- i plan on mainly posting writing, but occasionally I might post fanart once I get out of art block, but idk !!
2. Request info 'n boundaries:
Will do:
- Fluff, headcanons, long fics/short fics, oc x character, and x reader stuff !
Won't do:
- Smut (just because I'm not the greatest at writing it, but maybe in the future), AUs (I've gotten really odd requests), anything involving ab*se, homophobia/racism - anything along those lines. I generally don't like writing angst, but if it has good plot to it I don't mind !
But besides that, feel free to request and give feedback on my work ! Anything is appreciated .
3. Fandoms i write for :
- Dispatch !
- My Hero Academia !
- Chainsaw Man !
- Life is strange (1&2) !
- Sally Face ! (ngl need more sf fanfics...)
- The Walking Dead by Telltale games !
That's all for fandoms until I get my Netflix subscription back and more money for games 😔
|| jake is aged up in college, (legal) age gap, robby has lots of dirty thoughts, girly!reader, some clothing descriptions but no other physical descriptions of reader, smutty thoughts, lots of ‘pretty’ / ‘cute’ / ‘sweet’ when referring to reader, back in my day we’d call this a lime on the citrus scale ||
wc: 2k
a/n: im sorry I know I have wips to work on... but I just.... I needed this
it's been a long fucking day. full of too many close calls, a few patients lost and many more saved. robby knows which ones he'll remember most. he always does.
but when jake comes to visit, it's the one bright spot in his day. though he wasn't expecting to see him until tonight, robby lights up at the sight of his step-son. even if it feels funny to call him that now. jake is in college now, practically an adult. he's taller, filled out, smart as a whip. he's got his own schedule full of classes and work and his own life. robby's just grateful he makes the time to stop by at all. jake is more like a friend now, in some ways.
is it possible for an old man like robby to even have friends?
he joins jake every wednesday after work when he can. even though his knees show up tired and protesting, he always lets the kid talk him into just one more game.
today, robby is too busy to notice jake has brought someone with him. he's pulled from room to room, trauma bay to trauma bay, patient to patient. half of his coffee had been abandoned somewhere behind the charge desk, the day moving faster without asking. gloves on, gloves off, orders called and charts signed, someone always needing him before he can finish answering the last person.
it's not for another hour or so when he's finally pulling the surgical gear from his body and cupping his hand under the sanitizer than he gets to say hi.
jake is talking to langdon over by ahmad's security desk—some bet going on about how bad the heatwave will get, how many patients will come in with heatstroke, whether heritage day will bring in more injuries than patriotism.
as soon as jake's eyes meet robby's, his smile widens. they clap hands and pull each other into a short half-hug.
'where you been?' jake asks.
"sorry, man. crazy day right now." robby says, squeezing the kid's shoulder before letting go. "what're you doing here? not that i'm not happy to see you."
"just wanted to stop in and say hi…and, uh, listen." jake rubs the back of his neck, eyes flicking briefly down the hall. "can we talk?"
robby can see the crinkle of a smile in his step-son's eyes, something nervous there. something pleased with itself too. his curiosity is immediately piqued.
he nods, and just then langdon's name is called, ushering him away.
robby walks with jake down the hall a bit, finding a miraculously blank spot of wall where no bed has taken up space. he grabs his room temperature coffee on the way and leans beside him.
'what's up?'
"i know I promised we'd see a movie later… you know, the new ready or not?"
robby had only promised that so he could spend time with jake, not because he's all that into horror these days. he feels like he sees enough blood as it is.
he nods. "yeah."
"well…" jake glances toward the charge station, then back at him. "i was kinda hoping we could reschedule for another time?"
robby shrugs. "sure. why, what do you have going on?"
"a friend, huh?" robby's face breaks out in a wide smile. "does this friend happen to be a girl?"
jake scoffs, grinning a shy smile, face ducking. "shut up."
"i didn't say anything." robby chuckles.
“you didn't have to."
robby's cheeks are sore as he laughs some more under his breath, lifting his coffee again to his lips, he admits, "fine, fine, here—"
he's reaching into his pockets when jake's eyes widen.
‘please don't hand me a condom.’
robby chokes on his coffee. 'a condom?'
he looks at jake more seriously, tilting his head, trying to read that look in his step son's face, 'wait—are you having—?'
‘jake!’
it's a voice from the charge nurse station, one robby doesn't recognize. when both look up, robby sees the cutest thing he's possibly ever laid eyes on in his 50-ish years.
bouncing over to jake on strappy wedge sandals, is you.
and you are something in your tiny denim skirt that stops high on the thigh, your visitor sticker lopsided over the top of your shirt that can hardly be called a shirt at all—more like a scrap of fabric barely covering your breasts. and you clearly aren't wearing a bra. it's a strapless little thing, and the cold blast of ac from the vent above the charge desk has caused goosebumps to rise over your skin.
robby has half a second to take in your pebbled nipples before he forces his eyes back up to your face.
