FanFiction Central

[drjohncarters]

On the Clock

can be read as a companion to SgtMD or read solo!

pairing: jack abbot x reader

wc: 4.8k

summary: jack interrupts your dinner plans when he calls you into work. when he tries making it up to you on the rooftop, someone new finds out about your relationship.

warnings: caught in the act! gasp! sorry! i don’t want too many spoilers here but… smut! also medical inaccuracies and inappropriate workplace relationship blah blah age gap blah blah blah possessive abbot blah blah blah i know that's what you people are here for anyway!!!! enjoy!!!

notes: thank you for 2k holy fuck if you’re reading this i’m giving you a big wet sloppy kiss on the mouth <3

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When Jack Abbot met you for the first time, you were wearing a pretty pink lingerie set. 

Your nipples were hardened under the lace of your bra, leaving little to the imagination. Your matching pink thong served more as a decoration than  to lend any practical coverage, and the garter on your thigh certainly did nothing more than compliment your pretty legs. 

He was wearing that black tee shirt. 

Years passed, and he’s seen you in more lingerie sets than he can count. He’s seen you naked more times than he can count. 

But he’s also seen you in modest scrub sets, the uniform black making your figure stand out in a way that only you could manage. It’s the only outfit he’s seen you wear since you first arrived at PTMC two weeks ago. 

Until tonight. You send him a photo of your outfit. 

You: Which shoes? Right or left?

You: Attachment: 1 photo

It’s a photo of you in the mirror. You don a sophisticated, floor-length black dress that shimmers beautifully. His mouth drops open so dramatically that he felt it nearly unhinge. 

You look incredible. 

So incredible, in fact, that it puts a sour taste in his mouth. Because he wouldn’t be the one unzipping it for you tonight. No, that would be Robby.

---

Yesterday when Robby clocked in, he came to find you immediately. 

“Hey, kid. Are you on tomorrow?” He leans his elbows on the counter next to where you’re charting. 

“No, I’m off.” You meet his eyes with that sweet smile. “Why? Do you need someone to cover?”

“Actually, I was wondering if you’d like to come to dinner with me. The day shift is meeting at a restaraunt down the block for dinner and drinks, and I’m sure everyone would love to see you there.” His face is bright red, though you blame it on the warm weather. 

For a moment, you contemplate it. Really, you should stay home and unpack. You’ve only had four days off in two weeks and barely made a dent in the boxes that still line every wall of your apartment. 

But you haven't made many friends here, either. 

“Sure!” You grin. “Will anyone else from nights be there?”

Will Jack be there? Is what you want to ask, but you’re aware of how strange that would come off.

“Just you,” he says softly, like he’s unsure of your reaction to that information. “I’ll send you the invite later. I’m glad you said yes.”

“Sounds good, see you then!” You wait until he walks away before continuing your charts.

---

At the bottom of the photo-- the point of your message-- you’re wearing a different shoe on each foot. On your left, a modest, close-toed nude heel. On your right, a strappy, taller black heel. 

Both look incredible. He imagines you asking him in person, complimenting your shoe color to the color of his kerchief. He imagines your dress leaving black sparkles in the fabric seats of his truck and your lipstick staining his cheek. 

God, he hasn’t even taken you on a proper date and he’s already dreaming of your life together. How did Robby manage to ask you out first?

Jack: You look fucking amazing, sweetheart. Either looks great. 

You: Are the black ones too much for a work event?

At least you got to be his sweetheart. Jack knows you like him. He’ll make sure Robby knows, too.

Ellis calls him away before he can respond to you and assure you that no, they look perfect. Unfortunately, it’s the nature of the job, but he hates not being able to say goodbye to you before he has to leave. 

“Incoming MVA,” Lena says as he passes her. “Two victims, no more info.”

Jack nods, following Ellis to the ambulance bay.

“You alright?” She asks, brows drawn together as she ties her sterile gown. “You seem a little… distracted.”

“M’fine. I’m trying to remember if I closed my garage door before I left,” he lies easily. 

She chuckles, shaking her head. 

“My mom always forgets. I had to install one of those sensors that you can control on your phone so she’d get the notification reminders when it was left open. I can install it for you too, grandpa.” She claps him on the shoulder before gloving up. “No shame in getting older.”

“Fuck off,” he grumbles, and then the first stretcher rolls in. 

---

An hour later, both patients are stabilized and transferred to surgery. Jack rounds on his existing patients, checking in on a teen girl who burnt her face with a curling iron, an older gentleman with chest pains, and a father whose son hooked him in the face while they were fishing. 

The whole time, he’s wondering what you’re up to. He wonders if you’re drinking. He wonders if you’re dancing. He wonders who is showering you with compliments because he knows you’re the best-looking one there. 

And then Lena calls him over. 

“Abbot! Trampling at a concert, at least four coming to us. ETA is ten.” She hangs up the red phone. “Think we need to call in any reinforcements?”

And your name slips past his lips before he can think about it. 

“I’ll call her.” He turns away before he can see the look that he knows is on her face. His attraction to you is desperately obvious to anyone around. 

Pulling his cell out, he dials your number from his favorites section. You’re the only one in it. You’ve been the only one in it for the last three years. 

“Jack, hi,” you answer after two rings. “One second, it’s a little loud in here.”

He hears it all. The commotion of his colleagues around you. Then it quiets, and all he hears is a gentle breeze and the sound of your heels on the sidewalk. 

“Better?” He asks, grinning into the reciever like an idiot. 

“Yeah,” you chuckle, running a hand through your hair although he can’t see it. “What’s up, aren’t you working?”

He inhales deeply, letting himself enjoy a moment of talking with you like this. You haven’t called him since you met in person, and though this isn’t the same, it brings back a strange familiarity from the beginning of your relationship. 

“I am. We’ve got multiple traumas coming in and I thought I’d see if you could stop by and come help out. I’m sorry to interrupt your dinner.” You’d only been there an hour at most. If he were a better person, he’d feel guilty. All he feels is a small light of relief in his chest.

“‘Course I can.” You sound like you're smiling, at least. “I’ll be there in just a minute.”

“Alright, be safe.” He’s about to hang up when he hears you. 

“This is nice, by the way. Um-- calling, I mean. I’ve missed it.” You inhale deeply, and he’s too stunned to speak. “Be there in a few.”

The restaurant where you all were meeting is only a block from the hospital, so you’re there before the ambulance is. 

When you walk through the door, Jack feels the oxygen leave the room. 

Your heels click against the linoleum quickly as you hurry toward the locker room. You’re wearing the strappy sandals, and he knows they were the right choice. They’re more dramatic in person than they were in the picture, and he thinks you might even be taller than him with them on. 

As you nudge past him, you whisper a quick greeting. Definitely taller. His heart stutters in his chest.

“Hi! I’m gonna throw my scrubs on and I’ll meet you in the trauma room.” You squeeze his elbow gently. 

He still feels like he can’t breathe. The sight of your ass in that dress is fucking with his head. You look edible. 

Part of him wants to call for you to get over here and work, not to bother with changing before a trauma arrives. He’s done that with Shen before, called him in and made him wear a button-up during a trauma. But the reality is that if you stay in that dress, he won’t get any work done. 

You’re in and out of the locker room in under a minute, reemerging in scrub pants and a hoodie that he knows you keep around in case it gets cold. You’ve got tennis shoes on now, too, thank goodness. He wouldn’t be able to bear it if something happened to those pretty heels.

“Did we interrupt date night?” Ellis teases as you join them. Jack ties your sterile gown behind your neck and waist. There’s a simmering bitterness in his mouth because nobody else should’ve seen you in that outfit. 

“Even better, day shift dinner party,” you answer. “I was looking for an out anyway.”

So you didn’t think it was a date, and you weren’t having a good time. This might just be the best night of his life.

“Who got too drunk this time?” He asks. The sirens are getting closer now. 

“Genuinely everybody. I think Javadi and I were the only sober ones, and I’m pretty sure she’s not even old enough to drink.” You snort. “Nice people, just, uh, not my scene.”

They both laugh, nodding in understanding. Apparently, the day shift’s rowdy outings are nothing new. Briefly, Jack lets himself wonder if anyone did anything inappropriate. There’s a sort of tension he notices now in your shoulders that he finds hard to ignore. 

“So the entire day shift is free, but you called in an intern to assist?” Ellis eyes Jack, but he’s too busy staring at you to notice

“Sounds like she was the only sober one anyway, P.”

The first ambulance arrives before there’s any time for you to think about it. Two stretchers are unloaded from the cab, each carrying a young man. 

“With me, let’s go.” Jack urges you forward with a hand on the middle of your back, and the both of you grab the stretcher to wheel it into the trauma room.

“25 year old male trampled at a concert. Crush injuries to the lower body. No LOC. 3 of morphine given en route,” the medic rattles off as she helps you push him into the room. 

“Alright, on my count.” You grip the edge of the sheet under him. “One, two, three.”

You all work to transfer him from the stretcher to the cot. 

“Sir, what’s your name?”

“Collin. Where am I?”

“Hi, Collin. You’re at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. Do you remember what happened?” You’re talking sweetly while examining his pupils with your penlight. “Pupils equal and reactive.”

He winces when Jack probes at his abdomen. 

“Sorry, bud. Tell me when it starts to hurt,” he instructs, and as soon as his fingers touch the skin, the patient is shouting through gritted teeth. “Let’s get 3 more of morphine loaded.”

While Bridget pushes the medicine through his IV, Jack nods for you to come next to him. You do, standing beside him at the patient’s abdomen. 

“What’s our next step?” He questions you. 

“I’d do an eFAST.”

“Where?” He tilts his head, a small grin tugging at his lips. He’s trying to test you. He knows you’ll pass.

“The whole abdomen since the injury isn’t localized,” you answer, “it’s hard to tell whether the pain is bruising from being stepped on or something internal. I’d rather be safe and do a full abdominal ultrasound.”

“Atta girl.” He smiles wider now. “Go ahead, I’ll observe while you do it.”

And he does. He stands over your shoulder and guides you through the motions, praising you when you follow his directions to a t. If he notices your shaky hands after his praises, he doesn’t say anything.

After it’s all over, your patient is sent to ortho with a broken pelvis, and then Jack is in the other room helping Ellis stabilize a spine injury. Shen has already handled the third and fourth patients. 

Since you’re here already, you figure you’ll stay the rest of your shift, so you work up a patient from chairs-- a baby with a productive cough. 

---

Jack finds you with a little less than an hour left in the shift. 

“You didn’t have to stay all night, you know,” he says softly as he comes to stand next to you. “I’d apologize for calling you in, but I’m too busy thinking about you in that dress.”

You turn to face him, finding his face closer to yours than you’d anticipated. Each freckle on his face is so perfectly placed, like whatever absolute being created him took their time to find the right balance and placements to perfectly suit him. 

“I’m glad I got called in,” you answer honestly, still too shy to reply to his flirting. “The dinner was… weird. I think I accidentally agreed to go on a date with Dr. Robby.”

Jack furrows his brows, revealing handsome lines next to his eyes as he narrows them. They hold an emotion you can’t quite place, something between anger and fear. 

“You what?” His voice is low, almost threatening. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

“Wait, Sarg- Jack,” you correct yourself quickly, heat rising to your face. That’s the first time you’ve slipped up since learning his real name. “I didn’t mean to. When he asked me to come to the work dinner, I thought he was inviting me as a colleague, but I think he thought it was a date.”

His eyes are only angry now, a sliver of humor behind them as you scramble to reassure him. You think that this is probably what he looked like behind the screen all those times that he ordered you around: Pent-up and pleased all at once.

“I know, sweetheart,” he whispers so quietly that you barely hear it. “What did he do to make you think that?”

“He was really… touchy. Always had a hand on my back or around my waist. I tried to break away, but he always wound up right back at my side.” You swallow hard. “He called me sugar, too, and I-I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.”

Jack nods and pushes a piece of your hair out of your face. His jaw is clamped shut.

“I’ll make sure nobody has the wrong idea,” he assures you. 

Your pulse quickens as he tucks the hair behind your ear, then lets his finger trail down the skin behind it, tracing all the way down your neck. It’s slow and sexy. Without thinking, you crank your neck to the side to give him more access. 

“Do you have a patient?” He asks, cupping your jaw now. You nod dumbly. “Are they waiting on you?”

“No. A chest x-ray. The tech doesn’t come in until 7,” you explain, leaning your head into his touch. “I can pick up another patient if-”

“No. No, I need to show you something. C’mon.” He takes his hand away and starts walking. Blinking hard, you snap out of your daze enough to trail after him. He stops at the nurse’s station and faces Lena. “Grabbing some air. Tell Robby to come find me when he gets here.”

She acknowledges him with a flippant hand, and just like that, you’re back to following him through the department and into an elevator you’ve never even noticed before. He says nothing, so neither do you. When it dings, he guides you out onto what must be the roof of the hospital. 

It’s hot today, but there’s still a light breeze blowing this high up. And it’s high. You’re ten stories from the ground with nothing to anchor to. 

Still, being here with Jack feels safe somehow. Like nothing can touch you as long as you’re here with him.

“Have you been up here?” He asks, taking your hand as he leads you to the railing at the edge. 

“No,” you breathe out, taking in the Pittsburgh skyline from this high up. “Jack, I- this is amazing.”

You turn to find him already staring at you. His eyes look happy and tired at once, like this is what is keeping him on his feet. 

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart. And that dress tonight,” he gives a low whistle. “I almost had an MI when you sent me that picture. Then when you came through that door, I mean Jesus. I was about to follow you into that locker room and take it off for you.”

The sound of your responding giggle is music to his ears. You’ve still got makeup on from your dinner earlier, and he can’t help but admire how pretty it looks in the early morning sun. He wonders if there’s anything you can’t do. 

“Thank you, Jack.” You look at him, a nervous giggle falling from your pretty lips. “I was kind of hoping you’d like the picture. Actually, if I’m being honest, I knew what shoes I was gonna wear. I just wanted an excuse to show you my dress.”

“You never need an excuse.” He turns his body to face you, grabbing your waist tightly with two hands. “I love seeing you. Always have. It’s nice to see you in some new outfits.”

“Not all new,” you tease, hooking a thumb in the waistband of your scrubs and tugging them down just enough to reveal a strap of the lacey black thong that Sarge bought you just a few weeks ago. “Look familiar?”

He groans, sinking to his knees in front of you. With his hands still on your hips, he kisses the elastic of your panties before taking them between his teeth and snapping it against your skin. 

A hot breath leaves your mouth, and you drop to your knees to join him. His hands come to your face, holding your head so that you’re forced to look at him. 

“I don’t know how to describe the way I feel about you without sounding insane,” he starts, “but I need you to know that I am desperate to have a leg in this race. You were mine first and I’m not going to give you up. Definitely not to Robby.”

You grin, leaning forward slowly to press your mouth to his. 

His lips are soft and wet. You pull away after one chaste kiss. 

“There’s no race, Jack.” You kiss him again. “I’ve been yours for the last three years.”

Instantly, he’s on you. His strong arms wrap tightly around you, one hand between your shoulders while the other grips your ass tightly. 

