dizzybee03

[dizzybee03]

This is going to be epic! I can’t wait!

Update

Chapter 3 of White Flag is proving to be difficult as I've hit a roadblock, which is why I wrote Sunflowers at Dawn. This was out of my comfort zone as it was completely fluff.

To get me back to the regular scheduled angst with a happy ending, I'm going to be sidestepping to hurt/comfort with a what if Paramedic!Reader ended up at Pitt Fest instead of working her normal shift.

@dizzybee03, thank you for discussing this plot with me as it's got me hyped up for all the angst!

Ilariya Lavoro

[dizzybee03]

This story just makes me giggle like a school girl with a crush- I love their back and forth banter and these little glimpses into what could be 💙

Under Texas Skies: Chapter 6

Summary: The bridal party spends the day out on the lake, and despite her initial hesitation, Kayla finds herself loosening up thanks in no small part to Glen. As the group pressures her into tubing, Glen is right there beside her, teasing her the whole way—until they wipe out, and his playful side gives way to genuine concern. As the day winds down, the two share a quiet moment on the boat, a conversation that feels too easy in a way that unsettles Kayla. But it’s Glen’s final move that leaves her feeling more off-balance than she’d like to admit.

Warnings: Mild Language, Mild Peer Pressure

Word Count: 2,468

The dock behind Glen’s house buzzed with energy as the bridal party loaded up the boat for a day on the lake. Coolers clanked with ice and drinks, someone fumbled with a Bluetooth speaker trying to get the music just right, and life jackets were tossed around.

Kayla lingered near the edge, arms crossed, taking it all in. Glen moved through the chaos with infuriating ease. He was barefoot in board shorts, towel slung over one shoulder, laughing with Levi as they secured the anchor rope and double checked supplies. He looked like he belonged here. He didn’t look like some big movie star. He just looked like a normal guy...A normal guy who was annoyingly attractive. Yet despite her best efforts, Kayla couldn’t stop watching him.

Lo sidled up beside her, a mischievous smile already tugging at her lips. “You know, it’s not too late to call shotgun on Glen’s lap.”

Kayla shot her a look. “Don’t make me shove you off this dock.”

Lo only laughed and walked off to join the others.

“Hey Kayla!” Levi called from the boat, grinning as he popped open a seltzer. “Glad to see you made it out of the woods alive this morning.”

A chorus of teasing “Oohs” followed.

Kayla arched a brow. “Barely. Your best man’s a maniac on ATVs.”

Glen looked up from where he was tying off a rope, his smirk lazy and amused. “Please. I gave you the scenic tour.”

“Scenic tour? You nearly threw me off a moving vehicle!”

He stood before leaning back against the railing. “If I remember right, you were the one clinging to me by the end.”

Kayla’s jaw dropped slightly, a flush creeping up her neck. “You’re lucky I didn’t shove you into a cactus.”

Glen grinned, clearly enjoying every second.

Levi clapped his hands. “Alright lovebirds. We hitting the water today or what?”

Kayla rolled her eyes, but glanced at the boat. She hoped nobody sensed the slight hesitation as she eyed the vessel.

“You nervous, Tennessee?”

Kayla looked over at Glen, narrowing her eyes at the smug grin he wore. He was now leaning casually against the dock railing, arms braced like he had all the time in the world.

“I’m not nervous,” she said flatly as she crossed her arms. “I’m just trying to decide if this is a good life choice.”

Glen chuckled, taking a slow sip from his water bottle before fixing that infuriatingly charming grin on her again. “You can swim, right?”

She huffed. “Of course, I can swim.”

“Well if you somehow manage to end up drowning, I’ll save you.” He paused, letting the tease hang in the air for just long enough. “But I’ll warn you, I do charge a rescue fee.”

Kayla arched a brow. “Let me guess. My soul?”

Glen shook his head as he pushed off the railing and stepped closer. “Nah.” His voice dropped just a little, low and warm. “Just a dance at the wedding.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no real bite to it. Not when that stupid little smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Kayla exhaled sharply, her heart doing something inconvenient in her chest.

She rolled her eyes one more time for good measure and stepped onto the boat, claiming a seat near the back with the girls while the guys settled up front. Still, she couldn’t ignore the buzz beneath her skin—the lingering heat from Glen’s grin, his voice, the casual way he’d gotten under her skin without even trying.

She was supposed to be annoyed by Glen Powell. She was supposed to be immune to the easy charm and flirtatious banter.

And yet…

She glanced toward the front of the boat where he stood, chatting with Levi and adjusting the anchor lines.

And yet.

The boat slowed to a crawl before finally coasting to a stop in the middle of the lake. Glen dropped the anchor while the rest of the group scrambled to the edge—splashing into the water with reckless abandon. Cheers and laughter echoed across the glassy surface as bodies hit the water, arms flailed, and floating drink koozies were tossed like party favors.

Kayla stayed put, legs crossed at the back of the boat, watching it all from her perch.

Her drink rested on her knee, untouched. The water was pretty—sparkling under the sunlight, a perfect Texas blue—but it stretched out endlessly beneath the boat, and something about that made her stomach twist.

She wasn't scared exactly. Just...uneasy.

She squinted toward the water, shading her eyes with her hand as a burst of sun hit just right, momentarily blinding her.

"You’re really gonna make me swim with these lunatics by myself?"

Glen’s voice came from behind her, and she turned to see him grinning down at her, water droplets still clinging to his chest from an earlier dive.

Kayla shrugged casually, trying not to stare too hard at how good he looked with his curls damp and his smile a little too easy. “You seem like you can handle it.”

Glen walked over, stepping past a cooler and settling onto the back edge of the boat beside her, feet dangling just above the water.

“I could,” he said easily. “But it’s not as fun without good company.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

A quiet settled between them as Glen let his fingers trail along the lake’s surface, watching the group splashing around like overgrown kids.

“You not a water person?” he asked eventually, his tone gentler now, not teasing, just curious.

“Pools I can do.” Kayla said before she hesitated. “I’m just not great with open water.”

Glen nodded like he got it. “Fair enough.”

They sat in silence for another beat, the sun warming their shoulders and the breeze playing with the hem of Kayla’s cover-up. She reached for her drink, wincing as another sharp glare of sunlight hit her full in the face.

“Forgot your sunglasses?” Glen asked.

“Left them at the house,” she muttered, squinting again.

Without a word, Glen reached up and pulled the baseball cap off his head. He flipped it around and gently settled it on her head, adjusting the brim with an easy familiarity that made her breath catch.

“There. Better?”

Kayla blinked, caught off guard. The cap was warm from the sun—and from him. It smelled faintly of his cologne and lake water. She tugged the brim lower over her eyes to hide the flush creeping across her cheeks.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Better.”

Glen leaned back on his palms, glancing out over the water again. “You know, I don’t mind staying up here with you.”

Kayla glanced over, brow furrowing. “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” he said simply. “But I want to.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that. So she didn’t. Just sipped her drink and let the silence between them stretch. It was comfortable now, not awkward. The lake rocked gently beneath the boat, laughter echoing somewhere across the water, but up here, it was quieter. Calmer.

That was until Levi spoke up.

“Yo Glen!” Levi called from the water, his voice carrying across the lake. “Your turn on the tube!”

Glen tilted his head toward the sound, then looked back at Kayla with a half grin. “You in?”

She blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah, you. It’s a two person tube. You’re my copilot.”

Kayla let out a dry laugh. “Nope. Absolutely not. They're all out there flipping each other like pancakes. I’m good right here.”

“Oh come on,” Lo’s voice piped up from a float nearby. “It’s fun!”

“Fun,” Kayla repeated skeptically. “Last time someone said that, I ended up with a sprained ankle.”

“You didn’t sprain it,” Glen said nudging her shoulder lightly. “You twisted it. And I caught you, remember?”

Kayla shot him a look. “That is not helping your case.”

Levi swam up beside the boat, grinning like a devil. “Scared, Kay?”

“I’m not scared,” she snapped. “I just…don’t enjoy the sensation of being violently hurled across water like a rag doll.”

“You’ll be fine,” Glen said, standing and offering her a hand. “I’ll be right there with you.”

Kayla eyed his hand warily. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

He smirked. “It should.”

She hesitated, glancing toward the group in the water. Everyone was watching. Waiting.

“Peer pressure is a hell of a thing,” she muttered.

“Tell you what,” Glen said, his voice dipping just a little lower. “If you hate it, I owe you another drink. Whatever you want.”

Kayla sighed, muttering under her breath. “This is so stupid.”

But she took his hand.

And Glen—looking far too pleased—helped her to her feet, steadying her as she kicked off her cover-up and set her drink aside.

Glen stepped onto the back platform of the boat and offered his hand to her. Kayla hesitated—only for a second—before taking it, letting him steady her as she climbed onto the tube beside him.

The moment she settled in, regret kicked in immediately.

The tube wobbled slightly in the water, and Kayla’s hands tightened on the handles. “I swear to God, if I die—”

Beside her Glen was completely relaxed, his arms resting lazily on the sides. “You’ll haunt me? Yeah, yeah. You’re not getting rid of me that easy, Tennessee.”

She barely had time to respond before the boat took off.

The first few seconds weren’t too bad—bumpy sure, but manageable. Then Levi, ever the instigator, gunned it.

The tube jerked violently, hitting a wave, and Kayla screamed—actually screamed. Glen just laughed, gripping the handle beside him.

“You still alive?” he called over the wind.

Kayla, clinging for dear life: “I hate you!”

Then disaster. Levi whipped the boat hard to the left, harder than necessary, and both Glen and Kayla felt the tube whip out from behind the boat. Glen was able to tighten his grip on the handle, but Kayla’s hand slip. Suddenly she was airborne, launched right off the tube with a startled yelp that was quickly swallowed by the wind and water.

Glen saw her fall off from the corner of his eye. One second she was beside him, the next she was airborne.

Glen hit the water a beat later. He surfaced quickly, shaking his head and pushing the water from his eyes.

“Levi, you asshole!” He shouted toward the boat with a laugh. “You trying to kill us?”

But Levi didn’t hear him as the roar of the engine was fading in the distance as Levi looped the boat back around.

Then Glen looked around and froze. Kayla wasn’t back up yet. He quickly looked around, making sure he hadn’t missed her.

“Kayla?” He called out, turning in the water as his eyes searched for her.

Then he saw a splash. She broke through the water twenty feet from him. She was gasping, coughing, her arms flailing slightly before she managed to start treading water. Her hair was plastered to her face, and she taking desperate breath, her chest heaving.

Relief slammed into Glen like a punch to the ribs. He started moving before he really thought about it as he cut through the water in strong, quick strokes.

“Hey-hey, I’ve got you,” he said as he reached her side.

She coughed again hard, and he reached for her instinctively. One hand settled on her back, the other brushed wet strands of hair from her face.

“Breathe,” he murmured, voice low, steady. “In through your nose. Out through your mouth.”

Without thinking she reached for him, grabbing blindly for his arm. She didn't even seem to realize she was doing it.

Her hand clutched the curve of his bicep, her nails digging in slightly, and Glen shifted closer. His hand skimmed her back.

"You're okay. Just breathe for me, alright?"

Kayla nodded shakily, eyes wide but locked on his now. She dragged in air, ragged and shallow at first, but then it slowly got steadier.

"You're okay," he said again, quieter this time. "I've got you."

Kayla coughed, then let out a shaky laugh, still breathless. “That was… not great.”

Glen’s mouth twitched, but his gaze stayed on hers. “You scared the shit out of me.”

She blinked at him, surprised by the weight in his voice.

And then—only then—seemed to realize she was still holding onto him.

Her grip loosened like it had just hit her all at once. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” Glen said, cutting her off gently.

Kayla looked up at him then, eyes wide, still catching her breath. She nodded, but the grip she had on his arm didn’t loosen.

“Told you this was a bad idea.”

He shook his head, still watching her. “Next time, I’m throwing Levi off the tube.”

That pulled a real laugh from her, even if it was shaky. “Make it count for me.”

“You good to head back to the boat?” he asked, quieter now, his hand still steady at her waist.

She nodded, but didn’t move.

Glen’s fingers gently squeezed her side—just enough to ground her, just enough to say I’m still here. He waited a second longer before shifting to guide them toward the boat.

And just before they started swimming, she muttered under her breath, “Still don’t owe you that dance.”

Glen glanced sideways at her, lips curving.

* * * * *

A little while later the boat rocked gently beneath them, the engine humming at a soft idle as it cruised slowly back toward Glen’s dock. Most of the group was sprawled out on seats and towels, sun-drunk and spent, the earlier chaos replaced by a lazy contentment.

Kayla sat near the back, damp hair sticking to her neck. She didn’t realize she was shivering until Glen pressed something warm into her hands.

A towel.

“Here,” he said, already settling beside her on the bench seat, his own towel slung around his neck. His voice was quieter now, less teasing, more grounded. “You’re gonna freeze if you keep letting the breeze hit you like that.”

“Thanks,” she murmured, pulling it tighter around herself.

Glen stretched his arm over the back of the seat, not quite touching her, but close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him. Kayla hesitated, then leaned back just slightly. They weren’t touching. But they were close.

Glen glanced at her, his voice quieter now. “You doing okay?”

Kayla turned her head, surprised at the genuine way he asked it. She nodded. “Yeah. It’s been a good day.”

His lips curved slightly, like he liked that answer. “Told you I wouldn’t let you drown.”

Kayla rolled her eyes, but smiled.

The conversation dipped into something softer then—talking about nothing and everything, the kind of idle, meandering conversation that felt too easy.

As the boat pulled up to the dock, the group slowly started unloading coolers, towels, and the leftover drinks as the sun began to dip lower in the sky.

Kayla, standing near the edge, reached up to pull Glen’s hat off her head. She turned to him, holding it out. “Here. Thanks for letting me borrow it.”

Glen reached out, plucked it from her fingers then casually set it right back onto her head. “Keep it,” he said, adjusting the brim slightly before stepping past her. “Looks better on you.”

Kayla froze, caught off guard. She opened her mouth to argue, deflect, to say something…but nothing came out. 

[dizzybee03]

I am so excited to get this glimpse into their lives during much happier times!! It gives me hope that since there was so much love there before that maybe they can find their way back to each other

Sunflowers at Dawn (The Pitt)

Pairings: Michael Robinavitch x Reader

Word count: 1,173 words

Universe: The Pitt

Reader gender: Female

Tagged: @questionably-intelligent69 , @dizzybee03 , @virgomillie , @mrsjosephmazzello & @sus-styles

The thin lace curtains danced as a gentle winter breeze slid through the opened window. As it moved through the room, it coaxed all it could to join the merry jaunt. You sat watching with a cooling cup of tea, fresh from arguably the most difficult night’s sleep you had ever had.

Your mind is still racing a million miles a second as you contemplate what tomorrow will bring. The hours ticked by, and before long, slumber’s gentle embrace found you, coaxing you to dream until woken by the chirp of your alarm. Still, it was relatively early, the others would not arrive for some time. It would simply be you and your thoughts.

The light of the early morning sun shone through, as a smile formed upon your lips, as you pondered gleefully through the events that had led you to this moment in time. It had been a rollercoaster, full of many ups and downs. Soaring heights that made your blood rush and deafening lows that nearly broke your spirit along with your heart.

Remembering those dark moments alongside the good was necessary, for they came hand in hand with your beloved. A friendship that had been tested by late nights and early mornings before it blossomed into something deeper, but no less meaningful.