'hi!' you chirp sweetly, holding out your manicured hand, 'you must be jake's step dad!'
robby takes it, your fingers small and delicate in his grip. and you're so warm. nails glossy, one of your rings pressing lightly into his skin. he can feel the fine bones under your hand— fifth metacarpal, proximal phalanx, the soft pad of the hypothenar eminence beneath his thumb. abductor digiti minimi, flexor digiti minimi brevis, opponens digiti minimi.
he recites the latin of each one in his head, unsure if he's smiling or grimacing down at you, because suddenly he is having the most debaucherous of thoughts.
maybe it was the fact only moments ago he found out his step son—who wasn't even really his step son—was sexually active, or just that it had been a while since he himself got laid… but as you held onto robby's hand, he pictured it somewhere else. everywhere else. hooked up around the back of his neck while he pulled you in to stick his tongue down your throat, or maybe tracing his happy trail down to his cock while he laid out on the couch, with your knobbly knees bruising on the floor below between his legs.
fuck.
get it together, robinavitch.
'this is my girlfriend,' jake introduces, as your hand falls from robby's grip. his step son's arm goes around you so easily it almost makes him jealous, palm flat to the small of your back.
you're grinning up at robby now, your skin glowing, looking so soft and smooth to the touch. your pretty, perfect eyes made even bigger with mascara, lips glossy and pink. he wanted to ruin it all. he wondered what your makeup would look like running down your face, smudged under the eyes and streaked across your cheek. how those glossy pink lips might look wrapped around his cock instead.
normal thoughts to have about your step-son's college aged girlfriend. great. yeah.
'hi, sweetheart.' he says, a little hoarsely. "I'm robby.'
you give him your name, and robby could swear your voice drops a few octaves as you look up at him under your lashes. he doesn't let himself believe it, though.
'so… you're cool if I ditch tonight? promise to make it up to you.' jake says.
" wait—what?" you ask, your cute little nose scrunching up as you look over at your boyfriend.
"it's okay," Jake cooes, "we can still go see—"
"no, no, i don't want to ruin the time you have with your dad," you say softly, looking up at robby again. "why don't you join us?"
jake's mouth opens in protest, and robby laughs a little, reaching for his glasses and the ipad chart sitting on the counter beside him. mckay's patient had a ct scan done that just came in. perfect thing to distract from that adorable look on your face that has robby wanting to kiss you stupid.
you and jake whisper back and forth beside him while he tries to read the scan.
it is impossible to focus.
he gets through the first line twice before his eyes slip back over.
your arms are around jake's neck, fingers pushing into his dark hair. your is chest pushed into his side and you have a pout on your lips. robby’s eyes skate down to where jake's hand sits just on the top of your denim skirt, fingers dangerously close to the upper curve of your ass.
then robby's eyes haphazardly fall lower, to your wedges lifting you onto your toes, the tilt of your hips, the short hem of your skirt threatening to show his entire department what color your panties are.
he thinks if you'd ever look at him the way you're looking at his step son, he'd crumble immediately.
he has to say no. absolutely, no question. easiest decision of his life.
when he sets down the chart after giving up trying to descern anything from it, his glasses slide off and he looks over, clearing his throat.
'it's really fine,' he begins, 'you two have fun tonight. here's some money for popcorn.'
he's reaching into his pocket for his wallet, but you're jumping from jake's arms and standing in front of him again.
'oh, no! it's okay!' you say quickly, 'jake says you can join us!'
jake's face says nothing of the sort.
you step closer anyway, smiling that wide, adorable smile up at him. your eyeslashes flutter as you plead, 'would you join us, dr. robinavitch?'
oh how cute you sound when you say his entire name like that.
'just robby, sweetheart.' he answers, 'I just don't want to ruin your date.'
his eyes glacne over your shoulder where he sees jake fidgeting, the answer plain on his step-son's face.
say no. say no. let me have this date in the movie theater with my girlfriend. say no!
but you're so cute. so pouty, so god damn sweet. you sidle up even closer to robby, close enough that he gets a whiff of vanilla and brown sugar coconut from your perfume or lotion. something warm that he inhales greedily over the sharp antiseptic of hospital smell on his scrubs.
your fingers are wrapping around his wrists now, shackling him to yourself.
'please come.'
robby doesn't even look at jake's wide eyes begging him to say the opposite.