As soon as your lips part with a moan, his tongue fills your mouth. He tastes like black coffee: strong and all-consuming. It’s exactly what you should have expected. You whine into the kiss, throwing your arms around his neck, desperately needing more. 

“So pretty,” he breathes out between kisses. “So good.”

“Jack,” you whine. His mouth is hot against yours, breathing you in like a lifeline. “Need you.”

He hums and readjusts himself so that he’s sitting down, back propped against the railing. The whole time, his hands stay on you, bringing you with him and guiding you all the way onto his lap. 

You place a leg on either side of him, straddling his lap. His hands descend underneath your clothing, one dipping below your scrubs to grab your ass while the other travels up your hoodie to grip your hip roughly. 

His hands are big and calloused, but feel good on your skin. 

From where you’re perched on top of him, you feel his hard-on through his cargos. He’s sporting a semi with more girth than you even knew was possible. He uses his grip on your waist to push you down onto it, making you gasp. 

“Jack.” You blink up at him in a daze, parting from the kiss. “You’re huge.”

He laughs darkly into the skin of your neck, pressing hot, sloppy kisses up your jaw and behind your ear. You don’t even realize that you’re grinding back and forth on his cock until a jolt of pleasure washes over you as you find the perfect spot. 

“That’s it baby, good job,” he praises, kissing your chin. “You look even prettier in person. So perfect.”

“Seeing you helps,” you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “So handsome. Wish I could’ve seen you earlier.”

He groans, rolling his hips up into you. 

“Not handsome enough for a pretty girl like you.”

You stop your motions, blinking hard as you try to come back to reality. It’s hard when you feel so good, but his words bring you down quickly. Both your hands come to his jaw, holding him steady. 

“What?” You’re breathless. “You’re the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, Jack.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says dismissively, leaning in for another taste.

You kiss him softly, carding your fingers through his hair. 

“You’re so handsome.” You lean in again, letting him explore your mouth with his tongue slowly now. You pull away just slightly, twisting one of his curls with your finger and smiling. “Perfect for me, ok? I wouldn’t change a thing.”

He nods and presses his mouth back to yours, keeping the pace slow and sensual. It’s better than before-- sweeter, sexier.

Here you are, on the rooftop of your dream job, kissing your dream man. The same man who has been a steady support for you the last three years is under you, pressing you into him like he can’t get you close enough. It’s a fucking dream come true. 

His hands slide further up your shirt, cold fingertips teasing your nipples through your thin bra. It was the best option to wear under your dress earlier, and you certainly aren’t regretting the easy access that it’s granting him right now. 

You gasp, rutting further into him. In one fluid motion, he’s pulling your hoodie over your head. As soon as it’s on the ground, he’s got his hands all over you. One is kneading your breast softly. His grip slots your nipple right between his fore and middle fingers, and he scissors them back and forth, sending waves of pleasure up your spine. The mesh of the bra lining on your peak only heightens the experience, creating a nice friction. 

His other hand is on your ass, holding you down as you move you back and forth over his crotch. The head of his dick is angled perfectly, nudging your clit with each forward motion. 

You groan, dropping your head into his shoulder as you ride him. He smells like sweat and antiseptic. It’s the sexiest thing you can imagine right now. A doctor stepping away from saving people to play with your tits. 

God, this is the life.

“Good job, sweetheart,” he whispers softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

“J-Jack,” you gasp sharply, legs beginning to shake with pleasure. 

“I know, I know,” he coos. “You’ve got it, baby.”

His grip on your waist tightens as he speeds up your pace just slightly, earning a squeal from you as you try to keep up. 

You’re too busy living out your fantasy to process the sound of footsteps that signals another person has joined the two of you. Actually, you don’t realize it at all until they clear their throat. 

“Am I interrupting something?” It’s Dr. Robby. 

You squeak, pulling away and quickly scrambling to your feet, brushing the gravel from your scrubs and actively avoiding eye contact with the daytime attending. Your clit is throbbing, and there’s undoubtedly a wet spot between your legs.

As you stare at your feet, you notice your hoodie next to your sneaker and realize your tits are covered by nothing but a mesh bra in front of the chief of your department. You turn around quickly, one arm over your chest while the other reaches behind you to grab it from the floor. 

It feels like a small win when you manage to put it on correctly despite your frazzled state. 

“Whoops.” Jack sounds almost bored. When you meet his eyes, you see a glint of fucking pride in them. He stays seated with his back against the railing and your lip gloss on his lips. “Sorry, boss. Is it 7 already?”

“7:05.” He’s unimpressed. “What the fuck is going on here? Are you screwing my interns on the clock now?”

You would genuinely rather take your chances trying to scale the side of this building than have to stick around to listen to this conversation. You realize how stupid you were to come up here with Jack. 

This is what you’ve spent the last eight years trying to achieve. This job is your everything. You shouldn’t have risked it by coming up here and messing around with your attending. 

Your personal life is one thing. You don’t regret being interested in Jack, and you have no plans to quit pursuing him. 

Truthfully, you weren’t sure you could leave him alone even if you tried. 

But humping him on the rooftop at work? That’s a new low.

Well, besides the time you let him fuck you in the hospital chapel…

Fuck, you have reached unprecedented levels of idiocy.  

“Not like you haven’t done the same thing, brother,” Jack retorts, reaching out a hand for Robby to help him up. Much to your surprise, he does so without protest. “I didn’t report you and Collins. You don’t get a say in this, either.”

Robby and Collins? You need to remember to ask Jack about that later. You also need to remember to ask about his leg, because you’re pretty sure you’ve seen him massage his calf at least a dozen times in half as many hours. Did he hurt himself?

“Don’t let me see it again,” Robby says pointedly, gaze shifting to you now. “I’d hate for you to lose your residency because of something this silly, kid. Be careful, this isn’t med school anymore.”

You nod, staring at your shoelaces. There’s a lump in your throat and unshed tears stinging at your eyes. You feel like such a fool. Not only did he just see you half-naked, but he just sounds so… disappointed in you. 

You should’ve left when you realized Jack was SgtMD. Should’ve packed your things and flown to any other residency program and spared yourself the humiliation that comes with working alongside a man that you apparently can’t help but strip for on the clock. 

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” Robby demands. Your head snaps up, eyes fixing on his face. You expect him to look angry, maybe disappointed, but hurt is the only readable emotion. 

“Watch it.” Jack bites. He’s taking a step in front of you. “It’s not her fault.”

Robby shakes his head, a humorless laugh leaving his lips as a tired hand scrubs his jaw. You wonder how he managed to sober up in the time that’s passed. He looks beat. 

A moment goes by, and wordlessly they both start for the elevator. You follow, head tilted up to keep tears from rolling down your cheeks. They’re arguing quietly under their breaths, and Jack even jabs Robby in the side, though you think you hear him laugh. You’re purposely hanging behind to give them space.

The doors open and both men let you enter first, aparently not forgetting their manners in the midst of what’s turned into a brotherly spit. You go, eyes fixed on the ground, and tuck yourself against the back wall, leaving a wide berth for them to stand. 

Jack ignores it and stands next to you anyway. His hand finds yours and holds it for only a moment, squeezing tightly. Robby stands at your other side, and you swallow hard at being sandwiched between the two of them. 

“When did this start?” Is how he chooses to break the silence. 

“The day we met,” you answer. It’s truthful, to some extent. Your physical relationship started the other day in the chapel, but you’ve been enamored with Jack since he was bossing you around over a computer screen. 

“You didn’t tell me?” He’s directing it over you to Jack, now. 

That must be why he looked so pained. His best friend is keeping secrets. You hadn’t realized they were so close, you’ve never seen them interact outside of hand-offs, but then again, you’ve never seen them outside the walls of this hospital. 

“Right. I should’ve told you earlier, seeing as you handled it so well.” Jack grunts. “Everyone else knows, anyway. I’m not exactly subtle.”

Robby chuckles as the elevator doors open. 

“How would I know? Never seen you with anybody before.” He rolls his shoulders. “You two just… be responsible. Do your work. No more of that on the clock.”

“Heard.” Jack nods. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Gotta do hand-offs. Don’t leave without saying bye.”

You rush toward the locker room as Robby lays a heavy hand on Jack’s shoulder. 

“Careful. She’s a little young, don’t you think?” His eyes are narrow, but Jack’s are wider than ever. There’s a fire burning behind his irises.

“Don’t ever ask her out again. No talking outside of work. And if I ever hear that you called her sugar again, I-”

Robby lifts both hands in the air and takes a step back. 

“Loud and clear, brother.”

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[drjohncarters]

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[lovebugism]

⋆˚꩜.ᐟ COMING AROUND AGAIN ─── jack abbot

summary: while trying to calm down from a panic attack, you accidentally end up in the same room jack abbot is sleeping in, after you've already switched to the day shift just to get away from him. (3k)

characters: jack abbot / shy!fem!reader, michael robinavitch, dr. al-hashimi, santos & whitaker crumbs

contents: friends to lovers, idiots in love, miscommunication, angst, hurt/comfort, so much yearning, not proofread cw for mentions of death and grief, anxiety, mental health struggles, references to the pittfest shooting, medical inaccuracies

( NAVIGATION ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( AO3 )

You thought you had healed from it all — or, at the very least, that you had shoved it far enough away that it stopped feeling real to you; like a distant memory that was impossible to distinguish from a bad dream you once had. But the past has an eerie way of coming around to haunt you, in a lot more ways than one.

When the emergency department goes analog to prevent a potential cyber attack, and when a nearby mass casualty event diverts directly to your hospital, you find that the subsequent chaos shares a daunting resemblance to the Pittfest shooting, from not quite a year ago now.

That late night in September had lived only in your nightmares up until then — until the growing crowd of wounded patients and stressed doctors sucks all the air out of the room; until the heavy scent of coppery blood makes it hard to breathe; until the chorus of yells and screams makes it impossible to hear your own voice.

There’s a young girl on the exam table before you. Her little body is connected to a number of miscellaneous tubes and wires. A purple-black bruise blossoms on her ribcage, just beneath the tank top of her modest yellow swimsuit. You wear her bright crimson blood on your gloved hands from the bougie you slide into her trachea — from where she had gotten trampled in the crowd after the water slide collapsed, and nearly drowned in the shallow end of the pool accordingly.

Your vision fades in and out as you struggle to discern this reality from the one you had already lived nearly a year ago now — when you lost a young girl, around the same age, from the same internal injuries she’d sustained after getting crushed in the rushing crowd at Pittfest. You hear the cries of her mother bouncing around in the back of your head, instead of Robby’s voice in your ear.

“Vascular clamp,” he commands distantly, throwing an expectant look over his shoulder in your direction.

He finds you standing several paces back, with your bloodied hands splayed out before you. You threaten to suck in your surgical mask from how heavily you’re breathing behind it, wide eyes glassy behind the glasses sitting low on your nose. You’re looking right at the patient before you, but your mind is somewhere else entirely.

“Hey… Hey,” Robby shouts firmly, until your glazed-over eyes snap suddenly to his. He wears a stern look in his darker ones as he tells you, “The thoracostomy was your idea, kid— I can’t help the pressure in her lungs without that clamp. C’mon.”

“Right,” you nod rapidly, half-breathless, as you scramble for the metal instrument lying on the table just behind him. “Sorry, sir.”

Robby struggles to free a hand from the surgical wound in the young girl’s side to grab it from you. He can’t help but notice the way your fingers tremble when you pass it over to him. His eyes dart from your shaking hand to the wild look in your heavy gaze, and he knows the sudden surge of panic outside is getting to you now.

He hasn’t seen this look from you since that September during Pittfest, after your disconcerting trip to the roof caused Kiara to put you on mental health leave for two weeks.

“Go take a breather, kid,” he tells you, turning back to the patient. “And call Dr. Al in on your way out.”

You mistake his worry for criticism and scramble to defend yourself accordingly.

“I’m fine, Dr. Robby,” you insist despite the obvious, despite the way you slur your words as you struggle to blink the newfound dizziness from your eyes. “I swear. I can do this—”

“You can’t,” the man spits, stern but not entirely unkind. “And that’s okay. But you have to deal with it first, alright? You can come back after you’ve caught your breath; but for now, go.”

Your feet carry you to the glass door across the room. Your hands hurry to tear off your bloody gloves, gown, and glasses before shoving them into their respective biohazard bins. It’s like you blink and, all of a sudden, you’re back into the swelling chaos of the E.R.

The droning conversations turn into a muted buzzing in your ear; the rushing bodies around you blur into a sea of nothingness. You feel your brain going fuzzy, but you force yourself to fight the empty feeling when you spot Dr. Al-Hashimi in your tunnel vision, assisting Santos and Whitaker with a patient with a neck injury.

You make a beeline over to her, half-stumbling as you clutch your hand over the sharp ache blooming suddenly in your side.

“Dr. Al?” you call to her, though the words get stuck in your throat halfway through, and come out only as a feeble whimper. You gulp down a gasping breath and try again. “Dr. Al?”

She spins in place to face you, tied-back curls swinging over her shoulder. Her kind look floods into one of worry when her dark eyes scan over your visibly distraught form. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

“Robby— He needs you in Trauma One,” you tell her through labored breaths, trembling as you motion vaguely in the direction you had just come from, with the hand not holding your side. You choke out the basics for her, “Seven-year-old. Collapsed lung. Thoracostomy.”

“O…kay,” she hums, watching with furrowed brows as you stumble off in the opposite direction.

“And we haven’t even gotten the worst of it yet…” you hear Trinity huff before you’re out of earshot. “God, help us all…”

“I didn’t know you were religious,” Whitaker says, tucking his penlight back into his scrub pocket.

“Of course I’m not,” she scoffs. “It’s an expression, Fuckleberry, jeez… It’s like you don’t even know me—”

The sudden panging in your side expands to the center of your chest as you stumble to the north wing. The mayhem muffles when the double doors shut behind you, and when you escape to the nearest ward that appears to be empty — saved for the overflow patients that are surely on their way right now.

Your legs give out beneath you when you’re finally alone. You just barely manage to catch yourself on the bed closest to the door, knuckles popping as you brace yourself on the mattress. The edge of it bumps into the side table just next to it, which rolls into the next bed, hidden behind a long yellow curtain.

You think nothing of it until a familiar voice shatters the serene quiet.

“What the hell—?”

A hand reaches for the thin partition, yanking it back with a heavy swishing sound.

Jack Abbot comes into view then, wearing the remnants of the sleep he was trying to get all over his scruffy face. He sobers instantly at the sight of you — glassy-eyed and blanketed in a thin sheen of sweat, struggling to catch your breath as you prop yourself on the bed before you.

As if you aren’t already losing enough of your breath, the rest of it is punched out of your lungs when Jack’s eyes lock with your heavier ones. It’s the first time you’ve seen each other in months — aside from passing glances during changing shifts, where you pretend not to have noticed each other — and you made sure to keep it that way.

When you switched to the day shift, you told everyone it was because Kiara insisted it would improve your mental health — which had been waning for some time after Pittfest — and that was mostly true. But, on the whole, it was because of Jack. And he knew it, too.

You think that’s why your mouth scrambles to stutter out an apology before your brain has even really thought it.