The chill lingered in the air as you pulled your fluffy blue dressing gown tightly around your frame. Trying to escape the cold for just a moment longer, but maybe this was a sign that snow was on its way to coat everything in sight with a glistering white. Now, that would be the cherry on top of a thoroughly planned day.

The bouquet of sunflowers and bluebells entwined with leaves of varying shades of green sat on the dresser. Your friends at first had questioned your choice of flowers, but you held steadfast to your decision. The colours were symbolic but, at the same time, had wonderful memories tied to them. Your first date, your first kiss, to name a few off the top of your head. Yet it was the small silver charms that had been woven through the ribbons holding the bridal bouquet together that tugged at your heart, Jake had been the one to gift them to you.

He and his mother, Janey had welcomed you in their world after it was clear that you were here to stay. Jake might not have been Robby’s biological son, but their connection ran far deeper than that. It was heartwarming to be able to foster a close relationship with him and his mother. Both held a place within Robby’s life and his heart. They came pre-attached, and it would be selfish to even consider pushing them to the wayside. The romantic candle had long since blown out, but the affection had remained.

Robby was a positive male role model in Jake’s life, one who had chosen to remain even after the breakdown of his romantic relationship with his mother. A friendship had risen out of the ashes as he continued to be there. Holding his hands as they navigated through this new dawn.

You couldn’t help but smile, thinking of what lay ahead. This was only the beginning of the story that you would weave together as husband and wife. “I can’t believe that we are finally here” The sound of your mother’s warm southern drawl drew your attention away from the lace as it continued to dance with its invisible partner.

“Neither can I. I’m getting married in only a few short hours," you gleefully replied, watching as she made her approach. Soon enough, the rest of your bridal party would arrive, and you’d get ready for the long day ahead. A day that you never forget, with memories you’d cherish regardless of whatever life threw your way.

She was going to be his wife in less than an hour; Robby might be nervous, but there was an electric level of excitement pulsing just beneath it. It was almost hard to believe that he was going to be married to her, the mere thought that she had even said yes to a date back then. There had been no polite rebuttal, no pushback. Just a chance to see where this went, and here they were, on their wedding day, ready to take the next step.

All roads led there, and sooner, they would lead you to Robby. With him standing at the altar, with his best man, Dr. Jack Abbott, standing at his side. You were ready to be his wife, to walk this path together, hand in hand. –-------------------------------------------------

Robby’s nerves were shot as he aimlessly played with his cufflinks for what has been the third time in the last few minutes. Today was the culmination of months of planning and devotion to the finer details. His fiancee, soon to be wife, Michael couldn’t help but smile as soon as the thought appeared.

It was hard to belive that he was just that goddamn lucky. Robby might have opted out of a traditional Jewish service at Temple, but this venue was the one. He remembered when they had viewed it after having seen a few serious contenders, this had been the last stop of the day. From the moment that they had entered, he had seen how her eyes had lit up; that reaction had been enough. He had been sold then and there.

He had booked with the vendor on the way out, knowing that the date had been decided a few days before and as soon as he had been told that they had availability, he had given them the necessary deposit. She was beyond worth it. His ever-present golden chain with a small Star of David had been tucked beneath his crisp white dress shirt, touches of his faith bleeding through. He had debated over whether to wear a Kippah. Yet she had given Jack the one that his Grandmother had given him after discovering it in a box in one of the many high shelves tucked away for safe keeping.

The accompanying note had tugged at his heartstrings. She was always the brightest spark in his ever-darkening world. 

Wear it today, it will be as if she is here with you.

His Fiancee had never gotten the chance to meet his beloved Grandmother, who had a hand in molding his compassionate heart. She had long since passed by the time he had started his residency. Yet, still her influence remained, alongside the strict but fair guidance of his mentor Dr Montgomery Adamson. Both had been instrumental in forming the kind of Doctor he wanted to be. Without either of them, Robby would not be the man he is today.

With his navy suit jacket slung over the back of chair in the far corner, Michael started to feel a rise of anticipation as he couldn’t stop gleefully smiling like a lovesick teenager ready to finally kiss the girl he liked. He was more than ready to take this next step.

[dizzybee03]

Man I love a good slow burn!!

This City Doesn’t Forget (part one · the wedding)

you weren’t supposed to see him again. not like this. not in this dress, not in this city, not with his last name still catching in your throat. but pittsburgh remembers what you tried to bury

pairing : jack abbot x f!reader

content/warnings: alcohol, mentions of past infidelity (not by reader or Jack), emotional repression, unresolved sexual tension, proximity, flashbacks (not as explicit), lying by omission, angst, guilt, wedding setting, Pittsburgh.

word count : 2,674

a/n : no smut in this part—just aching tension, bad decisions almost made, and the beginning of everything unraveling. If you guys like this perhaps I will write part two sooner than later. 18+ ONLY, not beta read.

You hadn’t planned on coming back to Pittsburgh.

Not really.

Not to stay, anyway.

You’d told yourself it was a city you’d passed through—something borrowed when you were eighteen. Temporary, in that way so many things feel permanent until they’re not. You left with no grand finale. No promises. No reason to return. Just a couple of half-used notebooks, a box of textbooks you never sold, and a past you’d done your best to forget.

But then came Match Day.

And the envelope said,

Allegheny General. Emergency Medicine. Pittsburgh.

Your fingers had clenched the paper just a little too tightly. Someone beside you had screamed. Someone else had cried. And you— You just stared.

Because it didn’t feel like fate. It felt like a dare.

You’d worked for it. You knew this program was good. You applied like it was a long shot, a name you could cross off the list without consequence.

And now, you were a PGY-1 with three weeks to relearn how to breathe in a city you swore you’d never see again.

So you moved back early.

You told people it was to settle in. To be prepared. Responsible. Practical. You needed time to unpack, sign the forms, memorize your badge number, figure out the best spot to get coffee before a night shift.

But that wasn’t really it.

The wedding was this weekend.

And if you were going to return, you might as well rip off the bandage.

You told yourself it would be fine. Just another obligation. You’d show up, smile when it was expected, drink something sparkling from a glass too thin, find your table, and disappear before the second round of speeches.

In and out. Unnoticed.

That was the plan.

But plans don’t account for ghosts. They don’t make room for versions of yourself you thought you outgrew—versions that still remember the way someone used to look at you like they weren’t supposed to.

The version that heard his name mentioned—of course he’d be there, of course he’d be involved—and forgot how to breathe.

You thought she was gone.

But she showed up anyway.

Because some things don’t stay buried. Especially not what happened with Jack.

People know pieces. Just enough to make them look twice when you walk into a room.

They know his brother cheated on you. That you ended things. But no one knows what happened after.

They don’t know it was Jack who showed up that night—quiet, steady. That he found you on the porch, sat beside you without a word, handed you a beer and stayed there, saying nothing until the tears stopped burning your throat.

They don’t know how it shifted.

How grief softened into something slower, heavier. How silence turned into stolen glances, how those glances started to hold.

How one night he leaned in—close enough to kiss you, close enough not to—and you let him. You wanted to.

And that should’ve been it.

But it wasn’t.

It happened again. And again. And then again after that.

It wasn’t love. It wasn’t anything you had words for. It was too raw for that. Too hot. Too consuming. It was his hands under your shirt before you could ask him to stop. His mouth on your neck. Your body arching into his like it had been waiting for this—for him—long before either of you were willing to admit it.

He’d show up late, knock quietly, stand in the doorway like he didn’t want to come in.

And you’d let him in anyway.

Sometimes you wouldn’t even speak. Just hands and breath and hunger. His voice rough in your ear. Yours gasping into his shoulder. You were always on borrowed time, always telling yourselves this doesn’t mean anything.

But you kept coming back.

And then, one morning—he didn’t.

No knock. No warning. Just a note slid under your door, folded once. His handwriting, familiar and clipped.

This can’t happen again.

He left for another deployment that week.

You haven’t seen him since.

No one knows the truth. But they know enough.

Enough to feel the shift in the air when his name brushes too close to yours. Enough to catch the tension in your silence. Enough to know something happened between you.

And that whatever it was—it didn’t end clean.

Now, years later, you’re back in proximity with the same family. The same name lingers behind you—woven into laughter, casual conversation, the soft clink of champagne flutes.

And your body still remembers what it felt like to come undone in his hands.

You try to shake the thought. Bury it.

Because now you’re here. At your ex's wedding. Moving through it like it’s just another event on your calendar.

You arrive early—not dramatically, just early enough to avoid the spectacle of walking in late. Early enough to slip through the edges while the music is still soft and no one’s had enough to get loud.

The venue is every Pinterest bride’s dream: string lights, linen runners, eucalyptus draped over archways and tucked into centerpieces like someone spent hours pretending it was effortless.

You keep your expression even. Your heels steady. Your breath controlled.

And then the faces start to register.

A few from college. Some from the family. Familiar enough to sting. One of his cousins waves you over, smiling too warmly, like she’s rewritten history into something forgivable.

You smile back. Offer polite answers. Tell her you moved back for work. Let them fill in the rest.

No one says his name.

Not yet.

But it lingers. In glances, in pauses, in the way people talk about him and wait—just a beat too long—for your reaction.

You keep moving. Find your table. Table Nine.

Close enough to the dance floor to be inconvenient. Far enough from the family tables to make a point.

Your name is written in cursive, tucked beside a sprig of dried lavender. The seat beside yours is still empty.

You don’t even bother to check who it’s for. You’re not planning to stay long enough for it to matter.

You take a slow sip of champagne and pretend it doesn’t taste like memory.

But then—without warning—you’re back there.

Eighteen years old. Barefoot on a back porch in the thick of late July. A cold beer sweating in your hand, your legs stretched across your boyfriend’s lap. Laughter in your throat, someone’s playlist crackling through a speaker tucked behind a lawn chair.

And across the yard—leaning against the railing, one shoulder dipped into the shadows—was him.

Jack Abbot.

The older brother.

You hadn’t meant to notice him. Not like that.

But the moment your eyes caught on his—just for a second, just long enough—you felt it.

Something you weren’t supposed to feel. Something sharp and low and completely out of place.

It didn’t matter that you were wrapped up in someone else’s arms. That you were smiling like everything was fine. That his brother had just tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

Your attention still drifted.

To Jack.

He was quiet, unreadable, beer in hand, watching the yard with that steady gaze of his. Not staring. Not even looking directly at you.

But somehow, it felt like he saw everything.

You told yourself it was nothing. Just curiosity. Just a moment.

But your skin said otherwise.

You could feel him—without him ever touching you. The tension in your shoulders. The awareness crawling across your collarbone. The heat that rose to your face when his eyes met yours for just a beat too long.

You looked away first.

And you told yourself it didn’t mean anything.

But it stayed with you. Tucked in the back of your mind. Not a fantasy. Not even a thought. Just a question. A flicker.

A what if.

You never said it aloud. Never let yourself imagine it all the way through.

Because it would’ve been wrong.

He was your boyfriend’s brother. And you were still pretending to believe that mattered.

But your body knew it. Even then.

Even before everything fell apart.

And now—now you’re standing in a black dress, back in a city you swore you were done with, and every nerve in your body remembers what it felt like the first time you looked at Jack Abbot and wanted.

What you don’t know is that he saw you the moment you stepped out of the car—and he hasn’t stopped looking since.

He hadn’t meant to. He wasn’t looking for you. Just stepped out front to grab a bottle or a box or something else forgettable from his truck.

Then he looked up.

And everything stopped.

You didn’t notice him. Not then. You were focused on the tent ahead, face neutral, shoulders back, like you were walking into a battlefield and refusing to flinch.

But Jack did notice.

He saw the curve of your neck, the glint of something gold at your collarbone. The way your dress clung like it had been chosen for someone you swore you weren’t thinking about.

He saw you—and for a second, he didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Then, slowly, he stepped back behind the truck, dragging in a breath like he needed to remember what year it was.

He didn’t mean to stare.

But he did.

Because he remembered, too.

And yet, you don’t see him at all—not when you walk inside, not during the greetings, not while you make your quiet rounds with a smile you’ve rehearsed too many times.

He’s nowhere. And then—he is.

You’re halfway through your second glass when you hear him.

That voice. Low. Unhurried. Still laced with the kind of weight that makes people listen. Like he doesn’t waste words unless they matter. Like honesty was hardwired into his bloodstream.

He's older. Broader. Calmer in that unsettling way men get when they've learned to live with their damage. There’s a curl to his hair now, grayer at the edges. His stance is the same—shoulders squared, jaw set, eyes scanning everything and nothing.

He’s talking to the officiant. Laughing at something you can’t hear. That same laugh that used to gut you on nights you shouldn’t have cared.

You should look away.

But then he glances over—and this time, it’s deliberate.

His eyes catch yours.

And for one long, breathless moment, neither of you move.

No nod. No smile. No acknowledgment at all.

Just something weightless and sharp, flickering between you like a match never quite struck.

He looks away first.

And your lungs finally expand.

But the ache in your stomach—the one that’s been dormant for years—It returns.

Low. Persistent.

Familiar.

It’s the same ache that started the first time you looked at him and didn’t look away.

The one that never really left.

Not entirely.

You don’t remember excusing yourself.

Just the slow pressure building in your ribs—the kind that makes your necklace feel too tight, your dress too fitted, your very skin too obvious. One toast too many. One laugh from the wrong person. One glimpse of him across the tent and your balance tipped.

So you left.

Out past the bar. Past the music and string lights and curated perfection. Past someone’s grandmother crying over the first dance.

Out to the edge of the venue, where the manicured lawn gives way to stone steps and low hedges and a garden no one’s bothering to look at this late in the evening.

You wait for your pulse to even out. It doesn't.

You tell yourself you just needed air. That you’re not hiding.

But the second you hear footsteps behind you, slow and deliberate, you know—

You weren’t fooling anyone. Especially not him.

Jack doesn’t say anything right away.

You feel him before you hear him. The heat of him. The way the space folds in tighter, heavier, just from his presence.

“You still have a habit of disappearing.”

You stare ahead, voice even. “You still have a habit of following me.”

A pause.

Then: “Only when I’m not ready for you to go.”

You inhale.

Slow. Measured. Dangerous.

When you finally turn to face him, he’s closer than he should be. Hands in his pockets. Tie gone. Shirt open at the collar like he’s trying not to look like a man unraveling.

But he is.

You know it.

“You came back,” he says.

You lift your chin. “So did you.”

“Not the same.”

“No,” you agree. “Not the same.”

He studies you like he doesn’t want to miss anything. The curve of your jaw. The way your lipstick’s fading at the corners. The way you’re still holding yourself like someone waiting for the next impact.

“You didn’t tell anyone,” he says.

You arch a brow. “Tell them what?”

“That you’re back.”

“I’m here for work.”

He smiles, humorless. “That’s all?”

“That’s all you need to know.”

You watch the flicker cross his face. Just a flash of something—hurt, maybe. Or knowing.

“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

You shake your head, voice quieter now. “When have I ever?”

Jack exhales. Looks down for a second like he’s choosing his next words carefully.

Then he steps forward.

Just enough that you can smell him—clean, warm, a hint of whatever soap he’s always used that lingers even after he's gone.

“You ever think about that summer?” he asks.

You don’t answer.

But your silence is enough.

He sees it.

“All that time we spent pretending we didn’t want it,” he says, voice low. “And all the ways we failed.”

“You left,” you say.

“I had to.”

“You didn’t have to leave like that.”

“I know.”

The air is thick now. Too thick.

You shift your weight, but your feet don’t move.

