#oop robby's had it

[bayntons]

F*cking Dr. Google bullshit. They want medical treatment, but they don't want medical advice. What the actual f*ck are we doing?

THE PITT • 1.14 | 8:00 PM

[bifairywife]

someone with daddy issues & never stood up to their bully is beginning to ship their comfort character with a bully, i cannot interfere it is a canon event

[millers-girl]

fallout

interconnected standalone/sequel-ish to bitter/sweet - a Dr. Jack Abbot (The Pitt) fanfic

pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader

summary: you and your sister plan to spend the day at Pitt Fest but instead spend the night in the hospital, and Jack is left to pick up the pieces.

warnings/tags: mentions of an active shooter, gun violence, ptsd/trauma response, grief and loss, implied survivor's guilt, slow burn, hurt/comfort, grumpy x sunshine, food as a love language, age gap, mild language

word count: 5.1k

a/n: oops accidentally made this love story my entire personality

Jack rushed through the sliding doors of the ED, the familiar, sharp scent of antiseptic welcoming him back. His eyes were locked onto his phone screen, thumb twitching over the messages he’d already sent.

As soon as he’d heard it on the police scanner—“Active shooter at Pitt Fest. At least two confirmed dead. Unclear how many injured”—a sick, crawling fear had taken hold of him. It was an unfamiliar, uncomfortable feeling, and one he couldn’t wait to get rid of. 

He’d been trying to get a hold of you. Calling. Texting. Over and over.

Where are you?

Are you okay? 

Please answer.

I’m in the ED. Come straight here if you can.

He forced himself to pocket his phone when Robby started rattling off the hospital’s mass casualty protocol to the group, but he made sure to leave the ringer on – just in case.

When the first wave of patients came in, it was like muscle memory took over. Like he’d slipped back in time, to when he was stationed in Afghanistan, boots hitting blood-streaked dirt.

Assess injury. Slap a colored band on. Treat until stable. Repeat.

A girl, maybe sixteen, sobbed as he wrapped gauze around her bloodied thigh. Her hands were shaking.

A man in his forties was wheeled in, gray from blood loss, gasping.

He sutured a gaping wound left by a gunshot on another boy’s arm. 

He couldn’t stop.

Couldn’t let himself stop.

Somewhere, beneath the routine and urgency, he was antsy, just waiting for you to walk through those doors. 

And then – you did. 

When you were gurneyed through the entrance, the fluorescent lights that usually hummed quietly in the background now felt blinding. Each flicker seemed to stab into your corneas. Your ears rang, your hands trembled, and for a second, it was all white noise. You barely registered Dr. King’s voice asking you questions, her hands checking your vitals.

You weren’t looking at her. You were scanning the frenzied room. 

And then your gaze caught his.

Even amidst the chaos––screams, alarms, blood––his eyes found yours. Jack stopped mid-step near the nurse’s station, the world narrowing for him in an instant. The clinical buzz of the ED faded. He beelined toward you like gravity itself had shifted.

“Jesus Christ, you fucking scared me.” 

His voice was sharp, but familiar – comfort laced with adrenaline. He shouldered Dr. King aside and immediately began assessing you himself. You tried to push his hands away, your injury the last thing on your mind. His hands swatted yours back, frustration flaring into the way his brow furrowed. 

“Jack,” you whispered past trembling lips. He froze, and when his eyes met yours again, they softened. You reached for him without thinking, shaking arms curling around his neck, clinging.

And he didn’t hesitate. Didn’t care who was watching. He wrapped you up, hand cradling the back of your neck, and let out a deep sigh.

You weren’t sure what kind of fight-or-flight response you had that knew being held—feeling safe—would be exactly what you needed then, but you were glad for it. 

“Are you okay?” he murmured into your matted hair, voice tight with restrained panic.

You nodded against his skin, though the movement was hesitant, slow. 

“I’ve been trying to reach you. Why didn’t you answer?” 

“My phone got knocked out of my hand in all the chaos. I didn’t even realize…”

You leaned back, and found worry still clouding his features. You released him enough to let him do his job, finally letting him examine you.

His touch was careful, but you felt how tightly he was wound – how his hands lingered too long on your skin; how he exhaled when he saw the swelling in your ankle. 

Dr. King stepped back in, clearing her throat. “How are you feeling?” 

“Kinda nauseous… dizzy. I don’t know, the lights are making it hard to concentrate,” you mumbled.

The two doctors shared a look. 

“Mild concussion,” Jack said, gently wrapping his fingers around your ankle and rotating it. You winced. “Sprained. Scrapes and bruises on knees, elbows, forearms.”

He slapped a yellow band on your wrist. 

“Ow, Jack,” you muttered, tugging your hand back. 

Any other time, he would’ve rolled his eyes and teased you – made a quip about how dramatic you were.

But not today. 

Today, his fingers immediately rubbed over the spot soothingly, and his voice was soft as he apologized.

When he reached to slip a patient tag onto your wrist, he glanced up again. “Where’s your sister?”

“She’s fine,” you said. “Just had a scraped arm, bruised ribs maybe. She went to help Emery in the OR.”

He exhaled quietly, then moved efficiently – pillows under your ankle, ice pack secured, orders rattled off to Dr. King. “Acetaminophen and Zofran in an IV bag. Don’t get it mixed up with ibuprofen – she’s allergic.” 

Dr. King brought the requested bags and kindly offered to hook you up to them, wanting to help in some way. Jack ignored her, still locked in his quiet rhythm as he began treating your wounds. Stopping the bleeding. Cleaning the cuts. Dressing them carefully. 

You stayed silent during the whole thing.

And it unnerved him.

Normally, you’d be rambling about something––telling a story, cracking a joke, flirting with him––to distract yourself. But now, you just watched him, eyes distant.

He didn’t push.

As he was finishing up, someone called out for him. “Abbot! Need you in the red zone!” 

“Coming!” he shouted back, eyes never leaving you until the very last second. “Hey,” he said softly, “I know it’s crazy in here right now, but try to get some rest, okay? I’ll be back soon.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted. “Wasn’t even near the shooter. Just got trampled in the crowd… Others had it worse.” Your gaze flicked to the burgundy splatters on his surgical gown.

Jack cut you a look. “Don’t do that,” he said firmly. “You still got hurt. That matters. And I’m gonna fix it. Okay?” 

You nodded, just to keep him from worrying more.

“And keep that ankle elevated,” he ordered. As he turned to leave, you caught his hand in yours.

“Can I borrow your phone? I need to call Eleni.”

He hesitated, then pulled the phone from his pocket. When you reached for it, he tugged it back. “One call, then you rest,” he bargained.

You nodded again, the device cool in your hand as he disappeared down the hall.

Dr. King smiled kindly before saying, “Okay, you should be good for now. I’ll come check up on you in a bit, too. Let me know if you need anything in the meantime.”

“Thanks.”

When she left, you dialed Eleni’s number. It only rang for half a second before she was picking up and frantically asking, “Hello?” 

“Hey, it’s me.”

Relief hit the other end of the line like a wave. You could practically hear her collapsing into relief before relaying the good news to the rest of the team. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, fine. Just a little knocked up.” 

She paused for a second, then said, “Knocked up? Wow, that Dr. Tall, Dark, and Broody sure works fast.” 

You huffed out a weak laugh. It felt forced. Hollow.

Eleni meant well. That was her way of checking if you were really okay. So, for her sake, you tried.

“Can you do me a favor?” you asked, looking around the chaotic room.

“Anything.” 

“Get the team to make some food for the ED. For the survivors, their families. Staff. Anyone who needs it.” 

“Yeah, that’s a really good idea. How much do you need?” 

“Everything we’ve got.” 

A beat of silence. “Everything…? Is it that bad?” 

“Yeah,” you said quietly. 

She didn’t hesitate. “We’ll get started right now.” 

You thanked her, hung up, and slowly slid further down the gurney, resting Jack’s phone against your cheek like a comfort blanket. It was nice to have a piece of him with you. 

You didn’t mean to fall asleep. But somehow, your body finally gave out. And, when you woke again, it was to Dr. Mohan’s voice ringing out from a few feet away. “Need help with an airway!” 

Your bleary gaze tried to focus, mind swimming through fog as Jack and Robby rushed to help her. 

“GSW to the neck with expanding hematoma and distorted anatomy. Can’t intubate him – probably hit the carotid,” she explained.

You blinked heavily, watching Jack attend to the bleeding and shout out orders in that commanding voice of his.

But it was the needle taped to his arm, feeding a blood bag wrapped around his ankle, that really caught your attention. Without lifting your head, your sleepy eyes shifted to it. 

“Are you donating?” Dr. Mohan asked. 

“O-neg, yeah.” As if he could feel your eyes on him, he glanced your way, one of his eyes dropping in a wink. “Thought I’d be more useful as a two-for-one today.”

“Show off,” you muttered weakly, rolling your eyes. 

He grinned, eyes focused on the patient before him as he put a Foley in. As he was working, he called to Perlah, asking her to get you a juice box when she got a chance. 

“Can you make sure it’s not apple?” he asked after her. “She hates apple.”  

Despite everything, you felt a warmth blooming in your chest at that.

When Perlah brought you a juice box––fruit punch––you sipped it quietly, eyes on the trauma around you. The blood. The screams. The ones who were being saved – and the ones who weren’t.

Jack returned after stabilizing his GSW patient. He didn’t say anything at first, just placed a warm hand on your forehead, thumb brushing lightly at your hairline. 

“You want some more juice?” You shook your head. “But you’re good?” 

You force a nod. “Yeah. Just tired.” 

He didn’t believe you, but he didn’t force the truth out of you either. Just made sure to watch you more closely as he continued working around you.

Sometime later, Eleni arrived – along with half the staff from Francesca. They came bearing trays of food: warm bread, hearty pastas, fruit, rice dishes, sandwiches, coffee, cookies.

The smell alone grounded people. Nurses grabbed bites between patients. Survivors’ families cried when offered plates. Even doctors paused to say thank you.

You watched it all from your bed, barely speaking – your throat tightened. 

Santos, who stood beside Jack, asked, “Is that the black cod from Francesca?” she asked, oblivious. 

Jack’s eyes flicked to the food in the familiar light pink bags, then to you.

It wasn’t the fact that you’d gotten food for the entire floor that caught his attention – it was why you’d even thought to do it. Even banged up, bruised, barely functioning – you’d wanted to look after everyone else.

He looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time, with new eyes. Like maybe, despite your young age and optimism when it came to seeing the best in people, Jack could still learn a thing or two from you. And maybe that was what he admired most. 

When he managed to find a minute to be back at your bedside, he didn’t say anything. Just offered you the food on his plate, making sure he saved you that sandwich you raved about so much. 

He sat beside you, in quiet solidarity. And, for a moment, in the middle of one of the worst days either of you had lived through, something in the chaos finally felt still.

When Jack left again to attend to more patients, the chaos didn’t remain still. Instead, it slowed – in the worst way.

You finally stopped moving. Stopped reacting. And, just, took it all in.

The crying, the gurgled pain, the rushed footsteps, the overheard codes being called. You can see every little thing – the crimson on someone’s shirt, the way a nurse’s gloved hands shook, the metallic scent in the air. 

Someone shouting for gauze. Another for a crash cart. A kid screaming down the corridor, clutching his broken arm, blood smeared along his cheek. 

And it was all muffled, happening in slow motion. Dull in your senses, leaving only an ache. In your bones. In your ribs. Behind your eyes. 

And then you saw them.

Robby was towering over a gurney, hands pressed tightly to a teenage girl’s chest – desperate, shaking. Her bra was soaked through. A pool of maroon darkened the sheets she was lying on.

She was already still. Limp.

And a teenage boy was sobbing her name. Leah. 

You vaguely remembered his face – Jake, Robby’s sort-of adopted son.

He’s just a teenager… meaning Leah is too.

Was too.

You silently watched Jack touch Robby’s shoulder once, gently, but Robby shrugged it off. Muttered something over and over. Continued with chest compressions everyone knew wouldn’t help.

You could see it in the eyes of the practitioners around him. In the way they hesitated before trying to help. In how nobody called to see if an OR was open. Still, they didn’t want to pull him off her. Not yet.

And something about the quiet truth of that moment sliced deep through your gut.

Before you could process it, you were pulling the IVs from your arm and sliding off the gurney. Your knees buckled for half a second, and your sprained ankle throbbed, but you forced yourself upright. Moved down the hall. Didn’t realize where you were going until your hand was on the bathroom door, pushing it open and locking it behind you.

The silence inside felt oddly louder than the overwhelming med bay.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, not recognizing the reflection. Skin smudged with soot and scarlet blood, small cuts along your hairline, a big bruise where you’d fallen and hit your jaw.

You turned the tap on, splashing ice cold water on your face. It did nothing.

The tears came suddenly and in volume, blurring your vision, and causing you to sink. Down to the floor, knees against your chest, arms hugging.

You dropped your head, trying to focus on the sterile scent of disinfectant as it stung your nose. But all you could see was blood. The stillness. The way Robby cradled Leah’s lifeless body like she might wake up at any moment.

You didn’t know how long you sat there like that. Ten minutes, two hours – time had gone strangely elastic.

A knock sounded once. Then, a key card swipe.

You flinched as the door eased open and Jack stepped inside, gait soft-footed. His brows pulled together when he saw you there, folded into yourself. 

He didn’t say anything at first. Just closed the door gently behind him and sat down beside you, back resting against the wall. His outstretched knee brushed your good ankle. 

You could tell he was itching to say something, to get you out of this funk. But you didn’t speak until you were ready, and he respected that. 

A long time passed before you looked up at him, and your chest cracked wide open.

“How come nothing happened to me?” you asked quietly.

“What are you talking about?” 

“That kid – Robbie’s kid – his girlfriend, she…” you trailed off. Shook your head. “And I… I’m here, right? I’m breathing, and I’m good, and I’m gonna have some really badass scars and a hell of a story – ”

The corners of Jack’s mouth lifted comfortingly. “Did I leave any scars when I sutured up your thumb?” You shook your head. “Then, what makes you think I’m gonna leave any behind for you to remember this by?” he tried, lightheartedly, almost teasing – but your face didn’t soften.

You were somewhere else entirely. A million miles away, eyes glassy and unfocused.

“I don’t want you to remember this forever,” he admitted, correcting himself. 

“I think I will,” you whispered. “Even if I don’t have any physical scars to remind me.” 

Jack looked at you for a long time. Then, slowly, he pulled you into his lap, pressing you gently into his chest. You didn’t resist. Just leaned in. Let yourself fold into him like you had no bones left. 

He felt safe, even if the world didn’t anymore.

His chin rested lightly on top of your head, and his voice came low, almost gravelly. 

“Sometimes surviving feels heavier than dying,” he said. “But you’re here, and that counts for something. Even if you don’t know what yet.” 

You closed your eyes, let the silence swell between you, thick and full and terrible. His heart beat steadily against your cheek, and yours slowly synched to his. 

For the first time all day, you let yourself breathe without holding back the sob. 

When your breathing eventually evens out again, your sobs subside into hiccups, but Jack still doesn’t move. Not until your fingers unclenched from the fabric of his scrubs and you shifted slightly in his arms, blinking up at him through lashes sticky with salt.

“Let’s get you back, huh?” he murmured, thumb brushing gently against your cheek, wiping away a tear. “Before King starts paging me panicking because she lost you.” 

At that, a genuine single laugh escapes past your lips. 

You nodded, letting him help you stand, steadying you with one hand at your elbow while the other rested at your waist. 

You weren’t shaking anymore, but your body felt like it had been wrung out, nothing left but raw emotion and a dull, aching tiredness. 

Back in the med bay, the gurney felt too open, but you climbed back into it anyway. Jack hooked your IV back in, checked the monitor, adjusted the pillows under your ankle and tucked you in, grabbing extra blankets because he knew how cold you got here.

Every time he passed when moving from patient to patient, he paused. Asked you if you wanted something more to eat, another dose of pain meds, or the chance to change into a fresh set of clothes.

He led you to a new bathroom, helping you change out of your bloody top and jean shorts. As he pulled the hole of an extra t-shirt he kept in his locker over your head, he leaned down and gently pressed his lips to your forehead, without ever saying a word.

Back in the gurney bed, now in his t-shirt and sweatpants, you felt a little calmer. By now, all the food from Francesca was gone, but he offered you a half-eaten granola bar from his scrub jacket pocket when your stomach growled loudly.

And each time he left the absence of him left behind a cold draft against your skin.

The night dragged on. The chaos outside finally slowed, like a storm passing. Wounds were closed, departments and rooms assigned. The steady beeping of monitors became the background noise of recovery, not disaster.

It was sometime past midnight when Taylor led you into an assigned room not far from the nurse’s station. When you were settled into the room––overhead lights dimmed just how you liked it and a cup of cold water at your bedside––you caught sight of Jack outside your door. 

He talked quietly to another nurse for a few minutes, then handed over a clipboard he held before making his way into your room, checking your progress.

“Are you busy right now?” you quietly asked.

He glanced down the hallway, then decided, “I got a minute to spare.” 

Yout throat felt dry, the words nearly catching a little as you spoke – even after everything you two had been through in the past few day. “Can you come lie down with me?”

Your voice sounded so small, how could he ever say no?

He blinked once, then shut the door behind him.

