people don’t enjoy shipping anymore. the point of shipping isn’t the catharsis of watching them kiss onscreen, it’s grabbing the characters and mashing their faces together like you’re five years old playing Barbie in your room again. it’s to take one moment of eye contact in canon and read that over and over and over again with twenty different writers’ interpretations of the characters internal monologues if they were in love. it’s to see the characters interact and cheer because you know that’s another moment to add to your list of canon compliant fic ideas. you’re stressing yourself out, this is supposed to be fun!
The highway that takes me to my parent’s house was closed so I drove through rural farmland to get back home. Growing up, I used to think that it was so ugly but every time I come back, I see it in a new light. Today I pulled over in the middle of nowhere to get a picture of the sky.
Idk things in the world are terrible and hard. But sometimes the sky is so blue and the clouds are so fluffy and the grass blows in the breeze looking like actual waves and I remember once again that maybe things are good sometimes
synopsis: You meet a very special wolf on the night of the full moon
notes/warnings: An AU where supernatural beings are known and accepted. This is so floofy. If you guys like it I'm totally up for at least a part two. Inspired by an ask from @crazyunsexycool about werewolf Robby finding his mate while in wolf form.
wc: 3.6k
The bench was old, worn, comfortable. The park was empty save for you, most people reluctant to be out during a full moon. Despite the relative safety, old superstitions ran deep. You were more than content to have the whole place to yourself. The moon was bright and revitalizing. You tipped your face up as you enjoyed the sensation of the moon humming through you like a current. It buzzed along your bones and pricked your skin.
As a witch you had an intimate relationship with the phases of the moon. Some good for one thing, others for another. But the full moon was your favorite. It was when you recharged your batteries so to speak. When you felt at peace with the world.
The night was quiet, the noises of the city fading into the background. The breeze carried a chill and you shoved your hands into the pockets of your jacket to keep them warm. Then you felt it. A presence intruding on the perimeter you’d set in your mind. Behind you, moving closer. A steady, silent approach. But no sense of danger came with it.
You didn’t look right away. If magic had taught you anything, it was patience. You sat perfectly still, tracking the movement until a huff of breath came from directly behind the bench. Only then did you turn.
The wolf was enormous, easily twice the size of any natural animal. His coat was dark with flecks of gray scattered throughout. His shoulders were broad and muscled, his head massive. He stared for a moment before moving around the bench to stand in front of you. His ears were forward, his tail low and swinging in a slow, measured rhythm. Not aggressive. Not even cautious. If you had to pinpoint the behavior, you’d call it attentive.
You kept your hands in your lap now instead of your pockets and watched him. He stood close enough you could feel the heat radiating off of him, could smell the clean, wild scent of him. He held your gaze. His eyes were dark brown, almost black in the moonlight and full of awareness and assessment that told you this was no mere animal. There was no threat, simply…recognition.
You stared at one another for one beat, then two. Then he lowered his head and laid the full weight of it in your lap. He was solid, warm. The whine that accompanied the action was a low, plaintive sound that vibrated through you. He watched you with those soft brown eyes. Waiting.
Your hands hovered for a moment before sinking in the thick fur. In that second, you felt something slide into place inside of you with a deep, instinctive knowing. You shifted your hold and began to scratch behind his ears.
He exhaled, a full body release that softened every line of his body. His weight settled more firmly against your legs, his eyes half closing. As your attention continued, he made a small satisfied noise in the back of his throat. His eyes held a human quality in them that was unmistakable. Intelligence and a focus that didn’t belong on anything living solely on instinct.
He had been looking for you, you were almost certain. He’d crossed the park with a single-minded determination and had found you sitting on the bench. Then he’d put his head in your lap like he was coming home.
You knew what this was. Felt it the moment you touched him and the universe suddenly seemed right, complete. You tilted your head. “You’re my mate.”
The wolf lifted his head from your lap. For a moment he just looked at you, his dark eyes steady and intent. And then he whined again, louder this time, with a hint of desperation that wasn’t there before. Before you had time to attempt to figure out what he wanted, he lowered his muzzle and closed his teeth around your wrist.
Your breath caught. His jaws were enormous, capable of crushing bone. But his teeth didn’t press, settling against you with extraordinary gentleness. The pressure was so light it was almost absent. It was just the faint weight of his mouth and the light scrape of a canine against your pulse. Then he tugged.
Not hard. Just enough to say come with me.
“Okay, okay,” you said as you stood.
He released you immediately, leaving not a mark behind. He turned away from the bench and took three steps before he stopped and looked over his shoulder, those dark eyes finding yours. Checking.
You followed.
He led you out of the park and into the city. He moved with purpose, keeping a steady pace that had you taking wide strides to match it. Every half-block or so he would glance back, making sure you were still there. Still following. At crosswalks he paused, waiting for the light even when the street was empty. His nose constantly twitched as he picked up scents from the air. He stopped at lampposts and fire hydrants, sniffing, tracing whatever trail led him on.
