#is Doctor Pepper one of them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thepencilnerd · 14 days ago

Text

Echo

pairing: Jack Abbot x doctor!Reader summary: Under the bright lights of a fundraising gala, what began as polite smiles and veiled jabs unravels into something far more intimate. Between rooftop confessions, quiet grief, and a night neither party can take back, something buried for years finally comes undone. warnings: 18+ MDNI, explicit sexual content (semi-public sex, f!reader), blood and trauma in a hospital setting, description of medical procedures and deaths genre/notes: slow burn, frenemies to lovers (much banter), robby cameo + being a father figure, heavy angst + heavy fluff, hurt/comfort, emotionally repressed idiots in love, non-linear timeline, one (1) very touch-starved man, abbot down bad for his s.o. and def has a pain kink, balcony sex + confessions, pwp word count: 9k a/n: love letter to grief, rooftop confessions, and all the things left unsaid (+ shameless, self-indulgent smut), basically i saw this dress on pinterest and i—

The hospital’s annual fundraiser was all overpriced wine and board member schmoozing—the kind of thing Jack Abbot usually avoided. He and Robby had spent the better part of the week arguing with Gloria about why they really didn’t need to be the ones attending.

“But who better to represent the emergency department than its finest?” Gloria had smiled with teeth. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer we reallocate your trauma bay supply order for next fiscal quarter?"

Abbot had muttered something under his breath. Robby had called it extortion. Gloria had walked away victorious.

“If she reassigns our trauma supply budget one more time, I swear to God I’m quitting,” Robby had muttered, though they both knew he wouldn’t.

“Right there with you, brother,” Jack had said dryly.

Which was how he ended up in a suit, lingering by the bar with his tie already loosened.

The gala was obscene in its extravagance. A live string quartet played near the grand staircase. Crystal chandeliers caught every glint of champagne. Rich donors floated from one hors d'oeuvre table to the next, laughing politely and stuffing their faces with canapés that probably cost more than a full day of supplies for the ER.

It made Jack sick.

Not the donations—he appreciated those. Hell, the hospital needed them. But the tone of it, the way money moved through the room like perfume: thick, cloying, and designed to mask something rotten underneath. The people here didn’t know what a trauma bay smelled like at 3 a.m. They didn’t care. They were here to write a check, slap their name on a wing, and pretend it made them saints.

Jack took a sip of his club soda and stared at the bottom of his glass.

He wanted to gouge his eyes out. He just wasn’t sure which fork to use.

Scanning the room, his eyes landed on Robby across the space, mid-conversation with a bejeweled donor who looked like she’d never set foot inside a hospital ward. Robby’s eyes caught Jack’s for the briefest second and widened—just enough to scream help me. Jack raised his glass and shot him a wink.

Then he saw you. He'd recognize your stride anywhere.

What he definitely hadn’t expected was the red satin dress.

Floor-length, plunging back, slit high at the left thigh, the kind of fabric that caught the light like it was trying to start a fire. When you walked into the room, it was almost as though time stopped. You were across the room, charming some rich donor, laughing politely as he fumbled through a question about pediatric trauma outcomes.

Jack didn’t hear the question. He didn’t hear your answer either.

As you turned away from the donor, your bright smile dropped like a mask torn off. Your jaw clenched. You let out a tight breath through your nose, barely more than a sigh. It was the kind of reaction only someone who’d seen you under a hundred different kinds of stress might catch.

Then you looked up and locked eyes with him. You froze.

Goddamn did Jack Abbot look good in a suit.

Salt-and-pepper curls styled just enough to look deliberate, not overdone. The tux hugged his frame perfectly—sharp at the shoulders, tailored at the waist, cutting the kind of silhouette that belonged on a magazine cover instead of an ER floor. He’d even opted for a close shave, his normally stubbled facial hair absent. And his tie—loosened just a touch too much—left a sliver of his throat visible, collar open like he’d tried to behave and gave up halfway through the evening.

You didn’t smile. Neither did he.

But neither of you looked away.

The first time you met Dr. Jack Abbot, you were fresh off your fourth twelve-hour day shift that week. For the first two years of your residency, you’d been under Robby’s wing—solid, day-shift training, plenty of first-time experiences, and a support system that kept you steady. But when it came time to switch rotations, it was Robby who recommended you move to nights.

"More fast-paced," he’d reasoned. "Higher stakes. They could use your skills. You’re ready."

You’d heard about Jack Abbot by then. Everyone had. Ex-military. Brilliant. Demanding. A damn good trauma attending, and an even tougher mentor. You were equal parts intrigued and warned.

The ED hallway was buzzing, but you didn’t miss the way Jack paused as you approached. He glanced at your badge, then at your posture—upright, composed, betraying none of the exhaustion you carried—and finally at the trauma board.

“Hope you’re fast,” was all he said, voice low and dry, like a test he didn’t expect you to pass.

Turns out, you were more than fast. You were precise. Efficient. Clinical.

When a GSW came in thirty minutes later—a young man with a single penetrating wound to the upper abdomen—you and Abbot stepped in together. He hung back just enough to supervise, giving you space to lead the resuscitation while staying close.

You scanned the vitals: hypotensive, tachycardic, altered mentation. “GSW to the upper abdomen, likely mesenteric involvement. Initial BP was 80/40 with HR in the 130s, GCS at 13 but trending downward. Type and crossmatch. Two units O-neg. Prep for a laparotomy?” you asked, assessing quickly as you reached for gloves. Abbot nodded once, already handing you a sterile gown without a word.

He didn’t stop you, but he didn’t let you coast either.

“What’s your plan if the pressure doesn’t stabilize after the second unit?” he asked as you both finished gowning up.

“Call for a third, reassess fluid responsiveness, consider vasopressors if no improvement,” you replied, already focused.

“And if there’s massive hemoperitoneum?”

“Prioritize source control. Suction, pack, find the bleeder.”

Jack gave a small, approving hum. Then you glanced back at him, sharp, poised. He was holding out the handle of a blade to you—steady, without fanfare.

“I’m not handling it,” he said matter-of-factly. “You are.”

You blinked once, then reached for the blade. Gloved fingers curled around the handle as the rest of the room faded into peripheral noise. It was your show now—and he was trusting you to lead it.

The team moved quickly. You made the incision, suctioned blood, clamped the bleeder—a mesenteric vessel torn clean. Laparotomy pads soaked in seconds. Abbot kept an eye on the monitor, watching your hands. You found the source and controlled it, methodical and focused, with Jack’s quiet presence steady behind your shoulder.

Jack nodded once, the faintest glimmer of something like approval in his eyes. After the patient was wheeled off to the OR, gloves off and adrenaline still thrumming beneath your skin, he tossed you a saline flush and a towel. The rest of the team was still moving in organized flurries, cleaning up the bay, resetting trays, pulling down blood-streaked drapes. You peeled off your gloves slowly, breath catching up to you now that the adrenaline was fading.

The smell of antiseptic, blood, and sweat clung to everything. Your scrub top was damp with effort. And still, Jack hadn’t said anything else. Just watched you like he was recalibrating something in his head. Taking the measure of you.

“Not bad,” he said.

You raised a brow. “Not bad?”

He smirked. “Guess we’ll keep you. Though I should probably check the return policy with Robby before the trial period ends.”

Then, lower—just for you: “Though going nipples to navel on that first cut? That’s no man’s land. Bit too risky of a procedure for me to do myself.”

You blinked, thrown off your axis, trying to decide if he was being sarcastic or sincere—or both. “What?”

But Jack was already walking away, gloves off, like he hadn’t just left you standing there like a deer in headlights.

You weren’t expecting to see him either.

Jack Abbot in a tux. Sharp lapels. Cuffs neat. Hair styled but slightly tousled like he hadn’t quite figured out how to look formal without messing it up on purpose. Heat rose to your face, tinting it the color of the rosé being served tonight.

Turning around, you reached for a flute of champagne to occupy your thoughts. He’d just crossed the room, weaving past a pair of donors discussing their latest golf fundraiser, his eyes never leaving you. The clink of glass and silver faded just enough for you to hear the soft brush of his dress shoes stop beside yours.

“Red,” he said, nodding toward your dress. "Didn’t think it was in your rotation." He caught the soft trace of your perfume just as you inhaled the quiet warmth of his cologne.

You arched a brow. “Tux? Let me guess—last worn at prom?”

He huffed a laugh. The corner of his mouth tilted. "Wouldn't you like to know."

“Not really,” you smirked.

He leaned a little closer, voice low. "How’d Gloria rope you into this mess?"

You took a sip of champagne, letting the bubbles fizz on your tongue before replying, “She said the hospital needed a pretty face for the press photos.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “And you volunteered willingly, I assume?”

“I did. She said she wanted someone who wasn’t going to mention sock puppets in his opening speech.”

Jack tilted his head. "So you pointed her to literally anyone but me and Robby."

You smiled into your glass. “You and Robby are very pretty. Just not ‘donate-millions-of-dollars’ pretty.”

He cracked a grin. “Fair enough.”

You both leaned back slightly, falling into a rare pocket of easy quiet.

“If I'm being honest,” he said after a breath, “these things make my skin crawl. Donors patting themselves on the back for saving lives they’ve never seen.”

“Agreed,” you murmured. “It’s like they want the moral gold star without the 2 a.m. trauma call. Or the third straight shift without sleep.”

Jack glanced sideways at you. “Or the resident paycheck that barely covers rent.”

You let out a dry laugh. “And definitely not the part where we spend a decade training, rack up six figures of debt, and still have to fight for safe staffing ratios.”

He nodded once, quiet. “But hey, at least they get their name etched onto a plaque of a hallway they'll get lost in.”

"God," you sighed. "I'd love to switch places with them for a day."

Jack snorted. “Five minutes in a trauma bay and they’d be crying into their cufflinks.”

You were about to take another sip when you paused. “You realize you’re wearing cufflinks.”

“Which is why I’m drinking soda instead of champagne. Keeps me grounded.”

A quiet breath escaped you, the corner of your mouth twitching. “Your commitment to moral superiority is truly inspiring.”

He gave you a narrowed look, not quite smiling but close. “Someone’s gotta keep the place honest.”

You smiled to yourself, looking down and shaking your head, before excusing yourself to go charm another cluster of donors. “See you around—Jack.”

You’d only ever said his first name once before.

He noticed.

Jack stood there a second too long, stunned, watching your retreating back like he wasn’t sure what just happened—or why it mattered so much.

The patient was coding. Jack was tied up in Room 3 with a liver lac. You were alone when Trauma 2 rolled in—blunt trauma, hypotensive, bleeding out.

You didn’t wait. “I need two large-bore IVs, rapid sequence intubation kit, and thoracotomy tray—stat,” you barked to the team, already moving. “Start the MTP now.”

You slid the laryngoscope in cleanly, tube placed with practiced precision.

“Vitals are dropping,” a nurse called out.

“I know,” you forced out. “Keep pushing the units.”

The tray snapped open beside you. You didn’t hesitate. Just in case.

Abbot walked in right as you pulled your hands back, already prepped.

His eyes flicked from the open thoracotomy tray to the line placement to your gloved hands, bloody up to the wrists. He froze mid-step.

Then, without missing another beat, he stepped in beside you. “What the hell?” he muttered, voice low and calm. He didn’t raise it. He never did when it really mattered.

His presence was immediate—like someone flipping a switch—and suddenly the entire bay adjusted to him, calibrated around the two of you.

You didn’t look at him. Just adjusted your grip and said, “Vitals holding. Pressure’s up.”

“Balloon’s a little high,” he murmured, his voice almost too soft to hear over the hum of monitors.

You didn’t flinch, but your pulse jumped. “Adjusted,” you said, fingers tightening slightly on the handle as you recalibrated, eyes glued to the screen.

A beat passed. Then another.

The pressure crept upward. Slowly. Steadily.

The patient stabilized.

You exhaled quietly through your nose, trying to ignore the chill of adrenaline threading down your spine. Jack was still watching you—too closely. And you couldn’t tell if he was impressed or pissed or both. He didn’t say anything for a long moment.

When you finally looked up, his eyes locked with yours—steady, unreadable, searching like he was still deciding how angry he was allowed to be.

“You never should’ve done that without approval from an attending,” he said quietly, the words measured but firm, laced with something heavier beneath the surface.

You nodded, jaw clenched. “Understood.”

Jack stepped closer. Lowered his voice.

“But that was pretty badass. You just saved a life. Good job.”

Then he turned and left the trauma bay. The moment lingered—his words echoing in your ears louder than they should have.

Every pair of eyes seemed to shift away once he left, the noise of the trauma bay gradually returning to its usual rhythm. Monitors beeped. Carts wheeled past. Gloves peeled off with a quiet snap and hit the bin. Hands—steady during the crisis—now trembled faintly.

Pride lingered. So did fear. And you weren’t sure which feeling was winning.

Outside by the nurses' bay, Jack was leaning against the wall, one foot braced behind him, chart in hand but not moving. His gaze was distant—somewhere far beyond the clipboard. A crooked smirk ghosted across his lips, then faded as quickly as it had come. He was still thinking about what you'd done. How steady your hands had been. How much you'd grown.

He’d been impressed. He’d also been scared.

That kind of procedure… it wasn’t something he’d ever do lightly. And you? You hadn’t hesitated. Not out of recklessness, but because you’d known it was the right call. The only call.

"Ballsy," he muttered under his breath. "Damn near reckless."

But his chest swelled—quietly, privately—with something that felt a lot like pride.

The third time you ran into each other that night, it wasn’t by accident.

You were leaning against a balcony railing, champagne nearly gone. One glass hadn’t been enough to drown out the unbearable jargon and vapid conversations—but you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t go overboard tonight. Just enough to appear socially well-versed.

The night had cooled, the breeze brushing goosebumps along your bare arms. Jack found you there, hands in his pockets, jacket unbuttoned, eyes catching on the subtle shiver that moved through your frame.

“You always hide from donors this early?” he asked.

You didn’t need to turn to know it was him. You’d heard those footsteps enough times to recognize the rhythm—the soft, sure cadence of someone who never rushed but never wandered. A grin tugged at the corner of your mouth before you could stop it. Subtle. Reflexive. Familiar.

“Only the boring ones.”

He smirked and stepped beside you, pulling his jacket off with one fluid motion.

Before you could say anything, he draped it over your shoulders—slow, deliberate. His fingers brushed your bare arm on the way down. The heat of him lingered even through the fabric. And then there was the scent of his cologne—clean, sharp, and grounded by something warmer beneath it. The scent made your chest ache with something unnameable—familiar, steady, a little too easy to lean into. It curled in your lungs, lingered in the back of your throat. Your knees dipped slightly, an involuntary response you buried with practiced ease. You’d never admit that, of course. Not even to yourself.

“You’ll freeze,” he said, voice quiet, almost an afterthought.

You didn’t correct him. Just glanced up. He was already looking at you.

“You look good,” he said finally.

Your brow raised.

“In red,” he added, softer this time.

You didn’t say thank you. Just looked at him. Let it sit there for a moment—heavy, a little too charged to touch.

"If you keep being nice to me, people are going to start wondering if the sodas were spiked."

That earned you a low chuckle, the corner of his mouth tugging upward in that infuriatingly subtle way he smiled when he actually meant it.

