#this is what jack means when he says he sees so much of himself in wylan and approaches everything with fear first | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

quickestgold · 3 months ago

Note

Okay but LISTENNNNN. Reader and Jack having feelings for eachother but he pulls back (she’s still new , too young , etc) he’s been cold and she decided to take that day off work and go to Pitt Fest and …oh no…. (Still lives but it’s BAD)

Strip Her: Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Synopsis: Amidst a mass casualty event, Jack’s medical instincts clash with his personal life when the woman he loves risks her own life to save another. Is he about to watch you die?

Warnings: Canon-typical depictions of trauma/gun violence, mass shooting, GSWs, blood; Reader basically does what Santos did, but in the field hah! > No "good girl" energy from Jack, just anger for putting yourself in danger lol

Word count: 2k+

A/n: Thanks so much for sending this in, so sorry it's taken so long!! Lmk what you think!! ♡

This is not exactly in our mass casualty plan.

Blood is for the ones we can save.

Ten other patients will die if you put all of your energy into saving this girl.

Jack’s own words haunt him, playing through his mind on a torturous loop.

He looks at Robby, pleading for something. Then back at you, watching you fight for your life.

"Hi, handsome."

"Wanna come over after your shift?"

Read.

You huff out a humorless laugh. The old man really left you on Read.

You know Jack isn't a big texter, making the age-gap between you hilariously obvious. But today it gets to you.

Jack isn't your immediate superior, but you wonder if this is why he's been acting cold. More than usual.

The ER staff love to talk. Of course they do. But neither Jack nor you care about that. You’ve made it clear there’s an undeniable connection between you.

So, you’ve acted on it.

The last couple of months have been bliss, an unspoken understanding of exclusivity.

But now, Jack's been distant. Swapping shifts, avoiding working with you.

Was it something you did?

You've already double texted him today, wishing him a good shift and letting him know that Robby's asked you to 'babysit'.

How embarrassing. But you draft another.

"Heading to Pitt Fest now, will be up for some fun when you get home... ;)"

You delete the last part. God. Don't show your age!

"Heading to Pitt Fest now, see you soon."

You hit send.

Code Triage. Emergency Department Now.

The mass casualty event is in full swing. Patients come and go. Green. Yellow. Pink. Red. Black and White.

It's a haze of coordinated chaos.

Jack keeps trying to reach you in-between treating patients, leaving you countless voicemails.

Of course he would.

"Hey, Y/N. It's Jack. Call or text me the second you get this message, okay?" His voice trembles. "She's not picking up."

"I can't reach Jake either." Robby mutters.

"I'm sure they're ok." Dana offers gently.

Time slips away, minutes turning into hours. Their shift was supposed to end a while ago, but they've stopped keeping track.

"I'm going to check on triage." Robby announces, stepping out to help Shen and Ellis assess incoming patients. "No pulse. Black and white. Pink zone. Strong pulse. Unresponsive. No obvious GSW. Red zone GSW left chest."

A familiar voice cuts through the noise. "She was talking when we first got into the truck. T- There was so much blood."

"Jake!" Robby's at his side in a flash.

"Robby! Leah got shot. It's really bad...", Jake cries out.

Robby is at a loss for words, his medical instincts fighting the fatherly ones in a gruesome match.

"I've been putting pressure on the wound the whole time", Jake stutters.

"That's good. You're good", Robby reassures him, more for himself than Jake.

The team rushes Leah into the ER. Jake follows closely behind. "You can't stay with her. There's no room and we need to work on Leah right now", Robby says firmly, getting to work immediately.

Jack spots them and hurries over, panic rising in his chest.

"Where’s Y/N?" he asks, voice tight.

"I- I don’t know," Jake mutters. "She stopped Leah’s bleeding, then went back in."

"What do you mean?" Jack growls, trying to keep his voice calm.

Robby looks up, taking in Jake's words. The lines on his forehead growing deeper.

"People were screaming. The shots were so loud. She- She went back to see if others needed help." Jake's eyes well up, before he is wheeled off to get treated.

Of course you would put someone else's safety over your own.

Others might see it as noble, but Robby and Jack think it's reckless.

They exchange a look, knowing there's nothing they can do to reach you. To make sure you're okay.

Jack is called to another patient, while Robby proceeds to work on Leah.

Despite their best efforts, it's not enough.

Minutes pass. Jack watches Robby closely, his desperation becoming more evident by the second. Dana gives Jack a knowing look, recognizing the only person who can reach Robby right now is him.

Jack steps closer, glasses off, his voice gentle.

"The bullet tore through her heart", he says softly, giving Robby time to process.

"Anyone else with a wound like this is pronounced dead in the field. You can't keep up with the blood loss. If she was our only patient, we'd do a thoracotamy, maybe ECMO. But even then, I doubt we'd get her back." Jack's words hang heavy in the air, but he continues.

"We're gonna lose ten other patients if you put all your efforts into saving this girl." Jack doesn't let it show, but it pains him to see Robby hurting like this.

Robby does one final pulse check. But Leah's heart is no longer beating, the realization shattering his own.

"Okay, we're done", Robby whispers, breaking.

"We stopped at 19:47", Dana declares. "Move her to Pedes?", she asks gently.

Robby just nods.

"You want me to go with you to talk to Jake?"

He shakes his head. "No. No, thanks. I got it."

But another gurney is wheeled in. Robby notices first.

"Jesus Christ", he mutters. "What's going on?"

"Female. 30s. GSW to the right inguinal region. Retroperitoneal bleed", Dr. Mohan declares. But there's someone else kneeling at the end of the gurney, holding the patient's leg up. Robby and Jack's eyes widen, when they meet yours.

"The bullet must have tracked north and hit the external illiac", you state nonchalantly, ignoring the stunned looks from your colleagues.

It was supposed to be your day off.

"Dr. Y/LN did a REBOA in the field to stop the bleeding", Samira continues.

"You did what?!" Robby gasps, incredulous but unable to hide his pride.

Jack is by your side in an instant. "Are you shitting me?"

"Hello to you too, Dr. Abbot", you smile weakly, still focused on the patient’s wound.

Another time, your smile would’ve lit a spark. Not now.

Jack's anger is palpable.

You’ve seen it before, his cold, stone-faced demeanor, always one existential crisis away from breaking. But never directed at you.

"Are you hurt?" Jack’s voice is dangerously low.

He's scared.

Robby and Jack scan your blood-soaked clothing. You quickly dismiss their concern.

"Uncontrollable bleeding from a pelvic artery, no other options. I blew up a balloon in the aorta to stop the bleed. Going in a few inches, zone three, below the kidney. I just needed to hit the femoral artery."

You hesitate, but go for it anyway.

"Piece of cake", you grin, weaker than usual, but you hope they don't notice. They do.

"Radial's stronger." Mel confirms.

Robby and Jack both notice your uneven breathing but chalk it up to the stress and trauma you've experienced.

"Also, GSW to the chest, left hypochondriac region. Probable internal bleeding", you continue.

"No. That's not true-", Samira objects.

You direct everyone's attention to your own chest, your breathing becoming erratic.

"What?!" Jack's voice cracks, disbelief, shock and fear hitting him all at once.

You feel like you can hear your own heartbeat, the ER growing eerily quiet at your confession.

"Okay. Let go of her leg", Robby orders in an intimidating tone.

"Gurney!" Jack barks.

"I need to lock the balloon first." You stare directly into Jack's eyes, knowing he won't budge. You turn to your friend and mentor, pleading.

"Robby." He knows you're right.

"Do it." Robby nods, ordering Whittaker to check the wound once you're done.

"BP's 110, by palp", Donnie announces.

Jack remains frozen, his mind racing a million miles a minute.

"The balloon can stay up for an hour max. Get IR and Vascular on the case." Robby directs, before drawing everyone's attention back to you.

Your patient is stable.

You've done what you can.

But the blood loss is catching up with you.

"I- I think it's a through-and-through. My back hurts like hell and my legs feel funny." Jack snaps out of his trance, his training kicking in.

Robby lifts your top, shocked at the severity of the injury. Jack shuts his eyes, unable to stomach the sight.

It must be bad.

But it doesn't hurt too much.

Not a great sign.

"Okay. Stabilize her", Robby orders, multiple hands are on you immediately, steadying you. Grabbing the base of your neck, your shoulders and hips, securing you in place.

You're still sat on the gurney, but have now let go of the patient's leg.

"Strip her", Jack commands, voice low and firm, eyes dark and unreadable.

You try to lighten the mood. "Gee, buy me dinner first, won't you?"

A few giggles from the team, but Jack's lips are tightly pressed together in a fine line, facing downwards.

Dana cuts through your top, leaving only your bra. Unusual. But you're relieved to not flash your coworkers. You'd rather like to maintain the mysterious vibe you've got going on.

"Cowards", you tease. More chuckles, but worry growing on everyone's faces.

You whisper to Jack, "I'm sorry."

He doesn't respond. Can't look at you. Instead he orders a chest tube and a unit of blood.

A sharp gasp rips through you, the weight on your chest suddenly making it hard to breathe. "Fuck, that hurts." Any last traces of playfulness vanish, replaced by something else.

Fear.

Jack realizes he has to save his anger for later. "Hey. It's okay", a slight smile now tugging at his lips. "I've seen you worse", but the vulnerability in his voice betrays him.

Shit. It must be really bad. He's cracking jokes now?

Your anxiety spikes.

Is Jack about to watch you die?

You shiver at the thought. Or maybe it's the blood loss. Probably both.

Your vision blurs. Your thoughts get foggy.

"J-Jack?" You're not sure he hears you. Or anybody really. Did the words even come out?

Your eyes flutter shut. There are no more thoughts.

Only darkness.

Robby orders Jack to step back, the roles tragically reversed.

This is not exactly in our mass casualty plan.

Blood is for the ones we can save.

Ten other patients will die if you put all of your energy into saving this girl.

Jack’s own words haunt him, playing through his mind on a torturous loop.

He has been distant with you. But not because of your age, or your careers.

No, it's because letting you in means risking losing you and he knows he can't survive that kind of pain. He’s seen too much death, too much loss. And loving you only makes that fear stronger.

He looks at Robby, pleading for something. Then back at you, watching you fight for your life.

"I know." Robby is laser-focused, but shudders at the thought of Jack up on that roof again.

Painfully aware of the inevitable cost of losing you.

They won't. They can't.

Monitors and machines beep in a faint rhythm.

You wake, eyes heavy. A familiar figure is propped up in the armchair beside your bed.

He looks like shit.

Jack's wearing the same bloodstained scrubs, dark circles beneath his eyes, hair dishevelled. On second thought... it's a look.

"Hi, handsome", you whisper, unsure if it’s the relief of being alive, the pain meds or just seeing Jack, but a wave of comfort floods you.

He leans in, eyes wide with tenderness.

"Hi, beautiful."

His gaze radiates a warmth that kept you alive, even when your skin grew cold.

"How are you feeling?" His voice is soft. So unbelievably soft. The anger has subsided, but you know there’s a conversation you’ll have another day.

He takes your hand in his, squeezing it gently.

"Peachy", you exhale, giving him a warm and genuine smile. He returns it, his shoulders relaxing more with every steady breath you take.

You hesitate, but finally go for it. "So, about you leaving me on Read." Your smile turns into a familiar smirk. "You know only old people leave voicemails, right?"

Jack's breath catches in his throat, caught off guard. He chokes out a strangled laugh.

"You're unbelievable", he says, before leaning down, his lips brushing gently over yours.

The grip this man has on me I swear... Also, I'm still in shock from ep13 and I fear it's only getting worse... Jack being so rational about letting Leah go was So Painful, so writing this was very cathartic. Pls comment/share your thoughts below. ♡

#the pitt #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #dr abbot x you #dr abbot x reader #shawn hatosy #the pitt hbo #michael robinavitch #dr robby #jack abbott #jack abbott x reader #dr abbott x reader

3K notes · View notes

abbotjack · 3 months ago

Text

(18+ only) nsfw alphabet– jack abbot .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚

pairing : jack abbot x afab!reader

18+ MDNI—warning : dominant!jack, slow burn, public sex (on-call room/supply closet), praise kink, overstimulation, restraint/control, emotional repression, soft but possessive aftercare, rough sex with emotional weight. It's all smut so read at your own risk!

a/n : I fear I went a little too feral with this because why is this like 3,500 words. Also all of these are just my opinion! Maybe I'll do one for Robby next idk. But if you enjoyed this perhaps consider giving me a follow so you can stay up to date on newer stuff!

♡ A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Jack doesn’t say much after sex—he never has. But that doesn’t mean he leaves you hanging.

He moves like muscle memory: wipes you down with slow, practiced hands; helps you into his T-shirt without breaking eye contact; presses a kiss to your knee like it wasn’t just shaking against his shoulder minutes ago. His hands tremble a little, sometimes—not from the sex, but from the way you look at him after. Like you see through all of it.

And when you fall asleep against him, spine curved to fit his body, he doesn’t move. Not for hours. Not even when his arm goes numb. He just lies there, heartbeat still ragged, staring at the ceiling like he’s waiting for the world to end.

But when he does finally breathe—deep and full, like it hurts—he buries his face in your hair and says the one thing he never lets himself say out loud.

“Don’t go.”

You’re already asleep.

He’s glad.

Because if you heard him? He’d never be able to pretend it didn’t mean everything.

♡ B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His : His arms. Thick-veined, corded with muscle, scarred from combat and trauma and living too many lives. When he wraps them around you, it feels like armor.

Yours : Your hips. He grips them when he’s losing it, when he’s fucking you deep and saying your name like a warning. He’d die with his mouth on that soft skin just above your hipbone.

♡ C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Jack doesn’t just cum—he surrenders. He tries to hold back (he always does), but when it hits, it’s like a dam breaking. His whole body tenses. His voice breaks. He spills deep, possessive, groaning into your mouth or your cunt like he needs to be inside you to survive. There’s always a pause afterward—like he’s shocked by how much he needed it.

♡ D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He has a photo of you—nothing explicit. Just you in his bed, back turned, bare shoulders peeking out from the sheets, sunlight catching the curve of your spine. You were still asleep when he took it.

He told himself it was just the light. Just the moment.

But that photo? He looks at it more than he should. Especially on the nights where he’s on call and his body aches . He opens it, zooms in—not even to jerk off. Just to breathe. To remind himself there’s softness waiting for him somewhere.

But sometimes, after a night that’s been too long and a shift that took too much, he’ll sit on the edge of his bed, phone in one hand, the other wrapped tight around his cock. And he’ll stare at that photo, jaw clenched, thinking about how warm your body felt under his palms, how you sighed when he kissed the back of your neck.

You’ll never know about it. He’ll never show you. It’s not porn. It’s not even explicit.

But it’s the dirtiest thing he owns.

Because it’s real. And it’s you.

♡ E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Jack knows bodies. Intimately. Years of military life, adrenaline-fueled hookups, flings that burned fast and left no ashes. He knows how to make someone come hard, fast, and quiet. He knows pressure points, pace, rhythm. He knows what makes a body break—but not what makes one stay.

And then came you. And suddenly, none of that mattered. He learns you.

Because this isn’t just sex anymore—it’s a goddamn reckoning. Jack touches you like he’s afraid it might be the last time. Kisses you like he doesn’t know how to stop. Every time he fucks you, it’s a war between instinct and emotion. Between everything he knows and everything he’s terrified to feel. He’s experienced, yes. But with you? He’s learning all over again.

♡ F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

You, facedown, pinned under his weight, your legs spread, his hand wrapped around the back of your neck. Not choking—just anchoring. He likes knowing you’re there, fully his, every inch of him pressed to every inch of you. But he also loves when you ride him—loves watching your body take him, he is so greedy when it comes to you.

♡ G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Not in the moment. Jack is intense. Serious. But afterward, when your cheek is on his chest and your fingers are tracing the scar near his ribs? He softens. He smirks. Says things like “Didn’t know you could make that noise” just to watch your face burn.

♡ H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Jack keeps it neat. Always has. Military habit. Something about order, control—even in the most private parts of himself. It’s never been about looks; it’s about function. Clean. Trimmed. Routine. No fuss.

But it’s not bare. Never has been. That’s not him. And after you told him—quietly, shyly, your fingertips brushing his lower stomach—that you liked it, the way it felt against your thighs, the way it looked when you were on your knees? He started letting it grow just a little longer.

Not much. Just enough for you to feel it when you're grinding down on him, slick and panting, your body flush to his. Just enough that when you tug his pants down and your fingers slip into the waistband, they brush coarse hair and your breath catches.

He noticed that sound.

Didn’t say anything. Just… didn’t trim as short next time.

It’s a quiet thing. A choice he makes without ever acknowledging it. Jack wouldn’t tell you that your preferences have changed his habits—but they have. And he likes the way your eyes drop when he undresses, the way your touch lingers there.

It’s one more thing that belongs to you. Even if you’ll never hear him say it.

♡ I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Jack doesn’t do soft—at least, not like other men do. He doesn’t light candles or lay rose petals on the bed. But he holds your face in both hands after sex like he’s trying to memorize it. He strokes your lower back long after you’ve stopped trembling. And when he pushes into you slow, deep, deliberate, with his forehead pressed against yours, he says your name like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. He kisses you. Slow. Starved. Like a man who knows exactly how far he's fallen but refuses to stop.

♡ J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn’t do it often—not because he doesn’t want to, but because he can’t. Not when you’re not there. Not when all it does is remind him of what he’s missing.

But when he does? It’s always in the dark. After a shift. Alone. With your scent still lingering in his sheets and his body aching like hell. He pulls your shirt from under his pillow—the one you left after staying over, the one you said he could keep. He fumbles for it one-handed, already hard, already leaking. He buries his face in the cotton and groans against it like he’s ashamed of how much he needs you.

♡ K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Jack doesn’t talk about what he likes. He shows it. Quiet control. Firm hands. A mouth that worships. He loves being in charge—not because he wants to own you, but because he wants to take care of you.

His biggest kink? Obedience, but only when you choose it. When you’re writhing beneath him, wrists pinned, whispering “Please, Jack” like he’s the only one who can give you what you need.

Also? Praise. He doesn’t say it often, but when you clench around him and cry out and break, he grits his teeth and growls it into your neck :

“That’s it. You take me so fucking well.”

“Good girl. Just like that.”

You come harder when he says it. And he knows it.

♡ L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Jack wants you at his place. Always has.

His apartment isn’t flashy, but it’s his. Clean. Controlled. Quiet. And the bedroom? That’s where he lets go—not of control, but of everything else. That’s where he fucks you like it’s the only time he’ll ever get to. Where he strips you bare one piece at a time, lays you out on his dark sheets, and takes his time learning every inch of you all over again. Pressing you into the mattress with the kind of weight that makes you gasp, slides into you so deep and slow it feels like your spine lights up.

“My bed. My rules. My fuckin’ girl.”

And when he makes you come—back arched, his name bitten into your tongue—he kisses you like it’s the only thing that’s ever made sense.

That’s how he prefers it.

But sometimes? He can’t wait.

You know that look in his eye—the one that says I need you now. The one that burns across the ER. The one that makes you pause in the stairwell because he’s following too close, and you know what’s coming.

→ The on-call room

He locks the door behind you like he’s done it before. No words. Just hands. Rough. Skilled. Urgent. He lifts you onto the cot, pushes your scrub pants down, and slides his fingers between your thighs while your back hits the pillow.

“Already wet for me?” he whispers, voice dark and quiet, body crowding yours.

You nod, breathless. He kisses you like he’s starving and fucks you like he’s trying to keep you there forever. One hand over your mouth, the other gripping your thigh to keep you open, filled, silent.

But you’re not silent. Not when he whispers, “You gonna come for me, sweetheart? Just like that?”

You always do.

→ The supply closet

It’s tighter. Dirtier. The fluorescent lights hum above your head as he shoves boxes aside, pulls you into the corner, and pushes you against the shelving. His knee presses between your thighs, spreading you open. His mouth crashes into yours like a mistake he’ll make a thousand times over.

He hikes your leg up and thrusts in without preamble. You both groan. You’re still in your coat. His ID badge brushes your chest every time he slams into you. It’s ridiculous. It’s filthy. It’s perfect.

“Gotta be quick,” he pants, forehead to yours.

You claw at his back. You come with your eyes rolling and your voice cracking.

And when he pulls out, kisses you fast, and adjusts your scrubs for you? You swear he almost smiles.

♡ M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You. Always you.

The way you say his name like it’s a dare. The little sigh you make when you stretch first thing in the morning. The curve of your waist when you’re standing in scrubs and not even trying. He notices everything, even if he pretends not to.

But what really undoes him? When you touch him without needing anything. Just… because you want to. Your fingers grazing his jaw. Your mouth on his shoulder. Your hand slipping into his lap during a silent moment.

“You want something?” he’ll ask, low.

You’ll just smile.

“Just you.”

And that’s it. That’s all it takes.