And then—

He leans in. Not to kiss you. Not even to touch.

Just to be there.

“I think about it every time I come home,” he murmurs. “Every time I walk past your street. Every time I go into work.”

Something stirs behind your ribs.

His eyes flick to your mouth. Just once.

You see it.

And it wrecks you. It shouldn’t feel like anything. He’s not off-limits anymore. Not technically.

But your body still responds like it’s a secret.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” you say.

He lifts a brow. “You are.”

“I needed air.”

He watches you. “Funny. Thought you needed distance.”

You cross your arms. “And yet here you are.”

“I wasn’t planning to be.”

“Neither was I.”

That sits between you for a moment, heavy and unfinished.

You reach for your phone without thinking, just something to do with your hands.

It buzzes the second you unlock it.

“Welcome to Allegheny General. Your orientation begins Monday at 6:00 AM.”

You flinch.

Jack sees it. Of course he does.

“What?” he asks.

You hesitate. Then shrug, trying to pass it off.

“Work stuff.”

“What kind of work?”

You shoot him a look. “Since when do you care?”

“I’m just—surprised. You never said what you were doing back in Pittsburgh.”

You pause. The words come slow.

“I matched. Emergency medicine. It’s… a residency.”

His expression doesn’t change. Not exactly.

But something settles behind his eyes. Something heavy. Knowing.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “You really don't know.”

“Don't know what?”

“I work there,” he says.

The world tilts.

“What—”

“Attending. ER.”

You go still.

Dead still.

And he sees it hit you.

The blood draining from your face. The calculation behind your eyes. The memory of every line you just crossed tonight.

You start to speak. You don’t.

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t move.

He just looks at you.

Soft. Dangerous.

And then he leans in—not touching, not even brushing—but close enough for you to feel the heat of him against your skin.

“See you Monday, rookie.”

[dizzybee03]

I’m hooked on them as a couple and would read so many stories about them and their family 💙💙

The quiet scars after the storm

Michael Robinavitch x Resident!Reader

Warning: angst with comfort, hospital setting, rooftop moment, found family, pregnancy reveal, emotional healing, soft domestic vibes

POV: Reader’s POV

---

The rooftop was quiet.

Not silent, not really—not with the hum of traffic far below, the occasional rattle of a vent kicking on, and the ever-present pulse of the hospital itself. But quiet enough. Familiar. Steady. Like always.

Except tonight, it wasn’t empty.

I paused at the doorway, fingers curling around the edge of the door. There he was, back to me, leaning against the ledge like the weight of today had finally knocked him off his feet. Except he hadn’t fallen. Not physically. But the morgue earlier... that had knocked something loose in him. I’d seen it. Everyone had. The moment his composure shattered, and he’d cried like a man trying to hold the pieces of the world together and failing.

Michael.

My Michael.

“You stole my spot,” I said softly, stepping forward.

He didn’t turn around right away. But I saw his shoulders rise with a deep breath. “You always have a way of finding me up here,” he murmured.

“That’s because you always come here when something breaks,” I replied gently, standing beside him now. “And today? A lot broke.”

He gave a dry, bitter laugh. “You can say that again.”

I let the silence sit with us for a second before I spoke again. “What Jake said... it wasn’t okay.”

“I know he’s grieving,” he muttered, eyes fixed on something out in the distance. “But accusing me like that... like I didn’t try—”

“I know,” I cut in. “I saw her chart. I was in that trauma bay. Her heart was gone the second that bullet hit. You did everything you could. More than anyone else would’ve.”

Michael finally looked at me, eyes glassy but holding. “His mom was there.”

“I know. She apologized,” I said with a shrug. “I told her not to worry. But it still sucked.”

He looked down, scraping a hand across the stubble on his jaw. “Lilah okay?”

I blinked, thrown by the sudden shift. “Yeah, she’s fine. She went to the ballet studio after tutoring some kids. Didn’t want to go to the concert—said it was too overwhelming. My mom picked her up after and took her home.”

Relief softened his expression. “Good. She didn’t answer my calls... I was worried.”

“She’s a teenager,” I smirked. “Selective hearing. Selective replying.”

Michael nodded slowly, a faint curve to his lips. “At least one teenager loves me.”

My chest squeezed. I knew what he meant. Jake’s words had cut deeper than any of us expected. Not just the blame. The venom. Like Michael wasn’t human. Like he hadn’t held that girl’s hand until her last breath.

“She adores you,” I said, voice firmer. “She asked you to adopt her because you showed up every single day when no one else did. She’s yours.”

He glanced at me. “I needed that.”

“I know.” I reached into my pocket. “And... speaking of needing something—this might not be the perfect moment, but...”

He took the folded paper from my hand slowly, almost like he already knew. Opened it. Stared at the grainy little sonogram picture in silence.

“You’re—” His voice caught. “We’re—”

“Pregnant,” I finished, soft and sure. “Again.”

His eyes widened, glassiness returning for an entirely different reason this time. “Despite today, you still manage to give me the best news of my life.”

I smiled. “I do what I can.”

He laughed—a real one, tired and shaky but real—and pulled me into a gentle hug. His hand hovered at my waist, almost reverent. I felt his fingers brush the hem of my black scrubs and the soft cotton of the white shirt underneath.

“I don’t even want to think about how we’re breaking this to Lilah and Harlow,” I joked, forehead resting against his. “Harlow’s already recruited Mousse for her schemes. A baby will just be a sidekick.”

“She’s four and already building an empire,” he mused, eyes closing. “We’re in trouble.”

“Big trouble,” I agreed. Then I held out my hand, fingers open.

“Let’s go home.”

He laced his fingers with mine without hesitation.

Together, we left the rooftop. Step by step, down the stairwell. Past the ghosts of today. Past the things we couldn’t change. Past the wounds we would nurse together.

Because we always did.

[dizzybee03]

Can’t wait to see how this plays out

𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐗 𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋 - 𝐂𝐡.1 : 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝘿𝙧. 𝙈𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙚𝙡 ‘𝙍𝙤𝙗𝙗𝙮’ 𝙍𝙤𝙗𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙩𝙘𝙝 𝙭 𝙁𝙚𝙢!𝙍𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙣𝙩!𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝙋𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙡 𝙩𝙤 ‘𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙏: 𝘽𝘼𝘽𝙔!’

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 - 𝘼𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙖 𝙜𝙧𝙪𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙛𝙩 𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙀𝙍, 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙫𝙚𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙗𝙖𝙧, 𝙙𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙜𝙪𝙚𝙨. 𝘼𝙢𝙞𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙤𝙨, 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙢𝙥𝙪𝙡𝙨𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙞𝙣𝙫𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙨 𝙍𝙤𝙗𝙗𝙮 𝙤𝙣 𝙖 𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙥 𝙩𝙤 𝙀𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙗𝙪𝙧𝙜𝙝. 𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙨 𝙖𝙨 𝙖 𝙟𝙤𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙣𝙨 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙖𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙫𝙚𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙨𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙡 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙙, 𝙨𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙪𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨, 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙥 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙡𝙪𝙧, 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙤𝙩𝙝 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢 𝙪𝙣𝙨𝙪𝙧�� 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙙𝙧𝙖𝙬𝙣 𝙩𝙤 𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙝 𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧.

𝙒.𝘾. - 3.1𝙆

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 - 𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙠𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚 𝙎𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨, 𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙙 𝙖𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙝𝙤𝙡 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙥𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣, 𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙪𝙖𝙜𝙚, 𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣, 𝙨𝙡𝙤𝙬 𝙗𝙪𝙧𝙣 𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚.

𝙍𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙍𝙤𝙗𝙗𝙮’𝙨 𝙩𝙖𝙜 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙣!

Pittsburgh - January, 2025

The bar was buzzing with that strange, fizzy energy that only came after surviving a shift that should’ve broken them.

Coats were peeled off and tossed over chairs, hair tied up messily, and shoes kicked off beneath booths. Everyone looked a little half-dead, a little too wired to sit still. The music—some mix of indie and classic rock—throbbed just low enough to allow conversation, though not without leaning in. Glasses clinked. Fries disappeared in seconds. The scent of fryer oil clung to everything, even the booths. It was late, maybe pushing midnight, but they didn’t care. Time didn’t matter to people who lived in trauma bays.

Dana Evans, already loose-limbed and flushed from two gin and tonics, raised her glass with dramatic flair. “To not killing anyone today!”

There was a general cheer, half-sarcastic, half-relieved.

“Speak for yourself,” Frank Langdon grunted as he dropped into a booth with the exaggerated groan of someone who’d done three back-to-back codes and resented his very bones for it.

Jack Abbott, perched on the edge of the same booth, tossed a peanut into his mouth like it owed him money. “Let’s hope the board doesn’t say otherwise tomorrow.”

Samira laughed, head tossed back. “I told you not to intubate him supine!”

“Then you should’ve done it!” Jack shot back, kindly.

Cassie McKay argued something about protocols. Yolanda Garcia was already halfway through a burger. Perlah and Princess were gossiping about a patient who tried to flirt while actively bleeding. Donnie made a face at the drink he ordered—some house beer that smelled like mop water—and tried to convince Mateo Diaz to swap with him.

She stood a little removed from it all, half-listening, half-drifting, wrapped in the warm cocoon of post-shift fatigue. Her coat was unzipped, and her scrubs peeked out beneath it, wrinkled and stained with the shadows of twelve straight hours. Her legs ached. Her hands were chapped from sanitizer and rough soap, and her mascara had definitely fled the scene hours ago. But there was comfort in this chaos. In this group of humans who had held hearts in their hands—sometimes literally—and still showed up after.

She drifted toward the bar to order another drink, more out of ritual than desire.

The bartender, a gruff woman with tattoos and tired eyes, nodded at her like they’d done this a hundred times—which, honestly, they had.

“Same?” she asked.

“Yep. Thanks.”

She leaned her forearms on the bar and exhaled slowly. The wood was sticky. Her shoulders slumped forward. Her vision blurred for half a second—just a micro-moment of shutdown. Her brain whispering, Lie down. Just for a second. But she didn’t.

“You look like you’re mentally bench-pressing a vending machine,” came a voice to her right.

She blinked and turned.

Robby.

He slid in beside her with the ease of someone who didn’t overthink it. His cheeks were pink from the bar’s heat or maybe the beer. His hair was an unruly mess like he’d run a hand through it thirty times since leaving the hospital. A faint smear of iodine traced the curve of his neck near the collar of his hoodie.

“Thanks,” she muttered dryly. “That’s the vibe I was going for.”

He smiled, slow and crooked. “Rough day?”

She gave him a sideways look. “Name a shift that isn’t rough.”

“Touché.”

The bartender slid her pint across the counter with a practiced shove. She wrapped her fingers around it, but didn’t sip. Instead, her eyes drifted across the bar again, catching the blur of her colleagues—laughing too loud, leaning into each other, nursing their wounds the only way they knew how.

“You ever feel like we’re just spinning?” she said suddenly. “Like… all we do is work, eat questionable protein bars, and try not to die of burnout. Rinse, repeat.”

Robby leaned on the bar, mirroring her posture. “Every damn day.”

“I was thinking of taking a trip,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant, like saying it too loud would jinx it.

His brow quirked. “A trip?”

She nodded. “Just… getting out. For a week. Somewhere new. Somewhere not filled with blood and alarms and ten thousand beeping machines.”

“That sounds dangerous,” he teased.

She smiled. “It kind of is. I’ve never actually done it. Traveled for real, I mean. I always said I would. But then I started residency, and… well. You know.”

Robby’s expression softened. “Yeah. I know.”

She turned to look at him. “When’s the last time you went anywhere?”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “Honestly? I don’t remember.”

“That’s depressing.”

“I’m a very depressing guy.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ve always wanted to go to Edinburgh,” she said, and this time there was a dreamy lilt to her voice. “Castles. Whiskey. Cobbled streets. That bookshop from Instagram.”

“That’s oddly specific.”

She laughed. “Okay, so maybe I’ve been googling it during night shifts for, like, a year.”

Robby smiled, softer now. “You gonna go?”

“I think I might. Next month. Just… do it. Finally.”

He looked at her for a beat. Then: “You should.”

She tilted her head, eyes gleaming. “You should come with me.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I mean it,” she said, laughing a little, but not quite joking. “You could use a break too. You live in the ER. Dana has to physically drag you out of there. I’ve seen you eat an entire meal of graham crackers from the peds cart.”

He huffed. “Graham crackers slap.”

“You need real air. Rainy Scottish air. With bagpipes.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re inviting me on a trip?”

“Sure. Why not?” she said, more serious now. “You’re my friend. I trust you. And I’d rather go with someone I know than some stranger from a Facebook group.”

He was quiet. Long enough that she worried she’d crossed a line.

Then he said, “Okay.”

She blinked. “Wait. Really?”

“I’ll come with you.”

A grin broke across her face, sudden and delighted. “Robby, are you serious?”

He nodded, smiling back. “Yeah. You’re right. Maybe I do need to live a little.”

Edinburgh - February, 2025

It was freezing.

Not just a typical winter chill, but the kind of sharp, soul-deep cold that seeped into your bones and made every breath feel like a bite. The wind had teeth—whipping through the narrow alleys of Edinburgh like it had a personal grudge—and it didn’t care how thick your coat was or how tightly you wrapped your scarf. Robby shivered as he stepped off the curb, the soles of his boots scraping ice-slick stone.

They stood outside the Lennox Hostel, red-nosed and breathless, twin clouds of fog curling from their mouths with every exhale. The green wooden sign above them creaked softly in the wind. His duffel bag dug into his shoulder, and his gloved fingers were already going numb.

He turned his head toward her.

She looked like a walking contradiction—bundled in layers of wool and down, cheeks flushed pink from the cold, but grinning like she was glowing from the inside out. There was something about the way she looked up at the faded sign and the crooked little building, like it was the start of something. Like she was really here.

Robby pulled his coat tighter. “Still want to do this?”

She gave him a side-eye and bumped her shoulder lightly into his. “Too late to chicken out now.”

Her smile was easy, teasing. But he noticed the way her fingers gripped the handle of her suitcase a little tighter.

Inside, the warmth hit them like a blanket.

The lobby of the Lennox Hostel smelled faintly of pine air freshener and something sterile—disinfectant, maybe. It was small and worn, but charming in its own way. Mismatched furniture, a rickety bookshelf filled with battered guidebooks and paperbacks in five different languages, and a bulletin board cluttered with flyers for walking tours, comedy nights, and something called Whisky Wednesdays.

Behind the front desk sat a teenager, possibly the most uninterested person Robby had ever seen working in hospitality. The kid had bleached eyebrows, a silver lip ring, and the blank expression of someone one energy drink away from quitting on the spot. He was chewing gum like it owed him money.

“Check-in?” he asked, barely glancing up from his keyboard.

“Room 14,” she said, unzipping a pocket and handing over their printed reservation. Her gloves made the paper crinkle awkwardly.

The kid blinked at the screen, fingers tapping like he was trying to wake it from a coma. “Two beds, yeah?”

She nodded. “Yup. That’s us.”

A pause. Then his face scrunched a little.

“Yeah, so…” He winced. “Funny story. There’s been a bit of a mix-up. Looks like Room 14 only has one bed now. A queen. We’re, uh… overbooked. Rugby tournament in town. Things got shuffled.”

She froze. “I’m sorry—what?”

“One bed,” the guy repeated, slower. “One room, one queen. Unless you want to wait and see if someone cancels in the morning… or we can give you a partial refund and you can try somewhere else?”

Her eyes shot to Robby, wide with disbelief. “Did you know about this?”