“S-Sorry,” you choke out through strangled inhales. “I didn’t— I didn’t know— anyone else was in here— I’m sorry—”

“You okay?” Jack asks, brows lowered in confusion, as his eyes dart wildly over your face. And then, when he realizes you can’t answer, he rephrases to the more obvious question. “Panic attack?”

You nod wordlessly, still bracing yourself on the mattress with one hand as your other clutches desperately at your aching chest.

Jack doesn’t hesitate before rushing to help you, rounding the bed with a hardly noticeable limp as he hurries to close the distance between you. You feel his hands, wide and warm, on the outsides of your elbows before you even realize he’s there.

“Here. C’mon. Turn around for me, kid,” he murmurs in a gentle coo, coaxing you to face him.

Your hands ball into the starched sheets below as you slide onto the mattress. Jack steps into your parted thighs and doesn’t think twice when he cradles the back of your neck in his right hand, urging you upright when you threaten to slouch. You think you would’ve dissolved into a puddle at his feet under his touch any other time, but now you find yourself craving the sudden tenderness.

“Sit up straight for me, yeah?” Jack hums beneath your rattling breaths. “Need to lose that pressure on your diaphragm— Your lungs need all the help they can get right now.

Your chest burns further when you’re brutally reminded of the young girl you left behind with Robby in Trauma One — and of the girl you lost almost a year ago now. Your features crumple under the aching as you bow your heavy head.

Jack’s calloused hand feels like velvet as it smooths across your clammy cheek. His gentle fingers lift your jaw upward again, encouraging you to meet his gaze. Your bleary eyes lock with his lighter ones, which go squishy around the edges as they dart back and forth between your own.

“Look at me, okay?” he coos with an absentminded now. “Just breathe with me. Match my breaths, alright?”

He inhales deeply through his nose, broad chest puffing under his fitted black tee. You struggle to do the same — the breath catches in your throat, and your chest jerks to find it again. Jack exhales through his mouth a few seconds later, and you find it a little easier to follow him this time.

“There you go… You’re good, kid,” the older man assures you, right before taking another inhale. His lip flickers into a faint smile when he notices your breath coming more naturally to you. “Everything’s okay, I promise. Just keep breathing for me. There you go…”

You find a strange warmth in his praise, and a part of you hates yourself for it.

Your panic ebbs after a few more shared exhales.

“I’m sorry…” you huff when you finally have the breath for it, averting your gaze to the floor when Jack’s unwavering one threatens to strangle you all over again.

“Stop. Don’t apologize,” the man scoffs as he shuffles around you. You can smell the musky cologne clinging to his skin as he reaches around you for the pillows at the head of the bed, adjusting them so you can sit up straighter on the mattress. He pats the cushions twice with his palm. “Here. C’mon. Lay down.”

“I— You don’t have to— do all this for me,” you stammer. “I— I’m good now, I promise—”

“I know,” he nods with a lazy shrug. “But I want to.”

You brace yourself on your hands as you shift gingerly on the mattress, as if you were half-scared of reawakening the panic still simmering somewhere in your chest.

The pillows give slightly under your weight as you recline against them, folding your knees in a silent plea for Jack to sit with you. You’re grateful when he gets the hint, adjusting his prosthetic beneath his camo pants and huffing as he slides onto the edge of the mattress just next to you.

“Wanna talk about it?” he wonders with an air of indifference, but still with a concerned look in his eyes when he swivels his head to face you.

Your eyes sting with unshed tears at the simple question. You avert your gaze to the hands wringing in your lap and shake your head with your lips pursed to the side of your mouth. You don’t trust yourself to speak without crying — and, as far as you’re concerned, you’ve embarrassed yourself enough in front of him.

“That’s okay,” he shrugs again, lips jutting faintly. “We don’t have to speak at all if you don’t want to… But it does help, kid. Trust me.”

You swallow hard through a tight throat and feel the ball at the base of it starting to deflate, along with the distant panging in your chest. When you’re more certain you can speak without sobbing, you wonder aloud, “Have you… Have you ever lost a patient? Like, a… a young kid, I mean?”

“Yeah,” Jack nods, suddenly solemn. “Three. A ten-year-old, an eight-year-old, and a four-year-old.”

The way he lists each of them, as if they were on his mind already, makes you feel strangely seen in your own grief — which threatens to drive you crazy from time to time.

“I, uh… I had a seven-year-old come in after the Pittfest shooting…” you confess, half-strangled, as you pick mercilessly at the skin of your thumb. “I don’t know if you remember; her name was Abby. And her mom… Her mom got shot, and Abby stayed behind to protect her, and she… She ended up getting trampled in the chaos. And her little lungs, they just—”

You cut yourself off, choking on the memory.

“I couldn’t help her, you know?” you squeak out in a whimper.

Jack nods sympathetically. His hands ache as he fights the urge to comfort you physically. “Yeah, I remember. That was… That was tough…”

“And I still think about her all the time, Abby, but… I thought I had moved past all that. You know, after Kiara put me on leave,” you confess for the first time out loud, blinking back burning tears. “But, uh… I just had another seven-year-old come in. Sophia. With almost the same exact injuries, and it just… It got me.”

“Of course it did…” Jack coos. “You’re human. That kinda shit sticks with you, I get it.”

You scoff a humorless laugh, though you’re still too weak to pair it with a smile.

“So you’re saying it never gets easier.”

“Nope…” he shakes his head with a sympathetic smile. “But that doesn’t have to be such a bad thing, you know? That’s what makes us good doctors. We never stop caring about the patients— even after we’ve helped them, even after we’ve lost them. It comes with the job, kid…”

You nod with a quiet sniffle and return your teary gaze to your lap. “I am sorry for waking you, by the way,” you murmur shyly. “I know you have to get up for work soon and everything, so—”

“Stop apologizing,” he scolds, nudging gently at your knee. “You can exist around me without having to say sorry every five seconds… I happen to like you, believe it or not.”

There’s a heavy, weary look in your gaze when it snaps to meet his glimmering one. “If you like me so much, then why did you never call me? You know, after we…”

You trail off and swallow hard, not quite strong enough to finish the rest of your sentence.

You already know the whole story, just as well as he does. You relive it every single day — the drunken night off that ended with Jack at your place, leaving you with nothing but a note after he left without telling you, and avoiding you like the plague every shift thereafter.

It haunted you like an old ghost; followed you around like a shadow, even after you stopped working the night shift.

“Well… No offense, kid,” Jack lilts with a quiet grin. “But I’m not the one who switched to the day shift just to get away from you.”

“I thought you didn’t wanna see me anymore,” you argue feebly. “I guess I thought I was doing us both a favor by leaving…”

Jack exhales a heavy breath, scruffy cheeks puffing as his chest deflates.

It does little to relieve the sudden tightness in his chest.

“No, you’re right. I… I should’ve called, at least, I just… didn’t know if you wanted me to.”

Your features screw into a pained sort of look. He has no idea that all you want to do is talk to him — that, when you hear a funny joke at work, the first thing you want to do is repeat it to him — that you look for his face in every room, even when you know he’s not there.

“Of course I did…” you sigh.

“You gotta understand, kid, I’m— I’m a little rusty here,” Jack confesses, laughing awkwardly at himself. “You’re the only person I’ve been with since my wife passed, I didn’t know if— if it was casual thing, or if you wanted something more, or if I wanted something more, and… Instead of talking to you about it, I guess I just… went and ruined everything…”

You shake your head when he turns away, swiping an anxious hand through his grey curls.

“No, you didn’t,” you assure him in a gentle murmur, and try not to cower at the achingly soft look he gives you in return — eyes glittering with a mixture of hope and honey.

His gaze pierces you somewhere in the center of your chest, which burns with a warmer feeling than the one you initially came in here with. The acknowledgment of such reminds you of the chaos raging outside.

“I should, uh—” you clear your throat. “I should probably get back out there now…”

Jack nods and follows your form with an unblinking stare as you slide off the bed. “The afternoon rush is finally here, I take it?”

“Kinda. Yeah,” you nod with a heavy breath. “A waterslide collapsed at Sandcastle, and everyone’s being diverted here, so…”

“And no one thought to come get me?” he jokes, far too seasoned to jump immediately into panic mode the same way you had. He just rises from the bed alongside you and flinches like you’ve pained him physically, bringing a hand to his chest to feign offense. “I’m hurt…”

“Well, I’m sorry,” you laugh and cower at the playfully stern look he gives you a second later. “Oh. Right. Sorry— I mean— Shit…”

He exhales a breathy laugh at your floundering and wonders distantly how he could’ve survived so long without hearing it.

“You can make it up to me over coffee in the morning, how about that?” he offers with a knowing glint in his eyes as he walks with you the short distance to the entrance.

“As long as you promise to actually call me after,” you tease with a quiet grin, still so painfully shy in your way.

Jack nods and swings the door open for you, watching you walk ahead of him with squinted eyes and something fuzzy in his chest. “Sounds like a plan.”

[yawnlovescookies]

Rumors

Pairing: Jack Abbot x attending!reader

Summary: What happens when you hear a rumor about Jack Abbot and Samira Mohan? You pull away from the man you know you're in love with.

Content: Miscommunication, gossip, stubborn reader, idiots to lovers, frustrated Jack, Jack calling reader an ass. No use of Y/N

A/N: okay, this is the first thing I've written ever, I hope it's any good. I really didn't know how to start but hopefully this is something. I also started writing a Cregan Stark fic cause I'm obsessed with that man but it's still incomplete. Also, any suggestions are appreciated.

Disclaimer: English is NOT my first language so this may as well be written with my eyes closed and half stupid brain. Hope you enjoy it!

NOT PROOF READ AT ALL!!!

Masterlist

Night shifts at the Pitt were mostly silent.

There were nights when everything was chaotic but it used to be less chaotic than day shift.

Today was one of those silent,calm nights.

You were catching up with your charts, the nightshift peaceful enough to allow you a respite. It had been a while since you saw a patient,triage was full of minor injuries that didn't make it fully to the ER.

"Hey, dollface" Lena called "have you heard about the latest gossip?" She was our charge nurse,she knew everything and everyone but she was also a gossiper.

You frowned, pausing from your charting to glance at her. You were a terrible gossip too.

Pushing your chair with your feet, you leaned in "No, what's the new tea?"

Lena smirked, knowing the knack you had for rumours and gossip. "Rumor is that Abbot is taken with someone" she said teasingly.You had the feeling that she knew you had quite a crush on Jack Abbot.

"Taken with who?" You asked nonetheless, gossip came first, after all and you were dying to know who caught his eye.

"I heard Perlah and Princess say he was seen leaving an examination room with Mohan" she said lowly enough for just us.

You blinked slowly "What? But Mohan is day shift, as are Perlah and Princess, how –"

"Abbot came in early" Lena clarified "He had some kind of thing that involved him being shot at"

"Shot?" You said, alarmed. "He was shot?"

She brushed you off " Calm yourself, doll. It was just a graze." she hummed as he checked on something in her tablet "anyway, rumor is that he was with her, shirtless in an examination room– an empty one– with the door wide open for the whole Pitt to see" she raised her eyebrows suggestingly.

" Oh, shit. So, Samira and Abbot?" you asked, too involved in the gossip.

Lena nodded "Yes, doll. It seems they are a walking HR mess." she said, her gaze focused on her tablet.

"Wow" You processed the information "They'd look cute together" you said without reading too much into it.

You liked Samira, you were friends. She was younger but wiser beyond her years. Whenever you covered a double or anything, she would orbitate towards you, wanting to learn. She was a girl's girl and you saw yourself as her friend so it was impossible for you to feel envious in the wrong way.

Do you feel envious? Yes, because who wouldn't. We are talking about the hot, 40-ish, pepper and salt hair, biceps you'd like to bite, senior attending. Either way, your crush was silly, he wouldn't glance your way when he had Samira Mohan in front of him.

You had to get over it, the best way being taking your distance from the hot attending.

……………………

Your distance started slow, almost unnoticed. It wasn't dramatic or angry, it was just enough.

You started asking Robby for day shifts here and then, started following Shen– your fellow attending– instead of Abbot.

You stopped going with him for breakfast after a shift, you stopped going to the bar with the night shift little by little until you stopped altogether.

Most importantly, you stopped hoping for something that couldn't be.

You started acting professional towards Abbot– towards Mohan too– or at least that was what you told yourself.

Jack Abbot, as sharp minded as he was, noticed. He caught up with your little act, cornering you one day as you were eating a granola bar.

"You okay?" Jack asked, his gaze focused solely on you.

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" You responded automatically, smiling as you were used to.

He squinted at you for a few moments "You don't seem okay. Is there something wrong?"

You finished your granola bar, throwing its wrapper onto the trash can. "Everything is good, Dr. Abbot. You don't worry about me" you said before walking away.

As he watched you go, he felt unease crawling at the back of his mind,telling him he did something to gain your cold shoulder, but he did not push. Not yet, at least.

…………………

For a man with the grip Jack Abbot has, he was losing it incredible fast. He was growing frustrated with you, with himself, with the world. He could not wrap his mind around the fact that you– once the person he could trust and read like a book– had become so closed off towards him.

At first he thought you were having some bad days, that you were having problems as everyone does, but no, your coldness was directed only towards him and it was driving him nuts.

And when he saw you talking to everyone but him so nicely, so amicably? He wanted to rip you a new one, to demand for answers but he was aware that by doing so, it could push you further away.

Nonetheless, as much control as he had, he exploded one night as you kept snapping at anyone who saw your way, especially him.

You were in a foul mood, but what made you explode was a case of child neglect, the father of a 5 year old not caring for the little, adorable child he is supposed to protect. You really tried to be patient with the man, asking questions he did not know the answer to, claiming he was just babysitting, as if the child was not his too, normally you snapped.

Jack quickly moved, blocking your line of sight of the man, holding eye contact with you. "Doctor, why don't you go take some air?" Not a suggestion.

As you opened your mouth to– probably– snap at him too, his gaze hardened. "Now, Doctor"

You took off your gloves with a loud huff, stomping your way out of the Emergency room. You did not glance back nor you addressed the questioning looks everyone gave you, making a beeline for the ambulance bay.

"Fucking fucker" You muttered under your breath, pacing back and forth, trying to ground yourself.

There's a moment of peace before the one person you don't desire to talk with, joins you. The unmistakable sound of the wiring doors of the ambulance bay opened, showing you Dr. Jack Abbot. He observed you pace for maybe a couple of minutes before talking.

"What the hell was that?" He says, voice tight. Though, if you squint, you can hear the worry in his voice.

"That man deserved it" You defended, not meeting his calculating gaze.

"You are an attending, not a resident, not a student doctor. You know better, you know not to snap at patients"

"Oh, please!" You said bitterly "I have seen you and Robby snap at patients more than once, that is why this shit hole's patients scores are shit!"

He knew you used to curse when you were pissed, but it had been a while since he had seen your anger firsthand.

"You know better" He insisted "Something is bothering you and I'd like to know what it is"

"None of your business"

"It is my business when you are acting like an ass in my ER!" he says firmly, using that kind of military voice he doesn't use often.

