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murderofravens · 4 months ago

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THIEF

pairing: the salesman x fem!reader

summary: he looked harmless enough. you should've known you were stealing from the wrong man.

warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, NON CON ELEMENTS but no actual smut, father issues, talks of abusive past (reader ran away from home) physical and verbal abuse, slapping, hitting and all that. age gap because of course, its my fic afterall. he's fucked up. that's it. read at your own risk.

A/N: shoutout to @muntitled for her incredible salesman fics and for inspiring me to start writing again. you're awesome.

prequel to VIOLATE

MASTERLIST

the station seems colder today. your eyes twitch as you look around, analysing the people waiting for their next train. a woman sitting on a bench, reading. a few college students who probably are in more debt than you. a homeless man mumbling incoherently to himself while trying to light a match. a group of teenage boys laughing at something on their phone— you make a mental note to stay away from that side, for the sake of your own safety. the lightbulb flickers as you take a seat on the dirty floor, contemplating your options. that woman looks a good enough target— but with the layers of clothes she's got on, you don't believe you'll have any luck with her.

you hear footsteps coming down the stairs. you don't look up, merely focusing your gaze on the floor and pretending to be lost in thought. you've learned it's much easier to get away with pickpocketing if you don't immediately look at the person you're stealing from. something about not looking suspicious. a pair of shiny dress shoes stand by the train tracks— and you allow your gaze to trail up, up, up. this man has some long legs, you think to yourself. a crisp, stoney gray suit, and broad shoulders. a briefcase in hand and a seemingly innocent gaze looking around.

someone financially stable, judging by the expensive watch on his wrist. on first glance, you decide he looks like the kind of man who would be too tired or bored to run after you if he caught you in the act.

he'll be paying for your dinners for atleast a week.

as you stand up casually, you spot your target put on a charming smile and walk over to where the homeless man is warming his hands. you can't hear the conversation because the man's back is turned to you, but you can tell he is trying to advertise something to him. he opens his briefcase, and you catch sight of bundles of cash in it. you feel your heartbeat immediately picking up. your body feels warmer now; imagining a bright future for yourself if you managed to get a hand on the briefcase.

you don't bother eavesdropping in the conversation, you have other priorities. luckily, the woman on the bench was reading with her legs spread forward. you take the opportunity and stumble over her feet, losing your footing and falling forward with a loud cry— crashing right into your target who stumbles forward onto the homeless guy who lets out a string of curses.

"watch where you're fucking going!" he yells, and you're sure the woman behind you called you a fucking nutjob as well.

apologizing profusely, you put on your best sheepish expression and pat your target's back, helping him up. he looks at you strangely, giving you a tight lipped smile, and when you slip out his wallet from his back pocket, he doesn't seem to notice. before you can get a hand on the briefcase, he tugs it back and guides it towards the homeless man, engaging in another conversation with him. you're quick to walk away without another glance, swearing to yourself on your missed opportunity. but you suppose a wallet is better than nothing.

the first thing you do is run out and aim towards a crowded area you can disappear into. you open the wallet and pull out some cash— no identification, no credit cards. just a simple paper card with some symbols on it. it makes you wince. you thought with atleast an address or a name, you could've robbed him, but the universe seems to fucking hate you.

you eat some noodles from a street vendor. it's one of your favourites. in moments like these, you miss home. but you figure that having to steal and feed yourself is better than always having to walk on eggshells around your father— wondering when the next hit might come. or what other aspect of you would he decide to fixate on till you start hating yourself. you were tired of that life. this is okay, you'll deal with it.

it's when you're walking back to that rusty apartment you've started calling home that you feel a strange, prickling sensation on your back. so far, you always wondered if what people said was true— that you can tell when you're being watched. right now, you can feel it— this strange, unsettling fear that something is following you. you abruptly look behind, but there's no one there. you consider taking a short cut— but decide it's the stupidest thing you could do, so you just run home as fast as you can and hope whoever it is, doesn't catch you.

you feel victorious as you open the door to your place. as you step inside, something kicks you in the back of your knees and you yelp before falling forward, right on your face.

"what the fuck!?" you shriek breathlessly, scared out of your mind as you lean on your elbows and try to sit up. there's a haunting shadow blocking your doorway, and you can feel your heart begin to pound nervously as you spot the man from the station.

"you look at home down there," he says calmly, accent heavy in his voice. "rightful place for a thief like you."

your voice is stuck in your throat— eyes wide as you let out sharp, heavy breaths. does he know? how long has he been following you? did he involve the police? what is he going to do?

"listen, man." you start shakily, sitting up, "i don't know what you're talking about—"

as you try to stand again, his foot comes up and collides with your shoulder, sending you to the floor again, "fuck!—"

he doesn't let you up as you lay against the floor, his shoe painfully digging into your collarbone, "not only did you sabotage my job tonight, but you also stole from me. i don't like thieves—"

"i hadn't eaten in days!" you cry out, a hand coming up to grab onto his leg, eyes pleading with him to have some sympathy. you really try. "i'll— i can pay you back—"

"by stealing from someone else?" he asks, amused.

"no! god—" you let out a choked breath. you're scared out of your damn mind, it's obvious, but more so because the violence and humiliation you're facing now is what you ran away from home to avoid. you don't want this man to violate you. you're tired of being scared. "i can— i can do a job! anything! ill work for you or- or— i'm sorry, please—"

the man takes joy in your cries, it's obvious in the amusement in his eyes. he's enjoying the way you stumble over your words and make a fool of yourself. but after a moment of begging, he pulls his leg back and gives you a moment to breathe. you sit up, choking on heavy breaths, holding onto your shoulder.

"let's play a game."

you look up at him with bloodshot eyes— barely holding back tears. his hand twitches.

you're shaking. this man just had his foot on your shoulder, and he wants to play a game?

when he doesn't get a response from you, he continues, "it's called ddakji. if you win, i'll give you cash." he opens the briefcase, smiles sinisterly as your eyes land on the object of your desires. "i saw you watching it, back at the station. such a shame your little plan didn't work, no?"

you grit your teeth, looking away from his taunting eyes. "and if i lose?"

"then i get to slap you."

your head snaps up— breathing getting heavy again. is this really what your life has come to? is it really worth it? you're back to square one— perhaps, you could leave your home, but the violence will always follow. the realization of your fate has a tear rolling down your cheek. you really try to sound tough when you gather the courage to speak again. "and why would i do that?"

"because you're desperate," he says calmly, leaning forward to brush the tear away with his thumb. the action has your heart fluttering for just a moment— many men have made you cry, but not one of them have ever wiped the tears. it's stupid. he quirks an eyebrow, settling you with a blank stare that shakes you to your core. "what have you got to lose, anyway?"

he's right, you think. would you rather take a few slaps and then live your life independently? or would you choose to live in fear about when you'd be on the receiving end of your father's wrath again?

you choose the former.

he explains the concept of the game and you get to choose the color of your tile— you pick the red one because it's your favourite color. with as much strength as you can, you try to flip his tile, but it merely jumps and then lands back like it was. it sends your heart plummeting down your stomach.

you know well what's coming next— it's all you've ever known your whole life. you flinch as his hand raises, but he stops midway. you tremble violently, eyeing his palm nervously. he eyes you curiously for a while, before another twisted smile appears on his face.

"you ever get hit before?" he asks, voice taunting. you swallow hard. "boyfriend?" he pushes his hand closer, making you flinch again. "ah, i know— father."

before you can snap at him, his hand collides with your cheek, making you let out a sharp cry. your face twists to the side and you take a deep breath— try to console yourself. it's just a game. he's not doing it out of malice. false promises.

you bite down on your lower lip to avoid calling him a fucking dickhead and telling him to rot.

he just smiles as he goes next. you pray to the gods he doesn't flip your tile— and thankfully, he doesn't. it makes you sigh in relief as he tosses a bundle of cash at your feet. you bend down to pick it up, "oh my god, thank you, thank you—"

he tsks, shaking his head, "game isn't over."

you go another round, and you win. you cheer heartily as you get another bundle of the cash tossed at your feet— and he sighs to himself. suddenly this game seems better.

you try to use your previous technique to flip his tile, and it doesn't work. it earns you another slap. it doesn't get better— you get as many slaps as you do cash. tears roll down your sore cheeks— they're heated and they hurt. you feel faint. only you know how much strength it takes to keep standing. you're sure your face will bruise tomorrow. he doesn't stop until you have half the cash from his briefcase. you can't hold back your sobs— you don't know what you're crying for. the cash, or the slaps? both, perhaps.

"you did good," he says, stepping forward and invading your personal space. his hands are warm as he cups your cheeks, thumbs wiping away the tears. you try to pull your face away, but one warning glare from him has you frozen in place. "look on the bright side, you decided to steal from me today and you earned some money. even if it came with a little beating. but you took it like a good girl, didn't you?"

his words should have you convulsing. you should be kicking him in the balls and hitting him with the nearest object you can find— but you're hypnotized— caught in a trance by his words of praise. against your better judgement, you nod, before shamefully averting your gaze.

he smiles tightly and steps away. adjusts the buttons of his suit jacket and looks around before going to the couch and sitting down. "why don't you go fetch me a glass of water?" he stretches his arms, shoots a provocative smile your way. "all this exercise has me feeling thirsty."

you want to tell him to shove his exercise up your ass and leave, but you decide to do as he said. you're in no position to threaten him. he's much stronger than you, and judging by everything else, much older as well. men like him are not easy to fool. and you really don't want to get hit again.

as you pour him a glass of water, you eye his briefcase again. if you could somehow manage to perhaps weaken him for just a moment— you could get all the cash and maybe run away. you would spike his water but you don't have any drugs. you have to do this the hard way. you pocket a fork and then head back to deliver him his water.

as he drinks, you kneel by his feet, gathering your cash. carefully, you pull out the fork, and with as much strength as you can, slam it down onto the side of his foot.

"you little bitch—" he groans loudly, wincing and throwing his head back and clenching his jaw before splashing the water from the glass on your face. it makes you squeal. before you can attack again, he pulls the fork out and tosses it to the side. your eyes widen and you rush to get it, but he sticks his leg out and you trip and fall on your face again.

a crunchy sound emerges as he steps on your wrist, his shoe digging into the delicate appendage. you let out a shrill cry.

"the one thing i hate more than thieves—" he snickers, looking down at you like you're an insect. he scoffs, twisting his shoe harder, making you choke on a sob, "is a little girl who thinks she's smarter than me."

"fuck you!" you sob, squirming on the ground, "let me go!"

"watch your language with me." he hisses back, narrowing his eyes. he glares before releasing a breathy chuckle, "you are the stupidest girl i have ever met. you were doing so well too. did you really think you could overpower me?"

"you hit me—" you sniffle, groaning in pain as you attempts to yank your hand back, "you hit me and you—"

he interrupts with a taunt, "maybe if you tried acting so smartly with your father, you wouldn't have had to run away from home."

you gasp before letting out another pained whimper, "how did you—"

"it's written on your face." he sighs, exasperated. like he's dealing with a toddler, not a girl who stabbed his leg. "if i let go of your hand, do you promise not to get hostile again?"

you glare at him silently through teary eyes.

"do i have your word?" he says louder, twisting his foot again.

"yes, yes—" you yelp, and with careful thought, he steps back. before you can make a move, he leans down to grab your hair and yanks you up. it makes you hiss in pain. he shoves you towards the couch.

"all this fighting has made me excited," he remarks with a chuckle, crowding you in. your eyes widen and you crawl away from him to the farthest end of the couch. he follows you like a predator, palming the front of his pants, and the realization of whats to follow makes you shake your head, "no- no, please, god—"

"shut the fuck up," he snaps strictly, voice eerily composed. he grabs your head, looks down at you with those black, empty eyes, his free hand carelessly unbuckling his belt. "you didn't think i'd let your little stunt go unpunished, did you?"

"you can do anything else—" you choke out, shaking her head. he yanks your face forward, makes your cheek press against the tent in his pants. you can smell him. you desperately try to latch onto any semblance of comfort you can find. "anything— anything but this, you can even slap me again—"

"hitting you is no fun if you're asking for it," he replies boredly, tugging your head back just enough so your teary eyes blink up at him pathetically. "i want to really rub it in this time. what happens when you mess with men like me."

you want to fight more— you wish you could. you desperately want to, but you feel frozen with shock. this day has turned into a nightmare you couldn't imagine even in the worst possible time. it's like everything you have done till now to avoid horrible, violent men, is laughing at your failure. you blink a few times, as if trying to wake yourself up.

"i've never done this before," your voice cracks as you voice your last attempt at begging for mercy— does he not have a heart?

he pauses and eyes you for a moment, and for a millisecond you think he'll reconsider. but then his mouth twitches, and your heart breaks as soon he pulls his pants down.

"even better."

A/N: this was more psychological and self indulgent that i expected, lol. i'm still not very well versed with smut, so i thought i might put this out before i try. feedback is always appreciated. i love him so much even though he's horrible. i guess that's what them father issues do.

#salesman x reader #the recruiter x reader #gong yoo x reader #squid game x reader #squid game smut #the salesman x you #salesman smut #the salesman angst

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professorharlot · 4 months ago

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Nobody really talks about how lonely it can be as a radfem, especially how alienated you feel from other women. The continuous betrayal and ridicule you’ll experience from the same people who agree with surface-level feminist analyses is so disheartening.

You’re eager to criticize poor male behavior yet you also vehemently deny real-world oppression that we all suffer from? Acknowledging the wage gap and sexual violence statistics is all fun and games but deconstructing anything beyond that is somehow taking things too far? Do you not see the irony in condemning things like the cosmetic industry while degrading other women who choose not to shave?

I want to know at what point they think the oppression of women starts and stops. Do you genuinely believe that thousands of years of misogyny simply disappears overnight? Is it truly the case that your father, your brother, your boyfriend have miraculously been deprogrammed and it’s all other men that are the problem?

Everyone wants to shit on men until it comes time to reconcile with the fact that the majority of them actively and intentionally contribute to maintaining a patriarchal society. Then it just gets too real

#radical feminism #radblr #radical feminist safe #radical feminists do interact #radical feminist community

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twohearts-hs · 9 days ago

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Dove & Captain: 7 - Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader Series

Words in Total: 11.9k

Pairings: Dr. Jack Abbot x fem!reader

Synopsis: She's his Dove. The ER nurse who is the definition of chaos, trauma and humour in scrubs. He's her Captain, gruff, emotionally guarded war veteran with a prosthetic leg and completely in love with her. Six years together, a mortgage, four dogs and the ability to conquer anything. This is a story of their life in one day. He is 49, she's 30. This is one day of their life based on the 15 episodes of 'The Pitt'. There will be little imagines of their relationship over the years.

Warnings: Swearing, Age Gap, Trauma, Medical Language/Procedure, Pregnancy, Miscarriage, etc.

A/N: This is a complete series of ~60k. I will post a few snapshots of their relationship over the six+ years they've been together.

Hope you enjoy :)

Series Masterlist

2000

It was now eight o’clock. An hour passed the time Y/N was supposed to be off. Another hour into this mass casualty.

Y/N was on another patient. Jack was behind her with a different patient. Dr. Mohan was with her as they worked alongside one another.

“This is weird,” Dr. Mohan called out.

“What?” Jack asked, looking over.

“Shot in the chest but nothing out of the thoracostomy tube,” Dr. Mohan said to Jack as he came over.

Leaning over, Jack looked at the tube going into the patient. “You got through the pleura, ok?” he asked.

“Yeah, I definitely felt the lung with my finger,” Dr. Mohan replied.

Y/N was working around them, then glanced up. “Hey, I lost the radial pulse. I got a femoral though,” she stated, looking at the two doctors. “I think he’s bleeding out.”

Jack nodded. “Indeed, he is. Probably tore through the spleen,” he said.

“How?” Mohan asked.

“Ok,” Jack hummed, “nipples to navel is no man’s land. If he got shot while exhaling, the bullet possibly passed below the diaphragm.” He glanced over to Mohan. “Start a second IO, transfuse two units O-positive. Where’s Robby? Let’s find him and call Walsh. This guy needs the next OR immediately.” Then Jack was gone, moving to the next patient.

Y/N went straight back to her work.

Y/N continued to follow Mohan around. She was a great doctor, an excellent doctor and the more Y/N worked with her, the more impressed she was.

They were in a trauma room stabilising a patient when Jack opened the door and came in, pulling his gloves on as he entered.

“Tapping in,” he expressed.

“Thanks, brother,” Shen responded, patting Jack on the shoulder.

“Yeah,” Jack grunted, coming over to the side.

“EFAST normal. No abdominal haemorrhage, no tamponade,” Mohan stated, trying to catch Jack up to speed. Jack glanced at the monitors.

Jack looked at the wound before Y/N spoke up. “Pulse ox borderline, 89% on 15 litres,” she stated as they made eye contact. “BP’s only 95 over 58,” she finished, looking over at the monitor before going back to her work on the patient.

“Vinny Rivera…is he here?” the patient asked, looking over to them.

“I’m not sure, man,” Jack replied.

“I’m so sleepy,” the patient muttered.

“Were you tired right after you got shot?” Mohan asked. The monitors continued to repeatedly beep.

“Uh, no,” he muttered back. “I helped move 20, 30 people.”

�� Y/N continued to do her nursing duties as Jack analysed the monitor, brain trying to calculate.

“What’s causing his oxygen levels to tank?” Mohan asked.

“Up the oxygen!” Jack ordered, looking at Y/N.

She went over to the machine, trying to adjust it. “Abbot, 15’s as high as it goes,” she replied.

Jack walked over to her. “Gauge only goes to 15. Keep cranking, Kid,” he fired back. “You can get to 50.” Y/N nodded, going back to the machine.

Just then, the door opened and a woman appeared. “Brian?” she asked. Lupe was there too. Y/N and Jack both turned around. Jack stood there like he was in the military, hands behind his back as he stared at Y/N, then at the patient.

“Vinny got shot. I sent him with the first car I saw,” the patient stated, voice breathy. “Is he ok?”

The woman looked at Jack, then to Brian, leaning over. “You fight, Brian, ok? You fight like the stubborn bastard you are.”

“I tried, Whit,” Brian replied. “I tried,” he cried.

They continued to work with Brian, but the monitor continued to rapidly beep. No one had an idea of what was happening. Y/N glanced at the monitor and than to Jack and Mohan.

“He’s on 100% oxygen,” she stated. “His pulse ox is still only 88.”

Jack nodded, listening to the patient’s chest when Walsh came into the trauma room. “How’s it going upstairs?” Jack called over his shoulder.

“Regular spa day at the OR,” Walsh replied. Y/N was grabbing IV bags, changing them. “42 ex-laps and thoracotomies.”

“Impressive,” Mohan replied.

“What do you got?” Walsh asked, grabbing gloves.

“GSW through and through the thigh, not arterial, now hypotensive and hypoxic,” Jack replied, walking around the patient and trading spots with Mohan.

“Sounds like blood loss,” Walsh replied.

“No. Haemoglobin times 2 is stable,” Mohan stated, glancing over to Walsh. “Vena cava is plump. It would be flat with haemorrhage.”

Jack stared at the screen where the ultrasound was presented. “It’s actually a little too plump. Let me see the phased array probe,” Jack stated, grabbing the probe.

“Any history of heart disease?” Walsh called out.

“Not sure, but he’s a strong guy,” Y/N replied. “Got shot, strapped a t-shirt and belt around his thigh and ran around helping people for a few hours.”

Jack then gasped quietly. “Holy shit,” he exclaimed. “Check out the four chamber apical view.”

Y/N turned her head to look at the monitors.

“Dilated right atrium and right ventricle. Right-sided strain with vowing of the septum,” Mohan stated, reading the scan.

“Sounds like a PE,” Walsh added. “He threw a clot from having the tourniquet on?”

Jack shook his head. “Way too soon for a DVT. Ok, let’s get him in left lateral decubitus,” Jack stated, moving the probe before handing it back to Y/N. “One, two…” Y/N grasped the patient’s side and helped roll him over. “Trendelenburg ASAP.”

“What for?” Mohan asked.

“Intracardiac air embolism. All that running around introduced air into the femoral vein right up to the heart. Now it’s blocking blood flow to the lungs,” Jack told them.

“You need a CT to confirm,” Walsh replied.

“They’re still backed up with other patients,” Y/N said to Walsh.

Walsh looked at her. “Well, then maybe the cath lab can take them. They have fluoro. I’ll go check!” she called out, walking away.

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Jack retorted, then he met Y/N’s eyes. “Kid, get me a central line kit and a 5 French pigtail catheter, please.”

“Yes, Captain,” she hummed, walking to grab supplies. Jack looked at her, sending her a hard glare. She was not allowed to use that nickname at work.

“Y/N,” he warned, raising a brow. Voice was low and sharp.

She smirked over her shoulder, already grabbing supplies. “You said please,” she replied sweetly. “I’m being polite.”

Jack stared at her again. “Y/N. Don’t.”

Mohan looked between them before looking at Jack. “He doesn’t have a collapsed lung,” she told him.

Jack grunted. “Yeah?”

“So, what are you going to do?” Mohan asked.

Jack glanced over, standing up straight as he stared at her. “I’m not going to do anything. You are.”

Y/N looked between the two of them, holding the supplies. She chuckled, shaking her head as she watched Mohan’s shock take over her face.

Y/N was watching, doing her job as Jack and Mohn were performing whatever they were performing.

“Got the IJ,” Mohan stated, placing a needle inside the patient while Jack held the probe.

“Ok, back to business as usual, thank God,” he stated, looking at the ultrasound. “Guidewire and introducer,” he began, grabbing the supplies on the tray behind him.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dr. Walsh spoke up as she entered the room.

“Dr. Mohan is about to pull air from the right atrium and right ventricle,” Jack stated, annoyance in his tone but also his damn stubbornness.

“With what?” Walsh barked.

“Five French Pigtail catheter,” Mohan replied.

“Inside the heart?” Walsh asked, voice sharp.

“It’s so cool,” Y/N replied, looking over her shoulder. “I want to do this.”

Jack glanced at Y/N. “You’re a nurse, Kid. Dummies is all you get,” he mumbled.

Y/N frowned. “Way to kill a girl’s ambition.” Jack just let out a low chuckle.

“Multiple side-holes gives you a better shot at suck out all the air,” Jack explained, watching the procedure be done.

Mohan glanced up. “Dr. Abbot showed me a case report from South Korea–“ Mohan tried.

“What the actual fuck?” Walsh barked, pushing Y/N out of the way.

“Woah, girl,” she muttered.

“Hey,” Jack stated. “Be gentle.”

Walsh glared. “I just talked to cardiology. They want a CT scan. If it’s showing air, then you need to dive him in the hyperbaric chamber,” she said, looking at the procedure.

“He’ll be dead by then,” Jack barked.

“Not if you kill him first with this banana-pants procedure,” Walsh fired back.

Jack was getting agitated. Y/N could tell. His brows were furrowed, his jaw was tight. “We don’t have time to wait for your fancy-pants machine,” he replied, tone sharp but low. “If we don’t get the air out of his heart, he’ll die.”

“This is not the standard of care,” Walsh replied lowly.

Jack shot up to look at Walsh, eyes glaring at her as if she had stolen the last cookie from the cookie jar. “Oh, fuck standard of care. If we want to save him, we go in now.” His eyes were glaring holes into Walsh.

Mohan was uncomfortable. “Maybe I should–“

Jack glanced at Mohan. “Thread in the pigtail?” he hummed, mocking Walsh. “Excellent idea, Dr. Mohan.” Jack grabbed the supplies before handing them to Mohan, sending her a reassuring nod.

Gentle beeping was heard as Mohan took the pigtail and continued to work under Jack’s supervision and words.

“Go down to 24 centimetres, and then we’ll confirm with X-ray,” he told her, watching as she did what he told her to do. “Good.”

“Think I’ll stick around in case you need another set of hands to resuscitate your patient when he crashes,” she remarked, then looked at Y/N. “Nurse, gloves.”

Y/N stayed there for a moment, raising a brow. “A please would be nice,” she muttered, walking away to grab gloves before handing it to her. She took them. “And a thank you would suffice. Mother never taught you manners, Walsh?” she hummed with a smirk.

Jack glanced up, smiling lightly but the average folk wouldn’t know. But Y/N, she knew.