'okay.' he whispers.
you squeal, freeing him of your hold only to throw your arms around his neck.
robby goes very, very still.
he doesn't touch you back. he forces his hands to stay hovering over you instead, fingers spread uselessly in the air while your entire body presses up against his, your perfume invading him.
he tries to think of dead puppies. of the pittsburgh penguin game he watched last night. of freezing cold ice baths. because his cock is stirring in his cargos, swelling at the feeling of your warm body against his, the feeling of your breasts pushed up to his chest and the happy sound you make right in his ear.
his traitorous mind invites the awful idea of letting his hands fall over you, what it would be like to slide them down your denim clad bum to get a handful, to hike your legs over his hips. maybe then he could feel exactly what you have under that skirt—lace, cotton, maybe silk. something easy to push aside and slide his fingers against your waiting pussy. maybe you wore nothing at all. wouldn't that be something.
he thinks of what it would feel like to drag you into one of the empty exam rooms and take you up against the wall. what you would sound like as you moaned and begged him. that little 'please come' much more lewd in his memory than it really was. he wonders what your wedges would feel like knocking against the back of his legs as his cock pushed into you over and over. your skirt rucked high, his broad hand probably taking up half your face to keep you quiet while he split you in half.
he holds his breath until you let go, until you slide down his body, your hands lingering a little too long on his chest before you step away. his hands curl around your elbows, instinctively steadying you as your wedges settle back flat on the floor.
"we'll see you tonight, dr. rabinavitch," you simper with a wide smile.
then you turn, taking a very begrudging jake's hand again and turn to leave from the er, but not before glancing back over your shoulder with that same sweet smile still sitting on your mouth.
maybeeee a part two of robby having reader alone at the theater? 👀
⋆˙⟡ The economy of small towns is not quaint. It is precarious and everyone knows exactly how precarious. When the plant closed, or the mill shut down, or the highway got rerouted fifteen miles east, the whole town felt it in a specific and lasting way. There are towns that have been dying for forty years and the people in them know it and don't talk about it directly but it's in everything. The storefronts with plywood where glass used to be, the school that consolidated with the next town over, the young people who leave and the question of whether they're coming back that nobody asks out loud because everybody already knows the answer. Writing a small town without writing its economic reality is writing a set, not a place.
⋆˙⟡ There is a specific kind of person who runs everything and they are not elected. Every small town has someone. Sometimes a family, sometimes just an individual, who is not officially in charge of anything but whose opinion determines outcomes. The woman who's been on every committee for thirty years. The family that's owned the land since before living memory. They don't have to make demands. Everyone already knows where the edges are. A newcomer or outsider won't see this power structure at first because it isn't written down anywhere. It lives in who gets called first, who's consulted before decisions are made, whose silence means disapproval. Writing this type of character correctly means never letting them explain themselves. They don't need to.
⋆˙⟡ Leaving is a complicated moral act and coming back is even more complicated. The person who got out, who went to college, who moved to the city, who built a life somewhere else, occupies a strange position. There's pride in them, genuine pride, and also a kind of low resentment that nobody names. They think they're better than this. Maybe they do, maybe they don't, but the suspicion is there. And when they come back, for a funeral, because things fell apart, because they got sick, the town doesn't quite absorb them back in the way they expect. They're not who they were. But they're also not from away. They're in a third category that doesn't have a comfortable name and everyone, including them, is a little awkward about it.
⋆˙⟡ People maintain relationships for decades past the point where they would have ended anywhere else. Because the pool is small and leaving is a whole thing, people stay in friendships, in dynamics, in proximity to people they would have simply stopped seeing in a city. The woman who is still friends with her ex-husband's sister because their kids go to the same school and their mothers are in the same Bible study and it would be more work to be enemies than to just keep showing up. These relationships have layers and scar tissue. They are not warm exactly, but they are not cold either. They are maintained. Writers often write relationships as chosen. In small towns, a lot of relationships are simply continued.
⋆˙⟡ Local history is oral and it is everywhere and it is not neutral. The story of what happened to the Henderson property, why the Murphys and the Dales don't speak, what exactly went on the summer of the flood; this history lives in people, not in records. And it gets told selectively, with emphasis and with meaning. The version your family tells is not the version their family tells. History in a small town is a living argument. A character who grew up there absorbed a version of local history that shaped their understanding of who deserves what and why, and that version has gaps and biases they cannot fully see. A newcomer doesn't have access to this history at all and will keep misreading things because of it.
⋆˙⟡ The relationship between small towns and their nearest city is specific and loaded. It's not simply rural versus urban. It's a relationship of dependency and resentment. People drive to the city for the hospital, for the court, for the things the town can't support anymore. And they come back with the feeling that the city doesn't know they exist, doesn't factor them in, makes decisions that affect them without consulting them. This is not paranoia. It's largely accurate. A small town character's relationship to the nearest city (whether they go often or rarely, what they feel when they're there, what they feel when they come back) says a lot about who theey are and where they stand in their own community.
i think the most confusing deleted nathan prescott line to me was “no big daddy i wont take your pills, fuck you.” nathan who are you calling big daddy?? the most rational answer i can come up with is that it’s him mocking his father?? irdk.
- edited caulscott again, I tried to show in this fast edit the reason why I started shipping them. even after everything they still have a special care for each other, enemies to lovers trope rise up.
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