cuteepatee.4

somali girl ‼️

[sweetestcowboy]

CAN'T GET MUCH STRONGER!

୨ৎ pairing .ᐟ.ᐟ brendon park x resident!reader

୨ৎ summary .ᐟ.ᐟ dr. brendon park operated like most shark, always patrolling and returning to where he was familiar. he knew how to fix fractures and re-implant amputated limbs with confidence. he was a master in his professional craft. socially—brendon didn’t have that same skill, and when you moved to the night shift, the atmospheric change was something he couldn’t stabilize like bones.

୨ৎ tags/warnings .ᐟ.ᐟ female reader, no use of y/n, no physical description, sexism/conflict in the workplace, pediatric/mass casualty cases, burnout, slow burn, grumpy/sunshine, competence kink, emotionally repressed brendon (he honestly needs therapy), power imbalance, this is just park realizing he fucked up and lowkey yearns for reader to notice him again lol

୨ৎ authors note .ᐟ.ᐟ here is the long awaited continuation! someone said something of a park pov and i couldn't resist it!! i hope this is a worthy part two (yall let me know honestly, okay?) i love brendon park y'all and i know you guys do too, so i really hope you guys like it (i have a validation kink)

୨ৎ word count .ᐟ.ᐟ 14.4 k

part one: find another soldier!

Brendon heard more than what he wanted to about the hospital and its staff. Even though staff were acutely aware when he was around (typically refraining from making obvious comments about him), he was still able to pick up a few things here and there. 

Observations of potential flings and affairs between nurses and doctors. The ‘drama’ that occurred within departmental staff—some of them including married couples who challenge their vows by working together. The latest news on what residents royally screwed up or who had been reprimanded for forgetting protocol. 

Brendon Park, who had the hearing of a shark, picked up those sociable conversations between colleagues. He always stood a comfortable distance from the parade, finding no satisfaction in bonding with people he was meant to work with. The absence of relation and sharing intimacy such as personal details didn't affect his work negatively, which was all that mattered to him 

He told himself he didn't care about any of it, even when he heard a thing or two about himself. Internally, he knew that was the absolute truth. There was no exception. 

Until he passed by the nursing station where Sully, his chief resident, was speaking with Dr. Emmick, the night shift attending. The two were off to the side, speaking among themselves like the two had done so before. Sully held a digital chart in his hands, but his attention was on Dr. Emmick, casually slumped with her hands in her jacket pockets.

“She’s doing perfectly on her own.” Dr. Emmick shrugged, a proud smile on her face. The relief that escaped Sully made something tick in Park. “I mentioned nominating her for chief resident next year. That just seemed to amp up her determination even more, if that was possible.”

“That's not surprising. She’s always been miles above some of the other residents.” Sully responded with a buzzing smile. Brendon had resorted to stopping by the printer behind the station, pretending to be shuffling through pages he had already arranged. “She’s managed to teach me a few things I plan to take with me.”

“I’m sure she’ll be sad to see you leave,” Dr. Emmick patted his shoulder, that softer smile she reserved for praises and quiet appreciations painting her face. Sully nodded along with her words. “But, she’s blossoming here. Before you know it, she’ll be running this place.”

“Dr. Emmick,” Park cut through the conversation, standing from across the nursing station. He held up the papers in his hand, a curt nod in her direction. 

She offered one more smile to Sully as she moved around the desk. Park didn’t look over at her as the two merged to walk alongside each other. In the time Dr. Emmick had been at PTMC, she never once spent time alone with Brendon Park. The most solitude the two of them spent was when they had meetings, and even then, those events included other admin or members of the collective hospital boards they were in. 

She figured out he was a lone shark when they first met, preferring to slip in and out the doors without so much of a ‘good morning’ or ‘good night.’

The least he could do was offer her a nod whenever they passed each other by hand-off.

Dr. Emmick walked with a small sway, too much energy for someone who spent the entire shift focused on an emergency reconstruction of a patient with an unstable pelvic ring fracture. Brendon sensed the small glances she sent him, and he sighed out through his nostrils, maintaining his aloof demeanor. If he acted normal, she’d keep the curious questions to herself.

“We’re only a few months shy from graduation again.” Emmick mentioned casually, maneuvering around some nurses passing by, offering small ‘excuse me.’ “Do you have anyone in mind for chief residents?”

Brendon barely flinched at the question, keeping his attention straight ahead. The two pushed through the first pair of double doors until they reached the nonclinical area of the surgical department, where his office along with the other chief surgeons and attending lounge was. 

He snorted lightly, shaking his head. “At the rate my residents are working, we may have to settle on one, if we both agree on someone.”

“That’s a lot of responsibility for one resident,” Dr. Emmick snickered. She was aware what residents wanted the title, which came with the most attention from the attendings. All the other residents were their little ducks to watch, a true simulation of being an attending in a trauma-1 hospital. 

Which came with the responsibility of their wrong-doings as much as their wins. 

Emmick brushed her stray hairs behind her ear, “And if you can't settle on someone from the day-shift, I’d hate to hear what you think of those in the night shift.”

“I’m assuming you're asking because you had someone in mind.” Brendon diverted smoothly, his tone even and rested. Despite the fact he knew exactly where she was reigning the conversation, he still held the detached perceptive look he had when he was making an objective judgment.

She hummed, advancing ahead of Park to scan her badge to enter the hospital-staff exclusive area. With a beep, the doors clicked open and Brendon stalked down first. When the door shut behind Emmick she stepped back to his side, “It’s someone we both have worked with extensively.”

When Brendon reached his office, he bowed his head slightly to hide the twitch in his nose. Once he sat at his desk, he had put back the stoic expression. Emmick shut the wooden door, pulling out a chair for her to sit across him. Both her hands folded onto her lap, legs crossed. The small twitch in the corner of her mouth all but confirmed his suspicion.

When your name escaped her mouth, he straightened his back. He was recalling the image of him sitting on his desk, your buzzing body standing in front of the door, waiting for the moment to escape. You had left and never looked back.

Once the switch was made official, Park wasn't expecting there to be a lapse in his day-to-day life. It’s not like you had moved departments or hospitals. He would see you passing by the halls during hand-off, the back of your head or the familiar fleece jacket you sported in the eerily cold hospital; but there was a distance that didn't exist while you worked the dayshift. 

Working under his command and his directive as his resident. 

“What about her makes her ideal for the position?” Brendon questioned. The current quarterly review the two were meant to oversee before their meeting pushed aside.

The question was firm, like he was interviewing his colleague instead of searching for her opinion. She raised her eyebrows at him, an amused grin flashing back at him. “You want my professional opinion?”

“Obviously.”

“She is a good mentor, has great instinct and initiative. She keeps a clinical perspective while under pressure.” Emmick listed out concisely, opting to appease the language Dr. Park preferred. He didn’t care about the mush or the personable trait that made you stand out to him, even if Emmick felt those strengths were your greatest virtues. “As a third-year resident, she is already doing the job of a chief resident, without the title.”

Brendon remained silent, pressing his lips into a thin line. The subtle movement of his jaw, an obvious tick, made it evident what he refused to put into words. He had doubts.

“This observation is based on the last three months she’s been on the night shift?” He clarified while crossing his arms over his chest. Through the sleeves of his scrubs, his muscles tightened, pulling the fabric tighter.

Emmick confirmed with one silent nod, eyeing Park from her chair. “As well as the double and previous night shifts she has worked.”

“And you're confident in her abilities?”

The more questions he spewed, the more it resembled an interrogation. He was investigating a theory he was keeping to himself through the people who knew you, instead of addressing the source. In three months, it was clear that you were keeping a distance.

No one wanted to spend five minutes alone in a room with Park, let alone talk to him that long. In your case, you confronted him of the clear judgments he made of your work while under his supervision. The public displays of his criticism had pushed you into the deep end of a pool, and as you found an edge to climb off, you took the extra steps to never fall in that situation again.

If you had asked him, he’d describe it as running.

“You aren’t?" Emmick resounded incredulously, like it was unbelievable he thought contrary to popular belief. 

“I think that in the majority of the three years I’ve witnessed her work, I’ve noticed moments requiring additional correction.” Brendon commented with no hesitation, as if he was waiting for the opportunity to let it out.

The frustration you caused when Mr. Stevenson suffered through compartment syndrome. The lack of awareness when you were run down through your double shifts. Even the lack of urgency when treating patients. It was all hindering your ability to be a perfect orthopedic surgeon.

“All residents need to be corrected.” Emmick remarks with a humorous scoff. Park ticked his head to the side, displeased with her dismissing his objection. “I’m not saying she’s perfect.”

“It was implied strongly by your choice of words.”

“Well, in comparison to some of the other residents, she’s damn near it.” Emmick cocked her head to the side, almost daring him to utter a word. Brendon kept his eyes on her, and all he saw were talons flared out, like a hawk ready to protect its nest. 

Emmick had traits he respected in a colleague. Working together as attendings undertaking residents with shaky hands became a source of common ground. What divided them was their nonidentical ways of going about it. Emmick stuck her ground when Brendon might expostulate with gravity to the risks. She believed in a hand-on validating method. Brendon had to see it first to believe it.

“I thought maybe you might agree.” She mentioned casually, picking at a lint on her jacket sleeve.

Brendon nose twitched, leaning forward in his seat to rest his burly arms on the table. “Why is that?”

“Because I like to believe you couldn’t possibly deny when a resident is good at their job.” Emmick narrowed her eyes at him, tempting to push him just close enough to the edge where he’d have to turn and face the issue.

What Brendon thought was nothing was something worth omitting. He could brood all he’d wanted, and most of his residents wouldn’t blink a teary eye, but what he cursed Emmick over was her peculiar talent at observation.

“Especially not a resident like her.”

He huffed out a sigh, almost cracking his resolve. This had to be a joke. “The residents chosen for the chief position need to have earned my utmost trust. It’s not a title handed prematurely.”

“Like Sullivan?” She asked skeptically, arms crossing over her chest as she leaned back in the chair. 

Her steady stare dragged across every inch of his face. He didn’t bother intimidating a colleague who had proven time and time again she wasn’t to be messed with; even when people assumed she was too lax in comparison to him. 

But, she had a nasty bite. 

Brendon knew exactly what she was insinuating. Apart from Sullivan (who was personally chosen for the role by Park) his co-chief for night shift was also a man who (in Parks terms) got lucky from the process of elimination. Despite the fact Emmick might’ve argued the two female 4th year residents would’ve made wonderful selections.

“Look, before you snarl your shark-teeth at me, let me say one thing.” She put up a hand to restrain his irritability right before they were meant to meet with administration. 

When he mentioned nothing more, she sat up straight, leaning in closer like she might tell him a life-changing secret. “If this is about her moving to night shift, that might’ve been my doing more than hers. No hard feelings, Brendon.”

“What do you mean?” He entertained, eyes turning into slits as he stared curiously. Like examining an amputation on the field. 

“I told her I could use a resident with her skill.” She mentioned casually, like the concept was known by everyone. Brendon was aware of what Emmick thought of you, as much as the other resident did. She didn’t hide her affection or pride with a firm guard as he did. 

She shrugged, her smile upside. “I didn’t think she’d want to give up the chance to be taught by you, but here we are.”

Brendon's eyes moved down at the desk, feeling the oak from that night as he gripped the edge of his desk. He conformed to the idea his sudden dissatisfaction was from you standing over him, pointing blame for affecting your work. He was too hard, too malevolent, or contemptuous for your liking.

All the effort he put in was just him being too “proud” and “arrogant.” He expected more from you, and he didn’t need your honesty (as you had put it), to remind him that you weren't up to the plate. 

“I still stand by the fact she’s exceptional, and it would be a disservice if we didn’t even consider her.” She concluded, with the firmness that came from working her way to where she was.

On the very few occasions that they spoke, Emmick had expressed small gratitude for the trust he had extended to her when she first transferred over. He didn't comprehend the need to “thank” him. He assumed the hospital was hiring competent attendings to take over the hard work while teaching naive residents and interns. 

So when he thought of you, as chief resident or an attending, the bill did not fit. Nobody just deserved the title. It was earned from hard work. You had yet to work hard enough to garner a standing ovation from him. 

Philosophy wasn’t Brendon’s strong suit. He didn't waste his time on debates, but he did have strong beliefs. Medicine was a rational practice. There were right and wrong things to do in a hospital—as a surgeon—that could put the lives of others in the balance. He was taught that lesson long ago, and when it came time for him to pass along his teachings, he made sure to drill it in all his residents.

‘Your patient can die at any moment. Don't be the reason they don’t make it.’ was something he had reminded them time and time again. He didn't need to be pulled away from one life-saving surgery to futilely attempt another. His residents should be covering all bases, without serving any reminders.

He hadn't forgotten the occasions you had failed at that.

It was rookie mistakes unsuited for third year residents. When he enforced responsibilities, he expected stellar work in return. If the residents signed up for the work of orthopedic surgery, they should be held accountable for every action and inaction that they take. He expected them to enforce that upon themselves. 

He had put that weight on you. 

He was unapologetic for what he had done while you worked with him. It was all for the sake of the patients, himself, and you. Your work was a reflection of him, and if you couldn't figure out how to stand on your own two feet, how could anyone trust the training you had to save lives?

You had not seen it that way. Brendon shrugged it off in turn.

Maybe he was vindictive, waiting for Emmick to see the dangerous flaws he did. He expected Emmick to see it as he did, but she had other pillars in her teaching.

He saw it the way she smiled whenever you showed up around her. Brendon noticed it from inside patient rooms, behind nursing stations, and the few occasions you two were in the same space together. Emmick praised you with the same ease as breathing. 

Everyone was aware how rare Dr. Park complimented anyone for his or her work. Marla Emmick operated oppositely.

She’d pat your shoulder, whisper something with that curled grin of hers, or give you a fist-bump as a supportive nod of your actions. Brendon rolled his eyes at it.

These weren’t kindergartners who needed a gold star for accomplishing something required of their program. These were grown adults who needed to comprehend the intensity of their choices, their observations and evaluation of patients, and the importance of knowing what they were doing as much as showing up to do it.

He was trying to make competent surgeons capable of saving fragile human life and he would do that at the expense of feeding the “shark” persona everyone saw. Cold-hearted, detached, and mean.

Even while you were under the supervision of Emmick, he still tried to figure out whether you had learned anything from the time you spent with him. He needed to see whether Emmick was right about her observation.

Park was making his way to the patient waiting in the pre-op wing. He stalked around, looking for the small group of residents making their rounds. He nodded at Annette, the charge nurse, as she pointed over to patient room three. When he made his way to the room, he saw the collective group of residents standing at the foot of the bed. He stood by the doorway, listening to the hand-off Reddy, the senior residents for the night, conducted.

Frank Giles, a 65-year-old, needing a total hip replacement after a nasty fall in his home, sat on the bed. He was cracking jokes with the residents, who seem to go along with it.

He was looking around the crowd, in search of someone specific. Frowning, he looked at Dr. Reddy, “Where is that one doctor? She’s the one who spoke with me when they first admitted me.”

Reddy furrowed his brows, glancing up from the device in his hand. He paused for a moment before speaking your name. It rang bells in Mr. Giles face as his smile widened, “Would it be too much to ask if she could do the operation?”

Sully smiled sincerely, standing center at the foot of the bed. “Her shift ends soon, unfortunately. But knowing her, she will likely check in with you tonight once you’re resting up in post-op.”

Mr. Giles conformed to the idea, despite the fact his smile was nearly as bright as before. “Good friend of hers, I assume?”

With a flustered grin, Sully nodded. “Roommates. Given the amount of time we spent together, I would hope we are.”

A belly laugh filled the room, and Mr. Giles identified with something Sully said. The endearing look on his face made it clear to Brendon, watching the old man examine Sully like he were someone familiar. “Reminded of my late wife and I.”

Brendon could make out a quiet condolence from Sully. Before Mr. Giles could go on a tangent, Sully smoothly transitioned the conversation into pre-op protocol. Reddy jumped in easily, going over the diagnosis. 

He nodded along to what Reddy explained about the procedure assigned to Sully. After a couple of questions, the residents paid their farewell and filed out in a line. 

Park stood back, waiting for the senior residents to emerge from the room. When his chief resident noticed Park, he gave him a silent tut of his chin. He fell in line beside him, silencing the quiet conversation between Sully and his co-chief resident.

“Where is Dr. Emmick?” Park asked without invitation. The question was directed to Dr. Reddy, who lifted his brows in response.

Park expectantly looked at him with hooded eyes. He shook himself from the daze, “She got stuck in a complex acetabular reconstruction. 3 hours and counting.”

“Alone?” Park followed up, eyes darting in front of him as he counted the back of the resident's head. 

He knew exactly who was missing. He didn’t need to specify where his curiosity lied.

“No,” Sully jumped in, glancing at Park from beside him. Despite the fact they were about the same height, he still towered over the senior resident. He then said your name with a smile, “Dr. Emmick managed to rope her into a possible ten-hour surgery. Although, I doubt she would’ve said no to it.” 

“Better her than me.” Reddy had mumbled under his breath, presuming his comment could be omitted from Park the Shark.

“As a fourth-year resident, it should be you.” Park swiftly remarked, barely jerking his head to look at Reddy. He did extend his arm to Sully, silently taking the device in order to sneak a look at the operation details. “How do you intend to make up for your lack of exposure in a different hospital? By choking up the minute you’re standing over a patient with everything at stake?”

Reddy's wide eyes panicked and landed on Sully, hoping the person supposedly in his corner would save him. Sully gave him a menial headshake, refusing to intervene. Reddy sighed in defeat, shoulders sagging. “It was a joke.”

Park didn’t elaborate more on the matter as he glared at him from the corner of his eye. As he opened the operation details, he read about the patient suffering a work-accident. Based on the intake details and initial imaging once in the ER, it was an unfavorable surgery to hop on while almost done with a 12-hour shift. With a both column fracture involved, you two were bound to be stuck there for ten hours.

Before Park could rip Reddy apart even more, he excused himself to debrief about a patient in post-op. Instead of joining the group, Park stopped by the nursing station, investigating the details of the case further. Of course, Emmick would choose her most prized resident to join the surgery. 

However, Brendon couldn’t help but wonder whether you agreed for the experience and bragging rights that came from being selected over your senior resident only.

Sully stood in front of him, hands in his pocket while glancing between his fellow residents in the patient room and his attending. He leaned back on his heels, “I heard the patient was in a pretty bad state when he came in. Dr. Emmick might be stuck in there a while, if you needed her.”

Park huffed out a sigh, shaking his head slightly. With your absence, he was able to gauge what type of doctor Sully would turn out to be. He was the same ambitious and focused resident he always was, even without you to support him through every surgery.

Whether he wanted to or not, he had asked Park for a recommendation letter for an attending position he planned to take at a trauma-1 hospital in Chicago. 

Brendon never embellished the truth—whether personally or professionally. There was no way he would lie on a rec letter for a resident, no matter how much they relied on it for a position anywhere. But, he hated to admit, Dr. Sullivan had managed to push Park to add some flourish to the letter.

“Maybe this is out of place, but I know talks about chief residents are being held around this time.” Sully leaned in casually, still keeping his focus mostly on Reddy and the other residents. They both could hear enough from outside the room. “Do you mind if I give you my opinion as their predecessor?”

Park lifted his gaze up, hooded eyes staring back at Sully, who waited patiently for a response. Looking bored, Park sighed, “Something tells me you’re going to give it to me regardless.”

Sully chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck casually. He shrugged, “I want to make sure you and Dr. Emmick consider everything to make the right choice, not that you need me to do that.”

Remaining silent, Park stared blankly at Sully. After a beat, he understood Park wasn’t going to welcome the suggestion verbally. That was beneath him. Sully leaned onto the nursing station, eyes focused on Dr. Park. “I don’t want you to think this is some plug just because she’s my roommate or because we’re close.”

Brendon didn’t need any more explanation as to who he was referring to. The utterance of your name from him was something he was starting to dread after the last conversation with Emmick. Sully stared skeptically at Park, trying to read into the stoic demeanor he had all the time. “She is a good surgeon, and as her chief resident, I do believe she could fulfill the position with ease.”

“Are you sure she’ll survive without you?” Park questioned, his eyes now narrowed on Sully. It wasn’t the type of concern Emmick would’ve shown him. It was a mockery of what Sully just expressed. The everlasting doubt in his resident still understands the work. He didn’t agree, but he didn’t vocalize it yet either.

Sully cocked his head to the side, “I don’t doubt it. The real question is if I’m going to survive without her. I got too comfortable having her around, I guess.”

Brendon saw the slight tenderness in his eye. Something soft he didn’t get to see every day between him and you. He could almost sense your presence while you were holed away in an OR. The way patients asked for you with the same affection they’d search for a comrade. He was aware of what the residents thought of you, often turning to you to save them from a sinking boat. 

It was like they knew you’d throw them a life preserver, unlike the harsh suggestion to ‘figure it out’ on their own like Park would do.

“The lease of our apartment is already under her name. She is set for next year.” Sully mentioned coolly. Park hated small talk, but he found it odd within himself to hesitate with cutting the conversation short. He stared with the same blank expression at Sully, completely unsure what to do with that information.

Sully chuckled, “If she weren’t set on staying, I would drag her over with me.”

Brendon forehead creased in the center and his jaw clenched, similarly to when attending a consultation in the ER. A solid focus on trying to capture every detail of a patient’s leg, arm, or other joint susceptible to needing care under his department. 

He never questioned where a resident went once they were done with their program. They all couldn’t stay here, and the ones that attempted found it hard to continue with the pressure pushed by ‘Park the Shark.’ Even if there were a resident whom he deemed sufficient to fill an attending position, he’d never advocate on their behalf.

Brendon didn’t get where he was by accepting a hand-out from anyone.

“I’m still going to hold her a place over there just in case.” Sully continued, still hanging around Park like there was more to discuss. 

Park caught the residents leaving the room, walking over to another a couple of doors down. His eyes followed their movement, barely blinking when he looked back at Sully, questioning glare. “Shouldn’t you be doing hand-offs with the rest?”

Sully didn’t look over his shoulder, or show any attempt to attend to his duties. There wasn’t even a hint of hesitation, not even when he saw the glare from Park, staring him up and down. He was a man determined to do a job Brendon saw no point in. “I’m telling you this because I’d hate for you to come to the realization how critical her contribution to this hospital is until it’s too late.”

Brendon grinded his jaw slightly. Had Sully conspired with Emmick to shove you down his throat? Or maybe this was a lousy attempt at your end to get an apology out of him. Park didn’t relinquish. He didn’t care how much people argued the contrary, he refused to give in on what people may think was “best” for his department. 

“You may not need her, but that doesn’t eliminate her worth around here.” Sully stated with firmness.

From the hardened stare of his resident, Brendon knew exactly what Sully was referring to. He didn’t doubt that you’d share the hostility brewing between him and you. It wasn’t exactly a secret. Park would not shy away from exposing a resident for their wrong doings.

What he was starting to notice was the courage of certain residents willing to put their foot down on what they saw was unjust.

They handed him the short end of the stick during his residency and med-school years. His teachers and attendings didn’t make it easy, and they certainly wouldn’t have tolerated being advised by residents like you and Sully.

Instead of picking a fight, he chose the silence. It was early in the morning to dig into Sully. He’d chosen to wait into swatting him around like a shark with its fin. It took another minute for Sully to realize Park the Shark was opting to glare at him, inserting dominance until he got the hint. 

Park handed him the device back. Sully took it without question, swiftly turning to head in the direction the residents disappeared. Standing firm in place, he watched the cloud of plum scrubs move around the post-op floor. 

He knew exactly which ones would cry over his directive before the start of their next year. Who would hesitate and second-guess themselves the next time they answered a consultation. He could acutely guess who would be eaten alive by the other attendings across different departments. If they couldn’t handle the likes of Robby or Walsh, then he saw them quitting sooner rather than later.

Yet, you didn’t fit that image, physically or metaphorically. 

You, who was off doing a surgery only he trusted senior staff on, were ambitiously seeking to make yourself indispensable. There was no need when you had staff like Emmick and Sully in your corner, even the dreadful surgical attendings like Walsh were jabbing at Park to ‘ease up’ on the only resident able to keep up with him.

He heard it all and up until now, it never made sense to ‘ease up’ on his residents. It was far from his natural instinct to push until they finally figured to pull themselves up, even as he had control of the rope. You had managed to deny him that pleasure, opting to climb the side of the cliff with your bare hands. 

Now, he was left watching and waiting, with the rope still in his hand.

When Brendon heard about the opening of OR 5, cleaned up after the complex acetabular reconstruction, it was past noon. He was doing the afternoon check in with Annette, and he hadn’t realized how late the surgery ended.

There was no sight of you or Emmick. He would not have assumed either of you were going to stay longer than necessary once charting was done. It was a difficult procedure based on the pre-operative details. The day had been lulled by a scheduled base itinerary that the residents could handle with limited supervision. He had time to spend, and he was analyzing the patients chart as if he was going to scrub in for surgery.

It was obsessive, but the compulsion to understand every surgery in the department he commanded, was a given.

He happened to be going around the post-op ward. Checking in with residents as patients moved out of surgery to observation or were discharged or transferred elsewhere. As he was passing by the room in the far corner, he heard a familiar belly laugh. Unrestrained and engrossed in whatever made him laugh. 

Brendon peeked his head first, checking in through the window. Mr. Giles sat on the bed, glancing to his left with a toothy grin. The surgery had been done in a few hours, and although he’d probably feel better sleeping the entire procedure off, he had his own form of treatment.

He was staring fondly at a female visitor. It was hard to make out who they were from their face, but the silhouette was too familiar. He noted the black backpack sitting beside the chair, pulled close to the bedside. It wasn’t until the voice started laughing along with Mr. Giles that it clicked.

“I swear, I’ve never seen anyone slip so animatedly as then.” You breathed out, the laugh subsiding into giggles as you tried to catch your breath. 

Stopping beside the filler of the wall between both rooms, he crossed his arms. Without realizing, he was inclining his ear closer to listen. You sighed out dramatically, “He’s not the most graceful, but he can suture up nerves and tissue even with his eyes closed.”

“So, how come he’s leaving?” Mr. Giles questioned, interested in the explanation. He cleared his croaky throat.

There was a beat of silence, and from the corner of his eye, Brendon noticed how you shrugged. “He doesn’t see himself staying here. This was always temporary compared to where he wanted to be.”

“And how about you?” Mr. Giles proposed, smiling again. “You’re pretty good at what you do. Where do you want to be?” 

You hummed, nervously laughing after as you tried deflecting the comment. Too humble to know when to just take the compliment. “I haven’t decided yet. Dr. Sullivan has invited me to join him once my residency is over, but I still have a year to figure that out.”

“Don’t wait too long.” Mr. Giles advised in the antiquated fashion Brendon’s parents did to him. 

Marriage. Kids. Retirement plans; personal-life-milestones Brendon put aside. He didn’t have to think about that while focusing on his career. As long as he could continue to be the chief orthopedic surgeon at PTMC, his life was as fulfilled as he felt it could be. He didn’t need personal distractions to keep him occupied. 

“Sometimes, the things that are good for us are the things we let go.” Mr. Giles warned, turning his head to look up at the ceiling. “If I had taken my own advice, I would’ve married my wife before going to the Marines. I was lucky enough she came to find me once her first marriage ended.”

Brendon glanced down at the watch positioned on the inside of his wrist. It was past one and he didn’t need the liability of restless residents staying around past their bedtime. He advanced towards the patient’s door, one hand braced on the frame of the open sliding door. 

He spoke your name briskly, title and surname firm into the air. You turned towards the door of the room, eyebrows raised to your hairline. Staring at you with heavyset eyes, he saw the casualness of your attire. Plum scrubs more than likely in the dispenser, changed into relaxed jeans, a grey t-shirt, wrapped in your fleece jacket. 

Rotating from the hip, you put on a tight lip smile. “Dr. Park. Did you need to check in with Mr. Giles?”

“No,” The firm definition of his arm around the sleeves of his scrub tightened, gripping tighter to the frame. “I’m here to make sure all my staff is where they need to be.”

With the pronunciation of his possession over the day shift, you heard the message clearly. Facing Mr. Giles, your body relaxed with the revelation of his soft expression. With one hand stretched, you patted his hand lying flat on the bed. “I will check on you tonight.”

He scoffed, the corner of his lip curling up. “So soon? You just can’t stay away from this place, huh?”

While reaching down to slip on your backpack, you smiled coyly. You pushed the chair back to the corner, and once back by Mr. Giles bedside; you paused with your hands in your jacket pockets. “What can I say, I love what I do. Rest up, Frank.”

Making your way out the room, Brendon pulled his arm back, stepping aside to give you an undisturbed exit. The air that hit him as you were passing by was colder than the fuzziness between you and Mr. Giles. Brendon still found himself venturing in the same direction as you.

“If you’re looking for Dr. Emmick, I last heard she was speaking with the wife of the steel-yard worker.” You directed to Park walking behind you. As you turned the corner, walking in the direction of the elevator, he was still behind you. 

“How did the surgery go?’ He asked with no change in the equilibrium of his tone.

You sighed, shaking your head. “He’s in the ICU. Apart from the fracture and the reconstruction, he suffered major trauma to his internal organs. Spleen was compromised, and Dr. Walsh removed a part of his kidney.”

The way you noted all the information was robotic. It was like having an automated voice read the chart. If he had wanted the differential diagnosis of the patient, he wouldn’t have asked. His eyes lingered on the back of your head, suddenly determined to leave the hospital as rapidly as possible. As if your pit stop to see Mr. Giles wasn’t the true reason you had delayed leaving.

Instead of heading straight for the elevators, you derailed into the residents lounge, slipping in and letting the door fall behind you. Park, with the reflexes from his childhood, pushed the door back with his palm. Inside the lights were dimmed, and you walked over to the fridge, as if you were utterly alone in the room.