Walsh looked over to her. Staring hard but didn’t respond as she snapped her gloves on.

“Pigtail’s in the right atrium, good position,” Jack said after they took an X-ray. “Aspirate, see what you get.”

Y/N was there, helping Mohan as she glanced up to see Jack staring at them. He was gowned up in blue, surgical gloves on and safety glasses. His hands were close to his chest, but far away to make sure its sterile.

“Pulling back blood from the heart…” Mohan muttered holding the syringe and pulling its trigger. “Along with some air,” she said then looked back at Jack.

Jack smirked, looked at Walsh. “How about that?” he snarked before walking back over.

“BP’s still only 85 systolic,” Y/N called out.

“No improvement,” Walsh stated the obvious.

Y/N let out a sharp breath, trying to keep her cool. Jack ignored her comment.

“Advance slowly into the right ventricle,” he told Mohan.

“How do I know when I’m–“

“PVCs–“ Y/N tried, looking at the monitor.

“That’s how you know. Aspirate again,” Jack stated.

“Run of three,” Y/N hummed as the alarm blared from the machine.

“More blood and air coming out,” Mohan replied, pulling more on the syringe.

“Run of five,” Y/N said.

“Non-sustained V tach. Charge to 200 for when he deteriorates,” Walsh commanded.

Y/N stared at her for a moment, and she raised a brow. Y/N then promptly nodded, moving away from the table and doing her orders and going to the crash cart.

“Mainly blood now,” Mohan explained.

Jack nodded. “Pull the pigtail back to the RA.”

“Step aside,” Walsh barked.

“Pull the pigtail, Dr. Mohan,” he commanded, looking at the monitor again.

“Step aside!” Walsh yelled, holding panels, however Jack took a step to block her.

“You got this,” he stated, looking at Mohan. Then Mohan pulled the pigtail.

Y/N smiled where she was. “Normal sinus rhythm, 92,” she called out as the beeping stopped. “Pulse ox is improving. BP’s 112 over 84.” She stared at the monitor.

Walsh stepped down. The patient stabilised and Jack was full-blown smirking. He turned his head slightly to look at Walsh. “Not too shabby, huh, Dr. Walsh?” he hummed. “I think we can admit him to General Surgery now.”

“Hell no,” Walsh replied.

Jack’s brows furrowed. “He’s a gunshot victim.”

“Admit him to the cardiac ICU. We’ll consult from there,” she barked back.

Jack hummed, shrugging. “Well, you can admit him yourself, with Cardiology consulting. I thought you liked flying the plane.”

Walsh took a step up to him, lowering her voice. “Not when it’s gonna crash.” Then she glared at Mohan and Y/N before leaving.

Jack turned back to Mohan. “Solid work.”

“That was your save, not mine,” Mohan replied, shaking her head.

Jack smirked. “Take the win, Dr. Mohan,” he hummed.

“Thanks,” she said, voice light and happy.

“Besides, it was a little too risky for me to do myself,” he hummed, looking down. Y/N watched them, working around them, shaking her. What an ass he was…a little shit.

“What?” Mohan breathed.

“Kid, suture?” he called over his shoulder.

Y/N chuckled, grabbing the supplies before handing Jack them. “So, you’re allowed to make jokes mid-procedure now? Is that what we’re doing now, Abbot?” she asked, smirking.

�� Jack didn’t look up as he took the suture kit. “When I’m saving lives? Yes, when you’re mouthing off at me? Never.”

Y/N smirked. “So, I can’t make comedy in your trauma room?” she hummed.

Jack looked at her. “Kid,” he warned, then shook his head. “Keep it to the stage but thank you for your application in entertaining me while I’m working. It’s in the trash.”

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. They were back to normal. Their banter was there, and Jack was actually letting loose at work. It was as if he wasn’t pissed off at her an hour ago, though she knows the lecture is coming.

Mohan blinked at them, pausing her movements. “Um, I’m sorry, but like you two close?” she asked.

“Y/N was part of the night shift for a long time,” Jack said, handing Mohan the suture kit. “Suture.”

“You two used to work nights together?” she hummed, brows furrowing.

Jack nodded. “Yeah, she was my charge nurse until she was moved back to days like two weeks ago,” he stated, watching Mohan.

Mohan shook her head. “Ok,” she muttered, looking down then back up, “Kid and Captain?” she asked, raising a brow.

“What do you mean?” Y/N asked, crossing her arms.

“He calls you kid like he’s your dad–“

“I am not her fucking dad,” Jack bit. “Not even fucking close.”

Mohan slowly nodded.

“Do not mix Abbot’s and I’s relationship with the word ‘dad’,” Y/N warned as she went to check his IV and change the bags.

“Right, so Captain and Kid,” she muttered as she began to suture.

“Ask the question, Mohan,” Jack stated, watching. “It’s burning.”

“You two are close?” Mohan whispered. “Like close? Because you act like a divorce couple who have joint custody of a dog.”

Jack chuckled lowly, shaking his head. “We have four dogs,” he whispered. “We share them. No joint custody where we trade off to different houses. We have one house.”

Y/N bit back her grin and chimed in casually. “And a mortgage.”

Mohan froze; mouth slightly open. “Wait…what?”

Jack stood straight up, peeling his gloves and gown off as he through them in the trash as he looked over. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Four dogs, a mortgage,” he muttered.

Y/N then smirked. “He may be the boss here, but I’m the boss in the bedroom,” she hummed, winking.

“Y/N!” Jack bit, snapping his head and hissing. “Shut it.”

Y/N just smiled like a kid with candy.

Mohan looked between them. “Oh my God, you’re the partner! I thought you were some metaphor. You know, like the ‘mysterious old guy with a truck and a grumpy demeanour’ genre.”

Jack snapped his head at Y/N. “One, talking about me when I’m not there?” he scolded, raising a brow. “Second,” he looked at Mohan, “I’m not a genre.”

“He is a genre, fulfils all my smutty romance kindle book fantasy,” she hummed, winking.

Jack shot his head back to her. “Y/N,” he warned. “We are at work. This is a resident at work. We are in a trauma room with a patient.”

Y/N stared at him. “God, you’re boring.” Then she rolled her eyes.

Mohan looked between them; brows furrowed. “You guys are so professional, it’s honestly disturbing.”

Y/N chuckled. “That’s trauma bonding for you, doll,” she hummed, winking.

Jack ignored Y/N’s comment and looked at Mohan. “No, seriously, good job. You killed it,” he stated with a smile before walking out of the room.

Mohan, who was still suturing, looked at Y/N. “So, that’s him?”

“Yeah, that’s my Old Man, McVeteran, McGrump. Who scolds me for reading kinky books, leaving messes, banned me from his fancy truck but loves me till the world ends,” she whispered, smirking. “I’m a lucky girl.”

Mohan nodded. “You’re the definition of one.”

“I think he’s lucky, cause who’d want to be with that?” she joked, pointing to the doors. “Kidding, he’s the love of my life.”

Mohan nodded. “I thought you were secretly with Robby,” she stated.

Y/N cackled, full blown cackled. “Don’t tell Jack that.”

Jack walked by the nurses’ station while Y/N was still with a patient in the trauma room. He brushed his arm against Dana. “Hey, you got a second?” he asked.

Dana turned to him. “Yeah,” she hummed, glasses on her nose. She turned to face him, taking off the glasses as she stared at Jack.

“What is up with Robby?” Jack whispered.

Dana shrugged. “He’s been better. I’m really worried about him. Maybe Y/N can get it out of him?” she said. “Use her psych degree and mental health background. Manipulate him into expressing his feelings.”

Jack snorted. “Yeah, she’s good at that,” he muttered.

“I’ve never seen him like this,” Dana stated, looking Jack in the eye. “Have you?”

“No,” he said simply. “How about you, slugger?” he hummed, smirking.

Dana scoffed. “Been better.”

Jack nodded. “Preach,” he hummed. Dana nodded, patting him on the arm. Then Jack got serious. “Y/N told me,” he whispered.

Dana raised her brow. “About?”

He tilted his head and raised a brow. “Pregnancy. Miscarriage,” he said. “She told me cause I kept budging. I asked her why she couldn’t give blood, and eventually she broke.” Dana blinked. Slowly. Then she took a deep breath. She crossed her arms as her face went serious. “Yeah,” she said, her voice quieter than usual. “She said she’d tell you. Robby and I both–“

“Robby knew?” he asked, brows furrowing.

Dana sighed. “Robby figured it out. He was there to give her the ultrasound today to confirm it was a miscarriage,” she said, voice low. “Don’t blame her. Don’t. She’s a survivor. You know that. I don’t know her story as much as you, but she’s not good with relying on someone when she needs emotional support.”

Jack nodded. He knew. He knew her well. “I know. I’ve been teaching her these years that I’m here and not going anywhere…”

“Marry her then, you grump,” she stated, nudging her.

Jack nodded. “I know. I will,” he said. “We aren’t focused on that right now. Fuck,” he muttered, “didn’t even had a single clue she could be pregnant. I track her cycle, and I know her body–“

“She wasn’t far. She was seven weeks,” Dana responded. “She found out yesterday when she puked everything up.” Jack nodded. “She was going to tell you, ok? Don’t think she was hiding this from you. And don’t ask me why I didn’t tell you…Abbot, this is her story…even if you were the father, it’s her body, her story.”

Jack nodded again before dragging a hand over his face. “Yeah, it is. She doesn’t deserve this. She’s had a rough go at her life–“

“Yes, but life has been good for her since you met her. She was what, twenty-one when she did her practicum for like six weeks. Then you swept her off her feet few years later, and life has been great for her,” Dana hummed. “Maybe before that was hard, but now she’s good. She’s not the same girl compared to when I met her. Now, she’s a–“

“Gremlin,” he stated with a chuckle. “She’s a gremlin and her brother is a goblin who crashes at our house, drinks my beer and eats my snacks while talking quantum physics to her and I have no idea what they are saying.”

Dana chuckled. “Those two are a team. She raised him since she was fourteen.”

Jack nodded. “I know.”

“She’s a mom, Jack. To Beckett. But believe me,” she looked around, voice low, “she always wanted a baby of her own.”

Jack nodded.

“And she has tried,” she whispered.

Jack’s brows furrowed. “What?”

“It’s not her first miscarriage,” she whispered. “Talk to her.”

Jack froze. He didn’t move, didn’t blink. His brows furrowed; jaw tightened. “Dana, are you saying she’d miscarried before?”

Dana’s face softened. She reached out, touching his arm gently. “Twenty-two was the last time. Then nineteen.”

His breath caught in his chest. “Two?” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Three,” he then said, before breaking eye contact. “She’s been pregnant three times,” he muttered.

Dana nodded. “Talk to her. She loves you with everything in her, and she is not planning on ever leaving you. You’re the thing she needed in her fucked-up life. For her and for her brother.”

Jack nodded.

“She didn’t want you to go through another loss,” Dana added. “She didn’t want that on your conscious. Especially with losing your wife,” Dana muttered.

“I lost Grace nine years ago,” Jack said. “I’ve been with Y/N for six. Known her for eight.”

Dana nodded. She reached out, squeezing his arm. “Take her home. Make her a mean meal. Run her a bath. Buy her a fancy bottle of wine. Let all the dogs on the bed. Hold her. She’s going to need you. All of you. The quiet parts. The ones you keep locked away. It’s been a day. It’s been a lifetime for her,” she whispered. “And, don’t be mad at Robby for figuring it out and supporting her before you could. Don’t take it personally, ok?”

Jack just nodded, sending her a smile. “I don’t like it when she hides things,” he muttered.

“Jack…you and I come from different worlds. We had a childhood, a teenagerhood, a life. A mother, a father, siblings, a roof on our head and education. She was in survival. She worried how to raise a four-year-old at fourteen when druggy Mom ran away to New Mexico with a boyfriend who she met at casino. She learnt how to count cards so she could win in poker matches to put food on the table and pay rent. She dodged CPS and social workers until she got the law involved with becoming Beckett’s guardian which was finally granted when she was nineteen. She did shit to survive. She’s not your average folk. She’s a trooper. But no one knows the real story.”

Jack just nodded. “I know. Not all of it. But enough,” he stated. “I just,” he sighed, “I worry about her all the damn time.”

Dana shrugged. “She’s your girl. Your partner. Of course you do, but be patient. Talk to her. Let her tell you more when she’s ready, but don’t pressure her.”

Jack nodded. “Thanks, Dana,” he stated. “Thank you, really.”

“Be patient,” she said lowly. “But let’s see if Y/N could crack Robby.”

2100

Y/N came over after finishing with a patient to see McKay being arrested. Quick on her feet, she hurried to where Jack stood. Hands on his hips, a death glare given.

“Woah, what’s happening?” she asked, halting.

“I disabled my ankle monitor because it was going off,” McKay said then looking over to the officers, “and fucking with our ability to help patients during the mass casualty.”

McKay was in cuffs. Y/N was behind Jack, brushing his arm as he glanced at her. “Tell that to your judge,” the officer stated to McKay.

Y/N watched, arms crossed now as she looked between Robby, McKay and the officers.

“This is my resident. I need her,” Robby stated, voice serious and stern. Then he glanced over to Dana. “Call Gloria. You can at least wait a second to speak to our chief medical officer?”

The officer shook his head. “No, but they can call the Department if they have any questions.”

Robby’s jaw was shut tight, taking a deep breath, trying to contain himself. “We just came through the worst mass casualty incident in this city’s history, and you two are fucking around with this? Are you serious?” Robby stated, raising a brow. “You don’t have anything better to do?”

Just then, a group of officers walked by. The one’s who partner was rushed to surgery and Jack preformed a crike on him. Robby grabbed their attention.

“Officer Harrelson, can you please,” Robby grabbed his attention as the officer came over.

“Is there a problem here?” Officer Harrelson asked, glancing around at the group of medical professionals and additional officers while McKay was handcuffed.

“She disabled her ankle monitor,” the officer holding McKay in handcuffs responded.

“It was malfunctioning,” McKay replied.

“She’s in a custody battle with a restraining order and is considered a flight risk,” the other officer responded.

“A flight risk?” Y/N gasped. “McKay? No,” she muttered, looking at Jack, who remained focused on the scene.

“Bullshit,” McKay muttered. “That is bullshit.”

Robby nodded, crossing his arms as he looked at Harrelson. “It was interfering with our ability to treat patients. I’m not sure we could have saved Officer Stefano if she hadn’t disabled the damn thing,” Robby replied, pointing to the monitor, voice low.

“Is that true?” the officer asked.

“They saved Stefano’s life,” the other officer replied. “They saved a lot of lives.”

The older officer looked at McKay. “Take care of this first thing tomorrow morning?” he asked her.

“I swear,” McKay replied, voice full of promises.

“Take the cuffs off.”

McKay turned while her handcuffs were removed, giving her gratitude to everyone.

Robby shook the officer’s hand. “Thank you,” Robby replied.

“Thank you, for everything you did here tonight,” he responded, patting Robby’s shoulder before all the officers walked away.

Y/N got called to the code tan – a case of someone getting hurt in the hospital. Usually, fainting or a fall. She was wheeling the gurney when she looked up to see Robby.

“Robby! Pelvis crush injury,” she called out.

Robby was talking to Langdon about what Y/N knew, but didn’t want to think about it. Instead, she continued to move the patient to a bay area.

“Thought we were closed to trauma,” Robby replied, walking over.

“Well, code tan,” Y/N muttered. “He got pinned behind a truck backing up with replacement supplies,” she explained. “Oops. But, pulse is weak and tready, tachy at…”

They got into the trauma room, instantly gloves on and Y/N began to cut the clothes away from the patient.

“Grab me some monitor leads, please,” someone called out.

“100% non-rebreather,” Robby stated. “Let’s draw up 120 of ketamine, 100 of rock, and page trauma surgery, please.” He was pulling his gloves on.

Jack was across from Y/N, helping with removing the clothes off the patient. “The hell did this guy come from?” he asked.

“Our loading dock,” Y/N replied.

“Oh my God,” Jack muttered as they continued to work.

“Ok, I got the EFAST. Grab a binder. Obvious pelvic fracture,” Jack called out.

“I’m in a lot of pain!” the patient called out.

Y/N grabbed the supplies, handing them to Jack and Robby.

“You taking any medications?” Robby asked.

“Crestor,” the patient replied as they wrapped the binder around him.

“Any drug allergies?” Robby asked.

“No. Am I gonna be ok?” the patient asked.

Robby was using the ultrasound on the pelvis, trying to figure out what was wrong and how to fix it.

“Absolutely,” Robby replied, looking at the monitor.

“We got you, Hector,” Jack stated, looking at the screen too.

“BP 68 over 42, pulse 130,” Y/N called out as she glanced at the monitors. “I got a 14 gauge in the left AC.” Y/N was placing the IV in.

“Whole blood massive transfusion protocol,” Jack stated.

“Jack, we’ve got whole blood coming in from Erie and Youngstown. However, I’m not sure if it’s here yet,” Y/N stated, glancing up to look at Jack and shaking her head.

“Let’s go one-to-one-to-one, red cells, platelets and plasma. We’ve got that,” Robby called out. “Let’s place an IJ after the intubation, please.”

“Affirmative, Cowboy,” Y/N stated, turning away and grabbing the supplies.

Jack glanced up at Y/N as she went to get the supplies, shaking his head with light chuckle. “We are in a trauma, Y/N,” he muttered. “Not the time to be calling the chief nicknames.”

Y/N chuckled. “Oh, shut it. He loves it,” she hummed.

Robby glanced at her for a moment, shaking his head.

“Ok, EFAST negative,” Jack stated. “It’s all retroperitoneal. No blood at the meatus. Kid, Foley,” Jack called out.

Y/N was back, handing supplies. “Can’t call him cowboy but can call me kid?” she hummed.

“Not the time, Y/N,” Jack stated, voice low.

“Hector, you crushed all the bones in your pelvis, and you’ve got some internal bleeding. We need to sedate you to treat you,” Robby said as the machines beeped rapidly.

“Hurts a lot!” Hector replied.

“When you wake up, you’re not gonna be able to talk. You’re going to have a breathing tube in your throat,” Robby stated as Y/N continued to work alongside them.

“Can I speak to my wife first?” Hector asked.

“Afraid we have to move now, Hector,” Jack stated, looking at the patient.

“First unit of packed cells in the infuser,” Y/N stated from her corner.

Just then, the doors opened, and Dr. Parker Ellis and Dr. John Shen came in, smirking. “What have we here?” Ellis asked.

“It looks like two old white guys poached our patient,” Shen replied.

Instantly, Y/N glanced up, hearing those words. Biting down on her bottom lip, she tried to hide her chuckle, but it came out loud. Jack hated when people called him old, except when it was Y/N. Y/N constantly called him her old man and Jack tolerates it. While Robby, well, Robby got offended as well. To them, they weren’t old, but both approaching or over fifty anyway.

Jack and Robby instantly looked at one another as Y/N stared at them.

“Oh, I know you’re not talking about us,” Robby replied, voice low as he went back to intubation.

Jack looked at the two doctors. “Well, I know he’s definitely not talking about me,” Jack stated, shaking his head.

“Back off, you two, leave the senior citizens alone. They’re sensitive today,” Y/N barked, smirking.

Jack just looked at Y/N, sending her a hard glare. “Jesus, Kid,” he muttered. Then he told them the case, “Crushed pelvis, haemorrhagic shock.”

“MTP, pelvis binder. I’m doing an intubation, about to place an IJ,” Robby replied as Y/N grabbed saline and other medicines for the IV. “Ace, behave.”

“You need us?” Shen asked, raising a brow.

“We got this for now. Hold down the fort,” Jack fired back. “Get caught up on the day shift’s remaining PittFest patients, and we’ll get this guy stabilised.”

They continued to work on Hector, trying their best to stabilise him. Jack got gowned up, mask on, safety glasses and X-ray vest.

“Central line is in,” Jack called out.

“Let’s hook up the rapid infuser over to the IJ, and then we can shoot the film,” Robby muttered as Y/N and he fixed the lines.

“Clear for X-ray.”

The x-ray tech moved the x-ray machine over the patient as Y/N took a step back. The beeping was still rapid from the machines. Y/N walked over to Robby, who was stretching in the corner.

“How are you holding up, Cowboy?” she asked, nudging her hip in his.

He looked over to her, and it was all in his eyes. “Fine,” he eventually said.

Y/N just hummed. “Don’t believe it for a second,” she responded.

They shot the X-ray while Jack continued to work on the patient.

Robby looked at her. “I could say the same for you,” he replied. Y/N just nodded.

“Jack knows,” she whispered to him as Jack continued to be busy. “Found out during the mass casualty. I couldn’t give blood, and he dug into me,” she said lowly.

Robby glanced over to her and just nodded. “Good.”

“Clear!” the tech called back out.

Y/N and Robby walked over to the X-ray screen. Pulling out his glasses, Robby leaned over to look at the screen.

“Oh, that ain’t good,” he muttered. Y/N nodded too.

“Shit,” she muttered before walking over to the phone on the wall.

Jack glanced up to them, pulling his mask off as he came over. “What have you got?” he took one look at the screen and groaned. “Widened symphysis pubis anteriorly. “

“Distorted sacroiliac posteriorly,” Robby replied.

Jack shook his head. “Guy’s bleeding like a stuck pig,” Jack muttered.

“I got Dr. Walsh on speakerphone from the OR,” Y/N called out from the phone, holding it close to her ear before pressing a button and putting the phone back.

“Hey, guys, what’s up?” Dr. Walsh asked over the phone.

“We’ve got an unstable pelvis ring fracture, systolic of 68, EFAST negative,” Robby called out as they went back to the patient.

“Thought we were closed for trauma,” Walsh replied.

“Hospital worker versus reversing supply truck. MTP and pelvic binder in place,” Jack said.

“TXA?”

“Gave it,” Jack replied.

“Stable for CT angiogram?” Walsh asked.

“Uh, not at the moment, no,” Robby replied.

“Keep transfusing,” Walsh replied as they continued to stabilise the patient.

“The blood bank is still waiting on a delivery, unless you have some upstairs,” Robby replied, walking over to the phone.

“He doesn’t need surgery,” Walsh stated. “He needs interventional radiology to embolise the bleeders.”

Robby was leaning against one of the machines, glancing back at Jack.

“They don’t like unstable patients,” Jack stated, confused by her comment.

“They will tonight,” Walsh replied. “I’ll be down as soon as I finish this grade 5 liver lac.” Then Robby hung up on her.

They were continuing, but the patient was not stabilising. Minutes went by. However, Mel walked into the room, looking at them.

“54 after 3 rounds packed cells, FFP, and platelets,” Jack called out.

“Not too shabby,” Ellis responded.

Y/N glanced up when she spotted Mel, raising a brow. “Our measles kid’s parents are trying to move him to West Penn,” Mel said.

Robby, Jack and Y/N stared at her. However, Jack and Y/N went back to work as Robby yelled out, “Let them!” Shaking his head, he sighed. “They’ve been warned multiple times. I even took the father into the PittFest morgue to drive the point home.” Instantly, Jack and Y/N snapped their heads to Robby. “You what?” they said at the same time.

“Yeah, I doubt any hospital will take him without a spinal tap,” Ellis responded. Robby was still on the phone.

“I’ll be there in a minute. Don’t let them move that kid,” Shen stated.

Robby hung up the phone and looked at the crowd of medical professionals. “They can see this guy in 45 minutes in Interventional Radiology.”

“That’s a long time for this guy,” Shen replied.

“They’re just starting a REBOA,” Robby muttered.

“A REBOA? Who did a REBOA during a mass casualty?” Y/N asked, looking at Robby.

Jack smirked at Y/N. “One of his interns did,” he snickered.

“Santos?” Y/N asked, looking at Robby who was groaning in the corner. “Jesus, she’s gonna kill someone.”

“Shut up,” Ellis responded.

“I was busy,” Robby muttered, raising a brow.

“That was ballsy,” Shen responded. “Yeah, we can babysit this guy until IR is ready. You guys are three hours post-shift.”

“Whoo!” Robby exclaimed, throwing his hands up.

“This was supposed to be my day off,” Jack muttered, taking his gloves off, “bought steak and lobster. Was gonna grill and have wine.”

“I would love wine. Wine in bed. Wine with blankets. Wine with dogs and a good hot fucking shower,” Y/N muttered, stretching her neck.

