Robby lying to everyone about wearing a helmet in front of a dead man, who just happened to not be wearing his helmet while riding his motorcycle nonetheless. Bitch is you serious that’s your future.
Authors Note; HOW DID NOBODY HUG THIS MAN. I had to come out of semi retirement to give this man the hug he so desperately needs
Content warnings; none - just sad boy being sad
Note; this blog is intended for adult audiences regardless of content, by proceeding you agree that you are over the age of 18, have read any relevant content warnings, and wish to proceed.
It wouldn’t run without the donations. One of the bands from PittFest had set it up, funded enough for three years without blinking an eye. A 24hr coffee cart in the emergency department. Not in the waiting room, tucked in a little alcove off the staff entrance. Protein bars, coffee, tea, fresh fruit, all arriving daily, and a staffing roster of four shifts of 6 hours each, ensuring a never-ending supply of caffeine and sustenance for busy doctors, stressed patients and parents, and the occasional late night maintenance worker.
Given the location, you lucked out on the shift you did. Six to midnight, midweek. You missed the start of the night shift by an hour, relieving your coworker who had somehow managed to get milk in her shoes barely giving you a handover before leaving as if she was being chased. The start and end of the shifts were the worst. Sleep deprived, run down doctors, nurses, custodians, all weary and thankful for your existence. You were lucky enough to have a steady trickle of customers across the evening with enough time to sketch in between if you were lucky.
They were a quiet customer based too – all too lost in their own thoughts or already on their phones requesting lab results. In the few months you’d worked here, you’d only learned a few names. Dana, the charge nurse who got a chamomile on her way out the door with the kind smile and impenetrable attitude. Whittaker, whose diet seemed to consist mostly of energy drinks of varying flavours, who reluctantly bought a banana or apple once a week when another doctor ordered him to, shy and sweet. Dr Abbott, who forces you to call him Jack and lets you experiment with weird espresso combinations and has genuinely good feedback on the flavours.
The rest passed you like ships in an inky sea, never rude or demanding, but too consumed with things far more important than sketching barista who isn’t tall enough to see over the cart.
It’s a little under halfway through your shift. Everything is stocked, all the equipment is clean, everything in its proper place you take the time to work on the jellyfish sketch that has been consuming you for the past few days. Something about the floating ribbons of tentacles has sunk its teeth into your subconscious, demanding to spill across a page. You’ve just finished enough to stretch your neck out, stand from the crappy wheelie chair tucked into the little nook behind the cart. That’s when you see him.
He’s tall, clad in a hoodie over scrubs, glasses sticking out of the pocket. You immediately categorise him in shapes. The rounded slump of his shoulders, the blunt square of the fists he’s clenching at his sides, the oval rise and fall of his strong chest as he forces breaths in and out. He looks so sad. So tired and worn down, the words claw out of your throat before you can stop them.
“Rough day?”
He starts, just a little, his hand coming to scrub down his jaw to hide the brief shock as a laugh follows.
“Yeah, yeah… aren’t they all” His voice is weary, tired. You glance briefly at your watch 9:30pm. If he’s a day shift worker he’s currently sitting on hour 14, most likely without a proper break or meal.
“Coffee? Fruit? I think there’s a blueberry muffin hiding somewhere back here”.
“No” he drags a deep breath through his nose as if even the act of speaking is costing him precious energy “Thank you, though”.
“You’re welcome”
His head tilts curiously as he looks at you. Giving you a tight-lipped smile before he leaves out the staff exit, muffled music following him as the door swings closed.
--
He keeps looking for you. It’s not on purpose, not a conscious decision. But every time he leaves now, he flicks his eyes to the coffee cart, looking for you. Sometimes you’re standing on tiptoe to hand a customer a coffee, sometimes you’re tucked into the corner with your sketchbook, just your shoes visible, the worn graffitied pair you seem to wear every day. He knows Dana orders tea from you sometimes on her way out after a particularly energising shift to help wind down, he’s seen the disposable cups from other coworkers. There’s just not a good reason to bring you up in conversation, no good reason to ask a single question about you that won’t have half the ER gossiping about how he had interests other than work.
The months since PittFest have been long. Gloria crawling all over her star emergency department, Langdon returning from inpatient, McKays schedule changing with an ongoing custody battle, the slow repair of a friendship with Collins. He didn’t need anything else to occupy his mind except the Pitt, and yet you were there. A sliver of his shift spent thinking about you, about the sweetness in your voice as you jumped to offer him a kindness after a day that seemed to have none.