“How come you were pulled to assist?” Brendon ruminated, eyes narrowed at you.

When you stood back up straight, you had an energy drink in your hand. The crack of the seal echoed and you shrugged while sipping the beverage. He awaited a verbal response. Some nonsensical explanation for an answer you had no way of knowing.

You took a couple of steps, in his direction, before stopping. He didn't move from the path to the door. With wide eyes and an awkward tight lip smile, you rocked on your feet. “Is there something else you needed to know about the patient, Dr. Park?”

The question wasn’t proposed because you wanted the conversation to continue. If it was the only way for you to be able to leave the confined space, you would; but you make it practical. About the patient care and the workload, the night shift was leaving the day shift. Nothing of the sort that related personally to you and him. 

He knew with the scheduled double shift you were blocked for must have been a dread. If the current direction this conversation was heading was any clue, he could see the double shift being the last thing you want to do.

Working for 24 hours—half of them stuck with the attending you shunned from your education. Brendon was anticipating some form of retaliation. Letting your professionalism turn to spite. Lying in wait to see whether you’d give him the same treatment you felt you unjustly earned from him.

“Typically a fourth-year resident would perform or assist the procedure.” Park responded, completely guiding the conversation in the opposite direction.

You didn’t remove your eyes from him. They were glassy, and the way your lids would flutter ever so slightly, weary. With your lips sealed, you slowly nodded your head, as if remembering for the future. Don’t get used to this treatment. It’s not meant to last.

“I responded to the consultation and it was Dr. Emmick’s directive to have me on the surgical team.” You plainly renounced. This antagonistic approach was doing nothing in his favor. From the way you kept looking at him with the blank expression, he had more luck talking to a wall. “It was a learning opportunity.”

Brendon curtly nodded once, flexing his jaw as his teeth pressed against each other. Firmer than before. How were you supposed to be ‘equals’ if you could barely speak words to him?

“I have to go home. I work another shift tonight.” 

Silently, you maneuvered around his body. As he felt your arm come up against his, he finally retracted himself. You only opened the door wide enough to slip your body, letting partial light from the hospital peek in the ambient lounge. 

Brendon’s hand reached for the handle, pulling it open wider. You glanced up when you noticed the door leave your grasp. You spun around once stepping out the room, eyeing Brendon peculiarly. 

He stood opposite of you, shoulder tall and pulled back. He nodded once more, “See you next week for day shift.”

Brendon prided himself on the control he had. The influence in his department that allowed him to rule over his residents prevented health violations and potential lawsuits from knocking on his door. It saved him from unprecedented headaches. The less likely he was to have an unplanned meeting with Admin, the better. 

That idea was expanded to his residents. He deemed it efficient to harbor the tenacity his attending preached. If they put on a mile with an inch, they could potentially save someone’s quality of life.

That is a lot harder said than done when patients weren’t easily agreeable to their plan of care.

Which was the only reason Brendon was tenser with pediatric cases. With more parties involved with the care, there was more time dedicated to explaining operative procedures and post-op care. Everything was done for the consideration of the children, but Brendon didn’t understand that type of reliance.

Being a single man in his early forties, he had yet to figure out that stage of his life. There was no personal life with a wife or children waiting for him outside the hospital doors. So his approach was practical when explaining, but it was failing him at the moment.

A 12-year-old girl was trembling in fear, tears staining her cheeks, while sitting on the hospital bed. Her parents were sitting beside her, and after Brendon thought they might be able to proceed with the open reduction and internal fixation, they were pulling out with the consent forms before them. 

“We just don’t feel as comfortable as we did before. I mean, how do we know the probability of the risks?” The father reasoned, similar in build as Brendon, one arm filled with tattoos. He twisted at the hip, as one hand held the smaller one of his daughter, while facing Brendon.

He shouldn’t have sent Jones to sign the consent forms.

“We don’t have precise numbers, but most children recover well.” Brendon’s concise answer was honest, not medically malicious. He couldn't provide them false hope. That was a lawsuit waiting to happen.

“But, could she develop this growth plate injury the other doctor mentioned?” The mother questioned, leaning forward in the chair. Her eyes were sunken from the exhaustion, and despite the fact, they had only been there for three hours, the hospital air and lights were draining the youth in her. 

“So we aren’t even sure if she will be able to dance, let alone move normally?” She continued with a shaky breath.

He was totally going to rip Jones a new one.

Before Brendon could make a feasible attempt to remedy their concerns, they all heard a knock come from the door.

You peeked your head in, one hand braced on the door you slid open. Your eyes landed on the couple and their daughter, and as if you immediately sensed the tension in the room, you smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I need to borrow Dr. Park for a moment.”

When your attention moved to Park, he let out a heavy sigh, one raised eyebrows in your direction. What is it?

The subtle shake of your head, Not in here.

Brendon grabbed the device the parents put at the edge of the girls bed. The father stood up, wiping his hands on his black denim jeans. “We will need more time to think about this, anyway.”

“Let the nurse know when you’re ready.” Brendon curtly responded.

You opened the door wider, stepping back to let him through. Closing it gently once he stepped out, you spared the family a soft smile. You both walked away from the glass, over to the nursing station. Brendon put down the device, “What is it?”

“ER needs a consult.” You informed him immediately. He put his hands on his hips, turning to the patient's room.

When he glanced at you, he noted the army green scrub cap, beige stars littered around it. It seemed new. He shrugged his shoulders, lips pursed. “Why hasn’t anyone gone down?”

“Bryant did.” You affirmed, shaking your head as you scoffed. “Dr. Robby must be in a mood because he sent him up immediately. I just happened to catch him groveling when I left the OR.”

His eyes wandered up to drink in your nurtured appearance. Despite the last shift you worked being night shifts, you managed to come rejuvenated for the day. This was no longer the shift you mastered, but you appeared the same as before. 

Except Park knew things were different. Unexplainable, but it was messing with the ‘control’ he had within himself and in his habitat.

When you came in for hand off, you joked with the night shift. Hugged and laughed along with whatever funny patient interaction they had that night. When you came around Emmick, she’d check in with you, tease you about the change of schedule. 

Once Park came around to collect all the residents, he caught the slight wink she sent you when you both looked in his direction. Like the two of you had always spent your residency as close friends. 

“So, how come you're here telling me this?”

You chuckled, grinning subtly. “It’s better than having to hear about you ruining another resident's spirit.”

The knowing look in your eye that twinkled before you looked away didn’t go amiss. That was shady, but something told him that’s exactly what you meant to do. Even if he couldn’t admit it, you were intentional with your action. 

You looked back over your shoulder to pre-op room 6. “Was that the girl with the Salter-Harris fracture?”

Park hummed, shifting on his feet. You had noticed the patient from looks alone. The only time you could’ve heard of the patient was from nurses when they transferred her up from the ER, before participating in the rotator cuff repair. You had the faintest idea of who she was, but you were aware from when you walked in.

“Seemed tense.” You noted cautiously, eyeing Park from his face alone. It was like you were trying to angle out his response without words. You had been able to read any room you had entered, which is why he believed in practicality.

No need to play different parts every time you enter a room.

He looked down at you. You mimicked his posture, less weight on your shoulder, appearing casual. “Blame Jones. He’s freaked the patient out, and now the parents are hesitant to sign the consent forms.”

He scowled and there was a beat of silence. 

“Is there any way I can help?”

The question was assertive. You weren’t planning to be overlooked, and you needed an answer. You weren't going to walk away without an answer. It was the drive he kept alluding you were missing. Whatever pushed you into wrapping your soul around another was showing up more in this two-minute conversation than before.

The private check-in that Brendon had never acknowledged as you were looking out for a colleague (as much as a supervisor) was an ‘act’ that disappeared in three-months. In that time, you had erased the previous routine and rapport with him, and started new. Brendon knew it was taking everything in your power to restrain yourself from doting on him as much as anyone else you worked with.

He was also acutely aware you didn’t stray away from what mattered most to you. Professionally or personally.

Brendon reasoned. This was genuine, but the way your steely eyes waited expectantly, it felt like looking in a mirror. He was sure the residents recognized the impersonal stares from the countless times he stared down at them. He didn't hide the fact he was displeased, stressed, or irritated with an outcome.

No one wanted to be the one sent to bother him during those moments. You had dared to step up to the plate in place of an intern.

“Why not answer the consultation?” Brendon fixated on the fact you heard of the consultation and preferred coming to him personally to let him know. You hadn't responded to it, nor were you aware there was a consultation to see until a few minutes ago.

You cocked your head to the side, playfully rolling your eyes. “I’d rather not get on Dr. Robby’s bad side.”

Fair, he supposed. You set boundaries with your own attending. He couldn't say he was shocked you’d do so easily with someone who wasn’t directly your supervisor. The slight stretch of his neck managed to pull at the muscles down to his shoulders, and the dread of the patient in room 6 was getting to him.

Before Brendon could assign you to some scheduled surgery to busy yourself, you pointed your thumb back to the room. “I will talk to the parents. It is best that they make a decision soon before the girl takes a turn for the worse.”

He was left with no choice but to stiffly agree with you. The careful steps you were taking backwards put immense distance again. “You better head down to the ED before Robby rips you a new one.”

The smooth turn you made flipped a switch. You sanitized before knocking the door. When you opened it, he could make out the faint sound of you greeting them properly while introducing yourself . He could see you smiling all over again. It wasn't just the bed-side manner you put for patients, but the authentic side of you that was patient and illumining. 

Brendon buffered for a minute, waiting to see whether you’d come out, deferring to the idea of appealing to their psychological needs. After what felt like minutes, you hadn’t come out at all. No inkling of a potential departure. 

Daring to fight against the curve, Brendon stalked close enough to peek in the room from the window. To any nurses or doctors passing by, he was the leader taking mental notes of what was happening in his area of control. 

He saw your figure first from the angle. You were sitting on a chair, nodding along to something the girl was saying. Beside her, the parents were grasping onto her hands, while the 12-year-old patient let tears roll down her eyes.

You were on the mothers opposite side, listening intently like any other adult patient. Yet, this patient was comfortable being a frightened 12-year-of girl. The father jumped in, speaking at you with more elaboration as his hands moved. 

The transition was simple, still empathetic and understanding as they explained in detail what they couldn’t tell Park standing in the room. You spoke slowly and steady, much more available to sit and reflect on every aspect of a surgery you had done before.

When Brendon assumed time was escaping him, you weren’t fighting nearly as desperately as he was. He was endeavoring to make it worth his while. You were working at the pace that suited the patient under your care. 

While being young and having better neuroplasticity than him, you were malleable with every experience. You were adapting to every interaction with patients and coworkers—which explained why you were unrecognizable in an element Brendon Park had no intervention in. 

No control over a habitat you were reigning with your mind and fortifying with your heart. 

And after answering the consult from a brooding Robby and booking an OR, he found you sitting in the dictation room, typing away. You had lost the scrub cap, letting your hair be free. You hadn’t moved when he walked in, as if you had been expecting him to look for you.

He was looking down at the consent forms, initial and signed by the parents. 

“How did you manage to get them to consent?” Brendon queried. He stood at the door, holding the device up. 

There was a small hum to fill in the silence of the room. He awaited there, like you had the knowledge of the Holy Grail—waiting for you to bestow upon him the privilege of knowing. 

Standing in front of anyone, he’d feel like an idiot. Standing in front of you, he was trying to get to know what everyone else saw. The missing piece to his elaborate puzzle with a decades work into. 

You lazily lifted your head, briefly confused until you realized what he was alluding to. Shrugging your shoulders and leaning back in the chair, you sighed. “I just sat there and spoke to them.”

“The parents and the girl had questions they felt Jones didn’t address.” You clarified, simplifying the previous trouble Brendon was having.

You made it sound like the antiquated practice had somehow been lost between consultation and transfer to the surgical floor. “They just wanted to have a conversation instead of being mandated to agree with the surgery. 

Standing up, you wandered over to the coffee pot with a mug already in hand. Pouring the liquid, your light breathing was calm. You weren’t rattled by emotionally distraught parents and frightened girls. 

The same way standing up against him came out as if you had done it before. 

The coffee pot clicks back on the machine. You carefully moved around, grabbing sugar packets and powered creamer. “They knew it was necessary, but it didn't stop them from feeling scared.” 

“It’s all for the benefit of their child.” Brendon responded. You were a doctor. He was aware you knew that. It was a reflex. It was the practical answer.

It should’ve been a no-brainer. For you and for the parents. No parent should neglect or delay care necessary, especially if the odds of them being mobile without the procedure was at risk. 

You stared at him with wide eyes, before chuckling. “They know that, Dr. Park.”

With the stare of your eyes, you were communicating what you weren’t going to put in words for him. They’re still human and afraid. It was redundant considering Park had scolded you for such. You weren’t going to bother with explaining yourself anymore. 

“I also spoke with Jones about appropriate verbiage when getting consent from patients, specifically in pediatric cases.” You informed, holding the mug in two hands while

heading back to your workstation. 

He shook his head, squeezing his teeth together until they rubbed. You stuck a hand out, halting whatever tangent he was going to start. “Not everyone’s preferred method of criticism is from Park the Shark.”

The small grin on your face while you typed didn’t agitate him as much as it would’ve from anyone else. Walsh would’ve earned a scowl. He might’ve glared at Emmick from the corner of his eye, with a strained stretch of his neck. Garcia knew better than to poke the Shark when she saw him send the senior resident out of the OR as a second year. 

And while he thought he had sunken his teeth deep enough to be able to pull you from making grave mistakes, you had slithered from his grasp. You had him chasing your tail in a trail that would end with him going to the depths of the dark ocean.

“Some of us learn differently. There’s nothing wrong with that.” You casually mentioned, clicking around on the computer and typing. “The point is we learn to do better next time, right?”

When his brain registered you were talking with him, he huffed out a breath, tempted to let the corner of his mouth curve. He picked up the subliminal message. You were becoming braver with your jab; and even while you pretended not to be overtly interested in to stare him in the eyes, you were making precise stabs. 

Before he could push the conversation further, there was a beep. You both glanced down at each other's pagers and the small scrape of your chair against the floor followed. You breezed past him without a second thought, leaving him in the wake of your sunshine. Even with the glumness of his personality, you were shining the darkest of places. He was inches from touching the sunlight, but some cloud always obscured it.

Brendon looked at the door click shut and he saw the same cloud shutting his limited sunlight once again.

“All non-emergent surgeries will be rescheduled. We need to focus on OR turnover to be quick. Some of these patients may not be able to wait five minutes.” Brendon instructed precisely, staring at the patient board over the nursing station. His arms folded over his chest, musing in thought. 

“My nurses know what they’re doing, Dr. Park.” Annette joked, frameless glasses sitting on her nose as she stared down at her device. Her fingers moved eagerly to start moving the scheduled times of the current list of patients.

Brendon shook his head with a small hum. He heard the clacking of shoes down the hall and his head followed the noise. Emmick was typing rapidly on her phone, while approaching him. “What is the current count?”

“17 including children, right now. It can change soon.” Annette responded, glancing at Emmick who stood close to them.

Emmick sighed, pocketing her phone. She shook her head as she saw a couple of the residents rushing by to reach out to loved ones and run to the bathroom before they were buried in their work. A multi-vehicle pileup on the interstate, including an 18-wheel truck. Once the mass size of the gasoline truck flipped over, the rest of the cars followed, and the casualties were increasing by the second.

“Have you reached out to the rest?” Brendon asked, turning to Emmick.

She stiffly nodded, interlocking both her hands behind her head. “I’ve debriefed with the residents in the lounge. A couple of them will be going over 24 hours on their feet.”

He knew exactly who was supposed to be done with a double shift. That didn’t stop them from their responsibilities. They knew medical emergencies occurred at all hours, and anyone’s life could hang in the balance. Their job was to react to the trauma at hand and do everything in their power to stop the emergency.

As on cue, you were coming around the corner with Sully by your side. He was handing you a paper cup, probably filled with coffee, to push you through the unexpected extension of your shift. Despite this being your third consecutive shift, you were synchronized with Sully’s steps. He was light and energized, and with each sip of coffee, you were pacing yourself to reach the same determination.

When Sully found the two attendings standing in the small circle, he smiled casually, as if a car pileup was an everyday occurrence. “Residents are getting in their last moments of freedom. Let us know where you want us, Captain.”

“Trauma down stairs will determine priority. Dr. Emmick will run point with Garcia.” Brendon informed, tutting his chin to his colleague.

“Lovely.”

Emmick rolled her eyes, dropping her hands to her hips. Brendon briefly ignored the annoyance with a slight glare. “I will assign you all to cases as they come in.” 

Sully and you both nodded to Brendon’s command. Emmick bumped your arm with her elbow. “Want to help me downstairs? Could use the second pair of eyes.”

“I’m going to need all R4 and R3’s in the OR.” Brendon intervened, glancing between the two of you through his hooded eyes. “I won’t have to check the work of the interns.”

Emmick narrowed her eyes while she pursed her lips. To the two residents in question, it would seem like Emmick was challenging the decision. It wasn’t rare that on occasion the two attendings would butt heads, like hammer-head sharks fighting for their space. But to Brendon, this was a jest. One more feather in her cap about how well she knew him while barely speaking to her.

“Fair point.” Was all Emmick mustered, suppressing the small grin on her face.

When Brendon looked over at you, there wasn’t any deflation of his prerogative. You weren’t visibly upset as you were focused. While still taking sips of your coffee, you were simply listening to the instruction. He could safely assume you were high-strung, from the small shift of your feet and your eyes to the group of your supervisors and friends. You didn’t let your face show it.

“Will you be able to manage?” Brendon questioned in your direction.

Humming, you furrowed your brows at the question. He crossed his arms, “I’m going to need you to be alert. Sometimes you’re going to have to work through the fatigue for the sake of patient-care.”

The statement wasn’t wrong. It was an observation any rational teacher would warn their student. Accepting to work at a trauma-1 hospital brought the exhaustive workload. If he was going to trust any of the residents to demonstrate leadership and initiative, it was a moment like this to prove it. 

He noticed the hesitant eyes from Sully and Emmick, caught off guard from the warning. You nodded once, ignoring the uncertainty for your closest work-partners. “I understand, Dr. Park.”

Satisfied enough with that answer, he looked back to Annette who was watching the interaction carefully while speaking on her spectralink phone. She muttered small replies before hanging up. “Ambulances are 7 minutes out.”

“That’s my cue.” Emmick announced, clapping her hands together. She placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, sending you a small wink. “See you once the dust settles.”

Brendon scoffed, shaking his head. Emmick began her tread backwards, pointing a finger at Brendon. “Don’t’ go biting any of my resident’s head off!”

Sully snickered, covering his mouth with a hand and with the two of you standing in front of him, he didn’t see that task as impossible. He motioned his hands outward. “Get your nerves out before either of you kill a patient.”

You pushed a smiling Sully in the direction that Emmick went down, your free hand resting lightly on the back of his arm as you guided him away. He was mimicking an aggressive bite, chomping his teeth at you. Retracting your head, you laughed, eyes crinkling into little slivers. 

The energy changed two hours later. With the surgical unit bustling with all the possible staff available, his residents were no longer smiling or kidding—covered in blood stained gowns, dispersed between the 25 operating rooms. Brendon stepped out of OR 17, doffing the gloves he was wearing. When he walked down the hallway, he noted another door slide open farther down.

You stepped out, hands on your hips as you sighed. When you looked in his direction, he was already heading towards you. “What do you have?”

“Bilateral wrist and humeral shaft fracture with a radial nerve injury. Put in plates and screws.” You sanitized your hands, rubbing vicariously through every side. Motioning your head to the ER you just exited, you sighed. “May is closing up.”

The double doors down the hallways clicked open. Turning both your heads at the sound, a patient was being wheeled in with a small group of doctors and nurses surrounding the head of the bed. Brendon recognized the vascular surgeon, Greg Norton tying up his scrub cap. He greeted Brendon with a grin, hands landing on the bed railing. “Park, ready to make mincemeat with this poor fellow?”

When the bed came up towards where you both stood, you had moved beside Brendon, hands on your hips as you stared down at the patient. He noticed the quizzical look in your eye, staring at the lower extremities. “I won’t be scrubbing in.”

You turned to look at him as Dr. Norton furrowed his brows, his grin faltering. “What? Don’t tell me you’re going to send me one of your pups?”

Looking down at you, there was a moment of doubt, like you couldn’t believe Park was actually looking at you. “Possible posterior wall acetabular fracture with hip dislocation. Emmick called beforehand about it.”

“What did imaging show?” You questioned, already honing into your diagnostic skill. Your eyes shifted around his face, and your mind was moving at an incredible speed attributed to the neuroplasticity you sharpened.

“Come on, Park.” Dr. Norton interrupted, leaning forward as to cut into the silent digression of the case. His thick New England accent bounced off the walls with the heightened volume he always spoke at. Brendon crossed his arms as he reluctantly glared at the older, fuller man. Dr. Norton then looked towards you, nose scrunched slightly. “What are you, sweetheart? R3?”

“I’ve done this procedure before.” Your calm voice still gives way for the displeasure of his dismissal. 

It wasn’t disappointment, it was anger. Despite being 20 years his junior, you maintained a sense of composure for your age. Some might have acted ferociously. Brendon knew there were attendings that would not have kept up appearances for the sake of respect in the workplace.

Dr. Norton snorted, shaking his head. “Nothing against you, honey, but this procedure is made for meticulous hands. I don’t need the trouble of some shaky, doe-eye resident screwing this man’s possibility of walking.”

Brendon's own disbelief didn’t seem as animated as yours, widening your eyes while tilting your head to the side. Dr. Norton had been around since before Brendon joined the hospital. He always poked at the fact Brendon didn’t smile for a doctor with ‘razor sharp’ teeth. He thought Dr. Brendon Park was as animalistic as people described him to be, he’d flaunt it.

Before you could proceed by jumping into a pit of fire, Brendon crossed his arm, squaring his shoulders. “Dr. Norton, I assign the cases, and if you have a problem with that you can take it up with me after my resident performs the surgery.”

Dr. Norton snarled, lifting his top lip to his nose. He looked at you before smacking his lips. With the menial glare from Brendon, he could see his ego visibly deflate. If he wanted him to show his teeth, he should have asked nicely.

“You ready?” Dr. Norton grumbled, motioning his head to one of the OR’s down the hallway. He was turning his father away from Brendon and avoiding your gaze, as if you had ripped his jugular. 

Offering a polite nod, you took a step back, still staring at him. “I will meet you there after looking at the imaging, Dr. Norton.”

Dr. Norton grumbled, signaling for the nurses to continue down the hall to the OR. Brendon stood there, eyeing Dr. Norton as he passed, burly arms crossed to intimidate with his physicality as much as his personality. When the doors to OR 22 closed behind the transfer team, Brendon finally turned to face you, who was staring up at him with a deadpanned expression. “I didn’t want you defending me.”

Brendon pressed his lips in a thing line. You didn’t deny that you needed it. Dr. Norton didn’t know how to talk to his female colleagues, and his brusque manners didn’t rub people the right way, regardless. You had worked with him before, under Brendon’s guide, which left you in the limelight compared to center stage.

The overcasting shadow of his reputation protected you from the scrutiny. While stranded at sea, you had to find your own anchor to throw.

“I wasn’t.” Was all he plainly said.

He wasn’t defending you. He was defending your knowledge. Had you been Jones or Reddy, he wouldn’t have jumped so eagerly. There were weaknesses in all his residents, some more than others, but you had been the exception in most areas. Even if it didn’t come at first, it came from work. You could not have survived up to 27 hours of traumatic repairs if you had not put sweat and tears into getting it right.

“You better hurry and scrub in.” Brendon advised, cocking his head to the side. Go look at the images and prove to him he’s wrong. Prove to me you’ve got this.

With less visible friction, you walked around Brendon, heading in the direction of the double doors. You walked with the power of someone prepared for the challenge. When Brendon turned around, he noticed another figure had joined the hallway, having exited OR 2. 

Sully stood outside the door, speaking at you quietly. He furrowed his brows, hands on his hips as he saw you walk away. You nodded in response to his question, pushing the door open with you back and slipping through gracefully.

Brendon sighed, walking down the hall and nodding to Sully in acknowledgment. “You done? I have a couple of open-tibia fractures that won’t heal on their own.”

Buffering for a moment, Sully complied with a small smile. He turned back to the door, forehead pinched as he tried deciphering the scene. Park, you, and Dr. Norton. From the small snort, he had picked up all the clues necessary to make a bold assumption. It didn’t help Norton spoke with the volume of twenty people.

“Thank you, Dr. Park.” Sully gently grinned; slyly leaning forward as he suggestively spoke.

The word rang in his ear repeatedly: You may not need her, but that doesn’t eliminate her worth around here. Sully was assuming Brendon thought the hospital couldn’t utilize your brilliance. That the hospital didn’t need surgeons with exemplary bedside manner that matched their skills in an operating room; or that he couldn’t use someone he could trust at this very moment to dedicate themselves in a surgery he trusted himself to do. 

In typical Brendon fashion, he stared at Sully, lips in a tight line that strengthened his jaw and cheeks even more. Sully pushed the limits by still standing before him and that distressed him more than he liked. He didn’t know whether it was the fact that Sully had thanked him something he saw as unnatural, or the fact you had yet again dismissed his efforts others would consider valiant. 

He didn’t want to be a hero of any sort (not that you needed it, he was starting to realize). You could snarl just as nasty as him, but it wasn’t your preferred method of surviving—because you weren’t just surviving your residency. The formulated relationships with your co-residents, attendings, and patients were your life mission, apart from learning to improve someone’s life while living their worst day.

The vulnerability that he considered not outfitted for the workplace led to how you operated. Your life, the patients, even the residents you helped when they just were not there yet.

Brendon didn’t see the future as optimistically as you, and when the shattering reality came of how it could look different to what he was used to know, it did break his stride. The built of momentum between you and him—his correction and your fear of fucking it up—was his everyday routine. Not to minimize you, but to build the tools to survive.

Of course, the method didn’t work. And he stupidly realized he was attempting to survive on his own like a shark in a tank.

It was a hard lesson you were teaching him while baiting him. He was rolling his neck around trying to compose himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right.” Sully responded, raising his chin higher as he squared his shoulders. The same self-satisfied grin gracing his youthful features. He watched for any unwelcoming passersby before leaning in. “Better you than me. I might’ve socked the guy.”

Brendon's lips twitched, and he looked at Sully thoughtfully. He definitely had the build. He had seen him work out at the gym across the street from time to time. “You wouldn't have.”

“For her? Yeah.” Sully confirmed breathy as he scoffed from the disbelief. “Like I said Dr. Park, she could survive without me, but I don't think I could’ve made it without her.”

“I don't take lightly when people dismiss her.” Sully stuffed his hands in his scrub pockets, shuffling briefly like the admission was something too vulnerable. For a conversation with Dr. Park? It was a revelation that went beyond professional bounds.

You had taught Sully a thing or two about being attuned with your inner spirits—and if that meant warding away what ate the center of it—there was worthiness in the cause. Park saw the deep resemblance in the now stoic impression on Sully’s face. Bold and Brendon couldn't ignore it.

Sully took careful steps backwards, arms falling to his side. “So, thanks, Dr. Park.”

“I’ll book the OR.” Brendon announced walking out of Trauma 2 in ER. He ripped off the gloves he was wearing, tossing him in a nearby waste bin. It was an ironic day to get into a motorcycle accident while the interstate was still being cleared from the debris of the MVA in the morning. 

What more could you expect from a 21-year-old boy whose frontal lobe still had not developed.

It was almost 2 and the majority of the patients that came in during the accident had been moved to the post-surgical unit or the ICU while waiting for follow up surgery for open wounds. The surgical department had cleared half of its staff that stayed overnight or pulled the spontaneous shift. Those still on the clock were dragging their feet and it was taking everything in him not to bite. When the night shift residents were able to leave, they were also zombies walking.

All, except one. When he got up to the surgical floor, he walked into the viewing room, where their charge nurse could gauge operations with the camera live streaming it all. He could see OR 22 running up to 8 hours of operation time. He mostly was staring at the different scrub caps to distinguish all the involved staff. 

The only one missing was a green cap.

“Are they finishing it up?” Brendon questioned, turning to Annette sitting at one of the open tables, typing into the device.

She hummed, head still lowered. “Ortho is done with the reconstruction. Vascular and trauma is finishing up.”

Brendon nodded curtly before heading back out the room. The surgery couldn’t have been too complicated if you were done in roughly 7 hours. He had slipped in once as he continued assigning residents to the incoming patients. You had stayed stuck there for the majority of it, and Brendon didn’t feel the need to come in after that.

His immediate thought was to check the dictation room. If you were still lingering, you’d probably be trying to finish up work you had, which meant charting. To his luck, when he peeked through the window on the door, he found you hunched over a computer. The same station you sat at the last week he had spoken to you. 

Inhaling a sharp breath, he twisted the door open, and the click caught your attention. Lifting your head and eyebrows simultaneously at the direction of the door, your body visibly jolted. He knew you were awake enough to orally translate your notes, but your body kept succumbing to the sleep it needed. 

“How was the surgery?” Brendon questioned, approaching the desk with his hands in his scrub pockets. With the height advantage, he had a clear view of the desk. You had a paper cup of black coffee, an open energy drink, and a small bottle of ibuprofen.

Straightening you back as a way to stretch your body, you shrugged. “Went better than expected.”

“Did Norton give you any grief?” Brendon followed up, not taking his eye off the obvious display of you recklessly messing with your body’s melatonin. From the look of it, you didn’t have anything of substance to run off. 

You gently twirled your wrist to reboot your dexterity and putting down the microphone in your hand gave you the break your body needed to lean back in the chair. The question caught you off-guard, leaving your mouth open, while your brain lacked the reflex to come up with a response.