"I was pissed about the situation, okay–" he cuts you off

"No, you have been acting like the whole world owes you something for a while now!" he says with a darkened gaze " Or is it just towards me?"

"I do not know what you are talking about" you muttered, looking down at your feet.

"Bullshit" he says looking for your gaze. "Talk to me" He pleads softly, with that kind of voice that threatens to crumble all the walls you've been putting up.

"There is nothing to talk about, Dr. Abbot. I apologize for how I talked to the patient's father, it won't happen again" You said harshly, closed off.

He clenched his jaw, looking at you for a few moments before nodding sharply. "You are on triage for the rest of the shift"

"What?" You quickly looked at him in disbelief "You can't –"

"I can" He says firmly "You are on triage"

You scoffed, shaking your head " Fine" you bit out, walking in the ER and towards triage.

…………………

As the days went by, you seemed to grow even angrier and closed off, you were somewhere far away every time you weren't seeing a patient, your social life evaporating little by little, you stopped going out with your colleagues on your day off, stopped talking altogether when it didn't involve a case.

Jack Abbot was growing frustrated. With you and your attitude, how you seemed to snap at everyone, how you focused solely on your work and nothing else. He could see the toll it was taking on you, you always were a lively and social person, making friends wherever you went and always looking at life with a kind of positive energy no one could match.

It came to little surprise when Robby– as they handled a hand off shift– told him you had put on a request to move to a full day shift, killing the little hope he held close to his heart that you'll snap out of it.

He had to talk to you,coerce the words from your lips. He was desperate now so he made a decision, grabbing you from where you were resting against a desk and ushered you towards the staff lounge, closing the door behind.

"What– Doctor Abbot?" You say as you snap out of it. "Let me out"

He quickly moves, blocking your escape by standing in between you and the door.

"No, you and I are going to talk. No excuses, no bullshit" He says, crossing his arms in front of him.

"There is nothing to talk about" You huffed out.

"What about we talk of how you put a request for transferring to day shift without consulting me"

"Why would I?" You said defensively

"Because I am your senior attending, because I am in charge of night shift" He started listening his reasons "Because I'm–" he took a deep breath "... your friend"

"It is nothing personal, Doctor Abbot. I just need a change" You said without meeting his gaze.

"Would you stop, please?"

"Stop what?"

"Calling me that, I do not want this detached version where you stop calling me by my name and looking me in the eye. I am tired and confused, I do not know what to do to make you forgive me for whatever I did" he rambled away, getting it all out "Just tell me what I did to you so horrible that you won't even work with me!"

"You didn't " you murmured softly " I– I need to put space between us,it's too painfully otherwise"

"What is?" He asks,lowering himself so he can search for my gaze.

You laughed bitterly "How my stupid heart has convinced my head to love you,not caring about you and Samira–"

"Mohan?" He asks,confused, " What does she have to do with anything?"

"You are dating her" You say simply, as if those four words did not leave a bitter taste on your tongue.

"Dating?" His expression was one of disbelief "I am not dating Mohan, what are you talking about?"

"You're not?" You frowned

"I am not dating Samira Mohan" He says slowly, trying to make you understand. "Wait, is that why you started distancing yourself?" He searches to meet your gaze.

You felt your cheeks flaring a furious red, shame and embarrassment flooding through you."It is too painful to keep going as if I'm not dying to be her"

He blinks a few times, trying to process what you mean.

"You, infuriatingly beautiful, silly woman" He says in relief, as if he could finally breathe after being underwater.

He moves forward, a few steps separating you now. "Don't you understand? There is no her, there is only you"

You just stare at him, not quite processing what he's telling you.

"I have been worried, walking in eggshells around you, thinking I had done something to gain your despair" He growls, chest raising and falling. "And you tell me, everything was because you think I'm dating Mohan?"

You nod, fidgeting under his scrutinized gaze. Jack exhales sharply, moving until you're a breath away from each other. You shudder at his intense gaze.

"How in the hell did you get to that conclusion?" He doesn't even blink.

"I– I heard someone say you two were together" When he doesn't say anything, you continue "People said you two were alone in an emergency room, you were shirtless and–"

"Wait, are you talking about the 4th of July?"

"…Yes?"

He takes a deep breath, frustration radiating from him "If I understand right, all of this happened cause you heard a rumor?" He asks, rubbing his forehead in frustration.

He moves, resting his forehead against yours "A rumor." he says in disbelief. "A fucking rumor"

"Abbot–"

"No, don't talk" You could feel his frustration and relief at the same time. "You have no idea what you do to me and you are letting gossip guide you away from me."

He grabs you by the hips, grounding himself by touching you."That day everyone saw me and Samira, she was helping me to take care of a bullet graze,nothing more. She was worried about a patient and we started talking while she tended my injury" He explains.

Oh

"Oh" is the only thing you muster.

He looks at you with an amused smirk "Oh indeed"

"So you and Samira…?"

"Are not dating. We are friends and colleagues" He confirms,his forehead still resting against yours,your breath mixing with his.

He was so close you could really see his freckles.Your gaze sweeps along his face,taking in his salt and pepper curls,his slight scruff of a beard,his beautiful brown eyes that were staring you down right now.

"You have no idea how much restraint I've been having to not do this" He breathed

"Do what?" You asked him.

"This" he says before closing the distance and kissing you. It took you by surprise but you quickly melted into it.

The kiss was gentle,his hands grabbing your face with careful devotion.It was not desperate,he tried to pour all he hadn't said into the kiss. He doesn't let go of you even as you separate from the kiss,his eyes are focused on you,a million things behind them.

He looks at you like you're the most precious thing on the earth,like he's tired of pretending he does not feel like he does.

One of his hands leaves your face,grabbing your waist instead,drawing circles there,as if memorizing how you feel.He leans in,kissing your forehead tenderly.

"Is that clear enough for you?" He mutters.

You don't say anything,you just let him hold you.

"You don't get to do that,you don't get to charm your way into my heart and then pull away on account of a rumor" He breathes against you.

"I thought–" you stuttered slightly "I thought you wanted her"

"I want you" he says firmly "Only you"

He pulls away from you enough to stare at you,he does it like he wants to force those words into your brain with his gaze only.

"There is no one else,not when I have you here in front of me" he continues.

Jack Abbot and his sweet personality are your doom.You blush and smile shyly at him,allowing your hands to rest on his arms for the first time,relaxing as you realize he wants you.

He leans in,breath fawning over your lips."Tell me you do not feel the same and I'll leave you alone"

You shook your head,pecking at his lips "I cannot lie,I have been in love with you for quite a while,Jack Abbot"

That's all it takes for him to kiss you again.Slowly and tenderly,with more confidence this time.He feels like he's finally found his place and it's by your side.

"Good,I'm done pretending" he breathes.

……………

When you finally get out of the staff lounge,you do it together.

And when you cancel your request to move shifts?Robby only gives you an unimpressed glance and a smirk.

[amandamariee]

jack abbot fic recs (my military doctor husband)

scar tissue by @inlovewithquestionablecharacters

rumors by @yawnlovescookies

lost and found by @zivistardust

↳ i gave it to her by @/zivistardust

in the way by @mehchuis

a little old for you by @thesewordsareallihavetogive

emergency contact by @imaginesofwonder

plenty of fish by @katchamb3rs

place your bets by @theadventuresoftheunknown

doc, i think she's crashing out by @softundermoonlight

after hours by @abbotafterhours

night shift by @lilyswritings

coming around again by @lovebugism

nanny by @bitters-n-sweets

honesty is the best policy by @moondustfairies

prove you wrong by @cryonme

is this it by @lovableapocalypse

cologne and money by @relaxdiva

don''t worry by @abbots-go-bag

she's my wife by @petalsforjoy

call me by @butyoudidthis4what

these walls have eyes by @asxgard

the night shift by @betonlosingdogs

this fic by @belleeebelleee

let me take care of you by @voidsagent

↳ 10 things i hate about you by @/voidsagent

↳ tiny hands by @/voidsagent

a side of sweetness by @i-love-hozier

tuesday by @notyourlovemonkey

emergency contact by @kalila

busy bee by @mercvry-glow

cry into him by @richeeduvie

too sweet by @pencil-n-pen

↳ you've ruined my life by@/pencil-n-pen

distance by @s-writing-s

where the hell is my husband by @imaginesofwonder

↳ happily married by @/imaginesofwonder

married? by @yawnlovescookies

on me by @snoopysupe

kisses and made up by @targaryenluvs

[runawayolives]

Derry Girls - part 1

Pairing. David Donnelly x reader

Genre: fluff, slowburn

Summary: first installment of this fic I'm writing due to my current obsesion with Anthony Boyle and my hyperfixation on Ireland.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

The living room of the Halligan family was already in full movement by the time the middle child walked down the stairs from her bedroom. On her first day of school, Y/N Halligan had decided, persuaded by the rest of her friend group, to become an individual by breaking the school dress code, adding a jean jacket to the green uniform characteristic of the girls of Our Lady Immaculate.

“Good morning, young lady.” Her father, Robert Halligan was already sitting at the kitchen table, with the daily paper open on the wooden surface and the TV with the news on. 

“Morning, da.” With a kiss to his cheek she sat down beside him, shifting her body to face the television that was notifying about the bomb warning near one of the important bridges of Derry. The youngest son of the Halligan family was storming through the first floor of the home, apparently looking for something.

“Anyone seen my five pounds?”

“Did you own five pounds to begin with?”

“Have you gotten funnier overnight?”

“Yep, practiced.” To the usual sibling bickering, too early to Evelyn Halligan’s liking, a small motherly reply came through the room.

“Children, there is no need to start like this this early in the morning.” Once she turned around from the stove, where bread had been toasting, she noticed her daughter’s uniform, and her son’s unmade tie. “Y/N, dear, why are you wearing a denim jacket? Sean, I am well aware you know how to wear a tie.”

“The girls and I wanted to give our own spin to the uniform this year, ma.” Evelyn nodded, seemingly understanding the situation the girls were in.

“Uniforms are so stiff, they don’t give room to self expression, too traditional for a world so fast paced in change.” Y/N nodded, a wide smile showing her white teeth.

“Thet is exactly how we see it, mammy.” The teen turned to her younger brother, the smile easily turning taunting. “And what is your reasoning, Sean? Are messy ties somehow a symbol of opposition to the English?"

This made Robert pull his eyes from the screen. “You are looking for conflict to entertain yourself, young lady. There is no need to go there at this time in the morning.” To this, Sean twisted his face in a mocking manner, in a way to say “who is laughing now, shitface?” 

Y/N stood from the table to reach for a slice of bread cooling from the pile on the plate beside her mother. Placing it in her mouth and shaking off her mothers questions regarding butter, she moved to the front door of the home, of course ruffling the already messy curls her brother had spent far too much time styling in the bathroom the five of them shared. She was almost out the door when the oldest sibling came down the stairs. 

Alex had finished school the year prior, this being his time to start looking for a job, considering that he had decided to not pursue higher education, much to his parent’s demise. Summer had gone by quicker than he expected, and by the start of the new school year he had dedicated the majority of his time practising with his band in a basement and looking for a radio station in Derry that would take him in to talk about music. Unsurprisingly, the job prospect wasn’t looking favorable for the young man.

“Look who has decided to grace us with his presence.” Who had had the hardest time adjusting to Alex’s life decisions was Robert Halligan, who had placed a large amount of hope of their son becoming the second person to study at university after him. With a small groan and a hand to his face, the brunette sat down at the table. “Found a job yet?”

“I have a gig tonight, da, not my priority today.” The paper was closed swiftly, signaling that Rob’s attention was solely on his son. 

“I have decided to give you one more week. At the firm they’ll give you a spot as an errand boy by Monday. You can find something you like in that space of time, or you can come work with me.” The groan that followed was a clear indicator of the opinion the young adult had. “I will not have you waste your life.”

With a sight, Y/N tried spinning the conversation around. “The girls are waiting for me outside, I’ll see you after school.” Grabbing the black backpack from the floor, the girl swiftly turned around to walk out the door.

“Don’t forget about tonight.”

“Won’t.”

…

The group of girls had made it to the old shop owned by Dennis, in a pursuit for candies to snack on during the breaks in their school day. After discovering that Erin and Orla hadn’t been allowed to be individuals and that Clare had refused to be an individual on her own, Y/N was the only one still wearing the denim jacket, making her stand out from the group of girls in green. While Clare had been speaking about Kamal and his travels to wells in Ethiopia, the young girl had only been thinking of her need for a smoke, making her excuse herself from the group to go outside. 

Once out of the small store she took out of the front pocket of her backpack her pack of cigarettes and her cheetah print pink lighter, a gag gift from Alex in an attempt to crack a joke that to this point she still hadn't understood. Leaning against the metal fence and placing the nicotine stick between her lips, she covered it with her hands while she tried lighting it before being interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Mind if I borrow your light?” Turning her head she was facing David Donnelly, the lead guitarist of the band he and her brother were part of, The Nether Regions, a name that had caused yet another argument between her father and Alex. 

“Here.” Once her cigarette was lit and she took a drag from it, Y/N passed the pink plastic cylinder to David, who chuckled once it was in his hand.

“Remember choosing this one for you with Alex.” She turned her body around to fully face him and pulled away the stick to tap the ashes on the ground. 

“Still don’t get the joke about the lighter, and he seems unable to explain it.”

“You know him, somewhere in his head a pink leopard print lighter is amusing enough to pay 1 pence for.” Pulling the cig from the back of his ear he quickly lit his, handing the object back to the girl. “Are we seeing you tonight? Your brother mentioned you would take the pictures?”

“Hm, yeah.” Another drag. “I’ve got the film set in the camera, 36 photos total.”

Before they could keep on talking, Erin, Orla, and Clare stormed out in a rush. The shortest of the group went directly to Y/N.

“Dennis said that it is against the law to touch the candies and then put them back, Y/N. And I know he is lying, I’m sure of it.” She dropped the cig and stepped on it, blowing the remaining smoke from her lungs. “And I reminded him that you da is a lawyer, and that his actions have legal consequences.” With pursed lips and short nods she was listening to her friend narrate the events. 

Orla had stayed slightly behind, and Erin was unsurprisingly trying to look calm and cool in front of the older guy she had had a significant crush on over the past year.  By the time Clare had ended the story and had slightly calmed down, Erin was staring intently at David, making the scene more awkward than it already was. 

“I thought you had stopped smoking, Y/N.” The blond made a gesture towards the squished cigarette on the floor and the lighter still in her hand. 

“In the eyes of my parents I have.” To this David laughed, knowing the strict character Robert Halligan had, obviously in an exaggerated manner by the retellings of Alex. 

“Cool poster David.” Erin walked closer to the teens leaning on the fence. “Nice use of, you know, letters.” The boy pulled out his nicotine stick and blew out the smoke in his lungs, facing the whole group of girls.

“Thanks, you should come along tonight. Y/N will be taking the pictures of the gig.” He turned his head to signal towards the other teen girl. 

“You’re inviting me to your gig?” 

“Yeah, well, all of you.” 

“But you specifically want me to go. I mean, just so we’re clear.” Clare looked at Y/N with a questioning look, not fully understanding their friend’s behaviour towards the fella. To this, the other girl shrugged.