"Guess I'll have to ruin it with a sober insult later," he said.

You gave him a dry stare. "Looking forward to it."

The air between you tightened, warm and brittle. He shifted just slightly closer, like something unspoken pulled him there.

You shot him a sidelong glance, trying to smother the tension with humor. “Don’t you have some attractive widows to go butter up?”

His lips twitched. “Already secured donations from all of them,” he said, only half joking. Then, quieter, with a faint shrug: “None of them were interesting.”

That gave you pause.

“I prefer women with poor work-life balance and sharp comebacks.” He looked at you again, the curve of his mouth bordering on a real smile now. "You?"

"Hm," you hummed to yourself. "I prefer women with competitive streaks and sharp eyeliner. And men with stress-induced insomnia, commitment issues, and the emotional availability of a damp dishrag."

Jack huffed out a quiet laugh. "Bold of you to describe my entire personality like it's a turn-on."

"If the shoe fits," you murmured, toying with your empty glass.

He looked at you then—really looked. Head tilted just enough to feel like he was trying to read something between the lines.

"It’s always the sharp ones," he said. "Cut deepest, don’t they?"

Your lips twitched. "Funny. I was just thinking the same about emotionally repressed men in positions of authority."

"Touché."

But neither of you moved further.

Jack’s voice lowered, something quieter threading through. “You know, for what it’s worth… I notice. How hard you work. How much you give.”

That caught you off guard. The words settled in your chest, raw and warm. You swallowed around them.

“Then I hope you notice how often it gets overlooked,” you said, voice softer now. “By everyone else.”

His eyes flicked toward yours, something unreadable in them. Like he wanted to say something else. Like maybe he would.

“Hey!”

Robby’s voice cut through the air like a 10-blade.

You turned, blinking back to the present. Robby's head was poking out of the curtains, waving a hand. “Sorry to interrupt your… mood lighting, but I need to help charm this silver fox donor who won’t stop talking about his golf handicap and yacht collection. Won’t stop asking for the 'hot doctor with attitude.' So naturally, I assumed he meant you.”

You glanced back at Jack, reluctant.

He gave you a nod, but didn’t say anything. Just watched you go.

Before you turned to leave, you slid the jacket from your shoulders and held it out to him. Jack stepped forward to take it, but his fingers brushed yours—warm, lingering, just a second longer than necessary.

His jaw tightened for half a breath—barely perceptible—before he masked it, reaching to take the jacket with a small nod. His fingers brushed yours again as he pulled it into his arms. The warmth still clung to it—so did your scent. Subtle, familiar, something floral and grounding. It curled in his chest as he inhaled, slow and quiet, like he didn’t mean to. As you walked away, you felt the weight of his gaze follow you—sharp, lingering, impossible to shake. Like he was still holding something back—he wasn’t quite ready to let you go.

Once you were gone, he allowed himself to bring the jacket up to his face and breathe in lightly, letting the remaining trace of you settle in his lungs. It lingered—clean, unmistakable, and quietly devastating.

With each year, the line between rivalry and familiarity blurred just a little more.

It wasn’t just that you were the senior-most resident anymore—it was that you were his senior-most resident. The one who matched him pace for pace in trauma bays, who called out orders with the same clipped authority, who rolled your eyes at his sarcastic one-liners only to throw them right back at him.

Jack gave you a hard time. You gave it right back.

It started as cold professionalism. Then it turned sharp. Competitive. Then somehow... comfortable.

“Think you can manage this without slicing through the aorta this time?” Jack murmured once during a late night thoracotomy.

“Only if you don’t pass out from blood loss first, old man,” you replied smoothly.

“Old man,” he repeated under his breath. “Remind me why I let you lead in my trauma bay?”

“Because I’m the best.”

He didn’t respond. Just passed the next instrument with a soft, resigned smirk.

There was a night Shen caught you both bickering over a chart like a married couple.

"The guy had a fever and a murmur—of course I’m thinking endocarditis," you said, exasperated, scribbling into the margins.

"And I’m saying we still need to rule out pulmonary embolism first," Jack shot back, arms crossed, watching you like a hawk.

"I’m writing the note," you reminded him.

"Are you going to type it up for me too?"

"If you want it to be legible."

Jack scoffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

That’s when Shen passed by, shook his head, and muttered under his breath, "Just kiss already."

Neither of you responded. Jack’s pen stilled in his hand. You didn’t look at him. He didn’t look at you.

But later that night, as you leaned against the med station reviewing labs, he passed behind you, fingers grazing your lower back as he brushed by.

Casual. Too casual. And yet, your breath caught anyway.

You didn’t talk about it.

You never talked about it.

But it was there, all the same.

Back inside, the ballroom lights felt too bright. You smiled at a passing donor, glass still in hand, but your mind was still outside—on the breeze, on his jacket, on the way Jack had looked at you like he wasn’t ready to let you go.

You found yourself drifting toward the edge of the room, eyes scanning unconsciously. Jack had disappeared into the crowd.

Or so you thought.

“Looking for me?”

You turned to see him at your side again, now holding two drinks—one club soda, one bubbling glass.

You raised an eyebrow. “Trying to get me trashed on overpriced spirits, Dr. Abbot?”

“I would, if this were alcohol.” He offered the glass to you. “It’s ginger ale.”

You eyed it suspiciously, then took it anyway. “Classy.”

He tilted his head, lips twitching. “You called me Jack earlier.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.” The bubbles soothed your stomach, uneasy from all the talking and dizzy heights of empty small talk.

The quiet pressed in, heavy and hesitant, neither of you quite ready to fill it—but neither willing to walk away.

“Well, Dr. L/N,” he said, tone dipping into something light but curious, “how do you plan on spending the rest of your evening?”

You gave him a half-smile. “Getting some sleep. Or trying to.” You looked back out across the ballroom, then added, “I talked to Robby earlier—offered to be on-call for day shift tomorrow. Filling in for Langdon.”

Jack’s brows lifted. “Aren't you supposed to be off?”

“Yup. So are you,” you said, glancing at him.

His mouth twitched, but he didn’t deny it. You both knew the pattern by now—same days off, same shifts. Neither of you had ever pointed it out.

“What else would I do on a Friday?” There was something brittle in the joke, something quieter under it. “Work keeps me occupied.”

Jack watched you for a second longer, then said, softer this time, “You shouldn’t have to keep yourself occupied. It's okay to take a breather.”

You let out a dry breath of a laugh, the edge of a smile curling—biting, but small. “That’s rich coming from the only other person who works as many shifts as I do.”

Jack didn’t answer. He just stepped a little closer.

“You could’ve said no to being on-call,” he said. “Could’ve said you had plans.”

“I do,” you retorted. “Sleep for three hours. Chug coffee. Go back.”

Jack tipped his head, like he was trying to read more into your tone than you meant to give away. “Y/N—”

The name stopped you cold. You took a half-step back before you could think better of it, reflexive and immediate, voice clipped and low. “Don’t.”

That caught him off guard.

“I—sorry,” he said, brows furrowing slightly. “I just—”

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, too quickly.

Jack looked at you then, something close to understanding flickering in his eyes. As though he remembered, too. How could he forget?

The first time he'd said your name.

Blood on your scrubs. Tears in your throat. A patient you couldn't save.

He didn’t say anything else. Just nodded once, slowly, and let you go.

Then, just as his mouth parted to say something else—

“Dr. Abbot!” Gloria’s voice rang out from the other end of the ballroom, hand ushering him to come over. “The donor from Penn wants a word before he leaves!”

Jack clenched his jaw. His eyes lingered on yours.

“Rain check,” he said, voice low.

You didn’t answer, just gave a small nod as he walked away. And for a long moment after, you stayed where you were, ginger ale sweating in your hand.

You didn’t know it at the time, but this was the moment you’d remember whenever someone asked when medicine stopped being just medicine.

The trauma call came in: car accident, two parents and a child, maybe 8 or 9. The parents were in rough shape but still awake, still responsive—moaning through cracked ribs and splintered glass. The kid, though—blunt force, GCS 3 on arrival. Completely unresponsive. You felt it in your gut before the vitals even came in.

Jack was across the bay when the doors opened. He looked up once—nodded at you. “You’re lead. I'll stabilize the parents."

You didn’t hesitate. Airway, trauma labs, two large-bore IVs. Portable chest. Fast scan. You called it all before the stretcher stopped moving.

The child’s body was limp. Small. Already pale. The pressure in your chest felt like a dam ready to burst.

You intubated with steady hands, but your voice faltered—just slightly—when you called for epinephrine. Jack appeared beside you somewhere around the second round of compressions, gloves on, silent. Watching. Present.

“Vitals still unstable,” someone called from behind you. “BP 62 over palp. Pulse weak. We’re pushing TXA now.” At least he'd stabilized the parents, you thought. If he could save them, you could save their little girl.

Four bags of blood and 18 minutes of chest compressions. The monitor stayed flat.

Still, you kept going. Pushing meds. Calling for another round. Someone offered to take over for compressions, murmured that you needed a break. You shook your head. “I’m fine.”

Then again, more firmly. “I’ve got it.”

No one tried to argue. You were lead. You had it.

Even as your arms began to ache. Even as the blood kept pooling, the compressions rhythmically jarring through your bones. You wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t. The team was moving around you, quiet, reverent.

Then Jack stepped in closer.

“Monitor hasn't picked up a rhythm in 12 minutes,” he said gently. “We can't keep up with the blood loss. There's too much internal damage. You know this.”

You shook your head, barely perceptible, and kept going. Compressing, counting, calling for another round of epi.

Jack’s voice stayed level. “Anyone else would’ve been pronounced dead at the scene.”

You ignored him. Just a few more compressions and transfusions and she'd come back.

Then—

“Y/N.”

That made you freeze.

Your name. His voice.

Your hands were still trembling against the child’s chest.

You looked at the monitor. Heard the continuous tone. Flatline.

No pulse.

“Call it,” Jack pleaded softly.

Your voice was quiet. Hoarse. Cold.

“Time of death, 03:17.”

You stepped back, stripped your gloves off slowly. Fingers stained with blood you couldn’t stop from spilling. Jack said nothing. He didn’t leave.

You swallowed hard, trying to force the tears down. To breathe through the break in your chest.

Jack didn’t touch you this time. He just stood there.

Let you fall apart, silently.

Then you ripped off your gloves and threw them hard into the bin, the sound louder than it had any right to be. You turned and stormed out of the trauma bay without looking back, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

That was the first time he said your name.

And it pulled you back. You never forgot it.

Sometimes you wished you had.

Back inside, the music had changed.

You’d barely rejoined the crowd when the lights dimmed and the emcee called out for the first dance of the evening.

Across the ballroom, Jack saw you before you saw him. You were standing near the edge of the crowd, nursing the last of your drink, the weight of something invisible pressing into your posture.

But you weren’t alone. A tall man—one of the younger donors—had his hand on your arm, leaning in to say something. He offered you his hand.

Jack’s jaw tensed.

He didn’t move—at first. Just watched as you smiled politely, took the man's hand, let him lead you to the dance floor.

It was brief. Chaste. Just a dance. But Jack hated the way the guy's hand lingered at your waist. Hated how close he stood, how you nodded along to something he said, even if your smile didn’t reach your eyes.

A minute later, you gently swapped out with Robby, excusing yourself from your first partner. Robby took your hand with a flourish and spun you once like a game show host. You smiled for the first time in hours.

"You okay?" he asked gently, settling into a slower sway with you.

You shrugged. "Long week."

Robby gave you a dad-look. "Anything in particular on your mind, or just the usual existential dread?"

A quiet laugh escaped, softer than you meant for it to. "Just the usual, I guess."

For a while, the two of you swayed in silence. Robby’s gaze stayed soft. "You’ve been a little quiet lately. Even more than usual. You sleeping okay? Eating?"

Instead of answering right away, your eyes drifted to his shoulder. "I’m fine."

"You always say that. Doesn’t mean I believe it."

A small, grateful smile curved your lips. Robby always knew how to make space—never too much, never too little. He left the door open without pushing you through it.

"You know I’ve got your back, right kid? You ever need to talk, about anything, even the stuff you think you’re not supposed to say out loud—come find me."

"Thanks, Robby. I mean it."

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze. "I know you do."

A voice cut in—low and smooth.

"Mind if I cut in?"

You turned.

Jack stood there, one hand extended. He didn’t look at Robby. He didn’t need to.

Robby chuckled under his breath and stepped aside. "She’s all yours."

Jack’s eyes met yours, steady and unreadable.

“Dance with me?” he asked, softer than you'd expected.

For a second, you didn’t answer. Your breath caught, mind still echoing with the last time you’d heard him say your name.

But then you nodded—slow, tentative—and slid your hand into his.

He guided you gently into step, the rhythm of the music slower than your pulse. His hand settled against your waist, warm and sure, like it had always belonged there. The other laced with yours, a silent tether.

You moved together with a surprising ease, like muscle memory forged in proximity, not practice. It wasn’t just a dance—it was a conversation. A quiet exchange, careful and cautious. Every shift of weight, every brush of fingers was a sentence neither of you dared speak aloud.

You didn’t look up right away. Couldn't. The proximity was dizzying. It wasn’t the champagne. It was him.

Jack’s voice came, low and even. “You always this good at pretending everything’s fine?”

You finally glanced up, something caught between a smile and a flinch playing on your face. “Only when I’m trying to impress a colleague.”

His mouth twitched, barely. “That why you always pull it together when I’m around?”

You didn’t answer.

Gliding across the floor, you felt like you were floating. And still, the weight of his hand at your waist grounded you.

You weren’t sure which was more dangerous: the silence, or the closeness.

“I used to think if I kept moving, I wouldn’t have to feel any of it,” you said, voice barely above the swell of the music. “But some things catch up to you anyway.”

Jack’s grip shifted slightly, not tighter, just… more present. “Running works—until it doesn’t.”

A beat passed.

“I don’t run,” you said quietly.

He met your eyes. “No. You bury it. Same result, different damage.”

You exhaled through your nose, something between a laugh and a sigh. “Funny. Thought we were dancing, not diagnosing.”

“We can do both,” he said, dry but not unkind. “I go to therapy. You slow dance at charity galas.”

Your gaze flicked to his lips, then away. “Guess my way is cheaper since I'm not paying for any of the wine or dine.”

Jack’s hand at your waist didn’t budge. If anything, it steadied you more.

“Y/N,” he said after a moment, voice gentler now. Like he was handing something over. Like he wanted you to take it.

Your shoulders tensed. Jaw muscles flexed.

He noticed.

You looked up, met his gaze, and said, quieter than before but with unmistakable weight, “Jack, you’re walking on thin ice.”

He didn’t flinch. But something flickered in his expression—something equal parts affection and surrender.

You only used each other’s names when it mattered.

The only difference was: he loved it. You hated it.

The hospital had quieted for the night, but the kind of quiet that screamed underneath.

You assisted on his last case—another loss, but this one had cut deeper than usual. Maybe it was the way Jack had gone cold, all clinical control and efficiency… until the voice crack. Just a flicker. A tremor. He’d kept going, ordering transfusions, calling vitals, his tone even until it wasn’t. You saw it—behind the focused eyes, there was fear.

