, grabbing gloves and a suture pack. You tapped your outstretched feet together, watching him with a relaxed amusement that grated on him more than he’d like to admit.

“Let’s see it,” he says, nodding at your hand.

You peeled back the towel. The lack of pressure made you wince. Jack leaned in closer to examine the wound—a deep, jagged slice across your palm between your left thumb and forefinger. It’d stopped bleeding a while ago, but the edges were angry and starting to swell.

He huffed, “This could’ve used stitches hours ago,” he said, more to himself than you. “Any numbness? Tingling?”

“Nope. Just throbs.”

“You’re lucky. Could’ve cut something important.” He picked up the dishcloth as if it had offended him. He noticed the tomato sauce stains between the patches of blood, “This is not clean, by the way.”

You shrugged, “It was the best out of the bunch.”

He looked up from the suture kit he’d just pulled out, deadpan, “That’s not the win you think it is. Do you even have a first aid kit?”

You scrunched your nose, “I’ve got some band-aids somewhere.”

He gave you a pointed look: “Invest in a first aid kit.”

You grinned.

He sighed.

Straightening up, he prepared a shot of lidocaine. “This is going to sting,” he warned, and you hissed at the first injection of anesthetic. “Normally, I’d throw this to an intern, but the entire next generation of healthcare is on clean up from a multi-car pile-up.”

“I’m flattered.”

He didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he started to clean the wound, his touch brisk but careful.

“Let me guess, kitchen accident?”

“It was an avocado.”

“It come at you with a knife?”

“I only came at it with a spoon at first. Had it for a week waiting for it to go ripe, guess it had other ideas.”

He irrigated the wound and checked your range of motion. You were quiet for a beat, watching him thread a needle with a practiced hand. Evident that he could do this in his sleep if needed.

“You ever done this before?” you asked, lips twitching.

“Stitches?” Jack asks, pausing to look at you like he should ask if you hit your head, too.

“Yeah.”

Jack shook his head as he started the process of stitching your hand. “I’m an ER doctor.”

You tried not to squirm, even as you felt the ghost of the antiseptic burn a little at the edges and the tug of the first stitch pulled at your skin.

“You could be new, this is a teaching hospital, right?”

“I’m not, and it is.”

“Could be your first.”

He glances up, “You think I’d let you be my first?”

You shrugged with faux nonchalance, “Shame, could have been romantic.”

He worked in silence for a beat, “You’re lucky,” he says. “Could’ve hit a tendon.”

You hummed, watching him continue with the stitches, “Think I’ll get a cool scar?”

“Sure,” Jack muttered, “might want to come up with a better story for it though.”

“So, what name do I put down for my Yelp review?”

He paused slightly, needle midair—this was taking him twice as long.

He arched a brow, and you offered a smile in return.

“I just realized I’ve never gotten your name. Kinda rude. Since you know mine now.”

Jack huffed, “Actually, I don’t.”

You feigned offence. “Ouch. It’s in the file.”

“I didn’t read your file.”

“Well. That’s a little concerning.”

“I read what matters,” he offered by way of explanation.

“So, what name do I put down? Or do I just call you Dr. Jumper Cables?”

He finally glanced up, meeting your eyes.

“That thing still running?”

“Haven’t left the lights on since.”

“Doctor Jack Abbot,” he offered after a beat.

You nodded, letting it settle and running it over your tongue under your breath. “Okay, well, Dr. Abbot… you get four out of five stars.”

That earns you a stern look.

“What? It was a three-star—but you gained a bonus star for jump-starting my car the other week. Though maybe I shouldn’t mention that? You’ll have patients asking for oil changes with their stitches.”

He didn’t laugh. Not even remotely. But his mouth twitched, and you caught the way he ducked his head as a tiny smile fought its appearance.

Normally, he’d be calling in a nurse by now. Let them do the bandaging, offer advice on care and follow up. That’s what the protocols were for. What his time was technically supposed to be used for.

Instead, he rolled his chair over to the supply drawers and grabbed gauze, tape and a clean wrap. Gloves back on.

You watched him with a kind of relaxed amusement that does get under his skin, even if he wouldn’t admit it. Not because you’re mocking him—because you’re not bothered by him. Not in the way some people get with him. Even if some of it is mostly a result of his own doing.

He cleaned around the stitches, checking for residual bleeding, and wrapped it with careful, even pressure.

“Keep it dry,” he said, taping off the end. He held up a second unopened package of dressing, “and because I don’t want you using dishcloths again. Change this in twenty-four hours. Come back in five to seven days to get the stitches removed.”

“I’ll pencil it in.”

The moment was interrupted by a tannoy going off, ‘Abbott to trauma bay two’. He sighed. It was going to be a long night.

“You’re all set.” He said, standing and peeling off his gloves.

You glanced down at your hand, flexing your fingers. Then up at him as he scribbled something on your chart, and headed for the curtain.

“Someone’ll be by with your paperwork.”

“Thanks,” you said, no teasing in your voice this time.

Jack gave you a short nod, hand on the privacy curtain. But just before he was about to pull it aside, he paused.

A smile—not a full, but a real one—crossed his face for the first time.

“Don’t forget to turn your headlights off and get yourself a damn first aid kit,” he said.

And then he was gone.

A Week Later.

The sky was dark, and the sidewalk outside the hospital was wet and salty from an early morning flurry that the wind had blown in. You’d managed to get in early at the walk-in clinic to get your stitches removed. It was healing nicely, they’d said who’d ever done the stitches did good work and was saving you from a gnarly scar. You’d smiled at this. But now, you were scowling at your phone.

For a Saturday morning at seven am, Uber’s prices were rising like it was New Year’s Eve. You weren’t sure what circus was in town, but it didn’t look like prices were going to go down anytime soon.

You weren’t dressed for waiting or public transit—you’d figured you’d be in and out. Your winter coat was holding up just enough, but the cold was still making its way in and soaking into your bones.

You were debating on walking partway home—maybe enough to cut the fare, figure out the bus schedule—when the glass doors hissed open behind you.

Jack stepped out, hitching his backpack onto his shoulder and pulling his scarf tighter against the cold.

He was glad for the extra sweater he’d left in his locker, padding out his coat. His badge was clipped to his hip still, his truck keys in one hand. He spots you immediately.

You offered him a small wave, “Oh, hi.”

He stopped in front of you, taking in your ungloved hand that was wrapped in a fresh dressing, and frowned. “Tell me you’re not driving.”

“Nope. Waiting for a ride.”

“Uber?”

“Kind of,” you flashed your phone screen, “surge pricing. I’m hoping that if I wait it out, it’ll drop.”

He grunted, “What happened to the hatchback?”

You hesitated, wrinkling your nose, “It… died.”

Jack narrowed his eyes. “Battery again?”

“No, not this time. Transmission, maybe? There were a lot of words and car parts mentioned that I still don’t understand. It made a noise, then coasted to a sad little death in front of a bakery.”

His brow lifted, “That tracks.”

“But hey, I got a good pastry and an amazing coffee out of it while I waited for the tow truck.”

Jack didn’t say anything at first. Just glanced down the road, then back to you.

“You’re over on 48th, right?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

He knew it probably wasn’t going to do him any favours with what he was about to say next, “Want a ride?”

You hesitated, “Seriously?”

“It’s the festival today, Uber isn’t going to go down anytime soon, and half the roads are closed, so the buses are being rerouted.”

He started walking towards the employee lot, but looked back when he realized you weren’t following, “Come on,” he said, not breaking his stride.