“We got this,” Ellis stated.

Y/N was pulling her gloves off too now.

“Hasta la vista, vatos,” Jack called out as he threw his gloves in the bin. Jack’s hand came over, barely brushing Y/N’s back as they left the room.

“Talking Spanish at work, Old Man?” she hummed in his ear. “Talk to me dirty,” she whispered and smirked.

Jack glanced at her. “Y/N,” he whispered. “We are at work. Work.”

Y/N groaned. “Boring,” she muttered, rolling her eyes as she went to a computer. However, Jack grasped her arm for a second, pulling her back.

“When we get home,” he began, voice low, “we are going to talk. We are going to sit. We are going to have a conversation where we are going to be honest and listen to one another,” he said. “It’s been a day for you. You kept me in the dark.”

Y/N stared at him for a moment. He wanted to talk about the miscarriage that happened today. How she didn’t tell him. How she kept it from him.

“Serious talk. No jokes. No, trying to mask your feelings. Serious talk,” he said, raising a brow.

Y/N just nodded. “Yeah, you’re right,” she whispered. “We will talk.”

Jack nodded. “Good.” Then he went to leave, but she stopped him.

“When I’m ready,” she responded when he glanced away to leave her. “When I’m ready, Jack.”

Jack paused mid-step. His jaw tensed, that square silhouette of his back going rigid under his dark scrubs. For a second, he didn’t turn, just stood there with his hand curled at his side, as if deciding whether to push or leave it alone.

Then finally, he nodded once, slowly. Barely perceptible.

“Ok,” he said. His voice wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t cold. Just rough. Quiet. “When you’re ready.”

“We are ok, though, right?” she asked, voice breaking.

Jack looked at her, seeing the fear in her eyes for a moment, then he sent her a smile. “We will always be alright, Dove,” he whispered. “Just don’t suffer alone.”

Y/N nodded as he left to go to a computer to write his patients notes. A loud exhale came from her as she pulled her hair out of the elastic, running her fingers through the long locks as she looked around her. What a fucking day.

Robby came back from the ambulance bay. Y/N was sitting at the nurses’ station, pink water bottle in hand as she sipped through the straw and wrote out her notes. Finishing off everything that needed to be done.

Jack was by her at the standing computer. “Doing ok, man?” he asked as Robby walked by.

Y/N glanced up, looking at Robby and his tired state.

“Why do you keep asking me that?” Robby responded, walking into the nurses’ station before looking at the board.

Y/N turned her chair to look at them.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jack muttered. “You did take the parent of a patient into our makeshift morgue,” Jack hissed, staring at Robby. “Forget that its technically a fucking crime scene. That’s just not cool, man.”

Dana was next to Y/N, reading something as she slowly turned to look at Robby. Y/N was glancing between Jack and Robby now. Tension there.

Just then, Gloria walked up. “Just the two heroes I wanted to see. We’re holding a press conference in the education auditorium,” she said, looking between Jack and Robby.

Robby shook his head. “Not a chance.”

“I know you hate this stuff, but it’s important for this department and the hospital,” Gloria began.

Robby was breaking down. Y/N could see it. Jack could see it. He was rolling his shoulders back, looking at the ceiling as he took a sharp breath. “Trust me, Gloria. You don’t want me speaking to the press right now,” Robby said, sternly.

“Or ever,” Jack spoke up. Robby was running a hand down his face.

“Look, as much as you ER cowboys are a pain in my ass, what you and your department did here tonight was nothing short of miraculous. People need to know that,” Gloria stated, looking them over. “Take the win.”

She had no idea. Not a single clue of what truly happened there that day.

Ellis opened the door to Trauma 1, yelling out, “Need a second round of MTP.”

Jack glanced up. “What the fuck?” he muttered before walking over. Y/N stayed where she was as she already had her hand over to the night nurses.

Y/N was still at the nurses’ station. Cops came to talk to Dana about Doug Driscoll. Y/N continued with her finishing up.

“Kid,” she heard behind her. Y/N glanced over her shoulder as Jack had his hands on the top of her chair.

“Yes, my dear,” she hummed before going back to her computer. Jack’s hand came over, grabbing the water bottle that was next to her. Her giant pink one as he took a sip from it.

“You missed out on something good,” he whispered as he looked over at her computer.

“Do tell.”

“I did preperitoneal packing,” he whispered in her ear.

Y/N instantly turned her chair to look at him. Her mouth fell open as she crossed her arms. He stood there holding her water bottle, smirking at her. “That’s an OR procedure,” she whispered.

Jack nodded, raised his brows before shrugging. “Sure is, but I did one. Here. Done hundreds at the combat hospitals, but just did one here,” he told her. Then he smirked again. “And you missed out because you’re too busy tip-tapping on your computer.”

Y/N groaned. “Ugh, I did my hand off,” she muttered. “I should’ve been there. I would’ve loved to witness it.”

Jack leaned against the wall now, smug as hell, sipping her pink water bottle like it was a celebratory cocktail.

“You’d have loved it,” he murmured. “Patient was crashing. Abdomen tight. Blood pressure in the toilet. Had to act fast.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him. “God, you’re the devil. Just showing off now.”

“Oh, yeah,” he admitted easily. “It was glorious.”

“You’re unbearable,” she muttered. “Give me that,” she muttered, taking the water bottle back and sipping it with exaggerated drama.

“What’s in there? It takes like berries,” he muttered.

“Robby put electrolytes in it and other fancy jazz a few hours ago,” she responded, sipping her drink.

He slowly nodded. “Good,” he hummed. They stayed quiet for a second as she turned back to her computer. “Almost done?”

“Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “Not too much left. Normally, I’m faster. But my four cups of coffee have exited my system, I’m running on like 3% of serotonin and residual adrenaline.”

Jack nodded. “Once you’re done, let’s go home. I’ll pick up something on the way home for us to eat, as I can’t be assed to cook.”

Y/N hummed, not answering right away. “Sushi,” she said eventually. “Or burritos. Or Chinese. But I feel like sushi,” she muttered. “Just order something you know I’ll eat. You pick, I’m easy.”

He nodded before brushing his knuckles along her arm for a second. “We will eat and talk,” he whispered.

“Yes, Captain,” she said. “Now scram and let me finish this.”

He nodded before walking away to the other computer to finish his own patient notes and logging the procedures he did. Y/N stared at him for a moment before turning back to her screen.

Next to her, Dana, glanced over. “You ok?” she asked.

Y/N glanced over. “I will be.”

She nodded. “Go home, sweetheart,” she muttered, nudging her. “Sleep. Talk. Eat. Cry if you need to. Shower. Then go lie on your old man’s chest and make him watch some reality TV.”

Y/N smiled, chuckling. “Let’s see if he allows me to eat in bed. What a grump,” she muttered. “Military man and all his fucking rules. I pay half the mortgage, too.”

Eventually, it was time to leave. Robby wanted to give a speech to everyone before they left. Y/N walked over from the nurses’ station, standing across from Jack and Robby, who were preparing for a little speech.

“Alright, everybody!” Dana called out. “Listen up!”

All eyes went on them.

“Today should never have happened,” Robby began. Y/N looked at him, then to Jack, who had his arms crossed. “It’s impossible to imagine that would possess somebody to commit such a horrific act. It’s the worst of humanity, but it brought out the best in the rest of us. We saw our better angels come to aid of our patients. Each of you rose to the occasion. And I can’t…can’t tell you how proud I am of all of you,” Robby expressed, looking all of them over, voice filled with emotion. “This place will break your heart. But it is also full of miracles, and that is a testament to all of you coming together and doing what we do best. Thank you for everything you did here today. We saw 112 mass casualty patients come through here in the last four hours, and 106 of them are gonna live.” Robby stopped, tears coming to his eyes as he glanced down. His voice broke. “None of us are gonna forget today…Even if we really, really want to.” Robby had tears in his eyes. Actual tears. Y/N bit down on her bottom lip, glancing at the floor as she took a breath. “So go home. Let yourselves cry. You’ll feel better. It’s just grief leaving the body.” Robby did one final nod before Jack patted him on the back as Robby walked away.

Robby was on the roof when Jack came up. Y/N was finishing off something and Jack saw Robby sneak off somewhere. He followed. Silent footsteps as Robby heard him eventually halt.

Robby let out a sigh.

“You’re in my spot,” Jack stated, nodding to where Robby was standing on the roof, hands on his lips. Robby was past the safety rails; however, he didn’t respond. “Just so you know, Grubhub will not deliver to the roof, but there is a DoorDash guy…uh…Marco, who will trek up here for an extra ten bucks, twenty if you want beer.”

Robby didn’t say anything for a moment, focusing on the city skyline and the bright lights while the darkness slept. Jack walked a little further up, grasping the rails, then glanced at his best mate. “Nice speech down there. Wish I had given it.”

Robby shook his head, still looking ahead. “No, you don’t.”

Jack scoffed, shaking his head. “No. Fuck, no. But I’m glad somebody did.” Then he leaned over, looking over the railing to the fall. “Yeah,” he hummed. “I think I finally understand why I keep coming back now,” he said, taking a moment as Robby glanced at him quickly. “It’s in our DNA. It’s what we do. We can’t help it. We’re the…we’re the bees that protect the hive.”

Robby sniffled, nodding as tears came down his face. However, he shook his head. “Maybe you, not me.”

“What are you talking about?” Jack asked.

“You know damn well what I’m talk–“ he halted, glancing away. “I’m talking about.” Robby continued to shake his head. “I broke.”

“You didn’t break,” Jack muttered, voice stern. “You didn’t break,” he repeated.

“I shut down. At the moment, everybody needed me the most, I wasn’t there. I couldn’t do it. I choked.”

Jack’s brows furrowed. “For what, for forty seconds?” Robby stayed quiet. “Three minutes? Ten minutes?” Robby turned to look at Jack. “So, fucking what? We all have that. That is what happens when you’re in a war and nothing makes sense.” Robby was running his hands through his hair. “We survived as a species because we learned how to cooperate and communicate, so when we’re in the middle of killing each other, it divides the very logic of our existence. Your brain starts to short-circuit. All you can do is focus on the medicine. The medicine’s the only thing that saves the patient and your sanity.”

Robby nodded along. “I’m gonna need a drink if you keep talking,” he muttered.

Jack glanced over. “You get what I’m saying, right?” Jack asked, voice low and brow raised. He leaned in, tone going serious. “You rocked that shit down there tonight.” Then a beat as he tried to get Robby to make eye contact. “Yeah? You rocked that shit down there tonight. We all did. Now that is a compliment. Accept the damn compliment for once.”

Robby looked back at Jack. “What if we just didn’t talk for a minute?” Robby muttered.

“I’m just trying to help,” Jack replied.

“I know.”

“I appreciate you–“

“Still talking,” Robby muttered, glancing away.

Jack nodded, looking away as he stayed quiet. “Sorry.”

Silence happened for a few minutes as the two of them took steady breathes and thought for a moment. Robby groaned lightly as Jack just stared at the horizon. After about thirty seconds, Jack looked up from looking at his feet. “I know you said not to talk, but I do need to thank you,” he began.

Robby looked over. “For what?”

“Being there for Y/N today,” Jack responded.

Robby didn’t say anything right away. His jaw flexed once, then again. He looked away again, back to the skyline, like it was safer than the weight in Jack’s voice.

Jack exhaled slowly through his nose. “I was mad,” he admitted, voice quiet now. “Fuck, I was mad. Not because I thought you did anything wrong or she did anything wrong, but because I wasn’t there. She needed someone, and I wasn’t the one there. And it killed me because the minute she was mine, I made a promise to myself that she’d never have to suffer alone again. But you were there and Dana.”

Robby swallowed hard. His lips parted like he might say something, but then he just shook his head and blinked rapidly.

“Never thought we would have an experience like this,” Jack admitted. “She has endo, severely, and I knew the chances of her getting pregnant were slim, and her carrying to full term was even slimmer. But,” he sighed, “it happened, and you were there. You were the one who figured it out before me, who gave her the ultrasound. You were the one who didn’t press, didn’t push. You just sat there with her. And when I couldn’t… When I didn’t even know what was going on, you had her back. So, thank you.” Jack found Robby’s eyes again.

Robby was quiet again, his chest rising a little harder now. And then, he broke, tears coming down.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said hoarsely. “I did it because I care about her. I’ve always cared about her.”

Jack nodded. “I know,” he muttered.

“I tried not to,” Robby whispered, looking away. “After you two got serious. I told myself I was over it. That I was just her friend. That I was her partner’s best mate. That I was her boss. But watching her today,” he stopped, rubbing at his eyes. “Watching her go through that. Alone. Quiet. Acting like she was fine. It,” he stopped and took a breath, “killed me.” He took a sharp breath. “Then she threatened me to never mention it again. That she was never going to tell you–“

“What?” Jack muttered.

Robby bit his bottom lip. “She was going through it. It was conflicting in her brain. She didn’t want you to go through loss again.” Jack nodded. “I love her too, you know,” Robby whispered. “Just not the way you do. Not anymore. But she’s family. She’s always been family.”

Jack didn’t speak at first.

He looked at Robby, really looked at him. The way his shoulders shook despite his effort to hide it, the way he wiped at his eyes without thinking, the way his voice stayed hoarse like something had torn through his chest. And Jack felt it in his own ribs, too. That ache. The familiar pain of watching Y/N suffer and knowing there was nothing he could do to take it away.

Jack nodded. “Yeah,” he muttered finally. “She’s family. That and her goblin brother,” he added with a chuckle. Then he shrugged. “Fucking genius that kid is. Scares me. The two of them. But I love that kid too. Even if he crashes in my bed when I work nights or steals my beer when I’m not looking or wrestles me when I’m in the middle of doing something.”

Robby nodded, chuckling. “That’s her kid,” he muttered. “And we will never know the real story.”

Jack shook his head. “No, we never will. I know enough, but not all of it. Don’t know where she lived between fourteen and eighteen when she raised him or how she fed him or…” he stopped and sighed. “I just know there was a woman named Charlotte.”

Robby nodded as he grasped the railing. “I didn’t want to be the one there,” he confessed. “I would’ve rather it been you. She should’ve had you. But when I saw her, fuck,” he muttered, “she was lecturing me and then doubled over in pain. I found her grabbing an ultrasound machine, and I pushed myself into the room and made her let me do it. I didn’t want her to suffer alone. And she just shrank…she was so small. And she said she was fine, but you could tell–“

“Yeah, she hides,” Jack muttered.

“She wants to be a mom” Robby muttered.

Jack nodded. “It fucking destroys me that I can’t give her that,” he muttered. “I would. I would do anything for her to be a mother…despite my age,” Jack chuckled.

Robby nodded. “I didn’t want her to look at the screen,” Robby continued. “But she did. I saw the sac, she did too. Saw the lack of rhythm. I just…” he stopped himself, voice breaking. “And she didn’t even cry. She just…thanked me. Thanked me. And I didn’t know what to do with that.”

Jack’s voice came out like sandpaper. “She does that. She thanks you when she doesn’t know how to feel.” Robby nodded. Jack bit down his bottom lip. “She said we’d talk. When she’s ready.”

Robby shook his head. “She won’t be,” he muttered. “Not fully. But she’ll try. For you.”

Jack nodded. “Get that drink now?” he asked.

Robby nodded. “Yeah.”

Y/N was at the nurses’ station on her phone. Hot pink cardigan on and her giant handbag that fits her whole life beside her. She leaned back as Jack and Robby appeared.

“Where’d you two old men run away to?” she called out, raising a brow as she pocketed her phone. “I feel left out. Complete FOMO.”

Jack’s brows furrowed. “FOMO?” he asked.

“Fear of missing out. Get with the language,” she hummed, smirking. “Seriously, where’d you fuck off to?”

“Roof,” Jack stated.

“Damn, where was my invitation?” she asked as she got up to walk to them, grabbing her bag off the floor.

“Kids aren’t allowed there,” Jack stated as they began to walk to the lockers.

Robby rolled his eyes, rubbing his face. “You wouldn’t have liked it anyway. It was mostly us bonding over trauma and failing mental health.”

Y/N chuckled, pushing her bag over her shoulder, but Jack took it off, holding the massive bag in his hands. “So…a brooding pity party with a skyline view? Sounds romantic? Were the clothes on or off?” she asked, smirking.

“Kid,” Jack hissed. “Enough.”

“What? I love a little guy-on-guy action,” she chuckled, nudging their arms. “Favourite porn category.”

“I am going to put a muzzle on you,” Jack muttered as they grabbed their things.

She groaned. “Ugh, fine. I prefer lesbian action anyway,” she muttered as they walked to the exit after Jack grabbed his backpack and Robby too.

Jack sent her a death glare while Robby just threw his head back in laughter. “I don’t know how you live with her, man,” he muttered, shaking his head before patting Jack on the back.

“I don’t either,” Jack deadpanned. “I survive her.”

Y/N beamed like he’d just given her a compliment. “Oh, you love me, Captain. I’m a full-time adventurer. Keeps you young.”

“You’re a full-time migraine, is what you are,” Jack muttered as they left the ER into the waiting room, still holding her bag in his hand. “Whoa,” Jack mumbled as they entered the waiting room. “It didn’t take long to fill up in here.”

“Never does,” Robby responded as they walked through it in a single line, Y/N in front.

“How long until we run out of boarding beds?” Jack asked over his shoulder.

“Probably sunrise,” Robby responded.

They were walking when Jack halted with Robby. Y/N looked from behind them as Myrna came in with a police officer. Dressed in sparkles and chaos, she grinned at the doctors while the police officer had her bag slung over his shoulder.

“She had a seizure,” the officer said to them.

“Of course she did,” Robby replied.

Myrna looked Jack up and down, smirking. “Looking good, Dr. Abbot,” she hummed, winking.

Jack nodded to her. “You too, Myrna,” he replied respectfully.

“Oh, thanks,” she hummed back. Then she saw Y/N. “Cupcake,” she muttered.

“Hiya,” Y/N replied, grasping onto Jack’s bag with her hand. His camo one with his last name embroidered on it. “Dabbling in nighttime mischief?” she replied.

“Always,” Myrna muttered, winking. Then she saw Robby as he walked away. She called over her shoulder. “Hey, Fruitcake. Fruitcake and Cupcake, my favourite bakery.”

Y/N called over her shoulder. “Want sprinkles with that attitude, Myrna?” Then she heard a cackle.

“You keep that sass up, Cupcake, and I’m gonna put you in my will. Leave you my collection of bedazzled ashtrays and felony charges.”

Y/N snorted as she continued to walk with Jack and Robby.

“Don’t harass my nurse, Myrna,” Robby called over his shoulder.

Then Jack looked at Robby. “Fruitcake?” he hummed then looked at Y/N. “Cupcake?” he asked, eyes narrowing.

“She reminds me of my mother,” Y/N muttered. “Without the pills. But attitude, absolutely. And the desire to show everyone her vagina.”

They all started chuckling. They exited the hospital; Jack placed his hand on Y/N’s back as they walked across the street to the park. It was dark, Jack dropped his hand as they got closer to the park bench. Y/N brought her cardigan closer. It was a Friday night in September, the breeze was there. Jack, who wore no jacket, wasn’t bothered.

“Cold?” she asked him.

He shook his head. “I’m right,” he muttered. She just nodded but rubbed her hand up and down his bare arm.

They got to the park bench. Princess and Donnie were there. Smiles went around.

“Hey, hide the hard drugs, kids,” Donnie said as he threw a beer to Robby. Then he threw one to Jack, who missed.

“Oh, nice catch,” Robby muttered.

“Loser,” Y/N muttered before perfectly catching hers.

Jack sat on the edge of the bench, placing his bag on the ground with Y/N’s before grabbing the back of Y/N’s caridgan to pull her next to him. She sat down as Robby sat next to her.

“Man,” Robby groaned as he took a deep breath.

Jack was playing with his prosthetic. He rolled up his cargo pants, revealing his transformer leg. Y/N glanced over to watch him.

Princess sighed before Donnie shook his head. “Today was a motherfucker,” he muttered.

“You in pain?” Y/N asked, looking at him. “How’s your hip?” she asked as he began to undo the leg.

“I’m fine,” Jack muttered. Y/N just nodded.

“You sure?”

“Grand, Kid,” he said as he got it off and handed it to her. Y/N took it, placing it in her lap as if it were nothing. It was normal for them.

Donnie looked at Jack. “Have you ever been in anything like that before?” he asked.

Jack began to massage his leg, and Y/N grasped his hand. “I’ll massage it tonight,” she muttered, bringing his left hand to her lips and kissing it. It was quiet enough for them to only hear. He was still wearing his wedding ring, but she was not bothered by it.

“Let’s hope none of us ever had to again,” Robby replied.

Princess shook her head. “No shit.”

Jack glanced up from massaging his leg. “We probably will,” he stated, voice gruffy and blunt. “If not us, others.” Then he grabbed his beer, cracking it.

Y/N cracked hers, bringing it to her lips. A subtle groan came from her lips. “Ugh, divine.”

“Yeah, but we survived that craziness, right?” Donnie hummed, nodding.

Jack just nodded, eyes directly on the nurse. Eye contact always.

“To the Pitt crew,” Donnie stated, taking his can up to the sky to toast.

�� “To all the people we saved,” Princess added, holding her beer up.

“Here, here,” Robby muttered.

“And the ones we couldn’t,” Jack added.

“To chaos, blood, gore and drama. We slayed that puppy like it’s a motherfucker,” Y/N muttered.

Then they took a sip, smiling at one another.

A few figures appeared as they drank their beer.

“Is this where all the cool kids hang out?” Samira (Mohan) expressed, smirking as she came up with Javadi and Mateo.

“Oh, you know it,” Donnie replied, opening the cooler to throw them a beer.

“Nice of you to join us,” Princess said.

“If there ever was a day,” Samira muttered as Donnie and each threw them a beer.

Javadi got a beer, and she shook her head. “Actually, sorry, I don’t drink,” she muttered. “I don’t know why I took that.” Then she handed it to Mateo.

“She’s not old enough,” Princess muttered.

“I’d say if she is old enough to put in a chest tube and intubate, she’d old enough to drink a beer,” Robby muttered.

“Kudos,” Y/N replied. “How old are you, Kid?” she asked.

“Twenty,” Javadi muttered.

“Holy shit,” Y/N replied. “Youngling. My brother is turning twenty soon, he drinks beer. Well,” she looked over to Jack who was looking at the ground, “Jack’s beer.” Then she chuckled.

“We won’t tell your mom,” Mateo stated, handing her a beer.

Javadi looked between them. How Jack placed his hand on Y/N’s thigh, squeezing it.

“Wait, you two are together?” Javadi gasped looking between Jack and Y/N.

Y/N smirked, taking a sip of her beer. She lowered it and raised a brow. “What gave that away?” she hummed.

Jack didn’t even look up, just took another sip of his beer, hand still resting on Y/N’s thigh possessively.

“I thought…” Javadi trailed off, looking at Robby with a confused expression. “I thought you and Dr. Robby were a thing.”

Robby choked on his beer.

Y/N let out a loud chuckle. “Oh my God,” she mumbled. “I did hear that rumour today,” she hummed. “Best entertainment.”

Robby chuckled, shaking his head. “No, Ace and I,” he looked at Y/N. “Good mates.”

Javadi’s brows furrowed. “You called him, ‘Cowboy’,” she stated. “Repeatly.”

Y/N shrugged. “Been at this ER for eight years. Everyone gets a nickname,” she hummed and looking at Jack. “Old man and Captain,” she hummed as Jack met her eyes. “What else do I call you?” Then she patted his thigh.

Jack muttered. “Six years,” he said, glancing up. “Been tolerating her bullshit for six years.”

Y/N hummed with her beer and hand, prosthetic on her lap. “Robby and I are close. Best mates with a dysfunctional but healthy relationship. However, I’m more into emotionally constipated war veterans with truck obsessions, collects emergency medicine kits and superiority complexes.”

Jack snorted. “You forgot the prosthetic.”

“Oh yeah,” she hummed. “That’s the best part. Real kink starter,” she stated, smirking.

Everyone snorted on their drink while Jack did a simple, “Y/N,” hiss.

Javadi blinked. “There’s a…a vibe between you two,” she muttered, looking between Y/N and Robby.

Jack stayed quiet, looking at the floor.