You were the one standing next to him when he finally called it.

You found him up there—on the roof—where the city lights couldn’t quite wash out the weight in his shoulders. Jack was staring out past the edge, hands in his coat pockets, the wind catching just enough to make his scrubs flutter at the hem.

You didn’t speak right away. Just stood a few paces behind him, letting your presence fill the space before your voice did.

“I figured I’d find you up here.”

Jack didn’t turn. “Shouldn’t you be home?”

“I had to wrap up some charting.”

A beat.

“They were a veteran,” he said. “Had a daughter who just got into college.”

You took a step closer. “That wasn’t your fault.”

He let out a quiet, humorless sound. “I know. Doesn’t help.”

You hesitated, then moved beside him, standing shoulder to shoulder.

“I must have had a reason at one time to keep coming back," he murmured, “but I can't think of it right now."

You didn’t have an answer.

But you said his name.

“Jack.”

It was the first time you’d said it out loud. Not Dr. Abbot. Not anything guarded. Just him.

He turned then, slowly.

“Don’t shut down on me,” you said. “Not tonight.”

The wind carried your words away, but he heard them. You saw it in the way his jaw tightened. The way his shoulders dropped just slightly.

“I don’t know how to stay,” he said, voice rough.

“You don’t have to stay alone.”

He glanced at you then—just briefly, like eye contact might split him open.

You searched his face, thinking back to the moment in the trauma bay where he called it. Where his voice cracked but didn’t waver. Where his gloved hands were steady even though his eyes gave him away. You’d never seen him look like that before—so composed, so clinical, and still, so unmistakably human.

The memory stuck to your ribs.

“I know it’s not fair,” you said, voice low. “That we carry the worst of them home. That we never get to know if we were enough.”

Jack didn’t speak. But he didn’t move either. That was something. So you added, a little too soft, “But you are. You are enough.”

A long silence.

Then, to break it—because it felt like too much—you rolled your shoulder and said, “Robby’s gonna kick your ass if you jump off during his shift.”

Jack huffed, the sound barely audible but real.

“Come on,” you added, nodding toward the stairwell. “Let’s get off this roof before someone reports us for loitering.”

You didn't move.

Not yet.

Just stood there in silence, waiting—not because you needed him to follow, but because you weren’t going anywhere without him.

And Jack came. Eventually. Quiet and heavy and slow, the shuffle of his shoes steadying against the roof's concrete.

He didn’t say anything. Just stepped beside you, close enough to share warmth but not break space.

Then you walked. Together. Not quite brushing shoulders, but close enough to feel it. Close enough to stay.

The night had grown heavier.

Somehow, you and Jack had found your way back to the balcony—again. It was quieter out here, the city humming beneath you, wind tugging softly at your hair. Your skin still held the memory of his hand at your waist. The music inside was muffled now, like the two of you had stepped out of the narrative entirely.

Jack leaned against the railing, but his gaze never left you. Something about the way he was looking—like he’d been holding back something for far too long.

You crossed your arms, more to anchor yourself than anything. “You’re staring.”

“You said my name,” he replied, voice low.

Your throat tightened. “You started it.”

He pushed off the railing, slow and deliberate. “You know what I mean.”

You didn’t back away. But your voice came sharper this time, more breath than warning. “Don’t. Don’t start something neither of us can come back from.”

That gave him pause. He looked like he wanted to say something—maybe everything—but bit it back. Jaw tight. Shoulders tense.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” Jack said. “But I can't keep pretending this is nothing.”

With a quiet breath, he confessed. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Your heart tripped.

“I try,” he continued, voice cracking. “God, I’ve tried. But you show up in every shift. Every damn quiet moment. I hear your voice when I walk through those doors. I look for you at every trauma call. And when you’re not there, it’s worse.”

You didn’t speak.

“I’ve been through hell,” he went on, stepping closer, “seen things I still don’t have names for—but none of it scares me the way you do. Because this?” He gestured between you. “This is real. And if I say it out loud, I don’t get to pretend anymore.”

Your breath hitched. “Jack…”

He looked at you, eyes tired and wide open. “Say something. Please.”

Your voice came out thinner than you meant. “You're my attending, we’re not supposed to—”

“I don’t care.”

The silence cracked wide open between you.

You let out a breath—shaky, exasperated.

"Fuck," you said, voice breaking. "What do you want me to say? That I can't stop thinking about you either? That I see your eyes every time I close mine—your smile, rare as it is, stuck in my head like a damn echo? That I come home and swear I can still smell your cologne because it’s the only thing that brings me any sense of comfort?"

Your hands were trembling now. You didn’t stop—couldn't.

"Pretending this means nothing is easier than risking what happens if it actually matters. Because if it does—Jack—"

Jack caught you before you could even get the words out. His mouth was on yours, rough and unyielding, and you didn’t stop him. Didn’t want to. You kissed him like you meant it, because fucking hell, did you mean it.

When your back hit the wall beside the balcony doors with a quiet thud, he pressed closer, hands framing your jaw like you were something to be memorized.

There was nothing polite in the way you touched each other now. Just years of tension, unspoken things, and the desperate need to feel something real.

You didn’t let go.

Neither did he.

His lips trailed lower, brushing the hinge of your jaw before nipping gently at your neck. The sound you made—half breath, half shock—only seemed to spur him on.

“Then don’t pretend,” Jack whispered against your skin, voice rough and reverent. “Let yourself have this. Let us have this.”

Your hands cradled the sides of his face, fingers brushing across his cheekbones. All these years spent by his side and you hadn’t taken the time to admire his freckles.

You leaned in again, pressing your lips to his—slower now, deeper. One of his hands slid down your back, splaying across the small of it as if anchoring you in place. The other tangled into your hair, careful but needing.

You gasped when his hips met yours again, your breath catching between kisses. He pulled back just enough to look at you, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide.

"I need you," you finally said.

And that was all he needed.

He rushed to close the curtains on the inside and lock the balcony doors before returning to you.

Your world narrowed to the way his mouth reclaimed yours, the press of his body, the heat building like a fuse lit too close to the end. Somewhere in the distance, the city kept moving. But here, in the quiet shelter of the balcony, there was only this.

Jack dropped to his knees, the motion fluid. You sucked in a breath as his hands slid up the backs of your thighs, coaxing one leg upward until your heel hooked over his shoulder. Your foot pressed gently against the curve of his back.

He tugged at the hem of your dress. You were already holding the hem of your dress, bunching it at your hips with practiced ease. The lace of your underwear was delicate, barely in the way—he hooked a finger around the side, sliding it with a slow, deliberate motion that made your breath hitch.

You were already soaked, and the way his eyes flicked up confirmed he knew it. He looked up at you once, eyes dark and unwavering, before leaning in.

His mouth was slow at first—exploring, learning you. The way your breath stuttered when his tongue found a sensitive spot, the way your fingers clenched in his hair. “You taste just as incredible as I imagined,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. When he inserted a finger and curled towards himself, you nearly buckled.

You didn’t mean to cry out, but it slipped past your lips, helpless and raw. Your hand flew up to cover your mouth, which made him smirk. He caught your elbow with his free hand, gently but insistently, pulling your hand away and intertwining your fingers into his hair. You gave his curls a tug and were met with a moan. It was impossible to hide the smug grin that painted your face.

“I want to hear you,” he murmured, voice thick with heat. His voice dipped lower, rougher.

You felt the press of the marble wall cool behind you as your back arched. One hand flew to the wall, the other gripping his shoulder as he kept going—steadfast, focused, like you were the only thing that existed. Like this was something he'd been starving for.

And maybe you had been too. Because every sound, every gasp that left you was honest.

You hiked your knee higher, anchoring your heel along the dip of his back. The dress had long since stopped mattering.

Jack’s grip tightened, one hand digging into the curve of your ass as he anchored you against the wall. His other hand slipped between your thighs, fingers sliding inside you with precision, curling until your legs nearly gave out.

"Jack, I'm—" You moaned into your clenched teeth, the sound too loud, too needy—but he wanted it, taking it in like oxygen.

Your head fell back against the wall with a soft thud, eyes fluttering closed as your breath came in shallow, stuttering waves. He didn’t let up. The rhythm was relentless, mouth and hand working in tandem, dragging you closer to the edge with every sweep, every flick, drinking you like water from a desert oasis. He stopped only when you tapped his cheek twice, silently begging for mercy.

Your skin glistened, painted with heat. Before he pulled away, Jack leaned in again, his tongue tracing the trails of your release up your inner thigh with slow, savoring strokes. Each pass of his mouth made you twitch, gasp, overstimulated but unwilling to stop. He kissed the soft skin in their wake.

When he finally looked up, his face was just as wrecked, jaw set and glistening with you. And the look in his eyes when he glanced up—hungry, worshipful—was enough to ruin you.

His lips were parted just slightly, chest rising and falling in quick, uneven bursts. “God, you’re perfect.” His eyes lifted to meet yours with something close to divine awe.

It came out quiet—like a confession he'd finally allowed himself to say out loud.

You leaned down and kissed him, tasting yourself on his tongue. He let out a low, contented sound against your mouth, one hand tightening around your thigh, the other still steadying your hip. You could feel the tension in him—tender, aching—as if the moment might slip through his fingers if he didn’t hold it close.

Your fingers slipped into your dress, pulling free a small foil square tucked just inside the cup of your bra. Jack blinked down at it, then back up at you, clearly caught off guard.

He raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

You shrugged, breathless. "Was holding it for a friend."

Jack smirked, eyes dragging down your body. "Sure you were."

You made quick work of his belt, unbuckling it and pushing his pants down just enough.

“He talks too much,” you muttered, smirking.

You looked down.

And stopped.

He was perfect. Cut, trimmed, thick, just the right length. The kind of sight that made your breath hitch. Your hand slid along his length with a few firm pumps—just enough to make him hiss between his teeth.

You couldn't resist. Lowered to your knees, gave him a few languid licks, savoring the taste. He whimpered, his hand gently gripping your hair—but not pulling, not yet.

After a few more pumps, Jack pulled you up by the chin with a bruising kiss, swallowing your gasp.

“I’m not coming anywhere but inside you,” he growled against your lips.

You smiled, teasing. “Maybe next time, then.” Your fingers trailed down the front of his dress shirt, feeling the heat of his body even through the fabric—muscles taut and firm beneath your touch.

Then you turned, facing the wall—cheeks hot, breath short. One hand braced flat against the cool marble, the other gathering the bunched fabric of your dress. You looked over your shoulder, eyes dark with want.

Jack swore under his breath. He moved behind you in a blur, hands rough on your hips as he lined himself up. The heat of him pressed against you, teasing, maddening.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice lower than gravel.

You pushed back, just enough for him to sink in, slow and deliberate. He filled you up inch by inch, warm and hot and perfect, making you gasp as your forehead pressed to the wall.

His hands wrapped around your hips as he bottomed out, his mouth dragging along your neck, teeth grazing your skin until he whispered a sharp, broken "fuck"—more to himself than to you. Like he was trying not to explode.

You tried to move, just a little forward, a little back—restless with need—but his hands tightened.

“Don’t,” he breathed. “Just—just give me a second. You feel fucking incredible.”

“Jack,” you whimpered.

If he clenched his teeth any harder, he might've popped his jaw. "Fuck, I love when you call me by my name."

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Please.”

That undid him.

He gripped your hips tighter, fingertips digging into your supple flesh—just shy of bruising. The pain was delicious, grounding you to every thrust, every second of connection, hips rocking forward, slowly at first—deep, deliberate, like he wanted to feel every inch of you from the inside out. Each thrust sent a spark up your spine, your moans echoing softly. His mouth returned to your neck, biting just enough to leave a mark, his breath hot against your skin.

"You feel too good," he muttered, almost like it hurt. "Too good."

You tried to respond, but the words got lost somewhere in your throat as his pace picked up—harder, deeper, everything building.

Your hands flattened against the wall, bracing yourself as your body rocked with his rhythm. It was dizzying—overwhelming—in all the best ways. Every drag of his hips made your knees tremble, every grunt and growl in your ear pushed you closer to unraveling.

Without warning, he turned you around to face him. His eyes were blown wide, pupils dilated, chest heaving. He lifted your left leg with his right hand, supporting your thigh against his side as he surged forward again.

The angle had you seeing stars—vision spinning as he hit that spot inside you with maddening precision. You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders as your head dropped forward against his.

Your hands clasped behind his neck, holding tight, desperate to keep him there. You raked your fingers through his curls, tugging hard enough to make him moan—and dragged your nails lightly down the back of his neck, leaving a faint trail of heat in their wake. His mouth found yours again—tongue hot, hungry—kissing you like he needed it to breathe. His left hand anchored you by the hip, grinding you against him as his rhythm deepened, pulling another cry from your throat.

There was nothing left but heat, hands, breath. And the way he looked at you like you were the only thing he'd ever wanted—needed.

"I'm yours," he whispered, forehead resting against yours, voice ragged. It wasn’t a declaration—it was a truth. Raw and full and real.

Your lips brushed his, trembling. “And I’m yours.”

The moment cracked open between you. You kissed him—desperate, hungry, chasing the high you were both barely holding onto.

You felt yourself teetering, the peak just within reach. Jack looked like he was holding back, focusing on keeping every muscle drawn tight with restraint—putting your pleasure before his. But you needed him there with you, completely.

You leaned into his ear, breath hot. “I need you to cum for me, Jack.” His fingers dug deeper into your hip. "I need you to fill me up." Your knee wrapped tighter around his torso, drawing him impossibly closer as you held him to you, clinging like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. You bit the curve of his neck, sharp and claiming.

That was all it took.

He let out a guttural sound, hips stuttering as he came undone, pulling you with him into a release that felt like freefall—earth-shattering and unrelenting.

Your release crashed through you moments after his, drawn out and all-consuming. Every nerve lit up, your body shaking with the intensity of it. It wasn’t like anything else—no drug, no high. Just him. You. This.

For a long beat, neither of you moved. Your breath came in broken gasps, foreheads pressed together, bodies trembling in the aftermath. Sweaty. Beautiful. And quiet.

Jack’s hand smoothed up your spine, grounding you. His lips brushed your temple, and the world finally began to settle back into place.

He gently brushed strands of damp hair from your face, fingers tender where they swept against your skin. The breeze caught a few pieces, but they clung to the sheen on your cheeks. When you finally let your leg down, your knees buckled slightly. Jack caught you without hesitation—arms strong, sure, keeping you steady as your weight shifted. You clung to him without thinking, hands gripping his shoulders like a lifeline. When you finally loosened your grip, he didn’t let go right away—his arms still braced around you like muscle memory, like instinct.

Pulling back, you realized what a disheveled mess the two of you were.

You reached up and smoothed down the front of his shirt, fixing the lapels of his suit, tugging the hem of his jacket into place. Thankfully whatever hair gel he used was bulletproof, only a curl or two out of place. He brushed his fingers along your hairline, gently tucking back strands that had come loose, then adjusted the strap of your dress where it had slipped off your shoulder.

There was a beat of silence—comfortable, but heavy.

Clearing your throat, you tried to gather your thoughts. “I, uh…”

Jack’s eyes remained a little dazed, as if he was still anchoring himself to the moment.