“Absolutely not,” he said, already feeling heat crawl up his neck despite the cold. “I triple-checked the booking. It said two singles.”

“Well, this isn’t two singles,” the teen offered, as if that wasn’t obvious.

She let out a breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Of course.”

Robby turned to her, voice low. “Do you want to try somewhere else?”

“In this weather?” She looked around the small, slightly too-warm lobby. “I really don’t.”

He stepped up to the desk. “We’ll take it.”

The kid handed over the keys. “Room 14. Second floor. Towels are in the hallway cabinet. Wi-Fi password’s ‘castlelover’—all lowercase.”

As they made their way up the stairs—a steep, narrow staircase with a handrail that wobbled under pressure—neither of them said anything for a while. Their boots creaked on the old wooden steps, and the suitcase wheels clunked against each riser.

At the top of the landing, she glanced at him. “You sure this is okay?”

Robby nodded. “We’re adults. It’s just a bed.”

“Right,” she said, almost to herself. “Just a bed.”

He could hear the doubt in her voice. Or maybe it was in his own.

Room 14 was tiny, cozy, and unmistakably meant for two people very much together. There was a queen bed in the middle, a small wardrobe shoved into one corner, and a window that looked out over the street below, glowing amber in the early evening light.

One bed. Definitely one, like the final punchline of a bad joke.

“I can sleep on the floor,” Robby offered after a beat, motioning to the empty spot beside the bed that could maybe, maybe, fit one of their suitcases.

She shook her head before he could even finish. “No way. We’re not in college. You’re not wrecking your back.”

He shrugged, trying not to look at the bed again. “We can make a pillow wall.”

“Sure. A pillow wall,” she said, walking over to her bag and starting to unpack a few things with too much focus. “Very mature. Totally platonic.”

They both stood there for another beat too long, the silence thick with everything unspoken.

Then, mercifully, she turned toward the window. “Let’s go out. I want to see the castle before it gets dark.”

The streets of Edinburgh were crisp and cobbled and alive.

The wind had settled into something gentler, the kind that carried stories. Golden light spilled from shop windows, painting the streets in flickers of warmth and shadow. Old stone buildings loomed above them, their gothic arches and steep gables silhouetted against the bruised-purple sky. The Royal Mile stretched out ahead, with the spires of St. Giles Cathedral cutting into the twilight sky.

They walked close, more out of warmth than intention—at least, that’s what they told themselves. Their conversation flowed, a familiar rhythm laced with laughter and the occasional shared glance that lingered a second too long, sometimes they would watch couples stroll hand in hand, tour groups clustered around guides with raised umbrellas, and locals ducking into pubs that spilled warm music and laughter onto the streets.

“It feels like we’re in a different century,” she said softly, adjusting her scarf.

“I know what you mean,” Robby replied. “It’s like the city never let go of its past.”

She nodded. “That’s exactly it. Also, I still can’t believe you said yes,” she said, adjusting the knit hat that had started sliding toward her eyes. “To this trip. To me.”

He looked over, voice quieter than before. “Why wouldn’t I?”

She smiled, but didn’t answer right away.

Her scarf slipped again, hanging off one shoulder. Robby reached out instinctively, fingers brushing the nape of her neck as he adjusted it. Her breath hitched—just barely. But he felt it.

So did she.

His hand lingered for a heartbeat longer than it needed to. Then he let go.

His eyes met hers, and for the briefest second, something unspoken passed between them.

But neither said a word.

They kept walking, shoulders closer now. Neither of them dared acknowledge the weight of what had just shifted between them. Letting the city speak for them. Letting the night stretch before them, full of ancient echoes and flickering lights and the quiet tension of two people teetering on the edge of something neither of them had expected.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice soft.

“No problem.”

By the time they got back to the hostel, the air had grown sharper, stinging against their cheeks and fingertips. Her nose was numbness. Robby’s ears were pink. The city had wrapped itself in fog by then, curling around streetlamps like smoke.

She kicked off her boots in the room with a sigh. “I think my toes are permanently frozen.”

“I offered to carry you,” Robby said, peeling off his coat. “You refused. Bravely. Stupidly.”

“Because you would’ve dropped me. Or thrown me in a puddle on purpose.”

He grinned. “You don’t know that.”

“Oh, I absolutely do.”

She flicked on the light, and the room looked smaller now—cozier, maybe, but definitely tighter. The bed took up most of the space. One worn wooden nightstand. A heater buzzing softly in the corner. Their luggage sat where they left it, a silent reminder that this was real. They were here. Together. For a week. In one bed.

She cleared her throat. “So… we’re doing this.”

“We’re doing this,” Robby echoed, flopping down on the edge of the mattress like it wasn’t quietly threatening to emotionally unbalance them both.

She pulled her toiletry bag from her suitcase and made her way to the tiny bathroom, calling out, “No funny business, Robinavitch. I’m trusting you not to be weird.”

“I’m the picture of maturity,” he replied through a yawn.

She rolled her eyes and shut the door.

Inside, she peeled off her layers, took a shower, scrubbing the travel off her skin. Her reflection looked soft in the dim mirror light—bare face, damp hair from the mist, dark circles under her eyes. Still, something about it felt… okay. Natural. Like she didn’t have to try so hard tonight.

When she came out, she wore a big, loose t-shirt with the faded logo of her old college and a pair of plaid pajama pants. Robby looked up from where he was sitting on the bed, and for a second—just a second—his mouth parted like he forgot what he was about to say.

“What?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head with a faint smile. “You just look… comfortable.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That better not be code for ‘exhausted’.”

“No,” he said quietly. “It’s not, I promise.”

She moved to her side of the bed and sat down, curling her legs under the blanket. The heater hummed on low, and it was suddenly too quiet. She pulled her phone from the nightstand and scrolled aimlessly while he stood and started rifling through his bag for clothes.

“I’m gonna change,” he said. “Bathroom or…?”

“You can do it here,” she said with a shrug. “I won’t look.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

But curiosity was a bitch. And self-control was a limited resource.

She didn’t mean to glance up. She really didn’t. But when he pulled off his sweater—revealing the soft cotton of a t-shirt that clung a little too well to his chest and a glimpse of the strong line of his back—she had to bite the inside of her cheek. Hard.

She looked back down at her phone like it held state secrets.

When he turned around, he looked… well, annoyingly good. Pajama pants slung low on his hips, hair messier than before, that perpetual sleepy-eyed look that made him seem ten times more dangerous in soft lighting.

He caught her staring.

“Are you checking me out?” he teased, grinning.

She scoffed. “Please. You’re not that special.”

“I am when there’s only one bed,” he said, climbing in beside her.

She swatted his arm but couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips.

She turned toward the bed. “Left side or right?”

“I’m a right-side sleeper,” he said.

“Perfect,” she replied. “I’m left. No accidental spooning.”

They both laughed, a little too loud, a little too forced. They lay side by side, the space between them laughably small. The sheets were cold. Their bodies were warm. Her arm brushed his once. Twice. Neither of them moved away.

“So,” she said softly, turning her head to look at him. “Are we gonna talk about the elephant in the room?”

“Which one?”

“The fact that this is either the best idea we’ve ever had… or the worst.”

He smiled at the ceiling. “I guess we’ll find out.”

A pause.

“Do you regret it?” she asked. “Coming with me?”

He turned his head, met her eyes. “No. Do you?”

She shook her head. “No. Not even a little.”

There was something quiet and sweet in that moment. Like the truth had slipped through the cracks of their usual banter and settled between them, soft and undeniable.

He broke eye contact first, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay. No funny business. No touching. No wandering limbs.”

“I’m a blanket hog,” she warned.

“I’m a snorer.”

She laughed, soft and breathy. “Great. We’ll kill each other by morning.”

But when the lamp clicked off and the room sank into darkness, neither of them moved. They lay there in silence, breathing, heartbeats steady but loud in their own ears.

Close enough to feel the warmth of each other. Far enough to pretend they weren’t thinking about how close they were.

And somewhere, under all the layers of friendship and familiarity, something shifted. Just a little.

But they both felt it.

@asxgard @18lkpeters @hagarsays @cannonindeez @fadeinsol @blueb33ry-cat @captainoates @ilariyalavorowrites @teenwolfbitches28 @spoiledflor

[dizzybee03]

I love the way you write for these characters! If I close my eyes I can see this play out the way you’ve written it…another story well done 💙

So, now what? (Dr Abbot x Reader)

Just a little idea I had after watching the finale last night. (SPOILERS)