♡ N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Jack draws hard lines. Nothing humiliating. No hardcore degradation. No making you feel small—he’s seen enough of that in the world and he won’t recreate it in the one place that’s supposed to feel safe.

Another limit? Emotionless sex. He’s done it before. He’s lived in it. He won’t go back.

With you, it has to mean something. Every time.

♡ O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He eats pussy like it’s the first thing he’s tasted in days. Slow at first—just his tongue flicking softly against your clit, building you up. He likes to tease, to wait for your thighs to shake and your hips to roll up into his mouth before he gives in.

But once you’re begging? He gets filthy. Hands pinning your thighs wide, tongue fucking you until you scream his name. And when you come? He groans like it’s his orgasm too.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Give it to me. I’ve got you.”

He loves how wrecked you get. How sensitive. How breathless.

And he doesn’t stop after one.

♡ P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Jack doesn’t fuck like a man in a hurry.

He takes his time—too much time sometimes. Because when you spread your thighs for him, when your hands reach for his body like you need it to live? He doesn’t rush. He watches. Studies. Breathes through it like he's grounding himself in the moment.

That first thrust is slow. Deep. Intentional. His forehead touches yours as he pushes all the way in, until your breath hitches and your fingers curl against his back.

“There you go,” he murmurs, voice low and ragged.

“Nice and full, huh? I’ve got you.”

He pulls out just as slow. Watches your face. Feels your cunt clench around nothing.

Then he does it again. And again.

And again.

He keeps that pace—not teasing, not soft. Just controlled, the kind of fucking that makes your thighs shake long before you come. He’s punishing in how patient he can be. Like he knows exactly how close you are, and chooses to keep you right there—hovering on the edge, dizzy, begging.

“You want it faster?” he asks, breath warm against your cheek.

“Then say it. Say you need me.”

And when you do—when the words finally break out of your throat—his hands grip your hips harder. He pulls out halfway and slams back in so fast and deep your back arches off the bed.

That’s when you see it. The crack in him.

Because when Jack loses control, he loses it all the way. His rhythm turns punishing. Relentless. That perfect control unravels in a blur of heat and friction and need. He presses you down into the mattress, fucking you with his whole body, like he’s trying to anchor himself inside you.

You moan. Sob. Shake.

He doesn’t stop.

Not until your voice is raw and your body is wrecked and he’s buried deep, groaning into your neck.

♡ Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Jack doesn’t chase quickies—but he doesn’t pretend he doesn’t think about them either. Not when you look at him like that.

Not when your palm rests on his chest for a second too long while passing in the hall. Not when you whisper something filthy against his neck just before rounds, smile innocent, and walk away.

He holds it together better than most—years of training, war, ER chaos. But you? You’re the thing he can’t regulate. And every so often, when the tension coils too tight and the shift won’t give him space to breathe, he takes what he needs.

He’s careful about it. Deliberate. And it’s fast—but not careless.

♡ R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Jack calculates risk like breathing—it’s instinct, wired into him from years of surviving things most people can’t imagine. He doesn’t leap into anything he can’t control.

But you? You make him want to.

He won’t take dumb risks—but if the room’s empty, the door locks, and your body’s on his mind all shift long? He’ll fuck you up against that wall with one hand over your mouth and the other gripping your thigh like he’s daring you to say stop.

♡ S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Jack lasts long. He wants to feel everything. Wants to see how many times he can make you come before he even thinks about finishing.

He can edge himself for what feels like forever, holding back even as his arms tremble from restraint. If you beg? If you plead? He’ll give in—but it’s never just once. He’ll take you again, slower. Or rougher. Or with your legs trembling and your voice breaking as you say his name like it’s the only one you know.

“You done?” he’ll ask, lips brushing your jaw,

“Or do you want one more?”

Spoiler : it’s always one more.

♡ T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Jack never went in for toys. Not because he’s opposed—but because he never needed them. He knows your body. He knows what works. His fingers. His mouth. His cock? That’s always been enough.

But when you brought a small vibrator into bed one night—nothing dramatic, just something quiet and simple—he didn’t blink. Just watched you lay back, already flushed, already wet, the toy pressed between your thighs while you looked up at him.

He didn’t say anything.

Just took it from your hand. Gently. Calmly. Pressed it back to your clit while he slid his fingers inside you and watched. Watched your body respond. Watched your eyes flutter. Watched you break apart.

“That’s it.”

His voice low, steady.

“Stay right there.”

He didn’t tease. Didn’t narrate. Just kept his eyes on you and held the toy in place while you came, legs shaking, breath stuttering.

Now? It lives in his nightstand. Just one. That’s all he needs.

He only pulls it out when he wants to take his time. When he wants to hold you down, watch you tremble, keep you on edge for so long that by the time he finally fucks you, you’re already half undone.

♡ U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Jack is brutal.

Not with his words—but with his restraint. With how long he can edge you. How calmly he can keep his voice as your hips grind against him, slick and desperate, and he still doesn’t give you what you want.

“Not yet.”

“Hold still.”

“You wanted this—now take it.”

He doesn’t tease to humiliate—he teases because he loves watching you need him. Watching you squirm. Watching you crack.

And when you finally come?

He leans in, mouth at your ear, and whispers :

“Told you I’d get you there.”

♡ V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Jack’s not loud—but he’s not silent either.

He breathes heavy through his nose. Grits his teeth when you moan his name. Curses under his breath when you tighten around him and drag your nails down his back. “Fuck. Just like that.”

He groans—low, deep, like it’s being pulled out of his chest. Sometimes? He growls your name into your neck right as he comes, rough and almost pained.

♡ W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Jack keeps a spare toothbrush for you at his place. He pretends it’s not a big deal.

He also bought new sheets after the first night you stayed over, because he remembered you said his were stiff and too clinical. The new ones? Dark. Soft. Worn-in. The first time you curled up in them, naked and flushed from three rounds, he just watched you for a second and quietly said :

“These work better, huh?”

You never asked him to change a thing.

He just does. Quietly.

Because you’re not a fling. You’re home.

♡ X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Thick. Heavy. Cut. Not absurdly big, but enough to stretch you open and make you feel it for hours.

Veiny. Warm. You can see it pressed against his thigh when he’s rock hard and pacing across the bedroom trying to hold it together. You’ve touched it over his jeans before, and he hissed through his teeth and growled, “Don’t start what you can’t finish.”

The first time you saw it? You went quiet.

“You okay?” he asked, cocky but concerned.

You just nodded and whispered, “Yeah. I just... need a minute.”

He smirked.

♡ Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Jack has a high sex drive—but he’s disciplined. He won’t beg. He won’t whine. He’ll just sit there, quiet and still, his cock hard in his jeans, watching you stretch in a way that drives him insane.

But when you give him the slightest sign?

When you reach for him first, or whisper that you need him, or crawl into his lap? He’s on you in seconds.

And when he’s had you once? It’s never enough. He’ll take you again. Slower. Rougher. Messier.

♡ Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Jack doesn’t fall asleep after sex. Not right away. Maybe not for a while.

His body stays there—solid, warm, wrapped around yours like armor—but his mind? Still on. Still pacing. Still waiting for the next thing to go wrong.

He’s not used to staying. Not used to being held. Not used to feeling safe enough to let his eyes fall shut.

So he watches you instead. Lets his fingers trace the length of your spine, barely there. Memorizes the shape of your body where it melts into his. Listens to your breathing like it’s his new heart rate.

And when you shift against him, soft and sleepy, murmuring something only half-formed?

He exhales, slow. Anchors you closer. Not possessive—protective.

“I’ve got you,” he says. Quiet. Almost to himself.

Eventually—if your weight stays against his chest, and the room stays dark and still—he’ll fall asleep.

But not because he’s tired. Because you are.

And because you let him stay.

#jack abbot #dr abbot #jack abbot x reader #the pitt #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt x reader #the pitt 2025 #shawn hatosy #smut

2K notes · View notes

7nuh · 7 months ago

Text

WAS IT 'CASUAL' WHEN...? — TWST 1ST YEARS

Headcanons on the 'casual' things you do with him that made him wish that there was something more between you.

CW 𓂃 sfw, gn!reader, reader is implied to fit in Deuce's clothes in his part, pining

CHARAS 𓂃 Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Jack Howl, Epel Felmier, and Sebek Zigvolt

AN 𓂃 mostly* edited now 😎👍

ACE TRAPPOLA — you slept in the same bed?

Ramshackle isn't exactly known for having the best facilities or furniture, and that is a fact Ace has to make peace with whenever he gets kicked out by Riddle. It's always a little too chilly at night and the floors still creak beneath his feet. Even with a makeover, half of the beds are broken and that stiff couch downstairs is your next best bet at getting some semblance of sleep.

You insisted you really didn't mind sharing a bed at all and Ace took you up on your offer. In his words, "if you say so then!" Just create an invisible partition down the middle and the two of you should be fine. Sure, yeah, that'll be infinitely more comfortable than the couch, and Ace absolutely agrees. He repeats the thought to himself over and over again— this is supposedly the better alternative, isn't it?

Yeah, totally. He tries to convince himself that it's really not a big deal for him to be inches away from you at night and feel your warmth spreading through the sheets. God, you'd think he's a weirdo if you woke up and caught him staring right now, but he could always twist it into a dumb joke about your sleeping face looking like an ogre. Consequently, he would have to watch your face twist in annoyance and pretend he wasn't watching every rise and fall of your chest. He would rather lose his magic entirely than admit the ugly truth and make himself vulnerable to you.

Ace does realize he's being embarrassingly sappy and romantic, and he's disgusted at himself for these thoughts, but he can't help it. He can't change the fact your lips look so soft and your eyelashes are so pretty. This is freaking him out so much more than it should. Does this really mean nothing to you? Do really only see him as a friend? Fine, then the two of you are just friends sharing a bed then!

It's really nothing! Ace was the one who joked about it months ago, after all. But things (and his feelings) have changed and he cannot ignore that. Back then it wouldn't have been such a big deal, but now it is and he cannot calm his heart down no matter how hard he tries.

You're right there. It's not the first time he had to share a bed with someone but it's different now because it's you. He did the math and the two of you are only 10 inches apart. Ace almost reaches for you in his weakest moment until he remembers that the two of you are supposedly just two friends sharing a bed. You're doing him a favor by sheltering him for the night, that's all.

Ace retracts his hand right away at the very last second. He might have as well taken the goddamn couch (lest either of you wake up in each other's arms).

DEUCE SPADE — he lent his clothes?

You came here with next to nothing. You had exactly one change of clothes and pocket lint for change, so Deuce, being the righteous and honorable student that he is, decided to lend you some of his clothes for the meantime. It's what a good friend would do! It's a temporary arrangement that would last only until Crowley spares enough change for you to buy another set of uniforms.

But this arrangement drags on for so long even when you have a functional closet and multiple sets of better-fitting clothes. Deuce never really noticed until recently that a third of your (albeit very limited) wardrobe actually belongs to him. But whenever you tug on his sleeves for his latest sweater, he doesn't have the heart to tell you no.

When he went home during break, his mom even noticed that certain sweaters and shirts had gone missing. "I left them at the college," he tells her as to not worry her. It's technically the truth— it's back with you in the college (and you're probably wearing them right now; the mental image is enough to fluster him all of the sudden when it never did before). He has to get them back eventually since those clothes are his. He's sure you wouldn't mind? Right?

Simply asking for them back is the difficult part for Deuce. You're there in front of him wearing one of his older shirts that fit snugly around your figure and he's at a loss for words. It's worn down and outright hideous as hell but the very first thought that comes to mind is that you look good in it.

Ah, yeah. You walk around campus on non-school days wearing his clothes 1/3rd of the time and nobody else knows that those jackets and shirts and sweaters and button-ups are all his. You make even the ugliest ones look good, or maybe it's because you're the wearer and you always looked good to him? Do his eyes need to be checked...? Deuce is tortured by these thoughts while merrily go about your day. You're laughing at something stupid that Grim said and he can't hear anything else. There's a fight in the courtyard but he can't see anything else. There's a midterm tomorrow but he can't think of anything else. You're too distracting.

When you finally do remember to return a shirt or two, Deuce tells you there's really no need to return them. He insists that they're better off with you, but you laugh and remind him that you're no longer the same pathetic charity case you were at the start of the year.

The truth is, your scent still lingers on recently returned shirts. It's the closest he'll get to being skin-to-skin with you, and Deuce is supposed to ignore that but he cannot. Or maybe he's the only one making this weird for the two of you because it doesn't seem to bother you in the slightest (and he's bothered by that).

But when Deuce looks at the recently returned shirts in his hands, he hopes he has a chance. He hopes you think of him as much as he thinks of you. He hopes the odds of him not actually liking you after all make your guts churn and set butterflies in your chest at the same time. He hopes he isn't the only one yearning for used shirts, lingering scents, and ghost touches. But at the same time, you've only ever asked these kinds of favors from him... Deuce doesn't want to assume anything, but a blush creeps upon his cheeks all the same and he continues to hope for more.

JACK HOWL — you played with his ears and tail?

Beastmen weren't a thing back in your world, so seeing them regularly made you morbidly curious about their animalistic features. Jack was easily the best candidate to satisfy your intrusive thoughts because just who else could you ask about this? Leona wasn't exactly an option and Ruggie might rope you into some scheme of his. And Jack owed you a favor, after all, so this is what you decided to ask of him.

Jack's ears twitched— did he hear you correctly? His face scrunches up in confusion because you barely knew each other for you to be asking something like this. How could you ask something so personal from him? It's in your innocently eager expression that he realizes what's going on... you just didn't know. Fine, it should mean nothing to you and thus he agrees to let you pet his tail and ears for five seconds. Maximum.

It's supposed to be a one time thing but he finds him involuntarily offering up his tail whenever you look him like that. He's not even sure how it got to this point. After all, there are romantic connotations of having your tail petted by someone else and... nevermind. Ruggie and Leona have started simultaneously teasing him over it the very moment they caught wind of this peculiar arrangement. It doesn't help that Jack's tail is particularly sensitive and reactive, but he keeps a straight face no matter how much it embarrasses him.

Jack doesn't understand why you're so fascinated by his tail and ears because there are so many others just like him. However, he supposes it's not an entirely terrible feeling, though, to have your fingers absentmindedly rake across his tail and hair as the two of you study. It's relaxing, even, but he won't tell you that. Jack will never tell you that it gives him goosebumps all over and makes him shiver whenever you play with his tail. Or that he's begun wondering what it would be like to have your hands elsewhere, or for him to touch you in similar ways in return.

He doesn't understand why he craves your company but doesn't question it either. All he knows is that your hands are so soft and gentle and that he likes the way the corner of your eyes crinkle when you smile in satisfaction. And when you hum a soft tune as the gap between the two of you closes, he wonders if he's the only one feeling this tension.

"Again?" Jack huffs. The pretext of this being a silly favor has been long forgotten. He should probably tell you soon that you shouldn't be doing this, but you just look so pleased with yourself when the two of settle down in a lesser-known corner of the library. The routine persists, the cycle continues. Hours later, the both of you have gone through multiple bags of chips, two movies on his laptop, and his tail is now comfortably curled around your abdomen as you read a book and he tends to his beloved cactus.

Again? Jack silently asks himself whenever he sees your face in a crowd. Could the two of you spend hours in a comfortable silence while the unsaid implications haunt him? He's started to ask himself— were you just playing dumb at this point or just plain stupid? Or what if you had known all along and the two of you were just dancing around it?

EPEL FELMIER — you kissed him?

Epel eventually learns to use the way others perceive him to his advantage; there's strength in appearing to be weak and striking when the iron is hot. Still, he couldn't help but wish to be seen for his talents and strength instead of his beauty at the first glance. The first assumption everyone makes of him, for god's sake, is that he's a fragile little thing from a rich family, and, quite frankly, he's sick of it.

So he's secretly delighted when none of his charms worked on you and you yank him by the ear for even attempting. A few curse words and rough shoves later, both of you are on the floor, grappling and wrestling against each other. The two of you are laughing so hard and swearing so loudly that you'll probably wake up the rest of Pomefiore at this rate, but neither of you care. It's just the two of you right now grasping at each other like your life depended on it.

It's a nice change of pace to be openly exchanging insults instead of restraining himself. He enjoys the comfortable rhythm the two of you share— from all the brawls and the bantering and the hugs and to the kisses on the cheek. Yes, kisses. They started as simple thank you's after a few favors here and there, and just one of them is enough to make a mess out of Epel for weeks. Better yet, you only seem to be showering him with more and more of your attention and he relishes in it.

Ah, things are finally working out for him! He found someone he could confide in and he's sure that there's a spark between the two of you. By the end of the year, he might have someone to bring home and brag about to his relatives—

All the momentum halts when he sees you across the hall granting the rest of your friends the same levels of affection. From all the brawls to the bantering to the hugs and the kisses, none of those were ever solely his to take delight upon. It doesn't matter that he opened up to you about all his fears and insecurities because he was never special. You were just the kind of person who got along and felt comfortable with everyone around you, but Epel hates that he has no one to blame but himself. He willingly walked your warmth but it was never his to take.

It finally dawns upon him that you have never seen him in a romantic light and that was why you were so comfortable around him. In retrospect, the bond you two shared was more sibling-like than anything— and believe him when he says he's incredibly grateful that the two of you were that close —but it doesn't make it hurt any less to know that your affections never carried any romantic intentions after he had pinned for you for so long.

Even when he takes a step back, you're cruel in a roundabout way by continuing to be so kind and loving towards him. How was Epel supposed to make sense of your relationship after realizing he misunderstood you...?

And he also hates to admit this, but his self-confidence takes a huge blow from this. Epel genuinely thought he could be loved for who he was based on the time you spent together. It gnaws at him and eats him alive to finally know the truth, and sometimes he wishes he never found out at all.

SEBEK ZIGVOLT — you wrote him love letters?

So, Sebek asked (demanded) to be penpals...

It's all because Lilia told him it would be a good exercise of diplomacy, he insisted. As the young master's bodyguard, he will have to be as courteous as possible even in unpleasant company. He also rationalized, admittedly partly because of you, that forging bonds with magicless humans may be a worthwhile endeavor after all! It's all rather suspicious (and you suspect his real intentions have something to do with your friendship with Malleus), but Sebek has never been one to lie about his intentions. If anything, the popular opinion was that he's a little too honest and should learn a thing or two about holding back.

There's something very unconventional in sending handwritten letters in this day and age of modern technology, but also something very romantic and fantastical— much like the many fictional knights he had read about. It helps a lot that he's not directly confronted by the fact you are very much a magicless human who shouldn't be in NRC whenever he spills out his heart's contents unto multiple pages. It was a way for him to release his frustrations, celebrate his achievements, and talk about the dull, little things thats happened in his day-to-day life to someone who listened.

And listen you did. Turns out, when you're not subjected to his 1000 decibel shouting, Sebek is a rather earnest guy who worked hard and acknowledged others who also worked equally as hard no matter their disposition. To say the least, you understand why Lilia found it so entertaining to tease him.

It completely flies over his head that you had been flirting with him for months through these letters. Your everyday interactions with each other had been completely normal, so how was he supposed to notice?! It takes multiple rereads and many late-night discussions with the other Diasomnia dormers to decode and understand all the double entendres and hidden 'i love you's' in each and every letter. It was so needlessly difficult, but Lilia laughs in his face and pats him at the back for a job well-done.

"There's no way," he thinks to himself late at night and finds himself doubting Lilia's claims for once. But when Sebek steals a glance in your direction and you smile back in return, he's never felt weaker in his knees. You're absolutely and undeniably magic-less... but somehow you had casted a spell that made his chest tighten and shut him up. He hadn't even realized how much time he was spending with you and thinking about you when he wasn't.

Except nothing has changed in-person. You're acting like you hadn't meticulously hidden your affections for him in those letters, and he was starting to seriously doubt all of it. Yeah, were you event smart enough to pull off all that? As some magic-less human?

Actually... Sebek realizes that you are capable of outsmarting him after getting to know you much better through those letters. He's never been one to deny where credit it was due. Now, Sebek's just deeply ashamed that he failed to accurately assess your character before making judgements based on superficial traits. He knows better than anyone that you're witty, charming, brave, kind, beautiful, ambitious—

Oh no.

Sebek simply explodes on the spot once he realizes that he had been oblivious to his own feelings for you too. He had thoroughly examined every aspect of this conundrum except from within. Quite embarrassing from an esteemed knight of the prince of nocturnal fae to be this slow, really.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #ace trappola x reader #deuce spade x reader #jack howl x reader #epel felmier x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader #ace trapola #deuce spade #jack howl #epel felmier #sebek zigvolt #i hope my favorite isn't too obvious el oh el

4K notes · View notes

justwinginglife · 5 months ago

Text

The LADS Men Catch You Masturbating To A Photo Of Them

Yall can read the title but this is mature content. Big thanks to @tbaluver my lovely beta reader who helped me not rip my hair out as I was writing and editing and editing and editing again.