The bed was barely wide enough for one person, but he made it work. Shrugged off his stethoscope and climbed up carefully. His body curled beside yours, both of you on your sides, facing each other in the dim glow. He tucked one arm under your head, the other hooking around your waist to pull you closer. 

You let out a deep exhale, murmuring against his skin, “Pretty sure there’s a HIPAA violation about doctor-patient contact somewhere here.” 

Your voice wasn’t light. You didn’t smile.

But the joke still landed.

“Oh, my God,” he groaned, eyes rolling before they settled back on you. The hand on your waist rose to cup your cheek. “I’m really glad you’re okay,” he whispered, before his lips pressed against yours in a soft kiss that reassured you you were going to be okay.

The silence that followed when you pulled away was full of the words neither of you had to say out loud. His hand found yours under the blanket, your fingers tangling naturally.

And, for a little while, the horrors of the day faded into something softer.

The first days back home after the shooting felt different. 

Your bedroom felt smaller, like the walls were closing in. But, it also felt comfortable, familiar. Nothing bad had ever happened here, and nothing bad ever would. 

Jack drove you home that first day. He didn’t say much, didn’t need to. He just kept a steady hand on the steering wheel and his gaze flicked over to you every few minutes. He ended up staying until his next shift, never leaving your side unless he had to.

You trailed him around the house like a shadow – when he brewed tea for you, made you breakfast, shifted through his backpack by the door. You weren’t even sure what you were so afraid of, only that when he was near, it all felt quieter. Bearable.

An hour into being back home, the two of you had settled into the couch with some show playing low in the background. You didn’t remember what it was, only the way Jack’s eyes started to flutter closed. He fought sleep longer than he should’ve.

You tugged gently at his hand, coaxing him into your room. He didn’t protest, just let you lead him, half-asleep. His body sunk into the bed, melting into sheets that smelled like you.

You couldn’t sleep – couldn’t really calm your mind when your ears were suddenly so sensitive to the noises around. Dogs barking. The garbage truck coming to pick up the recycling. A car backfiring.

Each one pulled your body taut with unease.

Instead, you watched Jack sleep. He looked so peaceful, long eyelashes brushing against soft skin. His forehead wasn’t crinkled in worry for once, even though you could tell he was running on empty this last shift. 

You reached out to gently run your fingers through his hair and it made him sleepily shift toward you on the bed, his head nuzzling into the crook of your neck. The warmth made your chest ache.

When his alarm went off, he began to stir but you tightened your hold on him. Not ready to let him leave or face a cold, desolate existence without him for the next 12 hours.

Eyes still shut, he gently teased, “Clingy much?” But the softness in his tone showed you he didn’t mind it one bit.

Not when your bare feet padded lightly right behind his as he walked into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, nor when he got in the shower and you followed in after. 

Afterward, wrapped in a towel, you avoided looking in the mirror. You didn’t need to. You could already feel the bruises blooming, their soreness serving as quiet reminders. You stared down at your arms, your collarbone, at the places where the pain still lingered, where the memories came to life – gunshots, screaming, smoke in the air. 

You flinched when Jack shut the bathroom door, the sound too loud, too sudden. He didn’t notice… or maybe he did and just didn’t say anything.

When he was packing his camo backpack for work, his movements froze for a second, hesitating. Then, wordlessly, he pulled out your bloodied clothes from Pitt Fest, folded in a ziploc bag. Before you could even process what he was doing, he’d quickly stuffed them into the laundry machine and ran a cycle.

After he had pulled his jacket on, he approached you while you were slowly picking at the sandwich he’d made you for supper. His hands gently cupped your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. 

“You gonna be okay tonight?” he asked softly. 

You nodded, though it felt like a lie. Still, he pulled you into a hug, pressing your head against his chest, and leaned down to kiss the top of your head. “Call me if you need anything. Or if you get bored and wanna get your ass kicked in chess.”

That coaxed a real laugh out of you, unexpected and bright. Before the shooting, you two had been engaged in a seriously competitive match over GamePigeon. Jack had accused you of cheating more than once. You missed that.

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, patting his chest when you leaned back. “Might let you win this time. Keep that fragile ego intact.”

He smirked, leaning down to meet your eyes. “Be good today, okay?” 

“Yes, Dad,” you groaned with exaggerated disdain. The wording made his brows raise and sent a shiver down his body. 

“That and the age gap… you’re gonna give me a complex,” he groaned, watching the corners of your lips tug upwards before you reached up on the tips of your toes and wrapped your arms around him. 

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll forget all about it when you’re elbows deep, rearranging someone’s guts,” you easily teased, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Rather rearrange your guts,” he mumbled against your lips, cupping a hand behind your neck to deepen the kiss.

When you pulled back, you tilted your head. 

“What?” he asked. 

“I’m rubbing off on you.” 

He opened his mouth again, likely to make another suggestive remark about rubbing something else off on you, but you cupped a hand over it before he could. 

“Don’t you have lives to save?” you asked, gently shoving him out the door.

You knew the house wouldn’t be empty for long—Jack and your sister had alternated shifts so someone could always be with you—but you still missed him.

Only thirty minutes passed between Jack leaving and your sister coming home. But in those thirty minutes, the washer went off and you thought you could manage the simple task of transferring your clothes to the dryer. 

After all, they were just clothes. Just pieces of cotton and thread, no longer cakes in soot and blood. They were fresh as new. 

So why couldn’t you touch them? Why did you leave the washer door open and just stare into the tub where they sat, soaked? 

By the time your sister walked in, the clothes were long gone – dumped in the trash bin outside. It was the only thing you could bring yourself to do. 

You were curled up on the sofa when she found you, TV flickering across your face like nothing had happened. She didn’t ask. She just sat beside you, and that was enough.

That’s how the days passed. Evenings with your sister – watching TV, talking about what happened, processing. Mornings and afternoons with Jack, who brought over puzzles, crossword books, a physical chess set… even a spare toothbrush which now sat happily beside yours in the bathroom. It made your heart ache every time you saw it.

You slept a lot, but even when you were awake, you were tired. Even inside the comfort of your home, you were still hyper-aware of all the noises outside, and any large crowds that passed by, voices raised. 

Yet, somehow, those hazel eyes you’d grown to find comfort in had convinced you to step outside, start going on walks. Take in fresh air again.

It wasn’t easy – you barely made it around the block, nails digging into the back of Jack’s hand from how tightly you held it – but it was progress. 

In a week’s time, you even returned to the restaurant. You were ready to face the hustle and bustle of Francesca, ready to put your mind to work and focus on something positive for a change.

What you weren’t ready for was running into Jake by the entrance. 

“Hey,” he said softly, remembering you from Robby’s stories and also vaguely recalling seeing your face on that unspeakable day. 

“Hey,” you echoed, voice just as strained. “What are you doing here?” 

“Mom asked me to pick up dinner.” 

You nodded silently, sunsure what to say next. “How are you?” 

He shrugged. “You know…” 

You did know.

“My mom’s got me talking to a trauma specialist,” he said, not sure why he was telling you. “At the hospital.” 

“Yeah… Jack – Dr. Abbot – he’s been trying to convince me to go, too.” You hesitated. “Is it… helping?” 

Another shrug. “A little, I guess. But.. I don’t know – she wasn’t there. She doesn’t really get it.” 

You reached for a napkin on an unoccupied table, finding yourself scribbling your number down before offering it to him.

“You can call me… if you want. I get it.” 

He held the napkin between his fingers, staring at the numbers. Then, he tucked it into his pocket with a slow nod. “Thanks.” 

You couldn’t let him leave without saying the next words at the tip of your tongue. “Hey… I’m sorry about your girlfriend. She seemed… pretty. I’m sure she was – I’m sure she was really great.” You found a lump forming in your throat.

He paused a minute, then said quietly, “She was.” After a beat, he added, “You know, I told her about you once.” 

You were shocked to hear that. “What?” 

“I was telling her one of Robby’s stories, about the first time he ever came to visit this place, and he got to brag to the people at the next table about how he knew the head chef. And when they asked you how you came to be there, you said by – ” 

“ – by being brave,” you finished for him, feeling tears lining your vision. 

Jake nodded. Then, as if he knew you needed to hear it, he said, “Leah would want you to be brave now… about all of it.”

That stayed with you until the restaurant closed, and you drove home, and laid in your bed for the night, getting the first restful sleep – no nightmares – for the first time in a long time.

And when you woke, it was to Jack crawling into bed beside you, rays of sun filtering through the blinds and lighting up his face. 

His hand found yours under the covers, like it always did, comforting and warm – and you sighed in contentment.

“I wanna stay like this forever,” you mumbled against his skin. “Can we?” 

“Yeah, baby… as long as you want.”

.

.

.

read part 3 here !!

[robbysreaders]

pairing: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!reader warnings: not beta read, barely proof read oops word count: 3k idk what happened i started with the bar scene and then felt like it needed some lead up and here we are notes: be kind to me, i am not a writer but these doctors have awoken a monster in me.

Robby got roped into a frontline workers’ talk at a local elementary school.

Shen’s mom’s friend is the principal if some public school and somehow that’s how Robby ends up walking into a fluorescent-lit elementary school foyer the same morning Shen’s leaving for his bachelor party weekend.

“You owe me big time, buddy.” he texts Shen.

“We’re naming our firstborn Robby,” Shen fires back.

“You know I’ll hold you to that,” he replys

He walks in with AirPods in, sunglasses still on, looking a bit lost. You glance up from your clipboard and do a double take.

He pops one AirPod out just as you mutter, “Oh… you’re not Dr. John Shen.”

“Nope, I’m not. He’s on a boat somewhere. Bahamas, I think. You’ve got me instead. Dr. Michael Robinavitch. Older. Not as good-looking.” taking his sunglasses off.

“I never said that,” you say, blush creeping up your neck. “I think he must’ve told our principal and it didn’t get passed along. No worries—I’ll just update my intro slide.”

“Sorry for the switch-up,” he says, finally meeting your eyes properly, and holding the look a moment too long.

“Really, it’s fine. Come on, I’ll show you to the gym. Kids will be filing in soon. Just a quick overview of what you do, your schooling, then a few questions. You’ve got backup—a fire chief, a nurse, an EMT. You’re not on the hook for the whole thing.”

As you walk, he points to a motivational poster taped to the wall: a kitten dangling from a tree branch.

“‘Hang in there.��� Very ER-core.”

You nod, straight-faced. “It’s more for the teachers than the students.”

He chuckles.

He introduces himself to a room of squirming third to fifth graders with “So I work in a place where people try to die and I spend most of my time convincing them not to. It’s great.”

They’re hooked.

He talks about trauma bays, night shifts, a time he held someone’s heart in his hands. The kids go wild.

One kid asks if he’s famous.

Another asks if he’s seen poop.

A third says: “You look like Iron Man.”

Robby: “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

After the assembly wraps up, your work bestie sidles up to you.

“So we’re just gonna ignore that Dr. McHottie was eye fucking you the whole time?”

You don’t look up from the stack of worksheets you’re grading. “Literally no idea what you’re talking about.”

She tilts her head. “You should’ve gotten his number. Or I should have. What do you think they’d say if we just called the hospital?”

“I think it violates HIPAA.”

She shrugs. “I don’t think that you know what HIPAA is.”

You roll your eyes.

But the universe isn’t done.

Later, still riding the post-event adrenaline, you stop at the grocery store on your route home. This day earned you cake and a bottle of wine. You’re crouched down in the wine aisle, scanning for the cheapest red on the shelf, when someone clears their throat behind you.

“I think you’re better off with a white. With, uh, berry chantilly cake,” he says, peeking into your basket.

You look up. It’s him.

“An ER doctor and a sommelier? A modern renaissance man.”

“SAT words. The future’s in good hands,” he teases.

“So what’s your wine recommendation then?” you say standing up.

“Oh, I don’t know shit about wine.”

You laugh, and the silence lingers a beat too long.

“I—” “Not—” You speak at the same time.

“Ladies first,” he smiles.

“I was just going to thank you again for coming this morning. Not to show bias, but you were definitely the kids’ favorite.”

“Yeah, the heart story always kills. No pun intended.”

“Well, they had plenty of questions after you left. I told them they missed their chance.”

“I could give you my number. Y’know, in case more vital questions pop up. Or… you could use it to talk to me. Maybe even plan a time for me to take you out?”

You chuckle. “That line work on every elementary school teacher you try to pick up?”

“So far I’m one for one.”

“Not sure that’s statistically significant,” you reply, handing him your phone.

You text him your name—just your name and a smiley.

His phone starts ringing. He glances at it, then winces.

“I’m so sorry—I have to take this. Yeah… I’m just around the block. Okay. Be there in seven.” He turns to you, regret softening his expression. “Really sorry. I’ll text you later?”

“Of course, Dr. Robinavitch. Go save lives.”

”Everyone calls me Robby, or you can call me Michael” he says heading out. Just before the door closes, he glances back once more.

Later, you’re finally home. Glass of red in hand, cozy on the couch. You scroll, half-buzzed from the wine and the day, when a new text pops up:

Michael: My research says champagne’s actually the move next time—for the cake, I mean.

You grin.

You: Not a ton of room in the budget for a Thursday night champagne toast on a public school salary. Think I’ll stick to my $9 red.

You snap a selfie: you, the wine, a smirk.

Michael: Could be my treat? Next Thursday?

Followed by a link to a cozy bar you’ve been wanting to try.

Your fingers hover for only a second before typing:

You: It’s a date ❤️

You get there first.

The bar is small, dim, and full of mismatched chairs and candlelight. The kind of place where couples whisper over charcuterie. You’re nursing a glass of something bubbly, trying to look casual and not like you checked your makeup in your phone camera twelve times already.

Then the door creaks open, and there he is.

Button-down rolled at the sleeves, hair mussed just enough to look effortless—though he’d never admit it took longer than it should’ve. He spots you instantly and smiles like he doesn’t do that often. Like it caught him off guard too.

“You clean up nice,” you say as he slides into the chair across from you.

“You clean up… irresponsibly good,” he says, raising his eyebrows and making you laugh.

You clink glasses and dive straight into easy conversation. It flows, faster than either of you expected. He tells you about the time a raccoon got into the ambulance bay. You tell him about a class trip gone wrong and how a goat chased the entire third grade around a petting zoo.

There’s food—fancy grilled cheese, olives, tiny things with aioli—and more wine. You talk about work, but not too much. You learn he’s been at The Pitt longer than he planned. That he’s not from Pittsburgh, but ended up staying because… well, because.

You don’t push.

He watches you talk with his chin resting on one hand, doing that thing again—looking at you like you’re a puzzle he doesn’t mind not solving.

Midway through dessert, a berry cream tarte— the closest thing they had to the cake you bonded over a week ago— he leans in a little.

“Be honest,” he says. “What’d you actually think when I walked into the school?”

You smirk. “I thought you were a dad who got lost on his way to drop off a forgotten lunchbox.”

Robby laughs. “Brutal.”

“Okay, and also… I thought, oh no, he’s hot.”

He raises his glass. “That’s better.”

He offers you a hand to help you out of the booth and follows beside you, hand barely there at your lower back.

You’re standing outside, the city quiet in that just-past-bedtime way. There’s a light breeze and the smell of something warm from a nearby bakery.

“I had fun,” you say.

“Me too,” he replies. “Thanks for not fleeing halfway through.”

“Thanks for not turning out to be a wine snob.”

“I told you, I know nothing about wine. I was just trying to impress you. I was frantically Googling wine recommendations so i could have a reason to chat with you.”

You both laugh, and then there's a pause. A beat of quiet.

He tilts his head. “So, uh… what’s the move here?”

You step forward. “Well, you did save a lot of lives this week.”

“And you wrangled children into making a thank-you card with the word ‘trauma’ spelled wrong.”

“Tramua is the French spelling,” you deadpan.

That makes him laugh again—but softer this time.

Then he kisses you. Slow and warm, like he’s been thinking about it since the grocery store.

When you pull back, he looks at you like he wants to say something—but doesn’t.

Instead, he laces his fingers with yours.

“Did you park around here?”

“I walked. I’m only a few blocks away.”

“Can I walk you home? Make sure you get there safely.”

You smile. “Of course. It’s that way,” you say, pointing left.

He releases your hand just long enough to move to the curb side, then grabs it again without a word.

You walk in comfortable silence. That kind of quiet that doesn’t need filling.

“This is me,” you say as you reach your stoop. “I’d invite you up for a nightcap, but… it is a school night.”

Robby chuckles. “Can I kiss you again?”

You don’t answer—you just lean in. And suddenly you’re a teenager again, making out on your front porch under a flickering streetlamp.

This time, he’s the one to pull back first, forehead resting against yours. “Alright,” he murmurs. “Guess I have to be the responsible one.”

You steal a few more kisses anyway, laughing softly, before finally saying goodnight and slipping inside.

You’re curled up in bed, grading a stack of vocabulary quizzes, red pen in hand, when your phone buzzes:

Michael: Made it home. Thanks for a great night.

You: I had an amazing time. Up until I got home and got a paper cut on a stack of quizzes I need to finish before tomorrow.

Michael: Sounds serious. I can’t diagnose over text. Could I see it in person? Maybe Saturday?

You: I’d love that, but I won’t be in town—I can’t believe this didn’t come up. I leave tomorrow for an elementary STEM conference. Riveting, I know. I’ll be back Wednesday.