Takes place in the scene where the crew is having beers in the park. A little bit of Abbot x female!reader, a hint of Javadi x Mateo if you squint. Literally just a little blurb I had in my head before bed and thought i'd share.

~~~~~~

They all sat there, in a reflective, exhausted silence for a moment. VIctoria is the one that breaks it, "So, now what?"

There's a hesitant moment of silence, and then… laughter. They all laugh. Some a little more hysterical than others. Robby laughs the loudest, the day hitting him all at once, "Now, you go home. Go home and do… whatever it is you need to do to sleep tonight." He leans forward and rubs both hands over his face and chuckles again.

Mateo grins and gives Victoria a little look, not so subtly, "Comfy sweats and something funny on TV."

Beside him Donnie scoffs, "Hot shower, Mom's leftover lasagna and melatonin. I don't care if I fall asleep with my face in the plate."

The group laughs again. Then, soft ,almost like she's talking to herself Princess sighs, "Think I'm gonna put on some Forensic Files, have a glass a wine, and troll Tinder until I fall asleep on the couch."

"What about you boss man?" Abbot elbows Robby and takes another drink of beer.

"Me? Oh I'm just gonna go home, and go to bed. Try not to wake up until Monday." He sets his beer down so he can do exactly that.

Samira speaks up, "What about you Dr. Abbot?"

Jack takes a deep breath and nods, "I am going to go home, take a hot shower, heat up the dinner I was supposed to eat," He glances at his watch, "Four hours ago. Then I am going to make love to my wife until I pass out, and if I wake up sometime before seven am, I'll come back, check on my night shift gremlins, see if they need any more help."

While Samira and VIctoria are busy blushing and avoiding eye contact entirely, Jack and Robby cheers with what's left of their beer.

A black truck pulls up on the street between the hospital and the park. "Speak of the devil." Robby chuckles as he picks up his bag.

Abbot looks over his shoulder and smirks, "I'm gonna tell her you said that."

"Go right ahead, we've called each other worse." Robby smiles and stands up as the truck door slams behind them.

A pretty, young woman walks around the back of the truck in a pair of yoga pants and a hoodie, twirling a simple black cane in one hand like a baton. "So, my mama was right, only hoodlums hang out in the park after dark."

"Watch it." Donnie snarked back at her as she approached. Jack just smiled and finished cleaning the blood off his shoe.

Mateo waved, "Hey Mrs. A."

She met Robby half way and he wrapped her up in a big hug, "Hey trouble."

"Look who's talking." He teased her as he gave her an extra squeeze. "Make sure he takes it easy tonight."

"You know I'll try." Her voice was soft and maybe a little tired. Like she'd been patiently, anxiously, waiting to hear something, anything, while she had been stuck at home. "Take care of yourself." She rubbed his back as they pulled apart. As Robby walked away she walked over to the bench and squeezed onto the end next to Princess. "Everybody okay?"

For the most part everyone just nods, Princess leans her head on her shoulder and closes her eyes. Jacks wife just smiles and leans her own head against Princess's. "Anyone need a ride home?"

All around the group pretty much shakes their head, "I think we're goin' to hang out here for awhile Mrs. A." Matteo gives her a smile.

"Ok." She returns the smile like she gets it. She does. "How about you Doc?" She shifts her gaze to her husband in the bench across from hers.

He doesn't flinch under her gaze, he knows she's triaging him as they sit. She's looking at his posture, his eyes, his facial expression, he's already taken the prosthesis off and he knows that tells her a lot, "Waitin' on you." Jack gives her a grin and a wink.

WIth a nod she gives Princess a hug, it's awakard at their angle but they both smile. When she stands up she flips the cane end over end like she's done it a thousand times and holds the grip out towards him, "You want this or you gonna put that back on?"

Jack just groans, "Just help me up." He held his right hand out and she took it. They locked their hands around eachother's forearm and she set her feet to take his weight as she helped him up. He took his cane and leaned on it, not so sneakily watching her ass as she bent over to grab his backpack and hand it to him. "C'mere." He used her grip on the bag to tug her to him for a quck kiss and a little tap on the ass. Like he didn't think twice about the PDA in front of his coworkers he turned around. "You kids stay out of trouble. Go home and get some sleep." He gave each of the others a look, an easy smile as he shouldered his bag. "You did good today."

Beside him his wife grabbed his prosthesis off the bench where he'd stood it and gave everyone a wave, "Night guys." Then walked with Jack to his truck where she stood by as he opened the passenger door and climbed inside.

The others watched as she walked around the front of the truck, Jacks truck, and climbed into the drivers seat.

Samira watched as the truck started up and drove away, "That's Dr. Abbots wife?"

Donnie and Mateo both nodded. Princess spoke up, "She was his physical therapist at Walter Reid. Very young. Very sexy. Very scandalous." She chuckled at the other girls expressions and took a sip of her beer. "Don't worry, one of these days it'll be our turn."

Victoria might not have seen the slight blush on Mateo's cheeks, but it was there. Princess and Donnie shared a knowing looke, tapped their beer cans together in a cheers and sat in the dark, listening to the chatter and the sound of sirens running code 3 in the distance.

~~

[dizzybee03]

This was divine- I love how Faye knows him so well she can just tell he needs to sit for a minute….thats true love

Overcompensating: Jack Abbot x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @cosmic-psychickitty @ilariyalavorowrites @spooky-librarian-ghost

Thank you to the wonderful @caffeinatedwoman for sparking this idea.

Jack is in pain.

He hides it well but you can tell from the slight shift of his weight, the way he’s started to lean on things during the quieter moments when he thinks that no one’s looking. It’s only going to get worse because he’s six hours into his shift and it’s hasn’t even reached the witching hour yet.

“You need to sit down.” You say forcefully as you use your foot to kick one of the rolling stools towards him. “You’re going to fuck up your hip.”

“Nah, it’s all good.” He says, kicking it back towards you with his bad leg. It rolls into the halfway space between the two of you and you give him a pointed look.

“Jack.” You say with exasperation. “Nobody is going to think you’re weak for needing to take a breather. Your hip must be on fire right now. I can literally see you overcompensating.”

He straightens up, his mouth fixing in grim line as he glowers at you. You roll your eyes before taking his hand and pulling him towards one of the closed off treatment rooms.

“Sit.” You say gesturing at the bed and he sighs before parking himself on the edge as you draw the curtain across the window for a little privacy.

“Faye, I don’t need you to coddle me.” He tells you as you crouch down in front of him and roll up the leg of his scrubs to reveal his prosthetic leg. It’s a transtibial prosthesis that ends just below his right knee. The life span of each one is between 3-5 years and Jack’s is well past it’s sell by date.

He’s been fitted for another but due to the new tariffs, there’s been a delay on sending it over from the manufacture in Germany. The misalignment of the ball joint mechanism is what’s causing his hip problems. It knocks him off kilter, distributing his weight unevenly which leads to putting additional pressure on his hip, back and thigh. It’s the reason he spends hours after his shift on the couch or in bed with a heat pack on his hip.

“You clearly do.” You remark as you help to remove the leg. He hisses in relief as the extra weight is removed, leaning back on his hands to relieve some of the pain at the base of his spine.

Your hands glide up his thigh, fingertips digging into the tense muscles to relieve some of the ache from the overcompensation.

“How’s that feeling?” You ask him and he huffs in response. “Jack baby, use your words.” “Better, good.” He tells you, his head tipped back towards the ceiling as he closes his eyes “Now if you could just shift your right hand a little higher…”

“Handjobs are for good boys who listen to their wives.” You remind him as you work over the knots in his hamstring.

“And what do bad boys get?” He asks, the ghost of a smile crossing his lips, indicating the pain is starting to subside. You shift between his parted legs, leaning in close. Your lips brushing over that naughty little spot just underneath the hinge of his jaw and his breath hitches at the sensation of your teeth grazing over it.

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see when we get home, won't we soldier.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[dizzybee03]

Does a bear shit in the woods?! Of course we need part 2- this was so good!! I absolutely love her sarcasm and the way she and Jack share such an easy friendship

Call Sign: Half Caff : Part One

(Alright I’m new to writing please don’t judge me. I HAD to start writing because of The Pitt. Mild spoilers if you haven’t finished the show)

TW: reader is attacked at the end. I had to make it dramatic sorry.

She’s putting almost all of her focus into refilling her coffee mug, she hardly notices him entering the small cafe. It isn’t until he plops his travel mug onto the counter before her that she looks up from staring at the precious coffee falling into her mug. She raises an eyebrow at him as she sets her mug down and holds her hand out for his.

“Evening Half Caff.” He smirks, using his call sign for her. Her short stature and reliance on caffeine had only caused him to double down on the nickname. When she had first protested it.

She only grunts as she fills his mug from the coffee pot sitting on the edge of the counter. She hands it off to him as she grabs a tray of various baked goods sitting on top of the espresso machine and he follows her as she moves to set them up at the folding table that’s dragged out for these meetings.

Every Thursday night the local coffee shop closes its doors to customers and opens it for the local Veteran’s Affair office. One a week, veterans of all ages and branches gather. Part of the night is devoted to mingling, friends old and new talking about their week. The second part of the night has a darker hue. Chairs are dragged to the middle of the shop and set up in a circle. It reminds y/n of an alcoholics anonymous meeting: everyone sharing the tragedies they’ve witnessed, the fellow comrades they’ve lost both overseas and at home, and the struggle of integrating back into civilian life after having been in some of the toughest conditions the world has to offer.

It’s how her and Jack met. Not that she’d ever seen combat or boot camp. Not in terms of military service at least. After struggling with her mental health, her therapist had recommended volunteer work, something routine and low stakes that wasn’t another job. She’d offered to donate her time to her local coffee shop, setting up and taking down for group activities twice a week. A book club on Tuesdays, and the veteran meetings on Thursdays. She’d often help set up and take down for special events the café held; like when the middle school’s theater club had asked to borrow the space for brainstorming set design.

Jack’s eyebrows furrow as he looks at her, noting her usual cheery appearance gone and replaced with sharp sarcasm and deflection.

“Not enough caffeine?” He asks her, noting her usual grace being replaced with something that resembles stomping.

“You’ve got another one tonight. Blue sweatshirt on your six.” She nods over to where a newcomer has caught one of the older vets in conversation.

“Oh no. That’ll be the third one this month.” Jack groans as he notices the cocky behavior of the kid who must only be twenty. His army buzz haircut still fresh. He leans against the wall next to the table. Trying to hide his smirk behind his cup as she continues to grumble while setting out more muffins and scones next to the containers of coffee.

They referred to these kind of people as “OMBs” or ‘one-month babies’. These individuals got the wrong idea of war from obsessing over army video games as young kids and teenagers. Often coming from heavy right leaning families, these individuals joined the numerous branches of armed service not to serve their country, but to fuel their ego. These meetings had been hosts to numerous individuals who were more upset that they hadn’t had the chance to shoot someone, than they were over the small stipend they received once back on US soil.

“How bad?” Jack said, turning to her as she braces her hands on the table. She winces and sighs.

“Three weeks on a German base as custodial. I think boot camp has been the hardest thing he’s been through.” She turns and crosses her arms, glaring at the back of the kid.

“So, nothing compared to the rest of these guys.” He smiles and raises his coffee mug as a familiar army buddy of his passes to grab a seat.

“Oh, my fucking god.” She hisses though gritted teeth. Jack winces as he watches the kid toss a muffin wrapper on the floor as he continues talking, the two vets he’s dragged into conversation raise their eyebrows and share a look.

“Damn, if I didn’t work, I’d take you to dinner tonight to make up for his bullshit.” She laughs at his joke. They’ve made this joke for months; often joking about getting dinner after the meetings despite Jack working the nightshift at the hospital just down the road. Y/n gives him a once over, secretly enjoying the way Jack’s black scrubs look, his white badge a stark contrast to the rest of his outfit.

“Hit him with the one two guilt trip.” She all but sneers, causing Jack to laugh into his mug. He holds it out and she refills it.

“That bad huh?” He turns to her with a smile, she smirks up at him.

“He called me ‘coffee girl’. If you don’t take it off, I’m ripping it off and throwing it at him after a fat knuckle sandwich.”

“Alright easy Half Caff, go read your book behind the register and I’ll see what I can do.” He bumps her with his shoulder as he shoots her a smile and makes his way to gather with everyone else in the middle of the dining area.

The meeting starts as they usually do. Jeremy, a navy veteran who did two tours, opens the conversation with his usual story. How he lost three of his friends overseas to violence, and one here in the states as they succumbed to their PTSD and trauma.

Jack shoots a look over to y/n behind the register as the new kid, Ben, immediately starts a rant about how more violence is needed. Jack starts to see red as Ben goes on about using violence to thwart foreign governments and the need for additional troops to bring down resistance to US soldiers. 

Jack leans forward in his chair, rubbing at his calf. He interrupts Ben, “What’s the worst thing you saw while over there in Germany?” He doesn’t look up to see Ben’s reaction as he rolls his pant leg up slowly.

When he’s met with silence he looks up and finds the new kid staring at his leg as Jack slowly removes his prosthetic. He massages the spot where his mid-calf and the prosthetic rub, an irritant he knows will never go away. The new kid only opens and closes his mouth like a fish.

“That bad huh?” Jeremy says, covering a small laugh with a cough as he catches on to what Jack is doing. Ben clears his throat and looks away as Jack replaces the prosthetic, offering the kid a small smile. Another vet launches into a story on his struggles reintegrating into civilian life, having only been back from Iraq for two weeks. 

Jack glances back to the register where y/n offers a small smirk and mouths ‘thank you’ to him, he nods. He’s thankful for her, not many civilians understand the struggles of coming back, of facing the music. She’s dealt with OMBs almost as much as he has, something he struggles to accept. He often brings these individuals up to his therapist. How can someone who got so lucky in their overseas assignment get so angry they didn’t see the true horrors of war?

The meeting wraps up and he stands to stretch his back. He makes his way back to y/n for one last top off on his coffee mug. She fills his mug over the register and smiles.

“Be safe Lance Corporal.” She says with a smirk, he smiles. She often throws out whatever army rank she can remember when referring to him. Something he’s sure is payback for her Half Caff nickname. Something he considers her callsign.

“Always am Half Caff. See you next Thursday.” He secures the lid on his travel mug and raises it in thanks. He leaves the café and turns right, making his way towards the hospital to relieve the day shift workers.

She chuckles and shakes her head as he leaves. She begins to busy herself with clean up, gladly accepting help from Jeremy as she and the café owner, GiGi, start to put everything back into its rightful place.

Sometime later, the café is back to normal, chairs and tables back to their places, dishes washed, and coffee mugs stacked neatly and ready for the following morning rush.

“Can you grab the trash? I’ll take out the recycling in a bit before I lock up.” GiGi says, sweeping her hair out of her face as she jots down notes for the morning crew.

“On it!” Y/n calls as she grabs one of the bags and swings the other over her shoulder, backing into the back room to toss the garbage out into the dumpsters of the back alley. 

She’s too busy making a to-do list in her head to see it coming. She tosses one bag into the open dumpster from the top of the small staircase and is about to throw the other when she’s grabbed from behind and wrenched into the guardrails.

She groans as she’s thrown down the rest of the stairs, a well-aimed punch lands on her jaw, and she sees white as the pain burns through her body. She’s so out of it she barely feels the two kicks bash her ribs in, her breath becoming ragged.

She gasps on the ground, gravel digging into her side and cutting her face. Her vision swims as she sees the quickly receding footsteps as whoever attacked her runs off. She wheezes, her mouth gaping as she tries to call for help.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Idk, y'all want part two?

[dizzybee03]

This was just absolute perfection, thank you 🩷

Not sure if you’re taking requests but if so Can I request a Dr Robby x surgeon reader where they unwind together at the end of a long day

Off the Clock

Pairing: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinivitch x Surgeon!Reader

The hospital hummed quietly in the background, fluorescent lights casting tired shadows along the hallway floors. The last trauma had finally been stabilized, charts signed off, and surgical gloves tossed in bins. It was nearly midnight when the elevator doors opened and you stepped into the call room floor, shoulders aching, scrubs wrinkled, hands smelling faintly of antiseptic and coffee.

You opened the door to your shared on-call room and there he was — already kicked back on the cot, coat slung over the chair, stethoscope hanging lazily around his neck.

Dr. Robby looked up from his phone the second you walked in, his tired eyes brightening just slightly. “Hey,” he said, voice gravel-worn and warm. “I was starting to think they’d stolen you for another surgery.”

You peeled off your surgical cap, exhaling as you dropped onto the edge of the bed. “Close. They tried. I threatened to bite someone.”

He laughed, shifting to sit up straighter, knees brushing yours. “God, I love when you’re feral.”

You leaned into his shoulder, sighing against the cotton of his underscrub. “Long day.”

“I know.” He reached for your hand without even thinking, rubbing slow circles into the back of it with his thumb. “You killed it today though. That thoracic bleed? You saved that guy’s life.”

You let your head rest against his shoulder, the adrenaline finally washing off, leaving only quiet exhaustion in its place. “Felt like I was moving underwater all day.”

“You were brilliant.” His lips brushed your hair — a kiss or a comfort, or both. “Even underwater.”

For a moment, you both just sat like that — shoes kicked off, tension slowly melting between soft touches and soft breath. Outside, the hospital kept ticking. Inside, it was just you and him. A world away from trauma bays and pager buzzes.

“I hate how good you are at this,” you murmured eventually, eyes fluttering closed.

“At what?”

“Making me feel human again.”

He smiled faintly. “You do that for me, too.”

You shifted to lie beside him on the cot, curling into the space where his arm opened instinctively for you. “Tell me something good.”

He thought for a beat, his voice low and fond: “Something good… we’re both off Friday. I was thinking—dinner, no pagers, no blood, maybe some terrible movie you’ll pretend to hate but secretly love.”

You smiled into his chest. “Sold.”

His hand slid into your hair, slow and soothing. “But tonight,” he added, barely above a whisper, “you’re staying right here. I’ve got you.”

And he did.

No scrubs. No titles. No pressure to save anyone but each other.

Just two people, off the clock, in love.

[dizzybee03]

Robby is definitely Prince Charming

Push & Pull • Part 3

Pairing: Intern!Reader x Mentor!Michael Robinavitch

Blurb: Dinner with Robby turns into something neither of you suspected

WC: 2k

Part 2 is here

Note: This includes a little bit of smut, so do what you will with that.

You stood outside his house, the soft hum of city sounds in the background. The door swung open, and there he was, looking more at ease than you’d ever seen him.

“Hey” he greeted, stepping back to let you in.

“Hi” you replied, your heart racing a little faster than it should have.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Robby said, glancing toward the stove. “Please” he extended his hand toward the table for you to sit. Only a few moments later he was serving up your plates.

The conversation flowed easily from then. Robby talked about his college experience, finding similarities to what you're currently doing. While you talked about childhood memories - those small, funny moments. The awkwardness quickly evaporated as you found common ground over the simplest things.

After dinner you helped him clean up, against his instruction, telling you to just relax. Your wine glasses were all that remained on the table. When you were finished cleaning Robby grabbed the bottle of wine and poured himself some more. His hand pauses mid-air as he looks at you. “More?”

You tilted your head and grinned. “Are you trying to get me drunk, Robby?”

He smirked, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. You nod towards the glass, asking for more. He fills it up and you follow him to the lounge room.

You settle into the couch beside him, both slightly turned toward each other, the wine glass resting lightly in your hand. Robby leans back, one arm resting along the top of the couch and glances up at the ceiling, before his gaze turns back to you.

“It's weird.” he says, breaking the silence.

“What is?” You look at him, tilting your head.

“This” he gestures gently between the two of you with a subtle wave of his hand. “Just… sitting here. With you. It feels normal.”

You smile, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. “I don’t think it’s weird, more like rare.”

“I don’t think I’ve had this before,” he admits. “Something that feels like it works, without having to force it.”

You shift slightly closer, deliberate but still casual. “Maybe that’s what makes it worth noticing.” You suggest. His gaze drops to your mouth for the briefest second before returning to your eyes.

“You keep talking like that,” he says, voice lower now, “and I’m gonna start forgetting we’re not supposed to be doing this.”

You smile, slow and unbothered. “Who said we’re not?”

There’s a flicker of silence as Robby studies you, jaw clenching slightly like he’s biting back something. “You’re dangerous,” he murmurs.

You take a slow sip of your wine. “Then I’m lucky that you like danger.”

Robby doesn’t say anything back, he just smiles, and a silence settles between you. It’s not awkward, you take a moment to look at the decor he has around.

“Wanna watch a movie?” A reason for you to stay on the couch with him for another two hours. Maybe get a little closer?

“Sure” You give a small nod. He hands you the remote and you quickly flick through the page for something. Anything. You pick something easy to watch knowing that you probably won’t be too interested in. You had a feeling neither of you would be fully invested in the plot.

You both adjust how you’re sitting to get comfortable, closer than before. His arm rests over the back of the couch, his fingers close enough that they brush against your shoulder.

The movie played softly in the background, but it didn’t stand a chance at keeping your attention. You keep your gaze straight ahead, at the TV but you could see Robby looking at you.

You smirked, eyes still forward. “You keep looking at me.”