Xavier

Xavier was frustrated again.

He knew it was his own damn fault for sending you a photo of him with his shirt slightly unbuttoned but it was two damn buttons. He didn’t think you’d be so hot and bothered by a single photo of him that you’d hide yourself away in your room and jack off to it. If he’d known you’d neglect him like this, opting to pleasure yourself to a photo of him instead, he never would’ve sent it in the first place. Sure, you hadn’t known he was awake, and sure you hadn’t known he’d been dying to see you, but you could’ve sent him a message saying you were horny. You could’ve asked for help.

Now he was sulking outside of your bedroom door, listening to you whimper and whine, and it was driving him crazy. Finally, he’d had enough, and without warning, he charged into the room.

You yelped and reflexively yanked the blanket over yourself. “Xavier! Wh-what are you doing here? I th-thought you were at home asleep.”

“So you figured you’d quietly get off to him and let me continue sleeping, is that it? Do you think I can’t satisfy your needs like he can?” His eyes darkened as he made his way towards you.

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Xavier. What do you mean ‘he’? It’s literally you. I’m getting off to you.”

He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above you, allowing your phone to fall to the side. “No, if you were getting off to me, it would be my cock getting soaked and not your fingers. Wanna try that again?”

You swallowed. “Please… please Xavier. Help me. Please, I wanna come on your cock.”

“That’s much better.” He growled.

He wasted no time at all in yanking down his pants and positioning himself over you. He dragged the tip of his swollen cock along your slicked entrance, allowing your arousal to drizzle down his impressive length. He slapped it against your clit a couple times in a teasing manner, but then finally just jammed himself inside you. Maybe if you’d approached him from the very beginning, asked for his help nicely, he would’ve been gentle with you. Would’ve taken his time to coax you open, would’ve eased his way into your warmth.

But you hadn’t even considered him as an option and it drove him mad. So he slammed his hips forward and drilled himself deep inside you, thrusting against your tightening walls with a punishing tenacity. When you whined, he silenced you with a devastating kiss, tongue invading you with overwhelming force. You’d remember him next time you were in the mood- that he would make sure of.

He spent the remainder of the night bullying his way through your pussy until you were cum drunk and sky high, shuddering through multiple orgasms, and slurring the words he made you repeat after him, “I promise I will only come on Xavier’s cock… I promise I will only come on Xavier’s cock… I promise…”

************************************************************************

Sylus

It was almost like Sylus sent you the photo on purpose.

He was half naked on top of a motorcycle, grease dripping down his toned abs, and smirking like a sinner; what girl wouldn’t come to that?

So when you suddenly found yourself tugging off your soaked panties, and settling into a comfortable position on your bed before beginning to tease circles onto your clit, you felt it was only the most reasonable of ways to respond to his photo. If he didn’t want you to touch yourself, he should’ve been there in person to let you touch him.

Little did you know, he’d come home early, and had begun to watch you from the doorway, eyes alight with both amusement and arousal. He’d intended for the photo to get a reaction out of you, but he hadn’t intended for the reaction to be quite so… primal. He continued to watch intently as you slid your slicked up fingers in and out of you, lust-filled eyes laser-focused on his photo. You imagined his abs were wet because you’d come all over them and it nearly sent your orgasm crashing into you. You bit your lip to stall its arrival, prolong your pleasure for a moment more.

Sylus watched as you sunk your teeth into your plush lips and god did he want to sink his teeth right into them next. But he stayed still, he stayed silent. Waited for the opportune moment to show his hand.

It wasn’t until you moaned, “Fuck- Sylus, I need you,” that he made his entrance, sliding onto the bed beside you. Before you’d even had time to properly be shocked, he was spreading your legs open wider.

“I think you can do better than that, sweetie.” His fingers guided your fingers deeper inside you, slamming up against your sweet spot.

You gasped and dropped your phone in surprise.

He watched as it fell to the floor with a smirk. “Looks like you’ll have to rely on me now.”

He spent the next few, agonizing minutes summoning your release with every deliberate stroke of his fingers, only to let it sink back inside you, before bringing it to your forefront again and repeating the cycle over and over. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you throbbed around him, desperate for one, single orgasm.

“Sylus!” You exclaimed in anguish, “Please. Let me come.”

“How badly do you want to come, kitten?” He grinned as he flexed his fingers, flicking them against your eager core once more.

“Badly.” You groaned.

“Ah, so not that bad then,” He smirked.

You attempted to glare at him but he cut you off with a sharp flick of his fingers. You cried out in pleasure and pain. “PLEASE- Sylus, I wanna come so badly. I NEED to come.”

He nuzzled against your ear, nibbling on your earlobe before purring, “So come for me then. Don’t hold back a single sound.”

A spark of heat flashed through you when you heard his words. Your eyelids fluttered shut as you clenched around both of your fingers, dancing on the edge of ecstasy. Then, your orgasm finally found you. You cried out his name as the warmth spread through your veins.

When your eyes eventually blinked open again, you were met with the sight of him licking his fingers clean. His wild eyes held your gaze and he smirked.

“That’s my good girl.”

************************************************************************

Rafayel

“You could’ve just told me you missed me, cutie.” Rafayel smirked as he stood with his arms crossed in the doorway.

Just an hour ago, Rafayel had sent you a photo of him shirtless on the beach and now you’d been caught red handed, masturbating to it. Embarrassing. If pressed, you’d argue that it was simply impossible not to touch yourself when faced with such a photo. You’d noticed he’d taken a dip in the ocean just before taking the shot because a tantalizing trail of water was trickling down his abs, and it was enough to get you dripping as well. Honestly, it was a wonder you hadn’t come already with how furiously you’d fingered yourself after receiving his photo. Anyway, he’d come home from his beach trip earlier than you thought and that led to your current predicament.

You bit down on your lip, blushing slightly. “I, uh… I missed you. Help me?”

“Don’t have to ask me twice.”

In an instant, he was spreading your legs apart. You’d assumed he’d take over fingering you and were, instead, pleasantly surprised when his head dipped down to lick a stripe up your glistening folds.

“Raf!” You gasped.

“Sorry… my lips are chapped from all that salt water and I’m just so… thirsty. I was hoping you could give me something to drink, cutie.” He grinned up at you before delving back inside you with his tongue. He wasn’t kidding about being thirsty. You felt him collect every drop of arousal from your quaking walls with each hungry flick of his tongue. You thought he might just drown himself inside you if he continued.

You attempted to pull away slightly, just to allow him air to breathe, to allow him a moment of respite from your suffocating warmth, but he pinned your legs in place before you could get too far.

“You think the God of the Sea is in need of air?” His voice dropped to a low growl. He looked up at you with dark eyes, as though offended at your underestimation of him.

“I think Rafayel is in need of air.”

His eyes softened slightly at your concern. Then his lips curled into a smirk. “Lemurians can survive the darkest depths of the ocean; I’m pretty sure I can survive the depths of my love.” He swirled his tongue around your sensitive bud teasingly. “But the real question is- can you survive me?”

He didn’t need your answer. He already had it the moment he buried his tongue back inside you and you responded with choked whimpers. He reveled in the sounds he drew from your mouth with every drag of his tongue here and there but what he relished even more was the moment you were convulsing against his tongue and coming down his throat. As you shuddered through your release, he thought to himself that he could honestly get drunk on the taste of you. One orgasm wasn’t enough. He’d have you emptying all evidence of your arousal into his mouth until he couldn’t taste anything else, until he’d forgotten the taste of anything else.

************************************************************************

Caleb

You had just sent him the most innocent looking photo of you. You were walking in the park, wearing a white sundress, the sunlight had caught your eyes just right, and your hair was blowing in the wind. You couldn’t have looked more perfect.

But you weren’t wearing a bra.

His first instinct was to look away, ashamed. But then he realized you weren’t here to scold him. So he took another peek. His pants quickly tightened around him as his eyes followed the curves of your breast through your nearly-see-through dress. And when his eyes settled on the peaks of your nipples poking through the sheer fabric, he bit down on his lip to keep the precum from trickling down his pants. He stained them anyway. He couldn’t help himself; he was hard as fuck.

You were still strolling through the park; he was sure he had time to relieve himself. So he made his way to the bathroom.

One hand gripped his phone tightly; he didn’t dare to drop it. The other stroked his aching length aggressively. He imagined the way your perky tits would bounce as he drilled himself deeper into you, imagined the way he’d stain your dress with his cum. He was so lost in his thoughts that even after he’d come down the toilet, he didn’t notice that you’d come home and made yourself comfortable in the bedroom. It wasn’t until he opened the bathroom door that he heard just how comfortable you were.

“Caleb!”

At first, he thought you needed him. He quickly rushed to find the source of your voice, worried you were hurt. Then he realized you were in the bedroom with the door slightly ajar, and his footsteps slowed.

There it was again. “Caleb!” You moaned.

His recently emptied erection flickered back to life. He thought you were calling his name because you needed him. He didn’t realize you were calling his name because you… needed him. Well, that was an easy fix.

He slipped through the doorway, ready to be at your service. What he was not ready for was just how debilitating the sight of you touching yourself to him would be. You had a shirtless photo of him propped up in one hand, fingers curled inside you with the other, thrumming at your insides with an ever increasing rhythm. Moments ago, he’d been more than prepared to assist, but now all he could do was stand and stare, mouth slightly agape.

“Caleb!” You exclaimed again. But this time, your voice was tinged with embarrassment instead of pleasure. His eyes found yours and he realized you’d caught him staring.

“Sorry, sorry! Just comin’ in to see if you needed some help.”

Your cheeks burned bright. If you’d had more pride, maybe you would’ve kicked him out. Closed the door in his face, made him promise to forget he ever saw you like this. But you’d been desperately chasing the high that was always just a fingertip out of reach, and you’d begun to get frustrated. “My…” You cleared your throat awkwardly, “My fingers aren’t long enough.”

He took a couple cautious steps towards you. “I…I can help with that.”

You swallowed as he settled onto the bed beside you. Caleb was always helping you. Helping you reach the nice glasses on the top shelf, helping you jumpstart your car when the battery died, helping you set up the wi-fi in your new apartment. You just never imagined he’d be helping you with… this.

You held your breath as he spit on his fingers, and released the breath in a low moan when he slid them inside you. In no time at all, he’d already found the sweet spot you’d been straining to reach.

“Fuuuuck.” You hissed, eyes rolling back as he caressed your wet heat.

He tried to focus on pleasuring you, on lavishing his attention on every spot that made you gasp and groan. But as you grew tighter around his fingers, clenching as the ecstasy built up in your core, he felt his pants grow tighter around him again. He bit down on his lip and tried to ignore his own selfish desires.

“You know…I can help with that.” You murmured, voice seeped in lust, as you laid eyes on the bulge in his pants. Your fingers danced around his belt, waiting for his permission.

He nodded a little too quickly and soon, he was fucking himself into your hand. It almost became competition, the way you’d stroke him faster and he’d finger you deeper.

He wasn’t sure who came first in the end, but he was sure he’d stained your dress. He’d have to buy you a new one. Maybe he’d stain that one too.

************************************************************************

Zayne

Zayne cleared his throat from the doorway.

Shit.

“You know…” He stepped closer to your bed, where you’d shrunken under the covers, away from his prying eyes. “When I said physical activity was good for you, I didn’t mean…masturbation.”

You swallowed. “I’m just… blowing off some steam?” You offered weakly.

If he had any witty remarks to make about your current situation, they quickly stuttered to a stop when he realized that you’d been holding a picture of him in your hand (and to his surprise, it was a picture of him fully clothed, in…surgical gear??) while you touched yourself. Crimson seeped into his cheeks and his ears soon followed. He started to talk but when no words came out, he cleared his throat again, sweat rolling down his Adam's apple.

“Would you…like some help with your… activities?”

Your eyes widened. Here he was, avoiding all eye contact with you like it was the plague, and he was offering to help?

He swallowed when you tugged the blanket off of you and spread your legs in response. “I… I’ll take that as a yes?”

“Yes…I… I want you to touch me, Zayne.”

His lips found yours in an instant. At first, his kisses were soft, tender. Then they grew increasingly more passionate as his fingers found their target. He moaned against your lips, heat enveloping him as you clenched around him. He didn’t dare pull away from your lips, partly because he was happy just to be kissing you, and partly because if he pulled away long enough to watch himself fuck you wide open with his fingers, he might just come all over his pants and his dignity.

Somehow, touching you was just as arousing for him as being touched himself. Somehow, every time you squeezed or squirmed, he felt your pleasure as if it was his own. Somehow, every torturous trail that his fingers teased into your walls was a torment to him too. Somehow, he needed your release as badly as you did. He needed you to come all over his fingers. He needed you to cry out his name. He needed you to arch your head back and let him devour the length of your neck as you rode out your orgasm. And he needed it like he needed air.

It was this ravenous tenacity that brought not one but two orgasms flooding through your core in a matter of minutes. Zayne completely missed the first one, still focused on wanting to take care of you, and you were too breathless to tell him you’d already come so he continued vigorously pumping away until you were overwhelmed by your second release of the night. It wasn’t until he began thumbing at your clit that you finally choked out a protest, tears in your eyes.

“Z-Zayne! F-Fuck… I’ve… I’ve already come t-twice… don’t you think you should give me a minute to…to breathe?” You begged in between panted breaths.

His eyes widened. “Twice?”

You let out an exhausted laugh. “So Doctor Zayne can find the g-spot just fine, but he can’t tell when it’s overloaded? A+ for anatomy, Doc, but maybe like a C for observational skills.”

He blinked at you. “You’re giving me a C? I’ve never gotten a C in my entire life.”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” You shook your head, laughing again. “Well, as your professor, I’m afraid I can’t award you anything higher than a C.”

“Surely there’s something I could do to make you… reconsider?” Suddenly Zayne’s slow, agonizing circles resumed on your clit.

You bit back another moan. Oh god, he was at it again.

************************************************************************

Taglist: @pixelcafe-network @ouiouimochi @minasfwoopyponytail @inkytypewriter

4K notes · View notes

asxgard · 3 months ago

Text

Semper Fi | [1/8]

Dr. Jack Abbot x f!doctor!reader

| Next

Summary: You’re the ray of sunshine to Jack’s rain cloud. What do they say about opposites attracting?

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: dipping my toes into writing for jack. i kinda love him and his dynamic with this reader, so that’s why there’s a question mark referencing the number of parts this will have. will likely be writing more for them.

(Semper Fi from the Latin “Semper Fidelis” meaning always faithful, which is the motto for the U.S. Marine Corps, but I also feel like it perfectly encapsulates his character)

starts roughly two years before The Pitt, making Ellis a PGY2 and Shen a PGY3 (also Langdon & Collins a PGY2, Mohan a PGY1/intern, and McKay & Mel would still be in med school, MS4). I also refer to the year by R#, meaning Resident Year#.

Word Count: 1.6k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content

Warnings: age gap (it feeds me/reader is late 20s, Jack is late 40s), foul language, people being bad at dealing with their feelings (…Jack), trauma, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies, sunshine/grumpy dynamic, angst, mild gore relating to patients, death mentions, mild suicide ideation/jokes

not beta read

You rolled in from out of town like a spring day, warm and sweet. Jack Abbot really had no idea what to think of you at the start, assessing you silently — it had to be youthful optimism. It had to be. You were likely closer to half his age and only had a few years as an attending under your belt, with a persona that oozed family medicine or pediatrics.

How the hell did you end up in emergency medicine? He knew that whatever hospital you had come from, the Pitt would beat the cheery right out of you.

Just one shift and all your sweet smiles and doe eyes would sour.

It rattled him that you did not. Not even after your first week. Not even when your gloves and gown were soaked in the blood of a car crash victim, or when the trauma room was loud with a little girl screaming, or when you told the parents of a ten year-old-boy that he was dying. You walked out of Trauma-1 with a long sigh and then continued on about your day — like exiting back into the main area had reset something inside you.

Give it a few years, he thought bitterly.

Hearing your laugh echo through the halls of the ED sent alarm bells ringing throughout his system — how the hell were you laughing? What were you even laughing at?

Aside from the handful of conversations you had had together regarding patient care, you had not said much to him. Perhaps one of the nurses had advised you to steer clear of him, worried his no-nonsense, rigid exterior would rub off on you. It was clear as day to see most of the staff enjoyed having you on nights with them.

You moved with purpose throughout the ED, checking on several of your patients before moving to the charge desk to do charting, or scribble notes. He had to hand it to you, you were efficient, despite your soft edges.

The charge nurse on nights, Bridget, was talking to you quietly when he walked by, glancing up at the board. The lull was rare, like the quiet before the storm, and he found it interesting that you took time to enjoy it. He was brutal efficiency, checking crash carts and restocking, never letting himself grow idle.

He looked back at you, “Gonna chit-chat all day?”

Your eyes found his and you only blinked, unfazed by his tone. “Everything alright, Dr. Abbot?”

He frowned before gesturing to the board, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Don’t mind him, he’s always like that.” Said Bridget, with a simple shrug.

You only smiled at him before turning your attention back to Bridget. You picked up a tablet, focused more on that than on Bridget, but you nodded along as she told you about her son’s most recent football game, still clearly engaged.

He minded his tone when he directed you to the ambulance bay to help with a GSW victim being wheeled in. You assessed the man quickly, moving alongside the gurney into Trauma 1. You made quick work of it, paging surgery and ordering a handful of tests, before putting your hands to work.

Jack nearly sighed in relief, knowing he would not have to hand hold — the last thing he needed was an attending who he needed to keep an eye on. He knew he would do it anyway — perhaps it was the military in him, constantly taking in input of his surroundings, never allowing himself to miss anything.

How you guided Dr. Shen with an echocardiogram to show pericardial effusion and allowed him to drain the fluid. Or how you handed tough cases to Dr. Ellis to help her learn while you stood ever vigilant by her side. Or when you sat with the intern, Sullivan, through losing his first patient. He didn’t hear the advice you offered, but he noticed that Sullivan got back to work shortly thereafter, looking less miserable.

He realized that he still didn’t fully believe that you were a perfect fit for the ED, but you were a sound teacher.

—

Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, or the Pitt as you had come to learn, was a welcomed change in your life. You had completed your residency and two years as an attending at New York-Presbyterian. You hadn’t fully intended to leave New York entirely, you just needed to get out of there — there was hardly any thought as to where you would end up.

Administration had needed you mostly on nights, which had not been your preference, but you didn’t argue. You took in your new workplace quickly, engaging with your new co-workers and trying to put your best foot forward whenever you clocked in.

While the Pitt was no less chaotic than the ED in New York, there was a particular restlessness you had begun to notice as the weeks ticked on. A never ending stream of patients, short-staffing and bad coffee seemed to weigh heavily on the ED, like it could never quite catch its breath.

The chief attending on your shifts, Dr. Abbot, took some adjusting to. He was nothing like the asshole at your last ED, but he usually had an stony, unreadable look on his face. You had never seen him crack a smile, and his gaze was more intimidating than you had expected. He had a habit of staring — not inappropriately, just assessing, just watching. Constantly observing the ED, patients, the board, you. It was not unkind, per se, but his eyes frequently held a heaviness that most backed away from — but instead of intimidating you, something instead took root in your gut.

You never took his demeanor to heart — he had been in the ED a long time, and with his calculated and calm practiced ease in which he operated, you suspected military training. The way he held himself, the way he moved, the way he demanded attention as soon as he stepped into a room did little to deter that thought.

The annoying little flutter made itself known every time you met his gaze in the weeks that followed, or when his hand met yours over a patient. It was frankly elementary, a stupid work crush — he was so much older, and he was your chief attending. Hardly appropriate. You still barely knew him, so it was easy enough to shove the feeling aside and work.

After one of the longer shifts where you had stayed an extra hour due to a hard to stabilize trauma, you wandered up to the roof. You had just intended to catch some air before returning to your apartment.

Just have a moment of solace to clear your clouded mind.

You were surprised to find you were not alone, looking across the roof to see Dr. Abbot. He was beyond the safety railing, overlooking the city, and a worry invaded your insides. Like in most things, he was just quietly looking over the city with a detached look in his eyes — not quite serious, but not entirely healthy.

You supposed this was how he dealt with a particularly gruesome shift. The topic of your own mortality was never a light one, but you could see how one might find comfort in the reminder of it. You liked to look at the sky, be reminded that life continues on, the world keeps spinning.

“So, you come here often?” You asked, startling him.

He turned to look at you, his eyes hard, “Do you?”

You shrugged with a smile, “I like to watch the sunrise.”

Abbot’s narrowed eyes held on you for several moments, before he turned back to the city, “Just spent the last hour and a half coding that kid…”

“I was there,” you said, stepping closer to the bars while still giving him ample space. “We did everything we could.”

His eyes were on you again. Sharp. Intimidating. “How do you do that?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, “What?”

He sighed, putting his hands back into his pockets like he was removing as much of himself as he could. “I don’t even know why I do this anymore. This job.”