Michael: My schedule’s rough next week. Could you do Friday?

You: One date in and we’re already juggling calendars. I think that’s a good omen 😊

But yes—I’ll pencil you in for Friday.

Michael: Pencil? Ouch. That kind of hurts.

You: Okay, okay. Permanent marker. Color coded. Red for Robby.

Michael: That’s more like it ;)

The days go fast—seminars, lectures, hands-on demos. You barely stop moving.

But every spare second you get, you’re texting him.

Sometimes flirty. Sometimes funny. Sometimes just: Here’s what I’m eating. What about you?

It’s been a while since you’ve been in something like this. But it’s never felt this easy. And you’re really hoping he feels the same way.

Little do you know.

It’s almost time for handoff , and shockingly the ER is in a lull which gives the team time to strike an inquisition on Robby. Dana kicks it off, perched on a nurses station desk.

“Alright Robinovitch, spill”

He looks at her over his glasses, “I just finished handing off to Shen, theres nothing else to spill.”

“You’re smiling.”

“No I’m not.” he says with a frown.

“All week your face is trying so hard not to smile, it’s giving your wrinkles wrinkles.”

Shen turns from the drawer hes been rummaging in for snacks. “Wait, are we talking about how Robby’s been… weirdly chill?”

“I’m not chill.”

“You told a med student that it was alright, we all make mistakes sometimes.”

“I did not.”

“You did. I was there,” Dana grins. “Who are you?”

Robby leans back in his hair, sips his coffee. “Maybe I’m growing. Emotionally.”

Dana gasps. “Oh my God. He’s in love.”

Robby chokes slightly on his drink. “I’m sorry?”

“You’ve had your nose in your phone every free moment you’ve had.” Dana adds. “You’ve taken real breaks where you go talk on the phone in the ambulance bay.”

Robby sets his cup down, but he’s not denying it. Just smirking like someone caught red-handed.

“Alright who’s the lucky lady?”

“You don’t know her and you’ll never know her.”

Shen looks like he’s doing calculus in his head and leans in. “Wait this started when I was on my trip, oh my god, did you meet a hot mom at the elementary school?”

Robby pauses. Just long enough.

“Holy shit, I don’t owe you any more – you got your repayment a hot MILF.”

“Oh my God,” Dana says.

“Jesus Christ, she’s not a mom, she’s a teacher”.

There’s a beat of silence before Dana grins. “You know what? I love this for you.”

Robby rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue.

“Wait,” Shen says. “Does she know you’re, like, emotionally stunted?”

“She’s a 3rd grade teacher. I think she’s prepared.”

Dana hops down. “I’m gonna need details.”

“You’re not getting details.”

Friday rolls around and you’re more excited than you’ve ever been for a second date. It’s cozy and dimly lit—more plants than light fixtures, menus scribbled on chalkboards, and the faint buzz of a bar that feels like a well-kept secret.

You spot him at the bar, already seated towards the back. He’s dressed down again, but there’s something intentional about it—like someone who spent an extra minute wondering what shirt to wear.

He catches your eyes and smiles like he forgot how to do that for a while until recently.

“You’re punctual,” he says, clearly pleased.

“You’re early,” you reply, shrugging off your coat. “I was promised a perpetually late, cynical doctor.”

“Tragic. He’s been replaced by a man who googled ‘cozy date spots that don’t feel like you’re trying too hard.’”

You laugh. “And did it recommend this place?”

“Nope. Shen’s girlfriend did. Which I now realize makes this deeply traceable.”

Your eyes widen. “Wait—do they know?”

Robby sighs. “Dana cornered me in central. I didn’t confirm or deny. Shen said I was glowing. It was… a dark time.”

You smirk.

The food is good—small plates, easy to share. The conversation is even better.

He opens up, just a little—enough to mention the long hours, how emergency medicine pulls you in like a rip current, how sometimes it feels like it’s the only thing he’s really good at.

You tell him about your student who tried to fake a cough for three weeks to get out of a math test, and the tiny triumphs that feel like wins no one else sees.

He watches you talk, head tilted slightly, the corner of his mouth pulled into a lazy smile. His fingers rest near yours on the table. Not touching. Not quite.

Finally, he says, “I’ve gotta be honest—I haven’t really… done this in a while.”

“Tapas?”

He chuckles. “No, like—dating. Letting someone in. It’s easier to stay busy. Stay… guarded, I guess.”

You nod. “Well, I haven’t really dated someone who sees more blood before lunch than most people do in a year, so.”

“So we’re both out of practice.”

“Guess we’ll have to wing it.”

He leans in and kisses you. Slow. Deliberate. This one without surprise. This one because he wanted to all night.

You’ve fallen into a comfortable cadence. You see him a few times a week, more often than you thought you would, but you don't complain. You love his company.

Your schedules do still clash at times.

You planned to go home after parent-teacher conferences. Michael had already mentioned he had plans—finally joining his coworkers for a long-overdue drink after weeks of skipping out.

It doesn’t take much to convince you to meet your own colleagues for a post-conference drink. It’s been a day, and you deserve it.

But as you walk into the bar, you spot a familiar profile near the corner.

You don’t even hesitate. With a little liquid courage in hand, you stroll over and place a hand on his shoulder.

“So… they really just let anyone in here nowadays?”

Michael turns, eyes lighting up in that way that makes your stomach dip. “How’d you find me?”

“Coincidence. We needed to lick our wounds after the parent-teacher conference firing squad.”

One of the guys at the table leans toward the person next to him. “Ahhh. This is the teacher.”

Michael grins and slides his arm around your waist, his hand resting easily at your hip. “Right, where are my manners?” he says introducing you to the team.

You smile, trying not to let the arm-around-your-waist thing short-circuit your brain. “It’s so nice to meet you all. I’ll get back to my workplace complain-fest and let you return to yours.”

You squeeze his shoulder lightly, but before you step away, his hand shifts on your waist, catching your attention. He leans in and lowers his voice just for you.

“If you head out before we do… come say bye?”

You meet his eyes and nod. “Of course.”

The moment you slide into your seat, your coworkers pounce.

“What the hell was that about?”

“You don’t have friends outside of school.”

“Thanks for introducing us to your hot doctor friends???”

“Wait—HOLY SHIT, was that Dr. McHottie with his arm around your waist? Did I miss a chapter?!”

You laugh and give them the short version. You field a rapid-fire round of teasing, eye-rolls, and maybe a few not-so-subtle attempts to angle to get set up with his coworkers, but eventually the conversation drifts to who cried in the hallway today, who mispronounced “photosynthesis,” and whose turn it is to deal with the PTA bake sale disaster.

Your group starts calling it a night. Long day, longer week. You say your goodbyes and make your way back toward Michael’s table, which has thinned out significantly as well.

He stands when he sees you. “My friends couldn’t hang. I’m calling it a night too—just wanted to say bye.”

“You’re more than welcome to stay if you want another drink, honey,” Dana offers, eyes twinkling.

“Oh, I couldn’t impose—”

“You could never,” Michael says, standing and lightly touching your elbow. “What are you drinking?”

You smile. “Whatever you’re having.”

You settle in at the table. The conversation is easy, flowing from hospital horror stories to favorite dive bars to why Dana is banned from karaoke at two different establishments.

Michael returns with drinks, sliding yours to you and casually resting his hand on your thigh under the table, thumb tracing slow circles that make it a little hard to concentrate on anything Dana is saying.

You laugh, you listen, you really like his friends.

The convos come to a close and you all start heading out. You shrug on your coat, and Michael helps, fingers brushing lightly down your arm.

“Want to walk me home?”

He smile. “I’d love that.”

The conversation is light—teasing, wandering, nothing too deep. You talk about favorite childhood snacks and your worst Halloween costumes. He tells you how Jack once sliced his palm on a pineapple slicer and tried to pretend it wasn’t bleeding.

As you reach your apartment steps, you stop and turn to him.

“That was really fun,” you say, quietly. “I like your friends. I hope I didn’t make anything awkward.”

“Not at all,” he replies. “They loved you.”

“Good. Glad I passed the first big test.”

He chuckles. “Teachers and their testing.”

There’s a pause. Then: “So… want to come up?” you ask, voice soft but steady.

He hesitates, not pulling away. “I’d really like to. But I just came off a twelve-hour shift, and I’ve probably had two more drinks than I should’ve. If I sit down, I’m going to be half-asleep in seconds.”

You take his hand and start walking him toward your door.

“Then that’s settled,” you say. “Can’t have you falling asleep in the Uber.”

You open the door, letting the warm light spill into the hallway, and look back at him with a little smile.

He follows you in without another word.

You flick on the light and immediately cringe.

“Wow. Sorry. My place looks like my classroom exploded in here.”

Michael steps in behind you, taking in the scattered worksheets, the pile of books on your couch, and the half-folded laundry draped over a chair.

“You should see the trauma bay on a Tuesday,” he says, tossing his jacket over the back of a stool. “This is a spa by comparison.”

You kick aside a rogue glue stick. “I did mean to clean today, but then 30 small humans and their guardians demanded to know if their kid is ‘thriving academically’ while also asking what ‘phonics’ actually is.”

He snorts.

You pad to the kitchen and grab two glasses of water, handing one to him. “Doctor’s orders.”

He grins. “Responsible and charming.”

You sit on the couch, tucking your legs underneath you. He follows, moving slowly—like someone who’s used to being on his feet for twelve hours and finally has permission to stop.

He slouches into the other end of the couch, long legs stretched out, one arm thrown over the backrest. He takes a sip of water and closes his eyes for a second, just breathing.

“I’m gonna fall asleep right here,” he murmurs.

You smile. “Go for it. My couch has a strict no-judgment zone.”

There’s a long, easy silence after that. Not awkward—just soft.

Eventually, you get up and offer him a hand “you’re not sleeping on the couch, come on”

He reaches for your hand —warm fingers curling around yours for just a second longer than necessary.

He follows you to your room, hands still intertwined. It’s not the first time you’ve shared a bed, but it is the first time you’ve shared one without hooking up before. It all feels very intimate.

There’s a surgical precision to how he fits into your evening routine that leaves you a little breathless as you settle into bed.

“Night,” he murmurs wrapping an arm around you and nuzzling in.

You squeeze his hand once, gently. “Goodnight, Michael.”

[velmalav]

The Giver - Frank Langdon

masterlist

day one - f.l.

synopsis: being the selfless person you are, you agree to travel to a 3-day conference with your biggest competition - dr. langdon. part I of I don't know how many yet :-)

warnings: cursing, oops there's only one bed, enemies to lovers

I have always been selfless. Whether it’s giving up the last slice of pizza in the breakroom or taking the most emotionally devastating cases, I have and always will be a giver. It almost feels wrong for me to put myself before anyone else, having done so my entire life. And in some ways, that’s what makes me a good doctor. I can power through a rough shift if it means someone having a shitty day can go home early, and I can string my patience along a lot further than most if it means good patient care. And that kind of altruism is why I have now found yourself joining my least favorite coworker to a three-day conference for emergency medicine.

This situation wouldn’t have been possible if Langdon hadn’t pissed off the family of a patient to the point where they threatened to sue the hospital for malpractice. The only way admin could get them to revoke the lawsuit was a decent payout and a requirement that he attends so many conferences to “improve his behavior with patients.” Not only was he livid at this contingency, but so was I, because I was the only one who agreed to use up the extra ticket. And, yeah, I could’ve said no, but I didn’t. Because I’m too nice. Watching everyone avoid the invitation made me feel awful so after my shift, I cornered Robby in the locker room and told him some bullshit about how it was a good “learning opportunity,” and just like that, it was done.

Okay, it wasn’t complete bullshit. It is a great opportunity. It’s just been hard to get past the fact I’d have to experience it all with him.

Langdon and I have butt heads since we both started our residences together four years ago. From the jump, it has been clear we are completely opposite personality wise. Langdon has always been the type to chase after success, enjoying the power and flowers that come with it. He’s an every-man-for-himself kind of guy, wanting to leap bounds ahead of everyone else. He’s competitive.

And usually I’m not competitive like that, but he’s always brought out that side of me. I remember one of our first shifts together as interns, eager to dip our feet in the water. It was the first time I really, really wanted to win something simply to take him down. We were on rounds, at the bedside of a 45-year-old named Mary that took a bad fall and ended up finding out she had stage 2 breast cancer (we didn’t know that until later). Robby was throwing out questions about the patient, her vitals, levels, tests to run on her to rule out further injury.

Every time I went to speak, Langdon would interrupt, answering the questions like he was the only other person in the room. One of the interns was like that, so at first it didn’t bother me much. But then I realized every time he answered a question, he’d glance over at me with an expression that reads – at least to me – fuck you. A tilt of his eyebrows, mouth slightly tugging upward, gleaming eyes. Just getting Robby’s validation wasn’t enough; he liked to see me falter.

It felt like time slowed in the realization, like I stood staring at him blankly for hours. But it only took the beginning of Robby’s next question for me to bounce back. I can’t recall what it was now, but I know that as soon as Robby stopped talking, I yelled the answer out at a volume unheard of in an ER unless there was a code or a safety risk. And for good measure – to guarantee I was heard – stomped on Langdon’s foot as hard as I could underneath the bed.

The uncomfortable quiet that followed was unbearable. The only sound was the beeping of the monitors, and the sharp inhale Langdon let out as my foot left his. I cleared my throat and stood up straighter, as if that or anything I could possibly do would soften the blow. With an exasperated expression, Robby crinkled his lips together and gave a curt nod, muttering, “Correct, Dr. [Y/L/N].”

I stayed silent during the rest of rounds, too embarrassed and frustrated to so much as sneak a glance at Langdon. Even so, I was so sure he had a shit-eating grin on his face. When we were funneled back to the floor, all I could do was stand at the nurse’s station, still horrified.

Robby passed me, taking only a couple of beats to murmur, “Run some more tests on Mary, and for future reference, you don’t need to yell to get your point across. The kick would’ve sufficed.”

And that was it. Robby’s words instilled confidence in me that I didn’t even know I had, and from that point on, I held my own when it came to competition with Langdon. I didn’t back down and neither did he. And maybe it was ridiculous – and maybe it wasn’t good in a teamwork aspect – but if I must give Langdon credit for anything, it’s that our rivalry has made me better at my job.

There’s a ghost of a smile on my face as I stare out the window in the hotel lobby. Somehow the memory always boosts my spirits, even just a little. I watch the cars, bumper to bumper, continue to filter through the city streets and hear the sounds of honking and distant music playing. Over three hundred miles from Pittsburgh, and somehow Philly still feels like home.

The little fire in my mood is extinguished just as fast as it was lit. Because suddenly I hear anguished muttering at the front desk, and I know it’s Langdon arguing with the front desk lady. I turn to confirm my suspicions and approach cautiously. We haven’t exchanged more than a few sentences since getting off the plane for this exact reason.

“What’s going on?” I ask, pointing the question more at the worker than Langdon. Her face – Linda, from her name tag - is bright red, sheepish.

“Uh, well…” she fumbles for words, eyes flickering quickly from me to her computer. She’s pressing the same key over and over, but her expression only continues to become more frantic. “I apologize for the inconvenience. It, uh—it seems—”

Before she can finally get the words out, Langdon interjects, “They messed up our rooms. Actually, just yours. They double booked.”

I’m quick to try and ease the bite of his words to Linda, “Can’t I just reserve another room? I’ll pay, it’s fine if I have to.”

She opens her mouth to respond, but Langdon – again – interrupts, “Can’t. Everything’s booked.”

“I’m speaking to Linda,” I snap, officially over his attitude. Langdon huffs a sarcastic laugh and turns away, running a hand through his hair. I turn back to Linda with the most genuine fake smile I can muster, “Is there anything you can do to help us?”

Linda’s expression gives away the answer to that, eyes darting to the desk below her. I can even see her audibly swallow.

I respond before she can confirm what all three of us already know, “Okay. It’s fine. We’ll just share a room, it’s fine.”

Langdon whips around, arms up over his head, “Are you serious right now?”

“What other options do we have? Waste half the day searching for another hotel that we’ll have to pay for? That probably doesn’t exist because about fifty thousand other events are happening in Philly this weekend?” I grip the front desk to try to ground myself. “We’ve been traveling all day; I’ll just sleep on the couch.”

Langdon’s stare is hard. He hesitates, realizes from the look in my eyes that I’m not backing down, and for the first time practically ever, gives in with a short nod. He grabs his bag and starts toward the elevator without so much as a glance back at Linda.

I apologize with all the sincerity I have left after the argument and half a day of traveling, take the key card, and follow Langdon up to the room.

.

Like most people do, the first thing I do when we enter the room is flop on the bed with a heavy sigh. I melt into the covers, shoving my face into the pillow to drown out the terrible thoughts I’m thinking about the man across the room. And just as I suspected, it’s not helping.

“You might’ve won down there,” Langdon starts, and it’s like I can hear the sarcasm dripping in his voice. Enough that I know what he’s going to say next is my demise. “But I think you might’ve miscalculated a big part of your precious plan.”

I lift my head from the pillow and contort my neck to I can look over at him. “What now?”

Langdon’s smirking as he leans against the TV stand, ankles and arms crossed. He gestures at the room with one hand, arms still crossed. “See a couch anywhere, Y/L/N?”