“But Erin, Murder she wrote is on tonight. You never miss Murder she wrote.” Erin’s cheeks turned pink at Orla’s comment, feeling suddenly exposed and uncool in front of David Donnelly,  her all time crush.

“We’ll see you tonight then, David.” Y/N gently grabbed her friend’s arm, wanting to steer her away from the conversation that had gone on for too long.  

“Yeah, ‘course. Kick’s off at 18.00.”

“Great, cool.” Y/N kept pulling, despite Erin still talking to David. “Maybe I’ll see you there then.” Clare pushed Erin in the general direction of the path to the school, leaving Orla to enthusiastically wave goodbye at the boy. 

David shouted at the group of girls that were starting to leave. “Y/N, do you mind coming earlier for the set up?”

“Yeah, no problem.” They finally turned around from the scene, Erin quickly turning to face Y/N. 

“Why is David Donnelly asking you to be there earlier?” They both stopped in the street, making Clare anxious about getting to the school too late.

“Because Alex wants me to take pictures of the concert, and Donnelly is making sure that I don’t back down.” The blonde’s eyes became so wide Y/N was concerned they would pop off.

“Can I come?” The teen hesitated. “I can also be of help, I can write an article about the gig, you know, realtime journalism.”

“Yeah, sure.”

…

They met at the bus station with the missing girl from the group, Michelle. The brunette was Y/N’s closest friend, still with very different personalities, but with the same type of humor that made more than one teacher send them to detention. While Clare and Erin spoke about going to the gig, Michelle was yelling at them from behind.

“Motherfuckers!” Before Y/N could turn around, she felt an arm wrapping over her shoulders and the ticklish sensation of her friend’s curls on her cheek. To this physical affection she responded by gripping the hand near her neck, turning the embrace into somewhat of a hug. “Motherfucker is my new thing. Watched this film last night, my da got it off Pyro Paulie, and it’s about these two lads and they wear these cracking suits, and rock about shooting people and eating cheeseburgers. And they’re all “Motherfucker this, Motherfucker that”.”

“Pulp Fiction?” 

“Yeah, that one.” The English accent made Y/N turn around to see the boy Erin and Clare were already looking at, causing furrowed brows from the three girls.

“Who owns the fella?” Erin had been the one to say out loud what all of the girls were thinking, except maybe Orla who was still focusing on biting off a piece of licorice. Michelle turned around, suddenly remembering the presence of her cousin James. 

“Me.” She scrunched her face in apparent disgust. “Well, come on, ball ache. Are you introducing yourself, or what?” The boy, under the five pairs of questioning eyes, waved his hand awkwardly.

“Hi, I’m Michelle’s cousin, James.” Orla shifted uncomfortably towards Erin.

“He’s my aunt Kathy’s wain. I told you about my Auntie Kathy. She went to England years ago to have an abortion, and never came back.” She paused for a second in realization. “Never got the abortion either. Lucky for you, James, eh?” She slapped his cheek in a half-way affectionate manner.

“What’s he doing here?” Erin moved to get a better look at James. 

“Kathy’s just got divorced, so she’s moved back. The husband caught her doing the dirt on him. She’s a bit of a goer, is our Kathy, riding rings around him, so she was.” Y/N appeared on the other side of Michelle, turning once again to look at James in confusion.

“I think Erin meant what he was doing at our bus stop.” The green uniform was giving the girl a clear insight of what was probably going on, considering that the boys from the catholic school on the other side of town wore navy blue.

“Oh, right. He’s going to our school. Everyone was shitting it about sending him to the boys’ school. They were worried that the lads would beat him up because he’s English.” 

“Makes sense to me.” Y/N turned to look at Clare, who seemed to be in agreement.

“And you couldn’t really blame them.” This made James furrow his brow at his cousin’s comment. “Talking about lads who would beat up an English fella. Saw your brother yesterday at Finnoula’s, Y/N. He’s still a total ride.” The other girl grimaced at the comment. “Any news on that front?”

“He’s still with Mary, ‘Elle, I think you’ll have to wait.” Remembering their past conversation, Erin enthusiastically turned to Michelle.

“David Donnelly has invited me to his gig tonight at 18.00. Michelle, please come.” Michelle stopped in her tracks, making the other two girls stop also. 

“You mean Y/N has to go and you’ve been invited out of politeness?” Michelle turned to Y/N to check on the events, to which the girl replied with a gentle nod. 

“He told me, Michelle, that means something.”

“Whatever rocks your boat, Erin.”

AN: thank you for reading! I know that Derry Girls isn't the most active fandom at the moment due to the fact that the series ended some years ago, but I wanted to get this small fic out of my system. I don't expect much feedback from it because of this, but as long as one (1) person is interested, I can keep this going (and let's be honest, I will probably do so).

[metallictastinglifesupportliquid]

Y/N: Hey so as my stalker exactly how much of my life do you see? Ghost, from inside the walls: Are you asking because you tripped on your own shoelaces in the hallway and fell on your face? Y/N: oh..so you saw that... Ghost, trying to be nice: ....no

[decaffeinatedcandycane]

Got me inspired....

Y/N while searching for her keys: Whoever is freeloading in my house, please put my keys on my bedside table. I will leave the room and reenter. Knock if you agree. Another knock when you are done.

*silence*

Y/N: Pleaseeee

*knock* ... *knock*

Y/N picking up her keys: Thanks

A small note falls down from the table

- We are not freeloaders, we pay for our shit. We are stalking you.

Xoxo Ghost

..........

Y/N: Can you bring me more toilet paper?

Johnny, yelling from the vent: This is not how this is suppose to work.

Y/N: Pleaseeee

Johnny, irritated: Fine...

............

Y/N, removes cameras.

Kyle, puts them back.

*this action repeats several times*

Kyle bolts the cameras down, smug Y/N can't demount them. She does.

Y/N: Keep it up. I am making bank from the stolen military equipment. Btw, a woman named Laswell calls for her men back.

*short silence*

Y/N: I won't speak of this again. But NO MORE CAMERAS!

Y/N: It would be a shame if the Captain learns about this.

Kyle, sweating: Okay-y. No more cameras.

Y/N: Good boy.

............

Y/N: Can the dude with the deep dilf voice read me a bedtime story?

John, barging in the room: Listen here you little shit!

............

Y/N entering their hideout, causing the men to jump.

Y/N, nonchalantly shushing them: Calm down. I need a ride.

Ghost: To-

Price: No. Go back to the house.

Y/N: But-

Price: Go Place!!

Y/N: I am calling Laswell.

John, bewildered: Wha-

Kyle: Where to?

.........

[anarqueeen]

a watched nut never busts. or something. i dont fucking know what you people find funny anymore. 9/11.

[anarqueeen]

why is this the one

[kokomyass]

in your hands

in which, daddy surgeon zayne is stressed asf and y/n gives him a good old massage ;)

The sound of the door opening announces his arrival, and you’re already moving toward the door, anticipation bubbling in your chest. When Zayne steps inside, your breath catches at how attractive and distraught he looks. He’s dressed immaculately in his tailored grey three-piece suit, the vest hugging his broad chest and trim waist perfectly. The silver chain of his pocket watch gleams faintly under the soft lights, and the crisp white dress shirt underneath is slightly rolled at the sleeves, revealing strong, veiny, forearms. His tie is loosened just enough to hint at the strain of his day, and his dark hair, usually so immaculate, is artfully tousled from the long hours.

His sharp gaze meets yours, the intensity in his dark eyes softening as they take you in. "Hey," he murmurs, his voice low and tired but still rich and warm.

Without hesitation, you close the distance and wrap your arms around him, pressing your face against his chest. His body is firm and warm beneath the fine fabric, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you as much as your embrace seems to do for him.

"Long day?" you ask softly, your voice muffled against him.

"That’s one way to put it," he replies, his tone edged with exhaustion. Still, his arms come up to hold you, his large hands resting lightly on your back.

You pull back slightly, enough to look up into his striking features. Even tired, Zayne exudes an effortless charm that makes your pulse quicken. "Come on," you say, taking his hand and guiding him to the couch. "Sit down and let me take care of you."

He simply raises an eyebrow, letting you lead him without protest. "You don’t have to do this, Y/N," he says, his deep voice teasing but grateful.

"I want to," you reply firmly.

Once he’s seated, you step behind the couch, placing your hands gently on his shoulders. You reach down and carefully slide his glasses off, setting them on the nearby table.

"Better," you say softly, leaning down just enough to catch the faint flicker of amusement in his eyes as you brush your hands down his face softly.

Your hands find his shoulders again, and as you knead into the thick muscles beneath the fine fabric of his suit, you can feel the tension he’s been carrying all day. His body is so solid, so strong, and yet he melts under your touch as though you’ve found the exact release he’s needed.

"Zayne, you’re so tense," you murmur, your thumbs digging into a particularly tight spot.

"Comes with the job," he mutters, his head tilting forward slightly.

You hum thoughtfully, your hands moving up to his neck and then into his hair. As your fingers massage his scalp, his dark locks silky under your touch, he lets out a low, quiet groan that sends a thrill through you.

"You’re amazing, you know that?" you whisper, your voice filled with admiration. "The way you work, how much you care…and how you look..... it’s incredible."

His lips twitch into a faint smile. "You say that every time," he replies, his tone softer now, the weight of his day starting to lift.

"And I mean it every time," you counter, leaning down until your face is close to his. Without thinking, you slide your hands forward to cup his face, tilting it back slightly so he’s looking up at you.

Zayne blinks, surprised but not displeased, his piercing gaze meeting yours as his strong jaw rests lightly in your palms. From this angle, his features are even more striking—his smooth lips, his skin that glistens effortlessly, and the way his dark eyes seem to pull you in completely.

"You’re so handsome," you whisper, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones.

He smirks faintly, his expression softening. "And you’re so shameless," he teases, his voice warm and full of affection.

"Maybe," you admit, leaning down further, your lips brushing his in a soft, lingering kiss.

Zayne’s hands come up to rest over yours as he tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss. It’s slow and warm, a quiet exchange of everything you both feel but don’t need to say despite the awkward position. When you finally pull back, his eyes are half-lidded, his expression more relaxed than you’ve seen all day.

"You spoil me," he murmurs, his voice low and husky.

"You deserve it," you reply simply, your hands still resting on his face as you lean in for one more kiss, savoring the quiet, intimate moment.

[meredithgei-deactivated20240821]

Want a pokemon egg?

Every person who reblogs this will have a Pokémon egg in their submissions and a few days later a Pokémon will hatch from the egg.

The Pokémon will be submitted based on their blog. It may be shiny or even a legendary. (Have your submissions open and only reblog, likes do not count.)

[helloboystimetooruntoo221b]

Oooh

[shelbgrey-deactivated20251113]

Comedy short: who broke the coffee pot?(Bones)

Paring: reader x jeffersonian staff

Summary: cam wants to know who broke the coffee pot.

A/n: bones requests are open!

MasterList

Cam called a staff meeting today... No one would have ever predicted that it would be about a broken coffee pot. Not a corpse, not a piece of broken bone, but a broken pot.

They all stood around the broken coffee pot confused, in the coffee maker it's self was large beaker from the lab in place of the pot. All of us minus Bones, she was aggravated she was taken away from her work for this.

“So...” Cam said crossing her arms “Who broke it? I'm not mad, I just wanna know.” she said softly looking at everyone.

Everyone stayed silent as Seeley and Lance walked in confused. Lance walked up next to y/n looking at the broken glass. Before he could ask what happened y/n sighed when she saw everyone's silent panic and spoke up.

“...I did. I broke it.” y/n said trying to save who's ever ass broke it.

Cam shook her head and sighed “No. No you didn't, you don't even drink coffee. Dr. Hodgins?”

Jack looked insulted that she would even mention him, did he not relize how many beakers he's broken in the Lab? “Don't look at me. Look at Wendell”

The blond look bewildered and gave Jack a dirty look before turning to Cam. “What?! I didn't break it.”

Jack hummed and looked at Cam like he cracked the case “Huh, that's weird. How'd you even know it was broken?”

Wendell started to get annoyed, he rubbed his fave then pointed to the broken glass “Because it's sitting right in front of us and it's broken.”

Jack shrugged “Suspicious.”

“No, it's not!” Wendell said shaking his head. Cam, who just wanted an answer sighed right back and looked towards Seeley who interjected.

“If it matters, probably not, but Lance was the last one to use it.” y/n and Lance both looked at him shocked.

“Liar! I don't even work here!” Lance said stepping away from the group.

“Oh really? Then what were you doing by the coffee cart last night?” Seeley asked in joking matter, he wasn't really trying to blame him.

“Because Brennan asked me to get her a cup of coffee while I got y/n her tea. They were both working late last Everyone knows that, Booth” Lance quickly said and his story check out.

Angela sighed and put her hands up “Okay let's not fight. I broke it. Let me pay for it, Cam”

Cam stoped her and held up the lose handle “No! Who broke it!?”

Everyone stayed quiet, they all shared glances just waiting for someone to crack. Jack's eyes fell on Bones who was now checking her watch.

Jack glanced at Cam “Cam Brennan's been awfully quiet.”

Bones gasped, shocked anyone would accuse her of such accusations “really Dr. Hodgins?!”

Everyone starts arguing after that, the squints and the scientists that is. Lance and Seeley stared, still confused on what just happened. Cam just snickered and walked over to the boys. “I broke it by accident. It burned my hand so I punched it.”

Seeley and Lance started chuckling when they saw y/n throw a hand full of coffee stirrers at Wendell and Jack.

Seeley chuckled. “I predict 10 minutes from now they'll be at each other's throats with warpaint on their faces and a skull on a stick.”

*Later at the Bureau*

“crap!” James sighed as the sound of glass shattering filled his ears, he quickly looked around for witness hoping no one saw him break the coffee pot in the break room.

Caroline sighed and pulled out her phone from a distance, James didn't see her dialing Cam's number. “Cam, tell me how you handled the coffee pot situation at the jeffersonian”

[joelslegalwhrereads]

Confessions

pairing ⁀➷  james aubrey x reader

word count⁀➷  900+

summary⁀➷ You and Aubrey are married but because you don't work together very often, the team doesn't know it yet, which changes when you all meet at the royal diner after a case.

warnings⁀➷ is marriage a warning?, some fluff, the case i mentioned is not a real case they had

a/n ⁀➷ i couldn’t resist writing for aubrey so i hope you’ll have as much fun reading as i had writing it x

masterlist

„I'm glad this case is over." Angela sighed as you entered the Royal Diner. „Me too. I'm afraid of marionettes anyway, I don't need them in my job. Ugh..." you shivered by the thought of the poor person.

You gathered around the table your team always had when you would go to the diner. At this point, any other table would feel just very wrong. „Are Hodgins and Aubrey on their way?" Cam asked the group. „Mhm, I guess. Aubrey told me he'd wait up for Hodgins because they had to take some notes for the report." Booth answered her.

This was your favourite part of every case, even though it wasn't all of you each time. Sitting at the diner together, talking about the things that happened, but also personal things. These people quickly became your best friends. They welcomed you from the second you stepped foot into the Jeffersonian and integrated you into their group. Now that Aubrey was working with Booth at the FBI, it would be even better.