“Because it matters.” You told him, looking over to the sun rising on the horizon. “Because we’re good at it. Because they need us. Because we need it.” You shrugged lightly even though he wasn’t looking at you. “The little things keep me going, mostly.”

Silence encased you. Most of your mentors had called that nativity.

“You know, a little girl tried to give me her stuffed bear today.” You said, glancing at him. “Her mother was coding and she wanted to give the bear to me, for luck.”

A simple smile came over your features. The mother and daughter in question had been hit by a drunk driver earlier in your shift — the mother had come in critical, while the daughter had come out of it with only a few minor scrapes and bruises.

“And those little moments? They’re enough.”

You breathed in all the horrors you had seen before exhaling them, giving them to the wind. Your mind would always be haunted by the things you saw, but you did always try to focus on the good, on the things you could control.

You both stood there together for several minutes. His outlook was not likely to change, not over some pretty words when he had spent his entire career pushing it down, and you weren’t looking to change it. But the quiet now resting between you? It was warm. It was something that was seen, like a shred of light trickling through the darkness.

He came back from the edge and moved under the railing. You moved off the roof together, a quiet understanding finally settling between you.

[ Next ]

Solely inspired by this post/picture that I saw last week

I have a similar idea planned for Robby as well whoops

(still figuring jack out so please forgive this && this will not be as frequent/consistent as some of my other stuff while i learn to write for him lol)

#the pitt #dr jack abbott #jack abbott #jack abbott/you #dr jack abbott x reader #jack abbott x female reader #female reader #semper fi series #semper fi multi #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #dr jack abbot x reader #im bitter it’s abbot not abbott

1K notes · View notes

bitters-n-sweets · 17 days ago

Text

run an ex — michael "robby" robinavitch x fem!reader You and Robby run into your ex-fiance, who apparently is sorry for what he did.

warnings: implied age gap, we hate your ex-fiance bcs he cheated on you with one of your bridesmaids, robby being a supportive king bcs he knows you can handle yourself, fluff (this can be considered a continuation of take a break, but can be read on its own) masterlist

It was supposed to be a quiet night.

Robby had come home on time after his shift, even left slightly early so he could prepare for his date with you. You’ve been wanting to try the new place down the street that looked like a piece of Little Italy tucked into the neighborhood, like romance itself, glowing in the corner with golden lights and ivy-draped windows. Somehow, Robby had managed to snag a reservation.

He’d worn his navy polo and beige pants that you said made him look incredibly sexy, and picked up flowers on the way to your place.

You, on the other hand, had gotten ready, wore a nice silk dress, the perfume Robby loved so much, and smiled when he handed you the flowers. You put them into a vase before the two of you left, walking hand in hand into the evening.

Now, you’re sitting in a corner booth, still hand in hand, sipping wine while you wait for your food. The low hum of soft Italian music and the clink of glass around you in the background.

“How was work?” Robby asks, his thumb brushing lightly over yours.

You shrug with a small smile. “It was okay—oh! Speaking of work, my manager’s getting married next week. Will you come with me?”

“Of course,” he says without missing a beat. “Your manager, Hannah, right?”

“Yeah!” You light up. “You remember her?”

He chuckles. “How could I forget your work-wife?”

You laugh, nudging his foot under the table. “She’s basically my own Dr. Abbot.”

Robby raises a brow. “Are you saying Jack is my work-husband?”

“Is he not?”

Robby lets out a dramatic sigh. “He is. We’ve been married for six years. I’m so sorry you had to find out like this.”

You laugh again, and Robby just watches you, his own grin tugging at the corners of his mouth like he couldn’t look away even if he tried.

Dinner ends slower than it began, each course giving way to warm conversation and stolen glances. Robby pays for the bill even before you could reach your wallet, and you smile appreciatively while he winks at you.

You loop your arm around his as you walk out of the restaurant, and stop mid-way when the door almost hits your face.

“Sorry—oh.”

That voice. Cocky. Familiar. Just loud enough to cut through the warmth of the moment.

Your stomach drops before you even look.

Robby feels it—how your hand stiffens slightly in his—and follows your gaze to the man standing in front of you. He had changed his hair, but you’d still recognize him anywhere. Ethan. Your ex-fiancé. The Ethan who cheated on you with one of your bridesmaids six months before your wedding, who didn’t even have the decency to tell you himself—you found out through a half-drunk voicemail from her.

Ethan stops, eyes widening when he sees you. “I—I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You straighten your posture, grip tightening on Robby’s arm. “Hi, Ethan.”

His eyes flick briefly to Robby, then back to you. He hesitates, “I’ve been meaning to reach out,” he says, stepping a little closer. “I—I owe you an apology. For everything.”

You don't reply immediately, just hold his gaze. He shifts awkwardly, trying to read your silence.

“You look... great,” he adds. “Really great.”

You take a deep breath. Robby doesn’t move, doesn’t interrupt. He just stands beside you, he knows you don’t need saving—but he’s there anyway.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot,” Ethan continues, voice softening. “I messed up. I know that now. What we had—it was real. I want to try us again. A new start.”

You blink, before letting out a breath that sounds like a laugh. “No thanks.”

You try to walk past him, but Ethan steps in your way.

“Please,” he says, voice low and desperate. “Just… give me another chance.”

You stare at him like he’s completely lost his mind. “You cheated on me with one of my best friends, Ethan. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

He scoffs, like you’re the one being unreasonable. “Okay, and now what?”

“Now,” you say firmly, “you get out of my way and out of my life, because I’m actually happy.”

He shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping as his eyes flick to Robby. “What is he, your sugar daddy or something?”

Your eyes widen.

Robby makes a face that says ‘you're in trouble now’, and calmly holds out his hand. You hand him your purse without breaking eye contact with Ethan.

“What did you just say about him?”

Shit is about to go down.

You step toward Ethan. He instinctively backs up, the shift in your energy obvious even to him. Right on cue, the waiter opens the door—Robby slides a generous tip into his hand just for that—and Ethan, too focused on you, trips over the steps behind him as he stumbles backward.

“He’s none of your business,” you say, voice sharp and clear. “But for the record? Robby is my boyfriend. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. He makes me feel safe, wanted—loved. He treats me like I’m the most important person in the world. And I love him.”

Ethan’s brushing dirt off his coat, flustered, when Robby walks past—shoulder checking him just enough to make a point.

“Oops,” Robby says with a smirk. “My bad.”

You don’t bother looking back.

Robby laces his fingers through yours, guiding you down the street like none of it ever happened. Behind you, Ethan’s voice fades into the night, muttering curses under his breath.

You just smile and laugh with Robby, hugging his arm.

#michael robby robinavitch x you #michael robinavitch x female reader #michael robby robinavitch #michael robinavitch x reader #robby x reader #robby x female reader #robby robinavitch #dr robby x reader #michael robinavitch x you #robby robinavitch x fem reader #michael robinavitch #michael robinavich x reader #robby robinavitch x you #robby robinavitch fluff #dr robby fluff #michael robinavitch fluff #robby x fem reader

904 notes · View notes

randompiecesofwriting · 28 days ago

Text

I'm Okay

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

Pairing: Michael “Robby” Robinavich x Reader

Word Count: 5.5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He knew better than to look to Langdon after that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Least he’s good at one thing”

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

“You were meant to”

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

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

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

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

“You guys are still here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Be careful today”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Robby needed this shift to end.

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

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

Then Dana’s phone rang.

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

Her red rimmed eyes were the first thing he noticed.

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

And Robby’s mind went blank.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t”

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

The hand retracted and you appeared on the screen.

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

Then it all broke down.

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

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

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

Instead you went after the man.

He could’ve screamed.

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

The scene suddenly cut back to Chuck.

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

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

“Robby” Dana tried to call his attention

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

“Robby”

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

“Robby”

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

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

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

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

Work, he could do work.

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

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

“Fancy seeing you here”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She left with little more than a nod.

“How’s he doing?”

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

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

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

“Robby then nap”

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

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

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

“Hey”

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t forgive you yet”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s your shoulder any pain?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Robby I-“

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

“I wanted to stop the bleeding”

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

“I couldn’t just let him bleed out”

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

“That’s not fair”

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

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

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

“Robby”

“Was it before or after you sent Jake ahead”

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

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

“There wasn’t room-“

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

You stayed silent beneath his gaze, offering no defense.

“Y/N”

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

“So you grab him and take him with you”

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

“So you just decided to do it to me”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re going to have a fight later”

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

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

“I love you”

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

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

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

“me too”

961 notes · View notes

dannydoesnotexist · 1 year ago

Text

Once again, THANK YOU OP, LIKE- JESUS FUCKING CHRIST

I for the first FOURTEEN YEARS OF MY LIFE (my mom) I emotionally abused and manipulated and gaslit, as well as threatened to be sent to a mental hospital (after being told that they were horrible and then later being gaslit into thinking that never happened and that they're fine) for expressing my want to go and seek help, I also had a horrible one-sided codependent relationship with my mother where I couldn't spend a whole *night* [sleep over] without her and without thinking I betrayed her somehow, she was controlling and I was *terrified* to ask anything of her because I didn't want her to yell at me and make me feel like I did something wrong by just asking a question.

I constantly felt the need to lie to her and I just *couldn't* be honest with her because I didn't want to risk pissing her off (later in life I would learn to track whatever mood she was in), I was constantly fucking stressed, high-strung, I had horrible anxiety and my grades were just dropping lower as time went on, I had so much missing homework and shit like that just because I was either too tired or just too burnt out by being the 'gifted kid' in my early life.

I was yelled at and laughed at for crying, told to be quiet when I laughed, and I got punished when i was angry, I was so stressed when I had to watch my sister at nine years old that I would *break down in tears* when she left us at the babysitter's because they didn't watch my sister and I had too and my sister was constantly crying because she was a toddler and wanted her mom. I cried on the way to the babysitter's because I didn't want her to leave since it took the whole day for her to get back. And so I grew up being taught that crying was weak and that showing pretty much any emotion was wrong and so my go-to emotion was anger.

Yelling was the only way I wouldn't be talked over and also the fact that I was constantly at my fucking limit (since I wasn't even in the double digits and I was worrying about paying bills and helping to make money) I was constantly in a bad mood and my mom would just be fucking condescending as shit which made me even more pissy, and as I got older and the abuse just went on the anger just burnt out and I was just fucking *tired* and *scared* of her I had anxiety attacks because of her and when that happened I would wake up and go to school early before she woke up because the next two days I *still* felt the panic in my chest. And then it got to the point where I was just tired of her shit, I ignored her when she tried to start fights with me and just began to isolate myself from her.

But I *understand* she has shit wrong with her (mentally, I fucking know she has trauma and mental issues because I fucking grew up having to deal with them first-hand) and I still care about her (I don't think I could ever stop) but that doesn't make the shit she did to me okay, and the fact that for years I must've deserved it I must've done something wrong because why would my mom, the person who's supposed to love me unconditionally, hurt me for no reason? It's fucking bullshit that people actually blame the victim JUST BECAUSE of their personality, like- you fucking idiots, people's personalities can be changed BECAUSE OF TRAUMA, I wasn't always the fucking blunt, sarcastic 'asshole' that I am today, but after years of being fucking chastised and made fun of for doing things I enjoy and expressing my emotions of course I'm going to be fucking weirded out when people can express emotions I'm a healthy way, or when I'm in a healthy environment or have to comfort some, BECAUSE I NEVER *GOT* THAT, SO HOW THE FUCK WOULD I BE ABLE TO UNDERSTAND IT? it doesn't fucking matter how old I was. If you never grew up using the internet, how the fuck would you know what to do once you do use it, especially with nobody around to help you or if you're just to embarrassed to ask for help, that's how it fucking feels.

It's not my fault I was never taught how to show emotions in a healthy way, nor have I ever been apologized to for people hurting me, but it IS my fault if I hurt someone else, which I thankfully have a lot of self control and normally end up only hurting myself but not everyone is like that, for some people anger can be used as a weapon or a shield so that they can't be hurt at all or again by someone.

But pretty much what I'm trying to get at is that I relate to this man so fucking much that it's probably concerning, I *understand* what fucking *years* of stress and worry can do to someone and their mental health, especially with the fact that he also probably grew up being told showing emotion was weak, *and* he also has to provide for another person (mentioned in canon how he makes sure that the consequences of Ed's actions don't bite him in the ass) of course not as stressful as taking care of a child while you yourself are also one, but it's still fucking stressful. And that same person you're taking care of doesn't listen to you and you do everything in your power to make them listen without wanting to physically hurt them and they just DON'T LISTEN, of course you're gonna be fucking pissed especially if the person is YOUR BOSS, not your sibling, cousin, child, friend (even if they may have been friends in the past it seems to be more of a workplace friendship now that they're older), or lover, but YOUR *BOSS* who you *love* who is ignoring you; who has known him for at least a *decade*, over someone who he's known for less than a week, yeah you're gonna be fucking pissed off and jealous.

And also with the fact that the crew doesn't seem to have any experience working on a ship, something you have been doing for most of your life, along with the fact that *your* crew died to save these people your captain said that you would kill (at least their own captain), yeah you won't give a shit about them so it'll be easier to do the job and also just the fact that they suck at their jobs and so you don't like them by principle, but you also don't wanna fucking die and *nothing* is going the way you want and it feels like the world is ending because you seem to be the only person who actually wants to do your job, yeah all that pent up anger is gonna explode in everyone's face.

And so yeah, he stabs the guy his boss told him they were gonna kill, WHICH WAS THE ONLY REASON HE STAYED ON THE SHIP, and then he's kicked off the ship, and yes, the show isn't historically accurate and these guys try to be kinda like the present where abuse isn't good but *Izzy* is still in the unhealthy, toxic-masculinity pirate mindset and so, what happens when your boss whom you have worked for for years, lets people you cared about (crew) die to save some random 'pirates' who are shit at their job and whose captain *chose* piracy instead of not having a choice, the same people who don't respect your authority that you have worked hard to achieve, then your boss doesn't listen to you when you try to talk to him about the shit conditions of the ship, then your coworkers seem to 'turn' on you because they choose to stop doing their jobs, then your boss doesn't let you kill the man he said you two would kill and then lets you get kicked off the ship? You get desperate, especially because of the codependent relationship you have with your boss where you are *nothing* without him, and so you try to get him back to his job by showing him that this 'whim' has gotten out of hand, but *then* he decides to once again choose a man he has only known for at at least a few months over *you* someone who has been by his side for his worst and best days, someone who knows him better than himself, someone who is so used to being depended (just like you depending on him) on by him that you don't know what to do when he suddenly pulls away.

So yeah he's an asshole and I love him because of it, but he's also a victim and you people need to pull your heads out of your asses and stop villainizing him. And no, I'm not saying Ed is a mOnStEr, I'm saying that they both have had fucked up lives and because of that fucked up mental states, but what I am saying is that Izzy has NEVER laid a (harmful) hand on Edward (not that canon has implied anyways), while Edward has mutilated him, forced him to fucking cannibalize himself, shot him in the knee, causing it to be cut off, tried to do a double suicide (implied by the gun having two bullets) with him by making him kill both of them, led him to trying to kill himself, then gave him a half-assed apology ("sorry about the leg"), I don't know man but that sounds pretty fuck up to me.

Yes, Izzy yelled at him (people say shit when they're mad that they probably wouldn't if they weren't, in s1 Ed was *literally* the only one Izzy apologized to, which shows that he at least cares about what he says to Edward and at least cares somewhat about the affect it has on him) and sold Stede out to the English and got easily pissed off at the crew but how the FUCK does that lead to him deserving to be LITERALLY *TORTURED*

Sorry if this rant is just me repeating myself, or is just all over the place, or just sounds biased I just have a lot of pent up anger about this 😭😭😭🖐🏻

cannot believe that 'yelling at your boss when he repeatedly almost gets you and your crew killed and lies to manipulate you into staying when you try to leave, is not emotional abuse, actually' and 'there is such a thing as a mutually toxic and unhealthy relationship where both parties are incredibly shitty to each other - and this is obviously where Ed and Izzy stand until S2, when it becomes blatantly abusive' is a controversial take. But as this is Abuse Apologism And Ableism, The FandomTM, I really should not be surprised

Just.

I was deep in physically and mentally abusive relationships in my teens/twenties - including relationships that started out with mutual toxicity and bad decisions on all sides, but which became outright physical & mental & other sorts of abuse with myself as the victim. I know my shit.

I suppose I can see where 'Izzy emotionally abused Ed' comes from IF people give literally the most uncharitable interpretation to Every Single Scene, and assume Izzy shouts angrily at Ed and negs him all the time rather than this being how he acts when he's incredibly stressed by circumstance caused directly by Ed and at the end of his fucking rope? Which, as we see in S2... Is not the case.

It's not freaking emotional abuse when you're shouting at your boss who keeps almost getting you and your crew killed. Even if this is NOT a kind or productive way to help Ed deal with his mental health, considering that Ed's actions have consequences that he repeatedly and blithely ignores, it's pretty fucking justified!

It's not freaking emotional abuse if your boss OPENLY LOVES MAIMING PEOPLE AND IS MORE THAN HAPPY TO BURN THEM ALIVE and you encourage that, while upholding his right to not kill with his own hands. Even if he has private breakdowns after the fact because he suffers from black-and-white thinking, dissociates himself from any wrongdoing, and is afraid of his potential to become 'a monster'.

Are these choices helpful? No. Are they kind? No. Is Izzy demonstrating Model Citizen Behaviour? Definitely not.

But it's sure as hell not emotional abuse. And it doesn't justify the physical and emotional abuse Ed puts Izzy through in S2.

Nothing you say can 'make' him hit you. If he chooses to hit you (or... choke you out then repeatedly mutilate you and pressure you to commit suicide and makes you constantly live in fear for your life and the lives of people you care about) he makes that decision himself. Yes, even if you shouted at him first. Yes, even if you were arguing. Yes, even if you were in the wrong in that argument. Yes, even if he has a Tragic BackstoryTM and mental health issues. This shit shouldn't be controversial.

Signed: one of those actual abuse survivors.

#prev tags:#izzy hands #israel hands #the izcourse #ofmd izzy #our flag means death #ofmd #to be clear: I think Izzy was an absolute shitbag in S1!#but. as someone who WAS emotionally AND physically abused just. Idk. The amount of straws people are grasping at #that's... not what emotional abuse looks like. holy shit.#if they were trying to depict that then they frankly did a really bad job lol #I think he was jealous and also worried for himself and HIS crew (who weren't the Revenge crew at that point in time)#I think he egged Ed on. But as we see REPEATED THROUGHOUT THE SHOW #ED DOES ENJOY VIOLENCE #HE LOVES A GOOD MAIM #HE BURNS PEOPLE ALIVE #THEN DISSOCIATES - that's what makes his character so fascinating and relatable to me! but he absolutely kills people #he just can't handle the reality of that or what it says about him #Izzy didn't 'make' him do jack shit. S1 is heavily dedicated to showing just how much Izzy never can get Ed to do what he wants #'Ed was afraid of him'?? wtf where do you even GET that from #if anything Ed is afraid of HIMSELF in that final scene. And he has good reason to be!#That self-loathing and fear of the self is INTEGRAL to him! See: when he's ACTUALLY scared of the fucking kraken #Anyway stop making both Ed and Izzy fundamentally boring by making one wholly good and one wholly bad lol #Izzy did bad shit. He got a good redemption arc and died. a lot of his fans are tired of that arc.#Ed did bad shit. He didn't get a good redemption arc and a lot of his fans are pissed about it.

173 notes · View notes

aureatelys · 5 months ago

Text

adore you

pairing: aaron hotchner/fem!bau!reader w.c. 3k a/n: written for @mggslover's 1k celebration event, congrats baby! i initially wrote 5k, hated it, and basically rewrote all of it but i swear i still had fun writing this. i hope you enjoy <3

summary:

Weird. You're acting like my boyfriend. - God Is a Freak, Peach PRC Your boss has essentially become your best friend. What the hell does Derek mean he looks at you a certain way?

c.w.: fluff! friends to lovers, age gap ofc, feelings realization, reader is oblivious and tipsy but is a consenting party

read below or on ao3 here <3

“So, you and Hotch, huh?”

You had just finished putting your coat up, stepping through the massive entryway of Rossi’s mansion, when Derek approaches you with that familiar shit-eating grin and hands rubbing together like he’s scheming something.

You blink up at him, confused. “Yeah… he gave me a ride.”

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head but still wearing that smile that made you want to lovingly punch him. “Yeah, I saw that. I meant, you and Hotch aren’t…?”

You squint at him, because you really aren’t sure what he’s hinting at. Also, a glass of wine has been calling your name since you started getting ready and Derek is very much in the way of that. Hotch was always annoyingly punctual, and today was no different because you were honestly about to open up a bottle when you heard his car pull up in the driveway. “We aren’t what?”

“Sweetness. You’re really trying to tell me you and Hotch aren’t together?”