A breath escaped you—half-laugh, half-exhale. “Tea. I was gonna ask if you wanted to come back to mine for tea.”

He blinked once, then his lips quirked.

“Tea?”

“Yeah,” you said, half-smiling. “Or, like… whatever. Just to wind down. You don’t have to.”

Jack shook his head once, slow. “Only if you’re not just holding it for a friend.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling too. “You’re welcome anytime, Jack. You know that, right?”

His gaze softened. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I do.”

You nodded once, awkward and earnest. “Cool. Good. Great.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “You always this smooth after balcony sex?”

You shot him a glare filled with playful menace. "Depends. You always this cocky after someone invites you over for tea?”

He smiled—one of those rare ones, small and sideways. “Only when it’s not just for the tea.”

You groaned. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah,” he said again, softer this time. “But I’m yours, remember?”

You tilted your head, smirking. “Return policy on that is… nonexistent, right?”

His smile widened just a touch. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

“Careful, Jack. That almost sounded romantic.”

He chuckled, then sobered just enough to meet your eyes. “Maybe it was.”

The breeze danced around you both again, brushing cool air against warm skin. Still, the embers between you remained.

“Come on,” you said, tugging gently at his hand. “Let’s go before someone realizes we’ve been out here defiling the sacred balcony.”

He followed without hesitation. Fingers laced with yours.

This time, neither of you looked back.

#the pitt #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt imagine #jack abbot x reader #dr abbot x reader #jack abbot smut #jack abbot #jack abbot imagine #shawn hatosy #dr. abbot x reader #dr abbot #dr abbot smut #the pitt x reader #dr abbot x you #jack abbot x you

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tobeholyistobeempty · 21 days ago

Text

Just a very short word vomit as I have spent far too long thinking about Captain Price faking an injury just to see his favourite doctor.

————————-

John Price has got years on him.

Enough to know how to play the game. Enough to know how to work the system just a little in his favour. Life experience has given him knowledge, skill, but it’s also given him something a little worse — something that creeps out into the lines around his eyes, the grey peppering his beard, the way he carries himself like he’s lived through every war this world has to offer — lets him move like he’s still in the trenches, like he hasn’t left them even when the fight is over.

Assurance.

It’s practically pouring out of his pores as you rush in — frantic as ever given the late hour and the way your assistant was practically sobbing over the supposed state of him — all to find the man sitting on the stretcher, looking right as rain save for the crimson coating his chest.

At first glance you gather it’s not all his, or at least, not much of it. The dark stain coats his sleeve, a cranberry smear streaking up his neck, lost in the shadow of his collar. You hardly realize you’re just silently staring until he exhales through his nose, amusement seeping somewhere between the showcased exhaustion.

“Y’alright, love?”

You blink. Then scoff. He’s asking you if you’re alright?

“You’re the one bleeding on my floor.”

Price hums, pushing off the stretcher to stand, shrugging off his vest with a wince that looks a little like it’s more for show than anything else.

“Y’gonna patch me up, or just stand there lookin’ pretty?”

That gets your attention. Assured. Typical Price but unusual given the circumstances. You’ve seen enough shot soldiers to know the last thing he should be doing right now is dotting.

Your eyes narrow as you grab for the med kit, pulling it open with a snap. “You actually get shot, or just feeling homesick?”

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he just watches, waves rocking in the depths of his eyes as you reach for his sleeve, steady fingers brushing blood-stiff fabric. Somewhere between searching for the wound and noticing the lack of bloodshed, you falter — because something isn’t adding up, because you’ve treated enough wounds to know when someone is worse off than they let on, and Price — despite the mess of him, isn’t nearly as injured as he’d told your team he was.

And judging by the way he smiles, he knows you’ve figured it out.

“John.” You wish you sounded more stern, but that cursed thing on his lips is contagious, and he’s given it to you like the plague. “You’re not hurt.”

A beat. Then, he tilts his head, meeting your eyes.

“No,” he admits. “M’not.”

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isaysexualthingsaboutrobinavitch · 9 days ago

Text

As Above, So Below I Chapter 1- I'll Tell You Everything is Copacetic

Synopsis: Two attendings, one new psychologist working both the day and night shifts on a rotation. You could have sworn you heard both of them call “dibs,” and you’re more than willing to entertain the both of them. Pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Fem!Reader and Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader Word count: 2.1K Warnings: Talk of mental illness and other psychological things, violence, dark humor, and some smut along the way :) A/N: I couldn’t decide between Robby and Abbot, so I present you with BOTH. Tag list is open, Part 2 coming soon

As Above, So Below. "Quod est superius est sicut quod inferius, et quod inferius est sicut quod est superius." -- That which is above is like to that which is below, and that which is below is like to that which is above.

It based on the notion of Hermeticism; the idea that God was a magician.

The religious and philosophical idea that the universe is broken into the Macrocosm (the universe), and the microcosm (the individual).

That which is above, corresponds to that which is below in order to accomplish the miracle of one thing. In simplest terms—whatever happens in the spiritual world, also happens in the physical world, and vice versa.

Your spiritual and physical world existed on two equal and opposite sides; day shift and night shift.

Two very different shifts.

Two very different paces, senses of humor, and inside jokes

Two very different attending doctors.

And you were vying for the attention of both of them.

Part 1: I'll Tell You Everything is Copacetic

The promotion from the career you had grown comfortable, came unexpectedly and as the result of a physical altercation with a patient. You, the staff psychologist at a maximum-security prison, had come face-to-face with a makeshift weapon during a routine therapy session. The irony, which had not been lost on you, had been that your patient had been so worried that he’d never get out of prison, he had no insight into the fact that stabbing someone in the back with a sharpened toothbrush, would surely end in those exact consequences. He was one of your favorite patients. It was a real “Et tu, Brute” type of moment, both figuratively and literally.

The thing they don't tell you about being stabbed in prison, is that the threat needs to be cleared before life-saving measures can be started. There you were, on the ground, bleeding from a stab wound that barely missed your spinal cord, waiting for EMS to arrive, while you almost choked to death on the pepper spray canister that had been deployed by security as they watched on in horror. The other thing they don't tell you about being stabbed in prison, is how motherfucking painful it is and how that trauma will likely linger long after the pain.

Leaving that job wasn’t a suggestion as much as it was a directive. You were medically cleared after 12 weeks, but the optics of the entire situation made it difficult for management to move forward without shouldering most of blame. The split was mostly amicable; they wouldn’t have to feel any guilt about a weapon making its way all the way to your therapy session, and you’d never have to wear khaki cargo pants and a "stab vest" again that clearly was just for show.

You applied for the job of Chief Psychologist at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center as soon as it popped up on your archaic Linkedin profile, and got the job the following week. The long-waited return to your hometown and all of the skeleton's in your childhood home's closet. The emergency room didn’t exactly sound like a soothing retreat for the recently stabbed, but it did promise the perfect distraction – 12-hour shifts, vacillating between days and nights, and no time to think about all of the things that had happened up to this. And, as a cherry on top, you’d be the first in this position, a long-awaited overhaul of PTMC only relying on psychiatry and social work for their mental health needs. To have someone on-site, in the emergency room, was PTMC's big wet dream; and you were happy to give them that happy ending.

---

Your shift starts at 7am and you take the long way to work to clear your head. The city you once called home has hardly changed, but the feeling of being back was heavier than you expected.

Your phone dings, a familiar face and name.

Dana: Hey kid, come find me at the nurse's station when you get here. you're gonna fit right in

Your physical therapist told you to take it slow, and walking was about as much as you could handle still 12 weeks post-injury. The pain shot down your back from your shoulder blade to your hip, a lingering limp still evident. The scar was "gnarly" according to your best friend, but you had been too afraid to look. PTMC sat at the top of the delightfully named "cardiac hill" -- One of the steepest hills in the city, home to several of the best hospitals in Pittsburgh and the University of Pittsburgh campus. According to local legend, more heart attacks happened here than any other place in Pittsburgh.

Your injury forced you to relocate with the distance in mind, but you weren't exactly thrilled to be sharing the sidewalk with undergraduate college students and their roller backpacks who barely look up from their phone. You were, however, thrilled to see one of the seven wonders of the world on your way to work-- Dunkin'.

America does run on Dunkin', and you know why? Because it's trash, and so is society. You don't walk into a calm environment of espresso machine and jazz music, surrounded by independent filmmakers discussing their film adaptations of David Foster Wallace like you would at a hipster coffee shop. Dunkin' welcomes you with bloodied open arms into a warzone. An absolutely unhinged battlefield, people screaming, the excitement of giving your order to someone who absolutely could not give a fuck. You let Dunkin' tell you what you need, and not for lack of trying. You give the order but they rarely listen. Today you walk out with a large iced mocha, with whipped cream, after ordering a large vanilla latte with oat milk. The universe just feels right, a little off its axis and sickenly sweet.

You walk through the double doors to the ER sliding in between two gurneys on their way to the ambulance bay and make your way to the nurses station, Dana waiting with open arms

"It has been far too long, my girl," Dana hugs you tightly, "and boy am I glad you are okay, and you are here. Your mom told me what happened, how you holding up"

"Almost recovered. You should see the other guy" you reply, "and you look great."

"Thanks kid," Dana smiles, her eyes shift to someone behind you "Oh captain, my captain."

"A patient?" You hear his voice before you see him, and when you turn around, it's hard to look away. He's all tall, dark, and handsome, a real father-figure vibe towering over you. Cargo pants, black scrub top, a fancy watch, a faded hoodie. This must be the place, and this guy definitely fucks. He must have clocked you the moment you walked in--looking like a lost puppy with a limp and a cup full of coffee. Of course he thinks you're a patient.

"My daughter's best friend, and your new psychologist," She corrects him, "This is Dr. Robby."

"Sorry, I saw you come in and were limping, just wanted to make sure you were okay," He nods, confirming that he did, in fact, notice you as soon as you walked in

"The limp is more of a talking point than a medical emergency, but I wouldn't say no to someone taking a look at it. I almost got laid out by an undergrad with a roller backpack on my way here." You smile, outstretching a hand, "I'm Y/N Wheeler, the new head of the psych department."

"Michael Robinavitch, but everyone calls me Robby," He shakes your hand, noticing the tattoo stretching from your wrist to your elbow and under the sleeve of your shirt. He instinctively tilts your arm to examine the ink, a thumb rubbing over your wrist softly, without even noticing he's doing it. Ooooph. You clear your throat and his eyes meet yours, face turning a deep shade of red.

"Don't worry, it definitely goes all the way to my shoulder. If you're good, I'll show it to you." You quip, maintaining eye contact until he looks away, "and yes, the nose ring is real too."

“Wheeler! I see you've met Robby" John Shen takes a step next to Robby, a matching Dunkin' cup in hand. He raises his glass to yours, knocking the two together, "Cheers, bitch. Never thought I'd see the day you moved back to Pittsburgh. Welcome to the thunderdome.”

Shen looks at Robby, “She's straight from the feds. You didn't see her on the news--”

You interrupt before he can divulge any gruesome details of the trauma to your new colleague, “He means that I was a psychologist at the federal detention center not that I was in prison. Although always keep your cards close to your chest."

"Sorry, You two know each other as well?" He raises his eyebrows as the dynamic playing out in front of him, "Jesus Pittsburgh really is small world."

"We met in grad school. Gave him therapy the whole way through residency” You reply, "taught him everything he knows about screaming internally while keeping a straight face."

"Ah" Robby nods, "That really does explain his shockingly chill demeanor."

“Oh great, you're all here." Gloria interrupts the conversation, coming up behind you in a pastel purple pantsuit. Over teams she seemed less, up tight. In person, she's all business in the front and even more business the back, "Our newest chief psychologist. We now have our own consult, and she's overseeing the entire department."

"Figured I could help the ol’ pill pushers up in psychiatry. And plus, these patients seem like a breeze compared to prison." You make a joke, trying to assess the humor of the group. Shen gets it, and laughs. Robby gets it, wants to laugh, but stuffs his hand in his pockets. Gloria doesn't get it at all.

"She’ll be spending her time between day and night shifts, the full 12 hours, so use her as an appropriate resource," she continues.

"You save 'em and I’ll keep them from jumping off the roof" You say quietly, nudging Robby with your elbow, a smile spreading across his face as Gloria turns around and heads off to whatever upper-management office she spawned from.

"So where did you go to school?" Robby asks, hoping your answer reveals something about your age.

"I went to Pitt for undergrad and then Drexel for graduate school. Did my internship, post-doc, and forensic fellowship with the feds" You nod, "we had an infirmary unit, which closely resembled a hospital, but more security forward than anything. I'm board certified in forensics, but my internship focused mostly on neuropsychology."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but fuck am I glad they hired someone like you." He responds, rubbing a hand over his neck,"Hell, some of us could probably use an evaluation."

"I'm excited to be here, but I'm definitely going to have to learn the sense of humors around here. I'm pretty fucked up from the prison, i don't have a great filter, but i work hard and I care about my patients."

He stops walking and turns to face you, "you'll fit in great. So why did you leave the feds?"

"Honestly, I was tired of getting pissed on." The way you say it, so matter-of-factly, with the ability to maintain a serious expression causes Robby to snort. It catches him off guard, a genuine laugh erupting from his throat. He looks at you like he's not quite sure what to make of you yet, but his gaze lingers, a smirk on his face.

"Speaking of getting pissed on" another attending comes up behind you, shorter than Robby, but equally as handsome in a way that screams he's got his own trauma, “Kraken is in two if you’re into that sort of thing."

"Dr. Abbot" Dr. Robby shoots him a look like he's trying to corral his kid. These two know each other. Maybe not biblically, but you know they've definitely cried in front of each other. Something you wouldn't be opposed to seeing.

"Who is the kraken? And do I look like I’m into that sort of thing?" He wasn't expecting you to shoot the same level of bullshit back to him,even as a shit-eating grin appears on his face.

"Never met a nose ring that wasn’t," He shrugs

"A little early for kink shaming, Jack, "Shen interjects, unable to help himself.

"Can't wait to see what my tattoos suggest" you raise an eyebrow

"Sorry, Do you two know each other too?" You can't tell if Robby's annoyed with him or the conversation, but Abbot ignores him.

"Military?"

"Feds."

He nods his head in approval, narrowing his eyes like he's trying to figure out if you're worth his time, "You on nights?"

"Next week. Running a support group on how to dive off the roof and land on your feet at 1am." You don't miss a beat.

"Right up my alley" Abbot responds, "you're going to be trouble."

You catch the look between Robby and Abbot, something unspoken. For a second, you could have sworn they were calling dibs.

#the pitt #the pitt hbo #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt fanfic #the pitt x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby x reader #jack abbot x reader #dr abbot x reader

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wlwloverwrites · 12 days ago

Text

cap’s reward

pairing: dr. michael ‘robby’ robinavitch x fem!reader

warnings: referring to robby as captain, praise kink, handjob, premature ejaculation, smut 18+

note: pretend this isn’t the worst shift he’s had - just a long one.

no pressure tags: @eugenedream @ozarkthedog @abbotjack @lostfleurs

“long day?”