You smiled and jogged to catch up with him.

[sycamorelibrary754]

Seeds of Friendship

Summary: You're on Bob duty while the rest of the team is away.

Pairings: Robert Reynolds x fem!reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Spoilers for Thunderbolts*!! Read at your own risk.

A/N: My first Bob fic! I would love more requests for Bob or any of the Thunderbolts*!

From the moment Valentina announced you all as The New Avengers, you drew the line at calling it The Watch Tower. It felt disrespectful to the family you had spent so many years with inside its walls. Val had done a real number on the building. What was once a vibrant hub of ingenuity was now a sterile shell of its former self.

You weren't a full-time member of the original team; more like an independent variable they called when they needed your specific skill set. Tony dubbed you Nature’s Fury because of your ability to control the elements, summoning storms or conjuring walls of fire. So, when Bucky called you in a hushed whisper from his Congressional office in D.C. and said he needed your help tracking down a group of rogue misfits, you didn't hesitate.

Nonetheless, now was not the moment to get lost on memory lane; you were on Bob duty. The team had collectively agreed: Bob shouldn’t be left alone. So, each of you took turns keeping him company. “It’s simple,” Yelena had said with a reassuring smile, “Just try to engage him, but if he’s not into it, check in every couple of hours.”

With the rest of the New Avengers bickering like a bunch of kids across the Tower and onto the jet, you took a deep breath and approached Bob’s bedroom door.

You gently knocked. “Robert, can I come in?”

“Sure,” came his soft response.

As you opened the door, you found Bob sprawled on his bed, engrossed in a book.

“Hey, I’m about to start a movie. Want to join me?” you asked.

“No thanks. I think I’ll stick to my book,” he answered meekly, lifting a worn copy of The Fellowship of the Ring.

“Alright, I’ll be in the common area if you need anything,” you reminded him warmly.

“Okay, thanks, Y/N.”

*^~^*

You had settled into a cozy position on the couch, the warm glow of the television casting soft light across the room. As the heartwarming story of "UP" unfolded, you felt your eyelids grow heavy. Time slipped unnoticed, and you were awoken by the gentle sounds of the Pixar credits rolling in the background. Stretching slightly, you blinked a few times, trying to shake off the lingering drowsiness.

Rubbing your eyes, you slowly sat up, startled by the sound of the kitchen cupboard closing. You turned to find Bob standing there, his oversized sweater sleeves drooping past his knuckles, looking rather sheepish.

“Sorry, Y/N. I didn't mean to wake you,” he said, nervously fidgeting with his hands. “I was just looking for something for lunch.”

“It’s all good. Let me whip us up something,” you replied, running your hand through your hair as you rose.

As you rifled through the fridge, you realized someone needed to step up grocery shopping duties—anyone but Alexi, who always seemed to get stuck in the cereal aisle waiting to be recognized from the Wheaties box.

Determined, you pulled out the ingredients for sandwiches. “What’s your pleasure?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder.

“Um, whatever you want works for me,” Bob replied softly, glancing at the floor.

“Bob,” you teased with a smirk. “You know you can actually tell me what kind of sandwich you want.”

He hesitated, then clarified, “Okay, grilled cheese, please?”

“There we go! Two grilled cheese sandwiches coming right up,” you declared with a grin.

You spread a generous layer of butter on each slice of bread and, with care and precision, layered the cheese.

“Uh, don’t you—don’t you need to turn on the stove?” Bob asked his voice a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty.

“Not necessary,” you replied, focusing your energy. A flicker of flame danced to life in your palm, toasting the bread and melting the cheese to gooey perfection in mere moments.

“Right,” Bob mumbled, remembering the surprising talents you possessed.

“So, you used to work here with the… original Avengers?” Bob asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, sometimes,” you replied, sipping your Coke. “Whenever they needed me.”

You could practically see the gears turning in Bob's head for minutes as you ate. Finally, he leaned in closer. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Of course,” you encouraged.

“What happened to you that you can do,” he said, gesturing with his hand in a sweeping motion, “that?”

You paused, memories flooding back after years of being buried. It had been ages since you reflected on your past.

“I’m sorry! I shouldn't have pried,” Bob stammered, realizing he might have crossed a line. “I—”

“Robert!” you interjected softly, careful not to push him away completely. You could see the uncertainty in his eyes and didn’t want him to retreat into silence. “It’s alright. I understand how strange this all must seem. I was involved in a Hydra experiment, a variation of the Winter Soldier project. That’s how I came to know Bucky. He was more than just a soldier to me; he was my mentor, guiding me through the darkness of that place. When Bucky finally managed to break free from their control, he didn’t forget me. He returned, risking everything to rescue me from the same fate that had haunted him.”

Bob’s face shifted with sympathy. “That sounds terrible.”

You nodded, surveying the once-familiar confines. “But once I found my way here, things began to shift for me. Trust me, it will happen for you, too.”

Bob averted his gaze, his voice barely above a whisper. “I hope so. I know everyone cares about me, but sometimes it’s hard to believe I belong here.”

You paused, realizing that sometimes words alone aren't enough to bridge the gap. “Come on, I want to share something with you,” you said, an encouraging smile forming on your lips.

*^~^*

Taking the elevator up, you watched Bob shift uncomfortably. Upon reaching the rooftop, your heart sank for a moment as the cranes loomed overhead, obscuring what used to be a breathtaking view of the New York City skyline. Leading him to the roof's south side, you hoped Val hadn’t managed to get her hands on everything just yet.

To your relief, you glanced over and saw the greenhouse that Pepper had lovingly installed still standing, a little oasis amidst the chaos.

“I used to spend countless afternoons up here,” you said, guiding Bob through the greenhouse's door. The familiar scent of damp earth and blooming flowers wafted over you both. I always found solace in nature, far away from the noise and hardness of concrete.”

Bob nodded, his fingers nervously twirling a lock of his tousled brown hair. “I like nature too,” he replied, his voice quiet and reflective. “When my parents would argue, and things turned… intense, I would slip outside to the garden. It was always so calm and peaceful out there.”

You continued exploring the rows of leafy plants and the vibrant colors surrounding you, pausing to hold up a small, unassuming pot that sat neglected on a shelf. Its surface was dusty and cracked, seeming empty at first glance.

“Um... it looks empty,” Bob remarked, his brow furrowing in disappointment as he peered into the pot, searching for signs of life.

With a warm and reassuring smile, you shook your head gently. “It may appear empty right now, but with a little care and nurturing, it holds the promise to thrive and transform into something beautiful.”

You waved your hand over the pot, and with a soft rustling sound, a small begonia bulb began to push its way through the rich soil, its vibrant green leaves unfurling as if reaching for the light.

“Do you see the point I’m trying to make, Robert?” you inquired, your eyes searching his for understanding.

Bob raised an eyebrow, a hint of curiosity creeping into his expression. “That we’re both just sad little bulbs too afraid to emerge from the shadows of our rooms?” he suggested, a weary smile playing on his lips.

You shook your head, your thoughts swirling as you tried to articulate your feelings more clearly. “Yes! Wait, no, that’s not it,” you corrected yourself, your hands gesturing animatedly. “We may be shy and feel out of place in this world, but if we allow others to help us, we can find our way through this darkness and be okay.”

“Okay, yeah. That makes more sense,” Bob replied with a warm, infectious smile that lit up his face. He tilted his head slightly as he looked at the vibrant begonia in his hands, its rich green leaves and delicate pink blooms swaying gently. “Do you think anyone would mind if I put this in my room?” he asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

“I don't think they would mind at all,” you reassured him, gently reaching out to grasp his hand.