“Just wait till they work together,” Princess stated, pointing to Jack and Y/N. “They read each other’s minds,” she whispered, smirking. Princess then handed Jack some wipes.

“Thank you,” he replied, taking them.

“You guys do this after every shift?” Samira asked.

Jack took the prosthetic from Y/N’s lap and began to clean the shoe on it.

“Not always,” Y/N replied.

“Usually, it’s a little more lively,” Donnie stated.

“The emergency department throws wicked parties.”

Y/N watched Jack clean the blood off his shoes. Then he gestured to her with the wipes. She shook her head. “Not now.” He then nodded. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“It’s going to stain,” he whispered. She nodded and squeezed his hand.

“Just adds to the fear of me,” she replied.

Just then, Robby began to cackle. Loud laughter. Y/N glanced over to him.

“What’s so funny?” Samira asked.

Robby ran a hand through his hair and beard before looking at Javadi. “I just realised this is your first shift,” he said, looking at the med student.

Y/N’s eyes widened while Jack continued to focus on his shoes.

“Yeah,” Javadi muttered.

Then everyone began to laugh together. Jack smirked. “That was baptism by fire, baby,” he hummed, holding his beer up and a toasting moment.

“I can pretty much guarantee you the next one will be easier,” Robby added.

Javadi stared at Robby before nodding. “I really fucking hope so,” she stated, sternly.

“You’ll love it soon,” Y/N replied. “If you want to do ED. You’ll fall in love with it. Its gore, chaos, disorganisation and blood. You’ll be addicted to it without even realising it. I couldn’t imagine doing anything else,” she said, nodding. Then chuckled. “Maybe plastics. You can make so much money in plastics.”

“You’re not leaving the ER,” Robby and Jack stated at the same time.

“Doll,” Y/N stated, looking at Javadi, “take it from me. You’re twenty. Finishing your medical degree. Mama is a hot-shot surgeon. There’s an expectation for greatness from your environment.” Javadi stared at her. “Pick something you love. That makes you excited every day. That fills your bucket. Don’t live for other people. You’re the maker of your own destiny.”

Javadi blinked at her like she’d never heard someone say that out loud before. Slowly, she nodded, then glanced down at her beer in her hands, her eyes glassy with overwhelm. “Thanks,” she muttered, voice small but grateful. “I need to hear that.”

Y/N nodded. “You remind me of my brother. He’s incredibly intelligent and I tell him that its ok to fuck up, its ok to not know but its ok to take time to figure it out. You have the privilege to do that. You have the time. So, if ER is not for you, then find something you love, and if medicine isn’t for you, then there are other ways to help people.”

Javadi nodded. “Thanks,” she muttered. “I don’t know if I want be a doctor after today,” she admitted.

“Because today isn’t normal,” Y/N replied. “You’re here for a few weeks for your rotation, you’ll see normal. But you were great today. Excellent. You’re a great doctor, Victoria.”

She just sent a smile to Y/N. “Thanks.”

Jack looked over to Y/N. “You know this is a park hangout with beer not a TED talk, right?” he hummed, smirking.

“Oh, shut up. You love my inspirational moments,” Y/N replied. “Got to use the psych degree somehow.”

“You have a psych degree?” Javadi asked.

Y/N smiled. “I have a double major in nursing and psychology with honours. An IQ of 178 and an eidetic memory. Don’t let the charisma, humour and the massive rack confuse you, Doll.”

Javadi’s mouth opened, then closed again like her brain had stalled. “You’re kidding. Why aren’t you a doctor?” she asked, shrugging.

Jack and Robby both looked at Y/N, who stayed quiet. She stared at Javadi for a moment. “That’s where we are different, Victoria. I didn’t have the privilege to be one. But you do,” she stated, smiling. “So, make it your bitch. Because if I was in your position. I would’ve been a fucking goddamn award-winning surgeon.”

Javadi swallowed hard, her face falling a little with the weight of Y/N’s words. “Sorry,” she muttered, genuinely, cheeks tinged with pink. “I didn’t–“

Y/N cut her off with a soft smile and shake of her head. “Doll, it’s grand. This isn’t a pity party. This is me being a mom for a moment who is like ‘hey, make the world your bitch and bend it over so you can peg it’. I’ve given the same speech to my brother. You should meet. He’s a quantum physics major with a…well, debating between psychology or math as a minor. Honours as well. His IQ is 174, though. However, I’ve saved hundreds of lives and I’m happy so that’s what matters. I love what I do, and I love my life. I boss everyone around. So, don’t worry, ok?”

Javadi just nodded.

“You boss all of us around,” Robby muttered, lifting his beer. “Like an emotional support dominatrix.”

Y/N gasped. “Jesus, Cowboy, want me to pull out the leather outfit as well and the whip?” she hummed. Robby just chuckled, shaking his head. Y/N glanced back at Javadi then Samira. “Don’t talk to your attendings the way I do,” she said seriously. “It will probably get you fired.”

Jack sighed. “Behave, Y/N. Enough of the TED talks,” he stated, sipping his beer. “It’s too late.”

“Fine, I’ll save it for the pillow talk,” Y/N hummed, sipping her beer now. Jack rolled his eyes. “I bring it all. The speeches. The depth. The rack. What do you bring, McGrumpy?” she hummed, looking at her man.

Jack just stated, very seriously. “The retirement plan.”

Robby snorted beer out of his nose.

Donnie then hummed. “Hey, at least you didn’t get pissed on,” he added to Javadi.

“Oh my God, the kid got peed on, didn’t he?” Y/N chuckled.

“Who?” Jack whispered to her.

“Whitaker. Poor Whitaker,” Y/N muttered. “Med student.”

“Where is he?” Princess asked.

“Yeah, probably quit,” Donnie stated.

Robby shook his head, groaning. “No… Oh, that kid’s tough. He’ll be back. Just like the rest of us.”

Everyone nodded, however, an ambulance came by. The loud sirens were echoing.

“Home?” Jack whispered to Y/N. She nodded.

“Ok, that’s it for me,” Robby muttered, standing up as he grabbed his backpack.

“Want a ride, Cowboy?” Y/N asked. “Jack is going to get us food. He has the truck; I have the Bronco. So, I can drop you home.”

Robby looked at Y/N and nodded. “Yeah, sure, Ace. That’ll be great.” He stood up and looked at everyone. “Goodnight. Get some rest. Tomorrow is another day.”

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1nk20ul · 10 days ago

Text

Jonathan Sims ALIVE?? I Believe I Have Proof.

(Spoilers for The Magnus Protocol!)

You heard that right. And if you've listened to TMP 39 - Dependents, you've heard it too. Not only can I prove without the shadow of a doubt that not one, but two Archivists are roaming TMA's London, but I can also prove with spectrogram + phonetical analysis exactly what Jon is saying.

Let me prove it to you.

First, let's start with an unedited audio sample, taken at 16:30:

Did you catch it? If you didn't, I don't blame you. There's a lot happening here. Let's check the official transcript for more context about what we're hearing.

So, what we're hearing is definitely the Archivist. It's evident that it's whispering something, but the specifics are currently hidden under layers of reverb, static, and tape winding. Let's clean it up a bit to get a better listen. I pitched the audio down 30%, reduced the background noise, and ran it through a few frequency filters to make the speech more prominent.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Yeah, that's definitely Jon.

At the very least, we know this is obviously not Beth Eyre, who voices [ERROR]. Since the transcript states that this audio has to come from an Archivist, that really only leaves us with one other possibility.

But let's assume you still don't believe me. I took the liberty of isolating the vocals entirely and running them through a linguistics analysis programme called Praat (which is fantastic + free by the way!). This way, we can analyse the speech all the way down to the position of the Archivist's mouth when speaking.

Here's the new sample we're working with:

I admit, the speech is a tad more muffled in this version. However, the lack of background noise makes the spectrogram much easier to read, which is what we are aiming for here. We're far past the point of just using our ears.

Behold the Spectrogram:

Looking at this diagram, we can conclude that there are four words being spoken here. (The second word is the gap in the middle part. Note the density shift at around 1000Hz. We know this word must be free of any sharp consonants.) More importantly, the formants provided can be compared to samples of Jon's RP dialect to determine if there's a match. If the frequencies match, it's the same voice. If we get the wavelengths to match, it's the same word.

Let's start with the first word. I'll skip the specifics, as explaining every minute detail would take forever and bore everyone to death. The left image was extracted from the spectrogram above. The right photo? That's Jon saying the word "this."

Note how both waveforms are split into two halves, low then high. Note how the high half trails off at the end. Take into account the similar placement of the red formants. This is the same word, pronounced in the exact same dialect, with the exact same frequency. It is Jon.

Let's do that again with the second word.

Again, the formants line up in the exact same order. The audio on the right is a bit louder, which is why the waveforms have a higher contrast.

What did this word happen to be? World.

Here is the original spectrogram in Audacity. The two bright spots on the right-hand side are easy. It's the same sound as the end of the first word as well. (Notice the frequencies are the same.) These are an easy Letter S. I then fact-checked this using methods like before.

Finally, we have clear, undeniable proof:

"This world isn’t yours."

Edit: thank you to @thestrangepoet for correcting “is” to “isn’t!” The presence of the letter T was a bit inconclusive, but it makes so much more sense in this context.

Now, what does that actually mean? Well, he’s likely referring to Sam. The extent of what he actually knows I’m uncertain of. Feel free to theorise and let me know! I have an idea about how this affects the overall story, but that's a post for another day.

I furthermore checked every single instance [ERROR] spoke for occurrences like this, and what did I find? Nothing. There was a bit of whispering in TMP 10 that I couldn't manage to isolate, but the voice was definitely Beth Eyre's. The only other time an Archivist audibly appeared in this fashion was... Oh, Hello. The TMP series teaser with Jon and Martin. Brilliant.

Now I just have to hope that nothing gets debunked by tomorrow. I'm crossing my fingers, TMP 40.

Thank you to Rusty Quill for sending me down this rabbit hole! The details added to all corners of the production bring so much life to the Magnus mystery. I'm glad I could dig deep and analyse this - We love you!

#jonathan sims #jon sims #the magnus archives #the magnus protocol #tma #tma spoilers #tmp spoilers #tmagp #tmagp spoilers #tmagp 39 #tmagp theory #jmart #tma jmart #the archivist #do not archive #tmagp season 2

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youraverageaemondsimp · 6 months ago

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Sweet vengeance. // Gwayne Hightower x Cole!Reader (sister of Criston Cole)

Summary: After the encounter with Criston Cole, they return to the keep after successfully defending the territory, almost as if the gods were calling out for him to seek revenge; he ends up bumping into you.

WARNINGS: smut, mdni, porn with plot (a little bit too much plot ig), unprotected p in v sex, slight breeding kink, cunnilingus, oral (f. receiving) interrupted orgasm at the end, cumming inside, Gwayne is an absolute asshole to Criston, purity culture, virginity loss, profanity, age gap (left it up interpretation, but the reader is in her 20s and Gwayne in his 40s), doesn't follow the show plot it's a literal fic which I altered heavily + not proofread.

WC: 2.7k

A/N: here comes the promised gwayne x cole!reader fic, I've teased it ever since that confrontation episode dropped and now finally I'm able to publish it 😭 // divider credits: @cafekitsune

Gwayne walked through the corridors furiously, stomping his feet inside the red keep, departing to his guest chambers in a hurried manner, trying to stay calm.

He just returned from the battle, successfully defeating the invasion of the blacks into King's Landing, securing the land for themselves as Aemond ruled as Prince regent. However, there was only one thing on his mind.

His sister's tainted honour.

Amidst everything, he had gotten Criston to confess and admit that he was sleeping with the Queen, he was disgusted by the revelation. Wasn't Criston a kingsguard? Vowing to not seek pleasures or taint his cloak?

He felt sick in the stomach, wanting to empty it out, regardless of the fact that there is nothing inside.

His feet tapped against the stone floor harshly, his armour clanking with every step forward, he took a harsh turn at the end of the path only for his body to hit something that came from the opposite direction, causing him to stumble two steps backward. He took a moment to collect himself and straighten his posture, wanting to see what it was that he bumped into.

He looked down, shocked to see you on the ground. You broke the impact of the fall with your hands, which proved to be a bad idea considering how the force made them give up immediately, crashing your butt onto the ground. “Ouch.” You clenched your eyes shut as a burning sensation spread through your buttox.

You glared at the reason for your fall, eyes widening on the realisation that it was Ser Gwayne Hightower. “Seven hells, I apologise my lady, are you alright?” Gwayne is quick to apologise, extending his out, waiting for you to grab it and get up.

You gently place your hand in his, his palm closing immediately as he grips onto you while you get off the ground. “Ser Gwayne, I apologise, it was me who was at fault.” You bow, dusting off your gown with one of your hands.

“If it is not rude, might I ask who you are? I have not ever seen you around before, yet you seem to know me.” He speaks politely, giving you a small smile and you nod. “I am Y/N Cole, I know you very well Ser, your knighthood isn't unheard of.” You praise him.

“Y/N Cole… ? Are you related to Ser Criston Cole perhaps?” He questions, furrowing his eyebrows as his grip tightens around your hand. “Yes Ser Gwayne, He is my elder brother.” You reply.

Gwayne was not aware that Criston had a sister.

He took in your form, eyes trailing down from your face to your neck, to your breasts and further downwards, analysing you quite intently, “Mhm, I did not know he had a sister.” Gwayne shrugs, still not letting go of your hand. “He is quite overprotective, so he doesn't mention my existence to his peers.” You admit embarrassedly, looking down and biting your lip. He stared at you for a moment too long, the like of dots being connected as his mind sketches out a plan of action. His expression almost betrayed him as his face bloomed into a wide smile.

Oh you sweet little thing.

He could not believe that Criston had a younger sister. It's almost as if the Gods are etching him on to trudge this path, but he was not going to complain. It felt like he won a war when he realised this fact.

He can use you against Criston.

Perhaps he will make Criston feel the same thing he felt.

He smiles widely at you, bringing your hand upwards and pressing his lips to your knuckles. You blush at this gesture and give him a soft smile in return. “If you may excuse me, I have to take my leave, my lady. I've returned from war and my state.. is well.” He looks at himself and you chuckle, “It is alright.” You reply and he smiles. “Let's go on a stroll next time, yeah?” He speaks in a questioning manner, your eyes widen at the offer but you nod immediately.

Those walks became more frequent as you both enjoyed each other's company quite a lot. Gwayne found you much more bearable than criston, he's aware of the fact that he is an elitist. Holding himself at great stature as he comes from the Hightower family. So any other house that is not in power or he hasn't heard of; he acts like an ass to them.

But he found himself being lenient on you, perhaps to butter you up for the feast he's planning to have. His thoughts have been a mess for the past few days. He at first began to plan on how to execute the plan and take your maidenhead and let the keep hear it. But the ratio of the execution and sexual part became heavily unequal as he wanted to indulge fully in you.

You were beautiful, your skin was pretty, the way your hair was styled, exposing your neck from behind. He wanted to bend you over the ledge and fuck you. You would be so confused he assumes.

Have you had your first orgasm? Did you ever touch yourself?

You were from Dorne so you must know of the deprived acts right? But he notes how young you are, likely spending your entire life here in Kings Landing with Cole.

It was one of those usual garden walks you went on with Gwayne, walking in silence as you both had nothing to talk about, this was no means foreign to you, there would always be silence sometimes during your walks; but this time it felt tense.

Like the feeling of a volcano before it erupts.

You both were standing over the parapet of the backside in the keep, noticing how the waters flowed gently. You felt him move, standing right behind you, pressing himself against you.

“My lady.” He whispers in your ear and you turn your head slightly, not reacting in any way, “H-hmm?” You reply in nervousness his hands moved up your sides in a sensual manner. You stood there frozen.

He grabs you by your shoulder and spins you around so that you're facing, placing his hands on both the sides of your frame; preventing any escape. “Are you promised to any man yet? Your beauty is otherworldly.” He asks, his eyes staring right into you, his voice was sweet yet held a hint of his perverse desire for you.

You shake your head no.

“Such a pity.” He mocks, one of his hands coming to grip your cheek. He pauses for a moment, staring at your lips before looking into your eyes waiting for you to say something; yet you remain quiet as your heart beats loudly in your chest.

He takes it as a cue to press his lips against yours closing his eyes; fully indulging himself onto you as he groans at how soft your lips feel, his own move against yours in a soft manner, a gentle pull of a wave.

It was your first kiss, never having done this with anyone before, it felt odd; but in a good way, his lips felt soft against yours, he waited for you to reciprocate— giving you all the time you needed to process this.

One of his hands rested on your hips, using it as leverage to pull you closer, pressing your bodies together while the other positioned itself against the back of your head pulling you deeper into the kiss.

You responded a while later, learning through the process, moving your lips in a rhythmic motion with his, he muttered something against your lips which you weren't able to process as your mind was hazy. Something about this kiss was shooting immense pleasure down your body; increasing the heat between your legs.

He pulls away from the kiss to take a breath while staring at your lips, noticing the string of saliva that was still connecting you both. He hums before capturing your lips once again but with even more fervour this time. He pushes back until your butt hits the ledge before he places you on it, not breaking the kiss at all.

He plants himself between your legs as his hands roam around all over your body in desperation, sometimes gripping your waist or your soft breasts, squeezing your flesh as he grips onto you tightly.

He breaks the kiss abruptly before he suddenly kneels, you look at him confused until you notice that he's hiking your skirts up, revealing your intimate area. “Ser, this might be inappropriate—” You try to protest but not knowing what to expect, but circles his arms around your thighs pulling you close as he disappears before your legs.

You watch curiously when you feel his warm breath on your cunt. You shriek in surprise when you feel his tongue run across your fdd before he fully takes in your cunt.

You squirm uncontrollably as he works his wonders on your cunt; causing you to grip his hair tightly and push yourself further into his face, you let out small moans, hoping that no one would pass by this area and catch you both in this compromised position.

You place your other hand on the ledge to support yourself from falling before closing your eyes and fully enjoying what he's doing to you. His tongue laps hungrily at your folds, licking them up and down before he suckles on your clit harshly, flicking the bud with his tongue before capturing it wholly again with his mouth.

He groans into your cunt, enthralled by the sensation of having your soft folds in his mouth, he enjoyed it way too much than he'd like to admit, wanting to be forever stuck in between your legs.

You feel a sudden heat building up in your abdomen as he continues his actions, “U-uhm Ser Gwayne— I think something is happening.” You tell him unsure which makes him speed up his movements.

Without warning, you're hit with a plethora of euphoria, your back automatically arching and your voice letting out a loud moan as the feeling hits you in waves. He suckles on your cunt for a minute to let you ride out your orgasm before coming out your skirt.

You feel your cheeks heat up when you see how his lips were coated with your wetness which makes you look away in shyness, he gets back up on his feet before grabbing your chin and tilting your head slightly to make you look at him.

He doesn't say anything but only stares at you as he slowly connects both your lips once again, making you take your own essence. He grinds against you, pressing his now hard bulge in between your thighs as he dry humps you.

He tears away from the kiss with a wet pop, not wasting any time in undoing his breeches, revealing his cock to you, your eyes widened at the sheer size and girth of it. “I-i don't think it will fit?” You stare at him which makes him smirk a little, “It will my lady, I shall see it does.” He replies before bunches up your skirt, making your cunt come into view.

He slowly lines himself against your entrance, his tip kissing the entryway gently as he slowly closes in, pushing it inch by inch. He places his hand on both your sides as you grip him for support, the stretch stinging a little bit.

It takes a while but he's fully inside now, and slowly he begins to move, he grabs a hold of your waist with one of his hands so you don't fall over the edge, he pushes your body against his, making it so as if you're hugging him.

You wrap your arms around his neck tightly as he rams into you, thrusting in and out; causing you to bounce along with him, he grunts into your ear, whispering sweet things.

“Seven hells, you feel so divine.” He whispers against your ear, causing you to clench involuntarily; which makes him gasp in shock, “Jeez—” He drops his head onto your shoulder, now fully gripping you by his arms around your waist as he rams further and further into you. “Fuck, I'm about to finish— should I do it inside you? Fill you up with my seed huh? Make you carry my babes?” He groans, the idea of you being pregnant with his children driving him insane, it would always be a good way to get back at Criston.

You feel him hitting your sweet spot inside you, prodding it with his tip every thrust. His pace falters as he reaches his end, with a final thrust— he finishes with a loud moan of your name as he pulls back and recaptures your lips, kissing you with even more hunger.

He keeps thrusting, wanting you go finish as well, you were about to; almost reaching the breaking point— “What in the seven fucking hells is going on here?!” The shout of a familiar voice makes you snap out of the trance, Gwayne halts and you both immediately look to the place of origin.

It was your brother, Criston.

His expression contained that of both anger and shock, Gwanye quickly pulls himself out of you and puts his breeches back on and you get off the ledge and pull your skirts down and pat the wrinkles down.

“B-brother I— I can explain, it was me—” You begin, “Be quiet, Y/N.” He grits his teeth, cutting you off from speaking as his eyes shoot daggers into Gwayne, whose face is now bearing a smug expression.

“You fucking bastard!” Criston yells before he reaches over and grabs Gwayne, throwing him to the ground before punching his face. Gwayne dodges it, holding his hands down. “It is not so nice when you discover that someone has been fucking your sister, is it?” Gwayne remarks which angers Criston further.

A group of guards rush over putting an end to this fight, pulling the two men apart as you stand there in shock, shaking as if you were scared of both the men.

The next thing you know, You, Gwayne, Criston were all standing before the dowager queen as she looked at you all three in questioning ways. “What has happened?” She directs her question to Gwayne who raises an eyebrow.

Gwayne doesn't answer, “This b- Lord Gwayne was—” Criston swallows as he looks at you, “He was caught in a compromising position with my sister.” He blurts out, “And what was the compromising position that made you raise your hand on my brother, Ser Cole? They could have just been together—” Alicent wanders off.

“He was fucking my sister.” Criston grits his teeth, spitting the words out like venom, causing Alicent to cut herself off. She goes silent as she looks over at her brother, “Is this true?” She asks and Gwayne nods, “Yes my Queen, how can a man hold himself back at the sight of such a maiden? Besides, she wasn't opposed to the idea.” Gwayne speaks out, his words angering Criston ever more.

“Y-yes your grace, I wasn't opposed to it.” You jump in defending Gwayne which makes me smile at you, making Criston look at you in disbelief.

“My Queen, he has tainted her, he has ruined her, who will marry her now?” Criston brings up a valid point which makes the Queen get lost in thought, you put your head down, ashamed of it.

“I shall, I will marry her.” Gwayne volunteers which makes everyone look at him in shock. He only offers a smile.

He wasn't doing it out of kindness or anything, he knew that by marrying you, Criston will experience the same torment and anguish Gwayne felt when he discovered the truth of Criston and Alicent, except it will be a hundred times worse because Criston has no way to avenge himself, for he cannot marry Alicent.

He'll have to suffer, watch his little sister marry Gwayne, become his wife and a mother of his children, every step will be a stab in a vital organ to Criston.

Was Gwayne going a bit too far? Perhaps, yet it didn't matter, for the situation only benefits him. Not only will Criston be tormented by this relationship but he will have you as his pretty wife whom he can fuck and ruin all he wants.

Gwayne is a selfish man.

— ! ݈݇- thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly ♡

#gwayne hightower smut #gwayne hightower x reader #gwayne hightower x reader smut #gwayne x reader #gwayne hightower #gwayne hightower x you #gwayne hightower fic #gwayne x you #ser gwayne hightower #ser gwayne #hotd smut #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon smut #x reader smut #reader insert #x reader

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quickestgold · 2 months ago

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Goodbye, My Lover | Part 2 | The Pitt

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x Dr. (Ex-Mil)!Reader x Dr. Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch

Chapter 2: Please Forgive Me

Synopsis: When Robby and Jack find you, old wounds reopen, as guilt and regret threaten to tear apart what’s left of your fractured relationships. As your hearts reconnect in an unexpected moment of closeness, long-buried feelings begin to resurface and the possibility of forgiveness feels closer than ever.