“He was fine. Didn’t talk much unless he was bragging about his NFL athlete son to the nurses.” The small scowl on your face made him bite back the laugh he wanted to let out.

He heard the stories. The accolades he made about a son who mostly sat on the bench. He couldn’t remember the last time they had even aired his face on anything bigger than a phone screen. Brendon crossed his arms, the slight cure of his lips gave him away. “He's the 2nd running back on a good day, at best.”

You bit your bottom lip, shaking your head lightly. “Have you told him that?”

“Almost.”`

The loopy grin on your face made you look cuter, as Emmick or Walsh might describe it. He was aware what staff liked you for your personality and which other liked you for something other than work-appropriate. In an objective sense, none of them were wrong, nor did it concern him or HR yet. Your hands rubbed the back of your neck, easing it from side to side. “Apart from that, he is a respectable surgeon. He just lacks the social cues to elevate him to a standard that I could befriend.”

Brendon arms crossed over his chest. When he looked away, he was starting to see there were some lessons you felt he needed reminding of. Brendon had casual friends, people from college or med school he kept in touch with enough to be invited to weddings. He didn’t plan trips to see them across the country, but he thought being mutual on social media made up for that.

When in comparison to you, he did fall flat of the mark. You had the charisma that engaged everyone, and no one forgot your name because of it. 

In no way was it to save face for anything you may lack. It was your greatest strength, which as healers earned more respect that skill did.

You let out a choppy yawn, attempting to hide it before it just came out altogether. He cocked his head to one side, tightening his stance. “You’re exhausted”

“No, I'm fine.” You corrected him. He could not help to think that if Emmick were standing here, you would be more subject to her compassion than his no-nonsense tone. “I have charting to get done.”

“Which you are barely awake for.” Brendon pointed out.

The sigh that escaped you paired with the glare of your bloodshot eyes confirmed it all for him. You were past your limits, and there was no reason to prove you were capable of heaving the heavy load. Not to Brendon’s eyes. 

He watched you reach for the energy drink and before you could take a sip, it was pulled from your loose grasp. You stuttered, sitting up taller while staring accusatory to Brendon, holding the now relatively small can in his hand. Before you could utter a word, he leaned over to grab the cup of coffee with the other. “You don’t need this. You’re frying the melatonin in your brain telling you to go home.”

“I am needed here.”

He scoffed, turning his back to you as he found a way to keep the caffeinated drinks from your reach. He opted to put it on a nearby counter, leaning back into it with feet crossed to hide the mere temptation of sight.

“If I did need you, I’d need you to stay awake and alert.” Brendon grasped the edge of the counter underhanded, flexing the muscles in his biceps. “Right now you are neither of those things.”

Sagging in the chair turned to face him, your computer with the dictation notes still open abandoned, you frowned. “You could use the help.”

“No, I need you to go home.” Brendon emphasized his stare glued to your tired body. You didn’t have the precision to walk in a straight-line let alone cut into someone and know the difference between each ligament in a fractured tibia. It wasn’t an undercut. He wasn’t even sure it was out of pity. It was the rational thing to do for both you and him. “I can't work if I'm concerned about the moment you come down from the adrenaline of everything else.”

“You’ve been working over 30 hours straight. Either go home or sleep in the on-call room until Sullivan is out, but I don't want to see you in any OR, understood?” He questioned the way a parent might give an ultimatum to their preteen.

With those options presented to you on a platter and not some vicious stab of his displeasure of your character, you came to your senses. “You’re right. It was stupid.”

“It’s the exhaustion.” Brendon huffed out, standing from the counter. He turned his back to you and dug in one of the cabinets.

“Is Park the Shark making an excuse for his resident?” You mused and he could imagine the dopey grin on your face. 

“You’re my resident now?” Brendon questioned back, shutting the cupboard while hiding the item he grabbed in his wide fist. He glared at you through his eyelashes. It wasn’t nearly as fierce as Park the Shark could be.

“Honorary resident, depending on how I feel.” You joked, while craning your head back the closer he approached you.

The bags under your eyes were deserved. Not in a derogatory sense to put you down for your appearance, but because it felt like a badge you could brandish. The hard work you put while he pushed his thumb into your back, grinding your gears until you saw the same perspective from ten-feet above the ground, and you stood on your toes to match. It was an effort he could recognize in few residents.

Except not all dare yank him down to see it from their eyes. You had all but grabbed him from the collar and shook him. With dignity and pride to recognize yourself for something more than the surgical ‘pipsqueak,’ you humbled him.

That wasn’t an easy feat, and Brendon hadn't even snarled his teeth. 

He held out his one curled hand, a protein bar in a plastic wrapper facing you. When you look back up at him, lips curled inwards and eyebrows curved in confusion, he sighed. He rolled his eyes, “Eat something. You’ve had enough caffeine to kill your heart two times over.”

Skeptically, you took the protein bar in your hand and muttered a small ‘thanks.’ Slowly peeling the wrapper apart, you took a generous bite. He stepped away, stalking around from behind, still making sure you were chewing properly the only piece of nutrients you’ve had in hours. 

After sufficiently breaking down the food and digesting it down your esophagus, you spun your chair around, catching Brendon before he approached the door. “I appreciate your endorsement, by the way. With Dr. Norton.”

He looked at you from over his shoulder, before turning his body to get a better look. You nodded appreciatively. “I probably didn't deserve it, but I couldn't have entered that OR without some of your help.”

The cheeky smile on your face made him narrow his eyes humorously at you. He twitched his nose to hide the smile that wanted to break. If there was anything you were good at besides completely reconstructing the stability in someone’s hips, it was pecking at him with a double edge sword.  

“If the patient makes a full recovery, Dr. Norton won’t have anything to complain about then.” He shrugged. It was a safe response. One that didn't compromise the stone-cold persona. 

He knew you thanked him because you meant it, but also because he had already extended one hand to pull you back towards him. One step closer to reimagining what you both thought couldn't align.

“Not to be cocky, but I’m sure he will.” You said softly, the opposite of bold and pretentious. You hopped back on the computer, rapidly typing and clicking around on the screen. 

Brendon snorted, enjoying the bona fide assurance. It’s the only reason he hasn't loiter or probe the medical judgment you made in the OR. Even with the pressure boiling like a cooker pot, you had earned the space to own the operation room he typically did with years of experience. 

“I better not see you in my OR.” Brendon looked at you pointedly. “Not until your next shift.”

Now leaning in the chair, with your free hand, you lazily saluted to him. You brought up the protein bar and chewed lazily through another bite. He cocked his head to the side, awaiting a serious response from a third year resident. 

“I promise, Dr. Park.” You added, reaching down for your backpack. With raised eyebrows, you wait for him to move along, proving he was satisfied with the response. 

He looked you up and down once more before heading for the door again. With his hand on the door knob, he heard the shuffling of the chair and your bag. He opened the door and stopped when you called his name one more time. 

With the sound of your voice, he pressed his back against the door, keeping it open while turning his head once more. You were approaching him, backpack hanging low as you trudged it. Slipping in between him and the space he held open with his body, he had to crane his neck down to watch the top of your head travel past him.

“Have a good rest of your shift, and I’ll see you around, Dr. Park.” There was a faint smile on your face as you started walking backward, still looking at him.

He stayed frozen holding the door, half his body stepping out into the hallway. You spun gracefully, fiddling with the wrapper of the protein bar. He believed the words, because they came tenderly from your lips. The easy steps of your walk communicated what you didn't say with the words. He was one step closer to getting in your good graces, and he rubbed away the stiffness in his jaw as he bit back the grin.

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[popepout]

salivating at the idea of pope inserting himself into your life until he’s a trusted friend and confidant so he gets all the details of your life. one day, clearly upset, you call him and ask if you guys can go to lunch and you’re so shaken up the whole time. eventually you admit that you think you’re being stalked. you keep feeling this presence around you, watching you, especially at night. and you absolutely are. by pope. of course he can’t tell you that tid bit so he offers to come stay with you to protect you. and what a coincidence, now you feel so safe and not watched at all! slowly but surely, he’s training you to be reliant on him

oh, he’s so sick but he genuinely doesn’t think he’s doing anything wrong. sometimes he gets caught up in the guilt of making you so distressed, sometimes he’s exhausted to be carrying on with this charade. but at the same time, it’s for your best interest. you need someone looking after you, and you’d never let him if he told you he wanted to know where you are and what you’re doing 24/7.

content <𝟑 .ᐟ 18+, f!reader, stalking, breaking & entering, manipulation, pope’s gun, pet names, mention of somnophilia.

“alright—” pope finally speaks up after you look away from him for the tenth time. he places down his mug of coffee and folds his arms over his chest, “what’s up with you today, sweetheart?”

there’s no way you could have caught on. you’re a clever girl, he’ll give you that. but pope is so clean in everything he does. he’s calculated, even when he does things that others may consider sloppy it’s for good reason. he’s only caught when he wants to be, when he stops caring so much. he doesn’t want that, not yet at least. he huffs when you don’t answer. he narrows his eyes as he continues on in a low, gruff tone. oh— he’s laying it on thick and he knows it, “you’re flinchin’ every time i move, you can’t even look me in the eye…”

a moment passes.

“i think i’m being stalked, andy.” you finally blurt out, leaning closer to him over the diner table. your bottom lip wobbles as if you’re ashamed of yourself, as if you aren’t the victim in this situation. “i didn’t want to tell you— i was afraid of what you might do, but it’s gotten worse. my things are going missing, my locks are being picked.”

the terror in your voice reminds him to act surprised. he knits his eyebrows together in faux anger, but the protectiveness he feels is all real. he knows what you’re referring to. the last time he creeped into your apartment he made sure to take a few souvenirs— a lacy pair of panties that had been tossed to the floor, that mini version of your favorite perfume that you always throw in your purse, and last but certainly not least… the necklace he gave you for your birthday.

“it could be someone trying to get leverage on us. i’m staying with you for a few days, and that’s final.” andrew grumbles. to you, it only looks like he’s holding back his rage for your sake. it makes sense that someone would go after you in order to get to him and his family…

you don’t question the way he moves around your place with practiced ease later that night. why would you? he’s one of you closest friends. you only watch with big eyes from the middle of your bed as he places his gun down on your nightstand, safety on but easily accessible in case your stalker decides to make an appearance. your stalker— the man that’s currently climbing into your bed and wrapping his strong arms around you, keeping you safe and sound against his chest.

“thank you for protectin’ me, andy.” you mumble sleepily. you feel his warm hands through your pajamas, wide and planted on your lower back. right above the waistband of your shorts.

“no need to thank me, sweetheart.” he whispers back.

his features are as serious as ever, and they’re last thing you see before your eyes are fluttering shut. you succumb to feeling of being able to slumber peacefully for the first time in days— blissfully unaware that andrew is wondering if he can get away with tucking his face between your thighs while you sleep.

[annsfics]

♡ right where i need to be ♡

♡ pairing: michael robinavitch x fem!reader

♡ synopsis: when robby goes on sabbatical, he asks you to watch his house for him. you agree & spend the next two months looking after the space while he's away on his road trip. it's only when he returns & completely latches onto you that you become aware of the feelings he's been harboring for apparent years & find yourself reluctant to tell him no in anything—to the point of lying to protect his feelings—because he's become so unstable.

♡ content: angst, power imbalance, implied age-gap, jealousy (on robby's end), possessiveness, codependency, depression, ideation, emotional coercion, p in v sex, creampie, fingering, nipple play, he has a mommy kink if you squint, robby is a trainwreck & reader is standing on the damn tracks

♡ a/n: inspired by this amazing fic!

"I'll see you next week," Noelle replies with feigned sarcasm, which somehow irks Robby—her presuming to know precisely how he works; that he's that simple and predictable.

She's not the only one tonight, and that's what truly gets under his skin which used to be far thicker.

His eyes flit over the top of her head, and he just catches the sight of the back of yours retreating to the ambulance bay when he does. Forcing a tight-lipped smile, he brushes past her with a quiet, distracted 's'cuse me' before following along in your direction.

Carefully trailing his eyes along the gentle curve of your jaw, the generous swell of your breasts, the soft skin of your dainty hands, and long lashes that brush your cheeks each time you blink, Robby endeavors to commit your every facet to memory. He nearly winces at the thought of never setting eyes on you again, but if he considers that prospect too deeply, he'll never let go.

"Hey," he says quietly while taking a few measured steps forward.

Glancing up from your illuminated phone, you smile warmly before turning to face him. "Hey."

Robby sinks his trembling hands into his pockets. "There's, uh," he glances down to his scuffed boots and gently shrugs. "Something I was wanting to talk to you about."

When his exhausted eyes return to yours, you swiftly lock your phone and tuck it away to grant him your undivided attention.

Is he about to lay into you now as well?

Oh boy...

"I'm all ears," you assure softly. Cautiously.

"While I'm gone, I'd like to have someone housesit for me," he explains. "Just to keep an eye on things. Bring in the mail, make sure nothing stops running in my absence or shorts out. I was hoping maybe that could be you."

At least he isn't ripping into you the way he has so many others tonight. Such as Dana, Abbot, and poor Samira. You caught him glaring at Frank on more than once occasion as well, and on the poor man's first day back, no less.

You still have yet to learn the full story there of what exactly happened ten months ago which sent him on a long vacation from the ED, but maybe it's best you not know; it's none of your concern. He's back to treating patients, and that's what matters.

"Oh," you say in quiet surprise. "Are... Are you sure you wouldn't rather it be Abbot or Noelle?"

His brows furrow and he steps closer. "Noelle?" Robby asks with a slightly quirked head.

"I just thought that the two of you..." Situationship sounds inappropriate, so it's best you not use that adjective, probably. "Seem to have something—"

"Noelle and I are not together," he deadpans. "She's not the one I—" he huffs, shakes his head tiredly while gazing across the empty lot while running a nervous hand down the back of his neck, then returns his attentions to you. "There's nothing there."

You wonder if she knows that.

You'd hoped it would work out for him, in truth—that they'd make a charming couple who'd understand one another's struggles here at work. But wishes hardly ever come true, it seems.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make assumptions," you state with regret.

Robby shakes his head dismissively to intimate that it's alright; no harm done. "It's fine." Contemplating the color of your lips, he continues. "I'd just feel better knowing you're there looking after things for me. It'd help you save on rent for a few months. And if I don't come back, you've got yourself a brand new home."

Your brows knit together. "If you don't come back?" you question with worry.

He purses his lips and shrugs yet again. "Never know. Trying to keep my plans open." Rocking back on his heels, he studies the asphalt beneath his shoes, then steadies while looking at you once again from beneath his lashes. "So, we got a deal?"

He's due to leave very soon. So there's little opportunity for him to make other arrangements if you decline. It's not great that he waited until the literal last minute to begin with, because it indicates—at least to you—that he's not thinking clearly.

You want to ask him to wait until the morning before he takes off—go home, take a shower, make sure you're indeed who he wants to fill this responsibility, and tend to any other loose ends he's yet to tie up before taking such a prolonged sabbatical—but know such pleas would ultimately fall upon deaf ears.

You nod. "We do. It's no problem."

He sighs, and his shoulders loosen when the anxiety of a potential rejection alleviates. "You can follow me over there after our shift ends. I'll give you a tour, list a few rules, and..." his head bobs in an indifferent nod. "We'll talk then."

You rub nervously at your arm. "Alright."

Following along behind Robby's Bonneville, as the miles pass between work and home, a feeling of unexpected dread settles into the pit of your belly.

You know Abbot talked to him shortly before dayshift finally came to a close, and from what you could see from afar, he managed to finally chip past his stony exterior, but it obviously wasn't enough.

You want to make a genuine attempt at getting through to him yourself, but you honestly have no idea what to say to do so. What can you tell him that will convince him to stay his hand, even just a bit longer, which Jack—someone he's known far longer, and is much closer to—hasn't already?

You wouldn't be so worried if he didn't seem like such an utter wreck today. He doesn't even look well. His face is pale, his cheeks appear hollow in just the right light, and his eyes are so...dark and empty.

It scares you.

As you pull up next to Robby's motorcycle, you switch off the engine to your vehicle and watch as he knocks the kickstand of his ride into place before swinging a leg over the side of the stupid deathtrap before waving for you to follow him to the door of his condominium.

You'd assumed that he was a homeowner. Perhaps he still is, though, even if it's a condo that he's residing in. You're not sure how it works, exactly. Not your living situation, though, so you suppose it ultimately doesn't matter.

Popping open the driver's side door, you maneuver yourself out of the vehicle.

You're quiet as Robby leads you from room to room in his spacious abode while he shows you how to work the dishwasher, washing machine, dryer, and even the shower.

You simply nod along because you know that you'll most likely be coming by every other day at best for a handful of minutes to do a quick walkthrough before heading back to yours and Samira's shared apartment. The thought of spending enough time here to require use of a washing machine is unimaginable.

You still fail to understand why you're the chosen person for the job, but nevertheless feel flattered that he hand-picked you for it.

You humor yourself with the thought that it's because you're so very reliable and organized. Robby has always had a bit of a soft-spot for you—favoritism which seemed to increase in fervor as time went on—but you assume it's only because he sees your promising potential as a healthcare provider.

Once he's led you back toward the foyer where the front door lies, he shoves his hands into his pockets and you bristle as he lets his eyes roam freely across you.

"I'll come by at least every other day and bring your mail in for you. And I'll do a walkthrough of the—"

Robby frows and your words drift into silence.

"I want you here," he states softly, but with conviction. "It'll give me peace of mind. So just...live here while I'm away. Since I never set up any of the other rooms for guests, just sleep in my bed," he remarks while nodding behind you, toward the direction where the bedroom lies.

"Wear my clothes if you want, if...if they're more comfortable to for you to lounge around in," Robby mutters with a shrug. "Make yourself at home. Eat what's in the fridge, and contact the building manager if anything needs fixed. As for bills, everything comes out of my checking account automatically. The mortgage, electricity, sewage, trash disposal, water, wi-fi and cable... It's all taken care of."

Samira won't be happy about losing her roommate, but you'll still see each other at work. And you can always come over to visit.

You wonder if he would mind if she did the same here.

Sleeping on the same mattress as him is a surreal thought, but you've never owned a king-size bed before. Might be nice to be able to roll this way and that without fear of falling onto the floor. You'd rather not think of other things he's done in it, though, with... Well, others. Feels wrong to imagine him that way.

So you choose not to.

"Rules?" you ask, since he mentioned such a thing previously.

"No parties, pets, kids... Other men—"

You shake your head. "No worries there, about any of it. It's your home and I fully intend to respect the space you're letting me stay in temporarily."

Robby purses his lips and contemplates for a moment to ensure he's left no stone unturned before he steps out. "Do you have any questions for me?"

You think. "What if something breaks? I can contact the building manager, and I assume they'll have a repairman come, but what if they tell me it needs replaced entirely? Like...the fridge or dryer? Unlikely, I know, but—"

Robby reaches around to his back pocket and unfolds a leather wallet. "Here, take this," he says while holding out a credit card between his index and middle finger. "It's not one I ever use anymore, but if something like that happens, just charge it to it. I'll keep an eye on the account and pay off anything that pops up."

You shuffle forward and slip the thin plastic card from his grasp. "I doubt I'll need it, but I'll put it in my wallet for safekeeping just incase."

"If you need it for gas or groceries, that's fine, too."

You shake your head. "No, Robby, I can—"

"It's the least I can do," he interrupts while glancing to the right, toward a curtained window. "Since you're doing me a favor by keeping an eye on things. It'll give me peace of mind while I'm on the road: knowing you're here, living in my home; sleeping in my bed."

He seems oddly adamant about the last part...

You should analyze that, as well as him telling you to wear his clothes. Perhaps he's just trying to be a good host by ensuring you feel comfortable here, and not like you have to be conscious of so much as moving a dishtowel or salt shaker out of place?

You choose to go with that theory.

"Okay." You'll only use it to restock anything of his that you run out of and need to replenish. Wouldn't feel right to use it for something as simple as a few gallons of gas, which you can afford.

"Make sure to enjoy yourself," Robby murmurs with a forced smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, but does make his crow's feet wrinkle.

"You too," you whisper. "Drive safe, wear your helmet, and pull into a motel or hotel if you start to get tired. Get plenty of rest. And eat—I'm sure there's lots of good diners and food trucks along the way," you say with a soft, reassuring grin. "If you need anything, call Abbot. Or...me. I'll do what I can," you finish with a nod.

You're not sure what exactly, but you figure that you'll cross that bridge if and when you come to it.

Robby's eyes flit between your own, and your heart squeezes with the thought that he's maybe changed his mind. Taking time off from the ED is essential right now, but an almost four thousand mile round trip certainly isn't, in your opinion.

Maybe he can—

Robby advances forward while his footsteps sound across hardwood floors, then suddenly cups the back of your head and presses his lips firmly to your forehead while pulling the rest of you flush against himself.

His grip is iron-tight, and you register the soft swell of his belly that melds against your abdomen, his palm that's splayed across your back, his other which twitches against the base of your skull, and his wiry beard that softly scratches against your skin.

You slide your own arms around his middle after a beat, and gradually tighten your hold after a handful of seconds so the embrace isn't quite so one-sided.

In the ED, Robby's touched you an innumerable amount of times—your shoulders, back, hands, even your cheek once or twice—but you've not deigned to think too much on it, because you always assumed it was just his way of bestowing silent reassurance or praise in way of encouragement.

You're sure that's all it ever was, and that this is just...thanks.

You don't see it, but he squeezes his eyes shut to battle away stinging tears before suddenly releasing you and turning on his heel. "Take care of yourself," he mutters before grabbing his bag and swinging the front door open.

"Y-You too," you squeak before he shuts it behind him.

A moment later, his motorcycle revs to life outside and its headlight casts itself across the living room walls before disappearing entirely.

You don't move until the sound of its purring engine has morphed into silence.

You swallow thickly and shift on your feet while sniffling.

You've never thought of Robby as anything more than a mentor, so you find yourself at a loss when you try to explain the hollow feeling in your chest that his absence has left behind.

"I'm sort of glad he's gone," Samira mumbles from where she's sitting cross-legged on your bed. "Is that bad of me?" she asks while glancing up to where you stand plucking various clothing items from your closet.

"No," you reply while folding and tossing them into your bag. "Of course not. I know he'd been riding you for awhile, and there's no excuse for it. But..." you sigh.

"If you can, try not to take it personally. It was just him lashing out, I think. Samira, you're one of the best doctors I know—not to mention people. Calling you slow? What? Because you bother taking your time, actually listen to your patients, and are diligent in your diagnoses and treatment—unlike most, who've otherwise sold themselves for and to corporate greed, whether they're aware of it or not, by double-booking or rushing through patients? Not that you plan to go into it, but if you were a PCP, I'd want you as mine. And I'm not just saying that because we're best friends and live together."

She's practically beaming by the end of your heartfelt speech.

"Don't take the crap he's said to you to heart. Collins believed in you, Al-Hashimi does, too, as well as Abbot it seems, and so do I. Robby needs to sort out his own issues before he starts harping on anyone else's."

She flops back onto your bed. "What did he say to you exactly before taking off?" she inquires while rolling her head in your direction. "Just curious, since you were the last one to see him."

You shrug. "Not much. Showed me around, laid some ground rules, told me what to do if I had any issues..." You chew your lip for a moment. "He... He told me to make myself at home, obviously, and it's not like there's another one there for me to occupy... He told me more than once: sleep in my bed. Even mentioned something about wearing his clothes so I could be comfortable."

She bolts upright. "I'm sorry, what?"

You consider a thin sweater, then shake your head. It's hot as hell out right now, so you don't imagine you'll be needing it anytime soon. "He might've given me a credit card, too. But only for emergencies. Like if the washer breaks and can't be repaired and a new one has to be delivered instead. That sort of thing."

She bobs her head from side to side in understanding. "I guess I can get that. But... Wearing his clothes?" she asks incredulously.

You opt not to mention the part about him telling you to also use it for gas and groceries. The latter is sort of understandable, but the former not so much, at least in your opinion.

He's just not himself right now, right? Makes sense that on top of acting out of sorts, he's also saying some off-the-wall stuff.

You ball up a ratty old t-shirt and stuff it in your luggage bag. "I won't be."

"It's the fact he said that to begin with," she presses while scooting closer. "It's inappropriate."

You snort. "And me staying in his house isn't?" You raise a brow while refolding a pair of jeans. "Still don't understand why he didn't ask Jack or Noelle instead. Because even if she and him aren't in an established relationship, they had something going on between them. You'd think he'd be begging her to take up space in his home and bed and clothes instead."

"Oh my God," Samira whispers, like realization of something shocking has just overcome her.

"What?" you asked with a raised brow.

Her brown eyes flit to yours. "How do you... You don't even see it, do you?"

You blink absentmindedly. "No, but I assume you're about to tell me whatever it is that I'm apparently blind to."

"He's in love with you," she expresses doubtlessly.

Unable to help yourself, you bark a laugh. "You can't be serious right now. I'm a resident. And he's—"

"Telling you to make yourself at home, giving you his credit card, telling you to bathe in his shower, eat his food, lie in his bed, put on his clothes," she counts off across two hands. "I always sort of questioned all the extra attention he gave you at work, but I guess I get it now."

You shift uncertainly on your feet. "He's just...being a good host."

"But he's not really hosting you if he isn't there, is he?"

Turning your back to her to begin emptying your underthings from your dresser, you shake your head. "I'm sure he'll rekindle things with Noelle once he gets back. It's not like that."

She shakes her head. "Never took you for the clueless type."

You sigh while tucking a bra away into a mesh pocket. "We should've all taken bets on what he'll get up to while away. I say that wherever he's headed, it's to see someone that he's perhaps fallen for."

Or to check out a new job opportunity...

You start in on socks next.

After only two weeks on the road, Robby already feels beat. Then again, he did before he ever planted two wheels upon it.

Lying in a strange motel room in a strange town far from home, he's unable to control the tempest of thoughts that rage in his tired head in the unwelcome silence that encapsulates him. All the patients that died beneath his hands, all the people he loved whom he failed, all the students he should've done better by.

It all started with the first who failed him, he thinks. The catalyst for why his life has fallen apart, or never had a proper chance to become what it should've to begin with.

But he can't think on that right now or he'll...

As always, his thoughts instead drift toward another.

One who's currently warming his bed that he's at least a thousand miles from at present. She's all feminine curves, sweet smiles, and warmth in every spoken word.

It's easier to lose himself in delusional daydreams with her instead of facing the harsh, ugly reality that's collapsing all around him.

It's become prevalent, this habit: when he's driving, eating, taking a piss, even when he's supposed to be sleeping, his mind instead chooses to paint a false picture that's becoming increasingly harder to pull himself out of day-by-day, like quicksand.

He's losing hours to it, but it's so much more soothing than addressing his own self-made problems.

He worries that if he ever finds the strength to go home, that he'll struggle with being able to tell the difference between what's real and what he's willingly imagined as he trails across the Badlands.

If he'd done things differently—been braver and spoken up—perhaps he'd be there with her now. Lying beside her, holding her close to keep her safe and warm while she dreams peacefully in his arms and against his chest... But his time has come and gone for such fanciful romances. He's too old, broken down, and hollowed out now.

He'd be no good for someone like her.

It's why he settles for fantasy instead. It's the closest he'll ever come to actually having her the way he means to.

The reveries can vary. He's become quite adept at storytelling, in truth. In some, he's beside her in the ED, coaching her through every move, every incision, every decision, and the patient never dies. Others—his favored ones—she's at home with him. She greets him at the door with an adoring smile and an affectionate kiss before pulling him inside so that they can have dinner while she listens about his day. Sometimes she works in it, others, she's a quaint housewife with a swollen belly who lives for her husband, and he for her.

And then there are the darker ones where he's buried inside of her—right between her legs—and he loses himself to the feeling of her soft, trembling body lying beneath his own, where she clutches at his chest and arms while whimpering wantonly against his lips. He always finishes inside of her, and she promises him a baby in return.

He's projected so many idealized archetypes and scenarios onto her that when the time finally came to reluctantly say goodbye, he'd been a bit taken aback when she didn't beg him to stay while throwing herself at him with reckless abandon.

She was supposed to react differently. Not bring up another woman that he only half considers an ex. Robby made things clear to Noelle at the beginning that whatever they were doing would be casual—no strings attached or grand expectations had.

She would find no commitment on his end, because he knew that he wanted another, and as long as his heart was held in her unwitting hands, he couldn't give anyone else 100% of himself. So, after almost a couple months, when Noelle started dropping hints that she was desiring more, he broke it off entirely.

Live in my home, sleep in my bed. Why couldn't he have just told her what he really meant?

I love you, I love you, I love you and you alone.

Pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes, he groans in frustration. Did she really have no idea? Why didn't she question further as to why she was his chosen candidate for house sitting? If she had, though, would he have told her?

He's not sure.

He truly is a fool.

Can't have the fairytale—kids and all—if you can't even achieve an erection anymore. Happened once or twice with Noelle, actually.

He preferred to keep his eyes shut during at times because it made imagining easier, but the truth was always right there beneath his hands.

He knows it hurt her feelings; that she blamed herself when he failed to properly perform. Bless her, she even tried to help him, but it somehow made it all the worse instead. Just gave him one more reason to cut it off clean. If you can't please a woman, what's the point?

Rolling onto his side, he tries to sleep.

"Have you heard from him?"

Tucking your stethoscope into your bag, you shake your head and click your locker shut. "I haven't. I'm sorry, Jack. Guessing it's the same for you?"

He shrugs and shakes his head. "I check the fuckin' thing about a dozen times a day, always expecting something. Think after over a half a month I'd get the hint that he doesn't want to reach out or be reached out to, but I clearly haven't."

You slide your backpack onto your shoulders. "You're a worried friend. Nothing wrong with that."

He doesn't tell you about how he keeps Googling 'Buffalo Jump Albany deaths'.

He should've done more to keep Robby in Pittsburgh.