You choke on your spit, coughing so loud in your fist that it echoes down the entryway and gathers the attention of Rossi and Hotch at the end of it. You wave them off when they both give you equally alarmed and concerned looks while Derek laughs heartily, like the asshole he is.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you hiss at him, slapping him on the shoulder as he nearly makes himself tear up from laughing.

Derek puts a somewhat apologetic hand on your arm as he steers you to the kitchen and pours you a glass of red, finally. “Hey, I see the way he looks at you, I just wanted to make sure I’m up to date on everything.”

And that catches your attention.

Your chest still aching from your coughing fit, you give him another perplexed look. “What? He looks at me the same way as he looks at everyone.”

Derek’s face morphs into a nervous, almost uncomfortable one as he starts slowly backing away into the living room, as if you were an unpredictable dangerous animal. “I think I’m gonna… look for Garcia.”

And then he turns on his heel and is out of the kitchen before you can blink, leaving you with your lone glass of wine and the sounds of laughter emanating from the patio.

You’re still so fucking confused, because you and Hotch were only friends. In fact, you can almost consider him your best friend with the way you two are spending so much time together, even on the weekends.

One late night spent in his office to work on reports that were due the next day that you had procrastinated on and ordering Chinese food eventually turned into a habitual thing, now spending the last hour of the workday every night in his office. Then, he started inviting you to the park to play with Jack who had apparently been asking for you, then staying for dinner because Hotch was not eating the way he should’ve been and him and Jack didn’t deserve to eat pizza rolls with mac and cheese every night.

It's been a couple of months and now, you can honestly say you two are nearly attached at the hip. You’ve tried to tone it down for the office, because you knew you would get teased, and clearly you were right.

But dating Hotch? Honestly, the thought had never occurred to you.

You’ve been single for over a year and you were okay with that, because at least the job kept you busy. And you know for a fact that Hotch hasn’t even thought about dating since Beth moved a couple of years ago.

The sudden thought of Beth, her pretty blue-green eyes and perfect hair, causes a sour taste to form in your mouth. You had never met her, having only technically heard good things about her, but every time you thought of her or someone mentioned her in passing, you felt… upset.

For no reason.

When you glance at Hotch from where he’s talking with the rest of the team on the patio, you catch his gaze for a brief second before he’s turning his head back around to chuckle at something Rossi says.

You feel your heart start to race, your blood rushing through your ears, because what the fuck did Derek mean when he said Hotch looks at you a certain way? You were telling the truth when you said you’ve only noticed him looking at you platonically and nothing more.

Sure, Hotch was conventionally attractive, handsome even. You guess he hit all your boxes in a guy; tall, capable hands, and pretty brown eyes. He was a good boss, a good man, and was always putting other people first before even thinking about himself. He had an intense sense of justice, loves children, and would do absolutely anything for his team and even beyond for Jack.

He has a nice laugh once you break down his walls. For all he’s meticulous at work, his house is absolutely chaotic and it takes you nearly an hour sometimes to get him and Jack ready for a soccer game. He doesn’t prefer to cook but he seems to enjoy it more when you’re in the kitchen with him, laughing at his technique and groaning about the lack of certain utensils.

The sudden realization that you like Hotch, your boss that is older than you by 20 years, hits you like a ton of bricks. You nearly snap the stem of your wine glass, something like panic and mortification climbing up your throat before you could help it.

It’s fine, you’re fine. It’s normal to have a crush on someone you spend time with on a regular basis and is conventionally attractive. You can deal with that.

But the absolute possibility that Hotch doesn’t want you romantically was very real. In fact, it had to be the only possibility. You were younger and less experienced, both romantically and professionally. The only reason that he’s been spending so much time with you was because you needed guidance and reassurance as the newest member of the team.

He doesn’t look at you any differently than the others. That’s it. Derek has no idea what he’s talking about.

You take a shuddering deep breath, quickly composing yourself because, hello, you work with profilers. Which meant you couldn’t avoid or hide from Hotch tonight, no matter how much you wanted to.

When you make your way out to the patio to join the others with a full glass of wine and you spot the only space left in the circle was between Spencer and Penelope, you internally thank whatever God was out there. The sound of them talking over each other about something inane was oddly comforting as your eyes met Aaron’s from the other side of the circle.

His eyes appeared golden from the numerous fairy lights strewn across Rossi’s backyard, making his face appear softer and younger. You’re not sure how it took you this long to realize he was so handsome.

He raises his eyebrows at you, silently asking if you were okay because, somehow, he’s grown to learn your facial expressions like the back of his hand, which means he most likely will catch on to you having a silly juvenile crush on him.

You give him a weak smile, raising your glass slightly before taking a large gulp of it. You’re glad that Rossi is Rossi and that he doesn’t spare any expenses when he throws his parties, the strong cherry flavor refreshing compared to your cheap boxed wine you’re used to. You don’t even remember what you were celebrating tonight, or if you were even celebrating anything at all and this was just another much needed get together after case after case.

You catch something soft in Hotch’s eyes that makes your chest pang painfully as he raises his own glass of whiskey before taking a sip. No one else has noticed, too enthralled by their own conversations, so the intimacy of the private moment doesn’t escape you, in fact making you even more anxious.

It was going to be a long night.

You are absolutely going to give Derek an earful on Monday morning.

It’s entirely his fault that you’re not enjoying Rossi’s party to the full extent, his words swimming in your mind.

Now, you’re psychoanalyzing and second-guessing everything Hotch does.

You had made sure to walk alongside Penelope on the way to the large round table for dinner, somewhat consciously as you continued to avoid Hotch but also because she was rambling about the show you suggested she watch. Spencer was on the other side of you, interjecting whenever he could, and you made a mental note that Hotch was still on the other side of the circle between Rossi and Tara.

So imagine your surprise when, after you tear your attention away from Spencer’s ramblings and back to Penelope, you’re met with Hotch’s pretty eyes and woodsy cologne instead.

“Oh, hi,” you say, hoping he doesn’t hear the shakiness that’s suddenly overtaken your voice as that familiar panic starts to crawl up your throat. This wasn’t going to be good.

“’Hi.” The corners of Hotch’s lips quirk up, eyes softening, and what the fuck is going on. “Can I sit next to you?”

You swear you’re going to have a heart attack. This man cannot be healthy for you. “Oh, yeah, sure.”

And then he’s pulling out your chair for you.

And it’s not anything new—he pulls your chair out for you all the time, in the conference room, in his dining table when you made not-pizza rolls, and even at restaurants the afternoons after Jack’s soccer games. You’ve never thought anything of it, but tonight, after your impeccably timed realization, your brain feels like it’s going to implode.

He’s just being a gentleman, that’s all.

“Thank you,” you manage out, heat starting to come to your face. Before Hotch, no one’s ever pulled your chair out for you. It’s nice.

Hotch doesn’t say anything, because of course not, just scoots your chair in closer to the table before he takes his seat on your right.

And he’s sitting really fucking close to you.

Have you always sat this close to each other before? You must have at least once during those late nights in his office, poring over case file after case file.

Not only could you feel the heat of his body just from sitting next to him, but his arm kept brushing up against your bare one while he ate, because of course you had to sit on the left side of a left-handed person. Every brush of the sleek fabric of his green button-up against your bare arm sent shivers down your spine despite the summer air, making you shift uncomfortably in your seat.

His hand kept brushing against yours as you ate and your eyes are drawn to how large his hands are as he handles his fork and the thickness of his forearms, having had rolled up his sleeves earlier. If you searched closely, you could find scars scattered over them through the dusting of hair, undoubtedly from his time on the job.

You don’t realize you’re staring at his Rolex and the way it glints underneath the lights, until Hotch is suddenly leaning into you. “Are you okay?”

Jesus Christ, hearing that smooth voice speaking lowly in your ear, breath warm as it fans over your cheek, causes all of the air in your lungs to escape. Has his voice always been that smooth, attractive?

When you risk a glance at him, conversations around the table slowly fading into the background, his face is merely inches from yours. His brows are pinched in concern and lips are pressed into a flat line. There’s something dancing in his eyes that you couldn’t quite put a finger on.

You clear your throat. “Sorry, I think the wine is just getting to me.”

He chuckles low underneath his breath. “Good thing I’m driving.”

And then he’s knocking the back of his hand against yours, the briefest brush of skin that causes electricity to zing up your spine, and then he’s back to listening intently to Derek and Emily’s bickering over who cheated at the last game of charades.

At this point, you think Hotch is able to read your mind. Why else would he be touching you, be sweet on you, if not to torture you?

You try to wrack your brain through these past couple of months, trying to find whether Hotch touching his hand to yours has happened before or any other sign that he actually is attracted to you. You come up short.

You chalk it up to him loosening up from his whiskey. He’s already moved onto water, because he was your ride, after all, so maybe this was a fluke. A one-off.

But it’s not a one-off. In fact, you think you’ve honestly died and gone to Heaven after suddenly tripping and breaking your head open in the entryway after Derek spoke with you. If you didn’t know any better, you would think you were actually on a date with Hotch, sans the rest of the team.

He must have noticed your distracted mood, because he’s making sure you’re included in almost every table conversation by glancing at you and giving you a smile that has started to make something flutter in your stomach. He’s participating minimally like usual, content to listen, but whenever he has a comment or thought he wants to share, he’s leaning in and sharing it with you.

He's leaning in to top of your wine, reaching over the table to get more of those green beans you like, and once even knocking his knee against yours underneath the table when you looked especially lost in thought while staring at your plate.

And then when the team has moved into the living room for charades, Emily wanting payback against Derek, it somehow gets even worse.

You’re quick enough to be the first to volunteer to not play due to there being an odd number of players, thus requiring Hotch to play. Everyone cheers teasingly, because Hotch is always quick to volunteer himself out of games, content to watch.

You blame the copious glasses of wine you’ve consumed and the decadent filling dinner, warmth thrumming through your entire body, when you poke at Hotch’s considerably firm bicep. “Show us what you got, old man.”

There are resounding oohs and aahs from the rest of the team. Something fuzzy settles in your chest when Hotch rolls his eyes good-naturedly at you and stands up from where he had sat next to you on the couch to JJ’s team.

You continue to nurse your wine, pleasantly buzzed, as you are thoroughly entertained by your team’s antics. Emily and Rossi argue at least 3 times, Penelope gets significantly close to having a private meeting with HR, and Hotch continues to stare at you.

Or at least, you think he’s staring at you. The alcohol has started making you second guess things even more than you already were. Because for some reason, despite JJ sitting on the other side of the living room and being on a team with her, he moved to sit in the empty spot next to you after the first round.

He’s definitely participating in the game, even in second place behind Penelope and Derek, but you swear you feel his eyes on you now more than ever.

It’s distracting as you try to follow the game and guess along with everyone else. This time, the right side of him is nearly molded against your left side, pressing into you so hard that you’re starting to sweat from how much body heat he’s radiating.

When you glance at him to try and catch his eyes, he meets your gaze steadily. His hair is starting to come undone, a few strands falling against his forehead, and his dimple seems to have made a permanent appearance from how much he’s pretending not to laugh at his team’s antics.

It’s nice to see him enjoy himself—a flush rising up his neck and shoulders relaxed. Although you understand he has a certain image he maintains for his team, it’s become familiar to you.

By the time it dwindles close to midnight, there’s a chorus of yawns around the group. Penelope’s the first to call it, stumbling to grab a hold of Derek’s arm and dragging him with her out the door to drive her home, ruining your initial plans to catch a ride home with her instead of Hotch. After that, everyone starts to say their goodnights and exchanging hugs despite the chance you may get called on a case as early as tomorrow morning.

“You ready to go?” Hotch leans to whisper in your ear, his breath fanning over you again and causing heat to rise to your face.

“Absolutely,” you exhale, clutching the water bottle that Hotch retrieved for you in the middle of the game, hoping the breathiness in your voice could be blamed on how late it was.

When you get to Hotch’s car, heart full and warm after spending another wonderful evening with your makeshift family, he opens the passenger side door for you.

You think you’re going to lose your mind if he keeps this up. How are you supposed to stop having a crush on Hotch when he keeps doing things that justify that crush?

“Do you need to stop anywhere for anything? Are you hungry?”

You blame it on the wine despite the fact you’ve been drinking nothing but water for the past hour, thanks to Hotch silently getting you and only you a water. Your body and tongue feels loose, inhibitions naturally decreased, and it’s not your fault. It doesn’t matter if the soft lights of the driveway highlight the sharp angles of his face or the way his woodsy cologne has infiltrated your senses.

“Weird, you’re acting like my boyfriend or something.”

The silence that ensues is deafening. Your brain takes forever to catch up with you, but then you’re suddenly struck with humiliation and dread. You mind starts to race, as best as it could, when you realize that you may have just royally messed up the best job you’ve ever had and the best group of people you’ve ever met.

Before you can backtrack and say that you were just joking, Hotch carefully says “Do you want me to be?”

“What?” Wow, you really can’t hold your alcohol well, why did you drink so much wine?

And then Hotch is stepping closer, into your space, and you’d be worried that the rest of the team was going to see if the car door wasn’t shielding you from view from the front of the house. You get a whiff of whiskey on his breath again, but when you meet his eyes, there’s not a hint of the same full body dizziness you feel.

“Was I not being direct enough?” There’s amusement sparkling in his eyes, eyebrows raised. He looks like he’s politely trying to hide a fond smile. He’s teasing you.

This Hotch is the one you’ve grown to become familiar with over the past several months. Charming and unafraid to tease you when you’re away from prying eyes. Hotch is a private person, always has been, so it’s not a surprise that him essentially torturing you tonight was his version of being direct.

“You’ve been flirting with me?”

Hotch ducks his head bashfully to chuckle. It’s ridiculously endearing and you want to tug him closer and touch him all over. “I’ve been trying to flirt with you all month so I’m guessing I didn’t do a very good job.”

You stare at him as if he grew a second head, suddenly feeling much more sobered up than 5 minutes ago. Clarity sluggishly comes to you. The various invitations to spend the night or go out to dinner without Jack comes to mind. The touching had steadily increased, but you had assumed it was just due to Hotch getting more comfortable around you.

For a profiler, you weren’t very good at noticing what was happening right in front of you.

Hotch may be a ridiculously patient person, clearly since he’s been content to flirt with you for apparently a month while you didn’t notice, but you were not. You knew what you wanted. The wine still thrumming through your veins just gave you that little extra push.

You place your palms on his chest, relishing in the subtle firmness you can detect through his shirt, and you wonder if that’s his heart you feel thumping erratically or your own. “I promise I’m not that drunk and am fully aware of what is going on right now.”

Hotch hums and places his hands on your hips, the heat of him searing through the fabric of your dress. His eyes briefly flit to your mouth before back up at you. “I’m not sure if I believe you.”

Instead of providing a snarky response, and because you know Hotch wouldn’t make the first move since you did have some to drink, you finally lean in to close the distance between you two to kiss him.

It’s soft, chaste in a way that makes you feel pleasantly warm all over, the barest tendrils of electricity tugging at the pit of your stomach. The intensity of how much you like him, how much you adore him, nearly barrels you over, but Hotch’s grip on you tightens, steadying you. His lips only slightly move against yours, as if briefly testing the waters, but it does nothing to quell the sudden desire slowly twisting inside of you.

When he pulls back, chest only marginally heaving, you instinctively chase after him. He chuckles again, low and comforting, as his hands come up to hold you still by the shoulders. It shouldn’t feel as nice and soothing as it does. “I should take you home.”

“Are you coming with me?” You sincerely hope that Hotch doesn’t question you and your boldness tomorrow. Again, not entirely your fault.

“I’ll walk you to your door, how about that?” As if he already wasn’t going to do that.

On the drive back to your apartment, the tight ball of panic and uncertainty in your chest quickly unfurls and is replaced by affection, tenderness, and promises of the future. Hotch’s hand, large and protective, doesn’t leave your thigh the entire way home.

You make a mental note to send Derek a gift card and thank you note on Monday.

#posting this and immediately going 2 sleep gn #lovers1kevent #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x reader fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fic #mine #criminal minds fic

1K notes · View notes

rynwrites4fun · 9 days ago

Text

Across The Hall (7) | Michael Robinavitch x Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Michael Robinavitch x F! Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Summary: Michael can’t stop thinking about that night with you. Conflicted but unable to ignore his feelings, he opens up to Jack about what you mean to him. Meanwhile, you receive an educational award, a recognition of your dedication and impact. There’s going to be a ceremony, and Aiden promises he’ll be there to support you.

Word Count: 8560

Warning: Age Gap (Mid 20s/ Early 50s)

Authors Note: Hi! Very sorry, I’ve been out of the country for the past week. I’m headed back home. I’m sitting at my gate in the airport as I type this out lmfao. Thank you for being patient. I worked on it when I had access to wifi. Omg when I saw that this part has 28 pages on Google docs. I’m shook lol. I know the slow burn is killing some of you (I’m a sucker for a slow burn I’m sorry not sorry), but buckle upppp bc it’s a long one! Enjoy - ryn

“Hey, are you doing okay?” Jack asked as they stood in the hospital elevator together.

Michael shoved his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jack gave him a look—flat, skeptical. “I’m not talking about work. I already know how you’re feeling about that. I mean… other stuff. Personal stuff.”

Michael’s gaze stayed fixed on the ground, but Jack didn’t let it drop.

Dana had come to Jack during one of the shift changes, asking if he knew what was going on with Michael. She said he’d been off all week, distracted, withdrawn, not quite himself—ever since the Pitfest incident.

She knew how heavy that night had been—how hard it had hit him. Robby was tough; she’d always known that. She knew the kind of trauma he carried, the way he shoved it down deep and locked it away where no one could see.

But it was something other than the trauma he carries.

Jack had shrugged it off at the time. “Robby being Robby,” he’d said. “You know how he gets sometimes.”

But he’d noticed it too.

Michael was present, technically. He clocked in, saw patients, cracked a joke here and there. But behind his eyes, there was nothing. Like the lights were on, but no one was home. And Jack knew Michael, he had known him for years. He knew how he operated, knew the rhythm of his moods.

But this? This was different.

That night with you, it had been eating at Michael. He couldn’t stop replaying it in his head, the way you’d found him crying in his sleep, how gently you’d woken him, how you’d led him, half-asleep and half-broken, back to bed. And how you didn’t leave.

You didn’t ask questions. You didn’t judge. You just laid beside him, quiet, steady, grounding. You curled up like you belonged there, the two of you wrapped in each other’s arms. And for the first time in what felt like months, maybe years, he let himself be held.

It had already begun to blur the lines between friendship and something more. But it wasn’t until the next morning that he crossed a boundary he couldn’t ignore.

You’d been looking through his old photos together, laughing at stories from his med school days, the two of you joking, flirting even. And then, the moment turned. Michael leaned in, hovering over you, too close, too much.

Michael, he didn’t say anything.

But that silence said everything.

And from that, Jack knew something was up. Something Michael wasn’t talking about.

So he shifted gears.

The elevator doors slid open with a quiet chime. They stepped out and made their way to the staff room, heading straight for their lockers to grab their things.

“Hey,” Jack said, casually, “the Steelers game is on tonight. Wanna come over? Hang out? Pizza, beer?”

He tried to keep his tone light, like it was just a regular night. No pressure. No expectations.

But the offer wasn’t really about football. And Michael knew that.

He hesitated, just for a second. Then gave a small nod.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, okay.”

—

They sat in Jack’s living room, the game playing quietly in the background. The pizza box sat open on the coffee table, half-eaten slices growing cold, a few empty beer cans scattered nearby.

At some point during the second quarter, with the game half-forgotten and the beer flowing a little too easily, Michael started talking.

Really talking.

He told Jack everything, from the beginning starting from the night Aiden flaked on you at Bella Notte to last week, and all the moments in between.

“I’m sorry, you did what now?” Jack laughs in disbelief, nearly choking on his drink. “You were hovering over her? In your bed?”

Michael groans, rubbing his hands over his face. “I’m not repeating what I said.”

“Oh, I heard you loud and clear,” Jack says, grinning like a kid who’s just been handed gossip gold. “But you, Michael Robinavitch, pulling moves? Moves that are—”

“Nothing happened,” Michael snaps, a little too fast.

Jack smirks. “Uh-huh. Right. Except something was clearly about to happen… if it hadn’t been, you know, interrupted.”

“I wasn’t thinking,” Michael muttered.“It just… happened. One second we were joking around, and the next… I don’t know. The lines blurred.”

“Oh, you were thinking,” Jack said, raising his brows and taking a sip of his beer. “Just not with your brain.”

Michael shot him a look. “Quit it,” he said, annoyed.

But Jack only laughed harder.

“I’m only teasing,” he said, holding up a hand in mock innocence. “But you’ve gotta admit this is wildly off-brand for you.”

Michael didn’t respond. He just took a long sip of his beer and stared straight ahead at the tv.

“So,” he said, quieter now, “is she still with her jackass boyfriend?”