At that moment, the serene atmosphere of the greenhouse was interrupted as the building trembled slightly. The familiar hum of a jet gently echoed in the distance, growing louder as it approached. You stepped outside, feeling a playful breeze tousle your hair while the jet descended gracefully onto the landing pad nearby.

Standing there with Bob, the pot cradled carefully in his arms; you watched as the team emerged from the aircraft, one by one.

“Hey, Bobby! Nice flower!” John called out playfully, a teasing glint in his eyes as he pointed at the begonia.

Ava, standing beside him, shot him a playful shove. “Stuff it, Walker,” she retorted, her tone light-hearted yet protective. “It’s pretty.”

“I see you two visited the greenhouse,” Bucky observed.

“Yeah, I’m going to put this flower in my room,” Bob declared proudly, a newfound confidence shining through his voice.

“That is wonderful Бобик (Bob),” Alexi boomed, his deep voice reverberating as he patted the young man's back with a hearty thump, causing him to stumble forward. “The tower could use more color,” he added, guiding Bob back toward the entrance with a hand on his shoulder.

Yelena stood nearby; her eyebrow arched skeptically as she looked between you and Bob. “You brought him up to the roof?” she asked her tone a mix of curiosity and caution.

“I was going for a metaphor,” you explained, the words spilling out sheepishly, an apologetic smile gracing your lips.

“Alright,” Yelena agreed after a moment of consideration. “As long as he doesn't fall off,” she added, a flicker of affection for Bob dancing in her eyes.

You took one last look at Bob as he engaged with the rest of the team, his face lighting up with every interaction. A smile crept onto your face. “He’s going to be just fine,” you thought, feeling a surge of hope for the young man who had found his place among you.

[shesgaymichaelscott]

hiii can i request melissa and fem reader where melissa is still with (literally can't remember any of her boring ass guys names lmao) but somehow their eyes meet and they feel like time stops 🤭 but they get pulled apart before they can introduce themselves and then reader ends up working at abbott and they're pining eeeeee then they become friends and the tension and chemistry is crazy and melissa ends up leaving loser guy bc she realizes she's falling in love with reader :)))

(if you're feeling like writing smut then maybe mel realizes she's never really had great sex before bc of the losers she's been with until reader blows her mind 🙂‍↕️)

Look at Me Again

(sooo much mutual pining it kills me!!, love at first sight, eventual smut🤭)

Word Count: 7.6k

taglist <3: @writerspirit @schemmentigfs @myownworriedshoes

~

Gary was easy.

That was the honest truth of it, and Melissa Schemmenti had long since made peace with honest truths.

He was easy like vending machine candy when you skipped lunch. Like watching reruns of Law & Order instead of dealing with the mess in the sink. Reliable. Predictable. Someone to warm the other side of the bed without asking much of her soul.

And after everything—her ex-husband, the chaos of her family, the emotional highwire act that came with being needed by everyone in her orbit—Melissa had thought maybe easy was enough.

He was fine. He was sweet. She didn't hate that he knew how she took her coffee or that he gave her space when she wanted it. She didn't mind that he thought her chaotic, oversized family dinners were "endearingly intense," even if he spent most of them blinking in terror.

But deep down, somewhere in that slow-burning place inside her that used to wake for things like poetry and lust and the way someone's voice could curl around your name and make it mean something—Melissa knew she wasn't lit up.

Not really.

She hadn't been lit up in a long time.

"It's one drink, Melissa," Jacob insisted, arms flapping like he was coaching a Broadway cast. "You are allowed to enjoy yourself."

"We're celebrating the grant funding," Janine chimed in, bumping Melissa's shoulder affectionately. "Come on. Just one night out with your work family. Please?"

Barbara raised a brow but sipped her tea calmly. "Consider it a wellness initiative."

"And I'm buyin' first round," Ava added, flourishing her phone like a magic wand. "Because I finessed a corporate sponsorship from this kombucha company that thinks I'm an influencer. They don't need to know the drinks are vodka."

Gregory looked up from his quiet corner, one brow raised in amusement. "What she means is, we'd all like to hang out. With you. So stop trying to ghost."

Melissa sighed dramatically. "You're all like moths in my damn ears."

"Flattering," said Jacob, already pulling his coat on. "Let's go, hot teacher girl."

Melissa rolled her eyes but let herself be pulled along, her coat slung over one arm. She texted Gary a simple 'Going out with the staff. Be home late. Don't wait up' and didn't wait for a reply.

Ruby's was crowded in that warm, familiar way—half dive bar, half community hub. The air buzzed with laughter, clinking glasses, and the low pulse of music no one really danced to but everyone bobbed their heads with.

Melissa took her usual seat near the corner of the bar, where the light hit just right to keep her visible without inviting too much conversation. She was nursing her whiskey when it happened.

The moment.

That moment.

A figure stepped through the door like they didn't even know they were about to ruin her life.

You weren't dramatic. You weren't posing. You weren't the kind of woman who asked to be seen—but Melissa saw you anyway.

It was something about the way you moved, sure. That slow, self-assured grace. But more than that, it was your eyes. The second they lifted—just casually, just for a flicker—and met hers across the room, Melissa forgot what air was.

Time slowed.

She didn't believe in that kind of crap, normally. Fate. Lightning strikes. Love at first sight. But this—this felt like a ripple in the universe. Like someone had pulled a thread too tightly and it snapped, right between her ribs.

You looked at her like you knew something. Like you recognized her.

And Melissa, for once in her very stubborn, rooted life, didn't look away.

Not until Ava spilled someone's tequila sunrise directly onto Barbara's lap and chaos erupted.

In the shuffle—Gregory trying to help, Janine fussing, Barbara elegantly swearing under her breath—Melissa's eyes darted back to where you had been.

Gone.

Just like that.

She didn't get your name. Didn't know if you really noticed her back or felt that same pull. And yet, the moment lodged itself deep in her, something to carry home like a splinter under the skin.

That night, in bed next to Gary, Melissa stared at the ceiling. She let him rest his hand on her hip, let him mumble something about work tomorrow, let herself pretend that nothing had happened.

But her heart beat just a little faster.

Because something had.

She didn't know it yet, but she'd just met the woman who would ruin her life in the best possible way.

And she was going to see her again.

Soon.

—

Your first day at Abbott Elementary began the same way your morning runs usually ended—sweaty, breathless, and mildly terrified of what you'd just signed up for.

You smoothed your hand down the front of your blazer as you stood in front of the school's side entrance, taking a deep breath. The sign out front was crooked. There was a paper bat taped to the front door that said Don't test me, I bite. And someone was already yelling about a laminator inside.

God help you, you liked it already.

You were the first guidance counselor Abbott had ever had—budget expansions, new district initiatives, blah blah blah. What it really meant was that no one knew what the hell you were supposed to be doing yet.

And that meant freedom. Reinvention. Possibility.

It also meant pressure.

"Deep breath," you muttered to yourself. "You've got this."

Inside, the front office was mid-chaos. Phones ringing. A kid doing the worm down the hallway. A woman with sleek black hair encouraging him to find a better rhythm.

"Principal Ava Coleman," she announced, like it was a name you should already know. "Style icon. Visionary. Professional life coach—unofficially. You must be my new project."

Your eyebrows rose. "Guidance counselor, actually."