Wrapping his arms around you, he pulls you into a tight hug and gives you a firm squeeze. "Let me know if you do."

You nod. "I will."

It takes about two and a half weeks before you even think to snoop around a bit. Between work, errands, taking care of Robby's space by regularly cleaning and tidying up after yourself, and trying to tend to your own health, the thought of rifling through his sock drawer just didn't register.

After fixing yourself a stir-fry dinner with a small glass of red wine, you had sat on the couch for awhile watching Netflix before you finally got bored with some poorly scripted period drama and switched the TV off in favor of exploring.

You begin where many do: the medicine cabinet. Your hand hovers over the small silver knob which will reveal to you some of Robby's medicinal secrets, and frown slightly. You'd dislike if someone did such a thing to you, but... What he doesn't know also won't hurt him. Just might cause you to see him in a bit of a different light is all.

Pulling the small door with a gleaming mirrored front open, you trail your eyes over mostly predictable finds: shaving cream, a razor, as well as clippers, an assorted box of Band-Aids, triple antibiotic, ibuprofen, a glass bottle of half-empty cologne with a gold cap, wet wipes, and a couple prescriptions are amongst the items within.

Plucking the first orange bottle from the middle shelf, you turn it over to study the label. Buspar 10 MG. You slide the pad of your thumb over his printed name, Michael Robinavitch, and your brows knit together in sympathy.

"Oh, Robby," you whisper before returning it to its rightful place. A pretty basic medication for anxiety, yes, but it nevertheless tugs at your heart to see. Especially since it's here, and not with him like it should instead be.

Grabbing the next one, blood immediately rushes to your cheeks and you nearly toss it back inside with a quiet squeal. Viagra.

Slamming the door back closed, you thoroughly wash your hands, then exit the bathroom and head for the bedroom instead.

Flipping through the clothing that hangs in Robby's closet, you find yourself underwhelmed. Scrubs, scrubs, and more scrubs. Along with a couple three-piece suits which you deign he must look rather sharp in. At the back, though, is a collection of t-shirts. Half of which are just basic, solid colors—black, blue, forest green, grey—but there's also surprisingly some graphic tees, too. You grin as you swipe your fingers over a decal of Led Zeppelin's untitled album. The 4th one which included Stairway to Heaven.

Nearly pulling it from the hanger, you bunch the hem up beneath your nose and inhale, but are met only with hints of detergent instead of him.

You click the door back shut and pad over to the chest of drawers that stands across from the foot of the bed—which doubles as an entertainment center, since he has a small flatscreen on top—and you grip a wooden picture frame and slide it toward you.

Inside is a photo that was taken approximately a year ago in the ED around Christmas. No one is dressed up for it, but you remember that afternoon and how a fresh box of cookies from a local bakery was delivered—their tops complete with designs of Santa, Rudolph, Christmas trees, and snowflakes.

You'd rolled your eyes, then looked at Robby and muttered how you were sorry that there wasn't one with a menorah on it. He'd stared at you, and the look was so intense that your mind short-circuited for a moment as you actually doubted whether you remembered his heritage correctly. He was Jewish, right?

And then he kissed your forehead before biting through a Christmas tree and saying sarcastically that he hoped he wasn't being sacrilegious somehow.

You'd not entirely understood the joke, but laughed anyway.

Studying the photo, you examine all the familiar faces included. Dana, McKay, Langdon, Trinity, Mel, Samira, and many more. But only now do you notice that only one wasn't smiling at the camera lens, but instead was gazing at you with a toothy grin.

Robby.

Pulled flush against his side you'd been, and his hand was wrapped around the crown of your shoulder to keep you close.

Was Samira right after all?

Letting go of the frame, you plop down on the bed and begin to think.

You've known him for a long time now, as you've been at PTMC since you were but a med student. You'd initially tried to get yourself on night shift after your first couple weeks there so that you could have your days to accomplish everything else you were overwhelmed with, but Robby was insistent that you stick with him and that he'd 'see you through thick and thin'. So you did, and to be fair, he hasn't steered you wrong.

His teachings have been invaluable, which you're thankful for, but now you wonder when the relationship shifted from mentor and mentee to something more affectionate—at least on his end.

You want to tell yourself that you're reading too much into it, but all you have to do is look around to know that that's a lie.

With a sigh, you slide over to the head of the bed and pull the top drawer of his nightstand open. A Roku remote greets you, as well as an issue of The New England Journal of Medicine, a small flashlight, and an open box of Trojan condoms.

Size?

Large.

You shove it back closed and stare ahead at the open doorway.

Before tonight, you never imagined him that way: naked and sweaty and writhing on top of a woman.

Now, you can't stop.

With a huff, you begin readying yourself for bed.

It's been an hour and rest still has yet to find you. Counting sheep is fruitless, as is mentally singing yourself old childhood lullabies.

It's because you can't stop the racing thoughts now that you've been bombarded by silence. Thoughts...of just how lonely you truly are. Living with Samira, it was easy to ignore. At work, there was no time to think of anything but the medicine, and at home, you had a friend to always talk to and share things with. But here, in a house too big for just one person to occupy, you're left to take stock of how outside of your roommate, you really don't have anyone else.

So you ponder whether Robby's feelings are returned.

An attraction you've always had towards him, sure, but something even bordering on love? He's...him. Doctor Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch. Chief of the ED at PTMC and a whole lot of man, to boot. He's worldly and wise and steady and capable.

Meanwhile, you're more like a wobbly newborn chick fresh out the egg that has no idea how to even walk some days, let alone carry on with a damn rooster.

Ok, so the analogy is getting a little weird.

Point being that he's lived a life, whereas yours has yet to even form its first greatest hit.

Turning onto your side, you slide your hand across a half empty mattress and fantasize about it being occupied, and what such a thing might entail. What has he considered, you wonder? Shared meals, movie nights on the sofa, and sex right where you lay? Bills and correspondences with both your names printed on the envelope? Matching his and hers coffee mugs hanging from Command hooks in the kitchen?

Just when you think to close your eyes again, your phone lights up, so you grab it from atop the nightstand and check what's just come through.

You sigh with relief when you see that it's the very man occupying your current deliberations.

Everything going ok?

"Thank God," you whisper while making a mental note to text Abbot that Robby has reached out.

It is! Been taking care of the house. I've sorted your mail, too, by the way. Junk mail is set aside incase something piques your interest.

You debated whether to toss fliers for cheaper internet and brochures for a new car wash that just opened up down the street, but figured that was his decision to ultimately make. Perhaps you'll use a Pizza Hut coupon one of these nights.

Thanks.

You raise a brow and begin rethinking everything you were only just ruminating over. Like imagined fondness. Short, straight, and to the—

I meant with you.

Talk about whiplash.

I'm doing okay. Thinking about adopting a cactus. Figured you could use the company once you get back.

Not really a lie, since the lack of any other living thing here sort of depressed you to see after first moving in, so to speak. Not having pets you get for numerous reasons, but even just an air plant could be nice.

Had one before. Overwatered and killed it, but thanks.

How the hell do you overwater a cactus? Something that literally thrives in the desert. Too much of a good thing, you suppose.

Air plant, then.

typing...

Work going alright for you with me gone?

No more talk of flora, apparently.

It is. You're still very missed, though.

typing...

Miss you, too.

Your heart somersaults in your chest. What do you say now?

Thanks? Come back soon? Want a selfie of me in your bed so your replies might become a bit more lively?

Your fingers hover above the keyboard, but before you get a chance to attempt a reply, another message comes buzzing through.

Going to sleep. Talk later.

You reply with a simple Goodnight before doing the same.

It's too fucking ridiculous to ever admit, but the sign for him to finally turn back came in the form of a country song playing on an overhead speaker in a small roadside diner. He forgets the name of the artist, but he sang of being on the road more than home, and how leaving the woman he loved all alone was killing him. How only if he returned could he feel, see, touch, and kiss her anytime he wished. Could place hands upon her bare skin as they slept together.

Robby paid his tab and turned his ass back in the other direction without a second thought.

With him being so far gone, it taking an almost thirty-year-old tune to change his mind about whatever the hell he was doing tracked.

So, here he stands, leaning against the doorway of his bedroom sipping on a cold bottle of Budweiser he found in the fridge while watching you sleep.

A small twinge of disappointment had settled in his chest when he trailed his eyes along one of your bare arms that's thrown across a pillow when he caught sight of the thin strap on your shoulder. Certainly not something of his.

You never bothered using the credit card, either, turns out. Not even for a quick snack at work.

He dislikes the fact.

You stir, then promptly calm and return to breathing evenly.

With a sigh, he turns and heads for the bathroom to take a quick shower.

At least you're in his bed.

Small blessings.

You're groggy and initially unsure of what you think you just felt.

When you slide a hand over to the left side of the bed and your palm meets with that of a soft belly smattered with hair, you jerk your head and hand both back and open your mouth to scream, until Robby swiftly cups your cheek in his hand. "It's me. You're safe. It's just me."

You bury your face in a pillow and groan. "You scared the daylights out of me," you mumble sleepily.

He runs a comforting hand along the curve of your spine. "Sorry. I was trying not to wake you."

This feels natural to him: the two of you in bed in the middle of the night with only a simple exchange of words between you. Like it's habit, almost. Being near you has always came as easy as breathing to him, though.

Just something about your nature.

Resting your cheek back atop the pillow, you gaze at him from beneath drooping lids. "You're back early," you whisper.

He considers for a moment, then slips his hand beneath the hem of the thin camisole you wear and he begins massaging your naked skin.

Something a husband would do for a wife.

"I am."

"Everything go okay?" you ask with a yawn. "Did you make it to the site in Albany?"

He shouldn't really be touching you like this, but his callouses gently scratching against your soft skin feels kind of nice. And you're too tired to tell him to stop.

It's sort of soothing.

Robby nods.

"Everything you hoped it would be?"

He shrugs. "Just a cliff."

You're grateful he chose not to drive off of it. Means he found a reason after all.

"I picked you up a few things," he murmurs. "They're in my bag. I'll give them to you in the morning."

You smile lazily—a sight which causes his cock to twitch unexpectedly. Then again, he was already sporting a semi in the shower due to standing there naked while holding a pink bottle of soap that belonged to you in his hand.

"Is it a keychain or magnet?" you ask with a soft giggle.

He shakes his head and his lip barely twitches into a smile in response. "No. I think more of you than cheap, tacky gifts."

You're certainly intrigued now.

Removing his hand from beneath your top, he cups the back of your head and tenderly strokes the side of your scalp with the pad of his thumb. "Did you miss me?"

You nod. "We all did. Just glad you're back in one piece."

His eyes flit to where the comforter has been pushed down to your hips. "But did you?" he presses.

Your brows merge together. "Of course."

His darkened eyes roam upwards again and settle on your face.

Robby leans in toward you while his large, calloused hand ghosts across your waist before gently gripping your hip and tugging you against his chest.

When his lips meet with yours, his eyes flutter closed and yours widen.

It's almost comical that this moment finally confirms for you that he does indeed have feelings. You would think someone with a degree in medicine would be a bit more perceptive, but apparently not.

When he runs the speared tip of his tongue along your bottom lip, you gently pry your lips apart to grant him entry to your mouth. With patience, Robby savors this first kiss he's desired for so long. His tongue greets your own with quiet passion—first sliding along the slick underside before twisting to meld it against your own.

Lifting his right leg, he plants it over your opposite side, then rolls himself atop you.

With Robby's full weight settled across your body, and his forearms bracketed on either side of your head, it leaves you securely covered in him. Raising an uncertain hand, you cup his cheek and curl your fingertips against his unkempt beard while your other toys with the gold chain that hangs around his neck—its charm of the Star of David resting between your breasts.

It almost feels like something this monumental should've been proceeded by a lengthy conversation first—just out of respect for the weight of this moment—but now isn't the time for talking.

Slipping a hand beneath your top, Robby eases the material past your belly and breasts, and ultimately over your head before he balls it up and tosses it across the room to rid himself of any hindrances toward having you entirely.

Dipping his head, he sucks a nipple into his mouth and groans.

Your back arches off the bed, and Robby plants a palm against the curve of it to keep you impossibly close while switching sides. Dragging the pad of his tongue over your pebbled nipple, he laps at the smooth skin which surrounds it before dragging it between his teeth.

"God, Robby," you sigh while carding your fingers in his tousled brown hair.

"Michael," he mutters with a lift of his head. "Call me Michael when we're like this."

Nibbling his way toward your throat, his hand crests its way past the waist of your panties and he swipes a finger through your slick folds, followed by a rasped 'fuck' uttered from his lips. Shoving off of you, he rests back on his haunches and hooks his fingers under their waistband and tugs. "Lift your hips, sweetheart," he instructs.

You do.

Once you're lain wholly bare before him, you watch as his eyes trail over your every feature and asset with lustful abandon.

"I've wanted this for years," he whispers while kneading your breasts in his hands. "You don't know how long I've waited for you."

Caressing your cheek, Robby grips the side of his briefs and pulls the elastic band below his hip. "Do you want me inside of you?"

Your head is absolutely spinning, and as you survey the generous swell of his belly that now hangs over the waistband of his underwear, you swallow thickly and nod.

A gesture he returns before pushing them down to his knees and removing them.

With his cock only semi-erect, he fists it in his hand while pressing the index and middle fingers of his other against your dripping entrance. Easing them both inside, your knees fall apart in quiet welcome.

Robby doesn't want to bother with a little blue pill tonight. No performance enhancers. Not with you.

Slowly easing his digits between your fluttering walls, he swipes his thumb over your clit and you gasp in response.

He eyes his bedside table fleetingly, but decides against it.

Unless you ask him to use protection, he won't offer. Bare is the way he's always wished for it to be between you.

"Did you ever touch yourself?" he asks. "Here?"

Your eyes slowly open and you grip the pillow beneath your head in either of your hands. "I did."

It had felt wrong with it being his place of rest, but you figured there would be no way for him to know in the end, so it was fine.

He lines himself up against your cunt and swipes the weeping tip of his cock against it, leaving it shimmering and wet from your arousal. "Did you think of me?"

Yes and no.

You found it invigorating that it was Robby's bed you were lying upon and playing with yourself in, but you didn't imagine anything particular while doing so. You just enjoyed the sounds of your own breathy moans and whimpers to get you to your finish.

"Yes."

His cheek twitches and he eases inside of you inch by inch. Slow is his descent as he allows you to adjust to his size. Your walls stretch to accommodate his girth, and he mutters quiet, affectionate praises all the while of how well you're taking him; that he's almost there.

Once he's bottomed out, Robby leans forward and rests his right forearm next to your head while his opposite hand grips your chin, tilts your head to the left, and he plants featherlight kisses along your jawline. "That feel good, sweetheart?" he rumbles while rocking his hips against yours.

You draw in a ragged breath. "Y-yes," you stutter while running your hands up his warm back.

"It's only ever been you," he rasps while running the tip of his nose along your pounding carotid. "You're why I came back."

Turning your face toward him, he grants many slow, open-mouthed kisses which break the silence of night. "Couldn't stand the thought of you here alone," Robby whispers before kissing your cheek.

He draws out his cock until only the tip remains, then eases back in. But gently, for your sake.

You shudder beneath him. "Glad you're home," you whimper.

As is he, because look at what he had waiting.

Perfection.

His forever, if you let yourself be.

He tilts his head back to watch you for awhile as he makes love to your body. Your every mannerism endears him to you even more—something he hadn't thought possible. The way a tiny crease forms between your brows every time his cock fills you, your parted lips which tiny puffs of breath escape from, quiet whines that get caught in your throat, and the way he's so completely surrounded you.

Rolling his hips, you tremulate and sink your nails into his shoulder blades. "Oh, Michael," you mewl against his pec.

His cock quivers inside of you and his breath shudders in his chest.

Robby runs a palm under your thigh and lifts it over his hip. "Tell me," he rustles against your ear. "You're mine."

You're so, so close. Just a little more.

"I am," you sigh.

"Please," he pleads with a wet kiss before twining his fingers between your own and sliding your conjoined hands across smooth white sheets.

You lift your hips and they buck when the coarse patch of hair that rests above his cock brushes against your swollen clit. "I'm yours, Michael," you assure.

His eyes fill with tears, so he buries his face in the curve of your shoulder and groans from behind clenched teeth as his cock spasms between the intimate safety your slick walls provide him with. Spurts of semen coat—he presumes, or, rather, prays—fertile walls, as he empties a part of himself inside of you; all for you to have.

A broken sob breaks on his lips, so he clutches you close to him to try and calm his pattering heart.

Due to his cock spilling against your core, and the feeling of it still continuously twitching, you throw your head back and snap your hips upwards while biting your lower lip in a race toward your own orgasm.

Squeezing your ass cheek in his palm, Robby guides you toward where you want to go and reels back to watch as it happens.

Your lip is drawn between your teeth before you release it entirely in favor of your mouth quirking into a perfect 'O'. Your body gyrates beneath his as your warm walls pulsate around his softening member and you quake beneath his touch. Quiet "Oh, oh, oh My God"s vocalize as soft bursts of light paint themselves across your eyelids.

When you finally calm, Robby doesn't pull out, but instead remains lying on top of you as his cock softens and his cum dribbles out of your pussy and onto what were previously clean sheets.

The two of you stay like that for awhile: him planting kiss after kiss against your damp cheek and you lying still—apart from your right hand running soothingly up and down his left forearm, because the rest of you feels depleted, and like your limbs are now made of wobbly jelly.

When your lids begin to grow heavy and your heart starts to slow is when you blink yourself back awake. "I'm gonna use the bathroom," you whisper while manuevering a leg out from under him.

He grunts quietly in response. "Just come right back to me," Robby murmurs while squeezing your hand.

You nod with a tight-lipped smile before sliding off the bed and padding into the other room.

Once you've peed, squatted in the shower and washed yourself thoroughly between your legs, and panicked for just a moment as to how you could've been stupid enough to have unprotected sex—not to mention allowing him to finish inside of you—you exit the bathroom and watch as Robby throws back the covers for you to rejoin him.

Your mouth waters at the sight of him like this. Naked, his long legs extended toward the foot of the bed, his belly that's covered in dark hair lying against the mattress, and his strong chest which you were nuzzled against only moments ago.

Could he truly be all yours?

You hold up a towel and nod sheepishly toward the mattress. "Should probably put this down. Sheets are kinda...damp."

He scooches to the side and you fan it out across the middle where the two of you will lay, then climb back in beside him again.

Robby doesn't spare a moment before he pulls you flush against his abdomen and throws his limbs back over your own to make sure you don't go anywhere during the night.

Once your mind has calmed again and you're at the pleasant, humming in-between of waking and sleeping, you hear a muttered 'I love you' before drifting off.

When you wake, it's to an empty bed. Something you're actually rather grateful for, since it grants you a bit of time to catch your bearings before you start your day. Splaying your fingers across the mattress, you play and replay every moment from last night in your head.

It all happened so fast, didn't it? One minute, you were asleep, and the next, Robby's cock was buried inside of you without even an ultra-thin condom to keep you safe from any unwanted consequences his semen may bring about.

You should run out and pick up a box of Plan B today.

Last night he'd seemed... Not himself. Somehow worse than when he left. More emotional, maybe? Or detached? Then again, he was utterly exhausted, you're sure. Which is why you're the least bit surprised that he's already up.

You wonder when he'll return to work.

With a sigh, you rise and wince as your muscles strain. Ones you're not exactly used to utilizing were certainly given a bit of a workout not too many hours ago.

Perhaps you'll try and work on doing some squats and lunges today to loosen them up.

When you pad into the kitchen, you're greeted by the sight of Robby leaned back in a chair with a steaming mug of coffee sat before him and a newspaper spread open on the table.

He turns and smiles softly at the vision of you clad in an old Led Zeppelin t-shirt of his that falls to your knees. "Mornin'."

"Morning," you reply shyly.

"Looks good on you," he remarks. "You wear a lot of my stuff while I was gone?"

This makes a first, but you fear that he'd be disappointed to hear as much. "I did. I sort of favored this one," you lie while fingering the soft, cotton hem of it.

He nods. "That makes me happy to hear." He tilts his head back toward the counter behind him. "There's coffee."

You walk over to pour yourself a cup. "Thanks."

Once you've a mug in hand that's drowned in cream and sugar, you pull out a chair and sit to Robby's left while taking idle sips of your caffeinated drink.

Folding the paper back up, he rests an arm atop the table and his other in his lap. "How d'you feel?" he inquires with a slightly tilted head.

Crossing your legs at the ankles, you study him from beneath your lashes. "Good. A little sore," you say with a quiet laugh. "Just...muscles I'm not used to working."

"But a good kind of sore," he replies while searching your eyes with his own. "Right? Sort of," he shrugs, "Reminder of me."

You nod silently and take another sip after blowing on it to cool it down.

"So, should we go ahead and address the elephant in the room?" Robby asks warily.

Your eyes flit to him. "We can."

He scoots his chair closer to you—the legs quietly scraping against polished hardwood—and loosely hangs an arm off the table while folding his hands. "I thought it was perfect; everything I hoped it would be."

You wonder if he's thought about it a great deal.

"It felt like..." he purses his lips and glances away, toward the living room. "Something finally falling into place." Looking at you again, he listens earnestly. "Did you feel it, too?"

It'd felt wonderful, of course. Robby had taken his time in being slow and sensual so that he could savor every moment, thrust, and kiss, but you're not sure that you felt some magical awakening when he sank between your thighs.

It takes a handful seconds for Robby's features to gradually shift into that of unease and worry, though, so you swiftly reach forward and pry his hands apart so that you can squeeze his fingertips reassuringly. "I did feel it. I wasn't...sure if you did."

He exhales in relief and you feel a twinge of guilt for giving him false sentiments.

"It seemed right somehow: having you in my bed. Being inside of you." He leans back again and your muscles suddenly loosen. "It's why I returned a month early."

He shakes his head. "Thinking of you here all alone got to me." Shifting in his seat, he sucks on his teeth. "I didn't like it. But now that I'm back..." Robby reaches forward and cups your cheek. "You don't need to worry about leaving. I mean, you're half moved in already. So just stay here for awhile longer. And if things progress the way I hope they will, then it can become a permanent thing."

Your brows furrow and you open your mouth to question him, but your words fizzle into silence when he stands. "I'll go get your gifts."

A couple paper bags are set on the table before you, which you slowly rifle through. Truth is, you want to rip them open like an excited kid on Christmas Day, but are trying to be an adult about it.

Your first find is a plush stuffed buffalo with fluffy brown fur and glass eyes, which causes you to grin and giggle. "He's very handsome," you state before setting him to the side with an affectionate pat on the head.

Robby smiles softly and cups the back of your head which he gently kneads with his fingertips as you go through the rest of it. Next is a snow globe which you turn back to him for explanation over.

"It's the heritage site," Robby clarifies with a nod toward it.

"Oh," you chirp with surprise. You shake the glass bulb and watch as white flakes swirl around. "Now I get to see it in winter."

He presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

Next is a non-fiction book titled Ancient Alberta.

"Figured we could put it on the bookshelf in the living room," Robby states. "I wasn't sure if you much cared for history."

"I do," you reply in confirmation.

Lastly is a long black box that's not quite the length of your forearm. Prying is carefully open, you gasp at what lies inside: a beautiful necklace comprised of brilliant white and brown beads. "Oh, Robby, this is lovely," you murmur while tracing it with your fingertips.

"So you like all of it?" he inquires warily.

Rising from your chair, you wrap your arms around his neck and stand on tiptoes. "I do," you say with a kiss.

That night as you make dinner, you study Robby from afar. You've done a lot of that today: staring. More so because he somehow seems worse than when he left. His face is more gaunt, but at least he seems to have gotten some sun on the road, and now has a healthy golden tan going for him. His belly has receded just a little, but since he's asked you to continue staying here, you'll have him fattened back up in no time.

After all, when you cooked him breakfast, he cleaned every bite of syrupy pancake from his plate.

That made you happy to see.

He's not as chatty as he once was some time ago—his words are more measured and to the point now—but maybe he's just tired.

Lounged back on the far end of the sectional, Robby is currently thumbing through the book he purchased at the heritage site's gift shop. You admire the glasses perched upon his long nose and smirk. You feel quite domesticated today playing house with him.

You haven't done much digging into the things he said, however. Like about things 'falling into place', and his 'hopes for the future', or how you're fairly sure he uttered those three little words last night as you were just drifting off to sleep.

You care for Robby—deeply—but you don't know that it's love, exactly.

You're afraid that if he says it again, however, you'll return the sentiment because the last thing you want to do is make him unhappy. Not after all he's been through.

It's why you've tried to make the house a peaceful environment for him today. You took the liberty of changing the bed sheets and doing a couple loads of laundry, as well as unpacking his things for him. It kept you busy at least. Folding his underwear and hanging his belts back up in the closet had caused your cheeks to warm, but if you didn't, he probably wouldn't have himself.

It's a dreamlike experience being here while he is. Two months ago, Robby was an attending you conversed with and aided on the daily, but aside from the occasional embrace, things never went further.

Now...

"Dinner's ready," you chime from the table you've just set respective steaming plates of steak upon.

Dog-earing the current page he's reading through, Robby rises with palms planted against old knees to join you.

He's surprisingly cuddly.

You're learning much about him today, turns out.

"Oh, shit," you hiss before snatching your phone from the back of the couch.

"Somethin' wrong?" he questions from where his head currently lies between your breasts.

"I forgot to run out and pick up Plan B today," you explain while bringing up the Postmates app.

He bristles. "Do you need it?"

Your eyes flit to the crown of his head, and he tightens his arms around your waist while staring ahead at the TV. "I mean, I'm on something, but I'd rather be safe than sorry."

His jaw ticks. This isn't how he imagined you would be—that you would want to prevent your womb from quickening. It's unwelcomely breaking the fantasy he's painted in his head.

He shrugs casually. "I always thought you were exceptionally maternal. Not saying you shouldn't order it, just an observation."

You want to tell him to just shoot where he's aiming, but don't think you're entirely keen on opening such a horrific can of worms after a long day such as this one. It'd be better for you if you did, but...

You lock your phone and tuck it back away, deigning that you'll do it tomorrow, either before or after work.

After a moment, Robby raises his head and kisses you softly while yanking at your hips to bring you beneath him.

When he shoves a hand beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, you also spread your legs, as if on instinct.

You once again don't mention a condom.

Stupid.

Robby plans to remain off work for a few more days, but insisted on driving you today. So much for a pharmacy run. Perhaps you'll venture up to obstetrics today and see if they can give you what you're looking for.

With your hand held tightly in his the whole way there, only the radio playing quietly in the background interrupts the hum of the engine and the wheels beneath you.

When a rather twangy tune enters the truck stereo, Robby smirks and turns the dial up a few notches. "Like fuckin' fate," he drawls. "This is the song that made me decide to head back. Heard it one morning and just," he shrugs a shoulder, "Made a choice."

It's a song you know—Gary Allan.

All this leavin' her alone is killin' me.

Your forehead creases and your nose stings.

I can feel her skin against me when I sleep.

You glance to Robby and admire the soft smile that's now spread across his lips.

Where I won't miss her, I can kiss her anytime that I want to.

You cup the back of his head.

'Cause I've finally got all my priorities in line, and I'm right where I need to be.

It's so incredibly silly because it's a little country song that came out at least twenty-something-years-ago, but it's like the singer is providing a voice for the thoughts in Robby's head. His feelings. He drove how many hundreds, if not thousands of miles to race back just to be with you?

"I want to stay," you state then, with certainty. "At home. With you."

Raising your hand toward his lips, he presses a firm kiss to the back of it before resting your entwined arms on the center console.

Your chin wobbles when you see him swipe an unbidden tear from his weathered, freckled cheek.

"I'll be here to pick you up after shift," Robby informs you as you gather your things.

"Alright. Thank you." You lean across the cabin and cup his cheek before planting a soft kiss upon his lips.

Once you've exited the truck and are standing between the driver's side door where Robby sits and the glass doors of the ED, he calls to you.

Turning back to him, you await with a raised brow to hear what he has to say. "Text me if shift runs over."

You nod. "I will."

He rests an arm upon the windowsill and plants the pad of his thumb against his chin while studying you with quiet adoration. "I love you."

Your stomach squeezes uncomfortably and you find yourself at a loss for words.

Why did he have to do this so soon?

He clears his throat and shifts in his seat while hanging a wrist over the wheel and glancing ahead, then back to you.

You allow a smile to bloom upon your lips, as if you're only just registering his romantic admittance. You take a couple small steps toward him. "I love you, too," you reply with a lilted tone of surprise.

Why're you doing this to yourself? Have you always been such a people-pleaser?

He chuckles and hangs his head with a happy grin. "Glad to hear it."

"Is he back?" Jack asks insistently while following you to your locker.

"As of a couple nights ago."

"You never texted me," he retorts with crossed arms.

"I know, I'm sorry." Popping open the small door in front of you, you hang your backpack from a silver hook. "I meant to, but got distracted."

"Well," he begins with a shrug. "How is he? He seem to be doing better?"

Clicking it shut, you wrap your stethoscope around your neck and hold fast to each end of it. Yes? No? "Too soon to tell."

Seems a safe enough answer.

He raises a brow and plants his feet in quiet expectance of elaboration.

"He's done a lot of driving, Jack. I think he just needs a few days to rest up from... Whatever the motorcycle equivalent is of jet lag. He needs to be able to catch his bearings, and Robby will be back here soon enough, I'm sure."

He sighs while scrubbing a hand down his face. "He say anything to you to let on how he's doing after his sabbatical?"

You mean while he was fucking me in his bed, or came inside me again on the couch last night? He's been communicating in other ways, Abbot.

You need to run up to OB before your shift starts to take a much needed pill.

"Well," you drawl while skirting past him. "He still has a month left technically, so it's not over yet."