Michael exhaled through his nose. “Yeah. As far as I know.”

Jack’s eyebrows lifted again, this time with something softer behind the grin. “Man. That’s rough.”

Jack leaned back into the couch, his teasing finally turning into something closer to concern. “You really like her, huh?”

Michael crosses his arms across his chest and leans back into the couch. . “Yeah. I do…a lot actually.”

Jack let out a low whistle. “That’s… complicated. Especially if she’s still with that guy. What’s his name again?”

“Aiden”

“Right, Aiden the jackass. Pfft, you could take him. I’d back you up. Oh! Or maybe our medical power tools—”

“Jack,” Michael muttered

Jack held up his hands. “I’m kidding! …Mostly.”

Michael shook his head, but the corners of his mouth twitched despite himself.

“I mean,” Jack went on, leaning forward with a grin, “I’ve seen you mad. It’s intense.”

“Jack, I’m not going to fight Aiden… or scare him with power tools. This isn’t high school,” Michael said flatly, shooting him a look. “We’re too grown for that—and you, of all people, should know better.”

“I don’t know…. you sound like a lovesick teenager.”

Jack just grinned. Michael thought he was absolutely ridiculous sometimes. They were both middle-aged men, for god’s sake—but he also knew Jack was half-joking. Mostly.

“Oh come on,” Jack said, undeterred. “You’re not gonna fight for her? I mean, you already blew the whole ‘just neighbors… just friends’ boundary out of the water.” He gave a crooked grin. “Might as well do something about it.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “It’s not that simple.”

“No,” Jack said, his voice softer now, more serious. “It’s not. But neither is sitting on this, torturing yourself every day while she’s across the hall and you pretend like nothing’s changed.”

Michael went quiet. His fingers tightened slightly around the beer can.

Jack watched him for a beat, then leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “You’re not a villain for having feelings, Robby. It’s not like you planned this.”

“I didn’t,” Michael said quickly. Too quickly. His jaw tensed. “But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s a mess.”

Jack shook his head. “You can’t control who you fall for. The heart wants what it wants.”

“I don’t want to be the reason she leaves someone,” Michael said quietly.

Jack gave him a look. “And what if staying is making her miserable?”

Michael’s mouth opened, then closed. He had no answer for that. He swallowed hard, the weight of Jack’s words pressing down on him.

“She deserves to be happy,” Michael finally said, voice low. “But… I don’t know if I’m the one who can give that to her.”

Jack leaned forward, eyes steady. “Maybe it’s not about being the one. Maybe it’s about giving her the chance to find it, whatever that means.”

Jack let out a quiet sigh. “Look…from what you’ve told me? The way you treat her, the way you look out for her, talk about her… You can make her happy. Hell, I think you already do. You just don’t see it.”

He gave a crooked smile, voice softening.

“I know I’m getting sappy here, but I’ve known you a long time. Years. I know your heart, man. And it’s a good one.”

Michael looked at him, something raw flickering in his eyes.

Jack shrugged. “Don’t let fear convince you she’s better off without it.”

He paused, then added with a sidelong glance, “And just because she’s young and you’re… seasoned—”

“Hey,” Michael cut in, shooting him a look.

Jack smirked. “—doesn’t mean you don’t deserve something real. Something good. If anything, it means you’d know how to appreciate it.”

He leaned back, his grin fading into something quieter, more sincere.

“You’ve lived enough to know what love really takes. That’s not a flaw, man. That’s exactly why you’re the kind of person who could make it last.”

—-

You were standing in the elevator when the doors began to close—only to stutter open again as Michael slipped through at the last second.

“Hey,” he said, settling beside you, towering just slightly, looking down with a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

“Hi.” You offered a small smile.

It was awkward, thick with everything unsaid from the past week and you didn’t like it. Neither did Michael.

Since that night, the two of you hadn’t spoken or seen each other much. And yet, just like him, you hadn’t stopped thinking about it that night.

“Were you stuck staying late on shift?” you asked, it was almost midnight.

He shook his head. “Nah. Normal twelve-hour shift, thankfully. I was over at my buddy Abbot’s place. We caught the Steelers game.”

“How about you?” He asks.

“Dinner with some coworkers,” you replied, then added with a faint grin, “And don’t worry, I’ve got my keys this time. I’m sober. No passing out in the hall tonight.” You tried to make light of it, referencing the last time you’d seen each other, hoping humor might smooth over the awkward edge that still lingered.

Michael chuckled under his breath, the sound warm but still a little guarded. “Good to know.”

“Any occasion for dinner?” he asked.

And just like that, the awkwardness began to slip away, the two of you falling back into your familiar rhythm.

The elevator chimed softly and stopped on the sixth floor. The doors slid open, and the two of you stepped out, walking side by side down the hallway.

“Actually, yeah,” you said, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “I’m getting an education award from the state.”

Michael’s eyes lit up. “Congratulations!” His smile was bright, genuine and proud. “That’s amazing.”

“Thank you,” you said softly, your gaze brushing before flicking away.

“There’s gonna be a ceremony for me and other educators receiving awards,” you added, voice light but a little unsure. “Dinner, speeches, the whole nine.”

Michael looked over at you, still smiling. “Wow. That sounds… fancy.”

You laughed gently. “It is. I guess,” you murmured. “It’s kind of surreal. It’s in a couple of weeks. I’m just not used to being… celebrated.”

“Well, you should be,” he said, voice gentler now. “You work your ass off. You care. That matters. Seriously, You deserve it.”

Your heart gave a small squeeze. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

The elevator opened on six, and the two of you stepped out in silence, walking side by side down the hallway.

“I haven’t told anyone yet,” you admitted, glancing down at your keys. “Nobody knows—besides the admin and staff at school.”

You hesitated, then added with a faint, ironic smile, “I haven’t even told Aiden.”

Michael’s brow lifted. “Really?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. “And now that you know, you’re officially the first.”

You reached your doors.

Michael didn’t say it, but he was glad—quietly, deeply—to be the first. He fought the smile threatening to give him away.

“I’ll see you later,” you said, unlocking your door and stepping inside.

The door clicked shut, and Michael stood there for a beat, staring at the door like it might open again. His conversation with Jack played on a loop in his mind—the way Jack had looked at him and said, “You already blew the ‘just neighbors…just friends’ boundary out of the water. Might as well do something about it.”

He didn’t have the courage. Not yet at least.

Then he turned to his door

“Michael, wait!”

He paused, glancing back. “Yeah?”

You reappeared in the doorway, holding out a small folded bundle. “Here—the clothes you let me borrow.”

“If I didn’t give them back now, I’d probably keep them.”

He smiled, a quiet kind of smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Would that have been so bad?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again—unsure what to say.

Why did I even say that? Michael shifted his weight, silently cursing himself. Real smooth—just keep making it more awkward.

“Thanks,” was all he said.

“Goodnight, Michael.”

He nodded once. “Night.”.

And when your door closed behind you, you leaned against it, pressing your hand to your chest, trying to slow a heartbeat. The flirting he’s done has been throwing you in for a loop.

—

You settled in for the evening, the steam of the shower still clinging to your skin as you stepped into fresh clothes. Aiden had come over not long after, casual as ever, his arms wrapping around you like nothing had changed.

You told him the news.

“That’s great, babe,” he said, planting a quick kiss on your lips without really looking up from his phone.

“The ceremony is in a couple of weeks,” you reminded him, watching his expression carefully.

“I’ll be there,” he said casually, finally glancing up.

“Really?”

Your eyes lit up with cautious hope, the kind that had been disappointed before. You wanted to believe him, needed to, but part of you couldn’t help preparing for the letdown.

“Yeah, of course,” he said with a grin, slipping his arm around your waist like that was enough.

You hesitated. “But… what if something comes up at work? You’re not gonna forget, are you?”

He smiled, brushing a thumb along your cheek like he was soothing a child. “You want me there with you, right?”

“Yes,” you said softly. “More than anything.”

“Then I promise—I’ll be there.”

You nodded slowly, forcing a smile even as something uneasy settled in your chest. You wanted to take his word at face value, but it didn’t feel quite real. Not yet. Not until he actually showed up.

“Are you sure?” you asked again, needing to hear it once more.

He laughed lightly, almost dismissively. “Yes, I’m sure! I promise I’ll be there.”

You let out a breath and nodded, trying to lock that promise away like it meant something permanent. And for a moment, just a moment, you let yourself believe him. You let yourself picture him there, smiling from the crowd, clapping as your name was called. Like he was proud of you. Like he saw what this moment meant.

But deep down, a voice you tried to ignore whispered: you’ve heard this before.

—

It was the night of your award ceremony.

Michael knocked on your door, shifting as he stood there, the bouquet of tulips hidden behind his back.

When you opened the door, he nearly forgot why he was there.

You wore a simple, elegant dress—nothing flashy, but it suited you perfectly. You looked breathtaking. It reminded him of that night at Bella Notte months ago, when Aiden hadn’t shown and something quiet but undeniable had begun to bloom between the two of you.

You blinked, slightly startled. You’d thought it was Aiden. But instead, there stood Michael, in his glasses, a t-shirt, hoodie, and jean. Completely casual. Completely him.

Michael blinked back, his mouth parting slightly. Speechless.

You furrowed your brow, half amused. “What? Is there something on my face?”

He shook his head slowly, like he was trying to clear it. “You just…you look beautiful.”

“Oh…” your face flushed, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Thank you.”

“I, uh—these are for you. Congratulations again on your award” He pulled the bouquet of tulips from behind his back, holding them out with a sheepish smile tugging at his lips.

Your expression softened instantly.

“Michael….” you sighed, the word tender, almost breathless, as you took the flowers from him. Tulips, your favorite.

You held them close, smiling up at him. “Thank you, they’re lovely”

“Aiden’s going, right?” Michael asked, his tone casual—but his eyes gave him away. There was skepticism there. Maybe even hope. Hope that, for your sake, Aiden would finally show up when it mattered.

“Yes,” you said, nodding. “He’s meeting me there. I’m catching a Uber”

Michael frowned before he could stop himself. Meeting him there? Catching an Uber? He wasn’t gonna pick you up and take you?

That didn’t sit right. Aiden should be arriving with you. Standing at your side. Proud. Present. Steady.

He didn’t say it, but it lingered behind his quiet response. “Right… yeah.”

You held the bouquet a little tighter, fingers pressing into the stems as if they could anchor you. You pretended not to notice the way Michael was still watching you—his gaze steady, searching.

There was so much Michael wanted to say to you things that had been sitting heavy on his chest for weeks. But he knew this wasn’t the time, and it certainly wasn’t the place. This moment wasn’t about him. It wasn’t about how he felt for you, or how much he hated the way Aiden kept letting you down.

Tonight was about you.

About your heart, your commitment, your quiet strength. About everything you’d poured into your students, your classroom, your community. You deserved to be celebrated—for the impact you made every single day, often without thanks.

So he swallowed the words he wasn’t ready to say, and instead, stood beside you in quiet support. Because that, at least, he could give you tonight.

“I’m uh- heading out actually,” he said gently, nudging his head toward the elevators. “I can walk you outside?”

You turned toward him, surprised but grateful. “Yeah… yeah, okay. My uber should be here soon actually”

You carefully set the flowers down inside your apartment, then grabbed your purse, keys, and phone. Michael waited patiently, offering you a small nod when you were ready.

The two of you made your way to the elevator. When the doors opened in the lobby, you stepped out together into the quiet of the apartment's entrance.

Outside, the air was cooler, the sharp contrast to the warm, crowded hall above. The city hummed in the distance, cars passing, faint music spilling from nearby venues, but it all felt muted, like the world had turned down its volume just for the two of you.

Michael glanced over at you, hands in his pockets. “You sure you don’t wanna cancel your uber? I can just take you” he says, taking his keys out of his pockets ” he offered gently. “I don’t mind.”

You shook your head with a small smile. “No, it’s okay.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm,” you nodded. “Thank you, though.”

He didn’t press—just stood there for a moment, watching you. Then he said, “I’ll wait with you, then. Until your Uber shows up.”

“Michael I’ll be okay, I don’t want to hold you up.”

“Like I’m letting you stand outside alone at night.”

Your phone buzzed. You glanced at the screen. “The Uber’s like… ten minutes away.”

“Michael, the Ubers gonna be here in like 5 minutes”

“5 minutes is enough time for something to go wrong,” he said, then added, “Or for nothing to happen at all. Which would be ideal.”

You knew arguing with him wasn’t going to change anything. He was going to stay—because that’s who he was. The kind of person who looked out for people, even when they didn’t ask. Especially when they didn’t ask.

You fought back a smile, despite yourself.

The sound of a car pulling up broke the quiet.

Michael stepped forward without hesitation, opening the door for you. “Here,” he said softly.

You slipped inside, the warmth of the car a relief against the chill night air.

Your hand lingered on the door handle.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

“Yeah of course”

Michael gave a small nod, his eyes steady on you for a moment before he stepped back.

The door closed gently, and the car began to pull away.

——

Aiden never showed.

You reminded him. Weeks before. Days before. The night before. You called, texted him.

And still… he never came.

Your coworkers asked where your boyfriend was or if you were there with someone, their smiles were polite but curious.

You gave a soft excuse. One that could have been true—Something came up, a family emergency.

You accepted your award, the weight of it grounding in your hands as the applause echoed around you. You stepped up to the mic, gave your speech—clear, heartfelt, steady. A smile touched your lips as camera flashes sparked across the room, capturing it all.

But inside, your heart was breaking.

You scanned the crowd instinctively, even though you already knew. Aiden wasn’t there.

You’d told yourself it wouldn’t matter—that the night would still mean something. That the recognition, the moment, would be enough.

But you felt completely empty. Alone.

After accepting your award, you made up your mind—you were leaving. You knew you should stay, celebrate the other educators being honored, but you just didn’t have it in you. The disappointment sat heavy in your chest. You had let yourself believe he was actually going to show… that this time, maybe, he meant it.

Clutching your award tightly, you made your way down the stairs of the entrance of the banquet hall, each step echoing your resolve to go home and forget this night.

Then you saw him.

Aiden was rushing up the stairs—out of breath, eyes scanning—until they landed on you. Both of you froze.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

“I—” he started, but stopped himself. He looked down, noting the award in your hand, then back at you. “I’m late.”

You blinked, slowly. “Yeah.”

“But…I’m here…”

“Only after the fact”

“I tried to get here in time. I really did.”

Your fingers clenched a little tighter around the award. You swallowed the lump rising in your throat and forced yourself to stay calm. “But you didn’t.”

He took another step closer, hesitant. “Something came up with the case. It wasn’t what I planned.”

You nodded, lips pressed together. “It never is!”

“You said you’d be here! I actually believed you this time. God, do you know how embarrassing it was? Everyone had someone supporting them, by their side— I was completely alone!” Your voice breaks

“I said I’m sorry!” he snapped, moving toward you. “I’ll go to another one. Come on, there’s gonna be others—”

“Others?” You stared at him. “Are you kidding me? This was it! I was awarded by the state, Aiden. This isn’t some participation ribbon! This was a big deal! A moment to acknowledge my dedication—”

He cuts me off “Okay, dedication for babysitting kids all day?”

You froze.

“Babysit kids?” Your voice dropped to a whisper, sharp and stunned. “Is that what you think I do? Seven hours a day, five days a week, 10 months out of the year?! Babysit kids?!”

Your voice rose. “Are you fucking kidding me?!” You wanted to throw your award at him for saying that.

“What do you want me to say?!”

“That you care! That you understand! That you see me!”

The words shot out of you like they’d been waiting, burning, buried for too long.

“That you love me…” your voice breaks into a sob

“I do love you!”

You shook your head, swiping at your cheeks with your hands.

Without a word, you continued down the steps, heels echoing against the stone until you reached the pavement at the base of the stairs, just outside the building.

Aiden followed you down the stairs, running a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I’m doing the best I can—”

You took a shaky breath. “I don’t need perfection, Aiden. I never did. I needed you to show up. And you couldn’t even do that for me.” You turn to face him.

“You’re being dramatic—”

“Dramatic?” you echoed, your voice shaking. “For wanting to matter? For wanting someone who actually sees me?”

Aiden exhaled sharply, looking away. “You always twist things—”

“I twist things?” you said, your voice rising with disbelief. “You forgot my award ceremony, Aiden! You said you’d be there. You flaked on dinner, never fixed the window like you promised, and you bailed on Career Day! Michael wouldn’t have—”

The second his name slipped out, regret slammed into your chest. You hadn’t meant to say it. You didn’t even know why it came out—but it had. And now it hangs between you like a lit match over gasoline.

You froze, breath caught in your throat. Aiden’s eyes narrowed. “Michael? As in your neighbor? What about Michael?”

You looked away, shame creeping in.

“What about Michael?!” he repeated, louder now, voice sharp. “You clearly meant to say it. So what—how long have you two been hanging out behind my back?”

“He’s my friend,” you said, trying to stay calm.

“Friend?” Aiden scoffed. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“Yes. Just a friend.” Deep down you knew he was something more.

He shook his head slowly, the pain in his expression unmistakable. “Feels like more than that.”

“It’s not,” you said, your voice strained. “It’s not like that.”

But it was.

You knew it, even as the words left your mouth. A lie—small, desperate, meant more for yourself than for him. You tried to deny it, to push the truth back down that you felt something for him where it couldn’t reach you.

“Then why bring him up in the middle of our fight?” Aiden shot back. “Why compare me to him?”

You exhaled, voice quiet but unwavering.

“Because he’s there, Aiden. He shows up.”

Aiden stared at you, stunned. “So that’s it? That’s the bar now? Just, showing up? What do you think I’m doing now?!”

“It’s not the same!” you snapped. “He remembers things I tell him! He asks about my day! He listens when I talk! He sees me!”

“Oh, and I don’t?” His voice was rising again, hurt curdling into anger. “Now I’m the bad guy because some neighbor with too much free time knows how to make small talk?”

Aiden's eyes locked on yours, hard. “So what, you want to be with him?”

You blinked, heart pounding. “I want to be with someone who treats me like I matter.”

That stopped him. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak.

You kept going, your voice quieter now—measured, but unwavering. “This isn’t about Michael. It’s about us. About how I’ve felt completely alone in this relationship. Like I’m constantly waiting…waiting for you to remember, to care, to just try! And in the meantime, someone, anyone, treats me like I matter, and it makes the distance between us feel even bigger.”

His expression shifted, guarded now. “And I’m just supposed to accept that this epiphany of yours, this sudden hunger to be ‘seen’—has nothing to do with him?”

A bitter laugh escaped him. “Come on. You’ve thought about it. About him. Don’t insult me.”

You hesitated. Just for a moment. But it was enough.

For a moment, he looked at you and something shifted in his face. A flicker of recognition, a crack in his defenses. But it didn’t soften him. It hardened.

He scoffed, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Wow. So that’s what we are now? A placeholder until someone else makes you feel seen?”

You flinched. “No-”

“No?” His voice was sharp, brittle. “Because it sure as hell sounds like you’ve already made your choice.”

Your chest tightened. “I haven’t made any choice. I’ve been asking, begging through my actions, what I do—for you to be present, to care about something that matters to me.”

“You think I don’t care?” he snapped. “I’m drowning in this case! I’m trying to build something—”

“And in the process, you’ve left me behind,” you said, the ache in your voice undeniable. “I needed a partner. Someone who shows up, even when it’s inconvenient. Someone who chooses me, even when it’s hard.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it, eyes dark and unreadable. For once, he had nothing to say.

You swallowed hard. “Michael didn’t take anything from you. He didn’t steal your place. You gave it up. One forgotten moment at a time.”

The silence stretched between you, thick and unforgiving. Aiden looked away, jaw working, emotions warring behind his eyes.

He shook his head slowly, voice low. “So that’s it. I screw up one night—”

You cut him off, fierce now. “It’s not one night, Aiden. It’s all the nights before this. The missed dinners, the forgotten promises, the way I’ve been begging for scraps of your attention while you bury yourself in work.”

Your voice broke, raw and honest. “Aiden, I’ve been right here, trying. You’re the one who’s been miles away.”

Aiden’s eyes burned with anger, jaw clenched tight. “So that’s it with us?”

You swallowed hard, your heart twisting. “No… I don’t know what this is anymore.”

“And what about Michael?” He spat the name like a challenge.

His eyes narrowed, voice low and fierce. “So all this time, you’ve been hanging around him? Thinking about him? While you’re still dating me?” He scoffed. “Unbelievable.”

You shook your head, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I don’t know what I’m thinking anymore! Part of me still wants to fight for us—for what we had in the beginning. But…” Your throat tightened. “I’m scared I’m holding onto a version of you that doesn’t exist anymore.”

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes, maybe, but it was buried just as quickly beneath the weight of his anger.

“I can’t keep doing this alone,” you added, almost pleading.

Aiden turned toward the door, jaw tight, ready to leave—but you stepped in front of him, blocking his path, desperation bleeding into your voice.