It was another mean shift. Sometimes the days felt cruel – as if luck had taken PTO and left the universe short staffed. Car accidents, children hurt worse than childhood ever should, a pair of scrubs swapped in a vending machine after a surprise arterial bleed when the patient lifted their hand.
It was a day when he didn’t feel like anything he did was enough, the memories of all of it, Adamsons hand growing cold, the tile under his ass as tears cooled on his cheeks, the sharp points of the star digging into his palm as he clung to nothing but a brief snapshot of childhood comfort.
“Another rough one?” Your voice breaks through it. Enough for him to start again, coming back to himself as he whips to look at you. You’re wringing a cloth, your cheeks slightly pink.
“They all are” he replied, a grief laden chuckle forcing the words out, just enough to convince a stranger that he’s fine really. That a beer and a baseball game and thick sleep on his couch in his empty apartment is going to be enough to heal him, to keep him coming back.
“Coffee?... Tea?” you ask, the cloth strangled between white knuckles.
“No muffin this time?” he asks, quirking a brow
“Sold out” You say, a shy smile blooming across your cheeks when you realise he remembers you. It’s cute. It’s too cute for him to notice, the sweet and cute combination of you already seeming precious to him. He tries to resist it, the pull towards that sweetness
“Want a hug?” the words pull him up short, his eyes snapping to yours as you cover your mouth in shock.
You watch his face change, a hint of amusement sparking across his features as you feel your cheeks heat. You don’t know what made you say it, except the thought had occurred to you more than once, that he looked like he could use one.
“I-I… oh my god” you stutter, squeezing your eyes shut, hoping to pull on some long dormant super power to rewind time by thirty seconds to keep the stupid words from coming from your mouth
“Yes” he says softly, so soft you almost don’t hear it.
Looking up you see his lips purse slightly, shrugging his shoulder, the backpack strap lifting a little higher as he does.
“I’d like a hug please” He says, louder now, slowly coming towards the cart, approaching you as if you were a skittish kitten.
You nod, swallowing hard as he comes around the side of the cart. He’s taller than you thought, towering over you as he slowly slides his backpack onto the ground, nestling it next to your canvas bag as he stands and waits.
“Um, okay… come, uh, come here” you nod, tucking yourself into the little alcove where you hide to draw sometimes, the crappy chair you rescued from the outside dumpster with your sketchbook laying open on the seat.
“Pretty” he comments, nodding towards the sketch, another seascape, corals and bright colours, with the whip of a tail pushing sea grass across the ocean floor.
“Thanks” you say, trying to tug bravery from the hidden spot behind your rib cage. Inhaling once you find it, slipping your arms around his waist, relishing in his height so that he cant see the cringe on your face, or the heat in your cheeks as you awkwardly link your arms around his back.
You smell like sugar and sweet fruit. Crystalised pineapple and something earthy and warm tickles his nostrils as shock settles into his bones that you actually did it. He was expecting you to laugh it off, roll your eyes, tease him a little. But instead you wrapped your arms around him and fit yourself against him with a shaky inhale and now he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.
Warmth is the first sensation that bleeds into him. Your forehead pressed into his sternum as you shift a little on your feet. It races through his bloodstream like sunlight through an open window before he realises he hasn’t moved since you touched him.
Slowly his arms come around your shoulders, easily folding you into his embrace. His eyes shut softly as some thread between you lets you rock a little back and forth, his hands splayed around your back. His next breath feels broken, a comfort his body has forgotten and suddenly aches for breaking his ribs as your thumb skates a tiny circle on his shoulder blade.
God, when was the last time he touched a body that wasn’t broken? That he wasn’t trying to put back together, that he wasn’t losing. He feels the muscles in his face relax as his eyes drift shut, his head tipping forward to catch more of the sweet scent of you, some burning sensation starting behind his eyes.
You feel it. The breath he takes, deep and soothing, moving you both with the force of it as the full weight of his arms around you becomes a little tighter. You try not to consider how well you fit directly into his embrace, how the tiniest twitch of your fingers seems to have lifted some weight off his shoulders, the relief in the exhale that curls around your hair. He smells like antiseptic, the sharp sting of hospital cleanser and a hint of old spice hiding somewhere underneath.
“Are your days always like this?” your voice is soft, muffled slightly by his shirt as your thumb keeps gently tracing the curve of his shoulder blade
“Hugging strangers? No… no this is new” He says and is rewarded with the tiniest shake of your shoulders, a tiny laugh.
“Rough… I mean” You say, and he can hear the smile in your voice.