"Just answer the damn question," he spits while trailing you to the elevator.

You huff in exasperation. "He hasn't really talked much about his state of mind, no."

"I mean, did you just take off back to your and Samira's once he got in, or did you have a chance to sort of—"

"Observe him?" you ask with a raised brow while pressing the button that will take you up.

He stays silent.

"I guess you'll just have to wait and ask him yourself how he's doing." Saved by the bell, stainless steel doors spread apart and a couple people exit before you step inside.

"Where're you headed?" Jack questions while crossing his arms.

"Just something I need to see to."

You watch him shake his head as they close.

Robby's return to the ED is two weeks later. You try to keep an eye on him, as does Jack—since he chooses to hang over for a couple hours so that he can try and get a conversation in with his friend—but he otherwise seems... Okay, you think.

Maybe not great, but functional. Better than he was a few nights ago when you awoke to the sight of him hunched over the side of the bed with his head held in his hands while he quietly wept.

You'd promptly crawled into his lap, wrapped yourself around him, held him incredibly close, and rocked him in your arms like a mother would her baby while showering him in soft kisses and comforting words of reassurance that everything would be okay.

He never did tell you what had him so tore up, but instead fell asleep with your breast in his mouth while you sang him a lullaby. You were just glad he managed to rest for the remainder of the night.

Robby starts off strong with a coding patient straight off an ambulance that he pulls you in for, to which Abbot accompanies, and he runs the entire trauma room operation from start to finish without impediment.

His keeping you close isn't just a one-time occurrence, though. It's every single case, much to the frustration of a few others when he barges into this exam room or that trauma bay to steal you away, saying he needs you more than they do.

You were elbow-deep in someone's chest cavity at one point and trying to keep a level tone while insisting that you cannot just come because he orders you to when he lost his temper and shouted that as your attending, he wasn't asking, but telling.

Jack thankfully barged in and pulled him out for a private conversation, while you returned to your patient.

"What's going on with you, man? First day back and you're acting like unless you have her strapped to your side that you can't function in there."

Back to the fucking ambulance bay again. Robby should've known he was in for another goddamn lecture the second Jack started leading him in this direction.

"Just trying to teach my resident," he replies with a shrug and hands slid into his back pockets.

"Is she..." He crosses his arms and takes a step forward. "Is she still living with you?"

Robby shakes his head dismissively. "Hardly see how that's of concern to anyone but us."

He wonders a bit more seriously now as to what that trip up to OB was all about a couple weeks past, and if it had anything to do with the man standing in front of him now. "So in other words: yes," he retorts.

Robby purses his lips and narrows his eyes while shrugging. "We done here?"

"What do you think, Robby? That keeping her around is going to solve whatever's gone wrong? The road trip clearly wasn't the solution. Brother, I'm—"

Folding his hands behind his head, he arches his back and groans. "Why don't you try minding your own fucking business?" he growls while leveling him with a malicious glare.

Abbot stumbles back a step and hurt flashes across his wounded features.

Robby sighs and runs his hands down his face while opening his mouth then shutting it again. "I'm sorry," he mutters in apology. "I just don't have time for this right now, alright? I need to get back in there."

"I'm concerned," he says, trying again. "The last couple weeks, I thought she seemed different—off somehow. If you lay all your baggage at her feet and expect her to unpack, or—or solve all your problems for you, or be some ultimate God-given solution... How long before she's exactly where you're standing?"

With brows drawn together and creases folded across his forehead, Robby's attention flits back to the ED. "We're fine. She's fine. Y/N is a big girl, and is more than capable of telling me how she feels." He takes a step back. "Listen, after..." he sighs. "Maybe while I was gone you got a little close to her. Thought something was there that wasn't. After losing your wife—"

"This has nothing to do with my wife," he spits while nervously twisting his wedding band.

Robby nods and half turns away. "She's with me now," he states. "So just... Keep that in mind going forward."

Jack watches him walk away.

Just across from the computer station, Robby observes Frank conversing with you.

He's in the middle of tugging off a pair of gloves when he feels his body grow cold all over at the sight of the pair of you looking at one another. It's just casual conversation, he's sure, but how can he be certain of it?

Somehow, the only place that Robby feels whatever bond he's forming with you is safe is when he's with you in bed. When his limbs are lying heavy atop your own and his cock is softening inside of you after finishing into a condom—no, he's not pleased that you insist on using them, but either he does, or you stop making love altogether—and for a fleeting moment, everything else fades away.

He can't be left again. He can't...lose you.

But you promised him, the day he divulged his mother's abandonment to you, that you were here to stay.

You'd pressed his head close to your heart and carded your fingers in his hair while he quietly cried, despite trying to choke it down for your benefit.

He exhales and throws the gloves away before seeing to another patient.

"You doing alright?" Robby asks while sidling up next to where you stand at a computer cart.

You nod while typing. "I am."

He chews the inside of his cheek for a moment. "Are we okay?" he questions hesitantly

You jerk your head to the side and gaze into Robby's troubled, glassy eyes. "Of course. Why would you ask that?"

He shrugs nonchalantly. "Saw you talking with Langdon earlier and I got worried. Been away from here for awhile, so—"

Your brows furrow. "He's married, Robby. With two little ones. We had a patient a couple hours ago that we worked on together, and since I was already at a computer, he asked if I could check on him in the system. He's upstairs and resting now," you finish with a small smile.

He sighs. "I'm sorry. Just me being—" Insecure in his old age? "I'm sorry, sweetheart."

You sign out of the desktop. "It's okay, sweetie."

You're unsure if you truly mean that.

"Knew you'd come back early," Noelle states with a laugh and slender, folded arms.

"Just two weeks," Robby replies while finishing up some charting at the same cart you made use of earlier in the day.

"Still," she states with a cocked head. "May I ask what brought you back before your sabbatical's end?"

He raises a shoulder. "Just had someone at home which I didn't like the idea of being there alone."

Her manicured brows furrow and she leans back to study him. "Last I checked, you were at least half single before you left. Don't remember you having any housemates."

Robby continues tapping away on the keyboard.

"May I ask whom?"

He considers for a moment.

He's already caught shit from Abbot, and with your shared shift nearly at its end, he just wants to walk out of here in half-decent shape. Not pissed off now that he's finally cooled down after twelve hours.

He glances toward the computer station where you're seated yet again and nods.

Noelle turns and almost snorts when she spots you. Turning back to him, it's with raised brows and wide eyes of incredulity. "Robby, you cannot be serious. She's a kid. Not to mention a resident."

He signs out of the desktop. "She's woman enough, trust me." Stepping past her, he mumbles "And all I need" before coming to join you.

Observing from afar, she watches as he seats himself next you and cups the back of your head while staring at you with unabashed adoration and warmth—like you hung the moon and dotted the sky with stars.

You giggle, say something she can't discern, and he grins while rolling his shoulders.

But she does make out his reply: I love you.

With a roll of her eyes, she makes a beeline for the elevators.

"I can't concentrate on charting if you're staring at me, Michael."

He grins. "Can't help it. Just hard to believe that you're real sometimes." Robby massages the back of your neck. "And finally mine."

He slides a hand between your thighs while mentally making plans for tonight once you're alone together. Perhaps a talk should be had soon about getting you off birth control so the two of you can start trying for the baby he's always wanted.

Maternal as you are with...patients, he knows you'd be an ideal mother.

"Don't know what I'd do without you now." He shrugs. "Don't like to think about it, anyway."

You give his hand a squeeze and shift in your seat. "I'm right here, Robby." You look at him. "I'm not going anywhere."

He kisses your cheek. "I know."

"I can carry that."

You slide the straps of your backpack onto your shoulders and shake your head. "It's okay, I got it. You already have one."

Robby extends his hand then, and you twine your fingers tightly between his and hold firmly to his arm. Navigating your way through Chairs always gives you anxiety, so now having him to shield you from impatiently waiting individuals who're likely to ambush you and demand an ETA on when they'll be seen is a relief.

Just as he opens the door that'll lead you toward the perpetually crowded space, you glance over your shoulder and still at the sight of Abbot watching the two of you leave.

When your eyes meets his, his face crumples at the sight of you so intimately attached to Robby's side, but the exchange is cut short when he pulls you along beside him to take you home.

The door swings shut behind you, leaving Jack behind.

[eleanorwritessometimes]

little patch of heaven: chapter 4

pope cody x reader

Overview: Andrew shows you around the ranch and you decided you do want to move-in.

A/N: (continuation of little patch of heaven) still all fluff, a lil more build-up to the more cowboy parts lol. alsooo do you guys want this to be smutty, or should i keep it straight fluff?

posted on ao3 under same name + user, as always ofc, if you prefer that format!

Word count: 2.1k

Previous Chapter

Andrew steps aside, letting you go in first. The inside of the house matches the outside; it looks like everything you’ve ever wanted. “Anything you don’t like, we can change,” he says, eyeing your face. You go to hug him again, squeezing him tightly against your chest. He blushes, but wraps his arms around you. 

“I missed you, Andy. I never thought this would actually happen,” you say softly, and any thoughts of regret or hesitation have completely left your body. There’s no way a “bad” man could do all of this, you reassure yourself as you hold tightly onto him. 

“I missed you too. I didn’t really think I’d ever see you again,” he practically whispers in your ear, gently kissing the side of your cheek. “I never want to lose you again.” His hands gently rub at your lower back before he lets them fall. He wants to take your hand to show you around, but hesitates a little.

Noticing, you snatch his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “You don’t have to be so nervous around me, you know. I don’t bite,” you offer him a wide smile. 

“Yeah, but I didn’t know if you wanted me to touch you. I don’t want to…scare you or anything,” he says, and it’s clear he’s genuinely worried. 

You squeeze his hand before responding, “For years I dreamed about you touching me.” Now it’s your turn to blush. Although you did enjoy sex with him, of course, you really did mean it innocently. You missed how soft and gentle he was with you, from back massages to rubbing your shoulders to running his thumb over yours anytime you held hands. He practically always was touching you in some way or another, and you enjoyed feeling needed. 

“Really?” He smiles, softly biting down on his lip and cocking his head.

“You know what I meant,” you scoff, lightly hitting his arm with your free hand. 

“Sure, sure,” he says teasingly, “The house is pretty straightforward. There’s all the basic rooms, plus a hot tub outside on the back porch. One of those that I always thought looked kind of tacky, the big metal animal stock tank types.” When he was looking around for ones like you had saved pins of, he did in fact like to picture you in the tiny bikini you used to wear at Smurfs parties, knowing you were driving him crazy. Not even in a completely sexual way; of course you did always look incredibly sexy, but in the possessive way that made him stare down any of the guys whose eyes lingered a little too long. He splurged a bit on a bigger tub that could be heated, so you could use it year-round, he told himself. Even if the real reason was it’d increase the chances of seeing you in said tiny bikini. 

With that pleasant thought in mind, he leads you around the house, pointing out different areas and things he picked out with you in mind. You’ve seen pretty much every room except the bedroom, which he seems like he’s purposely trying to avoid. 

“Andy, I really don’t even have words; this is beyond sweet. I don’t even know what to say, really,” you lean over and kiss him again. 

“You don’t have to say anything; I wanted this, and I promised it to you,” he says, now giving your hand a small squeeze. “There is only one bedroom, but I will sleep on the couch. The inside might be a little… off-putting, but I swear it was done in a non-pervert way.” He looks away from you, and you spot the very familiar redness creeping up across his face.

Teasingly, you are quick to respond. “I think all of this warrants you being able to sleep in your own bed, Andrew. What do you mean by off-putting?” Your interest is piqued, and now you do want to see the bedroom.

“Just thinking about it now, it might come across as obsessive,” he glances down at his feet, “You can go look; it’s the door at the end of the hall.” He slips his hand out of yours. 

Incredibly curious, you have to force yourself to walk, not run, to the bedroom. It looks totally normal, and you can’t see what he could possibly be worried about. Opening up the door to the walk-in closet, though, you see what he meant, and a little wave of relief washes over you. He has practically curated an entire wardrobe for you. Jeans, shirts, dresses, and skirts fill row after row. On top of that, there are so many cowboy boots lining the floor and cowboy hats resting on the top shelves. The back of the door holds numerous belts with shiny buckles. Everything is meticulously organized, as to be expected. Silently, Andrew steps in behind you, very gingerly putting his hand around you. 

“So, thoughts?” he asks.

“I’m not going to lie, I thought you were going to have some sort of sex dungeon or something here. This is so nice baby, it’s like my own little personal Boot Barn. You really, really didn’t have to do all of this,” You let the baby slip out without even noticing, but Andrew picks it up immediately and enjoys the warmth flooding his body. He loves when you use little pet names with him, even if he’d never admit it out loud.

“I mean, if you wanted a sex dungeon, we could definitely do an add-on,” he smiles as you giggle. He hasn’t heard your laugh in so long, but he never forgot it. “And I already said I wanted to, and I promised you I would.”

You truly are at a loss for words; you never could have imagined this becoming your reality. “Do you really want me to live here?” you ask, looking up into his eyes.

“More than anything, I need you to live here,” he responds, looking straight at you know with his hands resting around your waist. 

You feel the heat spreading across your cheeks now; you always loved when the little bits of possessiveness would peek out of Andrew. Even when you were together the first time, you had some sort of idea he was involved in crime. Before you knew all you know now, it made it feel like one of those romance stories where the big, scary, bad guy just needed a soft and sweet girl to help ground him. Even after all you know, it still kinda makes you feel that way. Even with all the guys your age you tried so hard to replace him with, it never came close. “I want to live here, Andrew, but I don’t know with work and all of that,” you say with a deep sigh. 

“You never have to work another day. Or, you could help here with the ranch and things. Or, you could get a job in town,” he offers quickly, hoping you’ll like one of the options.

You smile softly, and you do like the sound of that, but it just doesn’t sound realistic. “And my-.”

He cuts you off, knowing what you’re going to say. “And you can fly back as often as you want. Your friends can hang out here, you can do like a girls night. I could even get a hotel or something,” he adds, trying hard to pitch you an idea you’re already completely sold on. 

Although you don’t have the best relationship with your family, you can’t imagine they’ll be supportive of you running off with an older man to Mexico, much less so if they realize it’s Pope from Oceanside. Your parents always hated seeing you hang out with the Codys, but never really explained why. The day that everything went down, your mom was quick to call you to essentially point out she was right, but claimed she never wanted to see you get hurt. She said that she prayed you’d come to your senses and go to college now that Andrew was gone. She added that playing housewife never works out, which was the last straw for you. You got in a screaming match, and didn’t talk after that for a while. Thinking about this, you say, “My parents though.”

“We don’t have to tell them,” he says, starting to look and sound a little desperate to convince you, “Until you’re ready, of course.” You smile; they wouldn’t really have to know until you wanted them to. “And, we can keep your apartment in Oceanside, I’ll cover the rent.”

“Andrew, I couldn’t let you do that,” you say, starting to get a bit concerned with how much money he is willing to throw at you. 

“I want to do it, and I am going to do it,” he responds definitively, leaving no room for questions. “It really isn’t that big of a deal,” he adds, softer this time. 

“What about my things?” You’re starting to really imagine yourself trading in your life for a new one with him, and the idea alone makes your heart flutter. 

“I can get a mover. Or you could buy new things for here, you can decide,” he says, as if he’s thought everything out. Seeing the conflicted look on your face, he adds, “The offer will always be on the table. You don’t need to decide right now.” Even though he wants nothing more than you to confirm you’ll never be leaving him again. 

You smile, grateful that he has always been so understanding, and assure him, “I want to, I really do. It just…is a lot to take in.” He nods.

“I know, but I also know that I can provide for you better than any man on this Earth, especially some guy your age. And you wouldn’t ever have to work again. You could do whatever you wanted whenever you wanted,” he adds, letting a bit of his ego talk now, wanting to not so subtly remind you that he would do anything for you.

“I know Andy. You’ve always been so…perfect,” you say softly, “I wish we would’ve been able to stay together from Day 1.” His confidence has always been so attractive to you; even if he comes across as soft with you, you know it’s always lurking nearby. 

He does one of his small smiles, not sure if anyone else would use ‘perfect’ to describe Pope Cody. Nevertheless, he likes hearing you say it. “I know, me too.” You do hope you won’t be separated again, and that this will work out. You know if Andrew says it will, it will. And you really don’t have much to lose back in Oceanside. 

With that in mind, you finally give in, “I guess tonight we can look at moving companies?” Immediately, Andrew is picking you up and practically swinging you around the room.

“I knew you’d say yes, I promise you won’t regret it,” he says excitedly, pulling you tight against his chest now. “I will do anything and everything for you. Also, I already sort of have a moving company in mind; I looked last night.” Of course he has, you think to yourself. He’s smiling from ear to ear now, fully relieved you already agreed. 

You smile back, “I know you will, and I know I won’t regret it. I really can’t thank you enough, Andrew, really…”

“It’s really nothing,” he says, now the one to initiate the kiss. He really views it as the bare minimum, almost like makeup for what he put you through. You kiss him back, still feeling like you might wake up at any second and this could be a dream. “You want to go meet the animals? And then we can go do some of the ‘cowboy stuff’ you always wanted to do?” You smile and nod, heading for the door, but Andrew pulls you back by your hand. “I thought maybe we could change first, just so you don’t mess up your clothes or anything.” 

You agree, wondering why you both have to change. But Andrew said ‘we’ intentionally; he made sure to get complementary clothes to go with every single thing in your closet. He smiles, walking you back into the bedroom, excited to imagine your reaction when you notice.

[richeeduvie]

Jack usually hates himself for how much older he is than you...but not tonight. tw: severe daddy kink and age gap // wc: 1k // fic directory // crash!au tag // partly inspired by this wonderful @ovaryacted hc! // i say partly cause I wanted this to be filthy n' fun like that filthy n' fun hc post but somehow this became a lot sappier cornball-ish and then sleepy calling jack daddy was thrown into the mix and idk what happened I lost the plot

Sometimes, Jack being so much older than his baby is a flaw that makes him want to paint the walls with the pink of his half-century-old brain.

But other times, it’s everything to get your clenching, perfect cunt wet and his cock blowing hot, seedy white all over you. Inside you, preferably. 

“Say it. Say what it is, Sleepy.”

He can already feel his cum gather at the head of his cock, but he can swallow the struggle that your seeping, warm insides are putting on him, because he needs you to say it.

Say it. The truth for this one moment, so he can believe all the things he hates about himself are good for you. Something you’ll want forever. 

A guy so old that you’re forever surprised he can fuck you at impossible speed and make you go starry-eyed. Want that forever, baby. Please. I’m begging you. 

Jack closes his eyes to listen in better to the whine that comes out of you as he pushes inside again, a long, slow thrust that takes to reveling in your pussy—and although the noises aren’t as filthy as when he’s pounding into you, he can hear that soft squelching too, like your lips are suckling everytime his shaft makes way to filling you up. 

“You want to act tough. You are though.” There’s the amusement in his voice, and he’ll fucking die if he notices you keening over how dark and fond he sounds at the same time. 

“But you melt the second I remind you I’m so much stronger than you. Older than you. That you like—”

Jack breaks the degradation with a pathetic groan that he can’t help but choke on as he bucks into you.

He keeps the tip of his nose pressed against your temple as you hold him tightly, legs snaking around his waist, and your cunt’s a racing heartbeat at that. Fuck. He might not make it.

What’s more pathetic than the choking? I’m gonna die because kiddo’s acting like a koloa bear every time she can’t handle my dick stretching her out. 

“You like fucking a man old enough to be your real daddy.” 

Wrong in every way, but he promises, he loves you enough to make it right. Sometimes he loves you so much he can’t breathe. 

“Say it so I know how much you love me. That you love me enough to turn yourself into a pile of…freak.” He pecks your cheek. Fucking stupid. Tryhard. “Sorry. Can’t think of another word. Filth works, I guess.”

You don’t have to love me as much as I love you, kiddo, but any bit is enough to stop me from putting the gun in my mouth. I think, I think. 

You’re not answering fast enough, so he crowds you with his body—pinning you with his chest. Sinking. He hoists you up, almost, forcing his arm between your back and the bed, and he’s holding you then, palm spreading against your back. 

His thumb circles a sweat bead. 

His mouth hovers near your ear. You can feel his breath, controlled, steady. 

“Come on,” It’s a low taunt threaded in gravel and warmth. “Use that pretty whore mouth for something honest. Know you can do it.” 

A mouth that’s made to pump the veins of his cock and gag on his fingers. For dopey smiles. For the truth.

He’ll never deserve it, or your cunt, or your heart to follow him, but nothing’s gonna stop him from keeping you at this point. The only thing that’ll come close is realizing you deserve more and more and more and a bullet to go along with that. 

“I–I like fucking a man old enough to be my daddy.”

…Fuck. He’s gonna weep at that. Both him and his cock. 

"...Knew you could do it."

Yeah, with a roll of his hips, Jack can’t help but drag his cock out, watching some of your slick bubble down to your asshole he’ll fingerfuck later, just the way you like it. 

He really, really can’t fucking help the way he slams back inside you.

“Ah!”

He grunts in short, stuttered breaths, and he feels too young in the way his pace takes the same route. Quick thrusts as he sweats and dies over the way your little cunt adapts to him, he can feel the stretch, and he almost loves it as much as he loves the way he can feel your heart ready to burst past your tits. 

“Breathe, baby. Can’t enjoy this as much if you die on me. You get this needy, and you still wanna pretend you’re in control.”

“M’not, you are. You…I—”

Your head drops limp to the pillow. Jack knows that’s the only thing that gets him to smile before he blacks out. 

You can’t stand it—how he knows you’re unraveling, how he doesn’t even need to raise his voice or pull on your clit. He just needs to be older. And you love it. You love him aged and old-boned, and he loves that you love it.

“You’re not just old enough to be my daddy, Jack.” 

You swallow the way your hole swallows him in another slick-loud bucking, just as Jack manages to pin you closer to his chest, one palm still at your spine, the other squeezing your waist and trailing up so he can thumb your stinging nipple. 

“You are my daddy.”

Daddy is. In the hard safety of his strength, in the years he has on you, the way his authority makes your thoughts go quiet when they’ve been bustling and terrorizing for all of the years you do have, in the humiliating comfort of being handled by Jack Abbot—your old, old doctor who knows exactly what he’s doing to take care of you and isn’t afraid to admit he likes that you can’t resist him. 

“Daddy?”

In the way you will never, ever be able to resist. Jack’s old. Jack’s stronger. Jack’s Daddy. And you’ll never love him despite the previous reasons. Just because. You hope you’ll be able to convince him of that someday. 

“Jack?”

Well. You got him with your…profoundness. Now he’s the one not answering fast enough. 

His throat bobs. He blinks slowly. His thrusts find an even slower pace at that. He sweats. He dies. He dies every time he cums hot inside you, and he can’t believe he’s not supposed to fuck you every day.

He dies every time you smile at him, as if he could ever be even slightly fucking right in wanting to be the only thing you think of, being the house you never even think to leave.

His voice drops into a near-whisper. 

“That’s a....disgusting way to look at it, baby.” He drags two long wet kisses on your sweat-beaded neck. “Thank you.”

He never thought anything else could sound so much like “I love you”. Who else but you to throw an old fuck off his feet?

[motomamita]

loser!könig × female!reader

warnings: +18, smut, cunnilingus, sex!

loser!könig

a simple photo of your breasts was enough for könig to become the most submissive and needy being in the entire universe. And how to blame him? It was the first time that a girl agreed to have a conversation with him without leaving him in seen or blocking him.

from that moment on, not a day went by when könig sent you a good morning message or a photo of his fat cock showing through his jeans. sometimes you ignored him or took a while to respond, but he always answered instantly. könig didn't mind staying up late talking to you or having to look at his cell phone constantly waiting for your response, he loved the little attention you gave him.

some nights he would surprise you by sending you videos of him masturbating while moaning your name and telling you in an agitated voice how much he needed you there with him. he set your photo as his wallpaper and, sooner rather than later, asked for your bank account information to send you money every time you delayed responding.

soon könig proposed that you meet him in his city, he wanted to meet you in person. you hesitated at his proposal but soon changed your mind when you noticed the amount of money he had sent you, it was enough to pay for a plane ticket to his city. it was all paid for, so how can you say no?

you met könig in a hotel room that he had reserved for both of you. in photos he looked huge and in person it was even more so. he covered almost the entire door frame, his muscles were visible through his t-shirt and his face expressed absolute desire. in his hand he carried a bouquet of roses that he had bought especially to receive you and a bottle of champagne.

you both didn't talk much. there was no need either, you both knew what you were going for.

könig had you under him, hugging your bare legs preventing you from escaping while his big cock entered and exited you. your pussy stretched deliciously with each thrust while your clitoris rubbed against his skin. könig breathed close to your face, fixing his gaze on every expression of pleasure and how you desperately asked him to slow down a little.

"cutie, i can't stop, i can't..."

könig increased the speed of his thrusts, sinking you into the mattress and approaching your face to kiss you desperately. your tongues played with each other and his alcoholic breath invaded you completely.

"are you going to cum? uh? i can feel your pussy squeezing my fat cock. come on, cum in my mouth."

könig pulled out of you and brought his mouth to your wet pussy. he licks and sucks every part of your folds like he's wanted to do it for a long time, and he did. he brought his large hands to your thighs and squeezed them tightly, preventing you from closing your legs.

you pulled his hair hard as your orgasm hit. könig moaned over your pussy and tried to collect all your flavor with his tongue.

before you could react, he sat up and positioned himself on top of you jerking his cock quickly while moaning your name. in a matter of seconds his abundant warm cum fell onto your belly and a moan of relief left his mouth.

"fuck, cutie... now, can you let me cum inside you, please, please?"

with a face like that, how can you refuse? :(

[rr-after-dark]

"bond" - dr. michael robinavitch x reader

Chapter Four: "Starlit"

Series Summary: You're the first omega ever to join the beta- and alpha-dominated PTMC emergency department. Over time, you find yourself relying on your alpha boss, Dr. Robinavitch, for more and more personal tasks. He becomes your friend, your protector, and, if the two of you can figure it out, even more.

Summary: You make Robby a home-cooked meal and ask for his help with something personal.

Tags/Notes: omegaverse, alpha!robby x omega!reader, mutual pining, slow burn, domestic fluff vibes

Content: no warnings

A/N: got attacked by a cat today and i think there's something poetic about posting a pitt omegaverse fic after getting home from the er due to an animal bite

Word Count: 2.7k

It’s not a date. It’s not a date. It’s not a date.

That’s what Robby keeps telling himself, over and over, as he rides the elevator up to your apartment. Sure, he texted his group chat with Dana and Jack to make sure he looked okay (fitted jeans and a soft olive sweater had been given the okay). Sure, he brought you flowers. Sure, he’d done a few jumping jacks before knocking on your door, just to make his scent a little stronger so you’ll think about him more like a goddamn teenager.

And, sure, he almost passes out when you open it for him sporting a big smile and a baby blue gingham apron with frilly white lace at all the edges. Trying not to ogle you, the picture of adorable and welcoming domesticity, he steps past you into the apartment and repeats: It’s not a date.

He almost groans – not from the proximity to you but the savory, herbaceous, fatty scent in a layer within your apartment. “Jesus, it smells amazing in here.”

“Short ribs braised in red wine and caramelized onions,” you explain, gesturing grandly to your small oven. There’s a pot of something garlicky and buttery on the stove and he follows his nose toward it. “Just about finished, a couple more minutes, then I’ve got some polenta going and carrots roasting, too, since we’re doctors and we should eat vegetables.”

His stomach leaps for joy. “Sounds incredible. I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in a hell of a long time.”

“You don’t do much cooking?”

He shakes his head and laughs. “I can’t remember the last time I ate something that wasn’t takeout, frozen, or hospital food, honestly.”

You frown and tell him, “I’m gonna have to start bringing you leftovers, then. I cook way too much food for myself most nights anyway.” Before he can protest, you put your hand at the center of his broad chest and bat your lashes. “I’ll let you pay me back in car rides and heroic gestures.”

His eyes light up; he looks almost boyish when he smiles and confirms, “You’re finally gonna take me up on carpooling?”

“It’s getting pretty cold to walk,” you reply sheepishly. “If you’ll take food instead of gas money, then we have a deal.”

“Few extra hours with you a week plus lunches?” Robby smirks. “I think I’d be coming out on top in that deal.” 

You roll your eyes and elbow him. “God forbid Michael Robinavitch let someone take care of him even a little for once.”

“Good point,” he concedes. Taking in your apartment, Robby can’t help the happy rumbling that starts just beneath his skin. It’s a tiny studio; there’s a small circular table with two dining chairs beneath the window in the kitchen, a loveseat across from a TV, and, behind a gauzy curtain, your nest. It’s little, but the place just screams of you: Baby blue accents everywhere, warm touches that make it homey, serene energy permeating it. “Your place is…cozy.”

“I know it’s small,” you reply with a cute shrug, “but I prefer it that way. Makes me feel like I can keep everything close.”

“I understand that.” He nods slowly, doing one slow turn. He’s so curious about what your nest is like – the particular way you arrange your pillows, what collected softness makes up your sense of security – but he bites back any questions; even in a studio apartment, it would be hugely presumptuous for an alpha to ask for a close-up tour of an omega’s safest, most personal space. “It feels safe,” he says when he’s done looking. Then he grumbles under his breath, “Despite the neighborhood.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your oven mitts. “If you want to start paying my rent in a nicer place, you go right ahead.”

“Don’t tempt me.” You wink at him over his shoulder and he replays it a thousand times over. You don’t get a lot of time to be cheeky with him at the hospital and he’s basking in it. Robby looks almost comically large in your shoebox apartment, but he doesn’t seem to mind much as he asks, “What can I do to help?”