“the longest,” he sighs, scratching the back of his neck.

you walk up to him, hands sliding beneath his scrubs, helping him pull them off his head. you’re immediately met with soft hair on his chest and a gold chain resting between his pecs.

“how bout you take a nice shower,” you hum, “i’ll have dinner ready in a second.”

instead of answering, a soft kiss is pressed on your forehead before he lazily walks to your shared bathroom.

“no falling asleep in the shower!”

“no promises.”

you roll your eyes playfully - still you opt out on playing music, just in case he does decide to close his eyes and hit the bathroom floor. it’s happened before.

keeping an ear out for anything out of the ordinary, you focus on prepping dinner for your long-term boyfriend.

it isn’t long until your ears pick up on the water shutting off, so you begin to plate his food.

by the time hes out with dripping hair, you’re setting his plate down in front of him. refusing to start without you, he waits until you across from him - still you’re close enough for him to reach.

he mumbles a soft ‘thank you’ and you watch as he scoops a mouthful of food and moans.

“is this your first meal?”

you dread his answer.

“something like that.”

“honey, you need to make time to eat. don’t care what it is, eat anything.”

you make sure to keep your tone light, not wanting to start a fight.

“why? are you offering?”

the tired, yet hungry look in his eyes has you blushing and pushing the foot that playfully trails up your bare calf.

“i forget how horny you get after your shifts.”

this time the doctor laughs around his fork but continues to eat, however, its hard to ignore the blood rushing to his cock. heavy eyelids fight to stay open as he stares at your mouth, holding in a groan when your tongue peeks out to lick the cream off your bottom lip.

distracted by your mouth, he doesn’t notice the way you drink him in. his sharp nose that sits above his salt and pepper beard, damp hair, plaid pajamas pants sitting low on his hips giving you a view of his soft tummy. and of course your eyes catch his chubbing cock that sits on his thigh.

“what are you thinking about?”

like a deer caught in headlights, your eyes jump to his knowing ones. there’s a smirk on his face, his eyebrows raise causing wrinkles to form on his forehead.

you hum in response, “just the reward you’re getting later.”

this time your words have his cheeks heating up, “what reward?”

disregarding the food on your plate you push your chair back and make your way to your partner. you extend your hand towards, smiling at his empty plate then him, “i’ll show you in the bedroom, come on cap.”

hand in hand, he follows you into your shared bedroom, playfully squeeze your ass when as you walk through the doorway.

it isn’t long until you’re climbing over his body, straddling his hips, and sitting prettily on his lap. his strong hands grip your waist before falling to your ass - your skimpy shorts do little to protect you from his wandering hands.

sounds of wet kisses fill the softly-lit bedroom. sighing into his mouth, you experimentally roll your hips to which you’re immediately blessed with a deep groan.

“still want that reward?”

his eyes are still closed, lips shine with a mixture of spit, but neither of you seem to mind. “y-yeah, yes please.”

awkwardly crawling down his lap, you settle yourself between his thigh, ass sitting on your heels. quickly you slip out of the oversized band t-shirt and present your naked breasts to the excited man admiring you.

“so pretty.”

you smile at his compliment, the smile travels down to his aching cock. tugging his pj pants just enough to have his cock out, you’re quick to grab a hold of his sex - curly hairs at the base of his cock tickle your hand.

“you do so much during the day, it’s only fair i get to help you relax. want to make sure you’re get a good night’s sleep.”

the tip of his cock shines - like his lips - with precome, pressuring you to have a quick taste.

“always.”

letting your spit pool in your mouth for a few seconds you lick a wet stripe on the palm of your hand. the moan that leaves him when you wrap your hand around his cock sends heat trailing down between your legs.

you slide your wet hand up and down his cock, making sure your grip is loose enough to tease, but tight enough to send him spiraling. you place your non-working hand on his hip to help you balance yourself as you lean down.

before he can beg for more, you press his the tip of his cock against your lips. intentionally you smear his precome on your lips, giggling when he curses under his breath.

“you’re so good to me,” he confesses, sitting up on his elbows so he can see you perfectly.

this time you tighten the grip you have on his leaking cock and let your spit dribble onto his cock. mesmerized, he watches the line of spit that starts on your lips and drips down to his dark curls.

“you deserve it, cap,” your tongue peeks out to lick up his salty taste, never putting him in your mouth, “you work so hard.”

his thighs flex uncontrollably in response to your praise.

“save so many lives.”

he swallows his protests, swallows the urge to mention the lives he didn’t save.

instead he moans your name and leaks into your hand. his orgasm is approaching fast, embarrassingly fast.

you’re hand moves faster, with the help of your spit, your hand strokes his cock with ease. shifting between his legs, you hover so your tits lightly brush against his cock.

“fuck.”

the contact has him twitching in your hold - he always had a thing for your tits. you remember how his eyes drop to your cleavage anytime you wear a v-neck. remember how his thumbs always find a way to rub at your ribs, traveling higher until he is full on groping your breasts and tugging at your sensitive nipples. he thinks he’s sly, but you know him.

“gonna come for me?”

there’s a pretty pout on your face, one that has him tilting his head back - trying his best to hold off his orgasm.

“come on cap, you know you want to.”

this time you carefully aim the tip of his cock to brush over your nipple, once then twice.

the moan that escapes your lips has him groaning with want and before he knows it he’s spilling all over your chest.

“fuck…”

your hand never stops, milking his cock for all he’s worth, you smile brightly at the man who stares down at you like you’re his world.

“doing so good.”

his orgasm seems to last longer than usually, but you don’t mind.

“that’s it, captain, come for me.”

spurts of come land on your breasts as he thrusts his hips upwards to meet your strokes. the heat in your belly only grows when you feel his come drip over your left nipple, never minding the come that suddenly lands on your chin.

twitching from sensitivity, the satisfied man relaxes under your halting touch.

“made a mess.”

his words catch you off guard, but you only shrug, “it’s okay, cap. it happens.”

he shakes his head at you, urging you to climb on his lap once more. mindful of his sensitive cock, you sit on his lap and place your hands beside his head.

his eyes fall to your tits that you’ve unintentionally shoved in his face, his mouth already watering at the sight.

your nipples are hard, your left one begs for his mouth, begs to be licked clean.

“it’s only fair i clean it up, right?”

first time writing for dr. robby!! lmk what you think!

#michael robinavitch #michael ‘robby’ robinavitch #dr. robby #the pitt #the pitt smut #michael robinavitch smut #michael robinavitch x reader #michael robinavitch x reader smut #dr. robby x reader #dr. robby x reader smut #dr. robby smut #doctor robby #the pitt fanfiction #dr robby #dr robby smut #dr robby x reader #dr robby x reader smut #loverwrites

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a-soft-aside · 14 days ago

Text

𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡

Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x reader

A/N: You land yourself in the ER and Robby is the first face you see. idk just me and my imagination running wild. Not angst, not fluff, but a secret third thing. Word count 1.3k. Apologies for any medical inaccuracies!

You hear him before you see him. Which is a miracle, because you can barely make out the sounds around you at first. What begins as muffled starts to sharpen in clarity. The various beeps, and the rush of voices all in conversation with each other. Like a Greek Chorus, they take turns speaking around you in a steady, instinctual rhythm.

There’s one voice in particular that stands out. It’s the type of deep that rumbles like rolling thunder before a summer storm, the kind you’d wait for on the porch while the clouds swirled grey. There’s just enough gravel in his speech that you feel like it’s reverberating through you, both grounding and unnerving you at the same time. You find it near heavenly, and as your eyes flutter, you realize the lights behind your eyelids are glaringly bright.

The man above you who has been examining whatever injuries you seemed to have gotten before you blacked out now comes into focus. His intense concentration as he looks for lacerations makes him unaware that you’ve woken up at first.

Meaning for just this second, you’re able to stare at him all you want. You look at the salt and pepper in his beard, the rich mahogany of his eyes, and every line etched on his face. You feel a rush you’ve never quite felt before looking at a man like this, and you feel the insane need to commit this face to memory.

Finally, his eyes meet yours and they widen slightly in surprise. “Patient is conscious,” he states to the rest of the doctors around you, his voice close enough to your ear that you revel in it again, squirming. In an instant the propofol kicks in, letting you fall back into a deep sleep.

______________________________

When you wake once again, you start to piece together what happened to you. The last thing you remember is traffic lights and a screech of tires. You felt like you had been jolted out of your body, a pickup truck and its distracted driver colliding into you. The hospital staff fill you in on the rest after you were rushed into the ER. Three closed fractured ribs and a moderate concussion, with at least six weeks of recovery. This event was, quite frankly, the last thing you needed in your life.

You pick at your cuticles anxiously while sitting upright in bed. You were told the attending doctor would be meeting with you shortly, and you were antsy to leave this foreign environment, sterile and cold, and be back in your own apartment. You never did like hospitals.

The curtain rustles in front of you and is suddenly pulled back, revealing the same man you might have mistaken for an angel earlier, when you were still unsure if you lived through the accident at all. And a deeply handsome one at that. You freeze, feeling your breath catch in your throat. Fuck. His broad stature strides across the room toward you as he gives you a smile. You feel warmth pool at the bottom of your stomach, the way his smile reaches his kind eyes. He stops at the side of your bed, towering beside you. He must be at least 6 feet, you muse to yourself, tearing your eyes away from his form, trying not to stare.

The doctor introduces himself as Dr. Robinavitch, Dr. Robby for short. He takes a pair of black framed glasses out of his shirt pocket and reads off the tablet in his hands. “You were banged up pretty badly when you came in yesterday—we’re glad you’re with us.” He lifts his eyes from the tablet screen and locks them onto yours. “How are you feeling?” he asks softly.

The tone feels like being jolted out your body again. It’s laced with a gentle compassion that feels genuine, makes you ache in the same way being homesick does. You can’t remember the last time someone asked you how you were in this way, naked and open and actually wanting to know, much less from a stranger. Does he always talk to everyone like this? And if so, do they feel like they're melting when they hear it, like you are now?

You open your mouth to answer, feel how dry it is, and close it. You tell yourself to get a grip; he’s a doctor for god’s sake, of course he needs to know how every patient is feeling. Well you’ve been to plenty of doctors before, and they certainly never made you feel the way you do right now. You push the thought away. He’s just good at his job, you reason to yourself.

“Not bad,” you say with an exhale. “You know, given the circumstances.” You lift your arms up gingerly, gesturing to the multiple IVs you’re connected to, and your scratchy hospital gown.

He gives you an understanding look, nodding. “Sorry again for your clothes, we did what we needed to do to help you as quickly as possible.” You faintly recall the outfit you had been wearing during the accident on your way to work; a teal silk blouse, and one of your fancier (i.e. expensive) black lace bras. You were informed once you woke up by a nurse that they had to cut both open immediately to inspect your injuries. It’s only dawning on you now that that meant you had been tits out and completely topless the very first time this man had laid eyes on you. You feel your face start to bloom with heat, mortified.

Before you can answer, he steps closer to you. “I’m going to check your vitals now if that’s okay.” He firmly places his index and middle fingers in the hollow of your neck, his focus intense and brows furrowed.

His face is much too close to yours now. Your eyes drift lower to the weathered skin on his throat. He’s wearing a gold chain underneath his black scrub shirt, so delicate in its material that the metal yields to every small muscle in his neck, dipping into valleys and curvatures you didn’t even know existed. You smell the woods and the slightest hint of bourbon in his beard oil.

A loud incessant beeping disrupts your thoughts and you jump. Dr. Robby peers up through his glasses at the cardiac monitor that’s hooked up to you and steps back almost immediately. “Whoa, whoa, everything ok?”

You find yourself blushing even harder, wishing the ground would swallow you whole.

“Yes, no, I’m fine, really–” you stutter, trying to pull it together.

“Are you uncomfortable with me touching you? If that’s the case that’s not an issue, I can bring in one of our female doctors who can–”

“No! Really, it’s no big deal,” you try to sound as nonchalant as possible, keeping your voice level.

He glances up at the monitor again, where mere seconds ago it showed the rapid spike in your heart rate. He looks at you, apprehensive, his brows knitted in worry. “Are you…sure? You’ve just been through an intense amount of trauma, please don’t think you need to do anything you’re not–”

You grit your teeth, knowing no amount of lying is going to reassure him like the truth would. “Jesus!” You groan, covering your face with your hands and rubbing your eyes. “You’re hot, okay? That’s why my heart sped up like that. You’re extremely attractive and you were touching my neck, so excuse me for having a normal, primal, response,” you huff out.

Silence. He blinks, taken aback. You take slight comfort in watching his ears turn red; at least you’re not the only one blushing. He raises a hand and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, and you can’t confirm or deny that just a hint of a smile is playing at his lips. It calms you down in a way it shouldn’t.

“So…” you interject, hoping to diffuse the tension steeping in the room. “Are you going to attend to me or not?”

#the pitt #michael robinavitch #michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby #dr robby x reader #the pitt fanfiction #dr michael robinavitch

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myth1cs · 1 month ago

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The Difference Between Snickerdoodles and Sugar Cookies (Minatozaki Sana x M!Reader)

April fools Sana smut;

Word Count: 3,174

"Jinx, I'm going out and getting myself some sugar cookies. Want to come with me?"

"I'd rather stay here and work on my creation I'm making Y/N but thanks for the offer."

"What are you making this time?"

"Just making an explosive, I don't agree with the governments recent decisions so I'm thinking I'll give them a piece of my mind."

"Jinx... I really can't tell when you're joking anymore."

"Who said I was ever joking?"

...

"Just stay out of trouble okay?"

"Sure won't toots!"

You sighed but went to leave the house anyways. As you opened the door to leave you saw someone on the other side. It was Lux.

"Jinx, Lux is here for you!" you yelled. Though Lux didn't tell you what she was here for you already knew she was here to see Jinx.

The next thing you heard was Jinx running downstairs. She pushed you out of the doorway and wrapped her arms around Lux. Jinx nuzzled her face on Lux's neck.

"Lux I've missed you!"

"I've missed you to Jinx."

The two of them peppered kisses on the others faces. You watched unsure of whether you should be watching them or if you should be leaving them to do their own thing.

"Are you just going to watch us like a pervert or are you going to leave us?" Jinx asked with clear irritation in her voice.

"Okay okay I'm leaving now... you don't have to get all snippy about it." You mumbled the last bit out. Luckily for you Jinx was too pre-occupied by Lux to hear you.

You walked down the street and eventually reached the pastry shop after some time. When you walked in your nostrils were filled with the smell of the sweets in there. It smelled rather pleasant.

"Hey, I'm Sana, welcome, tell me if you need help finding anything!"

"Thank you, Sana." you replied.

As you looked to the counter you saw your sugar cookies you had come to get. But right next to them you saw something labeled as "Snickerdoodles".

"What's the difference between snickerdoodles and sugar cookies?" you questioned.

"The difference is their flavor and texture, snickerdoodles are rolled in cinnamon sugar and have a softer texture."

It wasn't Sana who answered you. It was someone else, a voice you recognized.

"Sh- Shoko, is that you?"

"Y/N! I was wondering when we'd meet again."

"You know this guy Shoko?"

"Yeah, we went to the same university."

"It's been so long Shoko, what are you doing here? I thought you were going to be a doctor."

