Warnings: large age gap!! If I ever finish writing this fic there will be more, but rn I believe this is it.
AN: this is an excerpt of what I intend to be a much larger and meatier fic, however it’s been sitting sad and abandoned in my word for about 3 months now, because your girl has her masters, and your girl has a job, and your girl has depression.
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Robby’s had his share of easy shifts, there was that one time when he covered Jack on nights, and the only person that came in was a college student who had slammed seven energy drinks in a row and was convinced he was dying. The kid’s biggest problem was lack of sleep and a flair for the dramatic, but Robby had still kept him under observation anyway, whether that was due to a genuine need or just sheer boredom Robby still wasn’t sure. That had by far been his easiest shift. He’d thought about it after, whether he had missed a trick by not jumping on nights the way Jack had. When he told Jack this at hand-off the next day all he received was a scowl, and a questioning “is that so?” full of barely concealed disdain that Robby made a point to never even joke about how easy he thought night shifts were again. Robby would also like to make a point that he knew you had to be wired something different to thrive in the night-time chaos. He thought better to leave it to the clinically insane, or Jack Abbot. Some may argue that those two were synonymous, and who was Robby to disagree.
Today’s day shift however was suspiciously quiet. He drifted through the hours on auto pilot rashes, abscesses, a few cuts that barely deserved stitches. He wasn’t going to complain, most of those he could fob off to Whittaker or Javadi, this is a teaching hospital after all, who was he to deny the students their lessons? Meanwhile he used the opportunity to catch up on some admin. He’s half surprised Gloria hadn’t materialised yet to lecture him about overdue safety reports, which was a small miracle in itself. When he told Dana this, she just gave him one of those perfectly arched eyebrows that said you’re pushing your luck, so he clarified, surprised, yes, but not ungrateful. They’d both agreed to drop the subject quickly, as if saying Gloria’s name three times would summon her out of a puff of smoke.
“Still no sign of the intern,” he muttered to Jack as he typed up his final note. “What is it with these kids ghosting the ER?”
Jack just shrugged, not even looking up from the board. “Probably fled the building. I would too if I had to spend a month shadowing you.”
Robby rolled his eyes, turned off his ipad, and pushed his chair back with a satisfied sigh. He checked the time, 7:03 PM, and decided the no-show was not his problem anymore.
He grabbed his bag, slung his jacket over his shoulder, and headed for the doors with a lazy wave at Dana and Jack.
So, when a voice rang out, “I’m looking for a Dr. Robinavitch,” Robby groaned like a man cursed.
He had half a mind to just keep walking, he already had one foot out the door, hand half-raised in a lazy wave to Jack and Dana one more step and it would officially be none of his business, he had a rare weekend off, and he was so close, he could almost taste the pad-thai he was going to order and feel the Egyptian cotton sheets that currently adorned his California king. He squeezed his eyes shut in exasperation, rationalising to himself that whatever question was going to be lobbed at him was nothing Jack couldn’t handle. Future Robby would apologise to him later, but present Robby, whether he had suddenly developed a stronger moral compass, or just wasn’t quick enough on the uptake turned around. Dana, the traitor, doesn’t even hesitate, she just points straight at him like she’s delivering him to the gallows.
To say that Robby’s gut found a home in his ass would be an understatement. He’s surprised his intestines aren’t leaking out of him with the way he feels his stomach fall. He knows your figure instantly; how could he forget. And when your eyes meet his he shudders, any chance of denying it was you has flown out the window. He knows your face too well. He’s seen those eyes glassy with cheap gin, and lit with a grin that made him forget, for just one night, how empty he’d felt on the third anniversary of Adamson’s death. Robby counted to ten in his head, He doesn’t miss the look Dana gives to Jack before his eyes squeeze shut, mouth twisting in what anyone would call a grimace. When Dana teases him about this later, he’s going to insist he was perfectly poised, an absolute paragon of tranquillity even, but right now he was allowing himself ten seconds of internal panic.
He sees the exact moment recognition slams into you, and at the widening of your eyes and hitch of your breath, both Dana and Jack nod to each other in confirmation of whatever silent question they had raised between them. Dana’s smirk curls and Jack goes back to silently checking the charts that Robby had just handed to him.