Warnings: Age gap is around 18 years. This series will deal with some heavy themes around a physical attack, death, grief, ptsd, panic attacks, s*icidal tendencies, heartbreak >>> comfort at the end, I promise

Word count: 1463

A/n: How are you even supposed to choose between these two, like hello? Anyway, we'll find out soon won't we... Next chapter is heavyyy

Previous Chapter (1): I Love You | Next Chapter (3): I Forgive You

Robby and Jack find you slumped in an alley, unmoving, propped against the cold building facade.

Jack is instantly by your side, rubbing your sternum forcefully, desperate for a response, anything.

Robby's fingers press against the side of your neck, terrified of what he might find, or not. "Y/N?" He opens your eyelids, blinding you with a penlight.

You groan, barely audible “Stop.”

“Y/N, you with us?” Jack huffs, ridden with anxiety.

“I’m fine.” You say louder, pushing their hands away.

Relief washes over them, but it doesn't last long.

“Did you take something?” Robby scans the ground for anything that might explain this.

“What? No”, you plead, offended by the suggestion.

“What happened?” Jack's voice is softer now.

You blink, taking in your surroundings, not really sure yourself. “I must’ve passed out.”

Neither of the men speak, unsure whether to confess how badly they were spiralling when they couldn’t find you. Was it even their place to worry?

“I’m just so done”, you interrupt their thoughts.

“With what?” Robby inquires too quickly.

“Everything. This job. This hospital. Maybe this city.”

“This life?” Jack states flatly.

The bluntness shocks you. Robby as well, but he wonders too.

“N- No. You know I wouldn’t.” You stare into Jack's eyes, pleading for something unknown. Not after everything you’d gone through. You really wouldn’t. Does he believe you?

Jack turns his gaze away from you, as to somehow escape the conversation that had been building between you for a long time. Waiting to break. His mouth twists downwards. A tear gathers in his eye, the pain of losing you creeping in. There were a couple of close calls on the tours you spent together, but the day he nearly lost you, broke him.

Robby knows some of the details of your relationship, but the depth of the pain and unresolved sadness between you leaves him speechless.

The tension is palpable. It’s only now, in this moment, that you all realize how much you’ve hurt each other without even meaning to.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Both of you”, your eyes flicker to Robby’s.

The moment lingers in heavy silence.

“Why did you come back here?” Robby asks.

You wonder whose idea it was to search for you here. Probably Jack, right? His ability to keep a clear head and to stay calm in the most impossible situations always shocked you. But equally, his stoic demeanor drove you crazy, especially when it came to letting you in and dealing with your past together.

Maybe it was Robby. Robby would panic, but then analyse the situation at hand and find a solution. Always.

Now you needed to know.

“How did you find me?” You ask, disregarding their earlier question.

“Dana”, they answer in perfect unison.

You give a soft smile and though the situation is heavy, it’s enough to make Robby and Jack’s hearts melt. The warmth in your eyes brings an unexpected tenderness, like a comforting embrace for the soul and before they can help it, both of them smile too.

You sit in the peaceful silence, the weight of everything feeling just a little bit lighter, as though the past has softened its grip on you all.

But all too soon, reality creeps back in.

“I didn’t know you come back here often", Jack's face grows serious again. "It seems… painful."

“Sometimes", you admit. "When I need to convince myself that an alley is just an alley...”

Talking about it hurts, but pretending it didn't happen is just as difficult. For them too.

You feel your hands tremble again, instinctively pulling them closer to your chest. But Robby notices, closing the distance between you and offering his shoulder. It’s the same comfort he always gave you, like second nature.

When he walked away, the void he left was unbearable.

But now he’s here.

You sink your forehead into the crook of his neck, taking slow, cleansing breaths. His familiar scent floods you, a quiet reminder of all the unexpressed love.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you”, Robby whispers, as you melt deeper into him, your heartbeat syncing with his.

Slowly, the panic subsides.

Jack watches you both, eyes hard, fighting his own memories.

It's an unusually quiet shift. The eerie kind where everyone's on edge, waiting for something to break.

You and Jack work a couple of cases together, like you usually do.

You were always a great team. Made each other better in ways few people understood. But Robby did. He always respected your deep bond, even when you and Robby were dating. It's the kind that runs deeper than friendship, deeper than love, it's survival. Maybe it's because Robby and Jack share their own connection, a brotherhood built on mutual trust and support.

Your breakup with Jack was mutual, the weight of your shared history and trauma made it inevitable. You both walked away, at different points, caught in your own separate battles. You saved lives together, but you also lost them. And in the process, you lost parts of yourselves too. You both gave so much to everyone else, there was nothing left to give each other. It wasn't anyone's fault.

Still, you can’t help but feel like it was yours. Like you destroyed something great. Not just with Jack, but with Robby too.

The breakup with Robby really tested everything. Words were said, hearts broken and neither of you knew how to navigate this new reality. Somehow, Jack found himself in the middle and all of you blamed yourselves.

You weren’t the one who left this time, but maybe you pushed Robby too hard, pressured him to open up when he wasn’t ready.

So you accepted Robby's decision and watched him leave.

You wonder if he expected you to fight for him, to not let him go so easily.

That day in the ER, Robby snaps at you. In front of everyone. In front of Jack.

Jack’s breath hitches, trying hard not to intervene. To say something. Why wouldn't he? It's you. But he doesn't. And for that he'd never forgive himself.

It's not rational. But later, when you're lying in that hospital bed, machines and monitors beeping in a faint rhythm, their minds force them to dissect every little detail that led up to what happened. As if that could somehow undo it.

“I am your attending. You are a resident. When I tell you to do something, you do it", Robby barks. "If you can't respect that, then maybe this hospital isn’t for you.”

You just look at him, incredulous. But he continues, louder.

“You’re acting like a fucking child!” Regret washes over him as soon as the words leave his mouth.

You rip off your gloves with a snap, glancing at Jack, daring - no - willing him to speak up. But part of you is glad he doesn't. This is between you and Robby. Deep down you know it isn’t personal, but it still hurts, so you decide to give both of you space.

“Dr. Robinavitch”, you say before walking out, unaware how that split decision would lead to you almost losing your life.

All three of you now lean against the building facade, a comforting familiarity between you.

Your breathing has steadied, but your eyes are still glazed. You look up at Robby. For a moment, you are back to being his. And he yours. He gives you a soft smile, the one that crinkles the corners of his eyes and your heart nearly bursts, memories rushing back.

You remember kissing every freckle on his forehead, tracing the lines of his skin. He always thought they made him look old. You agreed, which made him laugh. But you also thought they made him look kind. How fitting.

A shaky gasp cuts through your thoughts. Jack drops his head, one hand pressing against his eyes, desperate to hide the pain that tears through him.

“Jack?” You whisper, reaching for him.

Jack lets out a quiet sob, fighting every urge not to fall apart in front of you. He can't.

You grab both of his wrists, grounding him with your presence as you pull him into your chest. His head rests gently against your heart, a silent promise that he will always be part of it.

“Hey", you tilt your head, searching for his eyes. "I'm here."

Maybe you love him differently now, but the ache in your chest tells you that some bonds can't be broken.

“Please forgive me,” he begs, his voice breaking, as the weight of his pain truly hits you.

Thanks for reading part 2!! Oh boi, this was a sad one… and it’s only getting worse before it gets better is all I’m gonna say hehe. Pls share your thoughts, I love reading your comments!!

PS: Lmk if you want to be added to the taglist: ♡

@queenslandlover-93 @sp00kylesley @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sqrlgrl22 @imonmykneessir @gabsgabsvaz

#the pitt #michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby x reader #jack abbott #dr michael robinavitch #dr michael robinavitch x reader #jack abbot #dr jack abott x reader #dr abbot x reader #noah wyle #shawn hatosy #the pitt hbo #dr robby x you #dr abbot x you #dr robby imagine #reader imagines

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angelesca · 4 months ago

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w.c. 3.4k💀so much words for this crap / sunday x truckdriver!gnreader (dafuqq is this dynamic), small stories, 99% of the penacony cast are impressed by you(they should be), robin is a cutie pie, sunday is a closeted robin fan, you and sunday squabble daily, sunday your wonweek is showing💗, wrote this in the tumblr drafts vro🔥part crack [𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐬]: 1 ┃ 2 ┃...

a/n: farted this out bc i got inspired by this otome isekai manhwa i was reading [truck knight taekbae] + aesthetics inspired by [who made me a princess]

darkness monopolised your vision ever since you got here; day time never graced you. the insulated walls do their job well—only the vibrations, the frayed edges of sound, can be heard.

chains grip your wrists, the metal twisting into your skin, wringing it like cloth. ouch. what now? maybe if you fart consecutively, and hard enough, you can blow your way out?

"brother... why…?" vibrations again.

"don’t… monitor… danger."

the iron door creaks. light shines a single ray though the gap, and like the sun, the radiance blinds you. you squint your eyes, tracing the outline of two silhouettes.

the taller one approaches, each stride covering an equal, set amount of distance without a lost beat. "i have one question," their tone dashes against the whetstone, pointing a sharpened blade at you. "who are you?"

their eyes did not welcome any light, no reflection of you in them, as if you were only a whisper of the air. you feel the cracks in your throat. "me? i’m just a truck driver."

you are having tea with sunday.

after the less-than-ideal introductions, the picture cleared: you, a truck driver, are isekai’d into penacony via truck inception(?).

"i apologise for my manners," sunday sips his cup. "when you... suspisciously appeared in my bathroom, unresponding, there was no room to be courteous."

"sorry about that," you play with the rim of your cup awkwardly. "i'm not sure what happened either." the honest truth.

sunday shakes his head. he's majestic. "so, you said that you were…" he taps his chin.

"a truck driver."

"a criminal?"

"... truck driver."

“an assassin?”

"..." you almost turned into one.

little did you know, your lone walk was accompanied by a slithering shadow. except... it was no shadow. it was a dazzling spotlight that had fans and reporters following her repslendent glow, as expected of penacony's halovian songstress: robin.

"you mentioned you were a truck driver," finally, someone knows what a truck driver is. "will you allow me to see it?"

yes, your truck teleported into the dreamscape too. how could you live without them? they sit by a pavement on penacony's streets, hoarding the stares of confused citizens.

you watch an infinite cosmos flare in robin's incandescent eyes. your truck is just that impressive. "wow...! it's so beautiful!"

"what a curious machine," a blue and blonde-haired pair are analysing. "a vehicle that inefficiently operates on wheels? rather old-fashioned."

"what in the ever-lovin' fudge? my great-great-great-great-great gramps had one of those!"

"a sight of blissful beauty blooms before my eyes. amazing!"

“where am i?”

“acheron, it hasnt even been a minute yet and you’re confused.”

people's eager stomping tremble the earth and sky. it's just that impressive. in the distance, an extra pair of wary eyes observe you.

"i admit, i am still suspiscious of you," sunday crosses one leg over the other. "robin sang nothing but praises. however, i'm afraid i'll need you under my surveillance to prove your trustworthiness."

urk. possessive much? "why are there knives, swords, and rocket launchers on the table?" sunday cocks an eyebrow at you, expecting you to make a move. "... i'm really not an assassin, sunday." but you do know his entire life story, so you're actually his stalker.

suddenly. the room blurs. an annoying static repeats, plucking the sensory wires from your circuit. is he... is he using his thingamajig powers?

"you may not be one... for now." he looks out a large window. you follow his gaze. wait a minute. what are they doing to-

“MY TRUUUUCK!!!” your passion transcends boundaries, past the lower-case and forcing the caps lock. lunging, you rush outside the mansion. "HEy!"

"aaaaa!! run!"

"eeek!"

"nyaa~!" who the hell was that?

"what the..." you are stunned. how dare they vandalise your truck! "was this your order?" you turn to sunday, infuriated.

"what will you do now?" a corner of his lips lifts, provoking.

you clench your fist. no one messes with you, the best truck driver, and only truck driver, in penacony.

hypothetically, if you got hit by a truck and ended up here, could you, a truck driver, hit a penaconian and isekai them over to your world?

"hey, robin?"

"hm?" her smile is innocent, gazing at you with a prospering kindness deserving of its own halo.

you smack your head. a dozen times over. then a few more.

"hey, aventurine?"

"hi hi~"

you shake your head. wouldn't his luck interfere? if anything, you'd be the one to get run over again.

"hey, acheron?"

"who are you?"

doesn't even know who you are despite telling her a minute ago. if she ended up in your world, she'd be asking the same question anyway: "where am i?"

you pick your nose. she'd slice you in half. period.

"hey, rappa."

"dazzling ninja rappa at your service!"

"as am i, the dimension-trespassing truck driving ninja!"

unfortunately, ninja roleplay with rappa is too fun. every friday, you play dnd together and you can't miss it this week.

there's only one person left.

"hey sun-"

"don't."

you stare blankly. "i didn't say anything?"

sunday glares back. "if you are going to speak to me, do it in front of me, and not while starting the engine of your truck."

"tch... damn."

"could i use your truck as a stage prop for my next concert?"

"oh, what if it suddenly rains?"

"what if i accidentally trip?"

you notice a gap in robin's behaviour. "how come you're so nervous today?"

robin looks at you, mouth on the verge of speaking. she looks down at her shoes. "hmm..." she tilts her head, lips mumbling. she hesitates, unready to spill her heart.

there's one thing you do best. you suggest, "why don't we go for a ride in my truck?"

robin's hunched back quickly reshapens itself. it's been some time since you've had a passenger, but with the way robin swiftly adjusts herself in the seats, excited, you don't worry about the mess in the truck. you start the vehicle, ready to stroll penacony's streets.

you hand her a piece of unexpired candy from a compartment, and she accepts the gesture. it doesn't take long before robin settles herself afterwards. she sighs. "... it's my brother, he'll be attending a show for the first time. i'm a bit nervous."

"why would he not be supportive?" you question.

robin shakes her head. "it may be because my brother is a perfectionist. i can't help but believe that he'll be expecting a flawless performance."

halovian songstress robin, a nation-wide icon, for her, expectations continually rise without rest. but for now, she sits next to you as robin herself, without the embellishments and performing. a breath of fresh air.

words of reassurance may be able to tend her heart. "make as many mistakes as you want," you comfort, "you are robin yourself before you are a singer, a civilian, and a sister."

the candy in her palm is scrunched. her heart, opens. robin herself, smiles. not because she is expected to, not because she is told to, but because she wants to. "thank you."

on the eighth day, grant... sunday getting down on one knee for you. wasn't this a bit fast?

your mouth opens. "are you proposing right now?"

"what are you on about?" sunday looks up at you, eyebrows scrunched. in his hands, a riiiiiiiiiiing- no, he's just cleaning his shoes with a cloth. better luck next time.

robin suggested to use your truck like a cabbie. that way, you can still keep your pride as a truck driver, and provide ears for wary hearts:

a student struggling with academics.

someone who doesn't know which direction to take.

the ramblings of a doctor whose words are spoken with precision, slicing his words into the victim's flesh. but behind the gloves are trembling hands that only wishes to sew tight the rotting wounds of a poor gambler, if only he would let him.

a galaxy ranger who witnessed the brevity of lives in the isolated expanse of the universe, walked along the shore of nihility. she departs with you her true name so that when she returns, your heart can accompany her solitude once more.

a young girl who cannot tell if the blood on her hands are someone else's, or her own. every allude to life reminded her of a deathly fate. however, as your passenger, she is reminded that she can forge a life of her own, undecided by destiny. penance and redemption, then, in the end, she hopes to regain her humanity.

you've listened to them all. unlocked each of their hearts, always gave back the key if they ever wanted to return again. turns out, the people of penacony are not much different from those in your world.

robin would pass out if she saw this.

from what you remember, there were 88 doors in the oak family's residence (you're a dedicated fan). you've explored each one, door 86, 87, 88... 89?

a secluded door that can only be seen with eagle eyes. the mystery kindles sparks in your chest, flaming curious fires. you slowly open the door. 86, 87, 88, 89... robins? (one for every door?) they all stare at you within their enclosures, as either posters, figurines, or books cover. in the middle sat a familiar head of grey hair, lowered, back turned towards you.

"sunday?"

the head moves up. gradually, it creaks. never in your life, did you expect to see a robin-crazed hidden room, nor a red-faced sunday. oh robin, the brother you were so worried about, is actually your no.1 fan. sunday's halovian wings flap furiously, doing nothing to cool his face down. his expression seems annoyed to have been caught in the act. "... what?"

"is this your robin shrine?" this is it. this will be your revenge, and the beginning tastes sweet. "so, you're the real criminal out of the two of us."

one can imagine the fumes blowing out of his ears. his eyes glisten, on the verge of tears. oops, he's really embarrassed.

you turn your face away, allowing sunday as much privacy as possible within his very private room. or rather, you are avoiding his eyes to suppress laughter. "you're coming to robin's concert, right?"

"you coming?" you gesture towards your majestic truck. it's a beautiful night for a truck ride.

sunday, your victim, is reluctant, of course. he probably still believes that you are an assassin who will run him over. "i won't die, will i?"

you huff. "i'm just a truck driver. what's the worse i could do? kidnap you?" sunday stares at you, frightened. it does not take much for him to believe in your potential for evil. "it's a joke... i'm not a criminal. or an assassin."

"just for a few minutes," he resigns. score. you open the door for sunday, who eventually sits down. you start the engine.

"welcome." sunday is in your truck. what an achievement. heh. you place your foot on the pedal.

it is silent apart from the engine's buzzing. you hand sunday an unexpired bag of chips from the compartment. he receives it, inspecting the packaging. his eyes trail to the window, studying how the sunset paints penacony with autumn's palette, but beyond it, he is watching the dots of people. you watch the melancholic sunday.

"what's on your mind?" you ask.

"nothing significant."

"well, the whole point of my trucking service is to listen to passengers." you turn the wheel. honestly, you don't know where you're going, and neither does sunday. the moon guides you tonight, two lost souls. "say anything."

sunday fiddles with the bag of chips. "...maintaining the oak family status, work, the people," he finally speaks, "it balances on my shoulders."

you hum, signalling him to continue.

"wouldn't a utopia free from suffering solve everything?"

quite a hard-hitting question for a truck driver, sunday. you nod. "of course. the only problem is that it is not real - everyone is forced into the current reality. it is harsh and cruel..." you blink. "but we are not powerless to it."

"how do you suggest we solve it?"

it is quiet for a moment before your mind wanders to every passenger you've had. they all had one thing in common. "i guess, a lot of people want a shoulder to lean on, an ear to open for them, and a voice to validate their feelings. we can do that."

all those passengers seemed to shine brighter at the end of the ride, ready to chase a dream. you may not be saving the world - you are no hero, just a truck driver - but you help tend the invisible wounds of people: the blood that drips from sharp words, the bruises that sting from deprecation, the headaches.

isn't it fine to take it slow? navigate the dark, little-by-little, and by the end, there will be an even brighter light.

"... i see." sunday watches your hands manoeuvre the truck's mechanics. the flick in your eyes that turn to him, to which he shies away from. then, he rests his eyes. as the truck drives, a silence hangs, one of quiet understanding. bit-by-bit, you gaze into sunday's heart.

it's been some time since you got run over.

adjusting to penacony was difficult at first. you had to adapt to life at the family's mansion, and the daily customs. however, the burden was eased slightly, all partly thanks to a special helper.

every morning, a cup of coffee or freshly-squeezed juice presents itself in the kitchen. every afternoon, your favourite bookshop always happens to have the book you wanted, already reserved for you. every night, your bedroom door slowly opens, quietly. your blanket, moves up to cover your torso. the mess in your room, rearranged and picked up. the back of a hand, feathers over your cheek. and nothing more happens. your little helper is easily satisfied at the sight of a peaceful you.

"does robin know about this room?" you are flipping through an ancient truck magazine.

sunday is wiping the display cabinets. his wings are flapping again, turning to you. "you didn't mention it to her, did you?"

"no, but she's going on tour soon after," you play with the corner of a page. "why don't you send her your encouragement?”

"what do you suggest?" he asks.

you look at the ceiling. it's full of robin's pictures. "a heartfelt letter? personally, i would buy her a truck but i don't think she needs that."

a small laugh escapes sunday's lips. you did not expect that. "that would be nice." he moves over to a desk, and from a drawer he pulls out a page adorned with blue flowers, and a pen.

you walk over to his desk. "you're into stationary?"

"i don't see why not," sunday says, "my work requires mostly writing, after all."

he begins from the top: 'dear sister,'. from there, sunday is a bit clumsy and awkward, asks her how the weather is and if she had breakfast. "... i've never done this before," is what he said. but gradually, the pen picks up, and the words flow. now, there was too much left unspoken when sunday reaches the final line, and had to cross out the sentence he was writing. a total of four pages, both sides filled, with more words waiting to be said - those would be left for when the siblings reunite.

"maybe we can have the people of penacony sign it too." you smile, imagining robin's elation when she reads it.

sunday nods. he scratches his signature and hands the paper to you. "here."

you take the pen, hesitant. "what's this for?"

sunday raises an eyebrow. "you're a citizen of penacony, are you not?"

... oh. were you? your throat dries. when did you become a part of penacony? weren't you... just a truck driver?

sunday watches you contemplate. a silence drawls. suddenly, he wraps his hand around yours, holding the pen still. "why are you hesitating?" nib meets page. ribbon by ribbon, the ink dances. "you belong here, don't you?"

your chest grows warm. you weren't expecting that either. full of surprises, aren't we? the same person that chained your hands and observed you, coldly answered to you, is offering his warmth. his hand is resolute, unwilling to let go. it reassure your doubts. you smile.

the pen lifts:

'from, your loving brother and, your dear friend.'

surprisingly, sunday has gotten comfortable with your presence in his forbidden robin cove. as you have with his in your magnificent truck.

yet, as much as you've driven closer, the gap is bottomless. sunday doesn't appreciate you looking at him, yet, he's allowed to drill holes in you when you're not aware?

you've asked robin, but she answered cryptically with a smile. "he used to watch over me as well, overprotective as always, but i'm sure that's his way of expressing himself when words fail him."

you reccount the passing moments.

a person more of action, lesser of words. for his people, he worked endlessly without their validation. for robin, he hid in the shadows of his much brighter devotion and support. for you, he let you slowly seep into his life, and you absorbed him into yours. a truck driver and an overqualified partner-in-crime.

quiet devotion is a tender song. without the beating of his loud commands, penacony would be left unprotected. without the instrumental scratching of his pen, there would be no light on the streets. without the percussive clicking of his shoes, the citizens would not be able to dance and celebrate.

this was sunday's song; no one else heard it, but it hums beneath the surface, invisible. those who press their ears against it can sense its vibrations. a silence that speaks louder than words or lyrics. and now, you can't mistake it, your heart beats to the silent song.

it is the night of robin's last stage in penacony. you and sunday stand on a balcony, watching over her. the final song sways along the night-caressed breeze, setting free the wings of hopeful listeners and dreamchasers.

though for a certain someone, he was using more of his eyes than ears. when you meet his golden pair, they turn away as usual.

"what's with you?" you lean against the railing.

his hands hide behind his back. "nothing significant."

"hey, i thought we were past that already. i told you i'm a truck driver who listen to their passengers."

silence hangs. a few more spoken words, "and? have you told your story?"

"me?"

his eyes find yours, but they don't turn away anymore. behind his role as penacony's figure and as a brother, it is sunday who is talking to you. in his gaze, it doesn't judge, impartial, waiting to listen, asking if it is okay for you to lend him your key.

he's come a long way into this journey. now, he awaits at your doorstep. the words catch in your throat. "i'm... just a truck driver..." you close your eyes. "a truck driver who got lost here."

sunday shakes his head. "i’m not asking about one miniscule part of your life. behind that is you who experienced a reality that built the person in front of me," his voice is shaky. an unsteady hand opens and closes, hopes to reach out for yours, but is uncertain. "i'm... asking for permission to learn all of you."

"..." robin's song is about to come to an end.

you look at the mirror. a mirror that always reflected only you, now fits one more person in the frame. that is your answer.

the you who is listening, reading, watching, all your past versions converge into this quiet meeting. usually, the mirror rejected, criticised, and distorted. but today, it finally listens. the mirror holds your reflection to be true. before you got to penacony, before you stood in the middle of a road, before you became a truck driver, you were...

"speak to me. i'm here to listen as you have for others." and keep that key to his heart, for it remains open unconditionally, always a place for you in there.

two losts souls, under the moon, found a home in each other.

a person closes the novel they were reading. they pick up their phone and start typing:

“-4.2/5 rating, absolute horror. where was robin at the end? i was waiting for her! and what’s with all the mirrors and life lessons? preeeeetty criiiinge. i'm reading a fantasy novel, not a lecture. why is mc even a truck driver anyways? also, not enough hand holding, and definitely not enough kissing. zero points!” this random nobody criticises, slamming fingers on the screen. they pause. “i wonder when the next volume will be released…”

a/n: great use of my holiday tbh, get everything out b4 i'm busy again💖i hate drawing hoyo charas they're so detailed, applause to all the hoyo artists u guys r goated fr i thought itd be cute to turn this into a series. i have some deleted ideas since i only wanted this to be a short piece (i got carried away smh). but tbh this fic ended off nicely, i dont think it needs continuing. idk. i like pistachio ice cream thanks for reading!!😲

#hold me back b4 i do a sunday arranged marriage isekai #with a train conductor reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #sunday x reader #angie's crayon drawings!

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casscainmainly · 15 days ago

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"My long-held belief that Duke and Luke should not get along" <- could you please elaborate on this? I'm fond of both and I collect your thoughts and analyses like they're rare trading cards so I'm ready to be all 👀🫳🍿

First of all anon this might be my favourite ask ever, I've been dying to write my thoughts on these two so THANK YOU. Secondly my belief that Duke + Luke wouldn't get along actually stemmed from WFA, I was super annoyed with Luke giving Duke the pep talk in ep 76 because they have no relationship!!! Then I started thinking harder and realised they are a really interesting pair. In case anyone hasn't noticed I'm fond of giving Duke relationships where he's annoyed with the other person so 😭 this is very on brand.

The thing about Duke + Luke is they are, on the surface, similar - they are Black members of the Batfam who operate mostly independently, 'separate' from a legacy as Signal/Batwing (though I will deconstruct this later), devoted to their family, have a strong sense of justice, and view crime-fighting as a business. But I believe at their cores they are fundamental opposites - and it's this hidden opposition that makes me think they wouldn't vibe with each other. I'm focusing on We Are Robin Duke and Batwing Luke, though I will also refer to Duke's Signal days + Luke in Detective Comics.

(This is going to be a long post because this is lowkey my Luke + Duke thesis 😭)

Introductions

Duke and Luke were both introduced in the New 52, actually in the same year (2013!). What's really cool about their intros is that you already see how different they are. We first meet Duke in Zero Year, where he's fishing in the subway and then attacked by a gang; we then get the famous scene of him solving crosswords by Bruce's unconscious body. When Bruce tells Duke and his family to leave, Duke refuses, telling him they can't leave Duke's grandma and that all it takes is one riddle to free the city from Riddler's influence.

By contrast, we first meet Luke in the spotlight as he's wrestling for MMA in Batwing #19. He's been wrestling to get Batman's attention, refusing all job offers from his dad to do so (and thus creating some juicy father-son tension). In Batwing #20, we see he has two degrees from MIT, lives in a fancy apartment, and is really tech-oriented; his cover story for Batwing is that he's travelling the world.

Already, there are a couple things that already firmly separate them:

Class: Duke is from the Narrows whereas Luke is rich

Connection to Batman: Duke stumbled across Batman and gained his attention quite organically, whereas Luke was actively begging for Batman to notice him

Agency: Duke's actions were motivated by the extreme circumstances of Zero Year and a desire to help rooted in his material environment, whereas Luke's is a more internal, abstract wish to help (pointing to their class differences again)

Gotham: Duke refuses to leave his city, whereas Luke immediately packs up and travels the world

Intelligence: Both of them are fiercely intelligent, but in different ways - Duke loves puzzles and riddles whereas Luke is more inclined towards engineering and technology

And these differences only grow as they get older!!

Maturity

Duke is 16 (in my head, canonically it's vague but he's between Damian and Tim so 14-17) and Luke is 23. This age gap is honestly not that big, but I think it would feel big to both of them. And what's worse is that Duke is quite mature, but Luke is said to be immature:

Batwing #23

I don't think Luke is actually immature, but it's a recurring theme that other characters perceive him as unwilling to grow up; and I genuinely do think Batwing, for him, is kind of an adventure at first. Now compare this to Duke, whose circumstances disallowed him being childish. He had to grow up because his parents weren't around anymore, and he became quite jaded as a result. Even after he's mellowed out in his Signal days, I still don't think he could tolerate working with someone who comes off as light-hearted as Luke does. Duke would be annoyed by how he perceives Luke doesn't take things seriously, and Luke in turn would be annoyed when Duke inevitably criticises him for it.

Arc

Following on from above, their arcs are actually in total opposite directions. We first meet Duke alone and disillusioned with everything, putting his whole being into finding his parents. Then, through We Are Robin and Robin War, he begins to understand what Robin means as a symbol and finds community, leading to his brighter personality in Signal comics. Luke, however, begins very light-hearted (as seen above), with a huge respect for Batman and the Bat symbol. Once his family starts being torn apart, though, he becomes increasingly aggressive, more isolated, and in a much darker place. Compare a narration box from the last issues of both:

Batwing #34 / We Are Robin #12

These encapsulate their journeys: Duke learns that he doesn't have to act alone, whereas Luke struggles with accepting all that has happened since he put on his suit. Being a vigilante improves Duke's life, whereas it essentially ruins Luke's. This is why I don't think that WFA ep made sense!!! They have nothing in common in terms of the vigilante experience, and I think they would frustrate each other because they have such different conceptions of what the vigilante life is!!!!!!!

Batman and Robin

Okay so I said that Luke + Duke aren't legacies; even though Batwing is one, Luke doesn't actually talk to David Zavimbe, and his Batwing is not spiritually connected to David's really. But Luke and Duke both do take inspiration from other Batfam members - Batman and Robin, respectively.

Batwing #25 / Batman (2011) #45

Luke is the rare Batfam member whose motivations don't spring from tragedy - he's inspired one night when Batman saves him and he jumps in to help. Luke's love for Batman is wrapped up in Bruce himself, as a person rather than a symbol; he genuinely thinks Batman is awesome and wants to help people under his name.

Duke is the exact opposite - Robin is not a person for him but a symbol, and a symbol that can be spread to many people. It's also intimately tied with Duke's relationship to Gotham, because Batman is "on the gargoyle" and Robin is "on the street". Importantly, Duke says to Darryl that "I know you work for him, but you're us". Working for a singular person is in opposition to this 'us' that Duke believes in.

Luke, though not exactly an employee, literally wanted to work for Batman, Inc. Batwing is in many ways a 'job', an alternative to the corporate life Lucius wanted for him. Duke would, I think, take huge problems with Luke's philosophy as a whole. Separated from Gotham, attached to Batman as a person rather than as a symbol, Duke just literally wouldn't understand where Luke is coming from. And Luke, too, doesn't seem to respect Robin as a mantle (this is after someone mistakes him for Batman in Batwing #34):

I think Luke views Robin as firmly a kids' role, a sidekick for Batman; that would annoy the STUFFING out of Duke. I actually could write a whole post in itself about this incident and Luke being mistaken for Batman but that's for another day. The point is they are attached to the Batman and Robin legacies which in themselves are already vastly different, but Duke is kind of anti-Batman and Luke is a little anti-Robin, so they would not mix.

Family

One thing they do have in common is a deep love for family. But even then, their familial relationships are extremely different: Duke has a wonderful relationship with his parents, bolstered by the fact he lost them for a while, whereas Luke has a contentious relationship with his. Duke in some ways idealises his mom and dad, while Luke is sharply aware of his parents' shortcomings.

Batwing #20

Now this wouldn't be an issue normally, but Duke canonically has, like, a problem with judging other people's families. It's a really consistent (and somewhat hilarious) trait of his:

We Are Robin #5 / We Are Robin #5 / Gotham Nights #8

The Dre comment ("you're a mob kid?") is particularly telling. Because Duke has such a good relationship with his parents, and because he's shaped so much by them, I think he sees children as reflections of their parents/families. It's hard for him to see someone completely divorced from their family - you even see this a bit in Batman & The Outsiders, where although Duke understood Cass' disagreements with Shiva, I don't think he really got the nuances of what that felt like for Cass.

Luke's relationship with his father is complex and contentious. They love each other, but Lucius' desires for Luke just don't match what Luke wants, and Luke can't tell him about Batwing either so it's a constant back-and-forth. This secrecy is another thing Duke wouldn't get - I've made posts before about Duke and honesty, and it's a huge value of his. It's significant that as soon as his mom is healed she finds out about Signal; dishonesty is not really a factor in Duke's life, whereas it is Luke's central conflict. Luke's entire thing with his dad and his alter ego is something Duke has never had to deal with, and I think Duke would just be like 'tell him?? and make up??' and Luke would sigh so loud and hard.

Personality and Authority

But all of that aside, I just think their personalities wouldn't mix! Duke is a jaded teenager whose overt honesty and resistance to authority often give off a bad first impression (see his first encounters with Black Lightning, We Are Robin, Damian, even the Bruce train scene...). People do warm up to Duke quick, and once you love him you adore him, but there's a hurdle to becoming close to him that you have to leap first.

Luke, on the other hand, is affable and immediately likable. He's popular in school (as Russell mentions in #25), has experienced college social life, and is open and friendly. I think in an initial meeting Luke would find Duke off-putting and rude, while Duke would find Luke shallow and annoying. Luke is an extremely confident person, as shown in both Batwing and Detective Comics (particularly the latter). I think Duke would take this confidence as him being stuck-up, especially because Luke is rich.

Their class differences also separate their reactions to authority. Luke doesn't take authority at face value - he disobeys Bruce basically as much as Duke does. However, given his upbringing he isn't that anti-authority. Compare Luke and Duke's attitudes to cops:

Batwing #25 / We Are Robin #2

The Luke narration box is after the cops shoot him and accidentally make him kill his best friend 😭😭😭 like if that had happened to Duke his inner voice would NOT say that. This is another example of how their different upbringings and personalities cause them to have DRASTICALLY different outlooks on things. Batwing also sides with Batwoman when she kills Clayface in Detective Comics, something I think Duke would not do (he would've sided with Cass) so their ideologies often put them on opposite sides.

FINALLY, and least importantly, Luke is not a reader. This is a recurring thing and it's so funny:

Batwing #21

That's Tam telling Luke to "read a book". I think this exact interaction would happen with Duke taking the place of Tam, where he'd just be super annoyed that Luke doesn't enjoy literature. Honestly I think Duke might remind Luke of Tam in a lot of ways, since Duke is Bruce's golden child just like Tam is Lucius'. And that would annoy Luke, like he can't escape annoying younger siblings even as Batwing?? Bruce liking Duke more than Luke, even when Duke doesn't even care for Bruce's approval, would send Luke's blood pressure through the ROOF.

Conclusion

Um anyway I'm so so sorry this was so long but that's why I think Luke and Duke wouldn't get along!! It's mostly that they have such different outlooks on literally everything and their personalities clash. Anyway, if anyone bothered to read til the end here's your reward!! A little edit of what SHOULD have happened in WFA ep 76:

#duke thomas #luke fox #ask #meta #I DID IT I FINISHED IT!!!!#anyway everyone read we are robin and batwing issues 19-25 #honestly so annoying when people group luke and duke together because YES they're two black characters but they're SO DIFFERENT #they're actually SO much more interesting as foils because their stances are so radically different #and i really do love them both... i actually think it's GREAT they're so different!!! they're both really three dimensional people #who deserve to have an interesting and complex dynamic #like luke is TWENTY THREE he is NOT mentoring 16 yo duke... i have such a problem with the way the w*fa ep makes luke seem 30 #realistically i think luke/duke would eventually get along and they would trust each other #but duke + jace have more in common because of jace's troubled past than duke + luke do #I think duke + tam would also get along better! and duke + tiffany!#imagining duke being invited to family dinner and luke being like ://///////// seriously????#duke + lucius though... i actually dk whether they would like each other. lucius is just so corporate in a way duke isn't #okay another post for another time i hope that answered your question anon!! and tysm for asking it and allowing me to dump my thoughts <33

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jcmarchi · 1 year ago

Text

How Global Dealmakers are Leveraging AI

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/how-global-dealmakers-are-leveraging-ai/

How Global Dealmakers are Leveraging AI

Artificial Intelligence (AI), including generative AI (GenAI), is rapidly revolutionizing business processes and challenging traditional operational models across industries. The mergers and acquisitions (M&A) industry is no exception.

Large language models (LLM) and GenAI are particularly well-suited to support industries reliant on processing and analyzing vast amounts of data. Financial services, especially the management of capital transactions like M&A, stand to benefit significantly due to the complex and time-sensitive nature of the work. For example, when it comes to buying or selling a business, one of the most challenging parts of the M&A process is organizing and preparing the files needed for review by potential investors or purchasers. AI can help streamline this process significantly. An AI algorithm that understands M&A, can sift through a deal’s data and suggest categories, as well as appropriate folder locations, for the files, transforming an activity that used to take weeks to one that is complete in just minutes.

Dealmakers have already seen the benefits of AI’s ability to improve processes and efficiencies, particularly in due diligence, where AI-powered document analysis can substantially expedite information processing. In fact, a Datasite survey of 500 global dealmakers in the US, UK, Germany and France found that most dealmakers see productivity as the biggest benefit of using AI in their business.

AI is also making other parts of the dealmaking process more efficient. For instance, AI can assist in identifying potential M&A targets by analyzing vast datasets and market trends, particularly beneficial for those pursuing programmatic M&A strategies. By using anonymized private equity and other transaction activity from within a closed and secure platform, some AI-powered applications are already helping dealmakers get better and faster deal targets.

AI can also aid in the valuation process by providing objective analyses based on historical data and market factors. However, while AI can enhance accuracy and efficiency in valuations, human judgment remains essential, especially in evaluating qualitative factors and forecasting.

Additionally, by automating repetitive and time-consuming tasks, AI enables dealmakers to focus on strategic-level decisions and creative thinking. Achieving a balance between AI and human involvement is, in fact, key to maximizing productivity and outcomes.

Yet, despite this awareness of AI’s potential benefits, there is still a gap between familiarity and adoption in the M&A industry. While many dealmakers said they have personally reaped the benefits of the technology, 60% said adoption of AI at their own organizations was low, or that they were still using it only experimentally. Furthermore, over 70% of global dealmakers want the technology regulated before it is incorporated into any of their existing processes, citing concerns around data privacy and security, job displacement, quality control, intellectual property, and bias.

For this, the government is stepping in. The EU has introduced the AI Act and the US has published a blueprint for an AI bill of rights and an executive order that requires companies to perform safety tests and reporting on AI systems. As regulatory measures catch up with technological advancements, financial services institutions are sure to play a crucial role in shaping the responsible and effective use of AI in dealmaking.

Looking ahead, AI is only set to further evolve how deals are managed, driving further efficiencies and innovations in M&A dealmaking processes. While striking a balance between human involvement and AI is key, there is no doubt that we will continue to see AI implementation in the M&A field.

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thevelvetvampyre · 11 months ago

Text

Pink lace - Raymond Leon x stepdaughter reader

Summary: Raymond finds his stepdaughters lacy thong and has a *hard* time accepting how much she’s grown.

Warnings: angry sex, face fucking, age gap, slight incest, he’s aggressive😍, squirting, ROUGH, p in v , small sprinkle of ‘daddy’ and ‘little girl’ but not much, general adult content and smut (one small mention of story line / time as money reference) no context at all basically just porn - no foreplay just basically desperate angry fucking

I feel like this is shit xx

🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒

Tutting as he rummaged around the pile of dirty laundry to find his favourite black pullover, your stepdad Raymond was growing agitated at its lack of presence in the basket.

Flicking the fabric around as his wrist threw countless pieces of material, he internally complained about your mother and her inability to wash his clothes on time.

Useless bitch.

Huffing out as he stopped his search, his eyes remained on the pile as he furrowed his brows at the baby pink that slightly peaked out around the surrounding darkness.

Blinking at the pop of colour for a few seconds before reaching in and pulling the fabric out, his eyes widened as he clenched his jaw at the lacy, soft pair of pink panties in his fingers.

Slightly rotating them in his hand as he continued to pinch around the hip, the vein in his neck protruded as his blood pumped in disgust.

His face heated up and his teeth grated, ignoring his hardening cock pull at his core as he analysed how slutty the panties were, how pathetically thin the material was and how the size of them were a lame excuse for underwear.

Knowing they didn’t belong to your mother as she stopped making an effort to arouse him way too long ago, he swelled under his waistband as he pictured your young, tight body in nothing but the soft lace he held in his fingers.

His anger flushed across his skin as he thought he raised you better than this, better than an easy whore who wore close to nothing to cover her cunt under her clothes.

Clenching his jaw painfully shut and fisting a ball around your panties, he turned around and stormed through the hallway to your bedroom.

“What do you call these?”

The door swung open and his voice boomed through your walls, shooting your head up in fright as his intrusion into your room was aggressive and heart pounding.

Looking up at him, he stood proud with your panties dangling in the air and your cheeks flushed a warm red, embarrassed that your stepfather was showing you your own underwear and questioning your choice of undergarment.

“A thong? Really? I didn’t raise you to be a whore!”

He dropped his hand and furrowed his brows at you, shaking his head in disbelief as you sat on your bed hoping the sheets would suck you whole.

“Why are you touching them!”

You blurred out, your voice louder than what you had intended.

“Don’t you dare raise your voice at me…”

He held his finger up and you pouted at his tone.

“If your mother wasn’t such a useless wife I wouldn’t of found these.”

He spat through his teeth and spoke his words like venom, a strong vibration of hatred bouncing off of him as he spoke.

“I’m a grown woman! I can wear whatever-“

You crossed your arms as you defended your clothing choices, wishing he’d just drop it and leave you alone as per normal.

“Yeah? You’re a grown woman huh?”

He spoke sarcastically and waved his hands to his sides in unison to his words, mocking and belittling you in your own room.

“Yes! I can wear whatever I want.”

You stated yourself obviously, his face cringing in disgust at your proud words.

“Grown enough to dress like a slut?”

Your cheeks deepened with his words, thrown off guard by his explicit language.

“Grown enough to be wearing practically nothing around your cunt?”

He started walking closer to your bed, your core heating up as you’d never seen him so seething before.

Covering your ears in response to his filthy words, he held your panties up in front of him and cocked his brows in irritability to your lack of responses.

“Stop! Please… stop.”

You squeezed your eyes yet felt your cunt pool in your shorts, a confusing mix of arousal and humiliation to his harsh words.

“Disgusting.”

He threw your panties onto your bed and you snatched them, removing them from his sight in hopes he would soon leave your room after making his point so clear.

Unfortunately, he turned to your dresser, stomping down as he ripped open the top drawer and widened his eyes at the array of lace, pink and white that coated the base of the wood.

“What’s this?”

His words were sharp as he pulled out a white corset.

“Fuck… what’s this?”

His words sobbed, now pulling out a sparkly pink bra your mother got you when you turned 16.

He continued to rip out items of lingerie as his face pulled into a more disgusted look than it was a few seconds prior, contradicting his leaking, pulsating tip at just how soft and plush your lace was.

You watched as your expensive panties and bras were chucked onto the floor, the humiliation stinging your chest as with each piece he pulled, the angrier he seemed to become.

“Oh my god… stop!”

You screeched at him. He stopped instantly but remained paused in his position for a couple of seconds before dropping his hands slowly off your drawer and turning his neck onto you.

His hair was falling in his face and his cheeks were flushed, his irritation proving apparent on the cringed look on his face.

“Is this what you wanted?”

His voice was soft and quiet now, pulling your back up straight as it jarred you to see him so emotional.

He was never not emotional, just he didn’t have a good relationship with your mother anymore. Fuck, did anyone? She hadn’t even been home for the past few days, unsure of her whereabouts created tension between you and your stepfather that you didn’t dare address or talk about.

“Is what what I wanted?”

You spoke through exasperated words, tired of his fickle mood and unnecessary anger.

“This…?”

He turned around and walked fiercely towards you, reaching down to his crotch and grabbing his thick, throbbing cock.

“Is this what you wanted?”

He walked over to the side of your bed, pulling you by your hair to sit on the edge and grasping your scalp violently as he shook you to his words.

“To see your step daddy’s hard cock in your face?”

He held you inches away from his groin, his fingers wrapping around his painfully obvious veiny shaft. Your cunt dripped at how deliciously huge he was, feeling his heat so close to your face made you burn an internally feral heat to your core.

“N-no.”

You muttered out, licking your lips as they swelled and your face heated with arousal.

He groaned a throaty growl as his fingers pressed further into your scalp. Panting slowly as he felt his cock grow angry in impatience.

“Fix it.”

He spoke through his teeth, shaking your scalp to bring you closer to his erection.

Moving as fast as you could as soon as he gave you the green light, your delicate fingers worked on his zip and shook his jeans down, watching as they pooled at his ankles and biting your lower lip in anticipation.

Pawing desperately at his piping hot, clothed cock he groaned and rolled his head back, his eyes rolling with his neck and his jaw clenching in an attempt to hide his animalistic groans to your soft touch.

Feeling at his erection through the cotton of his underwear, your cunt was leaking onto your bed sheets as you had waited so long to finally feel him.

Ripping his waistband away from his hips, his massive, needy cock sprung out and landed close to your face, a squeak leaving your lips as he looked even bigger free than he did behind the prison of his underwear.

Opening your mouth slightly to take his salty, pre cum covered tip in your mouth, he swung his head down and furrowed his brows as his jaw dropped at how cute you looked with your stepfathers cock on your lips.

“Oh fuck… suck your daddy’s cock.”

He mumbled through a groan, listening to his instructions you took a couple of inches of him into your mouth.

Just after his tip was wrapped in your wet lips through your delicate, soft sucks, he gripped tighter at the back of your head and snapped his hips forward.

His balls were on your chin and you gagged around the size of him, your nose on his pubic area as your eyes swelled and you sobbed out through your nose.

You squirmed beneath him as an acid kicked in your chest, his huge cock breaching your neck and suffocating you as he groaned at how tight your throat was.

“Oh baby…”

He pulled his hips out and flexed at the string of spit that followed, his brows knitting tighter together and his breath leaving his lungs.

“Fuck!”

He winced, snapping his hips forward once again and slamming his tip well past your tonsils.

Grunting at the feeling your mouth around him, he continued to grasp at your hair till your scalp stung as he fucked your throat violently, snapping his hips forward in a painful force and dragging his cock out even faster.

You began suffocating as your eyes poured with pained tears and your palms rested on his upper thighs.

Your plush room was filled with sounds of you gagging, sobbing and his groans. Your spit began to pour outside your mouth, dripping liquid out your cunt and mouth simultaneously.

“Look at you go little girl…”

He grunted through quick pants, praising how well your throat was taking his cock as he repeatedly slammed himself into the back of it.

“Taking me so well.”

His voice was possessed with growls.

You thought you may pass out, your eyes rolling at your lack of breath and the sting in your scalp, your nose running and spit pouring as he fucked the hole in your face with no sympathy.

After fucking your mouth for what felt like hours, he dragged his hips out and his pulsating tip bounced in front of your face, glistening with his pre cum and your saliva against your pretty fairylights.

Quickly reaching past you, he lent over and grabbed your panties you attempted to hide from him earlier.

Shoving them in your mouth and as you muffled ‘mhm’ at the taste of yourself, he shoved your shoulders down onto the bed and began stroking his swollen cock at the sight of you whoring yourself out to him.

“Look how fucking easy you are…”

His knees stood strong as he watched over you, your eyes brimming with tears from his violent thrusts and your pussy leaking out onto the bed.

He let go of his cock and hooked his fingers under your shorts, ripping them from your body and groaning at your dripping cunt that glistened beautifully in your room.

“Such a slut.”

He spat his words, your muffled moan leaving a wet spot on the cotton in your mouth.

Dropping his body over yours, his hand fell next to your face as his neck stayed down to watch his tip get soaked by your desperate, leaking cunt.

“Oh yes… soak my fucking cock.”

His voice was low as he dragged his tip along your aching slit, needing his cock to fill you and fuck you till you hurt.

You muffled through the used underwear in your mouth and your brows furrowed, wiggling underneath him to attempt to show him how needy you were for him.

Grasping at one of your hips to keep you still, he grunted angrily and snapped his eyes to yours.