“You can grab a couple plates and glasses if you want from that cabinet over there,” you reply, knowing that he won’t be happy unless he feels helpful because that’s just how Robby is. Plus, in your position at the stove, Robby has to press his body fairly close to yours, lifting his arm up, drowning you in that relaxing scent you sometimes find yourself lingering too close to him to get a hit of.

Robby sets your small table as you finish up the dishes and, soon enough, he’s watching you untie your apron after setting down the dishes. Underneath it, you’re wearing a delicate, feminine silk lounge set: Shorts that barely cover your ass and a camisole that leaves an inch of your stomach exposed. Definitely no bra. Jesus. For some reason, Robby had expected you to be dressed up, too, instead of in your regular at-home clothes. It actually feels a hell of a lot more intimate than a date for you to be in pajamas. 

He clears his throat and his head as you sit down across from him over a candlelit home-cooked dinner. After his first bite of rich beef and buttery polenta, Robby makes the most gorgeous, rumbling, deep groan, closing his eyes as the flavor coats his mouth. “Fuck, that’s good.”

You give a blushing smile and eat some yourself. Not to toot your own horn, but he’s right. You’ve nailed it. “I have this family recipe box; they’re my grandma’s short ribs. She was such a good cook; we always loved going to her place on the weekends for family dinners.”

Robby takes another bite and coos, “Tastes like you’ve inherited the gene.”

The two of you focus on eating for a few minutes, both hungry after one hell of a draining, painful day. Hormonal highs like ferality and distress take as much energy out of you as running a few miles at once. When you have a few bites settling in your stomach, warm against your ribs, you start, “I know I asked you to come over tonight to thank you for the whole thing in the ER, but I may have had another ulterior motive.” 

Robby raises an eyebrow. “And what would that be?”

Tentatively, you start, “I had something I wanted to ask you about, if that’s okay. Something kinda personal.”

“Go right ahead.”

“Well, just, you were so nice about helping me with that thing with my ex a while back,” you say, trying to make yourself casual as you sip your wine slowly. “I wanted to see if you’d do something similar again.”

Robby knows you’re not doing it on purpose – you’re too kind, too innocent, too you – but the harsh reality is that he’d do absolutely anything you asked because he wants you so much. You could tell him to clean your apartment with a toothbrush while squealing like a pig wearing a french maid outfit and he’d do it without question. So he asks a clarifying question to avoid sounding too eager to please you, “What kind of ‘similar’?”

“Word got back to my hometown that I have some alpha doctor boyfriend,” you sigh heavily. “My parents are having this massive 40th anniversary party and they’re insisting I bring him. And I know I’ve gotten pretty close with Frank, so I could ask him to-”

“Don’t ask anyone but me,” Robby snarls, hand gripping hard around the handle of his fork. Way too harsh. “Shit. That came out wrong. I just mean, ah, I’d be happy to help. Make sure nobody gives you any problems.”

Wringing your hands together, you murmur, “The thing is, it’s a weekend trip. Upstate New York, where I grew up. My parents’ house. I know that’s a lot to ask.”

Robby pretends to debate it. For his own self image. To protect the idea that he’s a serious, professional doctor and not a smitten idiot looking at a pretty girl who’s way too good for him. But, mentally, he’s already picking out his clothes. “I’ve got lots of time off stacked up and waiting. I could use a little trip. Sounds like a plan.”

“Thanks; you’re the best.

“Says the girl who just made me the best dinner of my life.”

“Of your life?” You laugh and nudge him with your hip. “You always go to those fancy gala dinner things; I’m sure those are incredible.”

He shakes his head and laughs, “It’s overcooked airline chicken every single time.”

The conversation picks up, both of you laughing easily and delving deep into the other. You keep on in an easy rhythm through washing and drying the dishes side by side, through another shared glass of wine just leaning against the counter and being together, through the clock ticking later and later.

During the first real pause in the conversation, both your glasses empty and the night dying down, you eye each other carefully, debating. Neither of you want him to leave yet. Frankly, you never want him to leave. But it’s your place and you’re an omega; it would be wrong as an alpha for him to push, for him to suggest more, for him to place any pressure on you.

So he’s thrilled to pieces when you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear and suggest, “You could stay for a movie or something, if you wanted to. If you’re not busy. I’ve got a pretty good collection.”

“You sure?” Robby’s terrified of overplaying his hand when it comes to you. “I don’t wanna keep you up too late. You should probably rest after the day you’ve had.”

“I don’t have work in the morning,” you remind him. “I’ll sleep in as late as I want. Promise.” Then you reach across the gap between you and touch his hand, softly squeezing his palm just long enough for him to start to sweat. “Stay with me a little, Michael. Please.”

He couldn’t refuse you if he wanted to. And he definitely doesn’t want to.

While you make popcorn and collect throw blankets, Robby peruses your DVD collection and soon finds his mouth hanging open in surprise. “Do you only own horror movies?”

“Um, mostly, yeah,” you tell him, sounding more than a little sheepish about it. “They make me feel brave.”

“You are brave,” he replies easily, picking up a case and sliding the disc into the player. “One of the bravest people I’ve ever met by a mile.”

You shrug as he settles onto the loveseat next to you. “Everyone keeps saying that – about me going into emergency medicine, y’know? But it doesn’t feel brave. It just feels like what I’m supposed to do.”

“Sometimes that’s the same thing.”

He shrugs and spreads his arms out over the back of the loveseat as the movie starts – not because he’s trying anything, just because he’s much bigger than you and needs to stretch his body somewhere to be comfortable. But then you seem to think it’s an invitation, making a surprised but pleased little sound before tucking underneath his arm, against his chest.

Robby’s body temperature rises about ten degrees when he sees your bare thigh touching his jeans. Your scent is all floral now, the usual sweetness balanced out by springtime. You only smell like this at the hospital when someone notices you and praises your work. When someone sees you for who you really are. He tilts his head slightly and rests his chin on your hair; the soft, content sigh you let out tells him that it’s okay, yes, but so does another billow of that honeysuckle perfume.

And he relaxes. For the first time in what feels like his whole life, Robby’s breath slows down. His instincts stop searching for danger. With you underneath his arm, clinging close during every scare even though you know when they’re coming, the world calms. The city doesn’t feel violent, like a powder keg about to explode, an unending saga of potential emergency room cases he has to slice and surge his way through. It feels serene. Starlit. 

When the movie’s second act starts, Robby startles a bit as he feels your body trembling slightly, not because you’re scared from the movie or cold from the drafty window but because you’re purring. Soft, content, continuous.

At the gentle jostle of his surprise, you perk up just a touch, tilting your head toward his. “Hm?”

“Nothing, don’t worry.” Sounding prayerful and over the moon, Robby murmurs, “I just haven’t heard you purr before.”

“Oh.” You bite your lower lip and pull away from his chest an inch or two. You’re embarrassed but only slightly; it’s not like purring is abnormal for an omega, but it is something you only do when you’re truly, completely comfortable. Doing it around another person shows a level of trust that Robby might not’ve been expecting. “Is that okay? I’m just really comfy, but I can move if it’s bothering you.”

“No, it’s- it’s okay.” He’s a little breathless from how happy your comfort makes him, like he’s drunk during a rosé-colored sunset. “You stay right there.”

This time, with his small smile of encouragement, you snuggle in closer. He shifts his weight to give you ample room to cuddle however you want. Despite the scary movie on the screen, it doesn’t take much longer for you to fall asleep with your head in Robby’s lap, his hand on your waist, still purring softly as you drift into your dreams. And he waits with you like that for a long time, gently brushing your slightly exposed skin with his thumb, timing his breathing with yours, letting himself indulge in the fantasy of a life with you. The movie ends and the DVD menu repeats on a short loop, but he can’t bring himself to wake you.

When he feels sleep starting to fight with his eyes, Robby carefully winds his arms around your body and lifts you up with him. He maneuvers you gently through the apartment, precious and careful not to wake you, and sets you in your nest. With the lightest touch he can manage, he finds a soft blanket and wraps it around you, tucking it beneath your curves and smiling as you nestle into it and coo softly in your sleep. For a minute, he lets himself linger over your sleeping form, just enjoying the sight of you safe and full and content the way he wishes you could always be.

Before he leaves your side to return to the small couch, he notices that the stuffed fox he gave you sits right next to the pillow you rest your head on.

When you wake up in the morning, you’re in your nest, safe and warm, exactly how you’re supposed to be. But you’re still in your clothes from the night before and you can hear someone else shifting around on the loveseat. Robby. Dr. Robby slept in your studio apartment, folding up his large form on your cramped loveseat. Embarrassment flares in your chest.

He notices you’re awake as soon as your breathing changes. His head peeks just above the couch, hair mussed and glasses on. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

Stretching your arms above your head, you groan and ask, “What time is it?”

“Almost ten. Figured you could use the sleep after the day we had yesterday.”

“How long have you been awake?”

“Only an hour or so.”

You stand up, pad over to the loveseat, and sit down next to him. “I’m sorry; I never fall asleep during movies.”

He gives you a coy smile. “Well, I’ve been told I make a very good pillow.”

Your cheeks flame red and you stare at your toes. “You didn’t have to stay.”

“I did.”

That’s all he says.

It hangs in the room.

I did.

I had to stay.

I had to make sure you were safe.

That’s all there is to say.

So you offer, “Coffee?”

“I’d die for some.”

Support me on ko-fi if you'd like!

[loves-alibi]

michael robinavitch x f!reader

secret baby part 6

wc: 2.5k

*****

“You taped a key to the outside of your door while our son was in the house? Are you nuts?”

Elijah giggles from his walker at the fear-striken expression on his father’s face. He squeals and claps. When you step into the livingroom, said taped key in your hand, Elijah squeals and throws his hands up. You toss the key on Robby’s lap and pick your son up.

Robby picks up the key and winces, “I thought it would be a sweet gesture.”

You scoff as you kiss your son on the cheek, “A sweet gesture would be flowers to go with it, not making it easier for someone to break in and rob and kill you both.”

“It’s a nice neighborhood.”

“Do you know the crime rate in Pittsburgh?”

“No,” Robby shakes his head. “What is it?”

You close your mouth. There’s a ghost of a smile on your lips. You say, “I don’t know. But it’s probably high.”

Robby chuckles, “And you’re probably right, but not here. You think I’d raise our kid in a shitty neighborhood?”

“No, I—“ Your eyes flick downwards towards the key in his open palm. “Yeah, um, sorry,” you flip the key once, then twice in your palm. “So this is for me?”

Robby nods. “Yeah,” he says softly. “So you can come and go as you please– Elijah, too.”

“Of course.”

Robby tugs at the collar of his shirt. Is it getting hot in here? His hand slides around to scratch the back of his neck, “I hope it’s not too much.”

“No, it’s…” You shake your head, then grab the key from his hand, tucking it in your pocket. “Thank you, Michael.”

Robby lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Now that he’s not shitting bricks, Robby gets a good look at you. You’re dressed up, dressed well.

For the first time, Robby gets a true glimpse into you-before-Elijah.

Last Friday, when you called Robby to ask if he could watch Elijah while you had lunch with someone, he hadn’t said anything other than yes. He was surprised, though. It was the first time you asked him to take Elijah for something that wasn’t medically or emotionally necessary. Then, when you showed up to his house dressed up with your hair and makeup done, Robby still didn’t say anything, more than a little scared that if he made a comment or acted too enthusiastically about your newfound care in yourself rather than solely Elijah, you would backslide or take it the wrong way.

You’ve been doing better lately. So has Robby. Not because he doesn’t have to worry about you (he still does plenty), but because half the time you’re staying the night at his house or the other way around. Having you in arms’ reach does his anxiety wonders.

You haven’t had sex yet. The closest you’ve gotten was your date, before you fell asleep on Robby. His back was furious the next morning, but he finds the pain well worth it. Intimacy is changed. Shit, intimacy exists now. The air between you is charged. When Elijah isn’t around to see it, you’ve been plenty on top of one another– heavy, late night makeouts with curious, wandering hands.

Every morning feels closer to that dream he shared with you the night after he ran into you again, the night he met his son. The dream of being a family. That same night he told you he wanted to live together, one unit under one roof.

I want to be involved in his life as a father. Full-time. Not that joint-custody nonsense. He needs a present mother and present father, together. He deserves it.

Elijah does deserve it. So do you. So does Robby.

Today, he finally decided to do something about it. Once you left for lunch, Robby secured Elijah in the stroller he bought last month and headed off to the locksmith a few blocks from his house. Elijah babbled the whole way there and back, even during the half hour that it took for Robby to get his house key copied.

Robby knows you’re not ready to move in, but this could be a start.

Once the key was sorted, it was time for Robby’s second order of business. Elijah is six months old today. To celebrate, Robby bought a small cake. It’s really not a treat for him, but Robby’s just looking forward to your face when you see Elijah sitting in front of the ‘6’ candle Robby picked up at the bakery (a moment that will no doubt be memorialized as his newest phone wallpaper).

“Listen, I have another surprise for you,” Robby says. As he pushes himself up, his knees let out a loud pop. He hopes you don’t notice, distracting you with a kiss. “In the kitchen. Bring Elijah.”

You gasp dramatically, adjusting your hold on Elijah, “A surprise? For us?”

“Oh, no, no. He knows what it is,” Robby says. “Our Elijah is an accomplice.”

“Is he?” You tickle Elijah’s belly and he chuckles. “What is it, baby? Is it… a puppy? Or… a cake? Or… a kitty cat?” Each time you suggest a possibility, your voice raises, bright and warm in a way that makes Elijah coo. “What did you get mommy?”

Robby slips ahead of you as you continue to make guesses. He swiftly pulls the box out of the fridge and meets you in the dining room.

You gasp when your eyes land on the bakery box. “It is a cake! Oh, my—“ You laugh, “Michael, why did you get a cake?”

Robby sets it down on the table, pulling the cake out of the box entirely. From his pocket, he procures the candle he purchased. “Our little guy is six months,” he explains. “I thought we should celebrate.”

“Aw!” You stick your bottom lip out, eyes watering when they slide to Elijah. “Don’t remind me…”

Robby slides behind you and kisses your cheek. “I do good?” He asks.

You chuckle, “Let me taste the cake first, then I’ll decide.”

You sit Elijah in his high chair, and you and Robby spend way too long taking photos of the smiling boy. Only when the ‘6’ candle has melted almost a third of the way, dipping wax on the frosted top of the cake, do you stop. Robby grabs two forks from the kitchen. He hands one to you. You raise your brow at the lack of plates present, but don’t comment.

“Are we bad parents if we eat this whole thing without him?” You ask. “He’s too little to have a slice… but, I mean, a whole cake is a lot to not give him any…”

Robby shrugs, “It’s a mini cake. I think he’ll find it in himself to forgive us one day.”

“I guess, but… You know what? Here, baby,” you swipe a finger through the bright blue frosting, holding the dollop up to Elijah’s mouth. He parts his lips immediately.

“Don’t do that,” Robby responds quickly.

You pull your hand away like it’s been burned, though your face is twisted in clear displeasure. “Why? Will it kill him?”

Robby hesitates, “Uh...”

“Okay,” you roll your eyes. “He’s six months old, he can have some fr—“

“What if he’s allergic?” Robby blurts. “What if there’s cross contamination with nuts— peanuts!”

Robby’s been an emergency doctor long enough to have seen his fair share of infants having allergic reactions. The stories usually go something like this— two parents giving their little one a little treat, and the next thing they know, their precious one’s airway closes up. What would Robby even do?

You sigh, oblivious to, or ignoring, his panic. “Luckily, my friend is a doctor.”

Yes, Robby’s a doctor, but that hardly means anything. The hospital is a drive away, and in that time anaphylaxis could—

Wait.

“Did you just call me your friend?” Robby crosses his arms, “Is that what I am to you?”

“Well, you’re certainly not my husband.”

Robby stares at your smug grin, so disgruntled that he almost entirely misses the way you sneak Elijah the frosting anyway.

“You wanna get married?”

“Michael.”

“You brought it up!”

“Because you were about to have a panic attack over ice cream.”

“I was n–” Robby stops himself when you raise an eyebrow. “I was.”

“And look,” you put your face next to Elijah’s, pressing your cheek to his. “No allergic reaction! Say, ‘All good, papa!’”

At your prompt, Elijah just laughs, babbling something that neither you or Robby can understand, but it warms your hearts all the same. Robby sees your face soften, just as his own does when you smooth Elijah’s hair and give him a wet kiss on the cheek.

“My handsome, half-birthday boy,” you coo. “Mommy and daddy love you so much.”

*****

“Baby, can I ask you something?”

Your voice pulls Robby out of his slumber, brought on by a cruel combination of a sugar crash (maybe splitting a cake with you wasn’t the best idea at his age), the drone of whatever show you’re watching, and the gentle caress of your fingers through his hair. His eyes protest as he peels them open to look at you. Your eyes are still on the TV, but by the way you’re chewing your lip, Robby would bet that you haven’t been paying attention to it for a while.

“Of course,” he says, hoping his exhaustion isn’t too evident in his voice. “Is everything alright?”

That gets you to look at him. Your eyes flick downwards, brows furrowed, “Yeah, I just… I got a commission. For a piece.”

Robby’s eyebrows shoot up. He quickly stills his face. This is great. Really great. You’re working again. Or, more importantly, you’re well enough to work again.

“Congratulations,” he says. “Baby, that’s wonderful!”

“Yeah,” you say, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Is something wrong?” Robby furrows his brows. “You wanted to ask me something?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, taking a deep breath through your nose and out of your mouth. “Uh,” you slowly peel your eyes open. “Could you maybe… help me a bit more with Elijah? Not that you’re not doing that already! But if I’m working, I just… I need more help.”

Without hesitation, Robby answers, “Absolutely.”

“I can’t paint with Elijah around,” you continue. Your voice is shockingly tight for the normality of the situation. “If he’s sleeping, sure, but there’s barely any room, and I can’t worry about him getting hurt because I’m not looking or he gets into the paint and then–”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Robby soothes. He reaches up to cradle the side of your face. You sigh and lean into his touch. “You don’t need to explain it. I get it.”

For a terrifying moment, Robby thinks you’re about to cry. You tamp it down with a deep breath though, shutting your eyes for a five count. When they open again, you smile, “Thanks. So… um, you can?”

He wants to tell you to paint here. You could use his office, which is already half-filled with cobwebs and dust. It would get far more love as a studio. Robby stops himself though, figuring that mentioning you moving in after the key thing might send you running. Or maybe it won’t. You haven’t run off yet, and it’s not like Robby has been subtle about letting you know what he wants with you.

Still, Robby settles with a simple, “Yeah. I can.”

Because he can take care of Elijah. In fact, the timing couldn’t be better.

A few months ago, on a particularly harsh shift, Robby put in for sabbatical. From July forth to September forth this year, he’s a free man. No doctoring. No PTMC. Nothing.

He hasn’t mentioned it to you yet because, well, he was honestly thinking about calling the thing off as soon as he learned of Elijah’s existence. His life has been so busy though, with you and Elijah and all the baby-proofing he’s done at home, that Robby hasn’t had the time to think about the sabbatical. Sure, he’s done it in passing, figuring that it wouldn’t hurt to have some time off of work, but his life has changed a great deal since he first planned the sabbatical.

A motorcycle trip to who knows where. It’s strange how trite that all seems now. He wouldn’t dream of a solo free love motorcycle ride now. No, he wants to spend time with his family.

Now, his sabbatical is dauntingly close, two and a half weeks now, and Robby has yet to say a word. Maybe not his best moment.

“I have something to tell you,” Robby cautions.

You scrunch your nose teasingly, “You’re just full of surprises today.”

Robby chuckles nervously, “Yeah, yeah I am.”

“Let’s hear it, then.”

Robby takes a deep breath to calm his nerves. They’ve been running wild today, and now is no exception. Luckily, his voice is almost even as he simply states, “I’m taking a sabbatical.”

“A sabbatical,” you repeat. The amusement is slipping from your face. “What’s that mean?”

“Well,” Robby shuts his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I’m off of work for three months.”

When he opens his eyes, your face is scrunched, perplexed. “Like… completely?”

“Completely. No work for me from July forth to September forth. Think that’s enough time for you to work on the commission?”

“Yeah, I–” You open and close your mouth a few times, “You’re gonna be able to handle that?”

Robby shrugs, “I didn’t think I could, back when I first put in for it– that was before I, uh, knew about Elijah. Now, though…”

“You’re a father?” You finish for him, a smile tugging at your lips. Are you making fun of him? “The most important job of all?” Oh, you’re definitely making fun of him.

“Listen, do you want me to take the time or not?”

 “I do, but you–”

“Ah, ah. This isn’t about me. I’ll be fine. Hell, I’d quit if you asked me to.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“But I would,” Robby states. “I’d do anything if you asked.”

“You should do anything for Elijah,” you say, shaking your head. “Not me.”

Robby sits up, his back screams, but it’s well worth it to be face-to-face with you. “I would do anything for him, but that doesn’t mean I won’t do the same for you.”

“Thank you,” you say, but it’s flat, almost as though you don’t believe it.

“I mean it, baby.” Robby wants to kiss the pout on your face. It’s too much for now. He reasons it’d be counter to his point. The last thing Robby wants is for you to think he cares about you just for the sex (or, more accurately, this weird co-parenting sexual tension/occasional makeout you two have been practicing). “I care about you. I value you.”

“Thank you,” you say again. This time, it sounds like you mean it. “I won’t ever ask you to quit, but… I think a sabbatical does sound nice.”

Robby smiles, finally giving in on his desire to kiss you. It’s quick and chaste, but well worth it when he feels you smiling against his lips. “Good,” he says as he pulls away, “Maybe during that sabbatical we can get you moved in.”

“Don’t push it, Robinavitch.”

[the-kaelish-prince]

inconsequential pitt headcanons i have: samira mohan edition!

wears contacts, because being in the ER and having glasses is actually so annoying, but after a long shift sometimes her eyes are really fucking dry so she pulls out her glasses

her glasses, if we're being specific, are like the toirtoise shell types like the one down below

owns a kindle and downloads journals onto it. they sit right beside the actual most trashy romance books you've ever seen in your life (she draws the line at fairy porn like ACOTAR though, she does NOTTT subscribe to that)

her typing style is so zillenial in nature. she uses emojis like how somebody who's 25 would but she's got auto caps on, uses punctuation and is typically grammatically correct (that includes using full stops at the end of her texts)

people (trinity) have tried to convince her to turnoff auto caps but samira is like ??? i’m supposed to text robby or abbot or baran when i’m unwell and can’t go to work ???with ???? auto caps off ??? that’s NOT professional

mind you she barely takes days off

she'll text like wholesome meme pictures like this

really into blue planet!

will NEVER touch tequila. ever. something something bad experience with it and now hates it

really likes a bloody mary, i cannot explain this one

owns loads of teas, definitely a herbal tea fiend and probably in the colder months has like a really good thermos

sometimes she'll bring like whatever is in her fridge to work for the spare minutes she can use as a lunch break and ellis parker will just peer over and sort of go... girl what is that

"it's my lunch!"

"i'm so sorry"

"why are you apologizing???"

had a fear when she was like 24 that she was going to lose mental acuity so she downloaded one of those like 60+ year old brain games and plays them before she goes to bed

is convinced this is why she remembers a lot of info about her patients

had a cat when she was growing up, subsequently volunteered at a shelter throughout her undergrad

is terrified of twitter, but likes to keep up to date with shows/media that way and just sort of silently observes from a safe distance

[an-abysma1-0bserver]

can we start over? (part 1)

Pairing: Jack Abbot x GF!Reader

Summary: Jack finally introduced you, his girlfriend, to the Pitt. This is the aftermath.

Warnings: Angst. Hurt/comfort. Emotional hurt/comfort. Insecure reader. The Pittlings weren’t exactly welcoming. Older man x younger woman trope (unspecified age gap). Reader doesn’t want to cause a scene. No use of Y/N. Whatever else I failed to mention.

Author’s Note: I do not own The Pitt in any capacity. The franchise and its characters belong to their rightful owner(s). Similarly, I don’t own any the gifs or pictures used for my fics. All I own are the fic ideas.

Should I do a part 2?

Word Count: 3,865 (roughly)

Masterlist

Next Part ->

Jack noticed almost immediately—your silence, the far-off look in your eyes, the way you curled in on yourself as the night wore on. You’d been so excited to meet his friends—Robby, Dana, the others from the Pitt—but somewhere along the line, something shifted.

You spoke less. Drifted to the edges of the group. Nursed your drink like it gave your hands something to do, something to hide behind. You avoided eye contact, and when you did smile, it never quite reached your eyes—thin, strained, a polite facade that didn’t belong to you.

It was nothing like how you’d been at the start of the night.

Maybe it was just nerves, he’d told himself. These were his people—his coworkers, his circle. Anyone would feel out of place at first. That had to be it.

But as the night dragged on, something else settled in.

You weren’t really being included.

Whitaker and Mel made an effort—pulling you in, asking you things—but it never lasted. Not really. If you spoke too much, the rhythm of the group would falter, conversations stalling just long enough for it to be noticeable. There’d be a pause, a flicker of glances exchanged, and then things would pick back up again—just…without you.

Gradually, quietly, you were edged out.

By the time Jack pulled into his driveway, the silence in the car felt heavier than anything said that night. He left the engine running for a moment, his hands still on the wheel as he turned to look at you.

You hadn’t said a word the entire ride home.

You just sat there, staring out the window, absentmindedly worrying the hem of your top between your fingers.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Jack studied you, the way your shoulders were slightly hunched, like you were trying to make yourself smaller in a space that was already empty. His grip on the steering wheel loosened.

“…Hey,” he said quietly.

You didn’t look at him. “Yeah?”

“You okay?”

A beat. Too quick to be real.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

Jack exhaled softly, glancing away for a second before looking back at you. “You got really quiet back there.”

“I was just tired,” you said, a little too fast, a little too rehearsed. Your fingers kept tugging at the hem of your top, twisting the fabric tighter. “Long day.”

“Mm.” He didn’t sound convinced.

Silence pressed in again, heavier this time. The engine hummed beneath it, steady and indifferent.

Jack shifted in his seat, turning toward you more fully. “Did something happen?”

“No.” Your answer came just as quickly, but it wavered at the edges. “Nothing happened.”

He watched you for a moment, jaw tightening slightly. “It didn’t feel like nothing.”

That got a reaction—subtle, but there. Your hand stilled for half a second before starting up again, more restless than before.

“You’re reading too much into it,” you murmured.

“Am I?”

Finally, you turned your head just enough to look at him, but even then, your gaze didn’t quite meet his. “Jack, it’s fine. Seriously. You don’t have to—” You stopped yourself, shaking your head lightly. “It was your night. Your friends. I didn’t want to make it weird.”

His brow furrowed. “Make what weird?”

You huffed out a small breath, something closer to a humorless laugh. “Exactly.”

That made something in his chest tighten.

“Hey,” he said again, softer this time. “Talk to me.”

You swallowed, eyes dropping to your lap. For a second, it looked like you might brush it off again—another excuse, another deflection—but the words didn’t come as easily this time.

Instead, your shoulders sank, just a little.

“I don’t think they like me,” you said finally, the admission quiet enough it almost got lost in the space between you.

Jack blinked. “What? That’s—no. That’s not—”

“It’s fine,” you cut in quickly, even as your voice started to thin. “I mean, I get it. I was the outsider there. I didn’t know what anyone was talking about half the time, and when I did try to join in it was like—” You hesitated, searching for the right words, your throat tightening around them. “Like I said something wrong without actually saying anything wrong.”

Jack’s expression shifted, something unsettled flickering across his face.

“They just…” You trailed off, shaking your head faintly. “It felt like they were waiting for me to stop talking.”

The confession hung there, raw and uncomfortable.

You let out a shaky breath, leaning back against the seat as if that might steady you. “It’s not a big deal. Really. I probably just overdid it, or—talked too much, or something. I don’t know.”

Jack’s stomach twisted at that.

“Hey,” he said, more firmly now. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Blame yourself for it.” His voice softened again, but there was an edge to it now, something protective. “I saw it too.”

That made you finally look at him properly.

For a second, neither of you spoke.

And then, quieter—almost hesitant—you asked, “You did?”

“Yeah,” Jack admitted, running a hand over the back of his neck. “I just…I thought maybe I was overthinking it. Or that you were just nervous.” He shook his head slightly. “But it didn’t sit right with me either.”

Something in your expression shifted at that—not quite relief, but not the tight, guarded distance from before, either. Just…something softer. More uncertain.

“Okay,” you whispered, like you weren’t sure what else to say.

The silence that followed wasn’t as sharp as before, but it wasn’t easy, either.

Jack glanced toward the house, then back at you. “C’mon,” he said gently. “Let’s go inside.”

This time, when he turned the engine off, you didn’t immediately reach for the door.

You just sat there for a second longer, like you were trying to gather whatever pieces of yourself had come undone—and hoping he wouldn’t let go of them once you did.

The front door clicked shut behind you a little too loudly in the quiet of Jack’s place.

For a second, neither of you moved.

You hovered just inside, slipping your shoes off more out of habit than thought, setting them neatly by the door like you always did. It felt strangely out of place tonight—like you were trying to act normal in a moment that wasn’t.

Jack lingered a step behind you, watching.

“You can, uh—” he started, then stopped, rubbing the back of his neck. “You can sit down. Or—whatever you need.”

“Mm.” You nodded faintly, though it didn’t look like you’d actually heard him.

You made your way over to the couch, sinking into the corner of it, curling in on yourself again—knees tucked up, arms loosely wrapped around them. Smaller. Quieter.

Jack’s chest tightened at the sight.

He crossed the room a second later, slower this time, like he didn’t want to crowd you. He sat down beside you, leaving just enough space so you wouldn’t feel boxed in.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything.

Then, more gently, “Hey.”

You kept your eyes on your hands. “I’m okay.”

Jack let out a quiet breath, not quite a sigh. “You don’t look okay.”

A pause.

“…I will be,” you said instead, softer.