“Can you blame me?” Robby didn’t even try to deny it.

“Little bit. I’m trying to watch the movie.” You turned your head toward him, your smile widening.

“Are you?” he asked, clearly amused. “Because it sounds like you're watching me watch you.”

You let out a soft laugh, “Okay, fair. Maybe we’re both bad at watching movies.”

“Terrible at it,” he said, lips tugging into a grin.

You turn your attention back to the screen,not knowing what to do. Both of you were flirting, clear as day, but you agreed to take it slow. You looked at him again, and found him already watching you.

“You’re doing it again” you whispered.

“You’re kind of hard not to look at.” He leaned in just slightly.

You tilted your chin, meeting his gaze. “Are you gonna do something about it?” You give him the option to set the pace. That pulled the smallest laugh out of him, almost surprised.

“Yeah” he murmured, then leaned in and kissed you-soft and slow. When he pulled back, you were both smiling.

Robby reached over and hit the power button on the remote. The screen went black.

“Movie’s over.” he said simply.

“Didn’t even get to the good part.” you teased.

“Oh, I think we’re getting there.” he said, already leaning in again.

This kiss was a little more sure, a little less hesitant. His hand slid to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as he tilted his head just slightly, deepening it but still slow.

You let out a soft laugh against his lips. “We can take this slow if you want,” you said, voice casual, but your gaze didn’t waver.

Robby tilted his head. “Is that your way of saying I’m moving too fast?”

“No,” you said, smiling faintly. “It’s me giving you an out. Before I end up doing something like this.”

You shifted smoothly, moving to straddle his lap before he could respond. His hands went to your thighs almost instinctively, grip firm but careful, like he still wasn’t sure how far to go.

“Say the word, and I’ll stop,” you whispered, your heart racing in anticipation of his response. You rest your hands on his shoulders.

“Do you really think I want you to stop?” Robby’s gaze shifted down to your lips. You just raise your eyebrows, urging him to answer his own question.

He closed the distance then, his lips brushing yours in the gentlest of kisses before he pulled back, eyes locking with yours. “I don’t want to stop,” he said simply, his voice low and filled with certainty.

“And I don’t want you to hold back” you whispered, your lips brushing his ear as you spoke. He responds by laying you down on the couch, hovering over you. Your lips meet again for a quick heated moment before Robby pulls back, sitting up. His hands traveled up her thighs, lingering for a moment before sliding under the hem of her dress, making it gather at your hips.

He reaches out, gently rubbing his thumb over the damp spot on your panties before sliding them down your legs and discarding them on the floor. He started with a light touch, his fingers gliding up and down before he slowly slipped one inside you and you couldn't help but let out a soft moan. When he set a good pace he added a second finger and his thumb found a rhythm on your clit.

Robby’s eyes flick from your pussy to your face, the look of bliss capturing his attention. The soft moans from your lips was the only sound worth hearing.

"You're so responsive," he murmured. His movements became more deliberate, curling to find that spot that made you gasp. Your hips lift slightly, almost as if you were seeking more. “Jesus” his voice filled with awe.

"Don't stop, Robby, please," your voice pleaded. He responded by increasing the pace, his fingers working you with expert care. With his free hand, he adjusted himself, his pants not hiding how much he’s also enjoying this. The change of pace made you moan more, the world narrowed to the feel of his touch.

The pressure inside you built, tighter and tighter. Your cry echoed in the room as you convulsed around his fingers. Robby didn't stop, not until your trembling started to subside. He withdrew his fingers slowly, bringing his fingers to his lips, he sucked them clean without breaking eye contact, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

Your chest rose and fell as you caught your breath.

"Your turn" You sit up.

“You don't have to-” You cut him off by pulling him in for a kiss. Your other hand slides over his chest and down to his belt,

“I want to” You get off of the couch and kneel down on the floor, Robby moves to sit in line with you. His breath hitched as your fingers worked the buckle then you worked on his clothing. When you freed him, he groaned, his head tilting back against the couch. Your touch was teasing, His hips jerking slightly.

You smirked, your thumb brushing over the tip, making his breath catch and mutter something. His hand came up to tangle in your hair, not guiding, just needing to hold onto something. They tighten as you take him into your mouth, swirling your tongue slowly around the tip before sinking lower.

Your hand works in tandem with your mouth, stroking what you can't take. The salty taste of him, the heavy weight on your tongue, the choked sounds he tries, and fails, to swallow down makes you weak.

"Fuck" he rasps when you hollow your cheeks and drag your lips up slowly. "Close," he warns, voice rough. You hum in response, speeding up just enough to push him over. You swallow his release and his fingers loosen in your hair, stroking gently as you pull away.

As you get up off the ground he softly pulls you onto the couch, half into his lap, his arms wrapping around you. His lips press lazily against your temple. His fingers traced over your arm.

"You know," he said after a while, voice quieter now, "I wasn’t expecting this when I invited you over."

You tilted your head. "Regrets?"

His fingers stilled, and he looked at you. "Not a single one."

You stayed curled up beside him. There wasn’t much talking now, just a glance or soft touch, like the both of you were trying to memorize the moment. Although you didn’t talk about it you knew that this redefined whatever you two are.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The hospital was already buzzing by the time you arrived. You get a few tasks done before you head to the nurses station. Langdon appeared out of nowhere, tilting his head to be eye level.

“Did I hear right about a dinner date?”

You didn’t even look up. “Where did you hear that- no, never mind. I don’t want to know.”

“So it was a date.” Langdon grinned, shameless.

“It wasn’t a date.”

“Right.” Langdon gave a long, dramatic nod.

“Just dinner. At his place. Alone.” He waits a moment. “Wine? Music? Did he cook?”

“Yes. Yes. And yes.” You sigh.

“God, he’s good,” Langdon muttered. “Okay, next question. Did he kiss you?”

“Jesus, Langdon” You focus down on the paper in front of you.

“I’ll take that as a yes” He slides the sheet closer to him and away from you. “What happened after the kiss? More wine? More touching? Less clothes?”

You yanked the paper back, shooting him a look. “You ever think about minding your business?”

“Constantly,” Langdon said. “I just never act on it. So? Did you stay the night?”

“I left before midnight.”

He dramatically fake gasped, hand to his chest. “Cinderella”

Before you could answer, Robby’s voice came from the door, interrupting just in time.

“Is this a bad time?” You looked up, thankful for the distraction.

“Not at all, Prince Charming” Langdon smiled at him.

[dizzybee03]

I absofuckinglutely LOVE Sam and her friendship with these girls 😆

Sam, Emory, and Yolanda is a trio I didn’t know we needed 😂 Emory and Yolanda describing amputation is top tear trolling

I bet they took Dana out once and that’s why they got detained

They didn’t even book us…

- “How about you, slugger?”

- It’s not the first time he’s seen Dana with a black eye… and he can’t help but tease her a little now that their heads are above water.

- It makes her smile, hell it makes him smile.

- Because the last time he called her that he had just walked up to her, his wife, Garcia and Walsh where they had been sat on a bench across the street from a pub downtown.

- Hands in his coat pockets he stepped up to Sam, “So, what happened?”

- Sam tells him. Everything. They don’t do secrets and she already feels like shit for having to call her husband on his night off to come deal with her, her drunk friends and the cops.

- Once Jack is satisfied that they may have been disorderly but they were in fact not at fault, in his opinion, he pulls one of the cops aside.

- The four women sit there in silence and watch Jack and the cop talk. They exchange a glance when the cop cracks a smile and they both laugh. Surely that’s a good sign. Right?

- The cop tells them. “Look, you’re all grown ups, so just… promise me next time someone wants to talk smack you’ll all just… walk away. No matter who swings first.”

- They all promised even though Em had to elbow Yolanda to get her to agree

- The cop let them go with just a warning

- Turns out that the cop and his partner had come into the ER the winter before after rolling their unit over in a chase and Jack had been the attending that treated them.

- cops love Jack

- Once the cop left Jack looked at Garcia and Walsh, “you two. You two have got to be shitting me. What do you think happens to your residency position if you get popped for drunk and disorderly?” He gives them a glare and both know better than to talk back.

- Sam just gets a look, that conversation happens at home just between the two of them.

- Jack takes a deep breath, looks back to Walsh and Garcia, “do you need a ride home?” When they both nod he pulls his truck keys out of his pocket and hands them to Sam

- When it’s just him and Dana he gives her a little grin, “how about you slugger? Did you call Ben?”

- “God no.” She scoffs as she stands “how bad does it look?”

- Jack chuckles, “it’s goin’ to look pretty bad by tomorrow morning.” He gives her a look “what happened to keeping an eye on them?”

- They both laugh as they walk to his truck. Before they get there he adds, “you know how lucky you are nobody saw you swing first?”

[dizzybee03]

Nats reaction wasn’t what I expected it I’m glad she and Bob were cool with things!!

I Love You Two

Part 13

(previous part here, next part here)

Bradley Bradshaw x OFC x Jake Seresin.

Summary: Natasha isn’t happy to find you and Bradley in a compromising position. A bet is made before the boys deploy.

Warnings: Adults (18+) only! MDNI! Smut, voyeurism, m/m, dry humping, female masturbation, ass play, etc.

.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.

“What the fuck?!”

It’s not Jake.

It’s Nat, and she is not happy.

“What is it?” Bob asks, thankfully out of sight.

“It’s-no! Just wait there a second, Liv’s half-naked,” she turns to reply, before zeroing in on you two, absolutely furious. “Get dressed.”

“It’s not what you-“ Bradley’s response is cut off by her slamming the door. “I thought she hated Jake.”

“Shit,” you whisper, reluctantly taking your hand out of his pants.

“I’m back,” Jake calls from the front door, “I swear Bob’s car is in the parking lot…” he trails off, likely when he sees Nat and Bob standing outside your laundry room.

“Shit,” Bradley echoes, resting his forehead on yours.

.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.

“What are you guys doing here?” Jake asks as he sets down the pizza, sounding much less nervous than he feels.

“I asked Liv if I could borrow something for the Gulls game tonight,” Nat scowls, crossing her arms, “she said she wasn’t home but she is. Bradley’s here too…and fuck, Jake.”

Bob’s arm lifts to reach for her but he drops it with a small frown, remembering she wants to keep their situationship under wraps.

“What?” Jake’s stomach flips at her calling him by name for the first time, but he hides it, resting against the counter. “What’s wrong?”

“I found them-I didn’t knock because she said she wasn’t home and they were-“

“About to fuck in the laundry room,” Bradley finishes as he walks out behind you, using your body as a shield to hide his erection.

Bob and Natasha’s head whip to Jake when he laughs.

“Couldn’t wait for me, huh?” He pushes off the counter to kiss you.

Your heart feels like it’s going to pound right out of your chest when he pulls away.

“You knew-know…about this?” Nat sputters, looking between the three of you. Bob’s expression, as usual, is unreadable. “About them? Fucking? And you’re okay with it?”

“More than,” Jake replies over his shoulder before his hand slides into Bradley's curls and pulls him in for a sweet, but quick kiss.

Bradley’s chest rumbles in approval as he chases Jake when he pulls away, his semi twitching against your ass.

“What the…you’re…all three of you?” Her eyebrows raise even higher.

“Yeah,” you answer with a small smile.

“Uh…okay then,” her lips purse as she nods, “is it just sex?” she blurts out, “It’s just sex, right? I mean, I don’t mean to pry but I don’t want to see anyone get hurt-yes, even you, Bagman.”

You almost laugh at the way she narrows her eyes at him, hating to admit it.

“It’s not just sex,” Bradley answers, “it started that way but…”

“But it turned into more,” Jake adds when he trails off.

“I didn’t know you swung both ways,” is the first thing Bob says.

“I didn’t either,” Jake chuckles, “well, I guess I did, but I never admitted or acted on it until Roo.”

“Okay,” Nat replies, her mind obviously going a thousand miles a minute.

“Look. We all care about each other. I know it’s not conventional, but-“

“Fuck conventional,” Bob interrupts, turning pink when everyone looks at him.

“Yeah,” Nat adds after a beat, smiling when Bob glances down at her hand sliding into his, “fuck conventional. If you’re all happy I’m happy.”

“We are…well, I am,” you laugh when Bradley rolls his eyes. “Will you keep it between us for now? It’s…we’re not ready to come out with it yet. I’m glad you guys are understanding but not everyone is.”

“I get that,” Nat says before nodding to her and Bob’s still-enclosed hands, “we’d appreciate the same.”

While it wasn’t forbidden for members of the squadron to fraternize, it wasn’t exactly encouraged.

“Of course,” you nod. Jake and Bradley do the same.

It’s obvious to you that Nat has a million questions but they have to leave not long after finding her something to wear so they don’t miss the beginning of the game.

“Queso and margs Friday?” She asks by the door, “We need a girls' night.”

“Works for me,” you agree, “You guys have fun!”

Bradley is waiting for you to close the door to finish what Natasha interrupted.

.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.

“So,” Nat takes a sip of her margarita, “both huh?”

“Yeah,” you bite your lip coyly, “both.”

“At the same time?”

“Yep,” you answer, “well, not yet. We’re working up to…that, but yes.”

You continue when she quirks a brow in question. “I’ve never done anal before and neither of them are small.”

“I knew Bradshaw was packing,” she murmurs mostly to herself.

.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.

It’s after 10 and you’re pleasantly buzzed from the margaritas and a little bummed by the time you get back to your apartment. Nat mentioned that their squadron would be on the carrier training for 3 weeks starting Monday, but at least they would have some phone privileges.

It’s dark when you walk in, but both Jake’s truck and the Bronco were in the lot.

If it weren’t for the soft sighs and sounds coming from your bedroom you’d think they were asleep.

You tiptoe over and peer through the half-open door.

Clothes thrown off haphazardly and clad only in boxerbriefs, they’re on your bed, dry humping like teenagers.

“So beautiful,” Bradley murmurs, sitting up and running his hands down Jake’s chest, touching and squeezing like he can’t get enough, “all muscle and hard edges; the perfect contrast to Liv’s soft curves.”

The tequila is making tears prick your eyes.

That’s what you tell yourself at least.

Jake inhales shakily; also affected by Bradley’s sweet words.

“Never going to let either of you go,” Bradley continues. Jake nods in agreement before he dips down again.

The air crackles with intensity at the touch of their lips, brushing once, twice, before kissing with a fierce tenderness. It’s like you can feel the shift in their relationship; the vulnerability and deepening of their feelings for each other.

It’s too intimate to interrupt, but it sparks your own arousal like a live wire; racing through your veins and settling between your thighs so quickly you hold the doorframe to steady yourself while your other hand slips inside your shorts.

“God Jake,” Bradley pants as he lifts up, flipping Jake onto his stomach beneath him, pulling his boxer-briefs down before shoving off his own. “I can’t wait to be inside you,” he continues, covering Jake’s back with his front, leaving biting kisses across his shoulders and neck.

“Please,” Jake gasps, arching his back and his ass up into Bradley’s groin, “I want it. I want you to.”

Bradley shudders, pausing as if he’s considering it before continuing, “Soon baby,” Bradley grits out the promise, “soon. But we can do this for now.”

You bite your lip to keep from whimpering when Bradley pulls the lube from your bedside drawer, popping it open and pouring a generous amount into the crease of Jake’s cheeks before settling back atop him. There’s a paused moment of shifting and adjusting before they find their rhythm with a synchronized groan, your clit pulsing in response.

You’re already on the brink watching the hard lines of their bodies soften as they move against each other. Bradley’s ass clenches with each thrust, alternating between sweet kisses and harsh sucks across Jake’s shoulders.

Jake’s expression is scrunched with pleasure, soft “uhs” pushed out between his lips with each roll of Bradley’s hips.

“Close,” Bradley chuckles breathlessly as if he can’t believe he’s about to cum from this, pressing his sweat-dampened curls to the middle of Jake’s back. “I’m close.”

“Cum on my-“ Jake cuts off with a strangled moan when Bradley sinks his teeth into his shoulder.

“What’s that, princess?” Bradley pants, goading him even if he’s just as wrecked, “where do you want me to cum?”

It’s not directed toward you, but your pussy clenches nevertheless. A soft sigh escapes when you push two fingers inside, pushing you all closer to the edge.

“O-on me,” Jake’s flush deepens before he tries to hide his face in your comforter.

But Bradley slides his hand into his hair and pulls Jake’s head back, licking a stripe up to his ear, “Where on you? Hmm?”

“M-my ass,” Jake stutters, gasping when Bradley nips his lobe.

“What do you say?” Bradley prompts, sounding composed yet his hips start to lose their rhythm.

“Please?” Jake all but cries, “Please cum on my ass!”

Your head drops to the door frame with a light thunk, teetering on the edge as Bradley pushes himself up.

“G-good boy,” he grits out, left hand gripping Jake’s cheek, spreading his ass open as he jerks himself with the right. “Oh,” he groans hoarsely. His cheeks are red and ruddy as his head falls forward, unable to look away as he paints Jake’s clenching hole with his cum, “Oh fuck Jake.”

Your eyes flutter closed as your release crests too, wave after wave of pleasure washing over you.

But Jake’s startled whimper pulls you back into your body while you’re still twitching from the aftershocks.

Bradley’s still breathing hard as his fingers run through his spend, gathering it before he gently presses one into Jake’s hole.

“That’s it,” Bradley rumbles, pleased. His voice is low and gravely like it always is after he cums, “Yeah, take it.”

It makes you clench. With your fingers still inside, the soft brush of your palm against your clit makes your breath hitch.

“Fuck!” Jake gasps, his hips stuttering, unable to decide whether to rut into the bed or back towards the intrusion.

“Goddamn,” Bradley chuckles as he slowly fingers fucks him, “you open up for me so well, princess. I can’t fucking wait to own your ass.”

Jake whines, hands finding your pillows and gripping hard as if he’s holding on for dear life.

Roo soon finds Jake’s rhythm and adds another finger. When Jake jolts, you know he found his prostate, fleetingly touching it with every other thrust.

Your fingers curl inside you and your eyes try to roll back as you toe the edge again, waiting for Jake.

“Please,” Jake begs, “pleasepleaseplease let me cum.”

“Mmm,” Bradley hums, a pleased smile pulling at his lips that Jake is waiting for permission to cum. It turns a little sinister when he presses directly on his prostate and Jake’s whole body tenses.

Jake chokes on a sob when Bradley hesitates, “I-“

“You can cum,” Bradley interrupts, cursing lowly at the way Jake’s ass tightens around his fingers like a vice as he cums with a raw, ragged groan.

.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.

You recover before Jake does and watch as Bradley’s role shifts from hard dominance into soft nurturing.

It’s quiet, but Bradley’s gentle touches and sweet murmured praises speak volumes as he cleans him, smiling when Jake turns his head for a kiss.

Your heart flutters as you feel yourself falling more in love.

But it doesn’t stop you from pushing the door open a a few minutes later, startling them both.

“Come on guys,” you cross your arms, “I just washed the comforter.”

.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.

“I don’t want you to go tomorrow,” you sigh Sunday afternoon, plopping down between the boys on the couch, “It’s not fair, either. You’ll have each other and I’m stuck here all alone.”

“I don’t want to go either,” Jake agrees, playing with your hair when you lay your head in his lap.

“Me either,” Bradley lifts his arms so you can put your legs on his thighs, “but it’s only three weeks.”

“Three weeks is a long time without sex,” you argue.

“You do realize we can’t either,” Jake quirks a brow, “there’s a no fraternization rule.”

“Yeah,” you roll your eyes, “because that’s stopped you before.”

Jake looks away with a sheepish smile.

“I could go three weeks without getting off,” Bradley muses out loud while he massages your calf.

“I could too,” Jake agrees, “It would suck, but I could.”

“Sure,” you laugh, knowing neither could make it more than a few days without rubbing one out.

“Why don’t we bet on it,” Bradley says, heat flashing when his eyes meet yours before flicking to Jake’s. “None of us get to cum until we’re back. First one to give in loses. Loser has to do whatever the others want.”

“Alright,” Jake grins cockily, like he has this in the bag.

Your eyes narrow, wanting to slap or kiss that smile right off his face.

“Fine,” you sit up with a huff, refusing to look at either of them.

“Oh c’mon Livi,” Bradley murmurs hotly, leaning in to kiss your neck, “it doesn’t start until tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Jake breathes against your other ear, goosebumps rising under his hand trailing up your arm, “and I promise we won’t make you do anything you won’t like.”

Melting under their touches, but his words make you stiffen.

“What do you mean, ‘we won’t make you do anything you don’t like?’” You ask, turning to look at him, arching a brow.

“When you lose,” Bradley answers for him, wearing a smarmy grin that mirrors Jake’s.

It falls from his face when you suddenly rise, stepping out of their reach.

“There’s only going to be one loser,” you say, facing them as your thumbs hook into the underwear you’re wearing, letting them fall to the ground before pulling off a ‘US Navy’ tee you slipped on earlier, leaving you completely naked, “and it won’t be me.”

You refuse to smile until you turn to walk to your bedroom.

.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.

A/N: Welllllll, Natasha and Bob know. Bradley and Jake are getting more intimate with each other and there’s a bet. I wonder who will cave? 🤔 Also 👇🏻

As always, any interaction is appreciated but I LOVE hearing what you think in the comments/reblogs! Seriously, feedback helps me more than anything.

Tagging (let me know if you want to be added/removed):

@writtingrose

@blindedbythelightt

@phoenix-rising-starbird-one

@dizzybee03

@shanimallina87

@lexixstewart

@hookslove1592

@jessicab1991

@racerchix21

@that-one-fangirl69

@mrsbradshaw-seresin01

@sydneejean

@xoxabs88xox

@midnightmagpiemama

@its-the-pilot

@kmc1989

@psuedochakra

@fandomology101

@kneelforloki

@djs8891

@mavrellover91

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@seitmai

@emerald-jade1

@alwayshave-faith

@thespillingvoid

@glenpowellluver

@lunatygerqueen

@bigstrongpowellheart

@alipap3

@belladonning

@khouse712

@awesomelynerdymama

[dizzybee03]

Nnnnnooooooo I NEED part 2 of Baby It’s Alright 😩😩

Because I’m indecisive and polls are fun…

[dizzybee03]

Oh my god this was the literal best thing EVER!! I love that she gave herself an IV while shit faced!

Okay Sam loves everyone in the Pitt dearly - they are her family.

But the OR girlies Garcia and Walsh - they are her girls night, get into some fun mischief, don’t talk about work just have fun friends.

Sam is just basically loved by everyone

💯 yes! I love this and because this was such a fun idea I have some thoughts!