“Don’t be so fucking desperate.”

He spat on your face as he scolded you, your eyes swelling at his words and your core aching impatient for him.

Stroking his tip once more from your clit to your hole, he sunk into your cunt and your back arched at the feeling of him stretching you out.

Dropping his head into the crook of your neck and feeling his groan vibrate into your skin, your eyes swelled as he rolled deeply into your body.

Pulling his palm from the side of you to your mouth, his head remained in your neck as his hand covered your already cotton gagged lips.

Pulling his hips out as you shook at the feeling of his huge cock leaving your tight hole, your pussy swelled around him and clenched as he pushed into you once more.

“So fucking tight princess…”

You felt his legs shake as his hips met yours once again, his cock filling you to your tummy and leaving you fuller than you’d ever felt.

Pulling out and slamming into you once more, his pace fastened as he furiously fucked your tight cunt and moaned in sync to your clenching walls.

Feeling the knot in your groin heat up as your orgasm chased you, he felt your body tense and fucked you in the same spot, hitting the soft point inside of you as your sobs became deafening.

Feeling the heat come undone, you squirted and leaked aggressively against his lower stomach and your walls filled with a loud wet, squelching noise as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm.

Convulsing under him, you shook violently as the rush ran over your skin, your stomach sticking to his with each thrust.

“Making such a mess around your daddy’s cock.”

His eyes pulled up to meet yours, admiring the way you looked cock drunk beneath him.

He groaned and his neck fell forward once more, his eyes meeting the back of his head as you fluttered around him.

Tears were pouring out your eyes as you muffled a scream into the cotton, your knuckles turning white from how hard you were grasping at the sheet below you.

Pulling his head up once more to meet your eyes, his face was red and flushed as his eyes were wet and lips moist.

“Let me hear those- oh fuck- pretty moans baby.”

He ripped the cotton out your mouth, a large sigh escaping your lips now that you could finally breath.

You moaned loudly, whining in pain as his cock continued to plough into you unforgivingly.

“Yes- yes… fuck!”

His strokes continued to fuck you as they turned sloppy and weak, his balls tightening as they emptied his cum into the back of your walls.

The sound of you moaning sent him over the edge, spilling his seed into you as you bounced on the bed beneath him.

“God- gonna have you dripping my cum all week.”

His voice was husky as his hips snapped into yours for the last time, holding them close to your skin as you felt his cock flex inside of you.

You watched his face blush and his brows furrowed, a slight sweat glistening over his skin as his lips were swollen and wet as he came hard inside of you.

A choked moan left his lips and his eyes squeezed, a look that could be mistaken for pain is what you would’ve thought he was feeling if he wasn’t shooting his thick, white liquid into the back of your pussy as he did so.

Leaving his softening erection inside of you, he rested his forehead on your chest as he breathed heavily in an attempt to catch his breath.

Your sticky stomach was connected to his and your room filled with the smell of sex and sweat. Grunting, he pulled out of you and rolled next to your panting body.

“Don’t let me catch you with those again…”

He turned his neck to look at you. Your pussy stung against the cold air as his violent thrusts had split you in two.

“Unless if that’s all you’re wearing.”

Suddenly, your mum not being home was a good thing. Laying there as you stared at him next to you, a grin grew on your face as his cum trickled out of you.

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian smut #smut #cillian murphy drabble #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x fem!reader #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy fanfiction #raymond leon #Raymond Leon smut #Raymond Leon x reader

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oceantornadoo · 1 month ago

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love is a family business ch 1 (mafia lawyer!john price x mafia princess f!reader)

masterlist | next

follow and turn on notifications: @tornadoowarning

The thing about working for your family is that you don’t get a say, in well, anything.

“I still don’t understand why we have to do this.” You mutter, eyes stuck in a glare at your conversation partner, who just shrugs. “We need outside counsel to go legitimate, Dove. You know how tricky the Shadows can be.” You restrain yourself from rolling your eyes. Your cousin, one of your family’s soldiers, likes to talk to you like you’re on the playground, toddlers arguing over toys. Always uses that nickname you hate - Dove. A trait he only shows with people his own age, never the higher-up bosses.

“I get that. What I'm saying is, why Price & Partners? There are better barristers to go to.” Not to mention less overbearing, but you keep that bit to yourself. “It’s what Uncle wants.” You almost sneer at how he uses an informal title to refer to your father while talking down to the same man’s daughter, but you restrain yourself. “Ask him yourself, he’s your dad.” The linchpin to the problem - no one can stand up to you dad. You sigh, shaking off the instant regret that weighs itself on your shoulders. “You better have gotten the sister. I do not want John Price.”

John Price is in your office, caressing the spines of your books like he has the right.

“You’re in the wrong office. The Division for Pompous Assholes is downstairs.” You greet him with a glare, leaving your office door open in a clear message. He doesn’t receive it, another fault of John Price.

“You’re as cheery as ever.” Price replies, eyes flashing with contempt. He settles into one of the chairs in front of your desk, eyes flitting about as he takes in the office you never let him see. A bookshelf full of financial and self-help books takes up most of the wall, with your comfort reads hidden between tomes of theories and market analyses. Plants fill in the gaps, spots of green brightening the grey walls of your office. The visitor chairs are purposefully uncomfortable, dug out of the building basement when your father insisted that chairs were necessary. You prefer the couch off to the side, thrifted from your favorite discount furniture store that you know would be looked down upon if your family knew. It’s light brown, cushy with artfully bright throw pillows and perfect for a midday nap when you have the rare time. The desk takes up the rest of the room, dark wood to match the shelves and your name plated in gold.

Price taps the name plate with his finger, letting it vibrate on impact. You clear your throat in an attempt to go straight into business, but he gets there first. “Almost a real businesswoman.” Your eyes roll, unbidden. “Like you’re part of such a stand-up firm.” You bite out. When he shifts in his seat, you’re willing to bet your entire fortune that it’s because the gun in his waistband is digging into his spine.

“Heard you’re trying to go legit.” Price replies, ignoring your question completely. Relieved to get down to business, you shuffle the folders left on your desk, trying to find your report.

“Yes. The forecast I made-”

“Surprised your daddy is letting you entertain this.”

Your head snaps up fast as a whip. “Surprised your sister let you come here all alone.” You retort, venom on your tongue. The invisible scales of your argument, tipping towards Price, suddenly straighten to a perfect balance. Your feathers ruffled, you straighten your shoulders and produce your calculations from your folder, setting the packet in front of Price. “Read it.” His calloused fingers brush the top of the paper, touching the spot your fingers just deserted. It feels strangely intimate, like he’s tracing the mark you’ve made. Your eyes meet, searing as something unknown and unspoken passes between you two.

“I-”

“Dove!” Colin, your secretary, knocks frantically at your door. He’s one of the few non-Made men that work in the building, paid more than he’s worth for his silence. “Your father needs you.” Colin reports. Price smirks at you. There’s practically a bell ringing in the distance, signaling he’s won this round.

“Make an appointment for the next time you visit, Price.” You order him as you gather your things hurriedly. He grunts in the way that acknowledges your statement, but doesn’t agree with it. You make a grab for the report on the desk, but Price snatches it before you can grab it. “I’ll read it.” He explains gruffly. Shocked, all you can do is nod before leaving him there, staring at your desk.

“What’s wrong?” You ask Colin as you speed walk down the hallway. Your heels click rapidly, belaying your rising anxiety. Colin knows not to interrupt your meetings, which means this has to be important. “You know they don’t tell me these things.” Colin mutters. Despite his job, you’re around the same age, so he lets you nudge his shoulder in indulgent informality.

“Be glad you don’t know. If everything works out, maybe we’ll be able to get more people like you working for us.” You reply, injecting forced cheerfulness into your tone. There’s already tension in your shoulders as you near your father’s office, on the opposite side of the building from yours. For a reason, so you don’t hear stuff like:

“Where the hell is my daughter!”

Your father’s voice reverberates through the walls of the building, echoed shortly by the sound of a pounding fist against a desk. You stand in front of the door, steeling yourself as you breathe in and out. One, two, three. You push through.

“There you are.” And there he is, in all his glory. Your father is standing, a hulking beast entrapped behind a mahogany desk. “Hello, Father.” The Chairman, boss of one of the major crime syndicates based in London. His hair, cropped close and rapidly graying in the past years, belays how frustrated he is. Its usual gelled stature has been interrupted, with a few strands laying this way and that. You’ve never seen him this out of control of his physical appearance, a sign that something is very wrong.

“Everything okay?” You ask timidly, a necessary change from your whip smart banter with Price. Father shakes his head, and a pit forms in your stomach. “Twenty dead. Thousands of weapons stolen. They took one of the MacTavishes, Charlie.” Your heart stops. The MacTavishes are one of your closest aligned families, known for supplying contraband items like weapons or documents. Charlie’s like you, determined to make something right out of all this wrong. He helped you prepare your report on going legitimate, using his extensive family connections for input on Scottish gangs with legitimate businesses. It’s symbolic that they only took him, when you know for a fact his brother Johnny was there as well.

Once a crime family, always a crime family. There’s no notion of leaving, of becoming a real company. A warning, written in blood.

“Who died? Is Johnny okay? Do they want a ransom?” You sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk, fingertips playing with the fabric of your slacks. Now more than ever is a time you wish for another sibling. One with the same violent tendencies of your father, ready to hit back with war plans rather than questions. Being an only child, and a girl at that, puts you at a clear disadvantage in the life you live. The disappointment in your reaction is written clear on your father’s face, forehead wrinkles crinkling as he purses his lips.

“Not important. You’re here for another reason.” You furrow your brows in confusion. His face is one of stone, purposeful to keep you in the dark. These days, he’s your Chairman much more than your father. Days of walking hand in hand, visiting your mother’s grave and laying down flowers, all fade to distant memories. “What do you mean?” Another timid question, another exasperated facial expression. Instead of answering, he sips from the glass tumbler in front of him, the dark liquid in it most likely being scotch. He swallows silently before answering.

“They’re targeting you. Words leaked out you’re the one who wants to take us legitimate. Your competence isn’t a secret anymore.” He’s referring to the strategy you formed together long ago. Keeping you out of the spotlight, letting you go to college in America to keep your intelligence under wraps. A picture perfect image of a mafia princess, innocent and unknowing of the blood on your family’s hands. Less safety issues for the heir if they think you’re useless, and probably not the heir at all. There’s been illusions to one of your distant cousin, Kyle Garrick, taking over, all while you’ve been prepping for years to hit the families with a force they’ve never seen.

It all assumes that you want this life, this blood on your hands.

A dangerous assumption to make.

“So what are you thinking?” You know better than to offer your own opinion. By the way he’s restraining himself, you’re sure Father already has a solution. He encouraged your education and your project, but there’s been an itching feeling that it’s all been to keep you distracted. To work up to whatever finale he’s planning to end these attacks.

“Marriage.”

Marriage?

It’s not like you’ve never heard the word. The timeline you formed for him years ago has clearly been abandoned. Marriage wasn’t planned for at least five more years, once the both of you decided which allies you could trust. To abandon the plan is a show of how desperate he is, how little he cares for your opinion. How little he trusts you.

“Father, I don’t understand.” You bite out. It’s the most you can show of your reaction without revealing your weakness, the shakeable wrongness of your position. Your hands sweat and you resist from pulling on your collared shirt. “A wedding, You. The Shadows and all the other families will have to be there. The perfect time to strike.” Father smiles when he says it, like he’s glad to commit mass murder on the day of your wedding. In hindsight, it is a good plan. Other than that and a funeral, there’s no other kind of event that will get all the families in one place. Your family, The Family, can pat them down and leave them weaponless, shooting ducks in a barrel. So why do you feel so apprehensive? Words escaping you, all you can do is nod for him to continue.

“It’ll need to be to a family that isn’t directly part of the Outfit, one that won’t take weeks to negotiate. One that we can buy.” You’re glad to be sitting as your mind spins, dizzying questions of who and when and how floating around like a carousel. Your father seems to have no qualms with selling you off to any bidder willing. It’s clear he means to bring another exterior family under yours, one who won’t object as much as an enemy family like the Shadows or the Graves. Joining with them would be opening up the Family’s weaknesses for all to see. And God forbid the wedding didn’t go through, not to mention how evil the potential husbands might be.

You should be thanking your lucky stars that he wants to marry you off to a supplier or a smaller ally.

Should.

“Do I get to have a say in the selection?” You murmur, resolute that any outright protests will be met with a silent glare. You have no bargaining chip, and the freedom of your love life is worth being able to continue making the Family legitimate. It has to be.

“If you have any strategic suggestions.” Translation: don’t suggest someone you would actually want to marry. Although, there aren’t any names on that list either. In an attempt to paralyze him with too much information, you start listing off any names you can think of. “Well, there’s the MacTavishes, of course. Johnny, the twins, and Ben are all unmarried, though I’m not sure if they’re dating anyone.” A snort bursts from your father. You’ve already made a mistake - unmarried relationships aren’t taken seriously in lives like yours. It’s like a tax filing, single or married. You blame the insanity of the situation on your slip of tongue. Plus, while the MacTavishes are some of your favored suppliers, they’re already extremely loyal and wouldn’t bring anything to the table.

“Nikolai-”

“Be serious, daughter. This isn’t a game. Someone who would give you an heir.” He’s referring to the unspoken relationships between Nikolai, heir to a transportation fortune, and countless male socialites back in Russia. Licking your lips, you contemplate how much longer you can skirt past actual candidates. By the tone in your father’s voice, you’ve run out of chances. Speed is the only card you can play.

“Dean Griffen.” Gun manufacturer.

“West Finnigan.” Explosives expert.

“Blake Massey.” Drug supplier.

“Theo Volker.” House of the Lords, but Made.

“John Price.” Mortal enemy.

“Lee-”

“Stop.” You look up, cheeks warming from the embarrassment of having suitable suitors memorized. Part of your job, but it feels salacious now.

“The Prices just got hit with a government investigation for evidence tampering. Something about pissing off the Graves.” Father says, almost to himself. He starts typing away at his computer, and you desire to throw it to the ground. Price was a stupid name to mention, a zero probability of an enjoyable marriage. Your game, usually both tactical and strategic, has gone out the window. “If they’re being investigated, shouldn’t we stay away? It wouldn’t look good, especially with Kyle being considered for appointment to the House of Lords.” A stretch, since you’re third cousins, but a plea all the same. Father shakes his head sharply and your heart stops. “Not if we can pull some strings. They’ll be in our debt. Kate will be desperate to keep her assets from being seized.” Finality threads through his words. You start to shake your head, one last effort.

“Father, please, I can’t marry John. He’s horrible. Give me a day and I can find you more names.” Your voice wavers at the end, begging him to remember his daughter and not just his heir. For a second, there’s a glimmer of hope. His eyes soften minutely. And then, it’s gone.

No.

“This is your duty to this family, daughter. This is what you’ve been preparing for your whole life. You do this, and I will consider your proposal to be legitimate.” A thousand butterflies erupt in your stomach at his last sentence. A chance to have your work listened to. To get rid of the guilt that haunts you every corner, knowing how many innocents get caught in the crossfires of what they do. Maybe, if your plan is successful, he’ll allow you a divorce or an annulment. Uncommon, but not unheard of. Hope.

“Deal.” You stick your hand out for a handshake. There’s a moment when you don’t think he’ll take it, but eventually you feel his weathered hand in yours. When’s the last time they embraced? A goodnight forehead kiss or a hug after a long day? Years ago, before your mother’s death, surely. When Father squeezes your hand, it feels like pride in your business demeanor. You pull away and straighten your shoulders. It takes two steps for you to open the door to your future.

“Colin!” He’s down the hall, waiting patiently for you. “Yes?” His blonde eyebrows knit in confusion at your summons. You’re not usually so authoritative with him, but you don it like a shield in preparation. “Go find Price and tell him we have a business proposal for him and his sister. Make sure you emphasize the urgency of it.” Colin nods and speeds off, his leather work shoes clacking on the granite floors.

Married to John Price, the son of a barrister empire.

The one thing you know is you won’t be changing your last name.

The rest is up to your family.

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dstryvampres · 11 months ago

Note

drabble or short fic, where the reader is a ballerina and cillian (or any of his other characters) is her teacher and they start an affair??? please arhgggh i love your fics!

Doll Parts

Cillian Murphy x Ballerina!Reader

Warnings: age gap(reader is 20, cillian is late 30s early 40s), power imbalance, smoking mention, fingering

Word count: 2k

A/N: thank you so so so much for the request ! this honestly was a prompt i’d never thought of but really just ended up loving :)

You had essentially been raised by your ballet studio. Years and years spent in the small confines of the studio, moving from the soft and simple preschool classes to the advanced stages. As you moved up your class sizes became smaller and smaller, and your teacher’s became stricter. Finally, as you prepare to audition for the role of Copelia in your company’s spring ballet production. You have been given the honour of training one on one with one of the studio’s ballet instructors. Unfortunately for you, they had paired you up with Mr. Murphy, a teacher you had during your late teens that you found distracted you far more than he actually helped you. You were infatuated with him ever since you first walked into that class with him at 16, and it stayed that way now as he watched you stretch before practice, four years later. His blue eyes were haunting at points, analysing every inch of you at almost every second you were in this practice space together. At almost every moment he tore you apart with his eyes, and you couldn’t get enough of him.

Every night you left the studio to go back home you continually thought of just him. The small touches on the waist as he adjusted your posture, his smooth voice as he whispered praises in your ear, and how you longed for him to press his lips against yours. God, how you longed for him to do anything to soothe the fire that he lit in your body.

Mr. Murphy clapped his hands together, startling you out of your thoughts.

“Okay. Do you think you’re ready to run through the routine from the top, one last time?” Mr Murphy asks, walking over to stand in front of the mirrors

You nod, picking yourself off from the floor and to the centre of the room. Taking a deep breath in before going into the starting position.

“One, two, three, four,” Mr Murphy counts in, clapping his hands in a steady beat as you move through the routine.

Your legs still ache from practice before your break as you start up the routine, but as any dancer at your level would, you work through it. Focusing elsewhere on your breathing and the steps. Gentle leaps, spins, and footwork move you around the fake stage you’re on to the beat of Mr Murphy’s clapping. You’re doing well enough that he hasn’t stopped you yet, able to make it through 3/4th of the routine before you hear anything.

“Stop!” Mr Murphy shouts, and you freeze with your hands above your head and a foot off the ground.

He walks over, shoes making soft thumps as he approaches you. The sound stops as you feel a hand settle on your waist, you close your eyes as his other hand moves to the thigh of your raised leg.

“I understand that you’re tired,” Mr Murphy sighs out, directly in your ear, “but you can’t start to get sloppy when it’s almost over. Your work needs to be consistent all the way through sweetheart.”

You want to melt at the pet name, but stay still as he pushes your raised leg upwards a little bit more. His breath fans over your ear and cheek, grabbing ahold of your chin lightly and turning your head to face the mirror with the hand that was once on your waist. His touch is soft, light, and warm, something that will keep you up tonight. Now the two of you are cheek to cheek, it’s so intimate that for a second you falter, but are able to gain your composure quickly. He smiles at your falter and clicks his tongue.

“Look at how I’ve positioned you,” Mr Murphy whispers, the movement of his lips tickling your cheek.

He slowly removes himself from you, but his touch still feels like it’s burned under your skin, like it always does after practice.

“Continue,” he demands when he is situated in front of the mirror once again.

You start from where he left you, pushing through the last minute of your routine with as much energy as you could manage. Finishing up in a wilted position on the ground, breathing heavily as you wait for any sort of feedback from your instructor. A couple seconds pass before you hear a slow clapping from him. Slowly you look up to be met with a warm smile from Mr Murphy, a foreign sense of joy peaking through his normally harsh and critical exterior.

“Well, that was quite wonderful. Dare I say one of the best practices we’ve gotten through so far. If you continue improving like this for the next three weeks you could land a sizeable role,” Mr Murphy says, walking over to you. He sticks out a hand to help you up, and you take it gently.

“Thank you. All my progress is thanks to you,” you reply meekly, not able to look into your instructor's face now. He’s far too close than what is professional, but it’s not like you mind.

“Would you want to go out and get a drink? Just a small celebration, on me,” Mr Murphy asks, whispering it into your ear. A secret you know that if you take in, you won’t be able to back out.

“Yes,” you whisper back, face getting warm with excitement.

He pats you on the shoulder, tracing his hand down your arm and to your hand before squeezing it. Your chest feels tingly and heavy at the action.

“I’ll meet you outside the studio then,” his hand is slowly pulled away from your own before he leaves the room.

You know why Mr Murphy wants to take you out of the studio tonight. It’s the same reason he looks at you with his icy blue eyes in that way, it’s the same reason why his touch lingers on you for far longer than necessary, and why it’s only you he ever praises and compliments. Still, you wonder if you’re right about your hunch as you meet your instructor outside your studio tonight. He stands leaned up under a light post in the snow, a cigarette between his lips. As soon as he sees you he takes one last puff before squashing it on the ground.

“Hello,” He greets, offering a sly smile to you. His cheeks and ear tips are red from the cold, you almost feel guilty about making him wait for you out here.

“Hi.” You don’t voice your guilt to him, too worried about embarrassing yourself.

“You’re one of my best students,” Mr Murphy states, stepping closer as he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but I think you’re one of the best dancers at the studio.”

Now he’s so close that the condensation of your breath is mixing together with his. Forming a big cloud above your heads each time either of you take a breath. You stare into his eyes for a couple seconds, searching for what he means by any of this. He smells of cigarette smoke and vanilla. A hand cups your cheek.

“Are you cold?” He offers as a horrible excuse for his close proximity and the hand on your cheek. You both know this, so he leans in slowly, and your eyes flutter shut.

His lips are pressed against your own, softly, gently, like if he pushes any harder against you you’ll shatter. Slowly he pulls away, eyes scanning your face for any discomfort. This time it’s you that pulls him into a kiss, hungrier and harder than the last one. You both pull away.

“I am a pretty good bartender myself,” is all Mr Murphy has to say to get you to follow him back to his apartment.

You walk with haste beside him, arms brushing against one another, almost, the whole way there. Once you get into the elevator he’s already unzipping your jacket and kissing you again, hot and passionate. You know years of longing for him are being released on your end tonight.

Soon enough you’re sitting criss cross on your dance instructors couch, taking in the fairly nice space. Mr Murphy comes to sit beside you after he’a put away your coat. His hand comes to rest on your upper thigh, rubbing it softly and slowly. You bat your eyelashes at him and he leans in to kiss you again, this time you get enough courage to slip your tongue into his mouth. His hands settle on your waist and direct you into his lap to sit. Pulling back from the kiss just so he can stare at you for a brief second, perched upon his lap, before bringing you back into the kiss.

His kisses alternate between your lips and your neck, filling you with hot desire as you trace up and down his torso with your hands. In return Mr Murphy slides his hands under your skirt, toying at your panties underneath.

“Do you want me to finger you baby?” He prys, biting at your ear to punctuate the sentence.

“Yes,” you breath out, grinding down against his lap.

His lips are back on yours once again, pushing you off his lap and into the cushions of his couch. You shudder as he starts to trace your slit through your panties, only able to release now just how wet you are. Spreading your legs open to try to tell him to start fingering you already. The message seems to come across, as he flips the front of your skirt up and pulls your panties down your legs.

Mr Murphy breaks from the kiss to stare at your pussy, spreading it open with his fingers and toying around your wet hole. You whine, bucking your hips up demanding more. He clicks his tongue as he looks back up at you, but still goes back to kissing you. Sliding a digit up and down your pussy, gathering your wetness before sliding a finger in.

You gasp into his mouth at the finger, feeling him smile at your reaction. He pumps it lazily in and out of your wet hot cunt. Not going deep enough, it makes you want so much more. He slides in a second finger, earning him a moan from you. Now with two fingers inside of you, he finger fucks you properly.

He sets a steady pace, hitting different spots inside you each time until he finally hits the spot that has you moaning into his mouth with every push of his fingers. His fingers are long and thick, something you’ve craved for so long to be inside of you. Nights of dreaming about gagging on his fingers, and about him making you cum on them has now come true.

“Do you like this sweetheart? You like how I finger your dirty wet hole?” Mr Murphy asks, speeding up his pace.