Immediately, I sit up, my hair tussled from the static of the thin comforter underneath me. I take one glance around the room to know there isn’t a single fucking other surface to sleep on other than maybe the small dining table in the corner. Those cheap motherfuckers couldn’t even pay for us to have a sofa in our room?

This is the part I’ve never been good at. The defeat. And, God, it’s so much worse when I can see his reaction to my reaction. In all honesty, I couldn’t care less to share a bed with him, but it’s the principle of the game that gets me. At the sight of the victorious glint in his eyes, all I can think about is what it would feel like to punch him in the throat.

“As much as I love watching you seethe, I need to unpack,” Langdon quips, smirk only growing as he starts pulling toiletries out of his bag. I’m trying to come up with something to ricochet back at him as he rounds the corner of the bathroom and adds, “But by all means, stay there for as long as you want. Don’t mind me.”

The only thing I can do is turn my head and scream into my pillow. And I hope – even through the muffle of it - he deciphers every word.

night one

[ovaryacted]

FIND OUT

─ Dr. Samira Mohan x fem! reader || WC: 3.2k

SYNOPSIS: You and your friend, Samira Mohan, tread the line between friends & something else. During a night out, you both get a taste of what that something else might look like.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. SMUT. Alcohol consumption (everything is consensual). Sort of Dom! Reader/Sub! Samira (both are switches & fems though). Girls kissing passionately! Nipple play. Dry Humping. Fingering. Dirty Talk. Flirting. Making out in the backseat of a cab. Samira has a crush on reader & vice versa. Samira & Reader are residents at The Pitt (R3s). Samira & Reader are close friends & around the same age (29). Touch deprived! Samira Mohan. Both Samira & Reader are bisexual.

A/N: I truly can't explain how this happened, but lets just say I locked in so hard I blacked out. I just want to love on Samira Mohan, so I did. MOVE JACK IT'S MY TURN! I also took some inspo from the scene in Black Swan where Natalie Portman and Mila Kunis kiss, lmao oops. I made both Samira & reader bi considering I'm bi so I could relate to it and I hope others are able to enagge with it as well! (I almost psyched myself out of posting this okay be nice). Proof read by moi. Reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

If someone had predicted where the night took you both, you would’ve laughed in their face.

It was supposed to be a simple night out for drinks. Both you and Samira had finally gotten a couple of days off; more like you forced the girl from going back to The Pitt when they didn’t need any help. You always told her the same thing: “If you keep going at this rate, you’ll get grays before you hit 35, hun.” She would only roll her brown eyes at you, a cheeky dimple poking out on the side of her face as she laughed it off.

It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, two close friends sharing quality time with one another after their workdays ended. That was how it started anyway, through brief conversations and minor interactions with the resident whenever your shifts aligned. You could see right through her, how her job was all she had, how all she knew was the chaos of the PTMC to match the havoc of her psyche. Albeit, her gorgeous smile and kind demeanor hid it well for the most part, at least when Robby wasn’t grilling her, but when you urged her to go home to prevent an adrenaline crash, she actually listened to you most times.

Samira would bring tea in advance during the mornings you worked together, repeatedly warning you that your heart would give out with all of the caffeine you consumed on a daily basis. You simply shrug at her and chug the liquid out of your thermos, watching her as you do. It'd make her grimace, grumble even, but you’d take it so long as you got something.

“You should listen to me, you know. Try some tea, it won’t kill you as quickly.” Samira lectured, trying to bribe you with using brown sugar instead of the agave sweetener she likes.

“I’m not letting you take my coffee away from me, sorry. We will just have to accept our differences.”

“Forgive me for caring about your health. Let’s just hope I’m in the room with you when you’re tachycardic.”

Lunch times were your favorite, often opting to sit outside with Samira for a breather, sharing bits and pieces of your meal together, whether it came from home or you ordered it in advance. At night, when it was time to call it a day and repeat the cycle the next morning, Samira would be there to walk with you back to your place, or you would take her to hers. You’d give each other a rundown of the day, of the chest tube you had to put in or the new case study Samira was looking into and finally got to use in practice.

These little moments always eased your nerves after dealing with so much intensity on a daily basis, and it only took a couple of late-night walks to realize you liked Samira’s company, and more so you wanted it outside of working hours. On one particularly hard shift and a relatively quiet stroll, you knew you didn’t want to be alone, and even with the reassuring squeeze on your shoulder, a part of you craved her calming presence to tether you to the Earth.

“You want to go out for a drink? I know a good bar nearby. They make good margaritas.”

She nodded silently, offering an understanding smile, and walked side by side with you the entire way to the bar, stayed with you for the rest of the night, and even rode in the cab back to your apartment. When you woke up with a hangover the next morning, you were surprised to find Samira hovering above you, wiping your forehead with a cool compress, soothing the throbbing in your temples before the wave of nausea hit you.

“Wanted to make sure you were okay. You went a bit hard last night.”

The rest was history.

Tonight, she took your advice and said yes to your invitation for drinks at a club downtown, another location you had mentioned to her a while ago. Samira, ever the overthinker, came by your place to get ready, bringing a bag with some outfit choices, seeking out your input. She didn’t say anything when you told her to wear the halter top and mini skirt, coming towards her to hike her skirt even higher and align her boobs closer to the center of her chest, giving them a push-up effect.

“You’re a pretty girl, Samira. You’ve got legs and a face that can start wars, use them. If you flirt with the bartender, maybe we’ll score and get ourselves some free drinks.”

You told her that with a playful smile and a slight twinkle in the corner of your eye, your dark lashes emphasizing the flare. Samira watched you finish the touch-ups on your makeup, the heeled boots and leather pants you wore did everything to sell a fantasy of you she got to witness firsthand. She’ll never admit to watching the way the curve of your ass looked in the stretchy material of your pants, or how the low neckline of your top revealed the little pieces of ink along your shoulder and arms that were usually hidden under your scrubs. She occupied herself with grabbing the rest of her belongings and throwing them in her purse, oblivious to how you eyed her from afar, re-applying the last bit of your lip gloss before calling the Uber.

At the club, it was another story entirely. You held her hand on your commute and reassuringly squeezed her wrist when you started to woo the bouncer, batting your lashes at him and brazenly puffing out your chest. It seemed to work when security let you both in, leading Samira further inside and ignoring the people who bitched outside about you two skipping the line.

Some flirting with the bartender and three cocktails later, you and Samira were on the dance floor, swaying your hips to the upbeat song filling the space around you. You don’t think you’ve ever seen your friend so relaxed, so free; inebriated yes, but enjoying herself nonetheless. Samira’s face was craned up to the sky, the bass of the beat thrumming through her entire being, rushing from the top of her head to the balls of her feet. Her hair bounced with the rest of her, loose waves spinning around with every bop of her head and twirl of her hips.

You followed her lead, holding her waist and guiding her movements from behind. She laughed at the feel of you, clutching your wrist and bringing your hand to the middle of her lower body, keeping her in place while you synchronized the circular gyration of your bodies. Meshing to her back, she could feel you pressing up behind her. Tossing her head back over your shoulder, she granted you a whiff of her perfume, giggling in her ear in the process, teasing her with the ghost of a bite on the side of her neck.

Samira pivots on her heel and turns to face you, smiling wide as she throws her arms over your shoulder and around your neck, your hands taking their natural place on her hips, beckoning her to you. She was all teeth and dimples as she rolled into you, dancing chest to chest, eyes on you and tuning everything else out. Neither of you cared for the other people in the space with you, honing in on the way she felt in your hands, the material of her skirt, the open back of her halter top, the ease with which she danced with you under the dim lighting.

Closing the gap between you, whatever was left of it, her nose grazed the tip of yours, barely tasting the vodka on her breath. You watched her face, how her gaze drifted from your eyes to your mouth and rapidly returned back up. It was subtle; you’d almost miss it if you blinked too fast, and thankfully your strict attention made sure you caught it.

“I’m having so much fucking fun.” God, she was drunk, you think anyway from the way there was more black than brown in her eyes. To you, she’s never looked prettier, smiling without a care in the world under bright shades of pink and purple.

“I bet. That’s the liquor talking.” Placing a hand on her back, you sensed the faint shiver that washed over her. “You got a couple of eyes on you, sweetie. Think these guys want a dance.”

“I’d rather not, thank you very much.” She didn’t even bother to acknowledge the men in question who had been eyeing her up and down all night, opting to keep her regard on you the entire time. “I very much prefer dancing with you.”

Pride bloomed in your chest, fighting the urge to steal a kiss right then and there. You held off, your hands treading dangerously close to her lower spine, sneaking towards the waistband of her skirt.

“Good, that means I don’t need to worry about you scurrying off with a stranger and leaving me behind.” Samira laughs hard then, loud enough to filter through the music in the club. You savored the scene in front of you, taking her in as if she hung the moon and the stars, as if she were that.

Must’ve been the tequila catching up with you.

“Trust me, that’s not happening.” Her knuckles rasp along your jaw, the tip of a nail poking your chin and skimming your bottom lip, pulling away to move a loose curl behind your ear. “I couldn’t leave you behind, that’s a federal crime.”

You sure fucking hoped that was the case.

It was about 2 am when you and Samira called it a night, heading to your place and resting into one another in the backseat, tumbling into bits of cackles as your sense of direction remained skewed from the alcohol still coursing through your veins. Her head rested against your shoulder, your hand on her thigh to keep her nearby, absentmindedly painting circles into her soft brown skin. Her head lifts to look at you, doing your best to ignore the way the haze in her eyes sends a surge of warmth through your body.

“What?”

“Nothing…” Her voice trails off, leaning more into you in the backseat.

“If you have something on your mind, Samira, you can tell me. Probably the best time considering I’m seeing two of you right now so I won’t remember.” You both giggle again, the sound ringing in your ears with her sudden close proximity.

“Just wanted to say I had a lot of fun is all.” She beams shyly at you, breathing heavier in your direction and placing a hand on your side to keep her from sinking into the cushion of the seat.

“Yeah?” You quirk your face in amusement, the corner of your lips curling upwards at her eager nod.

“Yeah.” Her forehead is against yours, beaming almost to herself, boldly glancing at the shiny gloss still on your lips.

“You’re so silly,” shaking your head, your goofy expression was mirrored by an intoxicated Samira Mohan, both ends of her mouth flexing with a chuckle.

“Your fault. I forgot how many shots we had.”

“It was two big ones, but shit, I might be wrong I lost count.”

The bubble of comfort you found yourselves in extended beyond the backseat of the Uber, the hand on your side wandered up to stroke your forearm aimlessly, focusing on the tattoo on your bicep. Samira hums at the feel of your skin, following the intricate lines the ink left behind, trying to learn the story behind it and the patience you needed to endure the needle piercing into your flesh over and over again. It was strangely intimate, close enough to feel her light exhales on the side of your cheek and her heart pounding in her ribs.

“Samira.”

“Hm?”

��If you want something, tell me before I think I’m reading this wrong.” Taking a hand to the back of her neck, your thumb caressed her nape, causing her to bite her lower lip.

“I think…I want you to kiss me.” Her big brown eyes were glazed over when she met your gaze, the sight alone sending your heart racing.

“You think?” God, you could hear your pulse in your ears, or was that your second heartbeat? “Gotta be better than that.”

“Please, just kiss me.”

Fucking finally.

Tilting forward, your lips mesh together like you’ve been dreaming about all night. The kiss was messy, clumsy even as Samira’s brain caught up with the rest of her, slithering her tongue along your bottom lip to ask for permission to taste more of you. Opening your mouth, your tongue quickly found hers, swirling around it while holding her face with a hand on her jaw. She sighs happily against you, her exhale landing on your top lip while attempting to bring herself closer to you, sitting with one of her thighs between yours.

The Uber came to a stop in front of your apartment complex, forcing you to part from her with an embarrassed grin. You reiterate a hasty thank you and take Samira’s hand with a coy smirk, speed walking into the lobby of your building to catch the next elevator up. Swiftly grabbing your keys for the front door and unlocking it as fast as you could, you shut the door behind you as Samira kicked her heels off and tugged you forward for another kiss.

“Hold on, hold on. Let me…fuck…wash my hands.” She was busy staining your cheeks with her lipstick, touching any part of you she could get her hands on.

“Mood killer,” she jokingly muttered over your lips, landing a few kisses down the column of your throat and biting at the juncture of where your neck meets your shoulder.

“Old habits die hard. Plus, do you know how nasty clubs are? You’re supposed to be the smart one here, darling.”

Smooching her pout, you were able to peel off your boots along the way to the kitchen, rinsing off your hands with Samira next to you doing the same. Impatient as ever, she dragged you to the couch once the paper towel flew out of your grip, sitting you down and crawling into your lap with your arm wrapping around her waist. She practically climbs over you, needy lips finding yours again and humming at the feel of you, her palms riding up your chest and landing on your shoulders before running through your hair.

A moan punches out of her, instinctively shifting her hips over your thighs as her skirt rides up her body, revealing more of her to your greedy hands. Littering kisses down her neck, you went to undo the knot of her halter top, jerking the material down to expose her breasts to your eager sight. Kissing along her collarbone and sternum, she arches towards you, presenting more of herself without shame. Deciding to provoke her a bit more, your lips glide over the swells of her breasts, grinning at her unsteady exhales, a sign that she was anxiously lusting for more with every smooch you give her.

“Stop teasing me.” She almost sounded like she was on the verge of tears, desperation laced in her tone the more you dragged this out.

“Can’t I have a little fun with you?” You quipped, eyes widening a bit when she took one of your hands and placed it on her ass cheek under her skirt, guiding you over the thong she wore underneath.

“Touch me.” She damn near growled against your lips, a hunger unfamiliar to her overriding her senses.

“Yeah? You need me to make it better, Samira?” She nods, gasping the second your free hand reaches up from between her inner thigh to stroke her cunt through her panties, marveling at the wetness already soaking through the cotton. “Need me to touch you right here, hm?”

“Fuck, yes, please,” she cried out, bucking her hips to grind into your hand, bumping into your fingertips at the right angle that would give her aching clit more of that delicious friction.

Not wasting another second to toy with her, you plucked her thong to the side and gravitated to her slick pearl, the first contact of your fingers against her forced a whine out of Samira as she closed her eyes and deepened the curve in her back. She didn’t care how desperate she sounded, her whimpers and breathless keens turning your living room into a choir for you to enjoy, reveling in every mewl she willingly offered you. Rubbing circles over her clit, her hips bucked into your hand, oblivious to your lips inclining back to her breasts, wrapping around one of her nipples.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Samira clutched at your head, keeping you in place as your tongue flicked over her saliva-covered breasts, clenching around nothing with her arousal dripping down your fingers.

You don’t think you’ve ever heard her curse so much before, groaning around her perky nipple and nipping at it lightly, moving to give the other neglected breast equal attention. Keeping your thumb on her sensitive nub, you plunged a digit inside her, noting the loud moan turned to a whine when you burrowed another, curling them to the roof of her entrance.

“How does that feel, pretty girl?” You mumbled, grasping her hip to keep her steady above you, keeping your eyes on her the entire time.

“So good, so damn good.” She was lost in the pleasure, stars fired under her eyelids as she fucked your hand, chasing her own pleasure. “God…I’m going to cum.”

“Yeah?” You upped your ministrations, pressing your thumb harder against her clit and pumping your fingers with more force. “Come for me, ‘Mira. Want to feel you around me. Just let go, baby.”

A few more drives of your fingers and Samira’s cunt tightened around your digits as she fell into release, crying into your mouth when you snatched another bruising kiss, swallowing all of her little noises for yourself. She came much faster than you both anticipated, but you didn’t mind, not when she slumped against you and struggled to catch her breath. Her head rose to peer at you chuckling below her, slipping your soaked fingers out of her twitching entrance and clasping her shaking thigh.

“What’s so funny?” Samira blinks slowly at you, cupping both of your cheeks and holding your face in her palms.

“Just didn’t think you’d sound like that. You’re loud.”

“Shut up.” Heat creeps up to her face and you laugh harder, squeezing her ass affectionately.

“I don’t mind.” You kiss her slowly once more, biting her bottom lip playfully and coaxing a huff out of her. “Kinda want to see just how loud you can get, if you’re up for it.”

Samira was never one to back down from a challenge, humming in competitive intrigue. A lone finger moves over the neckline of your top, tracing over the lining that still kept the rest of your body hidden from her curious eyes. Tugging at the side of your top, she stares down at you, smirking as the same ravishing throb she felt before beats between her legs.

“Show me what you got.”

It was going to be a long night.

©️ ovaryacted 2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

Mood:

[creepswrites]

DIRT ROADS | Lester x Reader

rereading some of my old writing renewed my love for writing this scruffy man <3 this is also slightly self indulgent oops

LESTER SINCLAIR X GN!READER

SUMMARY: The coat he wore was rough and the necklace he wore dug slightly into your skin. But he felt warm and alive and you felt his laugh more then you actually heard it. It felt strangely magical and the mere thought of that baffled you. What about this situation was remotely magical?

The sound of the sputtering of your car engine made you groan, your forehead bumping against the steering wheel in quite frustration. Overhead, raindrops pattered harshly against the top of your car like small marbles and you heard the way your wheels dug into the muddy roads. This was not the place you wanted to get stuck in.