„What can I get you guys?" Joanne smiled at us.

„The usual please." Booth and Brennan ordered, Cam didn't want anything but water and so did Angela.

„A burger, fries and a salad please." you smiled. „Alright, I'll be back in a sec." Joanne wrote everything down and left your table. You could feel the eyes of the others on you, „You seem hungry, Y/N." Brennan laughed lightly.

You chuckled, „Oh, it's for Aubrey.". Cam frowned and made the typical expression she always did when she was confused. Angela on the other hand already seemed to know what's up but kept it for herself.

„There they are!" Booth greeted Hodgins and Aubrey when they entered the diner. „Sorry it took longer than expected. He didn't accept the words normal people use." Aubrey sarcastically commented.

„Actually, it is usually very important to use the correct technical terms." Brennan commented. „Thank you." Hodgins said.

You grinned at the interaction between them. It's always like that, and it's exactly what makes them so lovable. Aubrey has been with the team for about a month, but you never had the chance to really work together during a case, until now.

Angela slid her chair a bit to the side to make room for Aubrey next to you, totally on purpose, of course. Hodgins meanwhile sat down on her other side. Just in time for the two to sit down, Joanna came back with a plate for Brennan, apple cake for Booth and your order.

„Here you go, anything else you'd like?" she asked. „No, thanks, Joanna." Booth smiled, and she nodded.

Aubrey smiled at you when he saw the plates in front of him. „Thank you." His hand caressed your tight. „I wouldn't dare to not order when I know exactly what your mood is like when you're hungry." you chuckled. The others were already in conversation, so they didn't listen to what you and Aubrey talked about.

He took a big bite of his burger, which he could barely get into his mouth, and exhaled happily. "I love you." he told the burger, and you had to laugh softly.

The others looked at him laughing. Everyone knew Aubrey's love for food.

Booth raised an eyebrow, "How do you even get that thing in your mouth?". "Oh, it'll fit somehow." Aubrey mumbled, his mouth still full. Booth just shook his head, but everyone could see the slight smirk.

"I really hope we can finally do a proper experiment next time," Hodgins sighed. "I'm not going to even ask what you're hoping for." Cam laughed. Hodgins started, „You know, we haven't-„

Suddenly they all went quiet. You chewed the fry you stole from Aubrey's plate. „Everything okay?" you asked carefully, swallowing. Aubrey looked just as confused as you did, as he handed you another one. Everyone's eyes got even wider at that.

Finally, Booth said, „James Aubrey does not share his food.", „Nor does anyone know what he's even ordering, as much as he always eats." Hodgins added.

Brennan's gaze would've almost been uncomfortable if you didn't know her so well. You chuckled, „Oh.". „We're married." Aubrey laughed, and you grinned when you both raised your hands at the same time to show them the wedding rings.

Booth looked like something hit him, „That explains a lot." Cam commented enlightened. „As if none of you have noticed," Angela laughed, „You're all so smart but so blind at normal things sometimes.". „I must confess that I should have noticed it. Congratulations, by the way." Brennan admitted and smiled at the last part of her sentence. "Thank you." you giggled. "Wait, how long have you guys been married?" Booth asked.

"Almost four years." Aubrey said, cracking a grin at Booth's facial expression. "So that's what Caroline always meant." Booth quietly talked to himself.

You could picture Caroline giving Seeley a poke in the back of the head for being so slow on the uptake.

„We don't make a secret out of it, I guess it just never really came up." you chuckled.

„Well now we know." Cam laughed. "As long as you let us know then when you're planning on having a little Aubrey or a little Y/N, I can just about forgive you for this one," Angela joked, and everyone broke out laughing. "Promised." You joined the laughter as Aubrey intertwined his hand with yours under the table and smiled at you.

masterlist

[ghostlywhiskey]

thinking about your post about you anxiously bouncing your knee and that got me thinking of price and how he sees you (his wife) bouncing her knee and puts his warm hand on it to calm her down <33

well i feel so seen with this one omgmgmg.

i feel like it's something he does every time he notices you doing it. so it just becomes like an instant relief to the nerves coursing through your body.

the first time he noticed wasn't long after you started dating, normally you were hyperaware of your little anxious tics and tried to keep them at bay to avoid any questions. but, the first time you let it slip was when you were sitting in the passenger seat of his car, the two of you on your way to have him meet your parents. his eyes catching the movement of your leg from the corner of his eyes while he stayed focused on the road, both hands gripping the steering wheel.

the thing with price though, as opposed to so many others, didn't ask what had you so worked up. he knew something was on your mind and he could figure it was having him meet his parents, so why ask the silly question he already knew the answer to? instead, one hand slipping away from the steering wheel and finding it's new spot on your thigh. the warmth of his palm passing through the fabric of your pants, it was almost like if he removed it his handprint would have been branded onto you. giving a soft squeeze, he moves it back and forth in a soothing manner and his eyes never leaving the road. no words spoken, but your eyes locked onto your thigh as you noticed the leg has stopped bouncing and a chill releasing down from your neck as a weight lifts from your body.

and he does it every time he sees the leg bounce after that time. the only time he wasn't there to stop the bouncing is when you were sitting in the chair as your makeup and hair were getting done for your wedding. "you've got to stop bouncing. it's making your whole body slightly shake and i need to get the makeup done, love." the artist says sweetly, your let stopping for a brief moment before it starts again, but more subtly this time. and just before the makeup artists asks you again, you glance at your phone quickly to see a message from price.

keep the leg still today. see you at the alter x

your leg instantly stilling at the message, a smile creeping onto your lips. glancing at the makeup artist, you apologize quietly before tilting your head up so she can continue to paint your face. the smile never leaving and the leg still as a statue.

[sweetiecutie]

König who turns into the biggest baby when he’s sick.

He does have pretty bad fever - 38,4. Not as bad as it could be, but not the most optimistic picture as well. And keeping in mind König’s strong immunity and excellent health overall, this illness of his concerns you deeply, causing you to fret over your boyfriend even more than you normally would.

And of course this cheeky bastard takes full advantage of it.

König wraps himself deeper into plush covers of your shared bed, coughing a bit too often than his sore throat urges him to, sniffing his nose too loud for his actual rhinitis - and it all works. You just coo over his seemingly broken statue, placing your pleasantly cold hand onto the side of his burning up face, eyebrows scrunched up prettily in concern.

He munches on everything you give him with even greater appetite than usual - numerous fruit plates, delicious looking stews and soups, wide variety of herbal teas you brew him every hour. König may or may not whine and complain pitifully, oh so frail and too weak for doing even the most basic of thing, just so you have no other choice but spoon feed him🥺

König refuses to take his medicine unless you basically hand-feed them to him, popping a few pills into his mouth and keeping a mug with warm tea to his lips to drown the medicine down with, being extra careful to not spill it down his chin. But he’s all to pliant and willing to comply with doctor’s orders when it comes to you rubbing strong-smelling ligaments into his chest - soft fingers working sticky substance into König’s reddened skin, tucking him tightly into warm blankets afterwards and placing a kiss or two to his unnaturally warm forehead.

König does feel horrible tho - his joints and muscles ache constantly, making sitting, walking or laying down extremely uncomfortable; his nose is sore from wiping it with tissues so often, annoyingly swollen despite all the nose drops you give him, making breathing a difficult task; his throat burns with every viscous coughing fit, scratching it even further with hot air being pushed out of his lungs. But the sight of little pretty you - all worried about his wellbeing, making everything in your power to quicken his recovery - it is like a balm to König’s soul, causing him rub the bulb of thermometer one or two times to make it show slightly higher mark. Watching with thoroughly hidden delight as you shake you head, carefully putting device onto the bedside table; placing a smooch or two on the top of your lover’s head you headed out to the kitchen to treat poor thing König to some hot chocolate while he stretched in bed pleasantly, waiting for his perfect girlfriend to come back and dote on poor sick himself a little bit more <3

[than-tarell]

THE ROGUE TAX (2)

SUMMARY: Fed up with paying Astarion to pick all the locks, you force yourself to learn the hard way.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader (reads as Gender Neutral but future chapters will be femme focused, just a heads up!)

WORD COUNT: 2,635

WARNINGS: Short nightmare sequence, too much sexual tension, slight mentions of a handkink, inappropriate lock pick teaching.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I know I'm posting these super early but day two of the Haunted Hoedown! This time the prompt is "finders keepers!" I honestly had so much fun with this one, so hopefully all the new Astarion fans that've followed me in the last day enjoy? Love you guys. :))))

Also I was originally going to make all of these challenge fics separate but I've since decided to make it more of a connected fic so... that's a thing now? I'll link the last chapter below!

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

-

“I wasn’t aware you were so proficient at lock picking.” 

You smirk at Astarion’s false praise, busying your hands against the lock’s mechanism. You’ve only been at it for five or six, maybe seven tops but you can already tell it’ll be a while. The lock itself is tough; covered in a layer of thick rust. Plus, being that it’s a chest and not a door, it’s a bit more advanced than you’re used to.

“Yes, well, not all of us are vampires that can woo their way through a padlock.” 

In response, Astarion laughs, throwing his head back so dramatically that from the corner of your eye, it looks as if he’s lost his head for a moment. “You do realize who you’re talking to, correct?”

You hum out a response and push the short hook further in, feeling the pressure of a loose pin hit the end. When that happens, you grin to yourself and slide closer to the chest, biting your bottom lip in excitement. 

Over the last few weeks, you and the rest of the group had come upon some interesting findings. A cave inside a well, a few hidden cellars around the surrounding the goblin camp, a hidden chest or two. At first, it was exciting, getting to experience the joys of a good treasure hunt but quickly such feelings fell once you discovered how difficult it was to break into said things without the help of Astarion and his seemingly magic hands.

“I know you’re excited to prove yourself, darling, but why don’t you let me finish things off, hm? It’ll go a lot quicker.” 

You shake your head and continue your ministrations, carefully pushing the hook further in, feeling that alleviated pressure of another pin. “I’m tired of relying on you and your bloody rogue tax.” 

After agreeing that Astarion would just pick every lock your party found for a price, it was evident he was more than willing to take more than he was owed. Saying things like I did all the work or you wouldn’t be here if not for me, it was obvious he was exploiting you. Using his roguish charms to earn himself a bigger cut despite doing next to nothing else. 

It was frustrating, to say the least. Another minor annoyance to add to his long list of negative personality traits, and lately you were determined to combat it. To learn the trade for yourself so that every piece of treasure found could remain solely yours. 

“I’m sure everyone is but that’s the price you pay for a professional.” 

You roll your eyes and continue to fiddle, feeling his gaze glued to the positioning of your hands —how your fingers tighten and twist around the metal instrument. 

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you at least a little bit nervous —having his eyes on you. Across your palms, you can feel the slick of sweat collecting with each new movement, while behind you, you can practically feel Astarion’s judgement throughout, silently picking apart all of your mistakes. 

“You’re doing—“

You shush him angrily before he can continue, knowing he’s trying to break your concentration. Knowing that he thinks that if he can prove to be enough of a distraction you’ll end up slipping up and giving in. 

“I was just going to tell you about the wonderful job you’re doing.” His tone is laced with sarcasm. Drenched in a thick layer of impatience that has you groaning under your breath. 

“Isn’t there someone else you can bother?”

“No.”

You know there is. In the other room of the abandoned building you currently find yourselves in, at least four other people are rooting through the rubble. Most likely they’re stationed in their usual areas. Gale’s probably next to the stack of bookshelves with Karlach, telling her all about his collection back at the camp while Wyll and Shadowheart are searching through the cellar in hopes of more wine. 

“You sure?”

For a moment you debate telling him to go keep watch with Lae’zel just so that he’ll shut up but the thought dissipates once you feel him flop onto the floor beside you with a groan. 

“Everyone else is so dull,” he complains. His line of slight flickers between your face and hands, watching the way they remain almost too still as he speaks. “They’re all do this do that, and for what?”

You shrug your shoulders ever so slightly, unsure of what he means.

“They’re all living for other people, darling. Other causes. Everything they do serves a higher purpose and for that reason alone, they’re boring.”

Despite your previous determination your hands release themselves from the padlock before you find yourself readjusting —moving to plop down next to him. “You think everyone’s boring because they’re selfless?”

“Predictable,” he corrects, pointing a loose finger in your direction. “All of them talk too much about a future that may not even come considering we’re infected and have little idea on how to remedy the situation.” 

You’re not sure where this rant is coming from but you welcome it considering it’s been weeks since you’ve had a normal conversation that didn’t revolve around mapping or looting or combat. Weeks since you’ve taken a moment to learn about the people you find yourself in constant contact with. 

“Some people just don’t like looking back.” 

There’s a hint of surprise in his eyes when you respond as if he wasn’t expecting such an answer. Or really, maybe an answer at all. All at once his face seems to rise in thought, taking a moment to absorb the words before he hums in response, pursing his lips. “Yes, well, I suppose some people don’t have a past worth running from.”

What’s that supposed to mean?

The tadpole behind your eye wriggles for his attention before you can even think to suppress it. Working to pull him in as you stare at one another, narrowing your eyes at the sudden cerebral contact. At first, he’s reluctant. You can feel the pushing sensation suggesting that you stop. That you should stick to the confines of your own mind rather than pestering him, but quicker than you can move away to agree, it’s as if you’re sucked back in again. Pulled by the very thread of your own brain matter to see flashes of a life you assume to be his.

The first thing you see is candlelight. A flickering of warm hues that dance across wooden interiors. It’s almost dizzying the way the light shifts across your vision, forcing you to close your eyes. Next to you, you can hear Astarion breathing heavily. Deep inhales followed by even deeper exhales that you swiftly use as a metronome to carry your focus. To aid your tadpole’s connection. 

Swallowing hard, you listen to the beats of his breath, feeling them take over your chest as the vision in front of you grows to reveal bits of cobblestone. In the background, you can hear the faint sounds of scuttling feet. The dripping of water. A hungry growl followed by an even hungrier gnaw of flesh that squelches on your tongue. 

You can taste the iron —feel the fur and bones of an unknown animal brush against your lips and gums. All of it swirls around your mouth like a tornado of overstimulating sensations, forcing the vision to pass as you reach for your throat, coughing up nothing but your own spit despite how real it feels. 

It’s apparent then what Astarion means. That some people aren’t always blessed with the privilege of running away. That people like him don’t have the means of calling upon allies to aid them through the awful shit that is reality. 

Even with such little context, you can sense through his tadpole that he’s alone in this life. Alone before the Illithid —alone now. And more than likely, he’ll be alone after it’s all over, in death or otherwise. 

Rubbing your throat —trying your best to get rid of the tainted feeling of skin and bone from your mouth, you feel empathy rather than sympathy. An understanding of his words as you look toward him, noticing the far-off look in his eye before he blinks and travels back.

“I only showed you that to save the explanation,” he says, and whether or not it’s true you merely just nod, welcoming the silence. The tranquil hush of two people attempting to navigate the other. 