That made something in his expression falter.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees before glancing over at you. “You don’t have to brush it off with me.”

“I’m not brushing it off.”

“You kind of are.”

That earned him a small look—tired, not sharp, but there was something behind it.

“I just don’t want to make it into a bigger thing than it is,” you said. “It was one night. It’s not—” You stopped, swallowing. “It’s not like it matters that much.”

Jack turned toward you more fully now. “It matters if it bothered you.”

You didn’t respond right away.

Your fingers picked at the seam of your sleeve this time, slower, more absent. “I just…” You exhaled shakily. “I really wanted them to like me.”

The honesty of it sat heavy between you.

“I tried, you know?” you went on, voice quieter now. “I wasn’t trying to talk over anyone or—insert myself or whatever. I just…every time I did say something, it felt like I was interrupting something I wasn’t actually a part of.”

Jack’s jaw tightened slightly.

“And then when I stopped trying,” you added, a little more brittle now, “it didn’t really make a difference.”

That one lingered.

He shifted closer before he really thought about it, his hand hovering for a second before settling carefully against your arm—light, giving you space to pull away if you wanted.

You didn’t.

Instead, your shoulders dipped just a fraction, like the contact took some of the weight off.

“They shouldn’t have made you feel like that,” Jack said quietly.

You shook your head. “I don’t think they meant to.”

“Doesn’t really change how it came across.”

Another small silence.

Then, after a beat, he added, a little more firmly, “I’ll talk to them.”

Your head lifted at that, brows pulling together slightly. “Jack—no, you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

“It’s not a big enough deal to—”

“It is to me,” he cut in, not harsh, but certain.

You hesitated, searching his face like you were trying to figure out if he was just saying it to make you feel better.

“I’m not gonna go in guns blazing or anything,” he added, softer now. “I just…I’ll say something. Make sure they’re aware. That’s it.”

You exhaled, some of the tension in your shoulders loosening—but not completely.

“I don’t want them to feel like I’m…complaining,” you admitted.

“You’re not,” Jack said. “You’re telling me how you felt. That’s different.”

Your gaze dropped again, but this time it wasn’t as guarded.

“…Okay,” you murmured.

The room fell quiet after that, but it wasn’t as sharp as before. Just tired. Heavy.

After a second, Jack shifted, leaning back into the couch and gently tugging you with him—not forcing, just a quiet invitation.

You went, unfolding just enough to lean into his side, your head resting against his shoulder.

He let out a slow breath, one arm coming up to wrap around you, his hand settling warm and steady against your upper arm.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

His thumb traced absent, grounding patterns against your sleeve. The kind of touch that didn’t ask for anything, didn’t try to fix—it just stayed.

Your breathing gradually evened out, though every now and then, he felt the faint hitch of it.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a while, voice low against your hair.

You shook your head lightly. “You didn’t do anything.”

“I still brought you into that.”

You shifted just enough to look up at him, your expression softer now—worn, but real. “I wanted to go.”

“I know.” His grip on you tightened just slightly. “Doesn’t mean it should’ve gone like that.”

You held his gaze for a second longer, then let yourself settle back against him.

“…Next time might be better,” you said, though it came out more like a quiet hope than a statement.

Jack didn’t answer right away.

But his arm stayed around you, steady and sure, like he wasn’t going anywhere—like, whatever came next, he’d meet it with you.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “We’ll make it better.”

Even then, though, there was still something lingering in the quiet—the kind of hurt that doesn’t disappear all at once.

Just…held a little more gently.

* * *

Jack did talk to them.

You knew he did—not because he said much about it, but because of the way his jaw would tighten whenever their group chat lit up, or how he’d go quiet for a second after checking his phone. The first time you asked, he brushed it off with a simple, “It’s handled.”

You didn’t press.

A few days later, the invitation came again.

Another night out.

You stared at the message longer than you meant to, your thumb hovering over your screen as if that might make the decision for you.

Jack noticed, of course.

“You don’t have to go,” he said from where he was leaning against the counter, arms crossed loosely. His tone was careful—too careful.

“I know.” You glanced up at him, offering a small, uncertain smile. “I just…don’t want to make it a thing.”

“It already is a thing.”

“Only if we let it be,” you countered, softer now.

Jack studied you for a moment, like he was trying to figure out if this was something you actually wanted—or something you felt like you should want.

“…Okay,” he said finally. “But we leave whenever you want. No questions, no arguments.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

The second time was…different.

Not better. Just different.

People made more of an effort this time—at least on the surface. Conversations opened up for you, questions directed your way, smiles that lingered a little longer than before.

But it felt…off.

Like something rehearsed.

Like everyone had been told to include you.

You answered when spoken to, smiled when expected, but you didn’t try to push past that. Didn’t try to wedge yourself into the easy, overlapping rhythm they all seemed to share.

And Jack noticed that, too.

He stayed closer this time, a hand brushing yours, checking in with quiet glances. You leaned into it when you needed to, but even that felt different—more like grounding than comfort.

At one point, Jack stepped away—just for a minute, just to grab drinks—and that’s when you heard it.

“…I’m just saying, man, you didn’t have to make it into a whole thing.”

You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. You hadn’t even realized you’d drifted close enough to hear.

Robby’s voice.

Lower than usual, but not enough.

“I didn’t make it a whole thing,” Jack replied, his tone tighter than you’d ever heard it. “I said something because it was a thing.”

“It was one night,” Robby shot back. “People were drinking, talking—shit happens. Now everyone’s walking on eggshells.”

A pause.

“That’s not what I asked for.”

“Feels like it,” Robby muttered. “She barely even talks now.”

That one landed.

You went still, something cold settling in your chest.

Jack exhaled sharply. “Maybe ask yourself why that is.”

“Or maybe,” Robby said, a little more pointed now, “this just isn’t her scene.”

Silence.

Heavy. Tense.

You didn’t stay to hear the rest.

By the time Jack found you again, you were already by the door, slipping your jacket on.

His expression shifted immediately. “Hey—what happened?”

“I’m ready to go,” you said, not quite meeting his eyes.

He searched your face, something tightening in his chest. “Did someone say something?”

You hesitated.

Just for a second.

“…No. I’m just tired.”

It wasn’t convincing.

But it was enough.

Jack’s jaw set slightly, but he didn’t push—not there, not in front of everyone. “Okay,” he said instead. “Let’s go.”

The ride home felt too much like the last one.

Quieter than it should’ve been. Heavier.

This time, though, you didn’t fidget.

You just sat still, staring out the window, like you’d already checked out before the night had even ended.

Jack’s grip on the wheel tightened.

“You heard something.”

It wasn’t a question.

You closed your eyes briefly. “…It doesn’t matter.”

“It does if it made you leave like that.”

You shook your head faintly. “Jack, please.”

That made him go quiet—but not because he agreed.

After that, things shifted.

Subtly. Quietly.

The next time an invitation came, you didn’t hesitate.

You just said, “I think I’ll sit this one out.”

Jack looked up from his phone. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” You kept your tone light, casual—practiced. “You should still go, though.”

“I don’t have to.”

“I know. I just don’t want you to stop doing your thing because of me.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?” you asked, glancing at him.

Jack opened his mouth—then stopped.

Because the answer wasn’t simple.

Because part of it was you.

And part of it was them.

And part of it was the way everything felt just slightly off now, no matter which direction he looked.

“…I just don’t like how they made you feel,” he said finally.

You softened a little at that, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“I’ll be fine,” you said.

But you didn’t reach for your phone again. Didn’t ask who was going. Didn’t ask what the plan was.

Didn’t ask to be included.

And that?

That might’ve been worse than anything that happened that first night.

Jack went without you.

He didn’t say much when he left—just a quiet, “I won’t be late,” and a look that lingered like he wanted to ask you to change your mind.

You didn’t.

The apartment felt different after the door shut behind him. Too still. Too quiet. You told yourself you liked it that way.

You didn’t touch your phone when it buzzed.

The bar was louder than he remembered.

Or maybe it just felt that way without you there.

Jack spotted them easily—Robby, Whitaker, Mel, a couple others already gathered around their usual table. For a second, he just stood there, watching. The way they laughed, the way conversation overlapped so easily.

It had never felt like something he had to think about before.

Now it did.

“Hey,” Whitaker called when he noticed him. “There he is.”

A few greetings followed, casual, familiar. Jack nodded, slid into an open seat—but it didn’t take long before someone asked.

“She coming tonight?”

Jack shook his head. “No.”

A small pause.

Not dramatic. Not obvious.

Just enough.

Robby leaned back slightly, lifting his drink. “Figured.”

Jack’s eyes flicked to him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Robby said, but it didn’t quite land like nothing. “Just…doesn’t really seem like her thing.”

Jack set his jaw. “Or maybe it didn’t feel like her thing because of how last time went.”

Mel shifted a little at that, glancing between them. “We tried, Jack.”

“I know,” he said, not harsh, but firm. “I’m not saying you didn’t. I’m saying it still didn’t land right.”

Robby let out a quiet breath through his nose, like he’d already had this conversation in his head. “Man, you’re acting like we iced her out on purpose.”

“I didn’t say that either.”

“Then what are you saying?”

Jack leaned forward slightly, forearms on the table. “I’m saying she walked away feeling like she didn’t belong there. And yeah, that matters to me.”

There it was.

Plain. Uncomplicated.

Robby’s expression shifted—not defensive, exactly, but not backing down either. “Okay. But you gotta look at it from our side too.”

Jack didn’t respond, but he didn’t look away.

Robby shrugged lightly. “It’s a tight group. Has been for a while. People talk over each other, conversations jump—it’s not exactly easy to just drop into.”

“I know that.”

“And she’s—” He hesitated, like he was choosing his words more carefully now. “She’s younger, Jack.”

The word sat there.

Not accusatory. Not quite judgmental.

But not neutral, either.

Jack’s brow tightened. “So?”

“So it changes things,” Robby said. “Different stage, different vibe. That’s not a knock on her—it just is what it is.”

Whitaker shifted again, quieter this time. “I think…some of it just felt off. Not bad—just…off.”

Jack’s gaze moved between them. “Off how?”

Another pause.

Mel spoke this time, more gently. “It felt like she was trying really hard to meet us where we are. And we didn’t really know how to meet her halfway.”

“That’s on you, then.”

“It is,” Mel admitted. “But it also doesn’t fix the fact that maybe this just isn’t her scene.”

Robby nodded slightly. “Yeah. And pushing it isn’t gonna make it feel natural.”

Jack leaned back, running a hand over his face, tension pulling at his shoulders. “So what—you’re just writing her off?”

“No,” Robby said quickly. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Robby replied, more evenly now, “maybe not everything has to overlap. You’ve got your thing with her. You’ve got this. Doesn’t have to be the same space.”

The words landed heavier than Jack expected.

Because they weren’t entirely wrong.

That didn’t make them sit any better.

“And what if I want it to be?” Jack asked.

No one answered right away.

Not because they didn’t have one—but because none of them were sure it would help.

Robby finally shrugged, quieter now. “Then it’s gonna take time. On both sides. Not just one night, not just one fix.”

Jack looked down at the table for a second, jaw tight, thumb dragging absently along the edge of his glass.

“…She thinks you don’t like her,” he said.

That shifted something.

Mel frowned. “That’s not true.”

Whitaker shook his head. “Yeah, no—that’s not—”

“But that’s how it came across,” Jack cut in.

Silence settled again.

This time, it lingered longer.

Not defensive. Not dismissive.

Just…uncomfortable.

Robby exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Then we’ll do better.”

It sounded genuine.

But not simple.

* * *

Jack didn’t stay long after that.

The conversation moved on, eventually—work stories, dumb jokes, something familiar—but it didn’t sit the same. Not for him.

Not tonight.

When he got back, the apartment was quiet.

The lights were still on.

You were curled up on the couch, half-asleep, the TV playing something you clearly hadn’t been watching.

Jack paused in the doorway for a second, taking you in.

The same way you’d been sitting the other night.

Smaller. Folded in.

He stepped inside more quietly this time, setting his keys down without a sound.

You stirred a little at the movement, blinking up at him. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

A beat.

“How was it?” you asked, voice still soft with sleep.

Jack hesitated.

Not because he didn’t have an answer.

Because he had too many.

“It was…fine,” he said finally.

You nodded faintly, like that was enough. Like you weren’t going to ask for more.

“…Good,” you murmured.

Silence settled between you again.

Not sharp.

Not heavy.

Just…uncertain.

Jack moved a little closer, standing at the edge of the couch, his hand resting briefly against the back of it like he wasn’t sure whether to sit or not.

You shifted, making a little space beside you without really thinking about it.

An invitation.

A habit.

Something in between.

He took it, sitting down beside you, close—but not quite pulling you in like he usually would.

Not yet.

“…They don’t hate you,” he said after a moment.

You let out a small, tired huff. “That’s a glowing review.”

“It’s not like that.”

You turned your head slightly, studying him. “Then what is it like?”

Jack met your gaze—and for once, didn’t have a clean, easy answer.

“…It’s complicated,” he admitted.

You held his eyes for a second longer, then nodded slowly, like you’d expected that.

“Okay,” you said.

And that was it.

No argument. No push.

Just acceptance.

Which, somehow, felt heavier than either of those things would’ve.

Jack leaned back into the couch, staring ahead, his shoulder brushing yours.

You didn’t move away.

But you didn’t lean in, either.

And in the quiet that followed, it wasn’t entirely clear where either of you fit anymore—just that something had shifted, and neither of you quite knew yet what to do with it.

[merrymaidenmint]

I'm reading the best Klonnie fanfiction. I'd never really thought of them as a couple but then I saw some posts about them on here and it got me really curious.

It's 2 parts. The first part is called Prom Night. And the second part is called Crimson Peak. The author is Redqueen78

EDITED

[cyberdrream]

you + simon + your daughter <3

simon’s daughter is crying. she’s so tiny, a preemie with her little baby onesie still a bit too big on her as she wails her heart out. you, her mother, stare at her as she gets red in the face, humming to her, brushing hair away from her face.

you blow some cool air at her, trying to calm her down, and when simon holds his arms out and you place her in them, she stops crying immediately. she’s so tiny compared to him and his big arms, big hands that cover nearly all over her belly as they try and keep her from crying more.

she stares up at him with his own big eyes, curious, her hands reaching to tug at his blonde hair that he’s growing out. 

“si-“ you say, sighing as you collapse back onto the armchair, “i’m- i’ll get started on the…the…” you’re so tired, being awake since 3am today, taking care of your daughter. it’s her first christmas, and you want it to be perfect, and it’s simon’s first christmas since he’s been honourably discharged, and you want it to be perfect.

the potatoes. you have to get started on the potatoes, but you can barely form proper words. 

“shh.” he gently rocks your daughter in his arms, “once she falls asleep, i’ll get started on the potatoes.”

“and the veggies and the turkey…?” you say, blearily, “no, si- c’mon, you can’t cook all that.” 

“i’ll make mac and cheese,” he says, “the one we used to eat all the time at your old flat. breadcrumbs and stuff.”

a pause, your eyelids ghost over your face. how could you get so lucky? 

“si.”

“love.” he says, kissing you on the top of your head, “sleep, me and violet will be here, makin some pasta for the two of us, sleep lovie, i don’t want my wife sick from not sleeping enough.”

it’s your first christmas as his wife, and that makes something tingle in your stomach as you fall asleep. 

violetverse <3 : 141 vists | red velvet

[ddlydevotion-deactivated2026022]

THE KENNEDYS !

My masterlist for the Kennedy family ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

- wedding day w/ Bobby

- Bobby being your first time !

- married life with Bobby

- Bobby & his chubby wife

- devoted! bobby hcs

- being Bobby’s girlfriend & catching Jack’s attention

- random Bobby Kennedy hcs

- obsessive! Bobby

- bobby relationship hcs

- husband! bobby hcs part 2

- bobby Kennedy husband hcs

- vacationing with Jack & Jackie hcs

- Jack and Jackie both being enamored with you

- JFK jr. courting you

- Jackie and jack both being infatuated with you

[nickslicense-deactivated2026030]

abuse.

trigger warning: domestic violence, sexual violence, pictures at the end (none of them really triggering for the sake of yall), this ISNT a fic

i just wanted to take a moment for you to get to know me better. i am 18 of course, live in mass, and am going to college to be a doctor. now, some of my moots may know me a lot, but most of you don’t. i’ve been in three years of emotion, verbal, and physical abuse.

when i was 14 i met this kid named jordan (yes im name dropping because what the fuck), he was probably the hottest guy i’ve ever seen in my life. he was basic, blonde hair and blue eyes, but the minute he asked me if i was going to homecoming, he was mines. it sounds kind of cringe but we kissed at homecoming, and that’s when we made it official. he did hockey while i did track (girlies, trust me track was my sport). he was so nice to me, and he always loved me the way a woman should’ve been loved. to me anyway.

he started using mean words to me when we were like five months into our relationship, and that’s a short amount of time, you know? he was calling me things like “you’re fat” and “you would be better looking in this” as he would show me something revealing. it was ongoing and i didn’t care at the time because i’ve been called fat my whole entire life. when i would get butt hurt, he would hold me and told me i was beautiful and i was the only one. i thought i knew i was the only for him, but of course, like many girlfriends, i had my doubts.

we ended up being this couple who was looked at and questioned because why would hot jordan pick me? that was a question i’ve always asked myself, but i knew i was beautiful and i knew that i was confident too. he started hitting me when i was 16. two years into our relationship (around that time). i remember vaguely how we had gotten into an argument because i was joking around and taking pictures of him (he told me to stop and i should have listened). he ended up grabbing the phone out of my hand, grabbing a hold of my wrist, and dragging me to a standing position. i looked at him and he smacked me on the side of my head. i think he told me (though i vaguely remember) that i was garbage and didn’t deserve him.

that was true. he would end up slapping the side of my head when i “misbehaved” or was “cocky” to him. it started out as that until one day, he was driving me home from a fun day at our friends house (still 16 maybe in a half at this point). i told him something about him talking to this girl for too long. of course i was joking (not really) and he stopped the car. he grabbed me by my hair and slapped in the face, biting on my lip harshly. he told me to get out of the car and walk to rest of the way to my house. so of course, i begged him not too, and after back and forth he finally looked at me, started the car, and dropped me off w/o saying a word.

and that’s what he would do, bang my head against the wall, slap my face, punch me, push me, and overall being mean. and then came our sex life. now this is weird to talk about for me so i’ll wrap this up pretty quickly, but he would hit me and choke me w/o me saying i wanted it. and sure, that’s some people’s kink, but he wouldn’t ask and i told him to get off me so many times, but all he wanted to do is be in control.

this year was the end for me. i had gotten so depressed and lonely and just forgotten about. he would come over, we’d hang out, but it was nothing like before. it was like we were forcing ourselves to be together. when i found out he was cheating on, that was the end. there’s this girl (i won’t name her), but she was 17 freshly, and she was invited to a new year’s party my best friend was having. it was casual, her parents and some other couples. this girl we’ll call britney was staring at jordan the whole time and i obviously was aware. so basically he ends up fucking her. i don’t know where. i don’t know when. and i don’t wanna know how. i broke up w him. i did. i packed all my shit from his house and left. but his stuff was at my house. so recently, he came over, and when he came over he dragged me and this time making an indent in the wall cause of my head. that was my last time SEEING him. i confronted him and he begged for me, but i was done. and he’s not completely out of my life because now he’s harassing my friends and stuff.

its a whole big mess, but yk what i realized? i realized that i am finally free. i will be moving soon, and ill be free.

[cherrystaineddoll]

𝓽hings to do instead of scrolling ౨ৎ

summer is here, school is over and you have way too much free time on your hands. so unless you want to spend your whole days with your eyes locked on a screen, here's an in- depth guide on what to do this summer, or whenever!!

learn a new language - trust me, speaking more than one language is a skill that everyone should have, and it always comes in handy. you can watch tv shows, movies or youtube videos in your target language, read beginner books, use apps (not duolingo though.. ) and even just listen to music!! just expose yourself to the language as much as you can, even better if you know anyone you can have conversations with. you could also learn sign language!!

journal or scrapbook - writing down your feelings really helps understanding your own self more. you can try doing shadow work to really dive deep, or just write whatever you feel in that moment. it doesn't have to become a chore, and remember, write for yourself and not as if someone else was going to read!! as for scrapbooking, just print out some nice photos and decorate the pages with stickers, drawings, fun colored paper.. whatever you want, just be creative!!

make art - it doesn't have to look perfect, remember that all art is beautiful in its own way. even if you think you're not good at it, just create, it will help you feel better & you'll also get better with time!! you can draw, paint, sculpt, do pottery, etc. you don't have to follow any guidelines, just buy a random sketchbook, bring out your inner child and do whatever you feel like doing

learn how to play an instrument - this can be a bit expensive, but if you have any instrument in your house that you've never used, it might be a great time to start learning it!! you don't necessarily need to take classes, you can easily find tutorials on youtube, even though it might be harder to learn by yourself. but making music is a really fun activity & good for the soul

reading and writing - i will never recommend reading enough !! everyone should read. it helps you learn new things, understand different perspectives, expand your vocabulary, and so much more. i know books can be expensive, but you can always try to buy them at flea markets, or ask a friend/family member to lend you some. and just in case, there are always some sites where you can read books online for free, like zlibrary!! you can read before going to bed instead of staying on your phone (which is sooo bad for your sleep), at the beach while tanning or outside while getting some fresh air. and if reading books inspires you, you can try to write something!! i'm not saying you have to write a 600 page book, but you can try to write small stories, or poetry, and who knows, someday you might actually write a book! if you want to get published, there are some small literary magazines you can find on social media that publish the works of small writers, it can be a great way to start. you can also always post your works here on tumblr, substack, or any social media platform!! you could also try to write the story for a movie and start screenwriting, if you're into cinematography

research interesting topics - now that school isn't forcing you to study things that maybe you don't care about, you can study whatever you want !! remember, knowledge is power, and with the internet, you basically have the world in your hands. you can watch a youtube video, read a book, or simply research on websites (make sure they're reliable though). you can also take online courses!! i might make a post on ideas for what to research??

start a new hobby - your life can't only be made of school/work, sleep, and a screen. you need hobbies that you actually like and that make you feel good. some of these can be: baking and cooking, crocheting, knitting, embroidery, jewelry making, nail art, makeup, photography, editing, blogging/vlogging, coloring, candle making, soap making, perfume making, modeling, origami, sewing, making diy stuff, chess, puzzles, acting, singing, flower arranging, meditating, lego building, trying new hairstyles or outfits, doing animations, discovering new music, sudoku, the things i previously wrote, and probably a million other activities i can't think of right now

stay active - moving you body is good for both your physical and mental health, i'm sure we all know that. you can go on walks or runs in the nature with your headpones on, or do any sport that you like- some ideas: swimming, dancing (ballet, hip hop, modern, ecc) , tennis, martial arts (judo, karate, taekwondo, ecc), volleyball, basketball, athletics, gymnastics, football, archery, fencing, table tennis, boxing, surfing, rowing, hockey, horseback riding, softball, golf, biking, figure skating, rollerblading, skating.. you don't need to do it competitively (unless you want to), as long as you're having fun and moving your body. you can also do workouts, like yoga or pilates, at home or outdoors, or go hiking.

watch movies, tv shows, or documentaries - it can always be a good learning experience, or just something fun and relaxing that isn't mindlessly scrolling. a bonus: after you've watched something, write a very long, detailed and in-depth review in your journal. you can also post it wherever you want (like letterboxd, to fight all the one liners)

hang out - with friends, family, or even by yourself !! (i know, i know, it can be scary). you can do anything, as long as you're with the right people everything is fun, but here's some ideas: have a picnic, go to the beach, go to a water park, have a baking contest, do temporary tattoos, go to a concert, go out to eat, do a one day trip, go on a road trip, take a walk in the nature, go hiking, go to a trampoline park, go to an amusement park, visit a museum, go thrifting or shopping, have a board games night, try out a new cute cafe or bakery, do an escape room, have a karaoke night, have a movie marathon, and so much more!!

i hope this helped!! ♡

[asthronauta]

CAZA DE BRUJAS│Black Brothers – Male Reader.

Summary: A war had begun. The Wizarding World and the Muggle World were no longer two separate worlds. Hiding and scared; it was no longer possible to differentiate between a Wizard and a Muggle. People were accused shamelessly and sentenced without trial, without mercy. Looking for the slightest suspicion to light the stake. With the fear of being pointed at, and with his life in danger; one night, [Y/N] put his two children in the car and left. Fleeing from the war. Fleeing from the hunt.

Warnings: Okay, how the hell do I explain this? This is not a conventional Reader fic guys. Look, there isn't really a ship here- Reader is Sirius and Regulus' father. Yeah. Of course it's entirely platonic, Reg and Sirius are little kids here. So, that being said — Drama, Angst, A lot of Lore, Descriptions of Physical Violence, Descriptions of Death, Verbal Violence, War Themes, and I guess I'll be warning of more as the chapters go by (yeah, chapters. I have plans for this shi). Enjoy 😁👍🏻

Btw, english is not my first language so there might be some errors in my writing. I'm still learning!

Wizards had always been careful. Discreet. Hiding their abilities from those who they knew it wasn't advisable to reveal. They understood the implications of their nature; superiority, in a way. A reality that was uncomfortable for many and a reason of pride and hierarchy for others. Possessing magic, in veins or in soul, was naturally a threat to those who didn't. Like a wonderful and unfair blessing that not everyone had. Which naturally put them on a podium where there was no neutrality; just inferior and superior. Only two options; to have or to not have. Two beings, with the same capacity for intelligence but, with the supernatural ability to possess magic or not. Wizards weren't stupid; they were fully aware of this. It wasn't for nothing that families with fancy names and heavy egos kept their blood away from those who, despite possessing magic, didn't possess the bohemian quality of what ran through their veins. What they fought so many centuries to keep impeccable. Untouchable; like an infinitely valuable treasure that shouldn't be stained. Infected with something impure like Muggle Blood.

Even with the vanity of some, it didn't escape them that their abilities not only put them on top of the podium; it also made them easy targets. Despite the little faith that was placed in them under the eyes of Wizards, Muggles had proven not only to be able to prosper without magic but also that they could become dangerous. Over the years, Muggles developed a terrifying capacity of adaptability. Demonstrating that they had the ability, intelligence and ingenuity to overcome their physical limitations and surpass boundaries that the nature of their bodies imposed on them. Creating methods known by themselves as 'Science' that led them to have knowledge of which Wizards believed they were the only owners. Although this was a great triumph for non-wizards, for those who did possess magic it was nothing more than a huge warning sign.

Carrying their own wars on their backs, Muggles had proven themselves perfectly capable of killing each other. This shouldn't be a problem for the Wizarding Community except that, at the end of the day, they weren't that different from Muggles. Their magic gave them power and protection and an endless sense of superiority but, at the end of the day, it lived in the back of their minds that Muggles could kill a wizard if they didn't have a wand nearby. That their bodies were just as fragile and without magic they were at the mercy of those who didn't possess it. It was from then on that the Wizarding World and the Muggle World began to divide more and more. And, at the same time, become closer than ever.

Ministry of Magic took action on the matter and began to give the non-magicians a space in their laws, giving them rights as a method of defense for their own safety. A seemingly friendly back-and-forth that served to hide the real fear they hid under the carpet. A protection pass for themselves in exchange for protection for non-wizards. - Many Wizards did not agree with this. Seeing the Ministry's strategic actions as a sign of weakness. It wasn't entirely their fault; the great voices of the Wizarding World had taken it upon themselves not only to show Muggles as inferior creatures but also hide their true capacity, for decades. — It was 1917 and Wizards and Witches were used to dealing with Muggles as inferior beings to House Elves. It was unthinkable and scandalous that they were now being given a place in the law. And, even worse, that they had rights and were protected like any decent Wizard. There were protests and the Wizarding World was shaken that February of 1917. But the Ministry did not give in. And without giving many explanations; the Protection and Prevention project for Non-Magical Subjects was approved in the Law. As well as many others that came after. Trying to keep the interaction with Muggles at bay as if they were a lethal disease. - The Ministry tried to work quietly, knowing that the true and dangerous nature of non-magic beings would bring fear and panic to the Wizarding World. Besides, a politician would never tarnish his own campaign by showing weakness.

Wizards always hid themselves away from the Muggle World, but the subject had never been taken with the seriousness and caution with which it had since 1917. From then on, Muggles ceased to be inferior beings and became thinking beings who begun to create their own world that, in some aspects, surpassed the Wizarding one. They were clearly a threat and that was why the Ministry took the measures it took at the time. Despite that, the knowledge was not shared with the public. Hiding the technological and scientific advances of Muggles; passing them off as Wizarding discoveries. Shamelessly covering themselves with other people's wisdom because that seemed the best they could do in the face of such a growing threat. - The Ministry used to hide cases of Muggle murders of Wizards. Committing acts outside their own laws. Erasing memories of Wizards just to keep that feeling of superiority alive between Wizards and Witches. Because it wasn't convenient for Wizards to know that a Muggle could be capable of ending the valuable and superior life of a Wizard. The Ministry's plan seemed to be going well for the first few years, but it was all just a balloon that was inflated more and more, destined to eventually burst. And it did. In 1919, with the famous 'Pink House Massacre', where a powerful and ancient family of pure-blood wizards was murdered and plundered by an organisation of Muggles.

The case became famous and spread throughout the world. For the first time in history, the Wizarding World saw with its own eyes what Muggles were capable of. They went from being lower class beings to being violent, carnal, heartless but above all; intelligent. Intelligent enough to organize, plan and execute a murder. And not just a murder; but a murder of a wizarding family. ‐ It didn't take long for wizards to go from terror to hatred. The spirit of war began to grow among wizards and witches. Desiring and demanding that the necessary measures be taken to end the threat that Muggles had proven to represent for Wizarding lives. The Ministry prevented this war. Despite having everything against them, the Ministry took the reins to prevent this growing catastrophe. At this point they were getting into territory they did not know; a war they weren't completely sure they could win, so in a clever move, the Ministry avoided a war with Muggles at all costs. Remembering that winter of 1919 as 'The war that never happened.'