"I told you we'd get stuck out here!" Your friend Sadie huffed in exasperation, throwing her hands up in defeat. "If we had just turned back and asked for directions," She trailed off, shooting a pointed glare at the two guys in the backseat, "We wouldn't be in this mess!"

Robbie - Sadie's long-term boyfriend, though you weren't exactly sure why, seeing as they argued more often then not - just scoffed at his girlfriend's frustrations. "Look, let's just get out of the car and fuckin' push, alright?"

"Can't," You sighed as you lifted your head up. "The front wheels are trapped in the mud. Pushin' will just get us more stuck."

"Well what the fuck else are we supposed to do?" Robbie shouted before swinging the door open and stomping out into the pouring rain, uncaring of how his hair and clothes quickly became soaked.

When he did, his friend who sat beside him - Leon, you think was his name - quickly shuffled out to join him. Leon was nicer than Robbie but was a bit of a pushover. This camping trip the four of you planned was mostly Sadie's attempts to pair you up with Leon despite both of your resistances on the matter.

"Honestly," Sadie sighed, "That guy just can't take no for an answer."

You hummed, disinterested in her latest "Robbie Rant" as you'd taken to calling them. "I still think this whole camping thing is a bad idea. Even if we'll be in a cabin." You weren't exactly enthusiastic at the idea of listening to Sadie argue with her boyfriend for a long weekend while you sat awkwardly next to Leon.

"Don't be such a downer," Sadie said as she poked your cheek with a pointy, baby blue nail. "The rain'll pass, babe. It always does."

When you heard the sound of your car door open, a blast of cold air hitting your body, you turned your head and were met with a worried look on Robbie's face. "Hey, uh, there's... some dude over here." He gestured with a thumb, arms crossed over his chest to try and protect himself from the chilled rain. "He's, uh, offerin' to tow us to the nearest town."

You perked your head up. "Oh! Sure, okay, yeah." Frankly you were just relieved the four of you weren't going to have to camp out in the car or, god forbid, walk through the rain and dark foresty area in hopes of finding civilization.

"Yeah, I wouldn't get too excited." Robbie mumbled as you poked your head out to look behind your car. "Dude's kinda weird."

A scrawny looking man stood slumped against a silver truck chatting to Leon, seemingly unbothered by the rain. When he caught your eye, he tilted his green cap in greeting and gave you a wide gap toothed smile as he made his way towards you. Outwardly, you didn't see anything wrong with him. Maybe a little scruffy but nothing outwardly strange. "Hey there," He said with such a heavy southern drawl it made your eyes feel droopy, "Saw y'all got stuck. I might be able 't tow ya back to town. It ain't far, but you folks'll probably wanna ride with me. 'Case stuff gets too bumpy."

You considered his offer for a moment. The idea of shelter was too tempting to ignore, however... "That's awfully kind of you," You said slowly, watching his smile soften into something more genuine, "What's the catch?"

"Ain't no catch, honest." He said as he slid his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. Robbie gave him a weird look but you ignored it, keeping your focus on the stranger. "Jus' happened to be in the neighborhood on my way back home. Saw y'all broke down 'n figured I'd lend a hand."

Your shoulders dropped slightly. As in most situations, you had to trust your gut. And your gut said that you could trust him. So you held out your hand to shake his, introducing yourself. "How close is this town?"

"Jus' a few miles back down this road here 'n a few left turns." The stranger offered a hand to help you out of your car and you flinched at the sight of thick mud below you. "'m Lester, by the way. Lester Sinclair." He said, noticing your apprehension at the dirt. "Ain't one for mud?" He gave a light laugh.

"Not if I can help it," You sighed. It wouldn't normally bother you but you hadn't worn shoes you could afford to get dirty. The storm had caught you all by surprise.

Before you could step out, Lester gave you a nudge. "Here, put'cher arms 'round me."

You flushed and stared at him with wide, confused eyes. He just gave you a grin as he hooked your knees in the crook of his elbow. "I- You don't have to- I can-" You stammered out nervously. Sure, you didn't really want to get your shoes dirty, but Lester didn't have to carry you!

"Up we go!" Lester said with a dramatic flair, causing you to shriek in terror as you were lifted out up of your seat. You clung to him tight to avoid falling into the mud and he gave you a little spin, making you bury your face into his shoulder as you begged him not to drop you.

The coat he wore was rough and the necklace he wore dug slightly into your skin. But he felt warm and alive and you felt his laugh more then you actually heard it. It felt strangely magical and the mere thought of that baffled you. What about this situation was remotely magical?

"Hey, put 'em the fuck down!" Robbie said. You'd honestly forgot he was there for a moment. But he stepped towards you two like he intended to yank you from the other man's arms like a toddler wanting its toy back.

Lester shot him a look before glancing down at you, as though silently asking if Robbie was bothering you. Like Lester himself wasn't the stranger in the situation. "Alrighty then. Why don't you grab the girl so we can get on outta here?" He said before carrying you back towards his truck without looking back.

When you saw the truck, you understood why Robbie and Leon looked so anxious about going inside. You could see what looked to be small animal bones dangling like strings of beads woven together with feathers and rough strings. They all looked very homemade but pretty in their own way. At least to you they were.

What really caught your attention was the deer skull sitting on the dashboard as the pride of place. "You hunt?" You asked Lester as he walked around to the passenger side door.

He noticed you eyeing the deer skull and shrugged. "That depends."

"Depends?"

"Well I gotta impress you, don't I? Ain't every day I get to carry some pretty thing to my truck. Can't letcha think 'm a bad guy if I do hunt." He said casually before gesturing to the door handle. "Can you grab that?"

You opened the door and let him set you on the seat, his words not quite registering as you focused on the skull, fingers grazing it but not quite touching. "I think it's cool," You said with a quiet awe. "I like taxidermy, so bones don't put me off."

Lester seemed surprised by that. You could hear the sounds of Robbie and Sadie arguing again - likely because he wasn't offering to carry her like Lester had done for you - but you hardly cared with him looking at you like that. Like he was swooning.

"So y'ain't gonna be bothered by the roadkill I got in the back?" He asked, leaning against the car door as you admired the bones hung around the interior.

"Nope. Not even a little. Do you make these yourself?" You asked, fingers dancing lightly down a particularly pretty string of feathers and bones.

Lester swallowed and nodded, a little breathless when he spoke. "Yeah. Yeah. Make 'em myself, yeah." He sounded a little nervous, trying to hide his excitement at your genuine interest. "I'm, uh, I'm gonna get yer car set up for towin' 'n whatnot. You alright if I borrow your boyfriend?"

"I don't have a boyfriend." You shrugged before focusing back on him. "Much less Robbie. He's kind of a douchebag."

"You don't have a boyfriend?" Lester looked genuinely shocked.

You laughed a little. "You sound like my parents." Your tone was light, teasing, and a sharp contrast to the sudden hurricane that was Sadie climbing into the backseat of the truck, arguing loudly with Robbie. As suspected, he had not want to carry her and she had to walk.

You and Lester shared an exhausted look before he stepped away to get the cables to tow your car. Meanwhile, you tucked into the front seat, admiring every knickknack and oddity you could see. It felt almost cozy. Lester likely spent a lot of time in here to warrant such a comfortable, familiar space. He'd mentioned roadkill in the back of the truck so you figured he drove around for long hours picking it up.

He was utterly fascinating. You'd never met anyone like him.

"Dude, this guy is a freak," Sadie whisper-yelled to be heard over the rain as she slammed her door. You left the your own door open to enjoy the cool air a bit longer after being stuck in a stuffy car for the past four hours. "His car's full of dead things!" She hissed at you.

"Doesn't bother me." You said absently, far too focused on the skull again. It was in beautiful condition, clearly well taken care of. If Lester did really hunt, you hoped it was humane. But you reassured yourself that he didn't seem like someone who hated animals.

Sadie scoffed as she slumped in the backseat. The anger from her argument with Robbie was starting to leak into your conversation with her and it pissed you off. But you held your tongue, knowing better than to push her. "Yeah, I'm sure you don't mind your new weirdo boyfriend and his freaky shit." She laughed with a mocking tone. "Must be nice to meet some random fucking guy on the side of the road and he's soooo perfect and thoughtful and carries you to his car. Definitely matches your freak."

You ignored her.

It didn't take long for the guys to finish attaching your car to the truck and everyone piled in the truck, Lester closing his door with a dramatic flair and giving you a smile. "Alrighty, lets head on back. Town's just a couple minutes away." He said, making sure to take wide turns to avoid scratching up the car too much.

"Is there a hotel in town there?" Sadie asked, fidgeting with a strand of her wet hair.

"Yeah, should be. The inn ain't get much business this far out here so there oughta be rooms." Lester said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "Where ya folks headed?"

When the three in the back said nothing, you spoke up after an awkward beat of silence. Just because your friends didn't like the dead things didn't mean Lester was a bad guy. "Headin' towards Arkansas. We've got a little cabin there that we want to stay at for a few days."

"Special occasion?" Lester asked curiously.

"Just a double date weekend." Sadie chimed in, smirking a bit in Leon and Robbie's direction. "We've been meaning to take a break together.

You flinched at the implication you were dating Leon. Lester seemed to notice that and gave you a reassuring smile. "Sounds fun." He said aloud, though you could see the way his hands gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter. "Robbie, was it?"

"Yeah?"

"How long've you been dating 'em?" He tilted his head towards you, smiling at Robbie in the rearview mirror. "Hope I didn't give ya the wrong impression when I carried 'em over. I know you got defensive 'bout it 'n all."

The backseat erupted into absolute chaos. You turned to level Lester with an unimpressed look and the man had the audacity to give you an innocent little smile.

Jerk. You snorted, rolled your eyes, and turned your head to look out the window, watching the raindrops fall on the slightly fogged glass and the brush of the forest passing by in blurs of murky greens and browns.

Ambrose wasn't far, true to Lester's word. The town was small, only a few dozen houses and no major chain stores, much to Sadie's disappointment. Just little mom and pop type places. Lester towed your car to the nearby gas station outside the auto shop and you became suddenly aware of how empty the town felt. No one was outside but you didn't think it was because of the rain.

Your friends got out of the truck, eager to get away from the bones and the smell of rot, but you stayed in with Lester for a minute. "Where is everyone?"

"Hm?" Lester asked, looking innocently curious. "Whaddya mean?"

When he didn't say anything else, you just sighed. "Nevermind," you mumbled as you reached for the door.

"Wait." He said, his voice low. You turned to look at him and he seemed... guilty? He chewed nervously on his bottom lip before making a gesture to the glove box. "Open it."

So you did. Laying atop some piles of paper was a simple, silver pocketknife. "What the-?"

"In case." Lester said, pulling it out and handing it to you expectantly.

"In case of what?" You frowned as alarm bells began to ring in your head. "What do you mean?

Lester's eyes darted quickly over your shoulder before he looked back at you. You didn't get the chance to look over your shoulder when he reached up, cupping your face with one hand to keep your eyes on him. "I ain't- I ain't s'pposed to do this. Y'can't tell anyone."

"Tell anyone what?" Your fear must have been obvious at this point, seeing as Lester flinched.

"Look," he sighed, taking your hand and squeezing it in his own. "I can't- I wanna tell ya, believe me. But I ain't s'pposed to 'n it kills me." He looked genuinely sorry for whatever it was he was doing, which only scared you more. "But if ya take it, you'll be-"

A loud knock on the window made you scream, scooting away from the door with a look of terror, not even care that you practically slammed into Lester's chest as you threw yourself across the center console. Staring at you from the window was a man dressed in a mechanic jumpsuit with a baseball cap on. He opened the door without prompting and gave you a smile that made you feel greasy just looking at him. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." The stranger said with a warm tone. "'m name's Bo. I work at the autoshop here."

You introduced yourself cautiously, glancing out the windshield and noticing the way Sadie practically swooned over Bo while Robbie and Leon looked ready to punch the daylights out of this guy.

You didn't trust him. Not one bit.

"Pretty sure that's my brother you're sittin' on." Bo said with another acidic smile.

"Oh." You said, still pressed against Lester's side with no real interest in moving. The pocketknife was still clenched tightly in your fist and you still didn't feel safe.

Lester just laughed. "Aw, it ain't no problem Bo. We were chattin' 'bout their car actually. Might need ya to check it out, just in case."

Bo hazarded a glance at your car. "Yeah, alright, I'll take a look. Wanna come with me?" He asked, offering you his hand.

Everything in your body screamed at you to stay away from this guy.

"Actually Bo," Lester spoke up, your saving grace, "I was plannin' on chattin' 'bout taxidermy with 'em. If ya don't mind."

Bo did, in fact, seem to mind. His perfect facade seemed to flicker, an annoyed look passing his over his face as quick as it came. "Lester, ain't it a better idea for them to be here with their car?"

"I trust you!" You nearly yelled, grabbing your car keys and stuffing them into Bo's extended hand. "You seem like you know what you're doing! Any questions and you can ask Robbie, he's better with cars than me anyways."

You felt Lester relax when Bo just sighed loudly. "Alright, if you insist," He clutched the keys in his fist and the look he gave you made chills run down your spine. "Enjoy your date, lil' bro."

"Thanks man!" Lester said as Bo slammed the door shut, rattling the whole car. "You alright?" He asked softly once his older brother had stormed off in the direction of your friends.

You scooted back slightly to give him some space, sliding back into your actual seat. "I know he's your brother but... he's so..."

He laughed. "Aggressive? Yeah, he can be. Ain't his fault but it does make bringin' people here tricky." Lester said before gesturing out the window towards your friends, watching Sadie hang off Bo's every word. "Seems to work on your friends jus' fine."

"Not me." You hummed, watching the four of them go inside the auto shop. "I usually have a good read on people. And he's, uh, not good."

"Is that so?" Lester said softly. "Well, y'sure as hell got a good radar then. Figured him out real quick."

You gave Lester a glance, noting the somber look on his face. "What do you mean by it being safer to bring the knife?"

The man chewed on his bottom lip, seeming to mull his options over in his head. "I can't tell ya," He said slowly, "Because then I'd have to kill ya." When you laughed nervously, he just gave you a serious look. "'m serious. I ain't s'pposed to tell strangers what's goin' on."

Cold dread seemed to drench you instantly. "What?" You whispered in horror.

"I can tell ya if you promise not to do anythin' though." He soothed, taking your hand in his. He kept glancing over your shoulder as though expecting Bo to reappear at any moment. "If ya wanna know, you can't get involved."

"Just tell me!" You pleaded, the pocketknife still tight in your fist.

Lester sighed, letting go of your hand and staring out the window, letting the muffled sounds of rain pass through you two as though trying to literally clean the air. When he looked up at you, his eyes once again darting over your shoulder. He let out a soft gasp of surprise and fumbled to turn his car back on, letting it spur to life as you turned to look.

Robbie stumbled out of the auto shop, covered in blood and screaming. He was beelining for you, his screams drowned out by the car engine and the storm. You went to unlock the door but you watched the locks engage. Robbie yanked on the door handle frantically, screaming something about Bo having killed Leon.

But you didn't even have time to react as Lester threw the car in reverse and took off, leaving you horrified and confused. You rounded on him immediately. "We need to help!"

"I can't get involved!" Lester said, looking as panicky as you. "I- I ain't a fan of what they do either but I-" He stammered, torn between focusing on the road and trying to placate you.

"Did Bo kill Leon?!" You gasped in horror.

Lester gave you a helpless look. "I- Maybe? I- I dunno, he's killed a lotta people at this point." He squinted, trying to navigate the rain that began to streak across the windshield with how fast he was driving, obscuring a lot of the vision outside. "He 'n Vinny've been doin' this for ages now!"

"Doing- Doing what?!" You felt frantic, yanking on the car door with no real luck. What would you even do if it opened? Where could you go?

"Killin' people!" Lester said, slamming his hands on the steering wheel in frustration. "They've been killin' people and I don't get involved. 'n if you value your life, you shouldn't either."

He slammed hard on the breaks just before the front of the car slammed into a tree. The two of you let out a shared sigh and slumped over.

"'m sorry sweetpea." Lester said quietly, leaning against his steering wheel as exhaustion seemed to set in. "Was followin' y'all. 's how I found ya. Was gonna ship ya off to Bo 'n Vince but you were so..." He lifted his head to look at you with soft, glassy eyes. "'m so sorry."

You trembled, still breathing heavy. "Are you going to hurt me?"

"No." Lester's answer was immediate. "I ain't a killer. Not like my brothers are." He looked like he wanted to reach for you again, remorse clear on his face. "'m really sorry. Honest. I-"

"Are my friends going to die?" You asked, your voice warbling slightly. "Did- Did you just drive away from my dying friends?" He turned his head to look at you and gave you a slow nod. You let out a quiet gasp, scooting away from him until your back was up against the door. "Let me out! I need to go help them!"

Lester shook his head helplessly. "I can't. Bo's already seen ya 'n if you go after him, he'll kill ya too."

"Then why give me a knife?!"

"I just-" Lester sighed. "I just didn't want you to go down easy. Ain't no one ever escape my brothers. They're brutal 'n dedicated. I... I didn't want you to get hurt."

A lapse of silence passed between you two, the only sound coming from the rain. Lester buried his face back into his arms while you tried to come to terms with what you'd learnt. Lester's brothers abducted and killed people. And Lester had just served your friends up to Bo on a silver platter, but not you.