~~~~~

- Jack finds the 3 of them in his kitchen before he leaves for a shift “You know, I have nightmares that start this exact same way”

- Yolanda is sitting on the counter drinking his whiskey

- They are dressed up! Like dressed up dressed up because they wear scrubs pretty much every day of their lives

- Jack’s a little put out because his wife looks TOO GOOD and she’s going out without him, but he notices she’s got her ring on (Not the silicone one, not the first one he could barely afford, the good one he bought her after he finished residency) and he always loves to see her wear it.

- Sam makes sure he knows where they’ll be and promises to text him if they go somewhere else

- Jack “Have fun, be careful. Remember I don’t get off until seven so it’ll be a long wait for bail money.” Emery “you need to let that go it was years ago. Plus, they didn’t even actually book us.”

- Yolanda “don’t worry dad, we’ll be on our best behavior”

- Jack grumbles to Sam “I love your friends.” She just smiles, ignores his sarcasm and runs her hands up his chest “just remember, it’s your fault I met them.”

- Sam tastes like his whiskey when he kisses her good bye and that tells him exactly how the nights going to go

- Yolanda hurts the waiters feelings at the restaurant by correcting his pronunciation of chile rellano

- Someone buys them a round of shots at the bar and when he bings them over Sam pulls out test strips and shrugs “you never know” Emery “thanks go away now” Yolanda *shoo hand gesture*

- A group of guys ask if they’d like to play pool. 10 minutes later Emery and Yolanda are describing step by step and in detail how to amputate a finger (just because one of the poor guys asked Emery what she did at work today) while Sam runs the table and takes all their money

- They find a cigar lounge where Yolanda smokes a cigar and flirts with bartender (which pisses off every 40+ white guy in the building) while a “totally was in the special forces guy ” tries to impress Sam and Emery who pick his story apart piece by piece, obviously he picked the wrong women to try that game on.

- Dancing. All the dancing.

- Yolanda flirts with anyone and everyone

- Emery is still in her post divorce man eater phase which is entertaining for all

- Sam looks like the most approachable by far but honestly it’s just a trap

- Sam will also hustle darts and then make sketchy jokes about being good with needles

- They give a girl in the bathroom a drunk pep talk about not giving up on med school. She’s doing great and shouldn’t feel guilty about taking a break to have fun!

- It’s about midnight when Jack starts getting inappropriate text messages from his wife.

- He checks Sam’s location quickly just before 2am, before the ER gets slammed with the rush after the bars close, and sees they’re at a Waffle House. Bad sign. He also wonders how much that Uber cost.

- He gets the notification from their security system around 3am followed by a text from Sam that says she made it home

- He doesn’t get to check his phone again until damn near 6 in the morning. And that’s probably a good thing because shortly after she got home Sam had sent a “wish you weren’t at work” text with a video attachment that he won’t open until he’s in his truck ready to leave

- When he does finally get home she’s passed out and there’s a nearly empty saline bag hanging on her corner of the headboard. Jack smiles to himself as he goes to unhook her from it and he can’t help but find it kind of sexy that even absolutely shitcanned she can hit a vein on the first try and run an IV on herself.

- She left her phone on his side of the bed and he opens their group chat to double check Walsh and Garcia made it home before he plugs it in to charge.

[dizzybee03]

I’ve loved each chapter of this story but I think this has been my absolute favorite for the simple fact that they were both so darn honest with each other and you can feel the love they have, that’s such a testament to your writing 😘💜

In the Space Between: Chapter 32

Summary: Gabby and Glen spent a night together at their Napa villa. They settle in near the fire pit under the stars. As the flames crackles they open up about past relationships, fears, and what makes their connection so different.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,735

Author's Note: Hope you guys are enjoying this! Next Chapter S

The sky had already faded to a dusky lavender by the time Glen and Gabby returned to the villa.

The old Italian couple, Marco and Isabella, had insisted they stay for dinner after the wine tasting—practically demanding it in the most charming way possible. And honestly? Neither Gabby or Glen had put up much of a fight. Between the warmth of the Moretti family, the endless wine pours, and the homemade pasta, it had been impossible to say no.

Now, nestled into the back seat of a black town car as it bumped gently down the winding gravel drive, Gabby rested her head against Glen’s shoulder. The villa came into view just as the last bit of sunlight slipped beneath the horizon, casting long shadows across the vineyard hills.

“Pretty sure that last glass of red was a mistake,” Gabby murmured, eyes closed.

Glen chuckled low in his chest. “Nah. You’re cute when you’re tipsy.”

She hummed something that might’ve been agreement or protest. Hard to say.

The driver pulled to a stop near the front entrance, and Glen thanked him before stepping out and walking around to Gabby’s side. He opened the door and reached for her hand, helping her out of the car.

“God, I love this place,” Gabby said as they approached the villa, pausing for a moment to look out at the darkening sky. A few stars were already visible, scattered like glitter across the fading blue canvas.

They made their way around to the back of the villa, where the wide stone terrace overlooked the vineyards that now rolled in shadows. The firepit sat in the center of the space, surrounded by cushioned outdoor chairs and a low-slung loveseat nestled into the corner. It was quiet, the kind of quiet you could feel in your chest. The hum of crickets. The rustle of wind in the vines.

Gabby curled up on the loveseat with a satisfied sigh, pulling the light throw blanket from the arm and wrapping it around her shoulders. Her skin was still a little warm from the wine, her body loose and relaxed in that post-daydream haze.

Glen was already moving toward the firepit, crouching beside it as he worked on getting a flame going. The soft clink of kindling and the muted strike of a lighter broke the silence.

Gabby watched him for a moment, her cheek pressed to the back of the cushion. Shirt sleeves rolled up, hair tousled from the day, skin kissed pink by the sun—he looked perfectly at home. Like he belonged here. Like they did.

A moment later, the fire sparked to life, soft flames licking up from the wood, casting flickers of gold across the stone floor and onto Glen’s face.

He stood and turned toward her, rubbing his hands together with a satisfied look. “See? I’ve still got it.”

Gabby smiled lazily. “You’re very rugged and capable. I’m impressed.”

Glen walked over and sank down beside her on the loveseat, the blanket immediately shared between them.

He tilted his head toward hers. “That sounded like sarcasm.”

“Not at all,” she said, lifting her wine-dazed eyes to meet his. “I’m just soaking in the moment.”

He kissed the top of her head gently. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Me too.”

The flames danced, casting warm, flickering shadows across the terrace. A comfortable silence had settled between them. It was one of those silences that didn’t feel heavy or awkward, but instead…familiar. Intimate.

Gabby sipped slowly from the glass of water Glen had brought her after they’d agreed maybe they’d both had enough wine for the day. She’d hardly said anything since they’d sat down.

Glen watched the fire for a while, but every few seconds he glanced at her. The way her eyes followed the flames, unfocused. The way she held the glass a little too tightly. Like her mind was a thousand miles away.

Finally he shifted just slightly, brushing his fingers against her knee beneath the blanket.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” he asked, voice low and coaxing.

She turned her head to look at him, her mouth pulling into a small, apologetic smile.

“Sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean to drift off.”

“You’re allowed to drift,” Glen said softly, “But I know that look. You’re not tired. You’re thinking.”

Gabby hesitated for a moment, then set her glass down on the small table beside her. She pulled the blanket a little tighter around her shoulders and turned more fully toward him, her knees brushing his thigh.

“I don’t really know how to say this without sounding like I’m comparing,” she said. “But it’s been on my mind all day.”

Glen waited for her to continue.

Gabby drew a slow breath. “This…you…this relationship…it feels different.”

His brow furrowed, but he didn’t speak. Just watched her, listened.

She bit the inside of her cheek, then continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve had relationships before—good ones, even. People who cared. But even at their best, I don’t think I ever felt this… safe.”

Glen’s expression softened, and his hand reached for hers beneath the blanket, lacing their fingers together.

Gabby looked down at their joined hands. “It’s only been a few months, and somehow it feels like I’ve known you forever. And I know it’s fast, but…I feel like I don’t have to pretend to be anything other than exactly who I am.”

Glen gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “That’s all I ever want you to be.”

She looked up, meeting his eyes. “It scares me sometimes. How much I love you. How much I want to ma—” She stopped herself, her breath catching.

Glen didn’t push her to finish the sentence. Instead, he leaned in, his hand brushing gently against hers.

“I get it,” he said quietly. “More than you know.”

Gabby closed her eyes for a beat. “I think I’ve always been the one with one foot out the door in relationships. Not because I didn’t care…but because I didn’t fully trust that the other person wasn’t going to leave first.”

“That’s not how this ends,” Glen said, firm and sure. “Not with me.”

She opened her eyes, and the way he looked at her—solid and unwavering—made something shift in her chest.

“I didn’t think I’d ever get this,” she whispered. “Someone who sees me. Really sees me. And still chooses me.”

“I see you, Gabby,” Glen said, his thumb brushing softly across the back of her hand. “All of you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Her voice wobbled. “Even when I get scared?”

“Especially then.”

Gabby let out a soft, broken laugh, wiping at the corner of one eye.

“You’re gonna make me cry,” she murmured.

“Yeah, but at least it’s happy tears,” he teased gently, leaning forward to press a kiss to her temple. “You’re not alone in this.”

She leaned into him fully now, curling her body into his side, her arms wrapping around his waist beneath the blanket.

Glen held her close, resting his chin on her head, the fire warming them from the front, the wine and honesty from within.

The crackling of the fire filled the quiet between them, their bodies still tangled beneath the blanket. Gabby’s head rested against Glen’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

After a few long moments, she tilted her face up just slightly, her voice soft in the quiet night.

“Can I ask you something?”

Glen shifted to look down at her, brushing a thumb gently along her jaw. “Anything.”