"Same thing," she said, waving it off. "You'll be in charge of vibes and emotional crises. Like me, but with paperwork. Come on, I'll give you the world's most chaotic tour."

And chaotic it was.

She breezed you through classrooms and corners of the building that barely passed for code-compliant, introducing you to teachers in rapid-fire bursts:

Barbara Howard, regal and composed, whose handshake felt like a benediction. Jacob Hill, who immediately launched into an unsolicited monologue about restorative justice and the time he cried during Encanto. Gregory Eddie, quiet, observant, and lowkey hot in a flannel-wearing-sad-boy kind of way. Janine Teagues, who practically vibrated with friendliness and already asked if you needed help decorating your office.

They were all warm. A little strange. Deeply loyal to each other in a way you could feel like heat off a sidewalk.

You liked them. That terrified you a little.

"Almost done," Ava chirped, leading you down the hallway toward a door labeled 'Staff Lounge' with a sticker of a possum and the words Emotional Dumping Ground. "Just gotta introduce you to our last teacher. Redhead. Probably yelling about the Philly parking authority or spaghetti right now. She's like if the mob adopted a kitten."

You laughed, nerves easing.

The second the door opened, you heard her voice before you saw her:

"—and then the guy tells me I can't park there 'cause of street cleaning? In October? I said to him, buddy, I've been street cleaning since I came outta the womb, and if you think I'm moving my car in heels, you've got—"

She turned as Ava pushed the door open wider.

And stopped.

Mid-sentence. Mid-gesture. One hand in the air like punctuation that never arrived.

Your eyes met.

And there it was again.

The spark.

No—not a spark. A match dropped in gasoline. That moment from the bar, crystal-clear. Like it had been waiting in both of you, smoldering in the background of your lives until now.

Melissa's breath caught audibly. Her green eyes widened for a fraction of a second before she masked it—fast, sharp, the way you knew a woman who'd learned to protect herself did.

You swallowed.

"Hi," you said, voice just barely steady. "I think we've... sort of met."

Silence, thick enough to spread on toast.

Janine blinked between you two. "Wait... did you guys go to Temple together or something?"

"No," Melissa said, eyes still locked on you. "Ruby's."

Ava's mouth dropped open. "Ohhhhhh. This is the bar girl."

You flushed.

Melissa stood a little straighter, voice gruff but softer now, "Melissa Schemmenti. Second grade."

You told her your name.

She repeated it like it tasted good in her mouth.

"Guidance counselor," Ava added helpfully. "Here full-time. Permanent. Not leaving."

You swore Melissa's throat moved when she swallowed.

You stuck out your hand, because professionalism mattered, even when your heart was trying to beat its way through your sternum.

She shook it. Firm. Warm. A little too long.

God help you both.

By the end of your first week at Abbott, two things were abundantly clear:

Melissa Schemmenti avoided you like it was a competitive sport. And you liked her anyway.

She was polite. Respectful. Occasionally gruff in that Philly way you were starting to realize meant affection—but she never lingered. If you came into the lounge, she left. If you stayed late working on a bulletin board for mental health awareness, she mumbled something about paperwork and disappeared into her classroom.

She was like a cat—always around, never close, watching from the edge of the room with those sharp green eyes.

And you? You had it bad.

You noticed the way she always held the door open without being asked. How she joked with Barbara in the mornings and somehow always had spare Tylenol in her drawer like she was prepping for the end times. The way she lit up around her kids, especially the ones with fire in their bellies and chaos in their notebooks. You watched her soothe, defend, fight for them like they were hers.

So yeah. You had it bad.

And you'd barely spoken since the bar.

Barbara, of course, noticed it first.

It started with a glance. Then a pause. Then a sideways look during a particularly chaotic Thursday lunch when Melissa spent more time staring into her soup than eating it.

Barbara leaned over, calm and motherly. "You've hardly touched your lunch, Melissa."

"I'm just thinkin'."

"About the new guidance counselor?"

Melissa dropped her spoon. "Excuse me?"

Barbara didn't flinch. "You've been distracted. Quiet. You've left the staff lounge three times this week to make calls that never seem to last more than two minutes. Either you're dodging bill collectors or there's a woman involved."

Melissa scowled. "I'm not dodging bill collectors."

Barbara waited.

Melissa sighed. "She's... fine."

"Mhm."

"She's good with the kids. I mean, really good. That fifth grader who wouldn't talk to anyone last year? Already asked if she could have lunch in her office next week. She—" She stopped herself. "She's good."

Barbara looked over at where you were kneeling in the hallway with a kindergartener who had drawn an entire comic book about a squirrel detective. You were animated, laughing, gently guiding the kid's enthusiasm into confidence.

"You mean she's charming," Barbara said, sipping her tea. "And possibly everything you've always said you don't have time for."

Melissa didn't answer.

Because you were. You were earnest and steady in a way that sneaked under her skin. You asked questions no one thought to ask, remembered people's birthdays, brought in tissues with lotion during flu season without being asked. And worse—you saw her.

Every time your eyes met, she felt it again. That Ruby's lightning. The moment that never left her.

She tried to ignore it. She had Gary. Gary, who brought her her favorite pretzels and laughed at her jokes and didn't make her feel like the ground was shifting under her.

But you...

You made her nervous.

She hadn't felt nervous in years.

The thing about nervous energy, though? It builds. It simmers.

It boiled over two weeks later.

It was raining. The kind of cold, sideways rain that made the whole school smell like wet sneakers and permanent marker.

Melissa was standing outside her classroom, arguing with a parent on the phone, when she heard laughter. Real laughter. Coming from the guidance office.

She glanced over. The door was open.

You were sitting cross-legged on the floor with two sixth graders between you, showing them how to fold little origami foxes.

Melissa meant to walk away. She really did.

But then one of the girls held hers up and whispered something to you, and you giggled—head thrown back, warm and delighted like you hadn't learned to be cautious with your joy yet.

And Melissa? She couldn't breathe.

She was soaked. Cold. Her nerves were fried from the parent she just had to talk off the ledge. And still, all she could think was:

God help me, she's beautiful.

You looked up and caught her staring.

For a split second, neither of you moved.

Then you smiled. Soft. Shy. Like you knew what she was thinking.

"Want to make one?" you called, voice easy.

Melissa blinked.

And for once in her life—she said yes.

The sixth graders left in a flurry of thanks and half-folded paper animals, their voices trailing off down the hall like echoing laughter. You leaned back against the edge of your desk, exhaling with a smile still lingering on your lips.

"They're sweet," Melissa said, watching the door even after it shut. She still hadn't sat down. She looked out of place here—too much leather and steel inside your cozy, pastel-colored office.

But she hadn't left.

"They really are," you said. "They don't trust easily, but when they do..." You gestured to the pile of foxes. "They give you their whole world."

Melissa's eyes flicked to the desk, where one of the kids had drawn a tiny crown on her paper fox and named it Queenie. You caught the smirk tugging at her mouth and grinned.

"You really wanna make one?" you asked again, gentler this time.

She hesitated.

You held out a square of orange paper. "It's therapeutic. Or infuriating. Depending on your tolerance for tiny folds."

She gave you a look. "You're really sellin' it."

But she took the paper.

She sat beside you. Close enough that her coat brushed your sleeve. Her hands were calloused, strong—meant for chalk and defending small children, not delicate creases. You placed your fingers over hers without thinking, guiding her through the first step.

Her breath hitched. You felt it more than heard it.

"Like this," you said softly, nudging her thumbs inward.