You had a knife, still clenched in your fist, and you could probably get the jump on Lester if you had to. You could steal his car and go rescue them or, at the very least, escape.

But you didn't want to hurt Lester...

"Why didn't you let me go with them?" You finally asked with a resigned sigh.

Lester looked up with tired, sad eyes. "Didn't want em to have ya. 'Cus you're a good, kind person 'n you trusted me. Felt like I was betraying ya. So I saw an openin' and I took it."

You nodded slowly. "So what now?"

"Well, ya got a few choices actually." Lester said as he straightened up. "You could go back. Try your luck against my brothers, try 'n save your friends. Or," He said with a shy glance your way, "You could come with me."

"Where would we go?"

Lester motioned out the windshield. "I got a lil' house in the woods nearby. We could hold down till the storm passes." Big brown eyes focused on you as he nervously wrung his hands. "I'd, uh, have to introduce you to my brothers in the morning. But I'd protect ya. Let 'em know you're with me now."

You felt your face heat up and you hated yourself for it. Your friends were being killed and the guy who led them to their deaths was making you blush like a schoolchild with a crush. You couldn't help it though. Lester was sweet, in the short time you'd met him. He didn't want to see you hurt and did what he could to protect you.

"With you?" You teased him with a wet chuckle. And your smile grew when you saw the way the tips of Lester's ears burned with how hard he blushed.

He gave you a shy nod. "Y-yeah. If you're with me, then- then they won't bother ya. Not killable anymore." You reached over and took his hands gently, uncaring of the dirt and roughness there. "You couldn't leave though."

A sigh left your lips. "I either stay or die?"

Lester looked close to tears when he nodded. "'m really sorry, sweetpea, I really am. Should'a never gone after ya." He freed one of his hands to cup your face gently, his touch soft despite the roughness of his hands and the guilt in his eyes.

You two sat there for awhile before you nodded, swallowing back a sob of your own. "Okay," You sighed, "Okay, I'll go with you."

He gave you a look of utter relief, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I'll keep ya safe, sweetpea. I promise."

When you pulled him in for a hug, your face buried in his shoulder, you let your shoulders relax. And you let yourself believe him.

[piratefishmama]

Fake it Till you Make It | Part 13

“Buckley residence”

“Melissa, my second favourite Buckley! Hi, it’s Steve, is Robin there?”

“Oh Steve! Yes, yes one moment, I’ll just—weren’t you on holiday with your parents aaaand—?” he’d been calling Eddie his ‘partner’ for the week leading up to the big holiday. Never dropping any names, but given he’d found a sort of second home at the Buckleys… they were relentless in finding out who he was dating.

Since it’d never be Robin.

He wasn’t falling for it, no matter how deep they’d been into flower power back in the day. If he came out, Robin would end up coming out in solidarity and he knew she wasn’t ready yet so—“Yep, calling from Chicago airport, bit of a time sensitive call” he wasn’t giving it up.

“Oop, I’ll grab her—” there was a scuffle on the line then a quick “ROBIN, STEVE’S ON THE PHONE” another quick scuffle later and suddenly

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a plane right now, Dingus?”

“I’m in Chicago! Just checkin in on my baaaaaby, how’s my little bun today? Any morning sickness yet?”

“Robin!!”

“Mom get off the phone!!”

“Hahaha I’m kidding Melissa! Can I talk to Robbie alone though?”

“Unbelievable, you kids are turning me grey.”

“You’re as beautiful as ever though!” The other line clicked off, and Robin’s snickering laughter was all that remained. “One day she’s gonna stay on just to call my bluff.”

“But that is not today, again, aren’t you supposed to be on a plane? What’s up?”

“…Okay so, hypothetically, if you were fake dating someone you… I dunno… maybe, sorta… click really well with, can laugh with, and maybe sorta like a little, would you—”

“Steven Leopold Harrington do you have a crush on your boyfriend?”

“Fake, fake boyfriend, Robbie, fake. And that isn’t my middle name.”

“You’re not DENYING it! It's not even been a DAY yet, Steve!”

“No, I’m not—well… I’d call it more an interest than a crush, but that’s why I’m calling you, what would you do?”

“Pine uselessly for years, you know this.”

“Got it, pine uselessly” He could do that. He was doing that already, sort of. He’d watched in squinty eyed rage while a newsstand cashier with a nose ring flirted with his fake boyfriend while he grabbed a drink to down during the wait between flights. It didn’t go anywhere, Eddie barely even noticed, but Steve noticed. Steve noticed everything. “You really should ask Vi—”

“NO. Listen Steve, as the kids would say, you have found an ‘ultimate cheat code’ to asking your crush out, listen closely now, don’t want you to miss it… you’re already dating him!”

“It’s fake though!” Luckily his parents were off showing Eddie a cool mural they found last time they flew through. No chance of them hearing him.

“So?! Just act like it’s real! It’s like a test, you have a week to see if you’re actually growing ooey gooeys for this guy, and at the end of it, you’ll know if you wanna keep him.” Brilliant in theory but one small hiccup

“What if he doesn’t want me at the end of the week?” The fact that he hadn’t had a solid date in forever before the scheme looming over his head and heart like a dark cloud of suffering.

“I will eat my own shoe. Trust me dingus, trust me. He’ll want you, just work that mysterious Harrington Charm I’ve heard so much about. You’re already half-way there, you get to kiss him already.”

“…Okay, it’s gotta be the real stinker shoe though, you know the one.”

“The skunk one?!”

“Yep. The skunk one.”

“But we were gonna use that on—” Kevin, they were gonna hide it in Kevin’s office after he refused every holiday request Robin put in for a month after she, very politely, shot him and his advances down, why they still had it was… a mystery. They kept forgetting to get rid of it. “Fine, the skunk one. I will eat the skunk shoe, that is how confident I am that Eddie will want you, now please go and spend time with your way cooler than you boyfriend before your parents turn him into a normie.”

“Miss you already.”

“Miss you more”

“Miss you most.”

“Hang up.”

“No you han—” she hung up, and Steve couldn’t help but laugh about it knowing that undoubtedly. She’d be laughing on her end too.

The second flight was much easier to get Eddie onto. In fact, after they spent the hour between flights milling around the terminal, Eddie led him down the gangway, hand in hand, demanding he hurry up or “they’ll leave without us, my precious little harlot!!” there was no rush, they were actually first in line at the gate in front of his own parents, whom Eddie beat to the front of the queue, dragging Steve with him, still ribbing him for the mile high club thing.

He was not going to live that down any time soon.

The flight, in theory would give him a lot of time to think though. Nine hours. In seats that were too far apart. His parents in the middle of the cabin in a semi-enclosed pod-like structure comprised of two seats and a desk between them which they both shared to work on some paperwork, and he and Eddie on opposite sides of the plane.

Which sucked. Because he couldn’t hold Eddie’s hand.

He couldn’t make sure Eddie was okay, and that alone really dug into his time to think about things, because his brain was quite stuck on the fact that Eddie was alone on the other side of the cabin likely going through it as the second flight excitement could only last so long, and that just wasn’t okay.

Eddie couldn’t even do anything to pass the time, he’d packed all but one of his notebooks in his checked luggage, Steve was pretty damn sure he'd go insane if he had to just sit there with nothing to do for a whole nine hours.

So, they teamed up. From opposite sides of the cabin, because somehow Eddie just understood what Steve wanted him to do without having to be told.

It took them a joint effort all of one hour into the flight to puppy-dog eye his parents into switching seats with them.

This allowed them to pick at each other’s ‘gourmet’ meals, Eddie stealing several of his steak fries, and Steve stealing both the last bite of his steak, and two of his orange slices, it allowed Eddie to ramble on about the D&D campaign he was plotting to send the kids through when they got back, allowed Steve to subtly plant the idea into Eddie's mind that maybe... maybe he might be interested in seeing what that looked like.

Maybe they could hold the first session at his place when his parents went away again. Plenty of room! He could watch for once, instead of ribbing Dustin for it and purposefully never getting the name of the game right.

All leading to them both settling in their reclining seats, wrapped up in blankets, facing each other's smiling faces, and falling into an incredibly easy food-coma slumber for the remainder of their flight.

Both wishing the seats were just... a little closer.

Part 15

[thebluestbluewords]

take my bones

Jay leans one arm up against Ben's locker with all the charm of one of Aurdrey’s bracelets. "Hey." 

Ben could shut the locker and then laugh when he falls over, but he's not going to do that. "Hey. What's up?" 

"So, the music yesterday--" 

"Chad likes pop," Ben says apologetically, before the grin on Jay's face can turn sharp and mean with the fresh ammunition against the VKs favorite person to antagonize. Not that it's undeserved, exactly, but it's still pretty mean of them. Chad's not a bad sort of guy, he's just not very good at being aware of anyone other than himself, and he's constantly putting his foot in his mouth because of it. "It's only fair. He's allowed to play whatever he wants on his days. You can play whatever you want when it's your turn to pick." 

"Yeah, about that. I, uh." Jay shoves a hand through his hair, shaking it loose from the tie. "I kind of. Can't." 

Ben's got a copy of the list for who picks the team lift music somewhere in his locker. Or possibly in his gym bag. Jay's name is definitely on it, because as team captain he had to sit down with Coach and work out where to put a new kid with no last name into the alphabetical lineup. "You're on the list. After Hector Ingles. We put you in under J." 

Jay grins. "Thanks, man. It's not that. I wanna play Isle music." 

A vision of Lo-Fi Tormented Screams to Chilllax To flashes through Ben's head, but he's not going to be another person who makes inaccurate, hurtful assumptions about his friends, so he pushes it back. "Sure. It'll be something different to look forward to!" 

Jay's grin grows wider. "You can say if you think t'll suck. I'm not offended." 

Oops. 

"No, it'll be cool. No problem." Ben insists. He really doesn't hate listening to new music. After Herkie played Country Toads eighteen times in a row on his last turn, he can tolerate listening to anything. Just as long as it's not Country Toads again. 

"Well, actually....." Jay trails off, meaningfully. "I could kinda use your help with getting some of it." 

"Fairy Godmother won't approve a trip off campus." Ben says immediately. He knows where this is going. There's a music store in town that carries everything, and Robbie swears they have Isle music behind the counter that they'll sell to anyone who knows the code word.  "After what happened with the silly string, I don't think she's going to let any of the junior class out without an adult. Possibly ever again." 

"That wasn't even my fault!" 

"Fairy Godmother won't care, unfortunately. I can't go against her rules." 

Jay holds out his phone. There's a fresh bite mark on the rubber case, but it's not a bloodstain, so that's....solid progress from the last time Ben saw his phone case. "I just need an unfiltered internet connection. Five minutes. I can download the stuff I need, and we never have to talk about it again." 

"You're going to be the death of me." 

He wiggles the phone. "C'mon, man.YOLO." 

"You did not just say that." 

"YOLO. YOLO. YOLO--" 

"Bullying!" 

Where one VK goes, the others follow, so it's not exactly a surprise to feel another warm body drape over his back. 

"I'll save you, babe," Mal coos in his ear, wrapping her arms over Ben's neck and planting a boot on his knee to kick herself high enough to manage the whisper. "Is the big mean villain kid bullying my poor little kingling?" 

"Terribly," Ben murmurs, twisting his shoulder so that he can get an arm around her. "He's sooooo mean to me." 

"I'll eliminate him." Mal promises. "You hear that, Jaybird? I'm going to take you down. You'll never bully my little king again." 

[delopsia]

you ask and i humbly dust off my “things i’ve always wanted to ask delly about the floytts” folder 🍓 let’s go…

(but seriously, i hope you’re doing okay and protecting your peace)

🌻

what are their (rhett and robert) favorite kind of dates? 

does anyone prefer homebody-type dates? 

making dinner and dessert from scratch, maybe they make a menu for each other’s specifics per date night? or maybe they grab their favorite take-out  mukbang style and a watch some movie before falling asleep i a spaghetti pile on the couch?

or maybe someone prefers to go out? 

making out in the back of a movie theatre between sweet and salty snacks? omg or getting a little frisky (or cold and sleepy) at the drive-in? (because let’s be real, rhett seems like the kind of guy that would still go to the drive in for their halloween fright night marathon even though it’s so cold once the sun goes down…)

(and omg wait wabang doesn’t seem like it has the classic “teen dream date spots” like mini golf and a roller rink! so maybe reader and robert treat him to that and a pizza and the next day he’s complaining about his ass and thighs (from learning to skate and falling) more than ever before like omg take this big baby to the hospital)

ooh, or maybe they get dressed up for some restaurant reservations that oops—end up getting missed or ditched (under hilarious circumstances) for the deliciously greasy diner on the other side of town? still dressed up, of course 😌✨

💐 t

Wow, I'm so sorry that it took me over a month to get to this 😭 I cannot believe my writing burnout kept me away for so long

Robert is the one who really gravitates toward home dates. It's not that he hates going out. In fact, he loves it to death, but there's something so soothing about being at home with the two people he loves, with nobody else around to bother him.

Given the nature of his job and his natural introvert tendencies, Bob usually comes home with a low social battery. Going out means interacting with more people, and while it's a lot of fun, he's usually exhausted by the end, mentally and physically.

With all of those things covered, there is nothing he loves more than ordering takeout (usually pizza and some kind of pasta), setting up a cozy blanket fort in the living room, and enjoying a couple movies. Does that even count as a date? He doesn't know, but it's his go-to answer.

He also really enjoys their little made-up "let's go to the store, find a premade dessert mix that might or might not turn out terrible, and see what happens" date. But that's something more spur of the moment for when he's feeling particularly productive and like (potentially) operating a fire extinguisher.

Rhett's the wildcard who can go for either or, but he certainly prefers going out more than Robby does. You're not going to catch him asking for a fancy date night at a restaurant whose name nobody can pronounce, but he loves going out on dates where there's something to do together. Visiting zoos, aquariums, nature reserves, concerts, something with an experience attached that he can talk about.

Aquarium dates are among his top favorites.

It's another one of those things he simply never had the opportunity to experience growing up, and it's so much fun for him because not only does he get to see his favorite ocean critters, but he also gets to watch Bobby seek out the otters and Reader finds their own favorites. And now they're all three buzzing about their favorite animals, comparing pictures, and pestering Bob for refusing to upgrade that ancient brick he calls a cell phone. "But it still works!" "Do you see the difference in quality between our pictures??"

But making out in the movie theater and getting frisky at the drive-in...

yeah, Rhett's guilty of that one.

So is Robert, shockingly.

In fact, if you ask Rhett, he'll tell you that Robby is deliberately provoking him into acting out because Bob knows that the back of his neck is sensitive. And yet, every time they're watching something specifically in a public setting, Bob will rest his arm on the back of the seat and trace his nails up and down the back of Rhett's neck. Now he's both squirming in his seat and looking for payback because he refuses to be the only one hard and leaking in his jeans 😒

There was one occasion where they had to come back and watch the same movie twice because Rhett was too busy giving head and missed the last 45 minutes of the film...but that's neither here nor there.

During one of Bob's little movie pillow fort dates, a movie scene reminded Rhett of that time he and Perry spent a whole month begging their dad to take them to the new Roller King that had just opened up in town. But on the day Royal cracked and finally took them, Perry decked Trevor Tillerson for reasons that he genuinely cannot remember and got them all banned for life. He'd been furious at the time, but now it's just a funny memory of why he never learned to skate.

And Bob, being Bob, sees nothing but a golden opportunity. The Reader is literally still listening to the story, and Bob's just over there looking back at them like 👀💡

Roller skating may be harder than riding a bull (that's 100% fact and not at all propaganda distributed by Rhett Floytt...)

Rhett's like a baby deer on ice; Bobby can't even look away for a second without Rhett falling. He's fine, he's moving, things are good, and then he's on his ass again, even clinging to Bob hardly saves him. The only reason he doesn't physically drag Bob down with him is because they're practically the same damn size.

If the Reader can't rollerskate, then they have to take turns with Bob, the Supervisor, or else they're not moving more than a few feet at a time 😔 but Bobby is a good teacher, and they'll ultimately figure out how to skate before Rhett does.

If the Reader can rollerskate, then things are only a little less chaotic. Again, neither of them can look away, or else Rhett is just gone. At some point, they'll ultimately wind up holding his hands and gently guiding him along because one more fall might break him. Rhett starts to grasp the basics towards the end of their visit, but it's going to take more than one roller rink date for him to be able to skate on his own 😭

"My ass hurts," Rhett, blinking dumbly. "'n for once it ain't 'cause of you two." But hey...there's another excuse to massage and play with his ass...who said that??

All three of them are at fault when they collectively fixate on the fancy, high-end restaurant that opened up in the next town over. What they don't know is that the advertisements are ridiculously deceptive about the food itself, and nobody figures it out until they're all dressed up and start noticing the plates arriving to the tables around them.

The portion sizes are?? Microscopic??? Now Bob is sitting here looking at two pieces of steak that are each the size of a half dollar. Reader is still figuring out if the fries are even fries, and Rhett...is so confused by this pyramid of precariously placed asparagus that he hasn't even realized that the ranch dressing is secretly blue cheese.

And when he does, he discovers the secret behind the generational Abbott/Tillerson beef. Whoever did this is a personal enemy for the next millennia.