You let out a moan in response, nodding your head as your eyes roll back. Your hands look for purchase somewhere, one lands on the couch and the other on his bicep. Mr Murphy’s fingers feel so nice inside you, the way he fingers you brings you to as close to heaven as you’ll get. You squirm around as he speeds up, feeling the heat in your lower stomach increase with every pump on his fingers into your cunt. His heavy breathing just pushes you further to your release.

Mr Murphy’s thumb reaches up to your clit, rubbing small fast circles into the bundle of nerves. As soon as his thumb came to brush your clit, you knew you had seconds to go before you were tumbling over the edge.

“Cum for me sweetheart,” Mr Murphy says, looking at your face contorted in pleasure.

His words finally push you over the edge as you cum all over your dance instructor's fingers. Gasping and moaning loudly, as your hips buck upwards a couple times. You lay on his couch for a couple seconds, breathing heavily as you try to compose yourself. Mr Murphy removes his fingers slowly from you, grabbing a tissue from the coffee table to wipe his hands off. The embarrassment of the situation comes back to you as you try to cover your pussy with your hands.

“There's nothing to be embarrassed by now,” Mr Murphy lets out a dry chuckle.

#.dstryreq #dstryvampres #cillian murphy #fanfic #cillian murphy x reader #cillian x fem!reader #cillian fic #cillian murphy smut #cillian x reader #cillian x y/n #cillian smut #cillian fanfic #cillian murphy x y/n

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stargirlygirl · 3 months ago

Text

downpour

bakugou katsuki x fem!reader ⋆｡°✩ — medieval fantasy!au, size difference kink, age gap (he's mid-thirties, she's late teens early twenties), nsfw, smut, p in v, oral sex fem!receiving, dubcon? (she's known him since she was a kid), unprotected sex (don't be like them!), 4.8k words

a/n: despite what i've said here, he's not the best thing that's ever happened to you ladies

You groan, hearing the thunder roar from the pouring heavens above. The cold rain soaks into your most modest dress, making the embroidered pale yellow fabric cling to your skin. Your hair sticks to your forehead, wild like a bird’s nest. But wet. Your bones ache with the chilly dampness, and your toes squelch in your boots.

As lightning blankets the sky, you ask yourself why tonight had to be like this — the night before you’re supposed to get married. You look behind you with wide eyes, positive that you’ve lost the guards chasing you. Their princess.

You slow to a walk and tighten your grip on the heavy fabric of your dress, hiking it up to your ankles (wench). You’re breathing erratically from running and from your fear of being caught. You already miss the warmth of the castle and the comfortable life you led with your parents and siblings.

“Get it together, y/n,” you whisper. The thunder screeches over your pathetic attempt at self-motivation. With a huff, you look up from your mud-covered boots and gaze at your surroundings. You’ve been wandering through this forest for a long time now. You’re cold, wet, and tired. You need a rest. You whine, seeing the pitch-black forest all around you. At least no animals would try to attack you, right?

You trudge on for a little longer, grumbling to yourself about how maybe you should have just sucked it up and stayed in the castle. But when you think of your betrothed, you remind yourself that this is a good decision. For the first time in your life, you’re choosing your future happiness and freedom. And that’s exciting. It would be even more exciting if you weren’t shivering and sniffling and stumbling every ten feet.

There’s one thing you need right now — well, not just one, but the main one — shelter. You need somewhere to rest for the night. You gaze up, analysing the dense trees and shrubbery. In the distance, you can see the faintest light. With renewed energy, you set off in that direction. As you draw nearer, the light becomes brighter. It’s warm, golden-orange like egg yolks. Like fire.

Feeling both hungry and invigorated, you walk faster. Ducking beneath a tree branch, you see that the light is emanating from a cabin. It’s more like a shack, really, with how small it is. But it looks sturdy, safe, and, most importantly, dry inside.

You run the last few steps to the cabin, panting as you reach the door. You knock on the door loudly, hoping that whoever is inside will show you mercy. No response. You knock again, louder. Still, no response. Growing impatient, you turn the door knob and press your body against it to push it open.

As you stumble inside, you call out, “Hello. Hello! Sorry for intruding, um—” It’s empty. You slam the door shut and rest against it as you gaze around the cabin. A fire burns in the fireplace. The scolding tongues lick the base of a heavy pot hanging above it, casting shadows on the walls and across the furniture. You rush over to it with your hands out, eager to feel the fire’s heat. You sigh as it tickles your skin.

You close your eyes, allowing the warmth to seep into your soul. Your dress soon becomes hot yet damp, a most uncomfortable combination. You kick off your boots and place them by the door before reaching for the back of your dress. You pull at the lacings, loosening them and shimmying your dress down to your ankles. You bend down and grab it, grimacing at the mud splattered on the hem and the deep golden colour of the gown from how wet it is. Draping it over the arm of a nearby chair, you hear the door rattle.

You stand there, paralysed by fear, as the door swings open, revealing a huge, shadowy figure. You scream as the lightning cracks and the figure stalks in. Your hands cover your mouth as you stare at the brute of a man in front of you. The cloak he’s draped in doesn’t conceal his muscular frame, and he carries a pile of wood on his back. Sharp red eyes glare at you, and his full lips are twisted into a scowl.

He growls, “WHAT’RE YOU DOIN’ HERE?!” Your mouth is dry as he comes over to you. His shadow casts your frame in darkness as he drops the wood on the ground. You flinch at the thud, stepping back slightly. Your heart thumps in your chest so hard and loud you feel like it’s about to burst.

You stutter, avoiding his harsh gaze, “I-I’m sorry I-I had nowhere else t-to go. I-I saw your cabin, and I—”

“Made yourself at home, huh?” He grunts. You nod frantically as you watch him untie the heap of wood and throw a few into the fire lazily. The flames crack and pop at the new addition, dimming and then brightening.

“Get out of my cabin!” He grumbles, staring daggers into you. Suddenly, you feel so bare beneath his gaze. You realise that you’re only wearing your undergarments. No proper way for a princess to dress, especially around a man who wasn’t her husband. But you don’t care as you invade his personal space and cling to his arm.

You plead for him to let you stay the night, but he pushes you off and yells at you to leave. Shaking your head, you drop to your knees. You stare up at him with big eyes and quivering lips as you beg, “Please! Please! Don’t make me go back out there, please! I’ll do anything! I’ll be good. I promise. I won’t get in your way. You won’t even know that I’m here. Just let me stay the night! Please!”

He gazes down at you with raised brows and a slackened jaw, unsure of what to make of your sudden outburst. He gulps and looks away from you. Tch. You sniffle as he walks over to the door, expecting him to throw it wide open and force you out.

Instead, he shrugs off his cloak and hangs it on a hook next to the door. Holy moly— Your eyes rake over his toned back. The shadows illuminate his juicy muscles, and you can feel the saliva pooling in your mouth as he turns around.

He grunts, “Only for tonight.” You nod enthusiastically as you try to tear your eyes away from his godly frame. Even the scars marring his skin look heavenly. You wanna take a bite of those biceps with the way they flex and—

“STOP LOOKING AT ME, WOMAN!” He yells. You hum and avert your eyes, getting off the floor. As a princess, you’ve never had to beg anyone for anything before. And you hope that you don’t have to ever again. You shift to standing in front of the fireplace, sighing as the heat sinks into your pores.

He grumbles, “Could you move?” You gaze up at him, confused, as he looms beside you. Nodding, you shift to the side. You hope he thinks the redness of your face is from the fire and not your embarrassment. He takes this opportunity to stir the stew, filling the pot. You watch with curious eyes as he slurps from the spoon.

He orders you to sit down, and you do as you’re told, planting yourself down on the same chair your dress is drying on. You’re delighted to watch his delicious muscles at work as he takes the pot off the fire and dishes out the stew for you to eat.

He hands you a bowl and spoon, which you take, thanking him. He sits on the chair beside you and starts downing his soup at an alarming rate. You stir the hearty goodness, identifying some veggies and meat of some sort. You slurp a mouthful and moan in delight.

The spiky blond stares at you, his cheeks full of stew. You can hear the blood rushing in your veins, somehow flowing more to your face as you gaze at your bowl.

You mutter, “It’s really good.”

“It’s just stew,” he grunts. You hum as you resume eating your dinner in silence. Once he’s finished, he starts cleaning up the dishes. Your cheeks are aflame as your eyes roam his body, content to gaze at him doing domestic chores.

With a deep breath in, you ask, “So, what’s your name?

He grumbles, “What’s it to you?” You shrug, blowing on a spoonful of stew.

His back is to you, washing his bowl as you say, “Can’t I know the name of the man who’s letting me stay in his cabin on such a dreary night?” He’s quiet for the next few minutes, so you assume that he’s not going to tell you.

As he wipes the cooking pot dry, he mutters, “Katsuki.” You hum, your mouth full of stew. That name… There was something familiar about it. Shaking your head, you push the feeling aside. That’s ridiculous, you think. Of course, you don’t know him, right? How could you forget someone so… handsome rough?

You swallow before chirping, “It’s nice to meet you, Katsuki. I’m y/n.” His eyes flicker to you before darting back to the pot. When you’re finished, he stalks over to you and grabs your empty bowls. He avoids your gaze, seeing something he hasn’t seen in a long time.

He’s about to step away from you when he grabs the neckline of your dress. You gaze at him with a crease in your brow until it clicks. You snatch the damp gown from him, but it’s too late. He stares at you with wide eyes as he asks, “Why do you bear the royal crest?” You shake your head.

“It’s nothing, really.”

He grunts, “Don’t lie to me.” He grabs your dress and yanks it out of your hands, dragging you to the edge of the plush chair.

He spits out each word harshly, saying, “Why do you bear the royal crest? Are you from the castle?” You’re screaming at yourself internally to lie despite how awful you are at it.

You ramble, “It’s not what you think it is! I’m-I’m a maid. A maid for the royal family!”

He scoffs, “A maid? Only the royal family is permitted to wear the royal crest.” He discards the dress and bowl on the floor and steps the slightest bit closer, positioning himself between your legs. He palms the armrests as he leans over your quivering frame, glaring at you.

“So, cough it up, woman. You’re either a dirty thief or a runaway royal. So, which is it?” You gulp as you avert your eyes from literally anything other than his perfect body hovering so close to yours.

He grunts, “Said your name was y/n?” His large hand falls to your knee and pushes up the sheer fabric coating your thighs.

“What’re you doing?” You exclaim with wide eyes. He clicks his tongue at you as his rough fingers run across your soft skin. His thumb traces your birthmark from memory. The look in his eyes is soft, reminiscent as he captures yours.

He smirks, “S’been a long time, your highness.” You gulp. What?

He chuckles, “I don’t expect cha to remember me. You were a tiny thing back then.” You blink at him in confusion. Those red eyes, that lopsided grin, and deep voice. A sense of deja vu.

“Sir Bakugou!” You blurt out, staring up at him in disbelief. He eases off, removing his warm palm from your thigh. He nods as he rises to his full height, towering over you. You stand up as he steps back, cautious but excited.

“I can’t believe it’s you! I could barely recognise you with all this,” you say, pointing to his scars and buff physique. “The last time I saw you, I was what… ten?” He hums lowly, his eyes trailing over your matured figure.

He grins, “You’re all grown up now, eh?” You giggle and slap his bare chest playfully, earning you a scowl.

“What was that for?!” He says, his chest rumbling. You laugh, unable to hold yourself back. It’s been so long since you’ve seen each other. So long since you could just be yourself around someone else.

Calming down, you breathe out, “It hasn’t been the same since you left.” He hums and picks up your empty bowl, walking over to the kitchen area.

You follow him, saying, “Everything’s gone downhill since then. Father is always stressing over the constant conflicts between lords, and Mother won’t speak to him most days. And he keeps marrying off my sisters to foreign princes, trying to establish political ties. But how can you try to ally yourself with other countries when yours is falling apart?”

Katsuki grumbles, “S’that why you ran away?” You hum, watching him rinse the suds off the bowl and then dry it off.

You mumble, “I can’t marry someone I don’t even know, Sir—”

“You don’t have to call me that anymore, yea?” He grunts. You’re stunned for a moment before humming in agreement.

He continues, “N’ I’m not just talkin’ about getting married off. Looks like yer finally using that brain of yours.” You scowl at him, earning you a hearty bellow. He puts the bowl away and guides you to one of the two rooms at the back of the cabin. He opens the door and ushers you inside.

In the corner sits a large barrel bathtub, and there’s a stone sink jutting out from the wall. You gulp as you turn around to face the blond.

He mutters, “Water’s already hot. I’ll get you something to put on after, alright?” You nod and hum.

As he turns to leave, you reach out and grab his forearm. You don’t know what compelled you to do something so inappropriate, but you can’t help yourself as you gaze at him.

You say quietly, “I missed you, Katsuki. I miss my favourite guard protecting me and taking care of me. It’s… I wish you didn’t leave.” Your gaze falls from his eyes to his arm and finally rests on your hands wrapped around him. He can’t take his eyes off of your pouty lips.

He grumbles, “I had to leave—”

“But why?” You cry out. “I thought you liked being my guard—”

“’Course I liked being your guard, doll. S’not about that,” he sighs.

“Then—”

He grunts, tugging his arm from your grasp, “I don’t wanna talk about it. Just bathe, for fuck’s sake, will ya?” He stalks out of the room, leaving you all alone. You obey, stripping out of your undergarments and soaking in the water. True to his word, it’s hot. The perfect temperature, actually. The heat penetrates your clammy skin, warming up your bones and muscles.

You sigh, relaxing in the bath. Moments of the past fill your mind. Your days were spent learning how to fence, running around and playing in the gardens, and having picnics by the nearest river. All with your head guard, Sir Bakugou.

You chuckle softly as you remember the day you told Katsuki about your birthmark. You had just learnt what it was from your mother and skipped off to show your favourite knight. You remember how warmly he laughed at you and patted your head when you showed it to him. And how you pestered him about any birthmarks he had.

Feeling too hot, you rise and climb out of the barrel. You wrap a thin linen towel around yourself and dry off. When you’re done, you open the door and peek your head out. Katsuki notices you immediately and comes over to you, thrusting one of his long shirts in your hand. You thank him as you take it from him and shut the door.

After you get changed, you walk out of the bathroom into the main area where bedding has been laid out. Your eyes rove over the glistening waves of a fur blanket; your heart rate picks up. You gasp as callous palms cup your shoulders and gently squeeze them. You gaze back at the man behind you.

He mutters, “You take the bed. I’ll sleep out ‘ere tonight.” You shake your head.

“No, it’s okay. I can—”

“M��not letting my princess sleep on the floor,” he grunts.

You start, “But—”

“Quit being such a brat. Do as yer told n’ go to bed,” he growls. Against your better judgment, you shake your head again. He groans as you turn around. Your bodies are close. Too close for comfort. It’s like lightning strikes between you two with the way your chests ghost each other.

You gulp, your heartbeat growing to be as loud as the thunderstorm overhead. You utter his name, earning a gruff “What?” in response.

“Can I… do something a bit improper?” You ask tentatively. He chuckles lowly, red eyes drifting to the bed before looking back at you.

He smirks, “When do you not?” You hold your tongue, hesitant to ruin the tension between you two. You shuffle that much closer to him, your hands flat against his pecs. He shivers at the feeling of your delicate skin on his.

Katsuki grunts, “You done yet?” You shake your head before tilting your chin up. You gaze at him with big eyes, puffing at your lips ever so slightly. Your hands trail down his abs before roaming up his chest and to the back of his neck.

He groans, “The fuck you want, doll?” You draw the side of your lip between your teeth as you pull him down to you.

You’re on your tiptoes, your lips brushing his ear lobe as you whisper, “You.” His hands are on you in an instant, pulling you into his solid torso. He grabs your chin, forcing you to gaze into his eyes before he kisses you.

You moan into his mouth, thrilled that this is finally happening. That your fantasy is becoming a reality. You tug at his locks as he kisses you roughly, teeth-gnashing and tongues swirling. He groans as he explores every corner of your mouth, his hands roughly grabbing your hips.

He pulls back, both of you panting hard. You grin as you catch your breath, staring at him awestruck.

You whisper, “I can’t believe this is happening.” He rolls his eyes at you.

“Don’t fucking start,” he huffs. He’s kissing you again, much more sweetly this time. His grip on you loosens as he strokes up and down your back, feeling every curve and dip beneath the fabric separating your bodies.

You sigh into his lips, enjoying this change in pace. This time, he sucks on your bottom lip, making you gasp before he nips at it. He gently walks you back until you’re stepping on the makeshift bed, the fur luxuriously soft between your toes. You mumble his name, encouraging a groan from him.

Your bodies part for a moment as you both sit on the fur blanket. One of his hands wraps around your knee while the other grasps your cheek. He pulls you into him and lays you down. Your hands grip his shoulders as he kisses down your jaw and neck. You squeeze the muscle there as he gently bites your soft flesh, gasps falling from your lips.

You whimper, “Kat-suki. I’ve been in love with you since—”

“Shut up,” he grunts into your skin, nipping at your flesh harder. You moan, and he pulls back.

He shifts up, his lips brushing yours as he grumbles, “I don’t wanna hear it. Want you to show me, princess. Think you can do that, f’me?” You whine, nodding furiously.

He chuckles, “Good.” He returns to kissing your neck. You moan loudly as he nips at your collarbones and shoulder. Your hands tangle in his spiky locks, massaging and tugging and then massaging again.

You whine as he sits back and peels his shirt off you, leaving you bare beneath him. He groans at the sight of you, his hands wrapped around your wrists and pulling them down to your sides before you can even attempt to cover yourself up.

“Suki!” You gasp as he grabs both of your breasts, one in each hand, and squeezes them. He smirks all cocky as his eyes drink you in. He lowers himself back down, tongue licking the fat of your tit. You bite your lip as he pinches your nipples, rolling them between his fingers deliciously.

Letting go of one, he replaces his fingers with his mouth and sucks on it. You moan, pulling at his roots. Once satisfied, he moves onto your other breast, licking and sucking on it until you’re whimpering and whining his name mindlessly.

Smirking, he kisses your ribcage, your tummy, hips, and stretch marks. He then grabs your wrists one at a time and kisses them before working up your arms with his lips. Even your ankles, calves, and thighs receive his tender affection.

By the time his head dips between your thighs, you feel utterly worshipped from head to toe. You moan his name as his tongue rolls over your clit, your back arching delightfully as he sucks it. His tongue works wonders between your folds, making you feel like no man ever has.

You cry out as his fingers brush your clit and gently rub circles over it while his tongue laps inside of you. With slick-coated fingers, he eases one into your hole, making you gasp and call out his name.

He returns to sucking on your clit; his mouth is so fucking hot, like the heat of the flames prickling your skin, as he fingers you slowly. He curls his finger when he’s deep inside, making you moan even louder.

His other hand grabs yours and intertwines your fingers. He gives you a gentle squeeze, his eyes watching your every gasp and whimper. Your head falls back as he curls a second finger inside of you, hitting that perfect spot.

You moan, “K-Kat-suki. Please, baby. Please.” He hums against your cunt, the vibrations making you buck your hips against his skilful tongue. He pulls off your sopping pussy, keen to hear more.

He groans, voice hoarse from how well he was just eating you out, “What is it, princess?” You mewl as his fingers press into your gummy walls.

You pant, “Need you, Suki. In me-please fuck!” He slowly pulls his fingers out of you, admiring your syrup dripping down his wrist in the firelight.

He chuckles, “Fuck, you really do need me, huh?” You nod enthusiastically.

“Please, baby,” you whine. He shushes you and shifts to pull off his shorts and underwear. You push yourself up on your elbows; legs spread wide lewdly as you watch his huge cock spring free. Just the sight of it, you moan as even more slick gushes from your pussy.

He comes back to you, large hands pushing you back down and grabbing the back of your thighs. He grumbles at you to wait while he grabs a pillow and places it beneath your hips. He then brings your calves over his lower back, his cock running through your folds. Your back arches as his tip slides over your clit, making you moan.

He coats himself in your arousal, his pre-cum mixing with it before he finally slides in. He goes slow, letting you stretch to accommodate his girth. Your arms tighten around his neck as you pull him down to you, your head resting in the crook of his neck. You whine as he pushes in further.

“Fuck, baby,” you whimper into his skin.

He gently kisses your forehead, whispering into your hairline, “S’okay, baby girl. You can take it.” You cry out as his balls press against your ass, his cock so fucking deep inside of you.

You murmur, “You’re so big. Just give me a minute, kay?” He hums into your forehead, sweetly kissing it and working down to your lips. You sigh into his kiss, your noses brushing as he pulls back. His eyes find yours, mesmerised by the warm glow of your skin from the fireplace, that rosy flush.

He mutters, “You ready now?” You hum, nodding. He pecks the tip of your nose before drawing himself out and rocking back into you slowly. You both moan at the feeling, the stretch of your hole wrapping around him. Your eyes gaze at the point where he’s lost inside of you. You look back up, finding him already staring at you.

He fucks you so tenderly you’re uncertain if that term can be used to describe what’s happening right now. The sounds of your sex rival that of the downpour outside. You squeeze his hand as he hits that pleasurable spot, your eyes rolling back from how good it feels.

He lets go of your hand to tilt your head back to him, needing to see that open-mouthed, lust-hazed look on your face. You sigh in pleasure as the light and shadows dance across your bodies, painting your love-making on the cabin walls. You whimper his name pathetically.

He presses a soft kiss to your lips, groaning, “I know, princess.” He draws out of you completely, earning a whine from you. He tuts at you and manoeuvres your bodies so that you’re sitting on his lap.

You lean down and kiss him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You moan into the kiss, stretching up as he aligns himself with your entrance. You slowly lower down onto him, whimpering into his lips while he groans.

You bounce up and down at him at a leisurely pace, taking your time to feel every inch of his length. You sigh as his cock twitches, pre-cum spilling into you. Katsuki cups your cheek in one hand while the other tightens around your waist.

He grunts, “Doin’ so good f’me, baby.” You moan, fists clenching as more pre-cum leaks into you.

“I’m so glad-I found you, Suki,” you mewl. He groans lowly against your jaw, leaving tender kisses there. You drop your hips a little harder, a little faster than before.

“Fuck,” he growls in your ear. Your tits bounce as you do, the most beautiful sight your knight has ever seen. He grabs a handful of one of your breasts and sucks on your nipple before moving both hands to your hips and helping you ride him.

“I-I m-missed you,” you whimper. Your back arches as you feel those tingles gathering in your cunt, your orgasm building every single time your clit slaps his scarred skin as you bounce on his cock.

You cry out, “Katsuki! Fuck, Katsuki! Baby, I’m gonna cum-fuck!” He pulls off your nipple and pulls you into a passionate kiss. You mewl into his lips loudly, squirming in his hold as you feel the knot in your stomach tighten.

Pulling away, you scream out as you orgasm. Your back arches so deeply you know you’re gonna feel it in the morning, but you don’t care. The pleasure shuddering through your body is unlike any other. And it’s only heightened as your love groans loudly, his hot seed shooting into you. It coats your walls thickly, forming a ring around your hole from him fucking his cream into you.

You’re panting hard as you sink down on his cock. Your forehead presses against his as you both catch your breath, trying to process what the fuck just happened.

After a few minutes, you chuckle lazily before kissing Katsuki sloppily. His saliva dribbles down your chin when you part, red eyes full of so many emotions (surely mirroring your own). You call his name softly, but he shakes his head and presses another soft kiss to your lips.

He lays you two down and holds you close, pulling the warm blankets up to your chin. You sigh into his side, so happy you could purr from just being with him. From experiencing such intimacy with the man, you’ve been yearning for for a long time.

You murmur, “Suki, I love you. Please, don’t leave me.” Your hold on his torso tightens, and you nuzzle the side of his pec with your nose. He laughs lightly, the sound reverberating warmly in his chest.

“M’not going anywhere, alright? N’ neither are you. You’re all mine now,” he mutters. You hum into him, soaking up his heat and affection and the knowledge that you’re all his.

He chuckles lowly, “Let’s take five, yea?” You nod, peppering his skin with sweet kisses. You close your eyes; no other words or actions are necessary at this moment. You ease your body into him, shifting slightly and getting comfortable.

Running out into a storm was not your best decision, but the man it led you to is.

#★’s works #mha x reader #x female reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou smut

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