"I'm not great with this kinda thing," she muttered.

"You wrangle second graders like it's nothing. You can handle some fancy paper."

She laughed—quiet, real—and your heart pulled tight.

For the next few minutes, you folded side by side. The air between you was thick, but easy. You worked in tandem, shoulders occasionally bumping, fingers brushing.

"You're good at this," she said finally, holding up her slightly lopsided fox like it was a trophy.

"I'm good at calming anxious minds," you said. "Origami just happens to be part of the toolkit."

She looked over at you. "Is that what you think I am? An anxious mind?"

You smiled. "No. I think you're someone who never lets anyone see when you are."

That stopped her.

You didn't flinch, though your own heart was hammering.

Melissa looked down at her fox, turning it over like it might offer her an answer.

And then—almost too quickly—she stood up.

"I, uh..." she cleared her throat. "I should get back. I've got papers to grade, and Gary's pickin' up dinner tonight—"

The name dropped like a stone.

You blinked. "Oh. Of course. You're... with someone."

"Yeah," she said. Too fast. "I am."

You nodded, trying not to let the sudden heat in your chest show on your face. "Of course. Sorry if that—this—was..."

"No," Melissa cut in, voice low. "It wasn't. It's not. I just—"

She didn't finish.

You looked down at your fox. The silence stretched.

Then you offered her a smile. Small. Safe. "We could be friends."

Melissa froze.

"Unless that's... weird," you added quickly. "I don't want to step on anything. Or anyone."

"No." Her voice was rough, like it scraped on something inside her. "It's not weird."

You nodded. "Friends, then."

She reached for the door but paused, hand hovering over the handle.

When she looked back, something in her face had cracked open just a little. Vulnerable. Searching.

"I don't know what this is," she admitted. "But it's... not nothin'."

You met her gaze.

"No," you agreed. "It's not nothing."

She left without another word.

And for the first time since Ruby's, you felt like the floor beneath your feet was shifting.

Melissa didn't notice how cold she'd gotten with Gary until Jacob noticed for her.

It was a Tuesday—rainy, again—and Gary had shown up mid-morning to restock the vending machines like he always did. Usually, Melissa had something snarky to say. A flirty dig. A hand on his arm. Some tiny gesture of ease.

Today? She barely looked up from her crossword.

"You want anything while I'm at Wawa later?" Gary asked from the break room doorway, shaking his keys.

"No," she said, too quickly. Then, realizing it, added, "I'm good, thanks."

Gary lingered, visibly waiting for something—anything.

Melissa didn't offer it.

She kept her pen moving, focused too hard on trying to find a six-letter word for regret. Her jaw was tight. Her heart tighter.

Gary finally left.

Jacob, sitting on the couch with a yogurt and an Us Weekly, peeked over his container with a look that was way too perceptive for Melissa's comfort.

"Everything okay in heteroville?"

Melissa glanced at him. "Excuse me?"

"You didn't even smirk. Usually, I get at least one 'that man's lucky I put up with him' for the road."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm tired."

"Mmm," Jacob hummed. "Sure it's not, oh, I don't know—internal emotional collapse brought on by gay panic and long-suppressed yearning?"

Melissa snapped her head up. "Jacob."

He held up his hands innocently. "I'm just saying. You've been moodier than a Scorpio on decaf ever since a certain charming guidance counselor showed up looking like a Pinterest board and handing out kindness like candy."

"I'm not—"

But she didn't get to finish.

Because that's exactly when you walked into the staff lounge.

With Janine.

And smiling.

That smile that did something to Melissa's spine.

"Hey, everyone," Janine chirped, brushing water off her sleeves. "It is pouring out there. You'd think this school was cursed with endless emotional metaphors!"

You laughed beside her, cheeks pink from the cold. "Hi, Melissa."

Melissa looked up.

God, you were so warm. It was annoying. That quiet kind of kindness that didn't ask for attention, that didn't need to flirt to make people gravitate toward you.

And worse?

You smiled at Gary.

He'd come back in to grab the dolly cart and was fiddling with the side panel of the vending machine. When you greeted him—sweetly, with no edge, no jealousy—it knocked the wind out of Melissa.

"You're the one who stocks the sour straws, right?" you asked, soft and playful.

Gary chuckled. "Guilty as charged."

"They've saved me like three times this week. I owe you."

He lit up.

And Melissa felt something tighten in her chest.

You weren't flirting. You were just nice. But Gary was basking in it like a goddamn sunflower, and Janine was chatting with him too, and Jacob was watching her like she was on an episode of The Bachelor: Internal Crisis Edition.

Melissa stood.

"Need air," she muttered.

"Melissa, it's pouring," Janine called after her.

"Better than choking," Melissa snapped before the door shut behind her.

Jacob whistled low. "And that concludes our preview of emotional implosion season."

Janine blinked. "Is she... okay?"

You frowned. "Should I—?"

Jacob gently touched your arm. "No. Just... give her a minute."

You looked toward the door Melissa had disappeared through, the sour straw wrapper still in your pocket from earlier when you almost brought her one, and whispered, "Okay."

But your chest ached anyway.

—

You were sitting in bed, half-asleep, the soft hum of a lo-fi playlist keeping you company while your laptop blinked with half-finished notes for a student grief workshop. Your phone buzzed beside you.

Melissa: Got your number from Jacob. Hope that's not weird.

You sat up straighter immediately, your stomach doing something unsettling.

You: Not weird at all. Hey, Schemmenti.

There was a pause. You could practically feel her debating whether to continue.

Melissa: Didn't mean to be a jerk earlier. In the lounge. Was just... rainy. Bad mood.

You: You weren't a jerk. You're allowed moods. You're human. Allegedly.

Melissa: Allegedly. Don't go spreadin' rumors. (...thanks.)

A beat.

Melissa: Didn't know you liked sour straws. I'll keep that in mind.

You: Didn't know you texted after 10pm. I'll keep that in mind.

She didn't reply right away.

But the next night?

She texted again.

It became a thing. A quiet, sacred thing.

Late-night messages about the kids. About ridiculous school meetings. About old movies and music and what you'd order at a diner at 2am. About everything except what was really happening between you.

Melissa: They're makin' us do a trust fall at the staff PD day. If I die, avenge me.

You: Deal. I'll give you a Viking funeral in the parking lot with office supplies.

Melissa: Romantic.

You: Only for you.

She never responded to those texts. Not the flirty ones. But she never ended the conversation either.

At school, it was worse. Or better. Depending on how you looked at it.

Melissa would pass by your office and flick the lights off just to hear you squeal and threaten revenge. You started slipping notes into her mailbox—"Drink water. Don't stab anyone before lunch." She'd toss you a piece of gum with a smirk in the lounge. You'd put her favorite pens in her mail slot like it wasn't obvious you'd noticed.

Your friendship was banter. Heat just beneath the surface. Almosts and what-ifs.

And the rest of the staff? They absolutely noticed.

It was Barbara who made the first move after weeks of the back-and-forth.

She found Melissa in the quiet calm of her classroom during lunch one day, organizing flashcards with a kind of surgical precision that screamed avoidance.

"Melissa," she said gently, sitting down beside her without asking.

Melissa didn't look up. "If this is about me not eating again, I swear I'm gonna—"

"It's not," Barbara said. "It's about her."

Melissa froze.

"I see how you look at her," Barbara continued, voice soft but steady. "I see how you don't look at Gary anymore."

Melissa sat down. Slowly. Like the weight of it all was finally catching up.

Barbara reached out, resting a hand over hers.