"Yelp will hear about this!" Bob jokes, with no intention of ever leaving a review.

An astronomically high bill later, they're stumbling into the greasiest little diner to ever exist, fancy clothes and all. They're so out of place compared to everyone else, but at this point, it doesn't matter, so long as they get some real damn food 😭

It's one of those things that they now bring up just to giggle about. Every time they encounter a new, even somewhat fancy restaurant, someone's piping up and joking about how they'll probably need to bring a microscope to even find the plate.

It's all fun and games until they're at one of Bob's work events and learn that the god-forsaken restaurant is catering...

[agentmilayawithshield]

Rating all Daisy ships I stanned at some point:

Skyward - 4/10

The year before I knew the truth was some of the best times I had as a fangirl. Shipped them while I was watching the show on TV. I was obsessed with them. But I missed the final few episodes. Oops. What could go wrong? So one time I googled the show to see if they got together, and that's how I found out Ward was Hydra. Looking back at it, it was an incredible reveal. Still, it broke my 14 year old heart. The pain of finding out the truth almost made me never wanna watch it again. (for 5 min) I'll admit I was hooked on the Framework storyline too.

StaticQuake 11/10

But wanna know why I started watching it again? Luke Mitchell. I was uninterested that "Skye" had another dude, but when I checked the character out, he was played by WILL from H20? It was the greatest thing I ever found out. I'll never forget you Lincoln. I almost passed out when he died. He loved her so much. In later seasons when everyone was paired off but Daisy had no one, I kept thinking of him. He was one of the only characters who selflessly always put her first. He deserved better. And I gotta go higher than 10 cause he literally died for her.

Quakerider - 9/10

I was stuck on this ship for 4 years, and I was working off of maybe 8 episodes of content. I was obsessed, with all capital letters. I should have tattooed it on my forehead. And they left me hanging. They had so much chemistry, it was insane. This man was looking at her like she was his lifeline. But they pulled Gabriel Luna away from the show for the unreleased spinoff and, we never saw Robbie again. RIP to the most iconic romance I never got to experience.

Dousy - 100/10

Whoever decided to pull this man from the past to get him together with our girl, deserves an Emmy. There is nothing like a proper-looking, nerdy man who's down for every criminal offense you want to pull. But also they had a great flirt-to-roast ratio.

"Every time."

"Some of my favorite people are people like you."

"There are unfashionable squares in every decade, so you fit right in."

"You should probably put a Q on your utility belt so people know it's you."

"We are going home, Agent Johnson."

"I can take a loop."

Just that pure devotion was fire. Also when you realize they are actually what the other always wanted in a partner? Daisy goes from Miles, Ward to Lincoln looking for stability and solid partnership, and manages to find it super unconventionally. I'll never stop yapping about them. No second of their screen time was wasted, which is why I think this worked so well.

[fag4dykestobin]

i kind of sat down and thought about steve and robin cooking together, and then i entered a fugue state and came out of it with a little over 1.7k words written about them being domestic besties (domesties?). so um. enjoy :)

-

Robin has destroyed one of her mom’s pans again, so she’s been banished to Steve’s house.

Well, okay, let’s back up.

Robin, waking up and feeling especially productive, had taken it upon herself to make some scrambled eggs. Nice and simple, right? So she had grabbed the first spatula and pan she could find, and… scrambled those eggs! She even remembered the salt and pepper! Unfortunately, as Robin had remembered after she oh-so-lovingly scraped off the nonstick coating, metal utensils and nonstick pans didn’t really get along. Oops. Panicking, she had scraped her mess into the trash and called Steve to pick her up. So, really, she had banished herself, preemptively.

“How the hell did you even do this much damage?” Steve asks, holding up the pan. The look of befuddlement on his face is picture perfect; you could teach children how to identify emotions with that face. Robin would pinch his cheek if she wasn’t so embarrassed.

“I don’t know! I just tried to make some eggs!”

“Rob, there’s like, a solid cube of—”

“A cube is a 3D object, dingus.”

“This is a 3D object!”

“Not in that way! It’s not a cube! You mean a square!”

Steve throws up his hands, one of them brandishing the pan and waving it around. “Fine! There’s a solid square…” Steve gives Robin a look. She nods her head at him in acquiescence. “... Of coating rubbed off of this thing. Why were you punishing your eggs like that?”

Robin leans back on the counter she’s been sitting on, legs swinging. Her heel hits the cabinet once, and Steve’s eye twitches, but he says nothing. Because he loves her. But she tries to avoid doing it again, for his sake. “I had to get that yolk distributed! I was working fast, Evie, the burner was on and I wanted it evenly mixed—!”

“So why didn’t you mix it in a bowl before that?!” Steve looks so stressed. It's kind of funny, given how unimportant the subject matter is. Robin suppresses a grin.

“I forgot! I was groggy!”

Steve groans, setting the ruined pan down and rubbing a hand over his face. “... When we move in together,” he says, pointing an accusatory finger at Robin, “I am keeping my metal utensils in a locked safe.”

The warm, fuzzy feeling that always appears when Robin is reminded of their future together, their permanence in each other’s lives, it fizzes and pops in her chest like a sparkler. It’s still such a comforting feeling, even after all these months.

It doesn’t stop her from antagonizing him a little. “Like I don’t know what combination you’ll set it to,” she scoffs.  “I could just break in. To spite you.”

Steve sits with that for a moment. “You’re breaking my heart, Robbie, you know that? You break my heart.” Not a real comeback. She’s won their battle of the bits, this time around.

“Well, anyway,” Steve continues, “I am really hoping you didn’t eat those eggs after seasoning them with metal filings.”

“It wasn’t— I don’t think the coating is metal. I don’t know what it is, actually, but I don’t think it falls under metal filings.”

Steve hmms. “Well, it’s not, like, plastic, right? Or silicone? That would just melt.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Well, it can’t be metal, because it loses a fight with metal spatulas.”

Steve thinks for a second. “Is… God, I mean, I guess there are other, other uh… what’s the word? For, like, not from plants?” Robin scrunches her brow in thought. “Synthetic? Inorganic?”

Steve snaps his fingers. “Yeah, both of those work. There’s probably things that aren’t plastic or metal that can be used to cook with, but it feels weird. That there’s another category out there.”

Robin nods in agreement, and they sit in companionable silence for a moment, contemplating on the nature of cookware.

“Anyway, no, I still haven’t eaten.”

Steve curses, gets up from leaning on his kitchen island, and steps over to the cabinets where he keeps his pots and pans. “Yes, God, okay, let me feed you. Still want eggs?”

“You know it!” Robin says, and Steve gets to cooking, bustling around the kitchen with practiced motions. It’s nice to watch him cook. He gets very focused, in a way that doesn’t usually come naturally to him. Steve doesn’t usually like talking while he’s cooking, but he hums bits of songs, bobs his head to the beat.

In no time at all he has a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of Robin, and she hops off the counter to sit at a stool at the kitchen island. She grabs the plate from Steve and smacks a wet kiss on his cheek, making him roll his eyes with a smile and subtly wipe her spit off.

Steve takes a seat across from her, and she notices that he doesn’t have anything. Did he already eat? “Did you already eat?” Robin asks.

Steve blinks. “Oh. No, I forgot.” He has a tendency to do that; when he cooks for someone, he can get so caught up in it that he forgets to make some for himself, and is left to scramble afterwards. “I’ll make myself some eggs after you’re done.”

An idea comes to mind. An attempt at redemption, maybe. “Let me?” Robin asks.

“And let you ruin my pans? No thanks.”

A flash of genuine hurt passes through Robin, and she lets it show on her face in the form of a pout. The comment isn’t unfounded, but… “No, please! I know what I did wrong, I’ll do better this time. I’m not sleepy anymore, either.” She just wants to take care of Steve like he takes care of her. She wants to feed him eggs, goddamnit! When was the last time anyone fed him eggs? Actually, if she thinks about that one, she’ll get sad, so she stops thinking about it.

Steve can obviously see her earnestness, and he softens. And rolls his eyes. But that’s just him being Steve, so Robin loves it. “Whatever you want, Birdie. Just don’t burn them. Oh, and use garlic powder.”

So Robin practically inhales the rest of her eggs and toast (very tasty, as always) and gets to work. Steve sits at his stool at the island, trying and failing not to watch Robin like a hawk as she bumbles around his kitchen (“That’s not enough garlic powder, Rob, put some more in there, it won’t bite!”  and “Use the small pan on the top shelf— no, the other small pan. No, the other—”), but she does eventually get a plate of eggs and toast in front of him. Not as good looking as the one Steve presented her, but it smelled good, and didn’t have weird inorganic pan flecks in them. Steve gives her a sloppy kiss on her cheek this time, over-exaggerating and putting way too much saliva in it, seriously, was he a dog or something? Robin BLECH’d and rubbed at her cheek, but he looked happy at his plate of food, so. Overall success, even if sacrifices had to be made.

Robin leaned on the island on her elbows, face a foot away from Steve’s as he picked up a forkful of egg. He side-eyed her.

“Do you… want some…?”

Robin waved a hand at him. “No, dingus. Eat it! Do you like it?”

“Okay, okay!” Steve rolled his eyes and ate his forkful. Robin stared at him as he chewed, looking out for emotions such as delight and wonder, but also disgust and revulsion.

She found nothing. Steve looked normal. He ate another forkful, eyeing her.

“So?” Robin prods.

“They’re eggs?” Steve says, mouth still half full.

“Swallow!” Steve rolls his eyes and does as she asks. “Nothing else? They’re just eggs?”

Steve nods, shrugging a little. Robin feels a little let-down. The first time Steve had made her eggs, it was life-changing. He put heavy cream in them. Robin doesn’t think her parents had ever bought heavy cream in their lives.

Robin guesses that it makes sense, though. This is just how he makes eggs, duh. Still, it makes her feel kind of bad, that she couldn’t give Steve the same feeling he gave her.

Steve seems to sense her inner turmoil. “They’re— it’s good, though! You did a good job. I do like it.” He seems kind of… embarrassed, but grateful. “You didn’t have to make them for me. Thanks.”

Robin bumps his shoulder with her own, and then retreats to her seat, allowing him a bit more personal space. But not too much! She kicks at his shins, and he kicks back, a smile on his face.

Cleanup is easy as Steve washes the dishes and Robin dries. It’s the small, domestic things, like this, that make her so excited to eventually live together. It’s so easy and companionable, full of chatter about band practice and Dustin’s latest science experiment. She can’t wait to graduate.

After the dishes, though, they’re both at the kitchen island again, silently staring at the pan Robin had ruined at her house earlier.

“... It seems like a waste to throw away,” Robin complains.

“I know, right? But it’s, like, useless now.”

Robin hums. “I mean, no, it’s still like… metal. I feel like we should be melting it down.”

Steve stares at her. “In what world would it be more useful melted down?”

Robin squawks, indignant at her idea being challenged. “You know what I mean!”

“No I don’t! Do you just want a, a… what’s the word? A bar of metal.”

“Ingot.”

“Do you just want an ingot hanging out on our mantelpiece?!”

“Well, I didn’t before, but now I do!”

They look at each other for only a moment before dissolving into simultaneous giggles, shared joy crackling and leaping between them.

Steve settles down first. Still grinning, he turns to put the pan at the very top of a relatively bare cupboard. “Fine, we’ll just… keep this to be melted down later.”

Robin can’t do anything to stop the twin grin on her face, not that she would ever want to. “I love you, Evie.” The words come easy, and the delight and surprise on Steve’s face is as wonderful as always. He pulls her into a hug.

“I love you too, Rob.”

[mrmeowziii]

Rodney- The big-hearted giant who loves a little too easy.

(I realized I forgot to post him. Oops, sorry buddy!)

Rodney Parker was born the third child of his parents, Daryl and Charlotte Parker. After initially deciding to settle with two kids, his mother changed her mind after deciding she wanted a girl- she wouldn’t get her wish though, giving birth to a not so little Rodney. He was so large in fact, the doctors didn’t believe he wasn’t a set of twins- despite the ultrasound- until the day of birth. As a baby he was rather mild mannered, but he was always hungry.

Rodney was very attached to his mother growing up. He’d definitely been more of a momma’s boy- until he couldn’t be anymore. Rodney’s emotional stability was thrown out of whack by his mother’s passing, and after a while of intense grief, Rodney coped by seeking that affection he missed from other sources. He grew very close to his brother Ryan, who was filling their mother’s role. When Richard pulled away, Ryan and Rodney teamed up to take care of everyone else. Rodney took the farm side of things, which had always been a strong suit for him. He took charge of his five little brothers (not an easy task) and lead them around the everyday farm chores quite well. His kind and patient personality was certainly helpful, as his family sure liked to fight… Though they all listened to him whenever he asked them to do something. If they needed time for themselves, he wouldn’t hesitate to allow them, especially Roy, who often spaced out at the site of their mom’s accident.

Rodney was a bit slow in school, and found it difficult to make friends- especially with girls. He was a little too puppy dog for most. He found a surprise interest in writing- specifically poetry, as he got older. His intense love swings would often fuel writings, though he could never work up the courage to give his loves said poems. For a long time his intense feelings were only directed towards women, but as an older teen this spread to men as well- and anyone else, really. Robbie blamed him for causing the younger punk to develop a similarly distorted sense of attraction.

At sixteen Rodney auditioned for Total Drama, something his family had varying reactions to. It wasn’t expected he’d actually get accepted, but… Well. His time on the island was short, but Rodney came to have a close bond with Ella and Topher during their time together at the new Playa Des Losers location. (Topher was the one who made him realize he liked men too.) Overall, it was a great experience for him, even if he might’ve come out a bit fried. Robbie and Rowan were embarrassed by his placement, while most of his family was just glad he was okay.

Rodney’s closest with his brother Ryan- who at least tried to give him some of the motherly love he’d always missed. Besides him, his younger brothers Ralphie and Ryder have always gotten along with him. He has no truly negative relationships with his family, though Rowan is most embarrassed by his ‘bumbling antics’.

In the future Rodney marries Ella and Topher and they have a few kids together. Rodney comes back to help on the farm every harvest, but he writes romance novels for a living besides that. He, Ella, and Topher are working on writing a musical and trying to pitch it to Broadway.

(Sorry for forgetting about the only character from the actual show, lol. Rodney’s a sweetheart. I honestly have no idea why I like him as much as I do, lol. Himbos for life.)

[misfitprose]

Chicago Live Show spoilers

How did they conduct voting at this? Real paper ballots (does anyone have one) or...? Anyway, I'm not spoiling even though I've been seeing spoilers for weeks, but I'm watching the live show!

Maybe Robbie won't forget Sam's name this time. Ouch, that hurt my ears! I have headphones on!

Why is this like a game show? Why does Matt look like Jack the Ripper?

We have Beau! We have Grog! We have Kingsley! (I would've rather had Ashton; the mohawk Taliesin had in the backstage pass led me to believe it was them.) We have Caleb! (I wanted Orym!) We have Veth! (I wanted - and I think everyone would have, if they were an option - FCG, although Braius would have been fun, too.) And of course, Sam doesn't miss an opportunity to have a themed costume. At least it's family-friendly? We have Fearne! Finally, some C3 love! Unsurprisingly, we have Jester! I think people would have written her in even if she hadn't been an option. Even Matt is laughing! Jester could have also been dead, and she would have been magically resurrected just for this. "We want Jester! He's Jester, too! OOPS ALL JESTERS!"

This is obviously a C2-biased audience. That's too bad.

The tables are SOO FAR AWAAAAY! Did they separate Liam and Marisha once it was clear she was Beau?

Sorry, Marisha, but there were dicks. In retrospect, we should have known about Jester, considering there were so many dicks posting spoilers.

We don't get to see Robbie, do we?

And Laura finds innuendo almost immediately.

"For those who weren't there, Scanlan turned into a centaur because he's an asshole."

Picking two of the spaciest members of VM and BH means that nobody will understand what's going on with those teams.

See, this is why I would have wanted Orym! "We cut to Bell's Hells-" "-Perception of 33, I can see EVERYTHING..." THREE SECONDS INTO BEING ORYM MY GOD MAN!

Wait - where's Dorian? Robbie is there!!

Oh, apparently he's busy doing Cabaret, never mind.

This is funny.

I like how Grog and Fearne seem to be more curious than put out. Malvolio will soon regret picking them for this.

[velmalav]

The Giver - Frank Langdon pt. VI

masterlist

day one // night one // day two // night two // day three

synopsis: being the selfless person you are, you agree to travel to a 3-day conference with your biggest competition - dr. langdon. sixth and final part.

excited to be wrapping this one up! I'm open to requests for Langdon, Robby, and Santos!

warnings: 18+ SMUT, cursing, oops there's only one bed, enemies to lovers

night three - f.l.

Animosity is a strange thing. Sometimes, it’s white hot, clarity driven. Other times, passive, indirect aggression. And so much more in between that. One minute, you can be singing praises about someone, the next screaming at each other over something as simple as which kind of bread to get at the store. Or, in my case, stomping on a fellow intern’s foot only for four years of resentment to dissipate into him feeling me up in an elevator.

This lust between us has been brewing for days. Every moment, big or small, imprinted in my mind as permanent as the laws of gravity. Without realizing, I’d been wanting this for longer than I’ve allowed myself to believe. On the walk home, all I could think about was Langdon’s hands, but now I’m thinking about everything all at once.