"I'm still looking for a hospital to take me Y/N. So I'm working here until I find one."

"Didn't you cheat on your finals? I wouldn't hire you eith-"

Before you could finish your sentence Shoko smacked your cheek.

"Shut it Y/N I don't remember asking for your opinion on my situation!"

Sana was shocked at the sudden violence and quickly tried to defuse the situation.

"Guys guys settle down."

"Y/N started it by bringing up."

"I don't care who started it just stop fighting!"

"Alright fine."

Sana breathed out a sigh of relief. "Now back to what we were talking about. Y/N have you decided what you want to get?"

"Oh right, uhm how about I get a bit of both?" Truth be told you almost forgot why you even came here in the first place.

As Sana was getting your sweets your eyes lingered on her. Everything about her just looked so gorgeous. Shoko saw the way you looked at Sana she recognized that look. She put her hands on Sana's shoulders.

"I've been thinking, how about the three of us hangout at your house after our shift ends?"

"You want me to join you guys?"

"Of course. I need to catch up with Y/N and it'd be a little rude to not include you Sana. So what do you say?"

"I'm fine with it, as long as Y/N is also okay with it."

The two of them looked at you and waited for your response.

"I'm okay with it."

Once their shifts ended they got changed into their casual clothes. The three of you went to Sana's house which wasn't a far walk from the pastry shop. Along the way Shoko had fun telling Sana about her and your college days.

"Ah once Y/N accidentally spilled a hot beverage on himself which made him have a burn mark for about a week."

"Is that so?" Sana giggled hearing about your clumsiness.

"Yeah, oh I got to tell you about the time I found out about his-"

"Don't bring it up Shoko!"

"What? I thought it was rather funny."

Your face started burning red.

"Still, it's something rather... private."

Shoko could see the look in your eyes. She could tell you were being serious about this and weren't just joking around.

"Alright fine I'll drop it. But just so you know I'm still willing to remove it for you."

"As if I'd trust someone who cheated on their finals."

"Suit yourself Y/N."

Sana was a bit curious what the two of you were referring to but she didn't ask questions.

After some more time had passed the three of you arrived at Sana's house. She unlocked the front door and all of you went inside.

"This house is rather big. Do you live here all alone?"

"Yup, paid for it all on my own too."

"I'm impressed." You admitted.

"What about you Y/N, do you live with someone or do you live alone?"

"I live with someone, we're still trying to pay off the cost as a matter of fact."

"Are they nice?"

"Well... she can come off as rather rude and rash. She usually puts her own interests over others, but even so I can tell her heart is in the right place. She just has issues showing her affection towards others."

"That's good to hear... I think, I'm guessing you two are good friends."

"Friends may be a bit of a stretch."

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"I'm going out for a smoke break. You kids have fun though."

"I thought she said she quit smoking." Sana said when Shoko left.

"She quit smoking? Since when?"

"She told me she quit smoking. Was she an active smoker when you two were friends?"

"Yeah, she always smoked though she did tell me that she only did it to get rid of the stress that college gave her. Kinda ironic seeing how she was studying to become a doctor."

"Speaking of, how did you two fall apart anyways if I may ask?"

"We didn't really fall apart. Just kinda stopped talking to each other as we moved on with life."

"Is that so? At least the two of you are still friends."

"I guess we are."

Your arm was starting to get tired of holding the box of sugar cookies and snickerdoodles. "Where's your kitchen?"

"I'll lead you to it."

As Sana led you to the kitchen you noticed how her pants hugged her legs and ass. They really highlighted Sana's curves making you think about how it would feel to be able to feel them. Just the thought of all of this was making your cock slightly hard.

This wasn't the time to be thinking these thoughts and you knew as much. You did your best to push away those thoughts but they were already there lingering on the back of your mind.

Luckily for you the two of you finally reached the kitchen and you sat the box on the table. You opened the box and took a sugar cookie. Finally your sweet tooth was dealt with as you bit into the sugar cookie. It was a bit cold now, but it was still soft.

"Looks good do you mind if I also grab a piece?"

"Go ahead."

Sana reached into the box and pulled out a sugar cookie for herself. When she bit into it and swallowed the cookie her face lit up. To be honest you found it rather cute. How could she be so cute without even trying? All she was doing was eating a cookie.

Now you decided to eat one of the snickerdoodles. As you bit into it and tasted it you thought they tasted rather nice. Though whether or not you liked them more than sugar cookies was up for debate.

Sana followed and ate one of the snickerdoodles herself. The way she ate it looked like a squirrel stuffing its face with an acorn. It made you fall in love with her even more.

"You got a few crumbs on your face."

"No I don't."

"It's on the left side of your lips."

Sana reached where you told her but missed the spot. "Nothing's there."

You reached to wipe off the crumbs and accidentally brushed your finger on her lips making her jolt backwards.

"I'm sorry."

Sana covered her face but you could see that her cheeks turned slightly red. Suddenly the two of you heard the front door open. Shoko walked into the kitchen and the both of you saw her put a few mints in her mouth.

"Sorry, I got caught up on something."

"It's fine Shoko."

"Man I'm starving do you have any food here?"

"We have the sweets Y/N bought."

"I want actual food though."

"We can all cook something."

"That sounds like a lovely idea."

"Wait I don't think you want my help in cooking."

"Ah I almost forgot. Y/N almost burned down the dorm when he tried to cook something for my birthday."

"Is that so?"

You looked away from embarrassment. "Maybe."

Sana grabbed your hand and held it to her heart. The action made you feel butterflies in your stomach.

"That's okay just because you failed once doesn't mean it'll happen again. Even if it does there's always another chance. Besides you're not alone this time are you?"

A rather simple act of reassurance but this one felt different. You could tell she meant the words she was saying. She wasn't saying them for the sake of saying them.

"No I'm not."

Sana flashed you a warm smile before she let go of your hand. You missed her warmth immediately. Regardless the three of you started to work on cooking. Sana grabbed your arms and guided their motion showing you how it should be done. It felt nice having her touch you, it was as if she was caressing your soul.

Once everything was done you all sat down on the table and ate the food. While you were eating you could have sworn Sana was scooting her chair closer to you. But no it must have just been your imagination. You let the thought go and focused on finishing your meal.

"It's time for me to go."

"So soon Shoko? We haven't even hung out for very long."

"Jobs don't hunt for me."

"I see, well take care."

"You too."

Shoko left the both of you.

"I feel like she only said that because she didn't want to help with the clean up." You told Sana.

"No way!"

"We still have to clean up regardless."

Sana sighed. Even though the mess wasn't very big to begin with the thought of having to clean up the mess was a bit daunting to Sana.

You put your hand on her shoulder.

"At least you're not doing it alone."

Sana smiled at how you repeated the words of affirmation she told you earlier. "Of course."

Cleaning up wasn't a big hassle. You washed the plates while Sana cleaned the table . The cleaning was finished relatively quickly.

After finishing the both of you sat down on the couch in the living room. "You're really good at cleaning Y/N. Do you clean often or are you a clean freak?"

"Well actually my roommate Jinx is a rather messy person. I clean up after her messes often that I just got efficient at cleaning."

"Oh? Seems like she's causing you some issues."

"I got used to it."

"You're free to stay here for a while longer if you want to."

"Well I guess it wouldn't hurt to keep you company."

Sana smiled, her hand rested on your thigh. She picked up the remote to put something on. You did your best to keep your emotions in check.

She put on a show called... well you didn't really know. In fact you weren't paying attention to what was even happening in the show at all as you felt Sana's hand was rubbing your thigh gently.

Your cock was getting a bit hard but not just that. Something else was happening making your underwear-

"Can you point me to the bathroom?"

"It's just down the hall second door to the left."

You got up and quickly walked to the bathroom. Once you got in you tried to cleanse your mind but it was already too late. You were already getting horny and you had to relieve yourself.

Taking off your pants and underwear your cock sprung up, you also got a view of your-

"Y/N hurry up something interesting is happening!"

"J- just a moment." your voice was shaky as you started to rub your cock.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm good~." Again your voice gave you away. It frustrated you that you didn't feel close to ejaculating even after constant stimulation. It was a race against the clock and it seemed like you were losing.

You heard footsteps outside the bathroom door and froze. "Y/N what's going on in there? It sounds like you're hurting."

"No no I'm fi-"

Before you could finish your sentence the door to the bathroom swung open. You cursed under your breath when you realized you forgot to lock it.

There was no point hiding it. She already saw 'it'.

"Y/N is this what you and Shoko were talking about?"

You shook your head.

Without warning Sana walked over to you, her hands brushing over the lips of your pussy.

You were born with both a cock and a pussy. The doctors offered to remove whichever one of the parts you wanted but you didn't want to remove either of them. Luckily your parents were supportive of your decision. On a drunk night you ended up admitting to Shoko about your two private parts.

"Are you... ashamed of this?"

"No... I just... don't want people to find out. I don't want people to view me as some kind of freak or something."

"Y/N you're perfect. Let me prove it to you."

Sana shoved three of her fingers into your pussy, curling them. It made you moan in pleasure. This was the first time anyone has ever done this with you. She got on her knees and wrapped her lips around the tip of your cock and licked it.

Your hands grasped the back of her head as you struggled to maintain your balance. Her hair was getting messy.

"Ease up on the hair will ya?"

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine Y/N it's just hair."

Sana's continuous licking of the head of your cock along with her fingering your pussy felt better than anytime you had ever touched yourself. Sana started to swallow more of your length slowly you saw your cock disappear into her warm wet mouth. Her tongue gliding along your length making your whole cock wet with her saliva.

You pulled her away and she gasped for air. "Y/N I was taking it fine."

"That's not it. This is more than just about me."

Kneeling down at her level you put your hand on Sana's shirt and took it off of her. Her breasts slightly bounced when you did. You saw that she was wearing a black bra. Sana reached behind her back and unclasped her bra making it fall. Getting a full view of her fantastic breasts made your cock more hard than it already was. You latched your lips on her nipple as you gently sucked on it while your other hand squished her other breast.

Sana put her back to the floor letting you be on top of her. Both of your bodies were pressed together as you pleasured Sana and yourself with her breasts. She put her hands on your head and ruffled your hair.

"You're cute." she said as she reached down for your cock and gently scratched the head. "I can tell you want somewhere warm to put this."

You got off of her and slid her pants down eagerly. "Pink panties?"

"Pink is my favorite color."

Without any more hesitation you slid your cock into her tight pussy. It clenched around you so tightly you felt like the blood flow to your cock stopped.

"So damn tight."

It was hard for you to shove in but that made it only more rewarding when you were finally able to shove it all inside of her.

"This is perfect Y/N."

You thrust your cock in and out of her. Your finger drew circles on her clit making Sana a moaning mess. But she wasn't about to let you have complete control over her. She managed to shove a few of her fingers into your pussy making your eyes roll back.

"Not fair!"

The double stimulation you felt from both your cock and pussy was making you feel overstimulated. Yet it also felt perfect.

"Ah~ Ah~ Ah~"

Your voice filled the bathroom as you felt yourself about to orgasm. Before you could Sana pushed you off of her. "What?"

"Y/N trust me."

You nodded.

Sana kissed your lips and pushed you onto the floor. Now she was on top of you. She left a trail of kisses on you slowly making her way down your body until she reached your pussy.

"Yummy."

She inserted her tongue inside of your pussy and licked like she was dehydrated. She lapped every bit of fluid that dripped out of you and you felt yourself about to cum again.

"Love you so much Y/N, you're perfect."

Once those words left her mouth you came all over Sana's face. She licked whatever cum she could.

"Are you okay?"

"Mhm... just a bit dizzy."

Sana dressed you up before she dressed herself. When the both of you were clothed she wrapped your arm around her and helped you walk back to the living room. She sat you down on the couch.

"Need water?"

"That'd be nice."

Sana left you alone for a bit. You thought about the events that transpired today and you felt glad that you found someone like Sana.

She came back holding a glass of water. You reached out to grab it but she stopped you.

"No I'll give it to you. Now open your mouth."

You followed her command and she poured the water into your mouth. "Thank you."

Sana opened her other hand that you hadn't noticed she had closed.

"Want a snickerdoodle?"

-------- Ah yes my Kpop x League of Legends x Jujutsu Kaisen smut crossover technique. I haven't used this since the Heian Era.

Starring: You Sana (TWICE) Jinx, Lux (League of Legends) Shoko (Jujutsu Kaisen)

April fools! :p

#the crossover no one asked for #twice #sana #sana smut #smut #sana x reader #twice smut #kpop smut #twice ff #female idol smut #girl group smut #no one asked for this #male reader smut #twice x male reader #minatozaki sana

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eccentricwritingbaby · 10 months ago

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baby finn series, preparations

lando norris x mom!wife!reader

series masterlist

summary - lando and y/n begin their quest to prepare for their baby on the way, while their first baby is just happy to be included.

masterlist

“baby? do you have everything?” you called out to your three year old, attempting to teach him some independence with his attire, yet regretting it instantly. finn walked into your view wearing a bright red ferrari t shirt, purple shorts, mismatched socks, and a papaya mclaren baseball cap to top off the look.

“well don’t you look dashing?” your husband laughs out from behind you towards his son.

“tank you, dada!” finn happily screeches back, “i pick it by myself!”

“you did?!” lando fakes his surprise to the young boy, holding his chest and raising his eyebrows for the emphasis, “you’re such a big boy, finn!”

“i am! i big like you dada!” finn jumps at the praise and begins to clap, excited by the attention and thrill of being compared to his father. you couldn’t help but join in on the laughs and allow finn to go out as he was dressed, even though you really wanted him to be a bit more coordinated - you couldn’t be bothered with the day ahead of you.

you and lando were preparing the nursery today, and the first stop was shopping. although you had the large items such as the crib and changing station from finn, you wanted this baby to also have newer items and ones that were their own. especially since after finn grew out of most of his things, lando had just donated them in order to clear up space in the home.

there was also another reason - the sex of the baby. you and lando had found out yesterday, and wanted a fresh nursery.

yesterday - doctor’s office

you were lying back in the chair, gown on and ready for your ultrasound. lando’s hand had not left yours since getting out of the car on the way in. his grip was tight, as was your own. you were both riddled with nerves to find out the gender today.

“i’m so excited,” you squeak out in a whisper to your husband, giggles filling your voice due to the butterflies filling your stomach.

“me too, y/n. i hope it’s a girl,” he breathes out, joining in your quiet laughter, attempting to tame the nerves.

“i think it will be, i had a dream two nights ago with a pink nursery in it,” you relay back to him, lando just stares back at you with a wide smile, a hand coming up slowly to stroke your stomach.

and it was a girl. a strong, healthy girl the doctor said would be the size of a bell pepper at five months along. you and lando were absolutely giddy for the shopping trip and so was finn. to welcome little baby girl norris into this world in a few months was all the buzz in the home. finn was absolutely raving about having a little sister as you and your husband were so happy he was taking it well.

“alright norris family, time to go!” lando calls out from the front door, “let’s go!”

“i coming! i coming!” finn yells out, wobbling out of his room and towards lando’s legs. he stops an inch before the crash into them, but not without losing his balance and tumbling into your husband’s sturdy hold. not trusted by his own two feet anymore, he’s now perched on lando’s hip as you walk towards the door.

“i think i’ve got everything,” you sigh out, looking into your bag one last time.

“snacks?” lando asks, to begin your routine of a verbal checklist ever since your baby brain had kicked in.

“goldfish and pretzels,” you reply, hearing a quiet ‘yay’ with a clap from your first-born.

“wallet?”

“yes,”

“keys,”

“you have those,”

“right, wipes?”

“yes, i think it’s all here,”

“okay, we can always stop back if we need anything,” lando assures you as he pulls you closer for a quick kiss to the lips, “now let’s go if we want to get back a bit early,”

“right, right,” you move to kiss your son’s head and give him a quick tickle, “we’ve gotta go before dada’s in a mood, right baby?” finn giggles at your antics as lando rolls his eyes with a laugh, pushing his family out of the door.

“momma! this one!” finn yells out into the store, leading you to turn around and see what he was presenting you with.

“oh, honey,” you chuckle in amusement, “lan, look what our lovely son wants to purchase for our daughter,” you grab lando’s attention and he just groans beside you.

“really, finn? ferrari merch for my daughter too?” lando playfully scolds his son as finn just pushes the little red onesie closer to your filled up cart, “nuh uh, back it up mister,” lando grabs the onesie from finn and places it back on the rack, instead trading it for a certain papaya one.

“is that better for you and your ego, lan?” you ask with a laugh, poking his stomach to tease him further.

“i can handle finn being a fan, but this baby? she’s gonna be full on papaya,” he swats your hand away with a chuckle and scoops his son into his arms, “no more ferrari for baby girl, got it?” lando waves a warning finger in front of finn’s face, but his son just gurgles in happiness at his dad’s attention, continuously trying to grab hold of his hand.

“alright norris boys,” you announce to the two, “i think we have enough clothes and toys for baby girl until she’s four so let’s get going,” happy cheers erupt from the duo as you head to pay for your items.

your little growing family arrived home close to dinner time, you carrying two babies and a diaper bag as your husband dragged the multiple large bags of purchased items into your home.

“do you want to just throw those all into the nursery and we can sort it all tomorrow, lan?” you ask in his direction as you gently drop your son to his feet. with finn’s newfound freedom, he immediately runs over to his playmat in the living room, beginning the fairytale escapades of a three year old and a large amount of toy cars.

“yes, love,” lando answers your question and heads towards the nursery, but not without placing a kiss to your awaiting lips.

“i’m gonna get started on dinner,” you call back towards your husband as he starts towards the nursery.

“spaghetti?” your husband suggests with his signature puppy dog eyes.

“‘pageti!” his young twin cries out from the opposite direction, clapping his hands together for strong emphasis on his dinner choice.

“alright, spaghetti it is,” you giggle in amusement, “easier for me anyways,” you whisper the last part to yourself as you head into the kitchen and begin preparations.

shit. you think to yourself as you turn uncomfortably in bed. who forgot to close the curtains last night? as you think, the culprit himself opens them further and you groan at the blinding light cascading throughout your bedroom.

“lannnn,”

“i know, baby,” he laughs at you, proceeding to walk over towards you in bed, “but we have so much to do today in the nursery,”

“love, i know you’re excited to get this done,” as you look at him through squinted eyes, he takes a seat next to your horizontal frame, “but we do have four more months,”

“i know that,” lando begins, reaching his hand towards you to move your bed head out of your face, “but love, i’ve wanted to do all of this since you were seven weeks pregnant,”

“okay, fine,” you groan as he silently cheers, “help me up though,” he laughs, reaching both his hands around your body and lifting with ease. once stood on your own two feet after a few goodmorning kisses from lando, you head to the bathroom in order to wash up.

“our other baby will be up soon, so let’s knock out as much as we can before interruptions, yeah?” lando suggests as you start to brush your teeth. you simply nod in his direction and he happily runs over to give you a kiss on the forehead, “i’ll be in the nursery, come join me once you’re done,” with a light tap on the bum and one more kiss to the top of your head, your giddy husband races out of the room.

“it’s just you and me baby girl,” you caress your bump as you whisper to her, “we live in a house of crazy boys,” you laugh quietly to yourself at the memories, “but we all cannot wait to meet you,”

a/n - pls pls comment some baby girl names you'd enjoy to see! next couple chapters and she's hereee

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niwaart · 2 months ago

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Hiii i really love your writings can you please give us more of the doctor reader pleaaase🙏🙏🙏🙏

Doctor! Male! Reader X Batfam

[Part1 - Part2 - Part3 - Part4 - part5]

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Bruce has a severe headache, and the family dinner turns into a family war. Damian and Tim try to kill each other, Dick passes out on the floor, Jason and Stephanie die laughing while filming Tim and Damian fighting and filming an unconscious Dick, Cass helps Alfred gather edible food before Tim and Damian destroy it while Duke tries to talk them out of the fight, and Y/N tries to salvage the remaining food (cake) and puts it in her bag. How did this all start?

It all started when Y/N arrived at Wayne Manor, before pressing the bell button he made sure he packed everything he would need today in his bag. What did he pack? He packed several things, first the pepper spray, why? Because what if they accused him of stealing? Or decided to lock him up inside the creepy mansion?... Well he knows he's exaggerating and the reason is because of the series he watches but there's no time for regrets. Second he packed papers proving that he's an adult and can live on his own and has a good salary and job, and third he has lollipops, why? Because he's sure his father is evil to the point that he won't serve candy and cakes early... So Y/N is ready, he was going to take the hospital scalpel but Sammy stopped him and beat him up for that idea... But that's okay.

Y/N took a deep breath, pressed the bell button and waited for someone to open the door, as he expected and saw in his TV series the butler opened the door!... He should really expect from watching those TV series... "Welcome Mr. Y/N, please come in, Mr. Bruce is waiting for you." Alfred stepped aside to let Y/N in, Y/N entered with closed eyes... Why is the house glowing from the inside? Did they buy the sun or something?... Y/N made a note to himself to take sunglasses with him next time... He was sure that if he got out of here alive that meant there would be a next time... Y/N followed Alfred into the dining room, as he walked behind the butler Y/N was looking at the paintings, Bruce and his children... Why are they all wearing black in the pictures? Y/N didn't think much about it, all he wanted was cake... The world is hard sometimes.

When they arrived at the dining room, Bruce greeted them in a formal suit and a bright smile with a model's pose... Y/N wanted to leave now. Bruce approached him with the same smile "Hello son, glad you came." Y/N nodded "Yes, hello, Mr. Wayne." Bruce frowned at Y/N's formal response "You can call me dad you know, no one here but family..." Y/N ignored Bruce's words and sat down in one of the chairs before they forced him to sit next to Bruce. Bruce sighed and sat down in his chair at the head of the table "Well, that's okay, maybe later. Now I want you to meet your siblings, not everyone is here yet but they will be soon." Y/N looked around the table, there were only two people who hadn't arrived... "First off, this is my son Damian." Bruce pointed at Damian, Y/N remembered all the pictures taken of Damian and Bruce, Damian didn't smile once... Creepy. "And this is Timothy." Bruce then pointed to Tim who nodded in greeting and said, "You can call me Tim." Y/N nodded and Bruce continued, "And this is my daughter, Cassandra." Cassandra waved and Y/N did the same. "And this is Duke" Bruce pointed to Duke who smiled shyly at Y/N and Y/N smiled back at Duke. Bruce then pointed to Stephanie who introduced herself before Bruce could. "Hi!! Oh my god, nice to finally meet you!! I'm Stephanie, you can call me Steph." Stephanie extended her hand to shake Y/N's who laughed at her enthusiasm and then shook hers in return. Bruce smiled as he watched his son integrate so seamlessly into the family. Timothy's plan to bring Y/N here via cupcakes was genius.

Maybe bringing chili pepper was a bit much, the family seemed pretty normal… except for the kid, he still looked scary to Y/N, if looks could kill, Y/N would be dead. “Well, time to serve dinner.” Alfred said as he brought the plates with Cassandra’s help. “Cake?!” Y/N said excitedly as he looked at the plates Alfred was holding. Alfred laughed and said, “No, dessert is after dinner, Mr. Y/N.” Y/N’s smile faded, he knew they would keep the cakes late… that’s why he brought the lollipops… He pulled one out of his bag and it caught Damian’s attention. “Aren’t you going to eat Alfred’s food?” Those were Damian’s first words to Y/N and he felt the tone was familiar… Y/N didn’t think much of it, the point was to answer the kid before he choked him. “I came for the cake, so I’d rather keep my stomach empty for dessert.” Y/N said as he put the lollipop in his mouth.

Damian raised an eyebrow at Y/N's words and everyone at the table turned their attention to Y/N who felt like he was in exam class. "We know you love cake but we didn't expect it to be this bad." Stephanie said with a playful smile and Cassandra nodded at her words. Y/N said nothing as he looked at his plate, his pasta... well it looked delicious... but he still wanted cake first. So he pushed the plate away from him. "Can't I have cake now?" Y/N looked at Alfred sadly. But Alfred has strict rules, no dessert unless you eat the main course first. Y/N sighed and looked at his father... then a brilliant idea came to him.

“Dad… can you help me with my plate?” Bruce who was about to choke when Y/N called him dad, looked up from his food to Y/N… Y/N was looking at Bruce with big sad eyes. Bruce was confused… he didn’t know what to do, because his children had never looked at Bruce that way before… in fact no one had… he wasn’t trained to handle this “Okay, I’ll eat your plate.” Bruce sighed in defeat and took Y/N’s plate. Stephanie, Duke, and Tim laughed at Y/N and Bruce’s actions. “Oh man, I can’t believe you made B do what you ordered!” Duke said looking at Bruce who now had two plates and Y/N who was smiling proudly at his great accomplishment. Damian was watching Bruce in shock. Had his father just given in to the demands of someone who had come to the mansion for the first time in his life? No way... Then Damian looked up at Y/N... He should be careful of him in the future, he wouldn't let him take the Robin suit.

While everyone was asking Y/N about himself and his job, he heard the door open, Y/N turned to the door to see two people… oh Bruce’s sons. “Sir Jason, Sir Richard, you’re late, please sit down so I can serve you dinner.” Alfred said who immediately went to the kitchen. “Thank you Alfred. Sorry for being late, but Jason is not an easy person to bring here.” Richard said smiling cheerfully as Jason sighed as he sat down lazily in his chair. “I didn’t want to waste Alfred’s food, that’s why I came.” Jason said aggressively, Jason was sitting next to Y/N who was now terrified. Jason was huge… to his right was Damian who was terrifying enough… and now to his left sat a huge man who could crush him in seconds… reminding him of Red Hood whom he had met before…

Richard had been excited all morning to meet his big brother, finally he wasn't the big one anymore, he could be pampered... Richard approached Y/N from behind while Y/N was distracted by Jason and hugged him from behind which startled Y/N who screamed in horror and hit Richard's head hard, Richard fell unconscious from the headbutt and at the same moment Y/N accidentally pushed Damian's arm causing Damian to throw his spoon in Tim's face... Tim got angry and threw his spoon at Damian who decided to wage war on Tim, he was angry enough that day. Jason and Stephanie burst out laughing and took out their phones. Alfred had already set out a few plates of cupcakes. Y/N wasn't focusing on the trouble he caused, he was focusing on the cupcakes... He had to take the cupcakes, he got away from Damian and Tim who decided to wrestle on the table, Y/N moved to the other side of the table, where the cupcakes were. And he started to collect the plates, since no one was sitting now, Stephanie and Jason were filming Tim and Damian, documenting Richard who was lying on the floor unconscious while Duke was trying to separate Damian and Tim from each other, Y/N asked Alfred for cupcake containers for the cupcakes, Alfred didn’t hesitate to get them, Y/N immediately took the containers and started to grab the cupcakes so he could leave quickly, Cassandra was helping Y/N collect the cupcakes and keep the food away from Damian and Tim. Bruce stood up to stop Damian and Tim who were literally about to kill each other and Duke who gave up and left them while Y/N collected all the cupcakes, but he still needed to apologize to Richard, so he took the lollipop out of his bag and put it in Richard’s pocket then ran out of the dining room as fast as he could with a bag full of cupcakes. He did it! He left alive!

Bruce sighed as he looked at Y/N out the window, then turned to Damian and Tim angrily while Alfred was cleaning the table and Cassandra was trying to wake Richard up, Stephanie and Jason were sharing pictures of Barbara who couldn't come and editing the videos to make them funnier. "That ended badly tonight." Bruce said in frustration... "But it's okay, there's definitely next time." Jason laughed at Bruce's words and replied sarcastically, "Oh yeah, next time will be more fun."

Bruce sighed again and sat back in the chair thinking of a new plan to bring his son here, and keep him here forever this time.

@roxy776699 @missmannequin @theultimatezazasniffer @chericia @mybones537 @thegothamsiren

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archangeldyke-all · 1 month ago

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hello sweet girl? how’s your weekend been so far? i hope you’ve been absolutely wonderful this past week! 🩷

i just finished reading your sweet, fluffy sevika fic and i loveeeed it!! Uggh I love you so much and your creative mind!! You’re such a talented angel! Thank you so much for all the sevika content you share with us!

How would you feel about writing something sweet that turns very smutty, hehe? Reader and Sevika are having a sweet romantic moment, maybe Sevika starts to pepper Reader’s face in kisses to make her giggle and then it turns dirty very fast after they realize how turned on they are and how much the love each other??

Bonus Points if it’s CEO Sev!!!

No pressure if you’re not the in mood for this!! Thank you so so much for everything you’ve already created for us! You’re a blessing!! 🥰

i was thinking about this ask all last night it's so cute heheeh

men and minors dni

a few weeks ago, while the two of you were renovating your new home, sevika broke her finger, jamming it between two piles of lumber.

the good news it was on her left hand. the bad news is that to get the swelling down and wrap the finger properly, the doctors had to cut sevika's wedding band off.

she was more upset about the ring than she was her finger, pouting at you while the doctors hooked her up to a steady stream of morphine. "'m so sorry." she whispered. you laughed and cupped her face.

"it's alright baby, we'll just get you a new one."

"but i wan' everyone to know i'm married all the time." she whined.

you giggled and kissed away her tears. "everyone does know that baby. we're really horrible at keeping the pda away from the office."

sevika snorted and puckered her lips, demanding a kiss. you couldn't deny her.

you've been scouring local jewelry shops for a ring suitable for your love ever since then. and now, six weeks later, sevika's officially healed and a package from the jeweler you decided on is sitting on your office desk.

you gasp as you walk into your office. your wife blinks up from her computer.

"whatcha got? another dildo?" she teases. you giggle and reach for your letter opener, breaking the tape seal and tearing open the cardboard.

"something way better than a dildo, baby."

sevika scoffs. "doubt that."

you chuckle and shake your head, quickly checking your planner to make sure she's free from meetings for the rest of the afternoon before pulling the small black velvet box out of the pile of packing peanuts.

sevika's shifted her focus back to her computer, typing away as she answers emails.

for a moment, you just study her. despite the fluorescent lighting of your office and the unflattering blue-grey glow of her computer screen, sevika still manages to look like an angel. you can't believe how lucky you are to have her. the money and status that comes with her job is nice and all, but you'd still be this fiercely in love with the woman in any life.

she must feel your eyes on her, because sevika's typing comes to a halt and she blinks up from her screen to look at you, a smile blooming on her features as she catches your eyes.