"You deserve more than just comfort. You deserve someone who makes you feel alive."

Melissa's throat worked around a tight swallow. "It's not that simple."

Barbara's smile was full of quiet wisdom. "It never is. But what do you want, Melissa?"

And that was the thing, wasn't it?

She didn't know how to say it.

But every time she opened her phone at night and your name was there waiting?

She knew.

Meanwhile, Janine had cornered you in the copy room.

Literally.

"Okay," she said, arms crossed, "you're gonna tell me right now whether you're in love with Melissa or if that's just your face all the time."

You nearly dropped your coffee. "Janine—"

"Uh-uh," she said, holding up a finger. "I've seen the glances. The smiles. The lingering hand touches. This is a rom-com and we're in act two."

You tried to laugh it off, but your ears were already red.

"I don't know what it is," you admitted. "But it's... something. And I think I might be in trouble."

Janine softened. "She's scared. You know that, right?"

You nodded. "I just don't want to push. She's with someone. And I like her too much to mess her up."

Janine tilted her head. "But what if she's already messed up without you? What then?"

You didn't have an answer.

—

The library smelled like cheap coffee, dry Expo markers, and repressed rage.

It was Development Day at Abbott Elementary—aka the one day a year where time lost meaning and even Barbara, poised as ever, looked like she wanted to throw someone through a window.

Ava, naturally, was leading the session.

"Alright," she called, spinning a whiteboard marker like a dagger. "Let's all pretend to care for the next hour so the district doesn't smite us."

Melissa muttered something under her breath that sounded like, "I'd rather be audited," as she sank into the seat beside you.

She hadn't said much since that late-night text where she'd asked if you'd ever seen Moonstruck, and you'd replied, Yeah. You remind me of Cher. If Cher were meaner and hotter.

She'd ghosted for a full six hours after that one.

Now, seated next to her, your knees brushed.

She didn't move away.

Across the table, Jacob was trying to organize color-coded notepads. Janine shot you a look. Gregory looked like he'd spiritually vacated the room twenty minutes ago.

Ava pointed at the two of you with her marker. "You two. The star-crossed lovers. You're in charge of the wellness initiative next week. Don't make it weird."

You blinked. "What?"

Melissa coughed. "What?"

Janine blinked at Ava. "Wait, why them?"

Ava waved her off. "Please. The slow burn tension? The nightly texting I know is happening? The hallway glances? I might not care about children, but I do care about unresolved sexual energy."

You tried not to choke on air. Melissa shifted beside you like she was deciding whether to leap through a window or tackle Ava to the ground.

Jacob cleared his throat, eyes wide with delight. "Um, excuse me, but I would like to officially second the 'star-crossed' comment. We're talking Persian poetry levels of longing over here."

"I hate all of you," Melissa grumbled, voice tight.

"I think it's sweet," Barbara added mildly, sipping her tea. "Though a bit tragic."

Your face burned.

"Alright," Ava continued, tapping the whiteboard. "You're in charge of 'mental health awareness and emotional team bonding,' which sounds fake but is technically required. Go bond or whatever."

The room dissolved into side chatter.

You stayed quiet. So did Melissa.

Until, finally—so softly you almost missed it—

"I'm not with Gary anymore."

You turned to her, pulse suddenly in your throat. "What?"

She didn't look at you. Her eyes were fixed on the dent in the conference table. "Few days ago. I ended it."

You blinked. "Oh."

Melissa breathed in slow. "He's a good guy. But it wasn't enough. And I think maybe... I didn't want it to be."

Your heart was pounding now.

"Melissa—"

"I'm not saying anything else," she cut in. "Not yet. But I thought you should know."

You stared at her profile. The way her jaw was clenched like it cost her something to be this honest. The way her hand was gripping the folder in her lap like it might steady her.

"Okay," you said, voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you for telling me."

A pause.

Ava glanced back over from the whiteboard, her smirk feral.

"Told you," she muttered to Jacob.

The staff meeting broke up in a blur of chairs scraping and voices buzzing, but Melissa didn't move. You didn't either.

She'd just told you—finally—that she ended it.

You didn't say anything more. You just looked at her. And she felt it.

Later that afternoon, you found yourselves shoved into the smallest workroom on the second floor to "brainstorm logistics" for the upcoming student wellness initiative. Ava had waved a stapler vaguely at you and said something about "zen zones or hugs or whatever" before disappearing with a tray of cookies and no actual leadership.

Melissa was already there when you walked in, arms crossed, hip against the low counter.

You dropped your bag by the file cabinet, closed the door behind you, and smiled slow.

"So," you said. "Do you want the kids to do mindfulness jars or emotionally repressed rage-scribble journals?"

Melissa snorted. "Do I look like a mindfulness jar kinda woman?"

You stepped closer, deliberately. "No," you said. "You look like the kind of woman who would throw glitter at someone on purpose and then claim it was therapy."

She held your gaze. "Not glitter. That stuff's a plague."

You leaned in just slightly, lips twitching. "I'll bring confetti, then. For when you inevitably lose your mind planning this with me."

She didn't answer right away. Just stared. Like she was waiting for you to say something you hadn't yet.

So you did.

"Melissa," you said, voice low, "just to be clear—I'm going to flirt with you now."

She blinked. "What?"

You smiled. "Don't worry. It'll be subtle. Maybe a little dangerous. But technically, it still counts as workplace appropriate."

You took a step closer, barely brushing past her as you reached for a pack of sticky notes.

"I was thinking we could do compliment cards," you murmured, your shoulder grazing hers. "The kids write kind things to each other anonymously. Like: 'You're brave,' or 'You helped me today.'"

You met her eyes. "Or maybe: 'You looked so good today, I forgot how to spell my name.'"

Melissa stared at you like you'd knocked the wind out of her.

But she didn't move away.

"Subtle, huh?" she rasped.

You tilted your head. "You haven't told me to stop."

Her voice was soft. "I know."

The silence stretched, thick and charged. You brushed a speck of lint from her sleeve. Let your fingers linger.

"We could also do affirmation mirrors," you offered, like your fingertips weren't sparking on her arm. "Let the kids look at themselves and say kind things. You could demo it. 'I'm a badass who looks criminally good in red.'"

Melissa let out a low sound that might've been a laugh—or a warning.

"You're not making this easy," she muttered.

"I'm not trying to."

That undid her just a little. Her hand braced on the counter behind her like she needed it to keep her upright.

"You drive me nuts," she murmured. "You know that?"

You leaned in, lips nearly brushing the shell of her ear.

"I hope so."

She let out a shaky exhale.

Then someone rattled the doorknob, and the moment shattered like a wineglass under pressure.

It was Jacob, of course.

"You two almost done plotting your wellness cult?" he chirped. "Ava wants to know if there's going to be a sign-up sheet for drama therapy, and also I need to pee."

Melissa jumped back half a foot. You bit your lip, fighting a smile as you opened the door.

Jacob looked between the two of you. His eyes narrowed.

"Was the air always this thick in here?" he asked.

"Yes," you said sweetly, brushing past him.

Melissa still hadn't moved.

—

It was just after 5 p.m the next day. The halls of Abbott had gone quiet—kids long gone, most of the teachers too, save for the die-hards still grading papers or stress-eating in their rooms. You were curled on the floor of your office, poster supplies strewn around you, taping down borders for the "Self-Love Station" banner when you heard it—

A knock.

You looked up, and there she was.

Melissa.