His mouth is on my neck, hands on my hips. Don’t get me wrong, it feels good, but there’s something bothering me. After so much time for this kind of contemplation at the conference, it’s frustrating to be having this problem now. I stare up at the ceiling of the elevator, tracing patterns on the marble, trying to bring myself back down to reality. I should be relishing this. I should be letting it all go.

“You okay?” I turn my face down. Langdon’s staring at me, eyes full of concern. A look I’ve seen many times, but never because of me.

I bow my eyebrows and then nod quickly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

His concern deepens, palm pressed against the elevator behind me, his other still resting on my waist. “Bullshit, what is it?”

There’s a flicker of panic that shoots through me. I feel like I’m interrupting a long-awaited moment, and I can’t even identify why. The thoughts are so loud and he’s studying me too hard. I break eye contact, shaking my head.

“I don’t know,” I murmur, pushing the hair from my eyes. “I just can’t shut my brain off. Something feels wrong.”

Langdon drops his head for a moment. Contemplating. When he looks back up, his concerned expression remains, but something else lingers there. “You know, we don’t have to do this. If you’re uncomfortable or having doubts.”

“I know,” I say simply, finally looking at him. Really looking at him. Before either of us can say anything else, the elevator door opens to our floor. Silently, we walk to the room and enter, a heaviness loitering in the air.

Langdon takes his suit jacket off, tossing it on the tv stand. I sit at the edge of the bed, fidgeting with the rings on my fingers. “This whole trip, I don’t think we’ve had one honest conversation.”

Taking off his bracelets, he huffs out what sounds like a laugh. “If you don’t count the brutally honest talk we had last night.”

“Did you mean what you said about me?”

It’s not a question I’d been actively stirring over, but I didn’t realize how much it’s been weighing on me until now. Every syllable still swimming around in my mind, Because all you’ve ever done is think about yourself, and it’s just fucking gross.

“I was feeling so shitty that night, I don’t even really remember what I said,” he murmurs, and though his bracelets are free from his wrist, he continues to stare down at them. Shame laces his voice.

“You…you called me selfish,” every word feels painful to say. Too vulnerable to especially say to him. “You actually said I was so selfish it disgusted you.”

Langdon glances at me, blinking. I don’t know what my face is telling him, and it scares me. But I have realized why this all feels wrong. This is new territory for both of us. We aren’t playing games anymore, this is real. Every experience with each other up until this point has been either conflict or teasing, neither of which involves connecting on a deep level.

“Well, I don’t think that,” he says. “I’ve never thought that. It’s actually more of the opposite.”

“Then why did you even say it?”

“To hurt you,” his voice is just above a whisper now, and I can tell this conversation is hard for him, too. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of person to talk things out, just avoid and bottle and keep trekking. Or at least that’s all I’ve seen these past few years. “I was jealous, yeah. And pissed about not waking me up. But it was more than that for me.”

I swallow hard. Langdon tosses the bracelets in the same place as his suit jacket and takes a seat beside me. Our thighs and shoulders touch. He clasps his hands in between his knees, then rejoins our eyes.

“Ever since I got in trouble, my confidence has been…” he searches in my eyes for the words but gives up. “I don’t know. And ever since we got here, I’ve just been reminded of it over and over. The people, the pamphlets, the talks about patient care. You.”

Taken aback, I fumble for words, “You…m-me?”

Langdon nods. He seems…sad. As vulnerable as I’ve ever seen him.

“For as long as I’ve known you, I’ve felt like I’ve had to prove myself a lot more,” he breathes, shifting uncomfortably. “You’re good. With the medicine, with the patients, with our coworkers. I said ‘brutally honest’ about our fight not because I was being honest. What you said, about you having what I don’t, you were right. And instead of learning from you, I’ve been trying to tear you down.”

The confession is not what I expected from this conversation at all. I said what I did to hurt him, too, and that’s it. Up until now, I didn’t think I had the capability to truly rattle him. Langdon’s always seemed so resilient, confident. Like a brick wall.

I gingerly rest my hand on his thigh. “You’re a good doctor, Frank. I’ve spent the entire four years I’ve known you trying to keep up with you. Because…I thought I was the one who needed to prove myself.”

He searches in my eyes for something. Maybe for honesty, maybe for the reassurance I’m trying to show in my words. “So you’re telling me we’ve both had it out for each other for the same reason.”

The tension in the room shifts into something lighter. Our eyes both brighten just a little. “I guess so,” I reply, fighting back a smile.

Langdon breaks first, a strained laugh leaving his mouth before he can stop it. And then I’m laughing, too. We sit there, giggling like school children for God knows how long, leaning into each other’s shoulders. Until we have tears in our eyes, faces bright red.

“This is ridiculous,” I finally say, wiping the tears before they can fall. “And kind of pathetic.”

“And don’t forget it took four fucking years,” Langdon responds, and we both double over again, feeling a little loopy at this point.

Once the moment dies down, we remain there, both in our own heads. I feel steadier now, comforted now that I know my nemesis turned out to be one of the only people who understands the frustration and insecurity I’ve felt this whole time. Resting my head on his shoulder, I intertwine our fingers, feeling the calmness between us. This is the real truce, the burst of solace I now know we’ve both been craving.

“Why did you volunteer to come with me?” Langdon suddenly asks, head resting on mine. “I know it wasn’t for this.”

“Definitely not,” I laugh. I feel his chest rumble against me, and it brings comfort. “I felt bad no one else wanted to. It was a self-sacrifice type of thing.”

“Noble of you,” he jokes, turning his head to put his lips on my forehead.

“Yeah, so please never call me selfish again. I’m the reason this happened,” I bite back, the words laced with amusement. Langdon laughs again, and it makes me realize I like making him laugh.

“You know I really didn’t mean that, right? As frustrating as you can be, I’ve always known you’ll put anything and everything before yourself,” he whispers against my hair. “I always thought if I was ever forced to say something nice about you at work, that’s what I’d say.”

I sit up at that to see his face, confused. “When would you ever need to do that?”

“Oh, c’mon. We were two shifts away from being forced into a mediation exercise. Had to come prepared,” Langdon says, as if that’s not an insane thing to think. It reminds me of myself, of all the conspiracies about him and our games I’ve made up.

“You’re insane,” I say, my grin showing him it’s not a dig.

“Insanely hot, maybe,” he quips without hesitation. “Or at least you think so.”

Fighting back the urge not to fall into familiarity and argue with him for the sake of arguing, I instead lean towards him, inches from his face, “Yeah, I do.”

Langdon smiles so wide it reaches his eyes. For once, I backed down willingly. His response is to close the space between us, hand running through my hair immediately. I giggle against his mouth, moving until I’m straddling his lap. Cupping his cheeks in my hands, I deepen the kiss.

Now that we’ve settled our differences, the nagging feeling I had earlier has evaporated. I allow myself to let go, to let Langdon take whatever he wants from me. For the first time, I’m okay with him calling the shots as long as his hands are on me. I trust him.

He grabs hold of my arms and lifts them so he can slide off my blouse, our mouths only separating in the time it takes for us both to remove our tops. Then my arms are thrown around his shoulders, fingers making impressions on his shoulder blades. It’s like I’m studying every part of him I can as if he’s going to evaporate, too.

Langdon relocates his mouth from mine down my throat, stopping in the space where my neck meets my shoulder. Sucking and nipping, leaving marks wherever he can. I tilt my head back, lips parted, imagining all the other places he can touch me like this.

I interrupt him by pushing my weight onto him until he’s flush against the bed. It’s like a choreographed dance the way flips me so I’m the one on my back, calculated and effortless. He slips my skirt off, leaving me only in my bra and panties.

“You’re fast,” I’m breathless, tracing the fresh bruises on my neck as I stare down at him.

As a way of responding, Langdon smirks before he plants his lips just below my sternum. He peppers them lower, lower, until he reaches my panties. He makes sure to keep our eyes locked as he takes them off. Despite how lewd this is, his stare adds a layer of vulnerability I wasn’t prepared for. It’s like he can see right through me.

I feel the need to say something to squirm from this feeling, but before I can find the words, he’s buried between my legs, lips surrounding my clit. Suddenly there are no words, just bliss muddying my vision. Langdon sucks, tongue finding a rhythm as I fall back onto the bed, moan ripping out of my throat. “Shit,” I breathe, fingers locking into his hair.

He hums into me and then pulls back. “I want you to look at me,” he utters matter-of-factly. I prop myself on my elbows to see his eyes boring into me, mouth hovering just above my clit. I give him a very unconfident nod.

As soon as he makes contact again, I fight to stay upright. But the way he looks at me is so intense that I stay put. I focus on the strand of hair framing his forehead until another wave of pleasure hits me and my head is tilted back to the ceiling. “Fuck, just like that.”

Langdon places one hand on my hip to hold me down as I squirm around him. He makes a point by using his other hand to grab mine and relocate it back into his hair. He must be into that, then.

With newfound confidence, I wrap my fingers in his hair and tug in the same way I do the bed sheets. He moans into me, and it feels so good I can’t help the string of curses that leave my mouth. Just when I think I’m on the brink, Langdon slides two fingers in as he makes work of my clit, and I completely lose my grip, falling back onto the bed and straight into my high.

“I’m cu—” I can’t even get it out, legs trembling, body writhing. There’s no point in trying to hold back the ridiculously dirty moans I’ve been stifling, so I let them go as I ride it out.

Breathing hard, I slowly start to return to reality. Langdon climbs up to kiss me hard, tongue dominating mine, and I can taste myself on him. He pulls back to lick his lips, sliding his thumb past my lips. “I didn’t get to see your face,” he murmurs, eyes flickering from my eyes to my lips. “I need to see it this time.”

“Okay,” I reply, grazing my teeth on the tip of his thumb. The corner of his mouth twitches at the sight of me nipping at him. “God, you’re so fucking hot.”

I hum in response, unbuckling his belt without breaking eye contact. Once he’s undressed, he reaches underneath my back to unclasp my bra and chucks it somewhere on the floor. We stare at each other, fully naked, faces flushed, eyes needy. “I’ve been waiting long enough,” I whisper, tracing patterns down his throat, reveling in the ridges and slopes I feel beneath my fingers.

“Impatient,” Langdon huffs, sloping down to bite just above my left breast. I gasp, smacking the side of his head. He laughs. God, I love the sound of it.

He grabs the condom he fished out of his pants moments before and tears it open with his teeth. To make a point, I watch his every move, hoping he can feel my eyes on him. Then he’s lining himself up, one hand above my head, and just before he pushes himself inside, his eyes flicker to mine.

Our moans harmonize as he begins to thrust, and I notice he’s finding it hard now not to break eye contact. Eyes half-lidded, full of want, but fighting to stay open. I wind a finger around his one strand, yanking it gently to tug him closer. His hot breath mingles with mine, moans growing louder as he picks up his pace. “Fuck, I’m so wet for you,” I rasp out in between moans.

“Shit,” Langdon growls, nose tapping mine in rhythm to match his pace. Beads of sweat glisten at his hairline, his lip between his teeth. “I’ve thought about having you like this so many times – fuck – you don’t even know.”

Every word he says just makes me more crazed, my moans slurring into whimpers. He slows his pace, but his thrusts become harder, his stare becoming more concentrated. He watches every subtly on my face, every shift at his movements, as if he’s studying for some kind of test. Fingers materialize on my clit, causing me to throw my head back with a gasp.

“Oh my god,” I hiss. Langdon pushes into me faster, and faster, and then his hand is gripping my chin and tugging it towards him.

“Look at me,” he commands softly, thumb resting on my chin.

Ecstasy begins to fog my vision again, but I force it down to stay focused on him. He murmurs praises as I keep eye contact, which just gets me worked up even more. “Doing so good,” he says, tracing my jaw. Then his mouth is on mine again. It’s feverish and sloppy.

Choking down moans, I lean into the kiss. I can tell he’s holding back, too, and then all of the focus starts to fade and we’re just there, fumbling to get as close as possible, movements becoming careless and frantic. All of the holding back is gone; we’re moaning and cussing and gnashing teeth, not a single care in the world.

I feel myself approaching the edge, head twitching back on the bed. I reopen my eyes to lock back onto Langdon’s, and if the circles on my clit and the ridiculously fast pacing of his thrusts weren’t enough to do it, the defenseless look in his eyes sends me into my orgasm like a tidal wave. I cry out his name, my walls clenching around him, and I manage to do the one thing he asked of me; keep my eyes directly on his.

And that’s what ultimately unravels him. He lets out a grunt, whimpers my name, and lets go. We ride it out together, his thrusts slowing down, but through it all, we never break eye contact. It’s intimate, the most intimate moment I’ve ever shared with anyone. And of all people – Langdon.

Once we’ve both come down, he collapses beside me, shoulder to shoulder. He’s quick to grab my hand, placing a soft kiss on it and then resting it on my chest. I graze the sweaty skin with my finger, gazing over at him.

There are no words to describe what I feel when I look at him. He’s like an old painting, lines messy and haphazard, but comes together to be something beautiful. Hard to believe I’ve ever not seen him like this.

“How did we take so long to figure it out?” it’s almost as if he’s read my mind.

“No idea,” I murmur, brushing the strands of hair from his forehead. Langdon leans into my touch, softly, expression much of the same. “But I’m glad we did.”

I roll toward him so we’re both on our sides, facing each other. This moment, this feeling, I want it to keep going forever. It’s what I’ve been chasing. There’s a prodding fear that it can’t possibly last forever, but I push the thought away. Because we’re here now. Black sky out the window fading into an early morning, grey, bed sheets ruffled beneath us, the docile understanding between us, the smooth skin under my fingertips.

“You’re so beautiful,” Langdon whispers, kissing my hand as it pulls from his hair. He grabs it, fiddling with my fingers, and then jerks my entire arm so I’m right up against him. He kisses me, one, twice, then three times.

“I could get used to this,” I joke into his mouth, earning yet another wonderful laugh from him. “Much better than the constant bickering and tension we’re used to.”

He smiles, pecking my lips again. “I agree. We’ll make sure the next time we argue, we save that tension for the bedroom.”

I laugh, nudging his shoulder. “You know it’s a foolproof plan,” he adds.

“Whatever you say,” I concede.

Langdon fidgets with the necklace around my throat with a look on his face I’m all too familiar with. “You know, I’m already missing our games a little. It was kinda hot.”

“They’ll be back. Give it a couple shifts,” I deadpan, but my eyes are full of amusement.

“Good, because I’m already imagining all the super-hot hate sex we’re gonna have.”

“I’ll be counting on that.”

[gemininoel]

CHERI WHAT ARE UR FAVORITE RECENT GCEST MOMENTS

i'm going to include stuff from the 90s and 00s more than recent because they somehow hit me the hardest aaaand i must admit i can't recall recent ones that are not liam's tweets sorry 😭 please share recent ones tho!

literally every time they got weidly close and kissed in the don't believe the truth era - i loved that era with and without the gcest energy literally that album is precious. LET THERE BE LOVE? helloooo a strong proof of what they have going on? not only is one of oasis greatest songs, one of the most beautiful things noel has ever writen it has both singing THEYRE SINGING THAT LOVE SONG TO EACHOTHER!! I HATE THEM SFM!!! 😭😭😭 i do that affectionately tho.

liam out of the sudden saying on stage "we had sex last night" in the late 90s

noel acting sickly possessive at liam when he started messing around with robbie to the point he said disgusting things about him at press - trust me right here im team robbie here as im also his fan and after how open he is with his self esteem trauma so this come from me being @ noel like girl fucking chill a pop star wont take your baby brother from you why were you acting like a jealous boyfriend HES YOUR BABY BROTHER YOU FREAK!!! jfc.

kaiser chiefs (nah i dont hate them their debut album employment was brutal) calling them boyfriend and girlfriend not brothers TF THEY HAVE SEEN AND DO THEY KNOW THAT US BYSTANDERS HAVE NOT!! i get is suposed to be liam and noel only buy hey they sort of exposed them? all thanks to noel bullying them in press lmao.

that picture in which noel is fixing liam's clothes and the magazine quoted him doing also his shoelaces who the fuck in their critical thinking stage looks at that and says is normal brotherly love.

liam being like "i'm his muse 🥰" YES YOU ARE HIS MUSE AND HIS PRINCESS!!! 😭

when noel in VH1 behind the music was at liam like "aa don't worry let your big brother take care or that as usual" can he stop incriminating himself for once? i truly hope not but yeah 😭

sociopath coded noel saying this while scaring me and turning me on:

loch lomond. before you come for me listen L I S T E N i am aware that moment is the meca of this lore the basic of basics and so iconic for that and what went through before and after. the tip of the iceberg tho and as a shipper i want to deep dive and i tend to be into underrated gems. still is a stapple in the bible of gallaghercest and the biggest proof of all the psychology coded and emotional incest theories. mad respect 🫡

liam's peak obsession delusional twitter psychosis direct shots at noel. specially the ones from 2018 and 2019. ngl they also make me sad sometimes too oops.

liam acting all delusional crazy ex gf about noel from 2009 till 2019. but it worked for him because my delulu slutty queen won yaaay he got his old baby back 🫶🏻

liam's one of us which is clearly about noel ugh

noel's council skies (one of my personal NGHFB faves too) having liam muse vibes

so on so on what are yours??