You walked past closed storefronts with their security gates pulled down, past a bar with sound spilling from inside. A man stood just past the door nodded at you as you passed, did a double-take at the wolf, then shrugged and went back to his cigarette.
The wolf led you through blocks you didn’t know, turning corners and leading you down questionable alleyways, though you didn’t fear. Between your own abilities and your wolf tour guide, you figured you were safe enough. Then, suddenly, the hospital rose into the night sky in front of you.
Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. The building was massive. The wolf led you around to the ambulance bay. He stopped at the edge of the pavement, right where driveway turns to walkway and turned to you.
The he shoved his head hard against your hip. The push was insistent, not rough as he nudged you toward the glass doors of the ambulance bay. You put a hand flat on top of his head. “Do you know someone here?”
He let out a frustrated whine and shoved harder. His entire weight leaned into your hip now, steering you toward the doors.
“We can’t just walk into the hospital. I’m pretty sure there are rules about wolves roaming the halls.”
The wolf sat down and stared up at you. His dark eyes were unblinking. You looked down at him. He looked up at you. The standoff lasted a good minute.
“Fine,” you said, finally.
You walked up to the doors and they slid open. A man in black scrubs with a Dunkin cup in one hand glanced over at the sound. He frowned as he saw you standing there. He moved closer. “Can I help you?”
You pointed at your companion, who was still sitting on the concrete right where you’d left him, watching the exchange with what you would have sworn was amusement.
“Does anyone here belong to him?” you asked.
The man’s brows raised and he grinned as he looked at the wolf. “This is fantastic. Just hold on one second.” And with that, the man who never introduced himself disappeared into the halls of the hospital.
You turned back to the wolf. He was still watching you, his tail wagging in slow arcs.
“Well, that was not helpful in the least.”
He blinked at you and you could have sworn he was laughing.
A low concrete wall ran along the edge of the ambulance bay, keeping the minimal landscaping at bay. You settled onto it, the cold seeping through your jeans and the wolf was there before you even fully found your balance. His head dropped into your lap with the certainty of a creature that had decided your lap belonged to him now. You didn’t question it as one hand found the soft fur under his chin and began to scratch.
A low, rumbling vibration of contentment came from him. One of his massive paws joined his head in your lap. You scratched under his chin and waited. The night had grown colder and the warmth of the wolf against your legs was welcome. “Would you like to see a trick?” you asked after a moment.
His ears flicked forward and his gaze met yours. You held out the hand that wasn’t occupied with running through his fur and produced a small ball of blue light you ran over fingers and back again. His tail wagged enthusiastically as he huffed out a breath. High praise, you were sure.
The door slid open and a man in scrubs stepped outside. His gaze found you and you waved a hand through the air to dismiss the light. He took in the scene before him. You on the wall, the enormous wolf with his head in your lap, your hand scratching under the chin before occasionally drifting up to get the spot behind his ears. His face split into a grin wide enough to show teeth and crinkle the skin by his eyes. The laugh that came from him was part surprise and part pure delight.
He walked over to stand in front of you and the wolf lifted his head from your lap just enough to look at the man who reached out and ruffled the fur between his ears with a casual affection.
“Hey, brother,” he said to the wolf. Then he looked at you, still grinning and extended a hand. “Jack Abbot. Night shift attending.” You shook his hand and he said, “Might I ask who you are and how you know our friend here?”
You told him your name before you explained everything. The park. The moon. The wolf finding you on that bench and declaring you were his in the most fundamental way possible. Then you explained about the bond between the two of you.
Jack’s grin grew impossibly wider with every sentence. By the time you finished, he was practically vibrating, his eyes bright with something that looked suspiciously like triumph.
“He led you here?” Jack asked. “Just…follow me human, we’re going to the hospital?”
“Basically.”
Jack looked the wolf. The wolf looked back at Jack and you could have sworn they were silently communicating about something. “This is incredible,” Jack said, and he wasn’t talking to you. He was talking to the wolf who lowered his head back into your lap with what could only be described as smug satisfaction. “Absolutely incredible. I’ve been working with this man for years and I never—” He stopped, shook his head, and the grin came back full force. “Never mind. This is perfect. This is absolutely perfect.”
He watched you for another moment before leaning forward and dropping his voice. “So, you up for a little fun?”
The wolf in your lap made a small curious sound, his ears flicking forward.
Jack’s grin didn’t waver as he waited for your answer. The anticipation on his face was infectious and entirely terrifying.
Robby walked through the doors of the ED at ten the next morning, three hours into day shift as was the routine when he was scheduled the night after a full moon. Jack always covering the extra time without complaint. Robby was exhausted as he always was after a run, but he felt oddly invigorated.
Jack was at the nurses’ station, sitting as he typed at the computer. He looked up as Robby dropped his bag beside him and a grin spread across his face.
“Morning,” Robby said with a lifted brow. “You seem in oddly good spirits. How was the shift?”
Jack’s grin didn’t budge as he shrugged one shoulder. “Same as always. Nothing remarkable.” He paused, his head tilting slightly, the amusement in his expression increasing. “How was your run?”
Robby ran a hand through his hair, feeling the residual stiffness in his shoulders, the soreness in his muscles that came from a night spent as something other than human. “Good. Really good, I think.”
He remembered fragments. The park. A rabbit. Moving through the city. The feeling of something pressing, urgent. He tapped his temple with one finger. “Nothing. The usual black hole. But I feel like…something happened. Something important but I can’t fucking place it.”
Jack’s mouth twitched, his eyes crinkling at the corners as that grin somehow got wider. He reached out and clapped Robby on the shoulder. “Langdon’s been holding down the fort. Have a fantastic day, brother. I’m out.” Jack grabbed the bag that Robby hadn’t noticed at his feet and headed toward the doors without a backward glance.
Robby frowned after him. That was…odd. Jack Abbot was many things. Subtle was not one of them. Whatever had that expression on his face was something he was savoring and Robby was almost certain it was going to somehow bite him in the ass.
You arrived at PTMC just before noon, checking in at the front and giving your name before being let through. A blonde glanced up as you moved through the chaos toward the central hub. “Dana?” you asked, making an educated guess based on what Jack had told you.
Her gaze flicked over you from head to toe and one side of her mouth curled up as she said your name. With a nod, you confirmed your identity and she smiled wide. “Jack filled me in, said you’re here as part of Gloria’s new initiative to increase the presence of magical healing in the hospital, right?”
You nodded again. It was Jack’s idea. The program was real enough and you actually were a witch trained in healing magic. He’d submitted your name himself this morning and texted you when he got approval. The best cover stories were the most truthful ones, after all.
Jack convinced you to spend a day with Robby as a human before telling him who you were to him. Something about driving his best friend crazy before letting him in on the secret. He’d seemed so giddy at the idea you’d agreed without much argument. It was unlikely Robby would remember anything about the night before, anyway. Getting to know him this way seemed infinitely preferable to just showing up with a wave and saying, “Hey, I’m your mate. How are you doing?”
Robby stood in North Four with a med student and a third-year resident, watching as the student conducted a neuro exam. His arms were crossed over his chest as he observed. The resident was correcting a small error the student had made when Robby’s spine straightened.
A scent drifted to him. Warm and layered and completely out of place in an emergency department. Something rich and complex that smelled like rain, the earth and a note he couldn’t name but that pulled at him all the same.
His chin lifted and his nostrils flared. His focus narrowed to a single point, that scent and the direction it had come from. “Finish the assessment. Let me know if you have any questions,” he announced to the room in general.
He didn’t wait for a response. He was already moving, following the scent through the department before he had fully processed what he was doing. The scent led him past staff and countless patients until finally, there you were.
You stood beside Dana, one hip leaning against the counter. You were saying something while Dana listened intently.
Robby stopped when he was maybe fifteen feet from you. Close enough his eyes registered little details about your appearance, about the way you held your hands. Close enough that the scent swamped him.
He knew you.
The certainty was bone deep and inexplicable. He had never seen you before in his life, yet every instinct he possessed insisted that he knew you as well as he knew his own name. There was no memory attached to the recognition, just the raw, incontrovertible fact that he knew you.
Dana glanced over and saw him standing there. Her eyebrow lifted along with the corner of her lips. “Robby.” He stepped closer and she introduced you by a name that meant nothing to him. “She’s part of Gloria’s new program. Here to observe only today.”
You turned to fully face him and your eyes met. “Hi.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “Hi.”
He was still trying to figure this out, this familiarity, this pull when you lifted your left hand. A flick of your fingers and a small ball of blue light appeared. You let it run over your fingers and back again before another flick had it vanishing from sight. It was the kind of thing a witch did without thinking, the magical equivalent of clicking a pen.
For a moment, Robby was completely lost to you. A feeling of security that he didn’t understand at all flowed through him. He was all the more certain that he knew you. That you were important. This was driving him insane.
Realizing that he’d been staring in silence for far too long, he cleared his throat. “I should…Patients. I have patients.”
He made himself turn around. Made himself walk through the halls and find another resident to observe, another med student with a question. Anything he could focus on besides you.
He failed miserably.
For the rest of the afternoon, he found reasons to be wherever you were. When you were at the hub, he appeared with a question for Dana he already knew the answer to. Each time, his eyes found you, watching you make notes or talk to some of the staff. He slowed his pace as he passed a bay where you were holding the hand of a small fae child that was awaiting the arrival of her parents. When you were in the break room, he had a sudden need for coffee despite the four cups he’d already had that day. When work pulled him away, he immediately sought you out when he finished, needing to know where you were and if you were safe.
The department continued around the two of you. Traumas came in. Labs were ordered. Consults were called for. Students were taught. And through it all, that scent pulled at him. It was mouth watering and maddeningly familiar. But every moment spent in your presence brought him no closer to understanding.
Jack arrived ten minutes before his shift was due to start. The rest of the night shift was filtering in as well, day shift starting their handoffs. He found Robby at the hub, a tablet laying on the counter in front of him that he was absolutely ignoring. In fact, he hadn’t looked at it in ten minutes. He leaned against he counter, arms crossed as he watched you talk with one of the nurses, hands moving. Perlah was laughing and you were smiling, the expression making Robby’s chest feel tight.
Jack stopped beside him. He looked at you, then to Robby and back to you. Then he laughed, the sound drawing Robby’s attention away from his staring. “You are so far gone,” Jack said. He still had that stupid grin on his face.
Robby shook his head and huffed in irritation. “I can’t focus. I feel like I know her from somewhere. I’ve been like this all day. It doesn’t make any sense.” He ran a hand over his beard, smoothing it down. “I should introduce the two of you. Maybe you can place her.”
Jack’s grin turned smug. “Oh, I already met her. You introduced us.”
Robby turned to look at him, the movement slow and deliberate. His body orienting with the same focused intent his wolf used when tracking a scent. “What?”
“Last night.” Jack leaned against the counter, mirroring Robby’s posture. “Found her in the ambulance bay just before midnight. Sitting on the wall with a very large wolf’s head in her lap.”
Robby went perfectly, utterly still.
“She was scratching under his chin, behind his ears. Like she’d known him for years. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. And he was letting her. Head right there in her lap, eyes half-closed, making these little content noises. You know the ones.” His voice had dropped to a lower register, almost gentle though the mischief was still present.
Robby knew the sounds he was referring to, the satisfied rumbling sounds his wolf made at his happiest. When he felt safe.
“He led her all the way here from some park downtown. Said he put his head in her lap then whined at her until she got up and followed him here.” Jack paused, searching his friend’s face. “He brought her right to the doors and then sat down until she got Shen’s attention. He got me and there you have it.”
Robby’s mouth had gone dry. The pieces assembled themselves in his head with a slow certainty. The scent that had pulled him across the department, the recognition with no context.
“I’d only go to someone like that if…” he trailed off, the words hanging there for a beat before he said, “Oh.”
His gaze shifted back to where your conversation with Perlah had been joined by Princess. A warmth settled over him as he realized the scent he had been chasing all day had been following him first. From a park through the city under a full moon to the feet of his best friend.
You looked up, your eyes meeting across an emergency department filled with a scent he could finally, definitively name. Your gaze flicked to Jack and back to Robby and you smiled, warm and welcoming.
notes/warnings: nothing really. still angsty. Robby sees his girl. oh, and a bar fight I guess.
wc: 3.3k
Series Masterlist
Chapter Seventeen - Lovesick
i know since i've been gone
you've got your life to live
so you should live it, baby
to you i still belong
Robby ran a hand down his face, exhausted to his core. Twelve-hour shifts spent trying to save lives while his own fell apart were taking their toll. Things were always more chaotic at shift change. More people. More clamor as they hurried to get last minute tasks completed or stepped into ongoing cases, trying to make the change over as smooth as possible. He was so fucking ready to go home.
Jack stepped through the doors of the ambulance bay, ready to start his shift. Robby watched him and felt that familiar surge of affection tempered with regret. He still had Jack. Somehow, improbably, impossibly, he still had Jack. The man had taken him back into his bed and his life despite Robby’s cruelty and idiocy. Robby didn’t deserve it. He knew that.
They finished handoff in under ten minutes. Robby gathered his things and headed for the doors. Jack followed. That was…unusual. Typically, he jumped right into his shift but tonight, he fell into step beside Robby, hands in his pockets.
The air outside was cool as he caught Robby’s elbow and pulled him off to the side and out of the way.
“She met me for breakfast this morning.”
“Did you tell her?” Robby’s voice came out rough, broken. “About how sorry I am? That I’ve started seeing Gemmill again? That I’m…Jesus, Jack, did you tell her I’m falling apart without her?”
Jack crossed his arms over his chest and nodded once. “I told her.”
“And?”
“She was going to walk out until I promised to stop talking about you.”
Robby stared at him. “What?”
“She says you have to make the effort on your own, without me being in the middle.” Jack’s voice was quiet, steady. “I won’t risk losing her, Mike. Not even for you.”
Robby felt something inside of him just collapse. A slow, inward crumpling of the little bit of hope he’d held that Jack could help him fix this. He dragged a hand over his beard. His hand was shaking and he stuffed it into the pocket of his hoodie.
“So, what do I do, Jack? How do I fix this?” The question came out small, pleading. He’d fucked up, lost his way, and he needed Jack to help him find the way out.
Jack huffed out a breath. “Well, first you need to quit trying to buy her affections.”
Pure white-hot panic shot through Robby. “I’m not…that’s not what I’m doing. Is that what she thinks I’m doing?”
Jack nodded. “You accused her of using us for our money and now you’re…well, you’re using our money to try to get her to forgive you. That’s not going to work, babe.”
“I just need her to talk to me,” Robby said, the words sounding pathetic even to his own ears. Pathetic but true.
Jack clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, try something else, because that’s not working.”
Then he was gone, heading back into the depths of the Pitt, leaving Robby alone in the ambulance bay. He walked home in the dark, and he didn’t cry. He was too tired for tears. He was tired and alone and the silence in his head was louder than any trauma bay had ever been.
A knock came at four in the afternoon when you were working on a spreadsheet for your grandfather’s foundation. You paused, saved and set your laptop aside. You knew what it was before you opened the door. Another delivery with no communication, no heart behind it. You sighed.
When you opened the door, you were surprised to be met with a wrapped bouquet on the doorstep rather than a careful display. It was the kind of arrangement that looked like someone had had gone into a field and picked whatever was in bloom. They were beautiful in an unrefined way, nothing like the formal bouquets that preceded them. You carried them into the kitchen, setting them on the counter while you filled a vase with water.
The note was tucked between two stems, folded in half. Your fingers found it as you started to arrange the flowers. Robby’s handwriting was unmistakable, a hurried slanting script that always looked like he’d been rushed through whatever he was writing.
I’m sorry.
Two words. Nothing else.
But it was enough to cause the slightest lift of the corner of your mouth. He was learning. The flowers had a personal touch finally and he’d written a note. A stupid, short note but it was a start. You set the note on the counter beside the vase and went back to work.
The next day, the knock came around lunch time. A teenager handed you a delivery of soup from the deli near the hospital that Robby favored. You opened it and inhaled the aroma of your favorite offering from there. You ate it standing at the counter, spoon scraping the bottom of the container. When you went to throw the bag away, you found the note in the bottom.
I miss you.
You set it with the first note and went on about your day.
The third delivery arrived the following afternoon. Pastries from your favorite bakery. Three of your favorite treats nestled inside the bag. This note contained only one word. Please.
You rolled your eyes and set the note with the others. The anger had burned itself out. The pain less sharp than it had been. You’d cried it away on your couch. Shouted it into your pillow. Let it run through you until there was nothing left but remnants. Jack had told you Robby was back in therapy. You’d turned the information over in your head for days. It changed the shape of things. Just a bit. Enough for you to acknowledge that he was aware that what he’d done was inexcusable. And that he was attempting to make certain it never happened again.
Understanding didn’t mean forgiveness. It was merely the first step toward a conversation you weren’t ready to have just yet.
Notes accumulated on your counter. I’m sorry. I miss you. Please. I’m thinking of you. I was wrong. Short. Unpolished. All written by Robby’s own hand. You’d read them all precisely once before adding them to the pile on the counter and returning to whatever task you’d been working at when they arrived. You appreciated the thought behind every bouquet, every meal, every cup of coffee. But thought wasn’t enough.
Not responding had nothing to do with punishment. It was about respecting yourself. You loved him. God, you loved that stupid, broken, beautiful man. But you loved yourself enough to wait for something real. The brief notes weren’t it. The flowers weren’t it. The rent most definitely wasn’t it. You were waiting for words that hadn’t come yet. The words that acknowledged not just that he was sorry but why. The understanding of what he’d done and how fundamentally it had hurt you. Of the damage he had done. You needed something deeper than a couple of words tucked amongst the flower stems.
He had broken you. He’d taken away the trust you had, the feeling of safety and security. The home you had with him and Jack. Until he recognized all of that, there was no room for him in your life.
The Luck of the Draw hummed with activity even on a Tuesday night. Sam’s endeavor was a success and you couldn’t be prouder of him. The customers had only increased since your livestream of Chelsea’s humiliation. Word spread fast that the owner was your bestie and he was enjoying the rewards. He’d begged you to pick up a few shifts until he could get another permanent bartender on board.
You moved behind the bar with the ease of many long nights working in the same spot, reaching for bottles without really looking. You mixed drinks and carried on conversations with the customers. Sam worked beside you, his dark hair falling across his forehead as he shook a cocktail vigorously.
“Take it easy, Reynolds.”
“Gotta put on a show for the ladies.”
You blinked at him. “No one is impressed by you shaking the hell out of a whiskey sour.”
Sam shrugged. “A man can dream.”
“Idiot,” you said, affectionately. All of your best friends were idiots, but they were your idiots.
The door opened and you glanced up only to freeze for a beat as your gaze landed on Robby.
He was still in his clothes from the hospital. His beard had gotten a little longer, or maybe he just hadn’t groomed it. You usually did it for him. He looked tired. No, he looked like a man who hadn’t properly slept in weeks. He took a seat on a stool at the far end of the bar, as far from you as he could, and set his elbows on the polished wood. Your eyes met his. One second, then two. And then you looked away and didn’t look back.
Sam’s gaze flicked from Robby to you and back again. His back straightened and you recognized that flash of protective instinct he’d carried for you since high school. The one that had gotten him suspended when he punched your junior prom date for trying to feel you up. He moved to you and leaned in.
“You want him gone?”
You shook your head. “No, it’s fine.”
“You sure?”
“It’s fine, Sam.” You poured two fingers of whiskey and handed it to him. “That’ll be his order.”
Sam studied you for a beat, then nodded and went to deliver the drink without a word to Robby. And you worked. You opened beers and made drinks and laughed at bad jokes from the regulars. Through it all you felt the weight of Robby’s eyes on you. You knew without turning exactly how he was sitting. Elbows on the bar, one hand around the glass he wasn’t drinking from while he watched you move through your world.
An hour passed, the customers changed out. Robby’s drink was still mostly full, he’d barely sipped at it. He’d just sat there, watching you. When he finally stood, you didn’t turn. You heard the stool slide back, watched from the corner of your eye as he left too much money on the bar top. Your gaze followed him as he left and you sighed as tension flowed from your shoulders.
As you were walking home just after midnight, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You waited until you got to your building to check it.
I’m sorry. I just needed to see you. I miss you. I love you.
You stared at the words as you rode the elevator up, too tired for the stairs. Your thumb hovered over the keyboard before you typed a response.
Laying in the bed that was too big without you or Jack, Robby stared at the ceiling. His phone vibrated on his chest and he grabbed it, fingers fumbling in his hurry.
I miss you too
His mouth curved just slightly. He read it again. And again. Elation rose in his chest. This was the first contact he’d had from you and it wasn’t telling him to fuck off.
But he was just as aware of what you didn’t say. Not I love you too. Not I forgive you. Just I miss you too. But it was a start. An opening he wasn’t going to mar with what wasn’t said.
He sent a message to Jack asking him to call if he had a minute.
The phone rang almost immediately. “What’s up?” Jack greeted when Robby answered.
“I went to the bar. I needed to see her.” He needed Jack to know but he worried the other man would be angry.
Jack’s voice was completely normal however when he asked, “Did you speak to her?”
Robby shook his head though Jack couldn’t see it. “No. I just…watched. Sent her a message after I left.”
“And what did you say?”
“That I’m sorry and that I miss her and love her.” The words were rough around the edges. “She told me she missed me too.”
“That’s good. She didn’t shut you down, not completely.”
Robby swallowed the lump in his throat. “Do you think she still loves me? She didn’t say it.”
“I know she does.” Jack’s voice was quiet. “But I’m pretty sure you haven’t earned her saying it yet, baby.”
There was a long stretch of silence. “Yeah. Thank you, Jack. I love you.”
“I love you, too. Get some sleep.”
Robby disconnected the call and looked at your message one more time before putting the phone on the nightstand. He went back to staring at the ceiling, hot tears leaking from his eyes.
He was back the next time you worked. Same stool, same tired eyes and hunched shoulders. Another glass of whiskey sat in front of him barely touched. He watched you for an hour before shuffling out the door to go home to an empty house. When he left, your phone buzzed with another message.
I miss you. I love you. I’m so fucking sorry.
This time you didn’t respond.
The third night, Sam came over, leaning against the counter beside you. “Should I be concerned that he always seems to know when you’re here?” He tilted his head toward Robby who was sitting in his usual spot, staring into his untouched drink. “He’s not stalking you, is he?”
That pulled a laugh from you. “Pretty sure he has more important things to do with his time.” You shrugged. “I shared my location with him and Jack months ago. Never changed it.”
Sam’s eyebrows went up. “Huh.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Just. It’s a very easy thing to fix. Couple of seconds on your phone and no more sharing if you were so inclined.”
You huffed in annoyance. “Well, I’m not so inclined so drop it.”
He raised his hands and backed away. “Understood.”
Robby had been sitting there for forty minutes, looking more forlorn than the last time he’d been in. You set down the glass you’d been drying, squared your shoulders and walked the length of the bar. He didn’t see you coming at first, staring at his drink, one finger tracing the lines of the glass. And then he did.
His head came up. His face changed. The tired lines around his eyes smoothed. His mouth opened, just slightly, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know what. Finally, he settled on, “Hi.” His voice was rough and he cleared his throat. “Hi.”
“You have to stop this, Robby.” He flinched at the name. You kept your voice low so only he could hear you. “You can’t keep coming here. Watching me. It’s…I miss you and this is too hard on me. Do you understand that?”
He nodded once, quick. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just…” He stopped, swallowed. “It’s the only way I can see you.”
You started to turn away. His hand came down to rest on yours where it sat on the bar top. His palm was warm, his skin dry and rough from the endless amount of sanitizer he used all day long. You looked at his hand on yours and then up to his face.
“I’m off tomorrow. Let me take you out to breakfast. Or lunch. Coffee. I just want to talk to you. Please.” The words spilled from his lips like he was incapable of holding them back, desperate to be heard.
You studied him. The gray in his beard. The shadows under his eyes. The desperate hope in his gaze. You could feel your resolve cracking, not because of the flowers or the notes or the rent money, but because of this. Because of the man sitting in front of you asking for a conversation, his hand on yours like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.
“I’ll think about you,” you finally said. “I’ll let you know.”
He nodded. Didn’t push. Didn’t say another word. His hand left yours, the absence leaving you cold. He stood, dropped too much cash on the bar as usual and walked out, pausing at the door to look back once. With a nod he stepped outside, the door swinging shut behind him.
A couple of hours after Robby left, you were moving constantly, serving a steady flow of customers. You didn’t see the fight start. One minute a table by the dancefloor was just a table. Four guys drinking and laughing about whatever. The next, there was shouting, the scrape of chairs and the unmistakable sound of breaking glass. A pint glass shattered on the floor in a spray of amber liquid and sharp edges.
“Hey!” Sam’s voice cut through the noise. “Knock it off!”
The two men, both large and at least slightly drunk, shoved each other, chest to chest, voices raised. You couldn’t make out the words, but you supposed it didn’t really matter. Another man soon joined the fray and then another. One of the tables fell over with a crash and people moved out of the way. Some headed for the door, others just the edges of the room.
Sam vaulted the bar in one smooth motion. “Stay put!” he yelled in your direction without looking back.
You ignored him completely, moving out from behind the bar intent on bringing up the lights and shutting down the music. The brawl spilled sideways as four guys became five which became seven as a couple of the regulars jumped in to help Sam break it up. You reached the switches and cut the music while you brought the lights up to full intensity. As you turned to check on the chaos behind you, a bottle arched through the air from somewhere in the melee.
You saw it coming. You registered it was going to hit you and you should get the hell out of the way. Unfortunately, your body was about half a second behind. The bottle hit you square on the head, just at the edge of your hairline above your left eyebrow. The crack was immediate and stunning, a sound you felt more than heard, followed by a sharp flare of pain that radiated out from the point of impact. “Motherfucker,” you shouted as your vision blurred.
Hands grasped your arm and tugged you back behind the bar. Kira, one of the waitresses, pressed a folded bar towel against the wound. Her hold was firm, insistent. “Hold this. Press. Hard. I’m gonna help Sam clear the bar.”
You did as she said. The towel was immediately warm and wet against your skin. Fuck. You could feel blood running down the side of your face.
On the floor, Sam had one of the fighters in a headlock and was dragging him toward the door. Two of the regulars followed behind with two other assholes. The remaining customers were closing tabs and gathering their things before heading for the exit. It took less than ten minutes for the bar to clear after that until it was just you, Sam and Kira left with the broken glass on the floor and the blood running from your head.
Sam came straight to you once the last patron was out the door. His face was flushed and he was disheveled from the fight. His hands were steady as he lifted the towel from your forehead.
His expression did the talking. His mouth tightened and his eyes shone with worry. “Sorry, beautiful,” he said, pressing the towel back firmly. His thumb brushed your cheek, wiping away a streak of blood. “Looks like a trip to see your boyfriend at the hospital.”
You tipped your head back with a groan. Well, shit.
trinity always initiating sex with baran, constantly, over and over and over again.
at first, baran just thought she was needy. young and eager and cocky, always horny, day and night. it was cute. baran always finds her cute, endearing. and she definitely doesn't mind making her girl feel good, taking her apart on tongue or fingers or strap.
soon, however, cracks started to show. trinity's cries and hiccups when baran fucked inside her seemed to be born less out of pleasure, more out of something deeper, raw and aching. she'd insist it was just the sex, but baran's perceptive— she could tell it wasn't.
it broke when baran started telling her no, not right now. at first it was disappointment. something trinity gritted her teeth through and muttered yeah, no, okay, that's fine. I get it. it turned desperate after the third and fourth rejections. turned into nuzzles under baran's jaw, murmurs of please? I can be good. I can make you feel good. don't have to do anything, I swear, just lay back?
baran cradling trinity's face, studying her with molten brown eyes, quiet concern. why can't you just lay with me, trinity? doesn't that sound good? just curl up with me and I'll hold you. not everything has to be sex, sweetheart.
and trinity doesn't know what to do with that. doesn't know how to just... be tender. be loved. loved without giving anything, loved without shedding her clothes. she slumps into baran's hold, buries her face in her neck, and cries.
and baran just holds her, cradles her like a child, pets slow and soothing over her hair, her back. shhh, it's okay. you're okay, you're alright, sweetheart. shh, shh, shh. you're okay. I'm right here.
baran makes sure to give trinity as much non sexual intimacy as possible after that. slow, sweet kisses that don't lead anywhere. dull scratches of her nails on trinity's scalp. skin to skin that doesn't initiate anything. just closeness, just comfort. tells trinity she's good, so good, her good, sweet girl. tells trinity she's good without having to "earn it."
I keep seeing that quote from Shawn Hatosy’s interview about being off social media and everyone in the tags clearly knows what is going on and I’m sat over here like
honestly i think it's a bit of a lost art with some younger fans these days to just like............do things? people hold themselves back from making amvs, gifs, writing fic or drawing art, etc etc because "they don't know how" but the truth is a lot of us didn't have that knowledge handed to us, we looked at what other people were doing and then tried to copy that in our own way. and yeah the first hundred thousand words you write are probably going to be kind of shit. and the first gifsets you make will probably be grainy. your amvs will be clumsily edited, and your first year or two of drawing will make you cringe in the future. but if you don't try, you'll never improve! and these days there's so many more resources out there with the internet being so large—art tutorials for specific things, gifmaking guides handed around that compile the steps down the the finest details, writers who talk about their processes, amv makers/vidders who are more than happy to share what transitions or text overlays they use. and i sometimes want to take people by the shoulders and say, just try! take the first leap! the worst you can do is make it badly, and made badly is better than not made at all.
p0rn w/ feelings is so funny it’s like I’ve tricked you into reading this fic by offering you smut but as soon as you get there I pull out a chair, sit backwards on it, and say “hey, pal. you wanna talk about abandonment issues?” and then you have no choice but to listen
For the entirety of your relationship, you've known that Andrew is a sub leaning switch. He doesn't do dominance. Not really. The closest he gets to it is occasionally telling you what to do.
You're happy with your sex life, but there's something about when he submits fully to you that you can't get enough of.
Andrew's bigger than you, in terms of muscle mass. Taller. Stronger. Imposing in his quiet, intense gazing way.
You'd struggled with your self esteem before him. But there's something deeply empowering about having him begging and pleading for you.
He's laying sideways on your big, comfortable bed, head in your lap as you play idly with his auburn curls.
His moans and whimpers are muffled by your nipple in his mouth, the soft skin of your breast as he sucks and licks at you.
The slight stubble he's growing feels nice against your sensitive skin, but you don't focus on your own arousal.
You've been edging him for the better part of an hour, the hand that isn't knitted into his curls wrapped around his thick, throbbing cock.
More than once, you've gotten him right there, right to the edge, and then stopped, lightly squeezing his shaft to prevent him from being able to cum.
Some men - most men - would take advantage of the sort of strength he has, flip you over and stuff you full of cock.
Not Andrew. Not even when you think you wouldn't mind if he did. Instead he lays there for you, sprawled out, freckled cheeks and equally freckled chest a little flushed as he whines, pulls away from your breast to look up at you with pleading eyes.
You look down at him; at the way he's left your nipples puffy and reddened from the way he's been desperately suckling on them.
"Aww, you're being so good for me, Andrew. Do you wanna cum?"
You coo at him; watch the way his hazel eyes darken with need.
"Please, I'll finish fast-" he begs you, raspy voice strained slightly with arousal.
You pout and hum, make a cute little show out of pretending to think about it, slowly, torturously, sliding your hand down the thick shaft of his cock, until you reach his balls, gently massaging them and making him whimper again.
God, he sounds so cute when he's all pent up like this. So desperate. You think that maybe letting go like this is good for him. Heals some part of him that wants to be kind and gentle and soft, instead of the razor sharp weapon that his family has honed him into.
Your hand glides back up the underside of his cock, fingertips tracing the thick vein that you can feel pulsing.
"Okay," you concede, as if you were actually considering anything but giving in. Whilst it's fun to edge him, to make him whimper and beg and try to buck his hips up, you love him too much to actually torment him for too long.
"Y-yeah?" He breathes, as if surprised by your agreement.
You wrap your fingers around him again; fuck, you love his cock, love the length and girth and the way he uses it. The thought has your pussy drooling, but you refuse to lose focus.
Once you've made him cum all over your hand and his toned abdomen, then you can ask him to eat you out. But in the meantime, you're in control.
"'s okay, honey," you tell him, give him long, languid strokes, building up to it, "I'm gonna let you cum this time. Gonna let you cum properly."
His cockhead is dripping precum, fat beads of it dripping down his shaft and coating your fingers, making it easier for you to stroke him.
"Mmmffff-" he whines, turns his head and tucks the closest nipple to his mouth back between his lips, dragging his teeth lightly over it before sucking gently, making you inhale softly.
Andrew knows you love this, knows how fucking sensitive your tits are, could spend hours just lying here in your lap, alternating between which nipple he laves attention over.
He flicks his tongue over the pebbled peak as you speed up the pace of your hand around his cock, making him react with a sound that's almost akin to a mewl.
"Oh, fuck, that's it," you gasp as he drags his teeth over your nipple again, pulls off with a lewd, wet pop as he ruts his hips up against your hand, "you've been so good for me, honey, go ahead, go ahead and cum for me-"
The moan Andrew gives you is obscene. Drawn out, desperate, his hips bucking wildly, thigh twitching as he cums, coats your hand and his abdomen in ropes and ropes of his spend.
He comes down slowly, shaking slightly from the intense high you've given him, the rush of adrenaline and endorphins.
"Holy shit," he breathes, sits up and runs his hand through his curls, then eyes you, sitting back on your knees with your thighs slightly spread.
Even in his dazed state, he can see how dripping wet you are.
"Mm, you did so good for me," you praise, "now, you gonna be kind to me and clean up the mess you made?"
Andrew doesn't need to be told twice. Gently, he pushes you backwards, settles himself between your thighs, uncaring for now about the mess he's made of himself, too eager to devour your soaked cunt.
After all. He likes being good for you.
written by andrew-codys 2026 / do not feed into AI.