You hold his stare. A quick, silent conversation crackles across the distance between you, the sharp bite of: You? Here? No. God no. Oh my God absolutely not.
He remembers the night you’d slipped in with friends and past the bouncer with a fake ID. Laughing too loudly, celebrating … something. By the time you sidled up to him as he sat at the bar and ordered yourself a drink with a giggle, Robby was already three whiskeys deep and hadn’t cared enough to ask. He just remembered the way you’d admitted your age later, as you and him were already making out behind the bar like teenagers. She wasn’t far off, his brain unhelpfully supplies. God, he thought, twenty, which you’d admitted between giggles, half-drunk, and Robby had simply smiled and felt himself tip over the edge. He’d been drowning that night, desperate to numb the pain of the date. You’d been bright, easy, young, and some inane comment you’d made had eased a light chuckle from his chest, something that had proved harder and harder to do. It was because of that he’d said fuck it and brought you to his apartment anyway.
And now here you are, badge gleaming, Intern – Surgery, sober and sharp, and the weight of it presses down. Hard.
Robby’s brain betrays him by doing the math. If she was twenty, two years ago, she was twenty-two now. Well done, Einstein, he thinks self-deprecatingly. For one sick second he gives himself a pat on the back, for one sick second, before the shame rises, he feels boastful. It’s rotten at the core, but it sparks joy anyway, hot, and smug, and mean. Because if Robby was going to immolate his reputation of course it wouldn’t be with just anyone. No, it had to be with you. A goddamn wunderkind. The prodigy who slipped into a bar at twenty, laugh too loud, grin too bright, and now at twenty-two was standing in his ER. A doctor. A fucking doctor at fucking twenty-two.
And damn it, some mutinous, vile part of him clings to that, curling itself around the memory like a snake basking on a rock. He hadn’t gone home with some faceless mistake. He hadn’t chosen someone ordinary. He’d chosen someone remarkable, someone sharp enough, driven enough, brilliant enough that now, standing here, you radiate potential. And Robby’s mind twists it, just for a heartbeat, into a kind of warped victory. Like if he was going to sin, at least he sinned spectacularly.
He can hear the story in his own head, smug and caustic: Trust Robinavitch to sleep with a genius. Was it an early high-school graduation? Early med-school acceptance? A three-year MD program? Given your age Robby was sure it was probably a combination of all three and probably a hell of a lot more. He so desperately wanted to ask you, he also wanted to jump off the Alleghany Turnpike Bridge and so he compromises and reconciles to do neither.
This is what’s left of him now, scraps of pride scavenged from the wreckage of better instincts. The part of him that used to care about being good has been ground down by twelve hour shifts, endless nights, Adamson’s anniversary dates circled and crossed out and circled again. He’s been surviving on gallows humour and muscle memory so long that even his shame comes laced with competitiveness. Look, even my worst mistakes are exceptional. It’s pathetic, and he knows it, but he can’t stop the thought from flashing across his mind, bright and dirty: She’s still brilliant. She was a mistake. My mistake, mine, mine, mine.
And just like that the thought tastes like whiskey left too long on the tongue, bitter, and impossible to swallow. Possession turning to penitence. Because you weren’t a wunderkind that night. You were a kid with a fake ID, drunk on sugar-laced cocktails and the novelty of fooling a bouncer. You were twenty, celebrating God-knows-what with friends who barely remembered to check on you, as you walked away with someone three decades your senior. And he’d known. Fuck, you’d actually told him, half-giggled it into his ear like the child you were, the child you are, and he’d gone with you anyway. He’d chosen to.
That’s where the pride breaks. It snaps clean in two, leaving nothing but the hollow, crushing weight of guilt. Cold and merciless, it squeezes around his ribs, suffocating, and he has to wrench his gaze away before anyone, Jack, or Dana, catches even a glimmer of what’s carved across his face.
He forces himself to speak, voice scraping out a rough, “yeah, that’s me.” His throat burns.