It doesn’t last long. In between, there are a few moments of background noise. The sound of echoing footsteps and muffled voices. You know it’s the others looting just as you should be, but neither of you moves to join until Astarion eventually clears his throat, signalling change. 

“Anyway, they’re all in their own worlds, coasting on the wings of optimism.” He flicks his hand around the air while rolling his eyes. “It’s disgusting and partly why I choose your company above theirs.” 

Letting yourself fall back into your usual, somewhat antagonistic rhythm, you give him a curious look. “Partly, huh?”

“Don’t get too excited,” he quips, the edge of his lip twitching into that usual grin of his. “The other part is the potential of your blood, darling.”

“Ah yes. And here I was assuming you were just following me around so that you could steal my treasure.”

Both of your eyes move back to the unbroken padlock. It’s the only thing in this room that seems to be worth either of your time and Astarion knows it. It’s why he’s been so keen on your failure. 

“You know, I could help you if you like. Show you a thing or two so that the next time this happens you don’t have to rely on me.”

It’s tempting, even if you know that you’ll be taxed to all hell. Whatever spoils you find will ultimately be cut in half and, more than likely, he’ll sweeten the deal for himself by claiming first pick. 

“What’s the price?”

He shoots you a look of offence, clutching his chest. “My dear, I’d never dare put a price on the education of thievery.”

You hold back a grin, pressing your lips together, watching the way he quickly springs into action, motioning for you to hand him your tools. When you do he begins to explain the process, showcasing all the tips and tricks against the air with careful precision. Which would be helpful if you weren’t so focused on his hands rather than his words. On the way they curl around the handles of your tools, tightening with every gesture performed. 

Astarion’s got nicer hands than most. Long and thin and surprisingly well-manicured for someone who spends most of his time in the forest or drinking the blood of unsuspecting animals. And guiltily enough staring at them so intently just reminds you of that night he drained your neck. 

You can still feel the pressure of his fingers against your head. The way they roughly cupped you like a goblet of wine. Despite the fear in that moment, you’re now able to look back at that memory almost fondly. A moment of potential weakness for you somehow became a moment of trust for him and as a result, here you were now, acting almost friendly amid a terrible situation. 

It makes you grin, prompting Astarion to stop his explanation and narrow his eyes. 

“Are you even listening?”

“Hm?”

There’s a knowing glance that befalls his face then. A transition of clarity that has his mouth opening and closing before he hands you your tools. “Might be best if we take a more hands on approach.” 

You look at him confused, letting the hooks in your hand lazily rest in your palm as you watch him hop to his knees and begin to guide you. 

“I want you to do exactly what you were doing before, alright? Use the hook to push the pins.” 

Despite your continued confusion, you follow his position by kneeling in front of the chest and popping the hook into the hole, digging around the darkened space until you feel the shift of that first pin. 

“Got it?” You spare him a glance and a nod, watching him crawl towards you, positioning his chest firmly against your back before reaching out to hold your wrists. “Now, take that other hook of yours and situate it at the base of the barrel.”

Doing exactly that, you feel his fingers slowly slip over yours, navigating you through the trials of getting that second pin to shift as the barrel turns in your grasp. At first, it’s difficult. Mostly because all you can focus on is the breath that hits the side of your face. The heat of the air that travels down your spine in nervous waves you’re almost certain he can feel. But then you’re reminded that you’ve been here before; stuck within his heated grasp. 

“That’s it. Just like that.” 

You’re practically holding your breath as you find that third pin, feeling Astarion’s hand shift you in the right direction before you lose it at the last second. Ever so gently, his chest shifts upwards against your back so that he can rest his chin on your shoulder to get a better look. A newfound weight that makes you close your eyes and release a bit of air from your nose, realizing how intimate this is. 

Somehow it feels even more personal than letting him feed off of you. Perhaps because the bloodsucking was for his own benefit, knowing Astarion, moments like that where he’s able to take rather than give mean next to nothing to him. They’re just moments of manipulation. A series of tactical steps he takes to get whatever he wants whereas this is different. This is for you. 

You’re not sure how to describe it other than an offering of trust. Maybe it’s a token of appreciation for letting him consume. Maybe it’s nothing more than a game to make you squirm beneath his grasp. Either or, it’s an experience you know you’ll be thinking of for days to come, attempting to decipher its intent.

“Once you feel that final pin I want you to ease it in gently, alright? Be delicate.” 

You offer him no response as you listen to his words. If you did, you’re certain he’d make some offhand comment that would only further the lewdness of it all, grinning like the mischievous prick he is. 

“After that, you should feel a little shift and —voilà!” 

The chest clicks open. Your breath releases in a long, much-needed stream but Astarion makes no effort to move from your frame. Instead, he continues to cling to your hands, angling his chin so that when you eventually look at him you’re practically touching noses. 

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“It’s that easy?”

Slowly but surely he slips from your frame with a nod, his hands sliding across the expanse of your sleeves, coating your skin in a wave of goosebumps as he moves to stand. “Yes, but keep it hush, hush. Wouldn’t want the others to find out, would we?”

You shake your head, a small smile creeping across your lips as you then turn towards your reward, gripping both edges of the lid before pushing it up. Inside there are only a few items. A few spell scrolls and some fabric but it’s enough to get you excited regardless, realizing that it’s yours.

“Not bad for your first go.” Peeking over your shoulder, Astarion watches as you sift through everything carefully, unrolling each scroll to read the details before looking back up and raising a brow. 

“You sure there’s no tax?” you ask, but all he does is laugh and shake his head. 

“Finders keepers, darling. As I promised.” 

[than-tarell]

A FOOLISH LOVER'S OFFERING (10)

SUMMARY: On the way to Moonrise you and Astarion talk about some important things.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,060

WARNINGS: Spoilers for Act 2 (henceforth there will be spoilers in all chapters here on out), ANGST, mentions of murder.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi this chapter single handedly took every brain cell I had to write so hopefully you like it because I just want to set it on fire for all the grief it has caused me!!

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST

-

“Gods, I hate this place.”

Gripping your torch, you try your best to focus on the Harper’s. How they move through the shadows, navigating every twist and turn without issue, leading you through the pathways.

It hasn’t been long since you’ve started your journey. No longer can you see the shining veil of the Inn but, given what you know, you’re well aware that your destination isn’t nearly ahead either. There’s still plenty of walking to do. A few hour's journey at the least. Perhaps more if Astarion insists on continuing to walk so slowly.

At your side, his eyes scan the trees with a heavy breath, taking in the decrepit scenery at such a leisurely pace that it makes you huff and glance around, noting the distance between you and the others. At this point, you’re close enough that you can still see them but too far to hear what any of them are saying —something you’re certain Astarion’s done on purpose when he plants his arm around your shoulder.

“You know, I happen to find it quite charming. All the dread and despair. It’s a bit like being at home.” 

You give him a look, raising your brow only to receive a snort in response, confirming that he’s (thankfully) kidding. “Ha, you think you’re so funny, don’t you?”

“Funny?” He moves his other hand to his chest, placing it against his leathers. “Darling, I’m hilarious.” 

“Yes, yes, a real jester.” 

His fingers flex around your shoulder, squeezing. “I’ll have you know I’ve always been funny. Even before all this vampiric bullshit.” 

“Yeah?”

He nods, a slight thought flashing across his face that makes you wonder what he’s thinking about. Given the circumstances, you assume it’s a thought of the past. Perhaps of his life before Cazador’s reign. When he was merely an elf roaming topside around Baldur’s Gate without a care in the world. You imagine he was funny back then. Mischievous. Probably a little too out there, even for a magistrate considering the personality you’ve grown to love. Based on pure assumption, he probably had more fun in one night than you in a lifetime, spending his hard-earning coin on good food and drinks and—

“It’s rude to stare, you know.” He pulls you tighter into him, using his free hand to pluck the torch out of your hand so that you can wrap yourself around him. As you do, both of you breathe a sigh of what feels like relief, even though you’re currently experiencing anything but.

“Sorry.”

“Well, you were staring at me, so I suppose I can forgive.” 

“Many thanks, my liege.” 

He growls suggestively under his breath, making you scoff. “My liege, hm, I could get behind that.” 

“Of course you could.” 

“My liege,” he repeats, tasting it on his tongue, eyeing you with a lusty gaze that doesn’t quite make its mark. 

Which only furthers the assumption that he’s deep inside his head still. Sifting through thoughts you’re completely unaware of as you walk in tandem to your potential untimely end. Almost immediately, it makes you wonder if maybe this is the right time to start asking questions. To finally speak up about the inquiries that have filed through your skull. Because after this, there’s no telling where you may find yourselves. You could be killed or locked away —lost to an abyss of some kind.

The options are endless; however, time is not, so instead of stewing in the silence you currently find yourselves in, you look up at him, taking in the shape of his face.

You’ve known him long enough now to know that the comments he often makes about his beauty are true. In appearance, he’s almost otherworldly. A beacon of well-aged flesh your eyes feel constantly drawn to. Whenever he’s around there’s this feeling of awe that comes forth. A subtle beating in your chest that quickens each time he’s present. When you look at him —really look at him— your eyes tend to open a little wider, surprised by how every feature seems to fit so perfectly in place. How everything feels uncharacteristically cohesive given his time spent abused beneath the moon, forced to stave and serve for all eternity. 

If it weren’t for the issue of Cazador you’d be convinced he was blessed by the Gods themselves. Melded by their very hands to create a being of such high temptation and desire. You imagine them brainstorming his existence. Tirelessly spending weeks on end crafting the perfect specimen that would ultimately end up broken. 

You realize then, taking in the lines that have developed throughout countless bouts of false grinning, that the very thing he loves most about himself was more than likely the result of his own downfall.

A downfall you find you’re still curious about. Even after your conversation, Astarion’s life before all this still holds an air of mystery. Between details already revealed, there are still patches of missing information. Sections of time where assumptions feel wrong but asking feels just as bad. And because of that, deep down, you know you should leave the curiosity alone. Pack it into the back of your mind for later use, but with the oncoming war and no determined outcome, you instead loosen your hold and take a side step. 

“Can I ask you something?”

He narrows his eyes, readjusting his position now that you’re not locked against him, suddenly looking awkward as he puffs out his chest. “Depends.” 

“On?”

“Whether or not the question is going to be depressing,” he replies. “Because you have that look in your eye.”

“What look?”

He reaches out to poke your forehead, pressing it roughly. “The one where your brows look like they’re going to become one at a moment’s notice.”

Swatting his hand away, you twitch your brows back into their proper positioning, annoyed. “I was going to ask about Cazador,” you tell him, truthfully. “I know he’s probably not a topic you want to discuss as we waltz to our potential doom but —I don’t know— I just have questions.” 

He sighs deeply, drawing out his breath before giving you an unimpressed look that speaks volumes.

He doesn’t want to talk about it. Nor do you, but at the same time, you’re at the point where you’re unable to deny your interest because Astarion’s your friend. A companion you cherish more than you know you should. A person whose well-being is so important you’d virtually do anything to maintain it. Which is why you’re determined to pry a bit more than usual. Taking these final moments you have to yourself to ask the one question you’ve been wondering for ages. 

“What will you do about him? When this is all over.”

Surprisingly, there’s no hesitation in his words when he tells you he’ll kill him. As you continue along the path, listening to him come up with all the vile ways he’d do it, you find yourself strangely calm. Numb almost to the descriptions of stakes being driven into hearts or knives slicing through jugular veins. Lost in the way he throws your torch around with every passing phrase.

“Personally, I think a stake to the heart’s a bit cheap,” you eventually comment, watching him laugh. Hearing the way the sound quickly flutters out and hits your ears, making you smile despite the subject matter. 

“It’s a classic for a reason, my dear.” 

“Is it though? I mean, in my experience there’s far better ways to kill someone.”

“Is there, now? Do tell.” 

You’re not sure if it’s just because you’ve grown used to the excessive violence throughout your journey or because Astarion’s tendencies have potentially rubbed off on you. Either way, as the two of you joke of his master’s demise you find yourself wondering if maybe such a result is even plausible. Sure, you’ve never killed a vampire. Hell, before Astarion you’re not even sure you’ve seen one up close, but for him, you’d be willing to try. Especially given the ever-growing lack of regard for your own safety.

“Honestly, the only thing that’s coming to mind is cutting him open and doing something to his innards.” 

His brows shoot up in surprise, making you laugh. “Mm, a cold-blooded killer after my own heart.”

You roll your eyes, prompting his hand to subtly grip your own. Tangling your fingers together, he raises your palm carefully up to his lips and places a lingering kiss. One that tickles your flesh long after he’s gone, leaving you grinning like a fool, wondering if this is what love feels like. 

You imagine it is. Deep beneath the surface, your chest is tight but not with fear. Instead, there’s only warmth that spreads —a growing sensation of heat that wraps around your lungs and heart. Filling you with this discomforting ache that only he can alleviate. So much so that it makes you want to scream sometimes, knowing he’s the cause. That somehow through his charms and tricks he’s managed to find a home inside your chest without permission. How he’s sliced you open with that wicked grin and crawled inside, calling you darling all the while. 

It makes you wonder if he feels the same. If all the afflictions he’s given you are returned in some capacity. If when you look at him his mouth goes dry or his heart skips a beat. Or the longing to be near is indeed reciprocated and not just another plot to keep you close.

Because sometimes it’s hard to tell. 

Throughout your journey, you’ve gone back and forth a hundred times, debating the possibilities —weighing the pros and cons of every interaction that you’ve ever had. Even now, knowing such trivial thoughts should be the last thing on your mind, you can’t help but wonder: does he care for you? Truly? Does he think of you? Does he look for you? Within his everyday thoughts does your presence linger in the background, waiting for the right moment to be put on full display for him to admire?

Does he love you?

“You know, if you ever need help with the whole murdering Cazador thing…”

It sounds ridiculous when you say it. So nonchalant and unfazed. Even you have to cringe at the way you trail off, waiting for him to speak. Praying that he’ll laugh or scoff or say literally anything to fill the silence you find yourselves walking through. 

It takes him a while but eventually, you hear him quietly sigh, his gaze moving to view your nervous face. “It won’t be easy, you know. Cazador isn’t some vagabond with a blade, he’s—“

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

He says it like a warning. As if he’s preparing to scold you for speaking out of term, narrowing his eyes with a huff. “Darling, I appreciate the enthusiasm but Cazador —he’s different. He’s not like the villains we’ve faced thus far. He isn’t motivated by greed or lust. The only thing he wants is power. Power over me —over you.” 

He pauses then, swallowing hard. Making it apparent then that this hypothetical conversation of murderous jokes has turned into something far more real. That your offering is no longer a mere gesture of kindness but instead a potential act of solidarity. One that you extend further by running your thumb along his, applying a bit of pressure at the joint, feeling him twitch. 

“You know there’s very little I wouldn’t do for you, right?” 

In an instant his eyes are on you, staring in surprise, trying to process the words that’ve just spilled through your lips. At first, they’re focused on their position, fully immersed in the way you clear your throat, trying to suppress a nervous laugh as you continue to grip his hand. Not long after though, they start to go distant, moving past your face to view the trees behind you, fizzling out of reality so quick that all you can do is try to pull him back. 