Still in her boots and leather jacket, still somehow rumpled and perfect, still looking like the decision she hadn't made yet was clawing its way out of her skin.

"I have an idea," she said. Voice scratchy, low. "For the event."

You raised a brow. "You're on fire this week, Schemmenti."

She gave a tight half-smile. "Yeah, well. I've been... thinkin'. Too much."

You pushed aside some markers. "Come in."

She did.

And sat closer than she had to. Cross-legged across from you, elbows on her knees like she might spring up at any second if she dared to relax.

"What's the idea?" you asked.

But she didn't answer right away. Just stared at you like she was looking for something.

Your voice softened. "Melissa."

Her eyes met yours.

"Where's the line?" you asked, barely above a whisper. "Because I've been dancing right on it. And you haven't stopped me."

Her breath stuttered. Her fingers curled into her palms.

"There isn't a line anymore," she said. "Not with you."

The silence buzzed between you, electric.

You reached for her hand, slow and careful. She let you take it.

And when she leaned in—tentative, trembling—you leaned too.

Your noses nearly brushed. Her breath fanned across your lips, ragged and wanting. Her forehead tilted to yours like instinct.

You were right there.

And then—

Her phone rang.

Loud. Abrasive. Sharp as a slap.

She jerked back like she'd been burned, swearing softly under her breath. You scrambled to give her space, heart racing.

"Sorry," she muttered, checking the screen. "It's my sister. She'll call five more times if I don't pick up."

You nodded, trying to breathe evenly. "Of course. Go ahead."

Melissa stepped out, phone pressed to her ear, her other hand still half-curled like it remembered holding yours.

She didn't come back.

You stayed in your office another twenty minutes, just... sitting. Fingers ghosting your own lips. You had been right there.

That night, the texts came earlier than usual.

Melissa: I'm sorry.

You: For what?

Melissa: You know what. I wanted to. God, I wanted to.

You: Me too. Still do.

Melissa: You drive me insane. You always smell like vanilla and soap and something dangerous. It's not fair.

You: You could've kissed me. I wouldn't have stopped you.

Melissa: Don't say that. I'll lose my mind.

You: Already there, Schemmenti. Join me.

A pause.

Melissa: You're not helping. I'm in bed trying to behave.

You: Tell me how that's going.

Melissa: I'm thinking about your mouth.

You: Yeah?

Melissa: Yeah. The way you talk. The way you look at me. The way you didn't pull away.

You: Next time the phone won't stop us.

Melissa: Don't tease me.

You: Not teasing. Unless you want me to.

There was a long pause.

Then—

Melissa: Jesus. I haven't wanted someone like this in... I don't think I ever have.

You: Then don't hold back next time.

Melissa: I'm trying. But I want you so bad it hurts.

The next few days at Abbott were a masterclass in barely holding it together.

Melissa was different now. Not in a dramatic way—no declarations or dramatic sighs or broken coffee mugs. But in the way she looked at you. Longer. Hungrier. Like she couldn't stop. Like she didn't want to.

You'd catch her staring when you weren't speaking, when your back was turned, when you were laughing too hard with one of your students. She'd pretend she wasn't. You'd pretend not to notice.

And the touches? They lingered.

A hand on your back as you brushed past in the hallway. Fingertips grazing your wrist when she passed you a folder. A knuckle brushing your knee under the staff lounge table—once, just once, but it had you both holding your breath.

Jacob and Janine were, unfortunately, feral about it.

They cornered you between the copier and the extra laminating pouches like they were on a mission from God.

"Okay," Janine hissed, "are you in love yet or are we still playing chicken with our emotions?"

Jacob flailed a folder. "I saw her blush today. Melissa Schemmenti. Blushed. Over you. She nearly spilled her coffee!"

"I think she bit her lip in the break room," Janine added, eyes wide. "Bit. Her. Lip."

"She lingered at your door for ten whole seconds," Jacob whisper-screamed.

"I think my uterus ovulated from the tension alone," Janine whispered dramatically.

You groaned. "Okay, stop. Both of you. I know. I know. But I'm not pushing her. This has to be her decision."

Jacob softened. "You're really into her."

You nodded. "Completely."

Janine squealed into her elbow.

That night, it was storming.

Soft thunder. Dim bedside lighting. Your phone buzzed in your palm.

You'd been staring at Melissa's contact for ten minutes already when her name finally popped up.

Melissa: Are you home?

You: Yeah. Cozy. Rainy. You?

Melissa: I can't stop thinking about you. I haven't been able to focus all day. You're in my head.

Your stomach flipped. Hard.

You: Same.

There was a pause.

And then—

Melissa: Can you come over?

You blinked.

You: Right now?

Melissa: Yeah. Please.

You: Send me the address.

The typing bubbles came fast.

She sent it.

Melissa: I don't know what this is gonna be. But I need to see you.

You sat there for half a second, heart in your throat, adrenaline humming in your fingertips.

Then you got up. Grabbed your keys. And left.

The drive to Melissa's house felt like moving through a dream. Rain smudged the windshield, city lights blurred behind your headlights, and your heart was pounding so loud it felt like it was in your throat.

You barely remembered parking.

Barely remembered walking up to the door, soaked hood down, every nerve in your body coiled like a live wire.

The door opened.

Melissa stood there barefoot in leggings and an oversized Eagles sweatshirt that hung off one shoulder. Her hair was messy, damp at the ends like she'd been pacing or—God—showering, and her eyes?

Her eyes burned.

You didn't say anything. Neither did she.

You stepped inside.

She shut the door behind you without a word, locking it with a soft click. The silence was loaded.

"Hi," you breathed, voice hoarse.

Melissa took a step closer. "You came."

"You asked."

"I wasn't sure you would."

"I wasn't sure I could not."

Her hands reached for your face like instinct, like gravity, fingers threading into your hair as her lips crashed into yours with a sound so relieved it made your knees buckle.

You kissed her back hard, hungry, like you'd been waiting your whole life to get to this moment and now you were done waiting.

Melissa groaned into your mouth, tugging you closer by the waist until your bodies were flush, her hands hot and desperate on your back.

You gasped between kisses, and she chased the sound—her lips catching your jaw, your throat, the edge of your mouth like she couldn't bear to stop tasting you.

"Tell me to stop," she rasped against your skin. "Tell me to slow down."

You shook your head, breathless. "I don't want you to."

That was all it took.

Melissa's hands slid under your shirt, greedy, reverent. Yours pulled the sweatshirt over her head in one slow motion that left her half-naked and heaving in front of you.

"Jesus," you whispered, drinking her in, her breasts practically begging to be freed from her bra. 

She surged forward, kissing you again, slower this time. Deeper. Her body was pressed against yours like she wanted to memorize every inch of contact.

You guided her backward, gently, until the backs of her knees hit the couch. She sank into it, pulling you with her.

You were still in your bra, jeans undone, breath catching as she hooked her fingers in the waistband and tugged—rough, urgent—until you helped her, until denim hit the floor and you were straddling her in nothing but soaked cotton.

Melissa's eyes dragged over your body like she was starving, and maybe she was. Starving for something real, for the heat she'd been denying, for you.

"Come here," she breathed, voice ragged.

The kiss deepened—hotter now, wetter, messier. All teeth and tongue and low, needy sounds pulled from places neither of you had touched in far too long.

You ground down against her with a soft moan, and Melissa swore, the sound guttural.

"Jesus Christ—"

Her hands flew to your ass, gripping hard, dragging you even closer like she couldn't stand the space that still existed between your bodies. Your clothed core slid against the smooth skin of her thigh, and you gasped into her mouth. Her breath hitched—then turned feral.