“Aiden, wait. Don’t leave like this. Please.”

He froze, but he didn’t soften. His fists clenched at his sides as he stared at you, his voice tight with frustration. “Maybe I should. Maybe that’s what you want anyway.” He paused, bitterness rising. “Someone like Michael.”

The name hung heavy between you—too loud, too sharp.

Your breath caught. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” he snapped, stepping back. “You say you don’t know what you’re thinking, but you sure seem to know where to run when things fall apart.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Just turned and started walking, fast.

You hesitated for a second—then followed. “Aiden!”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t even look back.

By the time you caught up, he was already in his car, yanking the door open like he couldn’t get away from you fast enough.

You hurried after him, heart racing. “Aiden don’t walk away! Just talk this out with me’”

“Talk?! Is that what this is?! There’s nothing to talk about!” he snapped, one leg already in the car.

“Aiden, please—” you reached out instinctively, desperate, your voice cracking under the weight of everything falling apart.

“Don’t.” His voice was sharp. Final.

And then he slammed the door.

The engine roared to life, headlights flashing, and without another glance in your direction, he peeled off—tires screeching as he disappeared down the street, leaving you alone on the sidewalk, breathless and hollow.

The sob tore out before you could stop it. Another followed, harder this time. Your whole body trembled. Each breath came jagged, raw. All the pain, all the emotions you’ve been harboring inside your heart finally made its way out.

You didn’t know how long you stood there, crying. The world blurred and shifted around you, cars passing like shadows.

Without thinking, you set your award down on the curb and pulled out your phone, fingers trembling as you dialed his number.

Aiden’s words echoed in your head—You sure seem to know where to run when things fall apart.

And maybe he was right.

But right now, you didn’t care.

Because with Michael, you felt safe. You didn’t have to explain every feeling, or hold yourself together for someone else’s sake. You knew you could rely on him. And tonight, more than anything, you needed that comfort.

You needed him.

—

Michael was at the bar with a mix of day and night shift crew, the usual haunt after a long, draining week. Some still had shifts ahead of them, others were finally off for the weekend, but for now, they were all crammed around a long high-top table, half-empty pint glasses and plates of shared appetizers scattered between them.

Laughter rippled through the group as John Shen, a nightshift attendant, launched into another story from his med student days—something about an embarrassing moment he had in med school.

Michael sat in his chair, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he took a sip of his water. He was just starting to relax when he felt the buzz of his phone in his jeans pocket.

He fished it out, still half-listening to the punchline, until he saw the name on the screen.

His smile faded.

Your name flashed across the screen.

Sliding his finger across to answer, he pressed the phone to his ear, covering the other with his hand to block out the bar noise.

“Hello?”

“Michael?”

Your voice was soft, shaky. Just the way you said his name made something twist deep in his chest.

Something was wrong.

“What happened? You okay?” he asked, already leaning off the barstool.

“Alright, who wants another round?” Mateo Diaz, one of the dayshift nurses called out as he stood.

“Blue Moon!” someone shouted.

“Vodka soda!”

“Whiskey, neat!”

“Dr Robby, drink?” Mateo asked, raising his nearly empty beer glass toward him.

Michael shook his head, hand pressed tighter over his free ear to hear you better.

The voices on your end were quieter—but over the bar’s noise, he could still hear your breath catch.

You hesitated. Then, hearing the laughter and clinking glasses on his end, you spoke again, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Shit… right, you’re busy. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just—”

He heard it then.

Not just the words, but the way your voice cracked on the last syllable, small and raw. You were crying.

He tried to keep it light, just enough to steady you. “Changed your mind about the Uber, huh?”

He knew it wasn’t the best time for jokes, but maybe—just maybe—you’d give him the faintest laugh.

“Something like that.”

He closed his eyes briefly. He didn’t want to assume—but his mind was already jumping to the only explanation that made sense.

Aiden.

“Yeah. Text me where the ceremony is,” he said, voice low and steady. “Hang tight—I’m on my way.”

“Okay.”

“Hey—don’t wait outside for me, alright? Stay in the lobby. I’ll come get you. I’ll see you in a few”

He hung up. Michael headed back over to the table grabbing his hoodie from the stool he was occupying moments ago.

“Hey—everything good?” Jack asked, frowning as he turned toward him.

Michael shook his head, jaw tight. “Jackass Aiden…I don’t think he show up for her award ceremony”

“You’re kidding,” Jack muttered, equal parts disbelief and disgust.

“Just- something happened. I’m gonna go get her.”

“Wait—damn. I was supposed to be Mohan’s DD tonight,” Michael said, suddenly remembering. “You think—?”

“I got Samira. I only had one—I’ll call it a night on drinks,” Jack said.

“Mo!” Michael called out across the table.

Samira Mohan, still in her scrubs with her hair pinned back, looked up.

“I gotta head out. But Abbot’s gonna give you a ride, okay?” he said, giving Jack’s shoulder a squeeze.

Samira glanced between the two of them, then nodded. “Okay.”

Jack offered her a small smile, nodding. She returned it, soft and understanding.

Jack looked away from her gaze, still a little embarrassed about the time he’d awkwardly tried to flirt with Samira—right after a heart procedure, during the chaos of the PittFest incident.

It hadn’t landed.

She’d just stared at him, confused, like he’d spoken a language she didn’t understand. The whole thing had gone completely over her head, and honestly… he was still recovering.

There was a quiet admiration he held for her, one he didn’t quite know what to do with.

“Dr. Robby leaving already?” Mel King, a resident, sat back straight on her stool with her club soda in front of her.

Trinity Santo, an intern at the edge of the table, arched a brow at him. Next to her sat Dennis Whitaker, a fourth year med student.

“Something came up. I gotta head out,” Michael replied, already pulling on his hoodie.

Mateo returned just then, balancing a tray of drinks. He paused when he saw Michael slipping away.

“What? No way! It can’t be your bedtime already, Dr Robby!” Mateo cracked, handing out bottles and glasses with a grin.

Michael rolled his eyes. “Get home safe, all of you. Make good choices!”

A scattered chorus of “Later, Robby!” And goodbyes followed him.

Princess Dela Cruz and Perla Alawi leaned toward each other, whispering in Tagalog, eyes tracking Michael as he left.

“What, are you too gossiping about now?” Jack raises his eyebrow.

“Nothing” they say at the same time.

Trinity, who’d been quietly sipping her drink, looked up with a smirk. “Apparently… rumor has it Robby has a girlfriend.”

Both Princess and Perla snapped their heads toward her.

“Traitor!” Perla hissed.

“What?” Trinity shrugged, totally unfazed. “You know I speak Tagalog, And anyway, it’s not like you guys were being subtle. Everyone in the ER was gonna find out eventually. Might as well start the betting pool now.”

“Aww, Dr. Robby has a girlfriend?” Mel cooed, genuinely delighted. “That’s sweet.”

“No way Robby has a girlfriend,” Mateo said flatly, shaking his head. “I mean it’s Robby. He’s been lone wolfing it for a while”

“You’d be surprised. He dated Jake’s mom—Janey—but that was ages ago,” Princess pointed out.

“I heard from someone that he had dated Dr. Collins,” Samira chimed in.

“Did he really?” Dennis asked, brows furrowing in surprise. “I thought they just…butted heads each other.”

“I think they did,” Perla said, lowering her voice with dramatic flair. “There was a lot of tension between them back in the day. Like, a lot.” She nods knowingly.

“But he's attending and she’s a resident…that is not allowed?” Mel speaks up

“We’ve seen a lot of things—but hey, that’s none of our business.” Princess says

“Yeah, but you still gossip about it.” Trinity side eyes Princess.

“Well, we work twelve-hour shifts. Gotta keep ourselves entertained somehow.”

“Entertained?” Samira snorted. “You practically run the hospital’s rumor mill.”

“Oh my god, would you all quit it?” Jack cut in, laughing. “We’re really sitting here dissecting Robby’s dating history?”

“If anyone should know his dating history it’s you! You’re his best friend! He tells you everything,” Princess said, pointing her straw at him.

“Not everything,” Jack said, holding up a finger.

“Eh, but mostly everything,” Perla teased.

“So tell us,” John said, looking straight at Jack. “Robby got a girlfriend? Is that who he’s ditching us to run off to?”

The entire table went still. Drinks paused mid-air halfway to lips.

All eyes locked on Jack.

He sighed, leaned back in his chair, and gave them that maddening, unreadable expression.

“I can neither confirm nor deny.”

There was a beat of silence—

Then Trinity slapped her hand on the table. “Twenty bucks says he is.”

“I’m in,” Dennis said quickly, already pulling out his phone to keep track of the amount and who was betting.

“Are you guys serious right now?” Samira laughed, raising an eyebrow as the table lit up with energy. “We’re betting?” Samira raised an eyebrow, but she was smiling.

“Thirty says she works at the hospital,” Princess grinned.

“Fifty says she doesn’t even work in medicine,” Perla added.

The table erupted into overlapping chatter and laughter, everyone talking over each other, money getting thrown down, wild theories flying left and right.

Mel, sitting back, shook her head with a small smile. “You’re all ridiculous. Leave the poor guy alone.”

“We should get more staff in on this. You know who’d be all over this? Becky from pre-op. She’s got spreadsheets for this kind of thing.”

“Oh God,” Jack groaned. “Please don’t start a bracket.”

“He’s gonna have your asses when he finds out you’re making bets on his relationship status,” Jack warned.

“Well, he doesn’t need to know… now does he?” someone quipped.

“This is good for group morale,” Perla added innocently. “You know—bringing us together as one.”

Jack just groaned, rolling his eyes—but he couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped out.

——

Michael saw you.

You were sitting on the steps outside, arms wrapped tightly around yourself like they were the only thing holding you together.

He called out your name, voice laced with concern.

You turned, eyes swollen, face streaked with tears.

“Michael,” you breathed. You stood up.

Without another word, he closed the distance between you and wrapped you in his arms, gently pulling you into him.

“I told you to wait inside,” he said softly.

His arms encircled you—steady, warm, protective. His grip was firm, grounding you as you broke down against his chest. One hand stroked your hair, slow and soothing, while his chin came to rest lightly on the crown of your head.

He let you cry, saying nothing. Just held you, patient and silent.

After a while, when your sobs had softened, he finally spoke.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice low. “Look at me.”

But you only cling to him tighter.

“Sweetheart,” he says, softer now. “Look at me.”

The term of endearment catches you off guard. You sniffle and glance up at him through damp lashes.

He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb gently wiping away the tears on your cheek.

“Are you hurt at all?” he asks, pulling back just enough to assess you, the ER doctor flickering through in his careful gaze.

You see the worry in his eyes..

You shake your head.

He studies you for another long moment.

“You sure?” he asks, dipping his head slightly, trying to catch your gaze as your eyes dart away.

He searches your face, quietly, carefully—looking for the truth. For any flicker of doubt or something unsaid hiding behind your eyes.

You nod, “Yes, I promise”

You hug him again, as you continue to cry.

Then he nods, gentle and certain. “Okay…okay Shhh. It’s okay, sweetheart”

He pulls you into him again, his arms wrapping around you protectively. His hands rubbing your back. Swaying the two of you softly.

—-

Michael took you for a walk, helping you regulate your emotions.

The two of you didn’t speak, walking in silence. Your crying had subsided, but your eyes still felt heavy, the weight of everything pressing down on you. You wished you could say something—anything—to fill the quiet, but the only sound was the gentle rustling of leaves as you walked side by side.

Neither of you was in a rush. The walk stretched on without a clear destination, and you weren’t sure how long you’d been walking—only that the coolness of the evening air had begun to settle on your skin.

Eventually, you reached a small park tucked into the city, just across the street from Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. It wasn’t far from where the banquet had been held, or where Robby had parked his car.

The two of you sat on a cold metal bench near the park’s aging fountain. The water trickled softly behind you, barely masking the distant blare of horns and the occasional echo of a siren cutting through the night. But here, in this spot, Michael felt like everything felt quieter. Slowed.

A breeze passed, lifting a few strands of your hair. Michael didn’t say anything. He just sat beside you, elbows on his knees, waiting, holding space, letting you have the space to speak, if you wanted.

Michael and some of the day and night shift staff sometimes hung out in this very spot to decompress. They’d pop open a beer or two, leaning back on the benches or sitting in the grass. It was their go-to when they didn’t feel like heading to a bar—when they wanted something quieter, more intimate. A laid-back place to breathe, unwind, and just exist for a while.

“Let me guess, Aiden didn’t show,” he mutters. That’s another thing to add to the growing list of disappointments since Aiden became friends with you—flaked on dinner, jammed your window, missed career day, and now your award ceremony. What’s next?

You nodded your fingers gliding over your award.

“He did… but he showed up late. We got into this huge fight. I just blew up at him. I told him how important this was to me…and then I brought up…”

You stop, debating whether to tell him he made it into the argument.

You decided not to.

“-everything I’ve been feeling just poured out…”

You sit the award beside you on the bench.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “That he wasn’t there to support you… to cheer you on. I’m sorry he keeps breaking promises. And for not being there in the way you needed him to be.”

You were shivering and a cool night breeze blew.

Without a word, Michael shrugged off his hoodie and gently draped it around your shoulders. The warmth of the fabric—and of him—seeped into your skin. He held the collar for a moment longer than necessary, steadying it on you, steadying you.

You looked up, and he didn’t look away. The air between you shifted—soft, fragile, electric.

Neither of you moved at first, but then, slowly, as if pulled by something, you both leaned in. Your breaths mingled, noses nearly brushing, his eyes flicking to your lips. And then, just before they could meet, you stopped.

Instead, you rested your forehead against his, your breath catching.

He didn’t move away. Didn’t pull back. Just stayed there, his hand still on your shoulder, grounding you.

His voice was barely audible, but it cut through the quiet. “Why are you with him?”

He paused, and in that quiet, you felt the weight of everything he wasn’t saying—his confusion, his hurt, maybe even jealousy.

Then, he gently pulled his head back to look at you. His brows were drawn, eyes searching yours like they were trying to find the answer you couldn’t give.

Slowly, he reached up and cupped the side of your face, his palm warm against your skin. His thumb moved in a slow, tender arc across your cheek—a silent comfort, a wordless plea.

“I just… I don’t understand why you stay”

You didn’t answer right away—because the truth was, you didn’t know anymore.

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “I just… part of me wants things to work. It wasn’t always like this in the beginning. But now…”

You looked down, your voice faltering.

“Now it’s like he’s a stranger. Like I’m holding on to someone who isn’t even there anymore.”

“He’s a man, Michael. He’s just… complicated.”

Michael’s jaw tightened. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, but firm.

“Aiden’s a boy—not a man. And there’s a difference.A man won’t make you question whether you’re loved,” he continued. “He won’t make you beg for affection, or feel like you’re asking for too much just by wanting to be seen.”

You stood there, breath caught somewhere between your chest and your throat, heart pounding with everything he was saying—and everything he wasn’t.

Michael looked at you for a long moment, then shook his head softly, almost in disbelief.

“You’re so kind,” he said, voice low. “So damn funny, so smart—God, the way you light up when you talk about the things you love…you deserve so much more than this. So much more.”

His eyes softened.

“Thank you, Michael. For everything. For always being there for me. You’re… a great friend.”

You didn’t see him as just a friend. Not even close. But the moment didn’t feel safe enough—you didn’t feel safe enough—to say what you really meant. So you pushed it down, wrapped it in gratitude, and handed it to him like it was all you had to offer. But you said it anyway. It killed you to say them.

And it killed him to hear them.

But he just nodded, eyes steady, even as something in him quietly broke.

The two of you drove back home in silence. When you stepped into the elevator, he stood beside you, hands in his pockets, close but careful.

At your door, he hesitated.

“You gonna be okay?” he asked gently.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

You leaned in, brushing a soft kiss against his cheek. His eyes closed for the briefest second, like he was memorizing the feel of it.

When you pulled back, his gaze lingered on you. He looked like he wanted to say something. Like he wanted to close the distance and kiss you, really kiss you—but he didn’t.

Instead, he just looked down at you, a war in his eyes.

“Goodnight” he whispered

“Goodnight”

You stepped inside your apartment and closed the door quietly behind you. The stillness inside felt heavy, like even the walls were waiting for you to say what you didn’t. You leaned back against the door, eyes closing as a slow exhale left your lungs.

Regret pressed down on you.

You should’ve told him the truth.

That he wasn’t just a friend. That he never had been. That the way he made you feel, steady, grounded, safe, was unlike anything you’d ever known. With Michael, you felt seen, heard, understood in ways you hadn’t thought possible. He made space for you without asking for anything in return. And still… you’d called him a friend.

But you said it anyway.

Because you were scared. Not of him—God, no—but of what it would mean if you let yourself fall for someone like him.

Someone who showed up. Someone who didn’t run. Someone who looked at you like you were worth something.

And deep down, you didn’t believe you were. You told yourself he deserved better. That he could do better.

But none of that made the ache go away.

It only made it worse.

Then came a knock.

Your heart jumped.

Maybe this was your chance. Maybe it wasn’t too late to take it all back, to say what you meant instead of what felt safe.

Maybe you could change it all.

If you were brave enough.

You opened the door.

“Aiden.”

Tags: @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere @beebeechaos @antisocialfiore @delicatetrashtree @xxxkat3xxx @homebytheharbor @woodxtock @letstryagaintomorrow @livingavilaloca @elkitot @annabellee88 @hagarsays @emma8895eb @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing @jazzimac1967@lafemme-nk @kmc1989 @whos6claire @harrysgothicbitch @trustme3-13 @qardasngan @silas-aeiou @k3ndallroy @ohmystrawberrycheesecake @ay0nha @404creep @dantemorenatalie @obfuscateyummy @steviebbboi @alliegc28 @catmomstyles3 @ardentistella @madprincessinabox @circumspectre @the-one-with-the-grey-color @thatchickwiththecamera @violetswritingg @valutfromlune @baileythepenguin @galmorizethechaos @capj-1437 @airgoddess @nah2991 @interestellarprincess @laurensfilm @peachjellyy

Across The Hall | (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

#acrossthehall #michael robby robinavitch #michael robinavitch #dr robinavitch #dr robby #the pitt #the pitt fanfiction #michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby x reader #noah wyle

660 notes · View notes

notvenomsnake · 2 months ago

Text

NSFW and some headcanons (f! reader)

Three older men. My favorite versions of all of them in the games, some headcanons of what they’re like in bed

Mentions of: Sex, breast kink, daddy kink, cum, older men and young f! reader, cum play, dry humping, humping, foot fetish, oral (f! and m! receiving), fingering (f!), m! and f! masturbation, unprotected pnv, make out sessions, foot rubbing, creampie, nickname, and some other things i forgot

a/n: I always waited for someone to do these three but I never seem to see it so i’m doing it. Also because I barely see ppl write about dmc4 Dante and Venom Snake. I love dilfs thats all I have to say.