“I know you probably think I’m in idiot for even suggesting that fact that I may be capable of killing someone who spent centuries in control of so many people—“

“A bit, yes.” 

You snort, watching him slowly start to return to you, his lips curling into a half smile you can’t help but reach out and touch, stopping your stride. “But I would do anything you asked of me. Even if it meant death, I would kill that bastard for you without hesitation. Whatever way you wanted, whether it’s decapitation or throwing him off a bloody cliff or—“

The light of the torch shifts as his hand slips out of yours, taking hold of your head to guide you to his lips. To press his mouth to yours with such need that the breath within your lungs is ripped out. Swallowed behind his starving tongue —lapping whatever life you have to offer as his hand drifts over your cheek, taking hold of your flesh to keep you from leaving.

Standing still, you can feel the tenseness of his frame as it all happens. How aside from his mouth and hand the rest of him refuses to move, prompting you to reach out, running your hands along his sides, coaxing him to relax. 

When his body does, you slowly pull away, sucking in air like your life depends on it, watching with half-lidded eyes and swollen lips as he opens his mouth to speak, stuttering out something incoherent before swearing under his breath. 

Narrowing your eyes further, you watch him struggle to speak, wondering what could be going on in that complicated brain of his as he turns his body, releasing you from his grasp in favour of moving forward again.

Immediately, it makes you drop your jaw in annoyance, watching his hands move towards his hair, gripping his locks in frustration as you hear him mutter to himself and continue to move, leaving you behind. 

“Hold on, you’re just going to kiss me like that and walk away?” 

He doesn’t even turn to acknowledge you as you yell, making you even angrier as you race toward him, placing a rough hand against his shoulder to gain his attention. 

“Astarion—“

“Do you mean it?”

Your mouth twitches when he turns, looking at you with angry eyes. Scanning you with knitted brows filled with so much frustration all you can do is breathe and nod.

“Why?”

Because I love you. 

“Because…”

“Tell me.”

Your mouth is drier than it’s ever been, making it hard for you to form the words as you feel your tongue poke out to wet your lips. “I—“

His shoulder shifts from your grasp in one quick motion, leaving you bare —untethered and weak against the aggression of his eyes staring you down. “You know, I’ve spent centuries coming up with all the ways I’d do it. How I’d kill him if given the chance.”

You watch his gaze move to the trees again, travelling elsewhere even though you’re here, standing still in front of him, already wondering how you'll get him back.

“Despite the scenarios being nothing but my foolish imagination running rampant, every time I end up suffering. Forced further into madness —pushed to the brink of what my body is capable of handling.” He shakes his head before raising it, blinking back tears that make your body ache. “Even in my wildest dreams I cannot win against his torment and yet… the moment you mention it… the moment you look at me with those eyes—” 

Hearing him choke back a nervous laugh, this time it’s you who’s on him, clutching his face with both hands, pressing your thumbs to the inner corners of his eyes to wipe away the liquid that continues to pool.

“Why are you so willing to help me do the unimaginable?”

This time there’s no hesitation. No moment of thought that graces your mind as you smile up at him, pulling him further down with shaking hands to press your forehead to his. “It’s because I love you,” you tell him then. Barely above a whisper, you let it filter out like smoke, allowing it to envelop him entirely as you breathe and take him in, watching the way his lips unfurl and the anger laced within his features slips away. “And because the thought of allowing him to live after what he did to you fills me with a kind of rage I’m not sure I’ve ever felt before.”

His hand moves to stroke the side of your neck. Gently, his fingers run across the bite marks he's inflicted, marking their positions with two subtle taps before they glide away, rooting themselves at the back of your head for support. Forcing you to remain in the moment, realizing what you’ve just said.

It’s hardly the right time to admit your feelings. But then again, given the circumstances, you quickly remember that there really isn’t one. Considering you're in the middle of a war, on your way to Ketheric’s base, it’s very unlikely you’ll have a spare moment to clear your mind and properly say all the things you’ve been itching to say. 

Until the end, it’ll always feel like something’s missing —like you’ve forgotten an important phrase or detail. That whatever you say will never be enough to fully convey the weight of how he makes you feel each time he looks you up and down or makes you laugh. 

Even as you stand before him now, holding him tight —watching the tears within his eyes threaten to spill once again, you know nothing you say will ever amount to the ache inside your chest, knowing that you’ve managed to give him the last sliver of hope you have to offer. 

“I love you, Astarion,” you repeat then, praying this time it holds its weight. That the nervous rush inside your stomach passes through and all you’re left with is the kind of warmth you’ve only read about in stories.

His jaw is slack as you repeat your confession, shifting in a way that makes you more nervous than it should, watching him blink and hearing him breathe —doing everything but speak the words you want to hear as Shadowheart calls your name, pulling you both away to notice the annoyed look on her face as she tells you to hurry up. 

-

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[anantaru]

— drunk genshin boys

including heizou, alhaitham, scaramouche, kaveh, pantalone, childe, diluc, cyno x gn! reader

꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff & crack, idk what this is but very cute

drunk! heizou who gets tremendously clingy with you— he doesn‘t have anything but embracing and snuggling up to you in mind. from the beginning, before anything else, you have to help him get to bed, he can barely walk in a straight line and you wonder who he was sharing his drinks with— might be kazuha for all you know. "you‘re so good to me." he slurrs his words, eyes lowered and almost closed but keeping them open, heizou tries to because he can’t keep his eyes off you— even when drunk out of his mind, then the sweet man reaches his arms out for you, "come here come here." it’s a combination of a pitchy whine and a pout displayed before you and archons, how can someone be this adorable without even trying hard? you wonder but ultimately smile at your boyfriend, drawing a fuzzy blanket over his body before leaning into his chest.

drunk! alhaitham who fights with himself, more or less— he can hardly stand. you see, your boyfriend knows he‘s drunk and now he‘s forcing himself to sober up with nothing but pure, strong willpower and a good spirit at hand, but beware, he knows it‘s not possible but he tries to tell himself to sober up regardless, even when aware that that‘s not how it works in the general rule of booze. "i have almost conquered myself." he announces proudly while leaning against your shoulder, his soft hair ruffled and ticking your cheek. "yeah yeah." you playfully roll your eyes, placing your hand on top of his thigh while petting the clothed skin. it‘s when he places his palm on top of your hand to catch you in his embrace before you can notice the faint, soundly snoring sounds of your boyfriend succumbing to a deep slumber against you.

drunk! scaramouche who, much to your own surprise, tends to indicate a few kisses, cuddles and silently thanks you for taking care of him— it‘s especially surprising since this never happens when he‘s not under the influence of alcohol. truthfully, he didn‘t think he was even capable to get drunk and tried a bunch of different beverages around sumeru city. what he didn‘t know was that, alcohol can become a little tricky, especially when it hits you somewhat delayed. you were quick to notice his cheeks changing their color until his entire face was covered in red— the small pants from his parted lips and his larger pupils only proving your point. "nuisance." kuni curses, planting his arm over your shoulder as he makes you stop for a second, keeping your movements to a stand still. "kiss." he leans closer, no words following, ultimately failing to hit your lips and bumping in your nose instead— at this point you’re dying of laughter, you had even attempted to fight your giggles but how could that even be an option when he‘s like that? yet to the best part, you show him how it‘s done and properly melt your lips on his.

drunk! kaveh who— and such fact is known throughout all of sumeru, was a lightweight on the inside, but sometimes had the need to pretend to actually be able to hold his drinks in. you on the other hand knew your boyfriend and his tendencies to drink a little bit too much whenever he‘s meeting up with his friends for a round of tcg or anything really— most of the time it does consist of gossiping. considering this, you always await him late at night, knowing full on well that he‘s going to have a hard time getting out of his shoes or, frankly, find the way to his bedroom. "i‘m not- not drunk!" he proclaims with a pitched, half broken tone, raising his pointer finger in the air, "drunk not i not!" and stammers before dropping into his bed face first. you welcome him with a smile, "you sure aren‘t." and amusingly shake your head but not before placing a bucket next to the bed for— well, who knows what you both will face this entire night.

drunk! pantalone who loves to drink a few glasses of red wine— reveling in the massive flavor of different nuances the beverage had in store after a long day of working himself to frenzied tiredness. believe it or not but he knows the limits of his body quite well, yet even he can overindulge in it from time to time. in which case would he make himself overly noticable the moment he stumbles home. it‘s louder than usual and you wonder if he actually tripped over and fell carelessly or ran against the door. but the man finds you at last as he always did, you long since ready for bed before dropping right next to you, still fully clothed in a perfectly fitted garment and his glasses messily shoved up, "i may have had too many drinks tonight." he admits against his own volition, rubbing his head and the tiny red spot emerging on his forehead— he really did hit the door, "and you may need to help me out of my clothes."

drunk! childe who doesn‘t consider a party being a real event without him in it— surprinsingly was the eleventh harbinger good with keeping his booze in, it‘s rarely for him to get real, drop dead drunk, but when he does— oh boy, you can be sure he won‘t stop talking to you the entire night. "have i told you about that time i dropped a whale on an entire army?" brazen words after arrogant notions, ajax cuddles himself against your back to try to turn you towards him, after all, he thinks you weren‘t listening with your body being turned away like that. after a deep-rooted yawn, you pull yourself to the left to face him, "you did." and cradle his cheek, "you did at last three times this past hour."

drunk! diluc who, much to his own embarrassment, needs to be taken care of. the man loathes alcohol to his very core, but even he needs to occasionally drink a couple glasses with important partners who he had been collaborating and working with. "i can‘t feel my legs." he almost whines at the loss of his senses, numb and tired as you repeatedly dapped a cold washcloth on his forehead while he was continuously pinching his biceps, "that‘s your arm baby." your expression softened slightly as you carried on to clean him up. as it was time to turn in for the night, you felt diluc‘s intense, warm presence closer than on any other day before, "please don‘t leave." his words find your ears with such ease, like a piece of his own soul, a bright, hopeful voice, full of hope but webbed in bristling fear, "i won‘t."

drunk! cyno who— and this really doesn‘t surprise you at this point in time, pompously shows off all his aquired and bundled up jokes, you had, in the beginning of your relationship, thought that what if he would genuinely turn out to be legitimately hilarious when in such wobbly state. "a tighnari and cyno walk into a bar." he pulls his mask off and places it on a drawer that, and don‘t ever tell him that, but there isn‘t a drawer there, he‘s just imagining things, "knock knock, *hiccup* who‘s there?" cyno quickly stops himself as you pick up the mask and put it on a real drawer, sliding into the warm bedsheets beside him afterwards, "wait, that‘s not how the joke goes." the man wrinkles his nose in thought, blinking rapidly while looking at you through puppy eyes, as if you had an actual idea on what he‘s talking about.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[anantaru]

— biting them affectionately

including alhaitham, kaveh, scaramouche, heizou, tighnari, albedo, kazuha, cyno x gn! reader

꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff, crack, this is so random

alhaitham, who will be at loss of words at first— while, keep in mind, it wasn't easy to get the scribe speechless like that, regardless of how he was never bitten in his life. however, he told himself to never question whenever you'd do anything like that, so for one, he'd simply look at you confused and irritated, before asking you with a stern and stoic blush on his cheeks, "why?" it's not like he doesn't know, but for some reason did he find it quite amusing whenever you'd explain yourself over such little, hilarious things. but, when you decide to bite him again, without answering, he'd just ignore you and keep reading his book.

one might think kaveh will act slightly different than alhaitham, but he's equally confused yet the moment you bite him he'd let out a yell, animalistic, one overly dramatic scream of fake pain, channeling his vocal chords to their fullest extent. "what was that for?!" he whines, rubbing the pulsing red spot on his shoulder, "i just love you." you smile and now, again, he finds himself seeing you as the most adorable thing to ever exist. discernibly did you sense your precious chance of biting him many more times, only faintly, but strong enough to have your boyfriend whine and airily laugh before engaging in a playful fight with you.

if you think scaramouche won't bite you back, you're one naive and wide-eyed individual. this man also doesn't hold back, he'll give it his all to win what you have started. don't be upset when he starts biting you heavier than you do, he sees it as a serious showdown now. "don't go running off now." you're not admitting defeat yet, he fears, but you will, he's sure of it. by now, he has you caged in between his arms while a breezing pain in your belly began to expel, from all the sweet and heavy laughing and cheering. whether or not you will win was long since in the back of your head, what counted was seeing kuni engage in something silly for once, and having a great time at that.

heizou's quick and precise thinking skills were deeply needed in the predicament you both found yourself in. one minute you were lazily cuddling and kissing under the silken sheets before you decided to bite him out of nowhere, not hard, but impressionable. specifically against his neck where he was the most sensitive, "augh." he growls before looking at you, somewhat intrigued, "that came out of nowhere." he huffs, and in some strange way was he already beginning to plan his bloody revenge on you, pulling you on your back before dragging your hands over your head, so you're out of commission, so it's him who can decide where to give you a taste of your own medicine.

at the outset, tighnari thought a random bug bit him out of nowhere, he couldn't even fathom that it was you biting him out of the blue. "wait." he stops the work on his desk, tilting his head to the side where you were comfortably seated in, eagerly, awaiting a response, "was that you?" you can feel the sass in his full sentence as it spread through the seconds of silence before your answer goes right through, "nope." someone must give you an award for keeping your laugh in like that, especially when it was burning and bristling inwardly, "a bug." you shrug, "no, it's you." assuming you're playing mind tricks, he catches the smirk on your lips, "dangerous territory." he coos, the bite mark on his shoulder matches your teeth and thanks to closer inspection he confirms his suspicions. well, good luck to you.

it's not out of the ordinary for albedo to question something insignificant and random a little too deep. "how interesting." he rests his chin against his palm, "is this considered normal amongst humans?" a glittering, infectious smile pulls itself around your lips when he quizzes you on it, over and over, and you settle to do it again without responding, shortly gnawing down on his shoulder, "for me it is." while ruffling his hair until it was practically falling out of the small ponytail, "i see." albedo drags you closer, "should i return it?" by the look of things, this might become a daily occurrence now.

"oh?" kazuha brushes over his arm, holding eye contact, "you're strong." and feigns the heavy proudness in his voice. in actuality, he barely felt your teeth dig into his flesh, but he found the noises you made beyond cute, kind of high pitched within its hilarity. all and all, was this just one of the many things he fell in love with when it came to you and his face lights up in delight and interest when he notices the transparent joy on your lips. there's an almost imperceptible happiness across his entire skin, sparking at the outline of his jaw and littering in his eyes, "now." he slants forward, getting his point across, "my turn!"

quite frankly, did your boyfriend cyno get the impression that you were actually mad at him at first, alas why you decided to bite his cheek right after hugging him, that's the hypothesis of the day. turns out you weren't, shocker, but he rubs the squishy flesh before questioning it— with you, naturally responding right away, "it's because i love you." you assure him, "so you can see it as an act of love." and jokingly bite him again, this time slightly lighter and only a bit, emphasizing your point. after carefully thinking about it more upfront, cyno finds himself enjoying it and doesn't mind when you bite him as much as you see fit, as long as you're happy that is.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify