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Writing fanfic is such an interesting thing because why am I actively googling information on strangulation and it's treatment
writing in general is just so interesting! i love researching little tidbits for my works , i remember researching nordic torture methods extensively when writing a story when i was like eleven (lord knows why)
also tell me more! i don’t know much about strangulation or its treatment
I've just spent 5 hours making a transcription of a 3 year old talking so I can then later analyze their speech and language development. The amount of phonetics that goes into a detailed transcription is illegal to me
Now I need to be self indulgent:
Robby w an slp reader, who usually is sweet as sunshine but due to his tendency to be an asshole, he manages to get silent treatment, stink eye and a level of illegal sarcasm no one knew she posessed. And his only way out: groveling
gang the only time i've ever considered working with mature adults was when i was told how much less phonetic transcription there was, it genuinely makes me go insane
anyway,,,, sorry for takin a bit to get this out, i hope you like it!
Grow up.
Robby's biting words rang in your ears, stunning you to an unusual silence. Face fallen, your breathing slows down and your stomach drops. The cold heat of embarrassment traced a pointed finger down your spine as you watched the ED attending walk away with his arms raised behind his neck. You grip your brightly colored clipboard to your chest, looking around central, making sure no one else heard your little lover's quarrel.
Grow up.
You knew that Robby was stressed. Gloria had been breathing down his neck for the past week, and his new med students were like giraffes on skates. To make matters worse, trauma after trauma was flowing in (hence why you were even down there in the first place). When Robby gets stressed, though, he gets mean. You knew this, and you have never taken it personally. It never was personal.
It was probably your fault anyway, a voice hissed in your head. The two of you had agreed—in the beginning of whatever this was—not to bring outside matters into the hospital. An agreement you broke when you asked why he left so early this morning. When you asked why you woke up two hours before your alarm to the shut of your front door. You didn't particularly mind, he was free to do whatever he wanted, but an explanation would've been nice. He certainly didn't need to be a grumbling asshole about it either.
No, you think, he didn't need to be an asshole. He knew how insecure you were about the age gap between the two of you, and he decided to press his thumb on the bruise. You didn't deserve public humiliation for being concerned about him. You didn't deserve the venom that he spouted, no matter how stressed he was. It wasn't fair to you.
If he wants to be a dick, that's on him. Not you.
You school your features, looking down at your pager. ICU needed a bedside swallow evaluation, and anywhere was better than the Pitt right now. Well, you think, two can play at that game. You leave without another word, hoping your nervous system can regulate itself before you inevitably get called back down to the ED.
Much to your chagrin, you're still pissed off at him when Dr. Mel King calls you back down.
Of-fucking-course.
Taking the stairs down, you walk into the bustling floor, scanning for Dr. King. You spot her at a charting station, and Robby's nowhere to be seen. Thank god. The blonde doctor looks up as you approach, a smile threaded on her face which in turn, made you smile back.
Dr. King had that effect on people, always putting others in a better mood than when she found them. It was no wonder the two of you were good friends.
"Mel," you say, hoping no anger from Robby infects your tone. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"41 year old male, t-boned in an intersection. No serious injuries, but hit his head on the driver's side window. CT scan shows lesions on the left posterior temporal lobe," she hands you an iPad with the scans. You look it over, piecing together what you're getting into.
"Have you spoken to him or has he spoken to you yet?" You hand back the iPad before jotting down some notes on your clipboard.
She nods, "Yeah, he was pretty 'word salad-y'."
You expected as much. "Let me grab a Frenchay Aphasia Screener, and then I'll be in to see him."
Turning to go to your supply closet upstairs, you find yourself collided with a broad chest.
"Oh, I'm sor-" You look up and see Robby looking down at you wearing what appears to be an apologetic expression. "Oh." Eyes narrowing, you look away and step around him, brushing past with annoyance.
"Wait," he calls after you, spinning to follow. You roll your eyes at his attempt to make amends for the uncalled for words he said to you not even two hours prior.
Walking to the staircase, you slam the doors behind you, not bothering to look to see if Robby was a safe distance behind. He can wait in time-out till you're ready to talk to him. Things are on your terms now, not his.
"Asshole," you mutter under your breath. Feeling the anger simmer in your blood, you try to fix your attitude before you walk into the work room. The last thing you needed was your supervisor cornering you into her office to talk about 'whatever it is that's bothering you.' Inhaling deeply, you enter the office, making a beeline for the file cabinets filled with assessments. You sign out a Frenchay, swooping your initials on the sheet and placing it neatly into your clipboard.
With new found confidence, you trek back downstairs. You're absolutely certain you've achieved your step goal for the day. You move with a sense of purpose to central, looking for Mel. When she wasn't to be seen, you quickly laid eyes on Dana.
"Hey, have you seen Dr. King?" You ask, eyes darting around making sure Robby doesn't see you. Dana looked over the top of her glasses, smiling at you. The charge nurse had taken a liking to you, especially after you seemed to soften some of Robby's rough edges. You had always looked up to her, admiring that she never took any shit.
"Should be with a patient in central eleven."
You nod, "I guess I'll get started without her then." You look up at the board to look for your patient. Dana kept eyes on you, as if she was trying to work out a puzzle.
"You wouldn't happen to know anything about why Robby's moping around, would you?" You don't divert your eyes from the board, inhaling deeply.
"Robby is responsible for his own attitude."
"Didn't say he wasn't," she offered a small smile. "Talk to me, kid."
You look at the older woman, and shrug, feeling a bit dejected at the whole situation, "He's just stressed this week, that's all."
Even though he was taking out his aggravation on you, you couldn't bring yourself to talk shit about him to his coworker and friend. Yes, he was in the wrong, you were well aware of that, but it wouldn't be fair of you to gossip about it in his place of work.
She gave you a look before sighing a quiet, but respectful, "Okay." You nod again in finality, walking off to central eight, where you had located the patient.
You close the curtain behind you and introduce yourself conducting a quick interview and complete the screening. It didn't take you long. You had done enough of these screenings in your career that it was more like second nature than a task you needed to complete. As you wrap up with the patient, you began typing a few things in his chart when you hear the curtain open and close again. You look over and see Dr. King with Robby. Suppressing a groan, you plaster a pleasant smile on your face.
"Dr. King, I've put in a referral for a full language evaluation in his chart. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more patients to see in the ICU. Page me if you need me or have any questions." You gather your things and thank the patient for his time, which he pays no mind to you. You quickly walk out, but Robby calls out your name, following behind you again.
You continue to ignore his efforts, before he physically plants himself in front of you. A muscle feather's in your jaw as you clench your teeth together.
"Dr. Robinavitch, do you need something?" You finally look up to glare at him.
"Look, I'm sorry I said what I did earlier. But I am the attending down here, I need you to communicate with me when you're here for professionalism's sake," he rubbed a big hand through his hair, mussing it up a bit.
You cock you head to the side and raise a brow, "I'm sorry you feel as though my communication is not adequate enough for you. Ask Dr. King to fill you in, I really do need to get back upstairs. It's part of my job to do consults all around the hospital, Robinavitch, not just hang around you all day. You know, it's not very grown up of me to ignore my responsibilities," you spit his words back in his face. A flicker of shame shadows his eyes.
He looks around before he lowers his voice, "Sweetheart-"
"'Sweetheart?'" You interrupt. "For 'professionalism's sake', you will use my name. No pet names. We can talk about this tonight after work, but we are not having this conversation now."
You left Robby in the ED, hoping that you'd have enough evaluations and charting to do to take your mind off everything.
"What'd you do, boss?" Dana asked, walking up behind Robby, patting him on the shoulder.
"Who says I did anything?" He looks over at her, before gently shrugging her off.
"Our little speech-peach is more of a prickly pear today, and you have that guilty look on your face," the charge nurse shakes her head at his silence before walking back over to the nurses station.
You left the hospital after your shift without waiting for Robby, a rare occurrence. As you stepped out onto the sidewalk, though, you think about how mad you were at Robby. Were you mad enough to go to your place instead of his? You both needed space, you knew that, but were the few hours apart from each other in the hospital enough time?
You decided it probably was for you, but Robby likely needed more to himself. Without another thought, you change directions, walking to your place instead of his. It had been a while since the last time you stayed at yours by yourself. Honestly, it was the first time in a few weeks since you and Robby slept apart.
Locking your door behind you, you slowly make your way to your room without bothering to turn on the lights. Your bones ached from the long day, and your brain hurt from your ever swirling thoughts. Stripping your scrubs off your body, you step into the shower to scrub off the hospital.
The silence in your apartment was deafening. It was so foreign to you after weeks of sharing space with someone else. But as the time passed by you began to find a desolate solace in it.
That is until you heard a knock on the door.
Groaning, you make your way to look through the peephole. Robby stood on the other side looking down at his shoes, a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a bag of take out in the other. You didn't even have the energy in you to be annoyed with him. Slowly, you open the door.
"Hey," he says softly. "I uh- I'm-"
"C'mon in," you open the door wider, gesturing for him to come inside. You see visible relief settle over him like a blanket. He walks in, setting the take out down on your counter top, and offering you the bouquet, which causes your breath to catch in your throat. You take them from him, looking at the delicate petals and green foliage intertwined.
"I'm sorry. I was brash, and I should've never taken out my frustration on you. You're an adult, and you were worried about me. I shouldn't have said something that would hurt you," he whispers. "I left early because these past few weeks you have shown me more kindness than I ever deserve. It became too much. I don't want to ruin you with all of my shit, so I pulled back, tried to distance myself."
"You think you don't deserve kindness and that you're a terrible person so you hurt the ones close to you. But you dodeserve kindness and you aren't a terrible person," you sigh, rubbing your brow to ease your headache. "Look, if you want to end this, please just do it. Save me some agony, yeah?"
"I don't want to end it," he says, taking a hand to guide your face to look at his. "Please, please forgive me."
You search his face for any inkling of a lie. But when you found none, you look at the bag.
"Is that Pad Thai?" You point at the food he brought.
"Will you forgive me if it is?" A small smile grows under his beard. You realize just how much you missed seeing his smile today, and before you know it a grin appears on your face as you look back up at him through your lashes.
"Maybe," you draw out, bringing up your hand to rest on his arm. He shudders under your touch. "You still have a lot more work left to do to get back into my good graces, though, lover boy."
A laugh escapes him at your teasing, "Oh, I know, sweetheart, I know."
taglist!
@cinnxmxngxrl @lov3x3
fear not my dear speechies,, it’s saturday and we got three robby x slp works in progress 😈 stay tuned y’all
You're an slp student too?? 🩵I have found my old man loving speechie sanctuary lol
yes ma'am i am ! please join my movement to get slps more recognition and credit in the pitt fandom !
saw slp!reader literally an hour after submitting my grad school applications to become an slp i’m screaming
OHMYGOOOSSSHHHH!!!
congratulations! i hope nothing but the best of luck to you, and i hope you get into your top program!
im so proud of you, and if you ever need help or advice or support, please please please reach out! im rooting for you♥️🫶🏻
Tommyxfem reader Jackson era! She asks him to help fix something in her house and he fucks her against the counter🥰
hi, friend! so sorry it took like,, a month,, but i'm out of finals fuckin finally so i had time to write this up
i hope it's what you were wanting!
also thank you @ohhoneypascal for looking it over for me i hope you and all the other tommy lovers out there enjoy it!
"Shit," you muttered to yourself. You were squatted on the floor of your kitchen looking at the pipes under your sink and the puddle of water under them. When you returned home from patrol in the evening, you almost slipped on the slick floor of the kitchen where water had leaked out. Following the trail of water in the cabinet, you located the problem to the sink pipes.
And that's about the extent you could do. Practically growing up in an apocalypse made you a stranger to home owning. The first place you could call your own that you had to take care of was the small home you were assigned to in Jackson. You didn't know the first thing about taking care of a house.
Looking up, you debated on what you should do; fix it yourself and figure it out, or go to your next-door-neighbor, Tommy, for help. You had seen him around town working on construction projects with some of the others and had seen him come home late at night, covered head to toe in sweat and dirt. He seemed like he knew how to fix a leaky pipe. Couldn't hurt to ask, right?
Slipping on your coat you walked into the snow covered streets, making your way to his house next door.
You knocked on the door, and to your dismay, there was no answer. You knock again, and let out a disappointed huff of air when, like before, there was no answer. Turning away from his door, you trudge to the only other place where you've seen him this late at night.
Down the road, you stepped into the Tipsy Bison. Making a quick scan of the booze scented, smoke filled room, and there, you see him, with a glass one-third of the way full of whiskey in his hand while a pen rested in the other. He was sitting at the far end of the bar-top, hardly noticeable and deep in thought. You walk over to him, composing yourself. He was wearing that denim button down he always wore, only the top buttons were left open revealing a white Henley. His hair, once slicked back in a bun, now mussed and let go to just brush the top of his shoulders, patchy hair tracing his jaw.
He was messy, undone, making excitement rumble throughout your veins and in your chest. Shaking the feeling as you approached the rugged man, you sat down next to him, clearing your throat. He looked up from what looked like to be maps of the terrain surrounding Jackson. As quickly as he looked up at you, he looked back down at the map—you didn't miss the small smile that hid under his mustache.
"How can I help you, sweetheart?" His Texan drawl twined in and out of each syllable, making your breath hitch and your train of thought falter, briefly forgetting why you were ever here in the first place.
"Uh," you filled the silence while you gathered yourself, "I gotta leaky pipe in my kitchen. Don't know how to fix it, was hopin' to ask you."
Tommy looked up at you at that. "You can shoot a runner 200 yards away and ya can't fix a pipe?" His tone was teasing, playful, so you simply rolled your eyes back at him.
"Grew up on the move, hunting them for sport. Wasn't some fancy construction worker with a house in a big ol'city."
He scoffed at that, finishing his drink and folding up his papers into the inside pocket of his fleece-lined denim jacket. "Don't hear 'fancy' and 'construction worker in the same sentence usually." Getting up to leave, he paused and gestured you to follow him. "C'mon, let's go fix that pipe o'yours."
You stride over next to him, bracing the cold as he opened the door of the bar. The lights of the street highlighted his face, showing off the freckles that speckled over him like a thousand kisses. Oh, what you would give to softly connect each spot with your mouth, loving on him sweetly.
But you were shaken from your thoughts as he passed your house, leaving a frown to grace your features.
"Uh, Tommy-" You start.
"I know," he interrupted, tossing a look over his shoulder, a smirk gracing his lips. "Gonna need some tools from mine, so we'll stop there first and go to yours after." You sighed and nodded at his explanation, stuffign your cold-craked hands in the pockets of your coat. "You get any good shots today?"
At first, you're confused at his question before it dawns on you that he's asking about your patrol shift from earlier in the evening. "No, but I got a clicker yesterday. Head shot."
"Good shit."
The walk to his was quick, his tools practically in the entrance of it, as though they were waiting for him. The walk back to yours was even quicker than the walk from the Tipsy Bison to his house. You led him in, the old creak of the door breaking the silence of your space. Tommy followed you, his eyes staying on the door quizzically over his shoulder for a moment before he turned he eyes back to you. You had taken off your jacket leaving you in an old t-shirt that hugged your form, exposing your figure and your pebbled nipples from the cold.
Tommy's eyes wandered over your body, following you as you crouched down by your sink, opening the cabinets. Pointing to the leak, he shifted his attention from you to the pipes. It was a small leak, easily fixable, he thought.
He sighed, setting down his tools, "Shit, sweetheart."
You frown at him while he sat down next to you to get a closer look. Nervously, you chewed on your bottom lip. You didn't know what exactly he meant by his previous comment, which made anxiety push in on your lungs. But also, he was right there. Tommy was just inches away from you, in your home, away from the prying eyes of the outside. It was rare to be alone with him, with anybody, in a such a small town. And the proximity of the two of you made your heart race and your head spin, only amplifying the intensity of the current situation at hand.
"What's wrong?"
"Gonna have to take the whole thing apart." Your face fell, and a smile grew on his face. When you realize he was pulling your leg, you roll our eyes and smack his arm with the back of your hand playfully. He chuckled and shook his head before leaning into the cabinet with some tool you couldn't name. "Nothings wrong, a joint just get loose right here is all. Happens when the weather changes sometimes. You're just lucky it didn't freeze and bust the pipe, because that's when you'd be in trouble." He leaned back out to look at you and grab a small cloth.
You contemplated, and after a moment, you asked "Teach me?"
His eyebrow quirked up in quick surprise before he motioned you over. You leaned back down to lay on your stomach next to his broad frame, the heat from his body radiating from him making your breath catch in your throat.
"Okay, well take this then," he handed you a flashlight. "See this nut right here? This is the one that's loose, so we're gonna take this wrench and just tighten it up a bit. Rightie tightie 'n all that. Can ya turn on the faucet for me?" You stood up to do as he asked. "Yeah, there was just a loose pipe, wasn't tightened all the way." He stood up next to you, and you looked at his eyes shadowed by his brow.
"Thank you," you whispered to him.
"Don't gotta thank me, sweetheart, it wasn't anything." He packed up his tools in his bag and placed it on the counter top before he faced you again. He practically towered over you, looking down his nose, his chest almost pressed against yours. Just looking at him made your thighs clench involuntarily, your body craving his touch. "Besides, there are other ways I could think of for you to thank me, anyway." He whispered lowly.
"That so?" You asked, eyes flicking down to his lips. He stepped closer, bringing a hand to your jaw, thumb brushing over your lower lip. "Well, I think that could be arranged." His eyes shifted at your soft spoken words when you reached up to connect your mouth to his. He accepted you, kissing back, his eyelids fluttering shut. Pulling you in by the waist, his bulge pressed against you, eliciting a moan from your throat that slipped past your lips into him. He took the opportunity to slide his tongue into you, claiming you as his.
Tommy had one hand on your waist and the other on the back of your neck, holding you to him, walked you till your back hit the other counter top. Your hands rested on his chest, inching closer and closer to his neck and shoulders. With you sandwiched between the counter and him, you felt him grow harder against your clothed front, heat building up under your skin. As your lips meshed together, your moans swallowed by him, you let a hand slowly drag it's way up to the base of his throat putting hardly any pressure, just resting. He groaned into you, his rhythm faltering just a little before his eyes opened and he pulled away from you, his grip on your neck pulling you back so he could look you in the eyes.
"Oh, baby," he smiled, his voice sickeningly sweet. "No, no, no, no. We ain't gonna do that. Not tonight, at least. Y'hear me?" You looked at him, his voice sending a rush of arousal to soak your clothed cunt.
You looked him over once again, biting your lip. You shouldn't, but you just smirked as your eyes flitted back to his eyes and giving his neck a little playful squeeze.
"Why not?" You asked him with feigned innocence.
His eyes went dark and hazy before he clicked his tongue in disapproval. Practically manhandling you, he flipped you around so you wouldn't be facing him, leaving him out of your reach while you remained in his.
"Fuck, sweetheart, this what you wanted all along? You just pretend not to know how to fix the pipe to get me to fuck you in your kitchen?"
You whimpered as the cool counter pressed against your chest while he hissed in your ear. Kicking your knees apart, he pulled your pants down just low enough to give him access to you. He felt around, sliding two fingers up and underneath your panties gathering up your slick. He groaned, "Fuck, sweet girl, you're fucking soaked. This all f'me?" You just nod your head in response, shimmying to give him better access. His fingers slipped inside of you, just past your entrance, teasing you as he scolded, "Uh uh, answer me."
"Yes," you sigh, breathless from the state he had you in. "All f'you."
"That's a good, sweet girl," It only took a moment longer for him to make you tremble under his touch, moving his fingers in and out of you, hitting spots you never could reach on your own. His thumb brushed against your clit, drawing a gasp from you at the intense pressure it brought. He chuckled at that and kept his thumb on that little bundle of nerves, rubbing heavy circles.
"Tommy, wait, please—fuck," you exhale with effort, trying to get the words out in one try, but ultimately failing. "Fuck, please—just fuck me."
"Fuck you? Hmm," He pretended to contemplate, removing his hand from your sopping cunt. "I don't know, maybe I should save that for the next time you need me to come over and fix something. Maybe, when I come over to fix that window in your room? The one that's either broken or you purposely leave open so I can watch you fuck yourself on your fingers at night?" Your eyes widen and you look over your shoulder at him. The bastard was smirking, his mouth drawn up to one side before he said, "Oh, sweetheart, don't act so surprised. I know you put on those little shows for me. Yeah?"
He sent his fingers back into you, full force, his pace quickening. He was right, though. You did leave your window open for him to watch sometimes, but the thought of him actually doing so sent a gush of arousal around his hand, beginning to drip down your thighs.
"Fuck, Tommy," you muster up all your remaining strength to quip back at him, "Didn't take you for a tease and a perv."
"Yeah, you fuckin' love it though, baby." With his fingers deep in your pussy and his thumb circling your clit, you felt yourself begin to falter and clench around him, your release just on edge. "Shit, sweet girl, y'gonna come f'me? Need you to come all over my fingers." He whispered, his head resting on your shoulder as he panted and placed hot, open mouthed kisses across the skin of your neck.
"Tommy," you moaned, air being forced past your lips every time he pushed in his fingers just a little further. "Tommy, fuck, I'm gonna come."
"Soak my hand, sweet girl. You're being so good f'me, just finish all over me and I'll give you my cock." You let out a high-squeaked moan at his filthy words in your ear. "Fuck, you want that, sweetheart?" You nodded a soft uh-huh, your release practically imminent now. "There, you go, such a good, sweet girl f'me."
You let go, bands of white hot pleasure thrummed in your core and your head fell forward as you struggled to hold it up, struggled to breathe under his intense pressure and attention he paid you.
"Would'ya look at that?" He muttered in awe as he drew his hand from you, your cum coating his fingers in a sheen. "Fuckin' beautiful, sweetheart, I bet you taste so sweet." He brought his fingers to his mouth, languidly sucking his fingers clean of you, tasting the pleasure which he brought you. He let go with a loud pop, humming softly, before you heard him speak over the quiet clink of a belt buckle. "And wha'd'ya know? I was right."
"You're teasing," you whine at him, praying that he'll just fill the ache in your core, despite your release just moments ago. You just wanted to feel him entirely, feel him deep. He tsked once at your impatience, but he must've been impatient too, because before you knew it, he sheathed himself in you all the way to the hilt, in one long stroke. You gasped at his sudden presence, and he groaned lowly at the feeling of your cunt choking him up. The soft sounds of your noises mixed with the delicious sound of his skin slapping against yours.
"Fuck, Tommy," you groaned, eyes flickering back in your head as the waves of pleasure he offered you consumed your body. You found a new gratefulness for the counter top that you were rested on because the tremble in your legs was growing stronger, weakening support for your body. Sensing your trouble, Tommy moved his hands to grip your hips, steadying you—and also giving him easier access into your cunt.
"Shit, sweetheart, you're so fucking wet f'me. Like you were fuckin' made for me," he stuttered through shaky breaths as he pistoned in and out of you. His cock was fully enclosed in your pussy, pushing up into your stomach, and filling you out. Feeling him brush against your front walls sent you reeling into your next orgasm, still sensitive from the first. "Yeah, that's a good fuckin' girl. My sweet girl takin' me so well, that right?"
"Fuck, Tommy—Tommy," your breathing is coming out in pants now, and your heart beat is thundering in your ears mimicking the clench around his dick. "Tommy, it's too much, wait—"
"Oh, sweetheart, you can take it. You've been so good f'me," his pace faltered as he quickened, nearing his own release.
You mumbled out something unintelligible, drooling pooling from your lips.
"Yeah, you can fuckin' take it," he groaned into your neck, hips faltering. "Fuck, fuck, sweetheart."
He stilled, breathing heavily, while you felt yourself pulsate around him, thick ropes filling into you to the brim.
"Fuck, baby," he sighed, calming himself from the exertion of energy. Breathing in deeply, heartbeat still pounding, you pull up from your counter ever so slightly to look over your shoulder. Just to catch a glimpse of Tommy, as if you didn't it might've been all a dream.
But sure enough he was there. Sweat gleaming on his brow, his hair even more so disheveled than earlier. He looked utterly fucked out, as you surely did as well. You smiled up at him.
"So you look at me through my window, huh?" You chuckle at the pink that tinges his cheeks.
"So you leave open you window on purpose when you change?" He countered, smiling back at you. "Dangerous game you're playin' there."
"Well, maybe you'll just have to come back and fix it then."
Okay so popeyes date when? 🧐
im free when you’re free 👀👀……
any Tommy!! if your ever open to writing I have a few ideas🫢
i would love to! send ‘em on over friend!