"Fuck, you're so wet," she groaned. "Is that for me?"

"All for you," you whimpered. "Only you."

Her mouth found your collarbone, then lower. You arched into her as her tongue flicked over the swell of your breast, then circled your nipple until you were gasping, clutching at her hair as your hips moved against her with a mind of their own. 

You didn't even realize she'd unhooked her bra until you felt bare skin on bare skin.

You hissed at the contact, your nipples brushing hers as your hips moved in tandem, your bodies finding a rhythm that was messy and desperate and so fucking good.

"Look at me," Melissa rasped, her voice low and wrecked.

You did. And what you saw there—God, it was everything. Years of pretending, of playing it safe, of folding herself into versions of love that never really fit. It was all there. And so was want.

All for you.

"I need you," she whispered. "Please. I need—"

You kissed her hard before she could finish, slipping your hand between her legs, under the waistband of her panties.

She was drenched.

Your fingers slid through her easily, and her head dropped back against the couch as she gasped, her hips bucking into your touch.

"Fuck, baby," she moaned. "Please don't stop—"

You didn't. You pressed two fingers into her, slow but deep, watching her unravel beneath you.

She was gripping your shoulders like you were the only solid thing in her world, her thighs trembling as you curled your fingers just right, your thumb circling her clit in tight, purposeful strokes.

"Let go for me," you whispered, lips brushing her ear. "I want to feel you fall apart."

With a guttural cry, Melissa came hard around your fingers, her whole body tensing and trembling as she clung to you, her breath hot against your neck.

Melissa was still shaking when she pulled you up against her, kissed you like she needed your mouth to breathe. She didn't say anything—just took your hand, laced your fingers together, and tugged you off the couch.

"Come here," she murmured.

You followed, heart still racing, every nerve still alive from the sound she'd made when she came—wrecked and soft and yours.

She led you upstairs. The hallway was dim, lit only by the occasional flicker of lightning through the windows, but she didn't need lights. She didn't need words. Her hand never left yours.

Her bedroom door clicked shut behind you.

And then she was kissing you again, deeper this time, less frantic and more reverent. Her fingers slid into the waistband of your panties, slow, deliberate, like she wanted to memorize the moment before they fell to the floor.

You didn't even make it to the bed before you dropped to your knees.

Melissa froze, her breath catching, one hand tangled in your hair.

"Wait—are you sure—?"

You kissed her inner thigh and looked up at her, voice low and reverent.

"I've never been more sure of anything."

You pressed another kiss higher. Then another.

She let out a sound that was half curse, half plea, and let you guide her to the bed. She lay back, legs falling open for you without hesitation. She was already so responsive, so raw and sensitive, every inch of her body humming like it remembered your touch and needed more.

And when you finally put your mouth on her?

She sobbed.

Not a cry. Not a scream. A full sob. Like you were giving her something she hadn't known she could even ask for.

You moaned into her, her taste addictive, your hands holding her thighs open as you licked and kissed her like you were worshipping her—because you were.

She gripped the sheets, her hips grinding up into your mouth, head thrown back against the pillows as she whispered your name over and over like it was the only thing tethering her to earth.

And you?

You were so gone.

So gone.

She was everything—her voice, her scent, her thighs trembling around your head. You were dripping, aching, and completely wrecked with how much you wanted her, how much you were giving yourself to her, how deep you were letting her inside you just by tasting her, claiming her, loving her like this.

And somewhere in that blur of pleasure, of tongues and moans and fingers digging into skin—

You came.

No hands. No touch. Just her. Just the sheer overwhelming intensity of it, of giving her everything, of finally being here.

You gasped her name into her skin as it happened, body shuddering against the sheets.

When you finally looked up, dazed and panting, Melissa was staring down at you like she'd just witnessed something holy.

She reached for you instantly.

"Come here," she whispered, voice thick. "Come back to me."

You climbed into her arms, collapsed into the curve of her body, still trembling.

She kissed your temple. Your jaw. The corner of your mouth.

"I've never..." she started, then stopped.

You lifted your head, eyes meeting hers.

"I've never had this," she said. "I didn't think I could. I didn't know I could feel like this."

You kissed her, slow and sweet.

"You do now."

Melissa pulled you closer—closer than close—until your body was flush against hers, hearts pounding in tandem. You could still taste her on your lips. Still feel the ghost of her against your tongue.

Her hand slid down your stomach like it belonged there, like she'd been aching to trace you.

You gasped, clutching at her shoulders, your legs parting instinctively as she pressed her fingers against you—warm, slow, deliberate.

Your head fell back as she kissed your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts. Her mouth was hungry but reverent, open-mouthed kisses like she was marking you, like she wanted to memorize every sound you made.

And you made them. Soft cries. Whimpers. Her name over and over like it was the only word that meant anything.

Her fingers moved inside you with a confidence that didn't come from experience—it came from desire. She wasn't showing off. She wasn't rushing. 

She was listening. To your breath, your body, the tremble in your voice as you begged her not to stop.

"You're so fucking beautiful," she whispered, lips brushing the underside of your breast before sucking gently, leaving heat blooming across your chest. "You feel like you were made for me."

You whimpered, your thighs tightening around her wrist as her pace quickened just enough to push you over that dangerous edge again.

"I'm gonna—Melissa—"

"I've got you," she breathed. "Come for me, baby. Let me feel you."

With a cry that cracked through your ribs, you shattered in her arms—spine arching, nails digging into her skin, your whole body trembling against hers like every nerve had caught fire.

She held you through it, kissed you through it, never letting up until you were clinging to her, dazed and gasping, your body wrung out and boneless in her embrace.

The aftershocks hit you in waves, smaller quakes as she slowed her hand, finally easing you down from the high she'd given you.

Your forehead pressed to hers, both of you breathing like you'd run miles.

"Holy shit," you murmured, barely coherent.

Melissa laughed softly, a breathy, wrecked sound. "Yeah."

She pulled you close again, wrapping the blankets around your bodies, her thumb stroking your hip as the thunder rolled in the distance and your breaths began to sync again.

"I don't want this to be just tonight," she whispered into your hair. "I want more."

You tilted your head to meet her gaze, your smile tender and trembling.

"I want more too," you said, voice barely above a whisper. "I always have."

Melissa's eyes softened in a way you'd never seen before, like something in her finally exhaled. She tucked a damp strand of hair behind your ear, her fingers lingering on your cheek.

"You scare the shit outta me," she murmured, half-laughing, half-serious.

You smiled wider. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Her thumb stroked your lower lip. "Because this feels like something I could ruin just by wanting it too much."

You shook your head, leaning into her hand. "You won't ruin it. You can't."

Her brow furrowed, like she was still trying to believe that could be true. But you were here, in her bed, your legs tangled with hers and your heart cracked wide open, and she was still looking at you like you hung the stars.

You cupped her face, kissed her again—slower this time, deeper. The kind of kiss you gave someone when you wanted them in the morning, and the next morning, and all the ones after that.

She kissed you back like a promise.

Eventually, the storm outside eased, and inside the bedroom, so did the both of you. Her hand stayed on your back, warm and grounding, even as your bodies began to sink further under the covers, into something softer. Something safe.

You shifted slightly, pressed against her chest, her heartbeat steady beneath your ear.

"Stay?" she asked quietly, like she already knew the answer but needed to hear it.

You nodded. "I'm not going anywhere."