Despite the apparent peace that was maintained, hatred and resentment grew within the magical community, which translated into hatred for Muggle-born Wizards and those from Half-Blood families, as well as repudiation of wizards born as Squibs. Wizards went from being superior to being defensive with any issue related to Muggles. The most powerful and ancient families closed themselves off even more, dividing the Wizarding World into those who had Pure Wizarding Blood and those who didn't.

This is how the forty years of peace that were to come were lived in the Wizarding World. Even if it meant more peace for some than for others. But leaving aside the social problems; peace was maintained enough to turn a blind eye to those minorities who suffered every day. - For the well-being of Muggles and Wizards, the war had been an extinguished flame that was left in the past and that the Ministry intended to keep that way. And they did; for forty years. And the society of Wizards and Non-Wizards lived in relative peace until January 1958, when for the first time the name 'The Angel of Death' began to be mentioned not only in Wizarding newspapers, but also in Muggle ones.

Throughout history there have been thousands of famous and well-known Wizard and Muggle murderers. However, they always remained separate in their respective worlds. In 1958 it was the first time that a murderer became world famous not only in the Wizarding World but also in the Muggle one. A phenomenon never seen before and due to its characteristics the Ministry didn't know how to handle it. - 'The Angel of Death' was a wizard or witch who committed their first crime in January 1958 by murdering five Muggle children. If that had been their only heinous act perhaps the world as we knew it would never have turned upside down as it did, but that was not the case; The Angel continued to commit crime after crime and by the end of 1958 they carried on their back the weight of 118 deaths of children, women and men who all had one thing in common; they were all Muggles.

Even with the terrifying number, the Ministry would have been able to control the situation if it weren't for the fact that The Angel was not a killer who liked to go unnoticed. They didn't kill just for some kind of justice; they killed for show. They saw their murders as works to be proud of not only in the eyes of wizards, but also, and especially, in the eyes of Muggles. They did all kinds of inhuman atrocity in the most obvious, disgusting and public way possible. Like a satire. Always with a macabre touch but above all always with magic. - 118 deaths in one year didn't go unnoticed in Muggle-London and the Muggle Ministry and the Wizard Ministry were, individually, trying to catch this killer.

This case became national emergency not only because of the fact that it was a person ending the lives of others but because The Angel was exhibiting magical phenomena before the eyes of Muggles with their murders; they was showing Muggles magic and what it could do. The images, stories and tales spread like plagues and by the end of the year the Muggle World was aware that Magic was real. The Ministry could do nothing to stop or refute it. Even with every single Auror in the country erasing Muggle memories; it was impossible to evade the new reality in front of them; the Muggle World and the Wizarding World were no longer divided.

The Angel of Death was never captured. Just as they appeared out of nowhere, they disappeared the same way. Wizards and Muggles had their own theories but truth was that neither of them had any idea of even the gender of this murderer. - The crimes stopped and, due to lack of clues, the investigation was permanently blocked. But, at the end of the day, what The Angel did was much more than just murders; they left an indelible stain on history.

In 1959, for the first time in history, the Wizarding Prime Minister and the Muggle Prime Minister had an official meeting. - The opinions of Muggles, civilians and ministers alike, were divided in two; fear or hate. At first fear reigned, which only gave birth to hatred. - Fear is a human instinct, and Muggles had more than enough excuses to be terrified. They just discovered not only that something like magic existed, capable of doing and undoing with terrifying ease, but also that this ability was not equal for everyone. That some simply had the gift of possessing it and others simply didn't. That was not only unfair, but dangerous. A reality that kept them uncertain about what the other would decide to do with them. - It was funny, but Wizards and Muggles feared each other. And, at the same time, they hated each other. Wizards felt superior, seeing all non-magic beings as inferior and harmful. And Muggles not only because of fear, but also because of the humiliation that wizards perpetuated on them for not having magic. And, for some, even driven by envy.

No one could blame Muggles for fearing for their lives. For the subjugation of their entire society as they knew it. Under the power that represented something as incomprehensible as magic. Things got worse and worse. From the ashes, that thirst for war was born again; only that this time, the non-mages had the initiative. Born of fear. Born of hate. It was not foreign to anyone; neither fame nor power nor a position in the Muggle Ministry saved them from feeling fear. It was almost a hive mind decision as everyone went into defensive mode.

It was in late 1959 and early 1960 that the Muggle armies mounted their first attack. Wizards came to know that January 1st as The Beginning of the War. And Muggles crowned that January 1st as the beginning of the Witch Hunt.

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“Come on, come on, up, we have to go.”

Sirius didn't have a very clear notion of time but he knew that this was not his time to get up for Kinder. - It was nighttime. Those hours of the night where the sky turns black and the stars shine brighter than usual. He knew he shouldn't be awake at that hour because his father always scolded him and Reggie for finding them up so late at night staring out the window at the stars. Looking for their constellations.

“Dad?” He rubbed his eye, squinting, trying to see in the darkness. All the lights in the house were off; only the dim moonlight illuminated the room enough for Sirius to make out his father taking a still sleeping Regulus in arms.

“We have to go, Sirius, get up.” It was on that second time that Sirius could notice the urgency in his father's voice and face. Plus the fact that his father spoke quietly; as if he didn't want to make too much noise. The remnants of sleep in Sirius' body faded away. Eyes wide and alert now that he was in the situation. Even though he didn't understand what was happening; Sirius could tell that something wasn't okay.

His father seemed in a hurry, so Sirius caught that energy. He got out of bed, in his pajamas, stuffed animal in hand as he watched his father dress up his half-asleep brother. “Dad, what's going on?” He asked innocently. Worried. His father was fully dressed, head to toe, as if he was ready to go outside. And he looked anxious.

“We have to go, Hon, we can't stay here.” His father didn't offer much more explanation as he approached, beginning to dress him in warm clothing over his pajamas. Sirius let him, still not understanding.

“Why not?” Sirius' voice was small. Big worried and confused eyes visible even in the dark. This was their home, why they couldn't stay?

“Sirius- no questions. Okay? Just do as I tell you.” His father finished and Sirius just nodded. Still with that uncomfortable feeling in his chest. His father put slippers, gloves, a scarf and his winter lion-shaped hat on him. They were going outside. Sirius didn't know why or where but he was smart enough to know that leaving home in the middle of the night wasn't a good sign. - It was cold outside; Sirius knew it because the snowman he made with Regulus yesterday was still intact; he could see it through the window. He didn't want to go outside. He wanted to stay in his warm, comfy bed. But his father wouldn't stop, and Sirius was already told not to ask any more questions.

“Let's go. Sirius, take my hand. Don't make any noise and don't walk away.” Regulus was still asleep, now in [Y/N]'s arms. Chubby cheek pressed on his father's shoulder, oblivious to everything that was happening. - Regulus was three years old, just a few months away from turning four. But their father still treated him like a baby. - Whatever was going on, Sirius was scared. But anyways, he complied; walking over to his father and taking his hand. Letting him lead them out. But not before making sure to take Regulus' favorite plushie with him. - He knew his little brother wouldn't like to wake up without it. And as for him; well, Sirius was sure that Mr. Paws would be waiting for him at home when they got back. He was the oldest, and he was a big boy now; he no longer needed to carry his stuffed animal everywhere.

He followed beside his dad as they walked towards the front door. Small hand gripping his father's tightly. He wasn't afraid of darkness, but why did all the lights have to be off? When his father opened the door he was surprised by the difference in temperature. It wasn't snowing, nor was there a strong wind. But the gentle gust was cold and it and froze Sirius' face. - The night was quiet; particularly quiet. In fact, there was not a sound in the entire neighborhood. No lights on. Not a trace of anyone around. Just darkness and the huge houses he had to look up at. Sirius couldn't help but feel intimidated; taking a step back towards his father. But as soon as [Y/N] closed the front door he hurried them to the car, which was already outside the garage.

His father opened the car's back door for him and Sirius was quick to get in. Watching as his father sat Regulus down beside him; adjusting his blanket. He was still dozing. - [Y/N] took a second to look at his children. Sirius didn't say anything; but he always had expressive eyes. And [Y/N] couldn't stand Sirius' worried eyes. He sighed. “I know. I know it's confusing, Honey. But I need you to listen to me, okay? To do as I tell you and take care of your brother, can you do that for me?”

“Yes daddy.” Sirius said. Of course he did. He was always good.

“That's my boy.” He took one of his son's cheeks, caressing it lightly. They didn't have much time. “Fasten your seatbelts.” He closed the car door and walked around it, getting in and putting on his own seatbelt. Glancing at his children in the backseat briefly before the car's engine filled the silence of the neighborhood. A second later the car was moving and Sirius could see their home receding into the distance.

He took a moment to look around. His dad seemed focused. He had his brow furrowed in concern, eyes on the road, so Sirius didn't dare interrupt him. Reggie was asleep against the seat, breathing deeply. With his plushie in his arms that Sirius made sure to put there. He leaned closer to him, feeling a sense of responsibility to protect his baby brother and also because being close gave him a feeling of comfort. — Sirius didn't know how to count the minutes but it took a long time for his father to relax a little. Taking his eyes off the road and glancing at him and Reggie through the rearview mirror. The street was empty and the car was moving slowly when [Y/N] started talking. “Sirius, Honey... Can you wake your brother up? I need to talk to you two.” He spoke. So gentle and so soft that Sirius felt the innocent urge to fall asleep.

Reggie wasn't usually a heavy sleeper, but he was just so tired from yesterday. He played in the snow with Sirius all afternoon. Their father didn't let them play in the yard, not usually. And outings to the neighborhood park were few and far between. So little Reggie was excited. Playing and having fun until his energy ran out. By the end of the day he was exhausted, dozing through dinner and falling asleep on the couch before he even made it to bed. His dad had to carry him up to his room and Sirius made a little comment that made [Y/N] chuckle. Last night felt warm compared to this. — Regulus stirred slowly, his small face scrunching up as he was roused from sleep. He could feel his brother's hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake. His small brow furrowed and he was about to complain about being woken up when he noticed that he wasn't in his bed. - Noticing the worried look on his older brother's face just after. Unease was in the air and Regulus was no stranger to it. Not even at his age. His eyes met Sirius' and then his father's. They both shared something similar; the sense of responsibility for him. Concern. Even Sirius felt it, being the eldest. And he was only five. But Reggie was too young to understand that. “Daddy?”

“Hey Honey” [Y/N] tried to give his son the best smile he had in store, which was actually a smile with worried eyes. He reached back to caress the toddler's sleepy, concerned face. He couldn't help but smile a little when Reggie leaned into it. “I have to tell you something.” He said, sighing after. How are you supposed to explain two children who can't even read yet that they were leaving home because war was after them? - Even though the war had already begun when his children were born; [Y/N] always tried to make sure his tots were unaware of how dangerous and unfair the world around them was. He knew this wouldn't last forever. And that his kids would eventually have to know the truth but, jeez, Sirius and Regulus were just that; kids. Reggie was only three. Telling them they had to run away from home because their own Muggle neighbors might come at night, break into their house and kill them wasn't something that felt good or even right to tell them. But he had, didn't he? He had because they were in more danger not knowing it. Because in times of war like these they couldn't afford to be naive. It didn't even matter being three and five years old. “...We are not going back home.”

“Dad, but-”

“No, Sirius- Let me speak.” It was painful. Not just for him; he could see it on his child's faces. Regulus looked so scared. “...I know it's hard, I know it's scary, but... we need to be strong, okay? We need to-...” His hands tightened on the steering wheel, just as his jaw clenched. He had to be honest. He had no choice. He couldn't keep decorating the ugly reality with bows and soft words. This was war; and their lives were in danger. “...Our neighborhood is no longer safe. Our neighbors-... began to suspect of me. Of my... nature. And I couldn't risk staying there. We can't go back home now. I'm sorry but that's not an option. We- We'll go somewhere different. I'll take you somewhere different. A better place. We'll be safe there, okay? Everything.. will be okay.” His voice sounded much less confident than he intended. He heard people talking about that place; a safe place to seek refuge. [Y/N] didn't trust it much, he didn't trust anyone; he had too much to lose. But it was the only option he had now. He had two children; he not only cared about his life but theirs as well. He couldn't stay there, in that neighborhood, with so many potential killers around. Not with his children there. He had to use the cards he had to try to keep his family safe.

“...I forgot Mr. Paws”

[Y/N]'s eyes softened. Oh, his sweet boy. “I'm sorry, Honey. We can't go get it back.”

Sirius just nodded. Because that's just how he was. Strong. Always trying to keep it all in. But [Y/N] knew his boy. And he could see Sirius' bottom lip tremble a little. And his big eyes become glassy with tears. Sirius was the eldest; but he was still a child.

[Y/N] reached back. His palm finding Sirius' cheek. The boy was trying so hard to hold back. “Shh” A tiny smile appeared on his face. A genuine one. A mixture of tenderness and sadness. His boys were just children. So, so young. They didn't deserve to be going through this. Sirius shouldn't have to leave Mr. Paws behind. “It's okay, baby. I-.. I'll get you a new one when we get there.” He said, but he knew his reassurance was of little use. Mr. Paws wasn’t just a stuffed animal; it was a symbol. Of safety. Of love. That couldn’t be replaced. [Y/N] was so sorry Sirius had to leave it behind like this.

The tears didn't fall. Sirius nodded, hurt but putting on a brave face. [Y/N] had no idea where he get that from, but he was so proud. “That's my boy” he smiled.

Silence fell over the car afterward. [Y/N] kept driving, glancing at his little ones through the rearview mirror from time to time. Sirius was silent. And Reggie, who lost sleep, curled up against him. He had been like that ever since the Mr. Paws scene. He held his own plushie in his arms so tightly that it seemed like the little snake's eyes would pop out. Face buried in Sirius' shoulder. - They hadn't made any comment about having to leave home. It weighed on them; of course it did. Heavily on all three of them. But Sirius and Regulus were born alongside the war, they grew up in a world where insecurity was a reality and they were always aware of that. It was sad for [Y/N] to see the painful way it was evident that his children never knew true freedom

“Fuck, damnit.” The curse came out of his mouth without thinking. He didn't want to scare the kids but he was fucking sure there were no police checkpoints in this area. That was exactly the reason why he chose this road. - He'd been in contact with Muggle World since he was a child; he knew firsthand how it worked and how to navigate it. How to take care of himself as a wizard living among Muggles. But Muggle World became more hostile since the war began. And hiding was impossible as a wizard or witch. So at some point not hiding was the best way to hide. That's why wizards, even those from great houses, lived in Muggle neighborhoods. - Muggles knew this. And so did Muggle Police. That was why they made monthly house-to-house checks in every part of the country. In every corner, in every small town, in every great mansion. Looking to 'arrest' and 'detain' wizards. That also meant there were police on every corner of every road. - But then again, sometimes not hiding was the best way to hide. And [Y/N] had no choice anyways.

He stopped the car, stifling a sigh. Trying to look as untense as possible as he rolled down the window. A policeman approached. “Good evening.”

“Good evening.” [Y/N] responded in kind. Forcing a smile on his face. He could see the officer taking a look on his children in the backseat.

“A bit late to be traveling with children.” The officer pointed out. [Y/N] cursed himself. How the hell was he going to explain that he was traveling in the middle of the night with two kids and a trunk full of suitcases? “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, I- They're my kids. We're... moving. I wanted to get there in the morning so we left at this time.” He quickly made up. Thanking himself and taking back the curse from earlier. Maybe he could get out of this one.

“...I see.” He almost sighed in relief when the policeman seemed to believe him. “Can I see yours and your children's ID?”

“Yeah, of course” he handled them quickly; having them close beforehand. - Sirius and Regulus had Wizard IDs, but they also had Muggle IDs. [Y/N] made sure of that. Plus, they were both born in Muggle Hospitals. So in the eyes of law, they were two Muggle children. And [Y/N], despite his mother being a wizard, had his Muggle ID too. He wasn't born in a Muggle Hospital; but he was registered in the Muggle General Registry Office thanks to his father; who was a Muggle.

“Very good,” The officer said. Nodding. Handing back the ID cards. “Do you mind if we check the trunk?”

“No, of course.” He said, as if he really had a choice. He was calm about the trunk; there was nothing strange in there. He had clothes, his and the children's, some food, household items that he didn't want to part with. - He regretted all the things he had to leave behind at home. Their stuff, the boys toys, the photos. Things that [Y/N] would never see again and it broke his heart. At least he knew he was saving the most important thing: his children. But he didn't hesitate to bring a photo album with him. And some old love letters.

“Okay, everything in order here.” The officer returned to his window, bringing him out of his slight reverie. He nodded. “Everything alright with the kids?” The officer couldn't help but add. It was true; Sirius and Regulus looked tense. And tired. [Y/N] would be suspicious too. Which was stupidly kind of him knowing that if he was arrested here he would be separated from his children.

“Yeah, they're fine. I had to wake them up, so they're a little tired but they're fine. I'll let them sleep on the ride.” He said. Again, the policeman seemed to believe him.

“Okay Sir. You can go on.” The officer said, leaning out the window to give the children a smile. “Get some rest, lads. It's going to be a long night.”

Indeed it will. Sirius gave the officer a stiff nod and soon [Y/N] was leaving. Sighing in relief. Thanking heaven and hell that the officer didn't check him, otherwise he would have found the wand in his coat. - For protection, he had to keep it close. The streets were not safe. And although being found carrying a wand was a sure death sentence, in these conditions, he couldn't afford to go without it either. Much less with the children with him.

The minutes kept passing and the car didn't stop. [Y/N] drove as fast as he could without raising suspicion. The streets were dark and the children didn't recognize them anymore. They were far from home; that was for sure. - Sirius stayed wide awake even though his body ached with sleep. His eyes were heavy, drooping shut at times. His father told him he could sleep, that it was okay, but Sirius didn't want to. The feeling of constant tension and danger in the car kept them all awake and alert. Sirius held his little brother close.

[Y/N] was tense. He wasn't having a good time. He was tired, too. His mind had been on alert and panicked for days, while he was organizing an escape plan from his own house. - [Y/N] knew he couldn't stay in that house after all that happen. — He moved to that neighborhood in his early twenties. The house belonged to his aunt, his mother's sister, who was a witch. She disappeared one day, probably murdered, and the house was left in his mother's name. [Y/N] moved there and lived there until now. Sirius and Regulus were raised there, and their neighbors knew him and knew who he was. - [Y/N] knew he had wizard neighbors. Or suspected so. No one trusted anyone; wizards didn't reveal themselves to other wizards they didn't have a close relationship with. But [Y/N] knew there had to be more wizards in that place.

And there was. Or, well, were. A young couple, newly married. They were murdered a week ago, discovered in some way that [Y/N] had no idea about. They were executed in the central square of the neighborhood. [Y/N] had to be there. It was frowned upon not to go and witness the executions of mages and [Y/N] did not wanted to be seen in a bad light. So he was there. - He could still remember the screams of the woman, crying as she watched her husband being decapitated with a machete. [Y/N] couldn't handle staying there for long, returning home with a lump in his throat and the desperate need to be there to protect his sons. The next day, their burned and unrecognizable bodies were still lying in the middle of the square where Sirius and Regulus were playing days before. - He knew he couldn't stay there. That he had too much to lose, that he couldn't take the risk, that he had to get out of there. So, as soon as he felt his neighbors looking at him strangely and whispering among themselves, [Y/N] began to plan how to get out of there as soon as he had the chance.

He had heard of this place. This refuge created by wizards. It was called The Order of the Phoenix. Run by Dumbledore, a famous old Minister who had been very present during the war and before. Dumbledore was the man who prevented the war against Muggles in 1919, 'The war that never happened'. And was present now too. [Y/N] didn't quite know what Dumbledore was up to at the moment. Wizarding newspapers were hard to come by but [Y/N] managed to discover the existence of the Order of the Phoenix. He heard stories of families being taken in there. The place was a refuge for wizards fleeing war. Adults, children. Families, singles. All kinds of wizards. And right now, all [Y/N] needed a shelter for his sons.

[Y/N] had no family left. He had no one to turn to. His father and mother died weeks after Sirius was born. Killed by the war. His mother, a witch, was killed like all wizards were killed; burned. His mother was burned alive at a stake in the middle of the village like they did with every wizard who was discovered. The Muggle Ministry managed to take charge of his father, putting him in prison for having married a witch. [Y/N] didn't know if he was still alive but, oh, he knew. He just knew. Muggle prisons were hostile, not just to wizards, but to themselves as well. [Y/N] knew his father was no longer alive. It was painful to know that his parents didn't even get to have a grave with their names on it. And it was even more painful knowing that Sirius and Regulus never got to met their grandparents. It was a mourning that [Y/N] continued to carry and would carry for life. Being attacked by how his loving parents were killed in such a horrible way. So dirty, so cruel. But, he was a father himself now. And he would trade the world for the moon if it meant not letting that happen to his children. He wouldn't let that happen to his children.

I know, I KNOW you guys want more but WAIT. I had to cut it there. The chapter was actually supposed to be longer but it was already too long so you'll have to wait for part 2. And, sorry for having to cut the chapter so abruptly. Whatever, DID YOU GUYS LIKED THAT?? honestly I'm so proud of myself jsjjsj 🤭 I have no idea where all this came from but I HAVE MORE. So, wait for part two. I promise it gets even better. The next chapter gets so INTERESTING. I mean, THINGS HAPPEN. Wait for it I promise it's worth it.

See you soon!

Btw, have you noticed that I'm posting more often? that's actually crazy

:P

[mariekavanagh]

Could u write the day that Sirius was born?

“For Merlin’s sake, boy, would you sit down?” 

It wasn’t often that Orion felt the need to retort his father’s snappy remarks, but he couldn’t help but feel that the term “boy” surely wasn’t one best used to a man stood on the brink of fatherhood himself. 

Nevertheless, even in this most stressful moment, he resisted the urge to respond. 

Arcturus Black was not a man who appreciated back-talk from anyone. 

Nevertheless, Orion obeyed, ceased his anxious pacing in front of the study fireplace and sinking into the vacant armchair opposite his father. 

The sound of the early November drizzle pattering against the window combined with the crackling of the firewood was a calming sound, and one which Orion was accustomed to enjoying whilst in his study of an autumn afternoon. 

However, they were sounds which did little to drown out the pained shrieks and moans of his labouring wife on the floor above. 

Orion winced as the latest agonising cry to wrench itself from Walburga’s throat rang through the walls of the house. It was far from a pleasant sound. 

And yet each of his fireside companions, Arcturus, Pollux and Cygnus Black, did not seem phased by it, content to sit in silence broken only by the occasional drag on a cigar, clink of ice in a whiskey glass or the occasional impatient tap of fingers on armrests. 

How could they be so still at such a time? It was all Orion could do to keep himself from flinging himself from his chair and resume his pacing, for lack of any other fruitful action to indulge in. 

“There’s no point in getting yourself into such a state” barked Arcturus to his son, drawing Orion’s attention to the fact that his foot had involuntarily begun tapping impatiently against the carpet. He quickly ceased, tensing his muscles rigid. 

“Pacing about like a caged beast won’t bring the child into the world any faster, you know" 

“Merlin knows if it did I’d have been running laps of the house at the birth of each of mine” remarked Cygnus with a chuckle. 

Orion glanced across at his brother-in-law, mildly irked at his almost bored expression as he refilled his whiskey glass at wand-point. Was this is third, already? Had they really been sat here that long? 

“Yes, well, I suppose when one has kept vigil all night only to be presented with a girl by morning three times over, one must find oneself in rather a hurry to get the process over with” said Pollux Black, fixing his son with a withering glare that left the younger man with a twisted grimace that Orion had no doubt was nothing to do with the taste of the liquor. 

It was no secret that Pollux had been disappointed at being presented only with granddaughters by his offspring thus far, and in the lead up to the birth of his first grandson he had become a decidedly more pleasant wizard to be in company with, much to the obvious irritation of his son. 

“At least I’m here, aren’t I?” replied Cygnus, waving a hand in the air. “I daresay Alphard isn’t simply running a little late to the big event, is he?”

“Your brother is abroad and quite un-contactable, as you well know” snapped Pollux, the irritation in his voice growing at the thought of his wayward younger son’s absence. “Besides, this was hardly the most planned of occasion, the child wasn’t due for another week”

He turned away from his sulking son with an exasperated sigh, leaning back into his chair to stare into the fire. 

“But then, Burgie always did like to keep us on our toes” 

At his father-in-law’s words, Orion found himself reaching for the untouched whiskey glass he had neglected until now, but the reminder of his wife’s untimely onset of labour tied his stomach in a knot that could only be loosened by a hit of strong drink. 

It was only a cup of tea. Something as small and silly as a cup of tea made not quite to her liking. But on a day when she was already restless with the aches of her child-heavy body and the frustration of confinement, it was enough to send Walburga over the edge into a fit of anger that had sent the house elf ducking for cover as the bone china teacup was hurled at him from across the room. 

The sound of the china teacup smashing against the wall mingled with his wife’s shouts which were quickly twisted into cries of pain had brought Orion rushing into the room to find Walburga practically bent double, clutching her swollen middle, her face screwed up in agony.

“Don’t fret, dear, it’s barely a week early” his mother, Melania had reassured him as he watched, wide-eyed in alarm as his wife was led away by her mother and his sister, the three women having arrived alongside the menfolk of the family in a matter of minutes after Orion had sent for them.

“Everything will be fine” said the witch with an encouraging smile before gently but firmly steering her son out of the room to join the menfolk downstairs in the library. 

And so, here they were, what felt like endless hours later, sat round the study fireplace with nothing to do but sit and wait for news. 

Orion swallowed a mouthful of whiskey, feeling the fire of the liquid quelling the army of butterflies fluttering about inside him. Although he was nervous - by Salazar, was he nervous - there was something else at play, something that buzzed inside him incessantly that would not be stilled by strong drink. 

Excitement. 

He was going to be a father. 

A smile wrenched itself onto his face involuntarily at the thought.

“What’s the matter, old, boy? Drink finally kicking in?” 

His brother-in-law’s teasing brought Orion out of his thoughts and back to reality. 

Cygnus was slouched back in his seat, head resting against his palms, legs crossed casually. 

“Whatever do you mean?” asked Orion, stiffly. 

“Oh come off it” chuckled Cygnus. “Sitting there with a grin like the kneazle that got the cream is hardly your style. Out with it, man, whats the joke?” 

Orion dealt his brother-in-law a withering look, his patience for his impertinence fast running low. 

“I am awaiting the imminent arrival of my firstborn son and heir. What more reason do I require to smile?” 

If his gaze weren’t so fixated on Cygnus, Orion might have seen the smirk of amused approval on his father’s face.

His second cousin did not reply to the dig at his lack of male offspring. Merely huffed in feigned amusement as he reached inside his robe pocket for his wand, summoning the whiskey carafe over to him for a refill. 

The crystal bottle had scarcely left the table before it slammed back down sharply at the command of Pollux’s own wand. 

“I think you’ve had enough, boy” snapped the elder wizard, fixing his son with a warning glare. 

Defeated, Cygnus slumped back in his seat with a sullen expression and instead dug into the pocket of his robes for his silver cigar case, lighting one with his wand before offering the case across to Orion. 

Orion raised a hand in refusal. In other circumstances he might accept one on courtesy, though he rarely enjoyed them. But this was no time to put up with false pretences. 

Another sharp, prolonged cry from his labouring sister upstairs set Cygnus’s face scrunching into a grimace. He looked for all the world as though there were anywhere in the world he would rather be than awaiting the arrival of his nephew. 

The sound of his wife’s pain cut Orion deep to the core. It was a painful sound in itself to have to listen to, and yet he did not find himself wishing he were anywhere else in the world than right here. 

The night wore on, long and slow, until, at last, in the early hours, the sound of the most almighty scream yet rang through the house, seeming to rattle the walls themselves, until suddenly, all fell deadly silent. 

The four Blacks waiting in tense silence, not one of them daring to so much as shuffle in their seat for fear of missing the moment that was sure to follow. 

And follow it did. 

The silence was broken at last by the wail of an infant, sharp and loud, piercing the silence with it’s essence of life. 

Orion breathed an enormous sigh of relief, a feeling of immense joy washing over him at the sound of his son’s first cry. 

“Congratulations, my boy” came the uncharacteristically cheerful voice of Arcturus. 

Orion looked up to see his father stood over him with an outstretched hand and possibly the widest smile he had ever seen him offer anyone. 

He quickly stood to accept the firm grasp of the handshake. 

“Welcome to fatherhood” said Arcturus with a knowing glint in his eye. 

Orion could not will himself to stop grinning as he accepted the congratulations of the rest of the men in the room.

He was riding so high on the euphoria of it all that he scarcely noticed his father slip away from the group to send an urgent summons for Burke so that the impending ceremony may commence. 

Nor did he notice the door open once more and a female figure half-step into the room with an excited smile on her face. 

“Well?” said Lucretia Black, drawing her brother’s attention to her with a loud clear of her throat. “Don’t you want to come and meet your son?” 

“My son…” Orion practically whispered, still in awe of those words, before a teasing quirk of his sister’s eyebrow brought him back to reality. 

“Yes, of course” he said, smoothing his robes and forcing himself to adopt the outward appearance of a man entirely in control of his emotions - and fooling precisely no one. 

“Remember, first impressions are very important” said Lucretia with a mischievous smirk as she led her brother up the staircase of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place to the master bedroom.

Orion gave his sister a mock-chastising knock on the shoulder in reply whilst inwardly forcing himself to gather his wits about him. 

After all, one only met one’s son and heir once, and first impressions were very important.