Leon S. Kennedy (RE6)

★ He’s a big fan of oral play (f! fingering)

★ One liners in bed

★ Not that much of a foreplay type of guy just likes to get straight into sex

★ Loves eating out your pussy, calls it ‘heaven’s sweet treat’

★ You guys have sex about 2 times in a month because he’s on a bunch of missions but if you’re lucky maybe it’s 3-4 times a month

★ Dick is a bit bigger than average, 6-7 inches

★ Gives Heavy load, thick and watery

★ Stamina is probably less and less the more he gets old as he’s 36, has the less stamina than all the three

★ Loves seeing you hump him like on his thighs, leg, crotch, wherever you want

★ Nicknames for you: princess, baby, sweetie, or ‘you sweet angel’ he normally uses as he’s pussy drunk

★ Never lets you be better than him or dominate him

★ His tip is always so sensitive maybe it’s cause he’s old and never gets often time to get sucked off

★ Dry humping him is such a turn on for him, it means you’re so obsessed with him you’ll get yourself off by just some friction

★ his cum and your juices oozing out of you as he stuffs it right back into you as he licks the extra off

★ Seeing you laying in bed naked after not seeing you in months because of missions gets him so excited

★ His hair is so shiny and glossy that you play with it as he eats you between your legs

★ He loves it when you say you been playing with yourself because you’re needy for him

★ That same hair, you tug as he pounds into you hard and deep as you dig your nails into his back

★ Love/bite marks are a must in make out session, the feeling of him marking you as his is such a blessing

★ If he has time he would send you videos of himself stroking himself as he moans out your name

★ Only lasted for 2-3 rounds at least since he’s an old man

★ Kinks: Daddy nickname, breast play, love/bite marks, oral (f! receiving), dry humping, fingering for sure

Dante Sparda (DMC4)

★ Funny guy to have sex with sometimes even makes you laugh as he has his dick deep in you

★ Big fan of foreplay, loves it more than being inside you some nights

★ So affectionate, nicknames: baby, babe, darling, angel

★ Dick is around 6-7 inches same around Leon’s just a bit bigger

★ He grew a lot as he was around 5 inches when he was 18 (DMC3)

★ Stamina is the faster of the three mostly because he moves at the speed of light

★ Also because he has a lot of action in his demon hunting jobs, never seems to get tired so he has a bunch of stamina to go for around 4-5 rounds

★ Loves it when you hump his foot, the buckle of his shoes pressing against your aching clit just gets him more turned on

★ He sometimes lets you take control if he’s really tired

★ Fucking on top of empty or half empty pizza boxes is normal as his office is a mess, the lights dim cause he doesn’t pay his bills

★ Tit sucking like it’s his last day of life even though he’s in his late 30’s

★ A big teaser in bed, leaving you on the edge

★ Loves when you beg for more but he waits a couple of minutes before giving in

★ Dante eating pizza and strawberry sundaes as you ride him was a quite an experience

★ Jacks off to your photo you sent him, under his desk as his hands moves more faster

★ Type of guy to send you a pic of his dick shooting out cum as his text would read ‘oopsie’

★ That one time that he was naked all around ‘Devil May Cry’ as you entered the place to see him laying on his desk asking you to come closer…ended in you not walking for days

★ When he’s really horny, he sometimes turns into his DT or sin DT

★ The texture of his dick is like a lizard’s skin in his DT/sin DT form, as his dick is around 10-12 inches

★ Loves it when you suck his dick, you even say it taste like strawberry sundaes because of how many he has in a week

★ Roleplaying is his kind of thing, loves it when you dress up for him

★ Kinks: Daddy kink, roleplaying, humping, demon sex, oral (m! receiving)

Venom Snake (MGSV)

★ This man makes sex like heaven, the best out of the three for sure

★ Stamina is good but not that great since he’s in his late 40-50’s

★ His bionic arm makes things even better as he uses the speed of his arm and fingers to put his fingers deep in you

★ The cold metal fingers inside your warm entrance makes your body shiver

★ He’s not really a affectionate guy but some nicknames: honey, sweetheart, or just your name

★ Dick is around 7-8 inches

★ Even at his age he gets pussy drunk from a young lady like you

★ Would send you dick pics randomly

★ He loves make out sessions in his office in-front of the one way mirror where fellow diamond dog soliders scroll along Mother Base not knowing what’s happening behind that mirror

★ Seeing you hump his bionic arm as he sees you get off to his metal finger makes him chuckle

★ Barely any sex/make out sessions since he is a busy man maintaining Mother Base he is ‘Big Boss’ after all

★ The word ‘Boss’ and ‘Sir’ coming out of your mouth is such a turn on as he loves the risk of getting caught of having a affair with one of his solider

★ His bionic arm does vibrate so he uses his metal fingers to hit you in the right spots as your whole body shakes as the vibration adds another layer of pleasure

★ Definitely a pussy eater, he loves it even an old man like him loves young pussy

★ Even under that serious attitude of his, he does have the resistance of saying no to you

★ Seeing you in lingerie after a long day of missions and trying to hunt down Skullface really does pay off if he greeted like this after

★ You sometimes go on missions with him, he definitely carries you out of chopper and helps you up

★ Also out on mission he teaches you how to aim and kill enemies with D-Dog by your side

★ The way your body arches for him as fucks you, his dick deep in you as you dig your nails into his already fucked up back with scars

★ Goes for 5 rounds before calling it a day

★ His body/face filled with scars because of the attack of XOF, explains the ‘horn’ in head also the eyepatch because of his eye on his right side

★ You put even more ‘scars’ as you bite or suck parts of his body leaving bite marks but he does worse leaving bruises of bite marks more visible than yours

★ He treats you like princess and protects you like a knight in shining armor

★ Kinks: humping, make out sessions, semi public sex, tugging on hair, love/bite marks

@notvenomsnake

#leon s kennedy x reader #dante sparda x reader #venom snake x reader #dante sparda smut #dante smut #leon smut #mgs smut #venom snake #leon kennedy smut #leon scott kennedy x reader #dante x reader #reader smut #resident evil smut #devil may cry smut

682 notes · View notes

somanyideassolittletime · 2 months ago

Text

To be loved is to be changed.

Pairings: Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader

Summary : 3 ways you changed Jack, and one time Jack changed you.

Warnings: fluff, Jack is in love with his wife, language, grammar inaccuracies (maybe? idk), so much fluff I felt giddy writing this.

Author's note: I love Jack so much, enjoy!

| one

Jack, albeit all of his typical stereotypes people use to box him into, is secretly tech-savvy. It comes with the job, he supposed. Working in a field where technology is always evolving, he learnt to adapt, and he learnt to love it. It started with geeking out when the newest, most updated machine was delivered to the hospital, up to buying himself handheld medical pieces of equipment delivered to your door – he would wait for you at home before unboxing the most recent ‘toys’ he ordered, and he would talk your ears off about how cool and innovative it is.

You loved it, you loved hearing him talk passionately, you love that even after all this time working in his job, he still finds wonders in it (it doesn’t help that he looked so hot with his forearms flexed, knife in hand, while opening the package).

He understands technology, he does. But he doesn’t get the idea of FaceTime. He wasn’t a big texter himself; nothing beats the good old phone calls, where you can get your point across without fear of miscommunication on both sides. Even when you dated, you never went as far as FaceTime; it was always a phone call with a promise of meeting each other, and now that you are married, sharing his home, he still doesn’t get it.

“Why do you even need to look at their faces when you call? What matters is what you say, y’know, besides, it’s awkward to call someone with your phone far away from your ears,” He once said while holding you tightly in his side, cuddling in his far too comfy leather couch. Both of you watching a movie, where the scene of people facetiming each other just finished. You laughed at him back then, nudging his sides, “Eh, don’t knock it till you try it, hon.”

What a turn of events now for him, as you were called away across the country for a few guest lectures and seminars for two weeks. Away from Pittsburgh, away from him – that he finds himself thankful for whoever invented the damned thing. He’s sitting on his bed, currently deprived of your presence beside him, when he decides to try out FaceTime.

“Hi, handsome,” you pick up on the first ring, he’s greeted with the face he’s been missing for the past few days, smiling at him. He sighs in contentment, he finally gets to see your face. “Hi, sweetheart.”

He can hear you rustling around, looking for something to prop up your phone before you settle on your water bottle. Your screen is now steady. You grin at him, “Finally getting the whole FaceTime thing now, huh?”

He huffs, “Don’t wanna get used to it, i’d rather have you here.” he starts, “But yeah, thank god shit’s exist. Been so long since I've seen that face.”

“I’ve been here four days and you turned grumpy, huh?” You tell him, referring to the text Dana sent you earlier, “Your husband is Mr. Grumpy. Med students scared to approach him all day”

“What do you mean?” You’re still grinning at him, you’re afraid your cheeks might be too sore to talk to the faculty tomorrow. “Dana texted me, said you were being bad teacher.”

He groaned, “I’m annoyed at everything, it seems.” he mumbles just loud enough for you to hear him on the other end. He’s holding the phone a little too close to his eyes, he squints to look at you. You noticed it, “Wear your glasses, hon.” He hates wearing his glasses, which you know, but he’s squinting so hard you’re afraid he’s gonna get a headache later on. He’s contemplating debating you, but he knows that you’re right; he’s getting too old to see something so close to his eyes now.

“Ugh, fine. Wait,” he puts his phone in the bed, now his screen is showing the ceiling of the bedroom you share back home. A few rustling and groans later, you find yourself looking at Jack wearing his glasses. Your breath hitched. The sight of him in his glasses always gets to you, even after all this time. “Looking good, Dr. Abbot,” you joke. He smiles, “You’re Dr. Abbot yourself.” You frowned mockingly. “I was looking at my reflection, y’know.”

He laughs, and your heart aches to be with him. You missed him as bad as he missed you, it seems. You lift your phone, standing up now, he’s curious, “What are you doing?” You reverse the camera now, showing your room. “I’m doing a room tour. Now shut up and listen to me yap.”

He gladly obeys, he loves listening to your voice, he watches as you explain everything in your room, from the bathroom, the wardrobe, the bed, all the way to the balcony. His eyes caught something when your camera points at your desk, a familiar bottle of cologne – one he’s been wearing for ten years – so he decides to jab at you. “Is that why I can’t find my cologne in my bag?” You turn the camera facing you, and he’s glad now that he can see your face again. “I miss you. Sue me.” You stick your tongue out at him. How he wishes to wipe that shit eating grin from your face.

“I’m suing you for that with a lifetime with me,” he says earnestly. You look at him fondly, “Jack Abbot, I didn’t know you get sappier the further we departed.” He puts his phone on the nightstand, angled so that you can still see his face, pulling the comforter up to his chin.

“I miss you so much, baby,” you blegh at the nickname, phone now back at your desk, “You sounded like a teenager,” he chuckles, he looks at you putting on your glasses, the light from the laptop reflecting in your eyes. “Talk to me,” you say.

So he did, he tells you about the shift he’s had today while you’re typing away at your laptop, looking at him every once in a while. He tells you about the boy who went berserk, hands flailing around, making Langdon drop the scalpel in his hand, dropping it to his prosthetic feet, panicking the entire trauma room, only for him to be unfazed. You laugh fondly at him, eyes twinkling with the same mesmerization you only hold for him (and for a crazy innovation that you find interesting).

He’s holding his yawn, but you know better. His eyes are glassy now. “Go to sleep. It’s late,” you say, he obeys you, taking off his glasses, relaxing into his pillow. “Don’t turn it off,” he says softly, eyes fluttering. You shake your head, “I’ll turn it off when you snore,” he huffs, “what? You snore.” you start, “But I need to hear you snore to sleep nowadays.” you explain.

His eyes are half-closed now, and he finds himself relaxed, hearing your breaths on the other side, keys clacking softly. “I love you,” he whispers to you. You stopped your typing, now looking at his eyes fully closed, “I love you too, goodnight, hon.”

For the next 7 days, he finds himself loving FaceTime, finds himself looking forward to FaceTime with you every night before he sleeps, and like other technology he once frowned at, he finally gets it.

| two

Jack is not a man of pop culture, he never understands the appeal of it. He rarely watches movies by himself, let alone pop culture movies or series. But you loved it to no end, you often ask him to watch those movies with you, ranging from sci-fi, fantasy, to superhero movies, whatever you want to watch, he’ll gladly oblige. He’ll pretend to be uninterested in your series whenever you watch it alone with him moving around the house. But you always find him standing behind the couch, watching the show intently, before finding him beside you, starting to give commentary on what's happening on the screen. And slowly, he finds himself enjoying watching those movies and series with you.

He loves watching you explain to him about the complexity of a character you like, loves hearing you badmouth a character you hate, and when you both find yourself watching sci-fi movies with futuristic technologies, he finds himself falling a little harder, hearing you explain to him the concept of the technology in said movies. “I don’t understand a single word you just said. Is this what you feel when I explain procedures to you?” he once asked you. You nodded, “Yeah, pretty much, but you’re hot when you’re explaining it. So I love it,” you said to him. And he agreed with you on that one.

Jack was covering the night shift tonight, it’s Halloween night, so he’ll find himself drowning in patients in costumes, no doubt. You had dropped him off earlier with a kiss on his cheek and a promise to pick him up later in the morning.

He’s talking to a ten-year-old kid in a yellow uniform, one he recognized as a Star Trek uniform when Ellis enters the room, “I got this, Abbot. You go ahead,” she says to Jack. Jack nods at her before saying, “You’re in good hands, kiddo.” Ellis looks at the boy in the bed, saying, “Well, what do we got here, Mr.Spock?” The kid was about to protest when Jack reactively says, “He’s Captain Kirk,” Earning a look from Ellis. He fistbumps the kid and leaves the room, fully trusting Ellis.

The rest of the shift is pretty slow, filled with kids getting food poisoning from the candy being given away, typical drunks, and some OD patients from parties. It was now one hour left in the shift, everyone was either hanging by the hub or just doing a frequent check for their patients. He was charting when Shen and Ellis approached him.

“Hey, Abbot. How’s the stormtrooper guy?” Shen asks him. He’s currently scanning through his memory, not finding a single stormtrooper costume in his recollection of the night. “We haven’t got a stormtrooper,” He frowns at Shen. Shen points his fingers over Jack’s shoulder, he turns his head – now looking at a man in a Mandalorian get-up, his helmet on the chair beside the bed – he turns back to Shen, “That’s a fucking Mandalorian, good to go in a few hour, ” Shen doesn’t say anything, opting to look at Ellis beside him. Who, for the second time that night, gave him a weird look. He’s been doing medical procedures that might be crazy ballsy for some, but never once he received that look from either Ellis or Shen until tonight.

“Okay, you know what, what the hell?” Ellis starts, “You corrected me earlier cause of a fuckin costume, and now, what the hell, man?” Jack shrugs, “What?” Shen points his finger at Jack, his voice accusatory, “Dude, you only ever turn your TV on for penguins games, now you tellin me you know fuckin sci-fi shit, now.?” Jack looks at him, “Wrong, I turn on my TV for the Steelers and Pirates too,” he says casually.

“Ugh, you know what we meant. Since when do you even watch that stuff?” Ellis says exasperatedly. Jack crossed his arms, shrugging, “My wife likes that stuff.” He says that so casually that Shen and Ellis might combust at his tone.

Shen laughs at him, “Holy shit, you’re whipped.” Jack smirks, “Yeah, I wouldn’t get married if I weren’t.” his hands find the ring in his necklace now. Fully smiling at Shen and Ellis, both of whom groan at him. “Ughhh, please be a simp somewhere else, not here.” Shen rolls his eyes.

Shen and Ellis walked away from him before he muttered, “God forbid a man is in love,” smiling to himself with the thought of you in his mind.

So slowly but surely, he understands the appeal now that he can see how your eyes lit up every time he referenced something. And like any other form of entertainment, he once cringed at, he finds himself enjoying and looking forward to the next time he has you curled up beside him, whispering theories he doesn’t get. Anything that makes you happy, it seems, makes him happy.

| three

Jack is a man of many talents, but not of many coffee orders. He takes his coffee as plain as possible. Black, no sugar. He never ordered his coffee sweet, not before he met you at least. For him, coffee should be something simple, he doesn’t need extra flavor in his coffee, he just needs it to fuel him through the day.

But you? You take your coffee as abstractly as possible. Though you do enjoy a plain black coffee once in a while, once the occasion calls for it, you actually prefer some flavor and sweetness in your coffee.

“black , no sugar, please. What about you hon,” he asked you, ordering for himself to barista; he never ordered for you since he knew he would botch the task. “Uh, let me think. I ordered the almond latte yesterday. I think I’ll go with hazelnut today, please. Thank you,” you answered to the barista, who punched in some buttons. Jack tapped his card to pay before moving over to wait for your order.

“Here, try this. You’ll like it.” you said to him. He shakes his head, refusing to take a sip. “Just try it, I swear” he takes the coffee in his hand, sipping on it. Fuck. that’s good. He thought. He bites the inside of his cheek to hold back a smile, not wanting to give you the victory. You pointed at him victoriously, “aha! You like it don’t you.” he shrugged, giving you back your coffee. “Eh, black’s still better.” though you know that he actually enjoys it.

But now that it’s been a while since the two of you went on cafe dates, he finds himself missing your random coffee order. So when the opportunity comes for him to drink your coffee order, he’ll take it.

“Hey, I’m ordering coffee, your usual?” Robby asks him, typing in his notes app to list everyone’s coffee order. Jack thinks for a second before answering him, “I’ll have a vanilla latte,” earning a raised eyebrow from Robby, who types it down without question before moving over to the others. Making a mental note to ask him later on.

It was a while later when the order came in, and everyone stopped by the break room to take their coffee. Jack is greeted by Langdon and Robby inside, both holding their coffee. Langdon doesn’t even think before handing him a black coffee, one that Jack doesn’t take. “It’s not mine,” he says, walking over to the table, reading the labels in each cup before settling on his order.

He holds it in a way that the label is visible to Langdon, who looks at him weirdly, “a Latte? Really? Vanilla latte?” Langdon asks him. Jack sips on his coffee before entertaining Langdon, “What? It’s good,” he answers. Langdon, who looks at Robby as if saying, dude, you seeing what I’m seeing???. Robby teases him, “Yeah, I don’t think that cuts it, brother.”

Jack huffs, sipping some more, “Fine. My wife takes her coffee like this.” he wants to look annoyed, but he can’t bear himself to do it; not when he just drank your coffee order, being reminded of you seems to have that effect on him.

“I’m a married man myself, but I never even order my coffee her way, man.” Langdon laughs at him. Robby smiles at him, putting his hand on Langdon’s shoulder, slightly leaning toward him. “I believe we are seeing Jack in love. What is it? To be loved is to be changed?” says Robby to Langdon’s who laughed at Jack.

Jack wants to retort something smart as usual, but somehow, he doesn’t want to. So he opted to just smile at both of them before taking his coffee outside the break room.

Because yeah, he might realize himself that his preference is changing, but what Robby said earlier was right, that he’s in love and that he’s loved – and he wouldn’t change that for the world.

But the next time the two of you went on your cafe dates, he would still order his usual, not because he wanted it, he ordered it because for him, nothing beats the mischievous smile you gave him after asking him to try your coffee. (and it doesn’t help that he liked seeing your lip product mark on his cup after you drink his coffee, and that both of you just did an indirect kiss) Though that was a thought he’ll keep to himself forever.

“How do I look?” you walk into the living room, twirling your body to Jack, who is sitting on the leather couch, now looking at you. You were sporting a Penguins jersey with a big 87 on the back, CROSBY above it. You were offered a sideline ticket to the Penguins game by your friend, which you excitedly accepted. So here you are, getting ready for the game with the Penguins heartbreaker’s Jersey on you.

Jack smiles at you. “Well, you look like you’re drowning in it, Mrs. Crosby,” he says coyly. You frown at him, walking over to him, “Jack, as much as I love Sid, I actually prefer being Mrs. Abbot,” you say to him, leaning down to give his lips a peck.

Jack puts his hand on your waist, capturing your lips on his. Pulling back, Jack let out a breathy chuckle, “Yeah? Say that after you see him, hon. You know I’m straight, but he’s hot as hell,” he jested. You laugh at his confession, about to say something when you hear a honk in the driveway. Jack walks you over to the door, opening it for you.

Jack pecks your lips once again before saying, “Stay safe, okay? I love you.” You smile, kissing his cheek, “I will. Love you too.”

It’s almost midnight when you come home, and the Penguins won, so it was a victorious night out in your books. You open the door slowly, not wanting to disturb Jack, who should be sleeping by now. You can hear the TV still turned on in the living room, so you decide to check it out.

Jack was sprawled over the couch, the light from the TV illuminating his figure, his prosthetic placed by the table, as much as you want to move him to the bed because you know that his back would scream at him tomorrow if he spends as much as an extra hour on the couch, he looked so cozy you can’t help yourself, so you lay down on the couch, joining him.

Your movement startles him at first, but upon seeing that it’s you, he relaxes, “Hey,” he whispers into your ear. “It was fun, wished it was with you though,” you confess to him. His arms now caging you, drawing soft circles on your back. It was quiet before you started.

“Jack,” you whisper softly, he hums, acknowledging you. You continue, “I think you broke me.” Jack stops his hand, pulling his head just enough to look you in the eyes. “What do you mean?” you snuggle further into his chest before saying, “I don’t find Sid attractive anymore.”

“Huh?” Jack asks, You sit up, placing your hand on his stomach. “Imagine, I was that close with him, I could practically see his pores, Jack.-” You put your hand in front of you, in an attempt to emphasize just how close you are to The Sidney Crosby earlier. “But all I can think about is eh, he’s okay. Jack’s way more attractive.” Jack’s entire body warms at hearing your confession.

He’s about to comment before you put your hand that was previously on his stomach to his mouth, not allowing him to speak, “No, you don’t get it. It's THE SIDNEY CROSBY, Jack. You know how much I love him, right?” he nods against your hand, now smiling as wide as ever. You lift your hand from his mouth, continuing your explanation. “I was supposed to be entranced by him, Jack. But I kept on thinking that he had nothing against you.”

“You’re putting me on a damn high pedestal now, hon,” he says jokingly, though his eyes shows nothing but adoration looking at you.

You lie back on the couch again, cuddling him. “Nah. I think I just love you too much that I find any other guy to just be….mid.”

He chuckles, resuming his hand motion on your back. “I love you too, so much.” You don’t say anything after that, you're both snuggling, the TV playing softly as background noise – the intimacy of this moment has nothing against anything else.

You both stayed that way for a while until you mentioned to him that you needed to move before you both fell asleep on the couch, so you walked over to the bedroom, Jack behind you, searching for the remote to turn it off, seeing the highlight of the day on the screen, with crosby’s goal earlier. He smirks proudly at the TV, remembering your earlier admission.

Sid 0 - 1 Jack.

#jack abbot x reader #the pitt #jack abbot

824 notes · View notes