“not all of them, but today was pretty bad”
“I’m sorry” you say instinctually “But… thank you”
“For what?” he replied
“Coming back. Can’t be easy, to have so many days like this and keep coming back for more. Must feel like there’s nobody else, that if you don’t do it, then nobody will, and then people will just… get hurt, and be alone and scared without anyone to help them.”
He tilts his head down, eyebrows scrunching in confusion as you angle your face upwards to meet his eyes. You don’t say anything, just offering him a mirrored version of the same tight lipped smile he’s given you for the last few weeks. His arms tighten around your shoulders, pulling you closer into his body as the heat builds behind his eyes.
The natural end comes when you hear the squeak of sneakers coming towards your card. He pulls away from you, sucking in cool air at the immediate loss of your warmth. The customer is quick, and he watches you rise onto your tiptoes to hand him the coffee and fruit he ordered.
The awkwardness settles over you both like a blanket when you’re left in one another’s company again.
“Go home” you say softly “Sleep in your bed, have sweet dreams”
“That’s the best advice I’ve been given in a while”
“Next one will cost ya” You say with an awkward giggle.
“Hug? Or advice?” He replies, picking up his backpack and turning to go
“Hugs are always free. But I’ve gotta charge you this first time”
“Sure, what’s the going rate?”
“a name?” you say quietly, looking away from him quickly.
“Michael Robinavitch” he says quickly, swinging his hand out to shake yours as you reply with your own “But everyone calls me Robby”
“Sweet dreams Robby”
It’s the first real smile he’s had all day as he nods, music filling his ears as he leaves into the sweet smelling night air.
--
Thanks for reading! This could easily turn into a series/obsession if there's any interest for it <3
These are my personal favorite fics, I add as I read/reread so it’s always in progress. I’ve organized it by fandom, so I might have more than what you came for! Thank you to all of these amazing writers for sharing your work!
*smut included but not marked*
THE PITT:
Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch
@write-and-buried, And you can hold me
@bohemianrapshawty, Acts
@abbotjack, Request
@asxgard, Companionship
Dr. Jack Abbott
@yakshaxiao, FIVE MINUTES AT A TIME
@abbotjack, Don’t Make Me Someone You Can’t Have, Request, Request
@thepencilnerd, Edge of Dark
@ovaryacted, GREEDY
@writingliv, Loyalty
Dr. Frank Langdon
@pomelace, mouse and the redbull, a piece of sweetness
GLADIATOR:
Maximus Decimus Meridius
@wildsaltair, Tender Fires
Lucius Verus Aurelius
To be added!
MARVEL:
Bucky Barnes
@scrumptious-delusion, Treacherous
@brunchable, drabble, I don’t want you like a best friend
@caplanbuckybarnes, Cold Kisses
@collaredsoldat, Shower Suds
Stephen Strange
@boop-le-snoot, year after year
@eviesaurusrex, Personal Doctor
THE LAST OF US:
Joel Miller
@from-the-clouds, moonlight on the river, savior complex, texas sun
@luveline, Request
@nexusnyx, imagine being loved by me
@grippingbeskar, duality
Tommy Miller
@themysticssdream, Chasing a Rumor, Cherry Pie, Sweet Like Honey
SUCCESSION:
Kendall Roy
@from-the-clouds, Thinking of a Place, lost in the fire
@nyheartbreak, when will you realize vienna waits for you?
Roman Roy
@bowieandqueen11, Request, Kiss Me
JUJUTSU KAISEN:
Nanami Kento
@gardenofnoah , turn me like a beast/hold you to the floor
@itsfairly, 10:22pm
@sxttoruu, blurb
@benzywenzymeowmeow, look around
Satoru Gojo
@itadores , the sanctity of a name
@saetoru , best of the best
@xythlia, Can I Get a Kiss, Can you Make it Last Forever?
@rukunas, blurb
@twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat, you are somebody that i want to keep
ONE PIECE:
Buggy
@plutoswritingplanet, You Started It
@gingernut1314, The Agreement
@wood-white-writer, Didn’t mean to make your heart Blue
A Oneshot for the Dick Pronouns Challenge posed by @sp00kymulderr
pairing: Dark!Landlord!Joel Miller x OFC Lilah
summary: Joel is a simple landlord. He is really very generous, offering up great deals on his spare apartment units for desperate parents housing their new college students. But he does have one stipulation: No Pets. When an innocent little Freshman breaks that rule, Joel has another deal on deck to make it right again.
warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] serial deflowerer!joel, joel pov, no outbreak!au, GIRTHY fucking age gap (Joel is 65, OFC is 18. Please don’t read or interact if that makes you uncomfortable, it’s meant to be dark), stalking, dick and pussy pronouns, virginity!kink, innocence!kink, fetishization of (legal) young adulthood, manipulation, degradation, misogyny, predatory behaviors, invasion of privacy, sexual quid pro quo, referring to pussy as “cat/kitty/kitten”, fingering, oral (f!receiving), squirting, spanking, coerced unprotected PIV, intentionally misleading reassurances regarding pregnancy risks (due to these last two items I’m going to label this as dubcon), exploitation of innocence.
word count: ~8.5k
DISCLAIMER: author is choosing to withhold certain tags to avoid spoilers. but there is no drug use/drugging, alcohol, pregnancy, abortion, or explicit noncon (other than joel leveraging the FMC’s lack of sexual knowledge to his advantage and other elements that read, in the author’s opinion, as dubcon. But please read at your own risk if you are sensitive to dubcon or coercion).
ADDITIONAL DISCLAIMER: This should go without saying, but. If you are 18 years old, I don't recommend fucking a 65-year-old man. Not as your first, second, or third+ sexual experience. That man does not have good intentions or sincerity in his heart. This is written as a fantasy, in a fictional world, where no one can get hurt. Fantasizing is GREAT. Reality is DUBIOUS AT BEST! Be smart about your old man crushes IRL. Stay safe ♥️.
a/n: First off, I have to shout out the OG landlord!joel Red Light by @kiwisbell. What an incredible fic and a delicious iteration of Joel. Highly recommend. As for this new Joel of mine...guys, I adore him. This fic flew out of me, despite having to stop several times while writing to...take care of things. I hope you love him just as much as I do. This is also my first time writing an OFC for Joel, and I hope it's not too much of a deterrent. It's entirely from Joel's POV, so the OFC is viewed solely from his lens, which I found very fun to play around with.
I'm not entirely sure when it happened. Maybe I was at one point, but time has blurred the edges and made it fuzzy. But I can't do it. I'm so closed off, so deliberately, precisely alone that it feels surgical in its precision.
I've focused, hard and heavy and deeply on the things I can control, the things that have results, tangible real results that I can feel in my brittle bones.
And i can't figure out for what. The scraps and whisps of dopamine smoke don't fix it - the don't fix the ignoring of my health, the slow and steady decline of my emotions so that now they're eroded to nothing but faint memories.
I cannot remember happiness, nor grief, nor anger or the righteous rage. It's empty, a yawning chasm of nothingness that seems to surround me, clinging to my organs like tar. I know, I need. I need to, just need to, simply must. My mother's gentle probing voice becoming ever more exasperated when I tell them that no, I haven't been to a doctor, an optometrist, a dentist, the skin clinic. No I never followed up on those blood tests, no I'm not eating right or sleeping well or caring for myself
Everything feels so hollow, pebbles in a steel barrel and I can't find the energy to care. I worry something is wrong, something bone deep and irreversible. That I've done so much damage I can't reverse it.
A pro athlete at hiding my feelings so well I forget I had them to begin with. A wisp of smoke destined to be carried away on the laugh of someone who forgot I was in the room, on the earth, breathing.
I wouldn't even know where to start. I wouldn't even know where to bother.
I play a game where sometimes I count how many people I've lost. How many friendships flipped over the rock of my persona and found nothing worthwhile underneath, leaving me to be washed back out by the tide. I don't blame them, it doesn't even make me sad.
Never a first choice. Never have been. Always been second to my daddy and the bottle, to all the boys and the girls they loved more, all the jobs and the rungs they used me to climb. An also ran, an afterthought, a preening starving puppy just hopeful for a single scrap of attention, and the bitter disappointment when no more comes.
Some days I don't speak out loud. Just to prove my words have no meaning. Just to clarify that my life, smaller and more miserable each day has no consequence. That one day I'll simply vanish, and become a shrug that's discussed over coffee with happy lives. A passing memory of the insubstantial girl who grew into a disappointing woman, her potential stamped down so hard she couldn't find the energy to try.
I don't even have the feelings to find tears. I can't cry.
I don't know what the point of this was. I don't know what the point of any of it was.
"should we tell authors on ao3 when we have discord conversations about their fics" i don't speak for everyone here but if y'all ever find a group chat discussing my fics you can should must and WILL send me screenshots of the whole damn thing. inflate my ego. gimme
kaledo-art
izzy806
dailybridgerton