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You can clearly see at what stage of the fan-fiction I decided to fucking lock in 😭 it’s so funny to me
I have been looking for your “match my freak” for so dang long and finally gave up and asked Google and found you very quickly. I am very glad cause I love that one 🥺🥺🥺
babe message me privately, you’ve literally been so lovely, I’ll send you screenshots if you want, all my fics are currently set to private
algae please come back to meeee, I miss you so much😭😭😭😭
I’m ngl I miss y’all too, but I am always lurking 👀 tbh i left because i was getting a lot of anonymous hate which had never really bothered me, but it just sort of took the joy out of it, and then once it became unpleasant I got major writer’s block, and trying to think through it just became frustrating. I’ve been writing a lot of new things, I’ve always written slam poetry so that’s continued, I’m working on this dystopian novel I’m quite proud of, and also preparing for the LSAT/finishing my masters, so lots of academic writing taking place. But anytime I sit down to write an SMAU I cannot think of a single thing I’m ngl. It actually sucks because I do want to start making them again, and despite being successful in other creative and academic areas, I’m struggling with SMAU’s of all things?? So, genuinely this is my train of thought: I want to do the thing, oh no I have no ideas, well now I’m frustrated, well I’m not going to do it because I’m too frustrated. So on and so forth
if you, or anyone for that matter, have any prompts I’m more than happy to look at them! Maybe it’ll get the creative juices flowing.
I got my first d*ath threat??? Over F1 fanfiction??? Oh my god, y’all are wild and crazy, keep being your crazy, kookie selves (except maybe don’t this is literally deranged behaviour). This is also me saying Kill Bill is now discontinued cause it already wasn’t bringing me joy but d*eath threats are a wild reaction to very slow updates….
Is it toxic of me that I desperately want killbill!reader to still end up with Charlie? 🙈
SPEAK YOUR TRUTH TWIN!! Okay a lil bit of personal back story! I started writing this cause I a guy I was talking to got a girlfriend out of nowhere but still made it clear he wanted me, and gross ewww that’s not cool! BUT…. The toxic part of me is toxicing and I do entertain it slightly. All this to say I totally get it, and I kind of do see that reader and Charles are sort of perfect for each other. I might have to do 2 endings, we’ll see.
Thank y’all for the love on kill bill! It’s crazy to me cause it just seems so incoherent to me, cause I started with a small idea and ran with it due to my ADHD paralysis stopping me from doing my uni work😭I still don’t know where I want to go with it so suggestions would be great… but thank you all so much
nico hulkenberg finally slays his white whale and drags the haas flintstones car onto the podium only for the car to be disqualified for a technical breach
in the spirit of their ancestors alpine attemps crashgate 2.0 only they’re so shit they fail even at that. everyone knows what they tried to do but because they failed the fia turns a blind eye out of pity
jenson button misses a dose of xanax before presenting alongside danica patrick and finally tells her to shut up on live television
lando finally wins a race and is so delighted that he won’t let go of his trophy, even to attend the traditional english stag do of some rich dickhead he went to school with. lando passes out three sambucas into the night at which point his trophy is stolen and all of his facial hair (including eyebrows) is shaved off. the fia charges him for the replacement
king charles dies just before silverstone and george drives his car directly into the barriers out of respect
sharl breaks up with whatever brunette clone he’s dating in order to focus more on racing. two weeks later he releases a classical piano track about heartbreak and longing and confirms that it’s about the sf-24. three days after that he confirms his relationship with a woman who is practically identical to the previous girlfriend (possibly her sister, possibly just a clone)
john elkann goes full fatal attraction on lewis and shows up in his house in a silk robe, with a trail of rose petals that he’s had ethically dyed purple just for lewis
babygate hits f1 again as carlos is rumoured to be expecting another baby. he insists that it is not him as he is still a virgin
fernando alonso announces that he has found religion. three months later he submits planning permission to add a sculpture to the outside of oviedo’s cathedral of the holy saviour which is in turn renamed the cathedral of the holy saviour, san fernando
a williams sponsor pulls out so to make up the shortfall james vowles voices the audiobooks of several erotic novels