“You’ve heard me talk about my past relationships,” she said, careful not to let her words sound accusing. “But you haven’t really said much about yours.”

There was no judgment in her voice just curiosity. And something a little more vulnerable beneath it.

Glen was quiet for a beat. His fingers stilled where they’d been tracing lazy circles on her arm. Then, with a slow exhale, he said, “Yeah… I guess I haven’t.”

Gabby didn’t push. She just waited, letting him decide how much to share.

“I’ve had a few,” Glen admitted finally. “Some long term, some short. All different. But I think for a long time I didn’t really let myself get too deep.”

He shifted, adjusting so they were facing one another more directly.

“There was always something missing,” he continued. “Not because the women weren’t great—most of them were. But I kept parts of myself hidden. Parts I didn’t even realize I was holding back. And maybe I thought that was just how love worked. That you gave most of yourself, but never all.”

Gabby watched him closely, her eyes soft.

“But then you happened,” Glen said, his voice dipping, almost reverent. “And suddenly it felt like I couldn’t not give you all of me. Even the messy, complicated, hard to handle parts.”

Gabby smiled faintly. “You don’t seem that messy.”

He gave a dry laugh. “You haven’t seen me mid shoot when everything’s going wrong and I haven’t slept in twenty four hours.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she teased gently.

“But seriously,” Glen said, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand again. “Being with you…it’s different. Not just because it feels good now, but because I can actually see a future with you in it. Long-term. Like…wife, kids, waking up next to you in ten years kind of future.”

Gabby’s throat tightened. She blinked quickly, but her voice stayed even. “Have you ever had that before? With someone else?”

He didn’t hesitate. “No. I had one that I thought about marrying. But wasn't sure we were on the same page when it came to a family. And not sure she would've been willing to pack up her life and follow me to Texas.”

Gabby swallowed. “I mean Texas is nice, I'd move to Texas for you." she said before giving her a smile.

She was quiet for a few minutes and then continued. "Do you think it’s because of where you are now? In life, I mean. Like that's why it didn't work with the other ones?”

“Maybe part of it,” he admitted. “But I think it’s more about who you are. You make me want things I didn’t think I’d ever want. Or at least things I thought I’d always be too busy with my career to want. But with you I want it all. I'm willing to slow down my career if it means making it work with you.”

Gabby went quiet again, processing his words, letting them settle.

Then, in a quieter voice, she asked, “Do you think we’re moving too fast?”

Glen met her gaze, steady and sure. “Not if it feels right.”

She studied him for a long moment, then nodded, her voice barely a whisper. “It does.”

His lips curved into a soft, knowing smile. “Then we’re right on time.”

Gabby leaned in, brushing a slow kiss over his lips, her heart fluttering in her chest.

When she pulled back, she whispered, “You make me feel safe, Glen. Like I don’t have to question everything. Like I’m finally not waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“You don’t have to wait,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Gabby’s head rested against Glen’s shoulder again, but her body wasn’t quite as relaxed as it had been moments ago. He felt it — the slight tension in her spine, the subtle way her fingers had started to fidget with the edge of the blanket again.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “What’s going on in that head of yours now, darlin’?”

She was quiet for a long beat.

Then, softly: “Your flight to London leaves in what—two days?”

Glen nodded slowly, glancing down at her. “Yeah. Monday morning.”

Gabby exhaled, and he felt the weight of it. Heavy. Nervous.

“I know we’ll see each other in between,” she murmured. “But six months…it’s a long time.”

“I know,” he said gently. “But we’ve done distance before. We made it through last time.”

Gabby lifted her head to look at him, eyes searching his.

“I didn’t tell you everything last time,” she said softly.

Glen’s eyes darkened with quiet concern. “What do you mean?”

She swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper. “I struggled more than I let on. I didn’t want to worry you while you were filming. You had enough on your plate. So I smiled through the FaceTime calls and told you everything was fine… but there were days where I just… missed you so much it hurt.”

His jaw tensed. “Gabby…”

“I’d go to sleep holding your shirt,” she admitted, blinking hard. “There were nights I cried myself to sleep and days where I didn’t even want to leave the apartment. And I hated feeling like that. I hated feeling needy or like I was being dramatic.”

“You weren’t,” Glen said firmly, his voice low with something that bordered on guilt. “You weren’t being dramatic at all.”

“I didn’t want to be a burden,” she whispered.

Glen sat up straighter, his hand sliding to her cheek as he guided her face gently to his.

“Look at me,” he said, voice soft but steady. “You could never be a burden. You are my world, Gabby.”

Gabby let out a shaky breath, her fingers curling into the front of his shirt. “I’m scared, Glen. I’m scared it’ll be like that again. And this time… I don’t think I can pretend I’m okay if I’m not.”

“Then don’t,” he said immediately. “Promise me, Gabby—no more pretending. If you’re not okay, you tell me. I’ll make the time. I’ll drop what I’m doing if I have to.”

She gave him a sad smile. “Even in the middle of a shoot?”

“I don’t care if we’re rolling cameras on a million-dollar scene,” he said, thumb brushing across her cheek. “You need me? I’m there. We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Her throat tightened. “I just don’t want this—us—to get lost in the chaos.”

“It won’t,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.”we’re not losing this.”

She stared at him, blinking back tears.

“I love you so much it scares me,” she whispered.

“I know the feeling,” he said, his voice cracking just slightly. “But I’d rather be scared with you than feel safe with anyone else.”

Gabby let out a watery laugh, and Glen leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers.

“Six months,” he said quietly. “It’ll suck, yeah. But we’ll get through it. And when it’s over? I’m coming home to you. Always.”

She nodded, pulling him into a kiss — slow, deep, and filled with a silent promise they were both desperate to keep.

And when they broke apart, Glen pulled her into his chest, wrapping her up in his arms like he was trying to shield her from the ache that already threatened to creep in.

Gabby’s fingers drifted up, brushing along the edge of Glen’s collar. She found the familiar gold chain peeking out, warm against his skin. Her fingers toyed with it absently, her thumb tracing over the small, simple pendant that hung from it.

Glen stilled slightly, his gaze dropping to her hand. He watched her for a long beat—her focus, the softness in her face, the way she touched it like she was grounding herself. Something shifted in his expression.

Without a word, he reached up and carefully unclasped it.

Gabby blinked, startled as he slipped the chain from around his neck.

“Wait—what are you doing?” she asked softly, brows pulling in.

Glen didn’t answer right away. Instead, he brought the necklace up and gently looped it around her neck, his fingers brushing against her skin as he clasped it at the back. The pendant settled against her chest, right over her heart.

She looked down at it, then back up at him, her lips parted in surprise. “Glen…”

He just shook his head, cupping her face with one hand. “I want you to have it.”

Gabby’s throat tightened. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “It’s always meant something to me… but now? I want it to mean something to you, too.”

Her eyes searched his, glassy under the flicker of firelight.

“It’s not just a necklace,” he added. “It’s a piece of me. And I want you to have it. While I’m gone. While we figure this thing out. I need you to know I’m not going anywhere, Gabby.”

Her breath caught. He wasn’t making a big speech. There were no grand declarations. Just that steady, solid certainty that she’d come to know and love in him.

She reached up and touched the pendant where it rested just below her collarbone.

“I’ll keep it safe,” she whispered.

Glen leaned in and pressed his forehead gently to hers. “I know you will.”

[dizzybee03]

This was good! Protective Robby is the best

Oooo I can’t stop thinking about Robby noticing symptoms of a serious illness in his partner overtime and getting her the tests and help she needs

Bedside Manner | one shot

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Requested

Summary: After ignoring your symptoms for far too long, Michael is forced to bring you into the ER.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: It took a hot minute to find something I thought could work, I hope you enjoy! This idea might’ve inspired something else down the road👀

Word Count: 1.5k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content.

Warnings: illness/sick reader, reader is a teacher, mild angst, foul language, age gap, fluff at the end, pet name (sweetheart)

not beta read

You half attributed your cold to the kids you worked with — a sickness was always being passed in the hallways, especially during this time of year when the air began to cool. You had been able to bear the brunt of the week still going into work, convincing yourself it was only allergies and then only a cold. There was a relief in the weekend, knowing you likely only needed to rest — running low on sleep and stress could do crazy things to the body.

You had moved in with your boyfriend, Michael Robinavitch, before the school year had started, and you were thrilled to call the combined space home. You were less than thrilled that not even three months into it and he was already taking care of you. It was sweet, of course, but he spent all day taking care of just about everyone else. He didn’t need to come home and do it again. You appreciated it, and loved how he took care of you on any normal day, you just felt guilty because you were ill. Though, he didn’t even flinch, bringing you tea or meds or soup from your favorite deli.

When he came home to find you still curled up on the couch, something shifted in his eyes, edging closer to worry.

Michael sat at the edge of the couch to feel your forehead, his own creased in concern. “You should be getting better by now.”

You waved him off, eyes flickering from the tv to his face. “Flu’s been going around. Likely just that.”

His frown deepened, “What’re your symptoms?”

You wanted to roll your eyes, “I’m not a patient, I just caught something at school.”

His quirked eyebrow left no room for argument.

You heaved a sigh and winced, “I’m just tired, my head hurts and my muscles ache because of the fever.”

“If you’re not improving by Monday, I’d like for you to—”

“I’m not going to the ER.” You said, eyes heavy with fatigue. “I’ll wait forever and I’d rather just lay here. I’ll schedule something with my PCP on Monday.”

“You say that like I wouldn’t get you seen right away.”

“I’m sure fluids would do wonders, but perhaps just some tea?” You had no energy to go back and forth with him about it.

He relented and moved into the kitchen to do just that. You were asleep by the time he came back with it.

—

You woke up in bed feeling worse. Despite not eating anything, your stomach rolled uneasily, your room feeling like it was spinning. Your head felt like it was in a vice, tension pulling your skull together like it would squish your brain. That wasn’t even getting into the spreading pain you were feeling.

Part of you wanted to roll over and wake up Michael, but you felt guilty for even thinking about it. His first day off in nearly a week and he was likely going to spend it taking care of you. The least you could do was let him sleep soundly.

Through sheer will, you made it into the adjoining master bathroom, moving to sit on the cold tile. Your body was hot, but chills wracked your body, and you winced whenever you moved your head to turn, muscles in your neck pulled taut.

Nothing came up, but you had zero energy now to move, leaned up against the wall. You regretted not waking Michael up. Your stomach gave another lurch — there was nothing in it but bile.

Through your haze of fatigue, you were unsure if hours or minutes had passed while you sat there. Your mind felt completely foggy, too concentrated on the pain in your head or the aches in your bones.

“Hey, hey,” a voice called, the sound making you wince, “How long have you been in here? What’s wrong?”

You blinked your eyes, but found it difficult to focus on the face now level with yours. Michael’s eyes were easy enough to recognize, but your mind kept switching through topics and forgetting he was there.

“I’m okay,” you breathed out, closing your eyes. “I just wanna get back in bed.”

There was a tense silence.

“I’m taking you to the hospital.”

You whined, “In the morning? Please. I just want to sleep.”

His hands met your face, and there was relief in how cool they felt against your clammy skin. He was gentle, but firm, quietly assessing you.

He spoke your name, making you hum, but your attention wavered.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart. Hey.” There was an urgency in his tone that you had not heard before.

You opened your eyes and blinked at him, vision only mildly clearing so you could see the worry etched into his eyes. His brow lines were prominent, as were the crinkles around his eyes — his face pinched together.

“Just…flu…let me sleep.” You said, words heavy and slurred.

—

Michael had never felt fear like that, watching you come in and out of consciousness on the bathroom floor. He knew it had not been the flu, it had been too long without any improvement in symptoms. Instead, they only got worse. Why had he let you convince him to not take you in right away?

He grunted when he scooped you up, hurrying to get you into his car. He knew an ambulance would take too long when he could just take you himself. Your pulse was strong, albeit just a touch fast, and your breathing was steady. He was confident you would be fine until you made it to the ED, but he was wracking his brain over what the hell you had.

The drive to the Pitt felt like it took eternity, catching every light despite the late hour. He barely had even looked at the time after finding you missing from bed. Worry constricted his heart.

He burst through the doors of the ED like a bat out of hell, looking around and hoping to spot Abbot, or someone with a gurney.

“Robby?” The night shift charge nurse asked, bewildered.

That seemed to catch Abbot’s attention, moving from one of the rooms and toward the charge desk. He took in the sight of you in Michael’s arms. He turned and called for nurses, while he quickly went to Michael.

“What’s wrong?”

“High fever, fatigue, joint aches, slurred speech. Uh, fuck, I think she was nauseous before she passed out.” Michael was panting now, more-so from the anxiety crawling through his chest rather than the fact he was still carrying you.

Abbot waved over the gurney and Michael set her down on it, fear bleeding from his heart.

“Pupils reactive. Responds to pain.”

It was a mess of tests after that, each one blurring into the next, but you stayed unconscious. You would come to long enough to respond to pain or Michael’s desperate pleas, but you looked exhausted whenever you did.

Michael stayed diligently by your side, except the moments he would slip away to confer with Abbot about any new information, or tests he thought might be useful.

Fluids did do wonders for making you feel better, hardly having an appetite throughout the week, though when you came to, you still felt sluggish. Michael’s relieved face, however, would stick in your mind for a long time.

“You scared the shit outta me.” He said, hand curling around yours, squeezing.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t really think it was serious.” You said, blinking your eyes slowly, eyelids still heavy.

“I really should have brought you in when I thought something wasn’t right.”

“Do they know what I have yet?”

He shook his head, “Blood tests should be back shortly.”

You pursed your lips, annoyed, “What’s the consensus?”

“That I should probably listen to my gut more often, and not my stubborn girlfriend.”

“You really need to work on your bedside manner.” You scoffed with a grin. “I’m giving you a three.”

“A three? I think I deserve at least a seven.”

“On what grounds?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I brought you into the hospital? Was your knight in shining armor?”

You giggled, “I can be persuaded to give you a five if you get me something to drink.”

He smiled softly, “Consider it done.”

—

After going over your symptoms with Michael, more in detail this time, he slipped out of the room to talk to Dr. Abbot. When he returned, he had a handful of negative tests and a possible answer.

“Lyme’s Disease? Really?” You questioned, eyebrow raised. “I never got a rash.”

Michael shrugged, “They’re confirming it with a blood test now, but 1 in 3 don’t present with a rash.”

You thought back to the hike you and Michael had taken before the school year started. You had always been safe, long pants tucked into tall socks whenever you went off trail, but you had no memory of being bitten or being itchy. You had done a tick check before you got into Michael’s truck and showered when you got back home.

“Well, that’s irritating.” You frowned, “Will I be okay?”

Michael nodded, his face finally having relaxed, “After a course of antibiotics, you should be fine.”

You heaved a long sigh, but relief flushed through you. “Thank you for bringing me in, I’m sorry I scared you.”

He leaned down to kiss your forehead, then your lips. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You smiled, pulling him down for another. “Your score just went up to an eight.”

He laughed.

All Robby Content Taglist: @cherriready @seeyalaterinnovator @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @bxxbxy @18lkpeters @flyinglama @hagarsays @mayabbot @anakingreys

All The Pitt Content Taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera

This became a lot more dramatic than I intended lol sorry if it’s not exactly what you wanted, anon!

Most of the symptoms are based on someone I knew who had Lyme’s Disease before, but I was thriving on the drama so I might’ve taken it a bit too far. I’m not in the medical field, so forgive any errors.