"what're you lookin' at?" she asks.

you chuckle and shrug. sevika proposed to you when you got engaged. now it's your turn. "y'know you're the most incredible woman i know?"

sevika raises a suspicious eyebrow at you. "you know other women?"

you laugh and circle around your desks, pulling sevika out from her spot and sitting in her lap. "i know many other women. and none of them have ever come close to making me feel the way you make me feel." you continue. sevika hums.

"are you propositioning me?" she teases again. you laugh.

"not yet. but soon."

sevika's brow furrows in confusion. you kiss the little wrinkles that form between her eyebrows before revealing the ring box to her. she gasps, then laughs. "my ring! gimmie gimmie!" she squawks, lunging for your box. you giggle and hand her the box.

sevika's smile grows ten times in size when she sees the simple gold band.

she's never been one for flashy, so you decided to keep your choice classic. it's almost identical to her old one, only this one has a special little secret.

"look on the inside, baby." you whisper. sevika squints her eyes, trying to make out the inscription. you snort. "where the hell are your glasses?"

"i hate those things, baby, they make me look like a nerd!"

"well too bad!" you pull open her desk drawer and gasp in triumph, placing the frames on her nose gently. sevika pouts up at you and you kiss her lower lip. "hottest nerd in the world." you say. she snorts, then turns her attention back to the ring.

to the moon and back again. it reads.

sevika takes a shaky breath, then she looks up at you. "put it on me?" she whispers.

you nod, taking sevika's hand in your own, gently pushing the band down her freshly healed finger.

"there. now we're married again." you tease.

sevika lets out a watery laugh, tucking her face against your shoulder. "it's beautiful."

"not as beautiful as y--" sevika shuts you up with a flurry of kisses all over your face, making you burst into laughter.

she pulls away with a big cheesy smile, tears brimming in her eyes. "i'd marry you again and again, every single day if i could."

"i can't believe people think you're scary." you tease.

sevika laughs and kisses you again, something gentle and sweet. you hum against her lips, reaching up to curl your hands in the lapel of her blazer.

sevika responds with a hum, her hands trailing lower to grip your hips and rearrange you on her lap so you're properly straddling her. you groan as your tongues meet, then pull away with a gasp. "we're at work." you remind her.

sevika hums. "so we'll keep our clothes on."

"our office is made of glass, sev!" you giggle.

sevika pulls your hips so you grind against the growing hardness in her pants. you let out a shaky sigh as she starts to trail kisses up your throat. "we can be fast."

"do you have extra pants in your desk?"

sevika chuckles as she pulls open her bottom drawer, revealing at least half a dozen folded pair of dress pants. you cackle. "i'm always ready for you, baby." she promises.

"you're a maniac. i adore you." you giggle as you sit forward to kiss her more.

sevika hums and spins her desk chair so the tall back is facing the glass walls leading to your office, and your back is facing the sparkling city skyline.

you giggle into one another's mouths as you kiss, and sevika's hands travel from your hips to your ass, slowly grinding you against her lap. with each motion of your hips, you crush your body closer and closer to hers, until your tits are squished together and your cunt is grinding on her hard cock. sevika muffles her moans into your mouth, smacking your ass as you move. you chuckle and pull away, looking down at your wife with love.

"so pretty." you whisper, cupping her face. sevika moans aloud. you duck down to muffle your giggle against her shoulder. "quiet, sev, seamus' cubicle is right outside."

"your fuckin' fault, callin' me pretty."

"you are. you're fuckin' gorgeous. could look at you for a million years and still be enchanted by you." sevika whimpers, biting your clothed shoulder to hide the worst of her moans. you laugh. "don't drool on me, this is silk."

"i bought this shirt for you, i'll drool on it as much as i want."

you kiss her scalp and wrap your arms around her shoulders, increasing your pace on her lap. sevika's thighs start to quiver underneath you. "y' gonna cum for me, baby?" you ask. sevika whimpers again.

"n-no." she lies. you laugh. "fuck off! i just-- you first." she demands. you giggle and shake your head 'no.' sevika squakws. "fuck do you mean 'no!?'"

"i mean, wouldn't it be hotter if i was just walkin' around all wet and ready for you the rest of the day? 'n when we get home, all you'll have to do is get me inside and get my pants down around my ankles and sink right into me--"

sevika cuts you off with a loud moan, shivering in her seat as she cums in her pants. you laugh and pepper her face with kisses, pulling your hips up before her cum can soak through her pants and into yours. "you're a fuckin' sex demon or something." sevika whines.

you laugh and kiss her again. "fucked you so good you can't even remember the word 'succubus.' and i still got all my clothes on!" you giggle, proud of yourself.

sevika rolls her eyes, pouting as you stand from her chair. "don't make fun of me. i'm your wife. and your boss." her pout slowly disappears as you walk toward her desk and pull open the bottom drawer, picking out a nice pair of dark purple pants that will compliment her light blue button up.

"here, darling." you hand her the pants. sevika grins up at you. "what're you gonna do if someone asks what happened to your tan pants?" you ask.

sevika chuckles and shrugs. "tell 'em my wife bought me a ring so beautiful i came in my pants about it."

you cackle and smack her shoulder, melting a bit as she joins in on your laughter. "you better not, you freak. tell 'em you spilled coffee or something."

kofi

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taglist!!

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#sevika #sevika arcane #sevika imagine #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika #sevika smut

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sadesluvr · 3 months ago

Text

Exposure

You can’t shake the feelings you have for Friedrich Harding, your father’s business partner.

It all started when Friedrich Harding had walked through the door.

It was an autumn night, not dissimilar to the others. You were sat on the lush upholstery of your parlour, in your designated spot amongst the grand piano and ornaments that decorated the walls and floors, lost in thought as you flew a needle and thread between fabric. It was one of the moments where your house lay quiet, practically coming to a standstill since the death of your mother.

The house had been an empty nest for a while. You were the youngest, the sole daughter of a wealthy ship merchant who’d had three sons prior. They’d all since grown; moved into estates and had families of their own, whilst you, still in your early twenties, were left at home waiting to be courted. Well, that was most of your life anyway.

Naturally, your family had been extremely protective, and naturally that meant you were lonely. Days whilst your father worked was spent wandering the halls of your home, making idle conversation with Berta, the maid, or occasionally going for a walk amongst the shore or a local garden.

Nights were more sociable, but only so as the man would parade his colleagues into the dining room, but not before showing you off. You always earned a compliment or a kiss on the back of a hand, but it made you feel like a porcelain doll in a shop window. Enticing to look at, but not truly loved.

Only you really knew how to love yourself. You found love in the works of Wilde and Hardy – though lately you’d turned to the dusty books at the back of the shelf, the ones where women were nothing but harlots and the men ravenous. Was it your fathers? Your mothers? Berta’s, even? Either way it didn’t matter; as nights were spent with your head in a book, curled up by a small lamp falling asleep to vivid, distant images. You weren’t like them.

You hadn’t looked up when the door had opened, and two men had marched in, already laughing. In a sense, you’d learnt to zone out.

“Darling, why don’t you come over and meet Herr Harding? His father used to come over for pool.”

When he’d kissed the back of your hand, you thought you were sick. His eyes were a striking blue, with a strong, well-groomed moustache and sideburns, with his clothes tailored to match. You’d felt your heart drop to your stomach and your body suddenly run clammy. It was naive of you to think that he could've transferred some kind of illness so soon, but it was never impossible. You hadn’t a clue what went on at times.

“The pleasure is mine. Your old man told me how stunning you were – I always knew he didn’t have it within him to lie.”

He was whisked away with a glass of port in his hands, and that was as brief as the first interaction had gone. Until he’d been around the following night. Then the next. And thereafter.

Friedrich wasn't like your fathers’ other business partners. He was younger, yes, but still significantly older than you. Though you made yourself scarce, you’d somehow catch his gaze from across the room or down the corridor, puffing mindlessly at the stick of smoke as his eyes subtly roved your body.

Conversations became longer, more frequent, and you found yourself making excuses for why you couldn’t stay – for every time there was a discomfort, an excitement that was overwhelming and peppered your skin with goosebumps.

He made you sick, so much so that you’d stopped reading at night, finding your mind replaced with restlessness...the urge to be touched, satiated from your illness. You hoped it would go through eating more, prayer – anything that meant you wouldn’t have to see a doctor.

You’d heard things, horrible things.

The last time you’d seen one was when your mother died.

One day, Friedrich, fresh off a new deal outside of his business with your father, had shown up at the door. Seeing that it was Berta’s duty to be useful, but ultimately inconspicuous, you made yourself as polite as possible, offering to show him the new artwork in the hallway by your bedroom.

“I’m afraid you’re rather early. Father has not yet returned from work,” you sighed, teeth grazing your bottom lip as you spoke. “It’s poor practise, but I can call Berta to fix you a meal — “

“That won’t be necessary unless you intend in dining with me,” Friedrich nodded. “You must be hungry. It’s passed the hour.”

“It’s unfortunate that I must turn you down. My appetite alludes me.”

“Goodness…Are you ill?” He replied, raising a thick brow as he stepped towards you.

“Must we talk about this here?”

“There’s no one to witness the conversation, love,” he said, somewhat confused. “Though your secrecy worries me. Let us sit.”

You could hardly protest when he opened the door to your bedroom, his bright eyes scanning your features as he sought an answer.

“I must. But I haven’t told anyone – I fear they may send me away if I were honest about the onset of my condition…”

Friedrich paused, and with pursed lips took a deep breath.

“I may only be your father’s business partner, but I can assure you that you have my upmost discretion, Madame,” he began, inching closer to you as he placed his hands gently on your arm, guiding you to sit on the edge of your bed. “Do speak to me.”

The reality of your situation fell upon you as you fixated your gaze towards the ground, unable to avoid the pounding of your heart and the heavy rise and fall of your bust. You were alone with a man – one who was a protector, no doubt – alone in your room for the first time in your life, and you weren’t even married.

Essentially, a respected name made you no different to a common whore. Your mouth was putty, but you found it within you to speak.

“I haven’t been able to sleep through the night,” you began, breath hitching in your throat. “I’ve felt faint, clammy. I can hardly focus on my embroidery.”

Friedrich hummed.

“When did you begin feeling this way?”

You swallowed, wringing your fingers as you glanced up at through your lashes.

“Months ago, when you first visited.”

The man furrowed his brows, and shock rang throughout your body at his reaction.

“Well, I can assure you that I haven’t brought some kind of illness. Perhaps it may have been the material of my clothes?”

You shook your head.

“I feel it’s something deeper, like a pull, almost. I have not felt this way for any man…I’m afraid that if I feel it for you, then I never will about future husband.”

Something about the line caused him to perk up.

“So, this sudden hysteria is about me?”

Biting your lip, you fiddled with your necklace and slowly nodded, suddenly aware of how tight your corset felt. You were seemingly floating between life and death; as if you could drop dead at any moment yet still felt an overwhelming sense of anticipation – there was something in the horizon, seconds away from being tangible.

Friedrich dropped his head, caressing your chin as the cool metal of his pinkie ring pressed against your warm skin, angling you to look at him. His hands were large, veiny and slightly calloused, but were the mark of a great man, as he was. The smell of tobacco and port lingered on his breath as he drew you close, his face atoms away from placing a kiss to your lips.

“Do you want for me to make love to you, child? Caress your body and please you in the ways you’ve read about in your father’s books? Is that what you wish?”

A lump bobbed in your throat.

“Friedrich…I’m not yet a bride…”

“If that’s something you’d like to wait for, I can make it happen, my love,” he began, words clear, yet not forceful. “But you should know that I cannot resist you. My old man raised me otherwise, but I won’t deny my desire to bed you as you are. I simply cannot wait until we are wed.”

“You’d marry me?”

“I’d do a lot more than that, darling.”

It was natural for you not to protest once Friedrich laid his lips upon your own, hands dropping to your waist as you danced your fingers along his sideburns. His smoky musk consumed you, quite literally leaving you breathless as you whined against his body, desperate to rip yourself from your corset and allow him to consume you.

His lips moved in tandem with your own, occasionally making a wet noise amongst the sound of his own laboured breaths. Pulling away, you were met with air for only a short few moments before Friedrich laid you back onto the bed, body straddling your own as he peeled off his layers; not totally nude, but enough for him to move around.

You paid no attention to the slight ache in your back as you wriggled against the bedding, for the man’s lips were now attached to the nape of your neck, kissing and sucking your collarbone, as if he were trying to consume every inch of you. His moustache tickled your skin as his hands pawed at your dress, skilfully making their way up your undergarments.

In another life, this moment would’ve come far more domestically, perhaps with you on your wedding night - but there was something far more devilish about being taken now, in your bedroom of your family home. You were almost certainly going to hell.

“You’re quivering, love,” he said softly, watery blue eyes staring into your own. “You shouldn’t be scared of me.”

You weren’t - well, not entirely – more scared about how your body was reacting; your heart and mind in overdrive as his fingertips made their way down your thighs, thumb ever so gently grazing your labia as it did.

The bustle of your dress bothered you greatly, though Friedrich didn’t seem phased by it; intent on devouring you even through the layers of fabric, causing the material to flap about in a crude manner. In his passionate haste, the man unbuttoned his trousers and poked his manhood through his briefs before lining himself by your entrance. Breath hitched in your throat as you felt his warm, slightly sticky tip poke at your sensitive hole, knuckles brushing against your folds as he pushed into you without hesitation.

A sharp gasp escaped your lips as he did, earning a concerned glance from the man.

“I’m sorry to hurt you, darling,” he breathed. “It’ll only be a minute. I want nothing more than to make you feel good, believe me.”

With your teeth between your bottom lip you nodded, spreading your legs as wide as the dull ache in your thighs could let you as the moustached man began to buck his hips into you.

Whether it was because he was your first (and only), or the fact that his frequent likening to a horse had rung true - Friedrich had a suitable length and girth to truly fill you up, ceasing the emptiness that your ‘sickness’ had brought almost in an instant.

“Herr...” you whispered, eyes squeezed shut. You desperately wanted to moan; to cry out even, but found yourself too worried that Berta would see your ecstasy as a cry of distress. “Herr Harding, I can’t --”

“Hold onto me, love, and open your eyes,” he ordered, though the softness of his voice made it so it could barely be read as an order. “I want to see you.”

You obeyed.

A twinge of a smile formed on his lush pink lips as he kissed you again, this time desperate to bury his head between the tips of your cleavage.

His mind was blank and dumb as he rutted into you, a drabble of drool ever so obscurely dripping its way down your skin and leaving a wet patch on the neckline of your dress. Your chest looked delectable, pronounced and wobbling with every motion he made on top of you, that the thought of them rounded and swollen with the glow of pregnancy was enough to send him over the edge.

He let out a deep groan, and with furrowed brows he angled your leg upwards to dagger into you, causing your dress to bunch around your waist.

Clamping your hand over your mouth, you couldn’t hold back the whimper that escaped your lips as his cock stretched you, hitting you in places you hadn’t even known existed. It might’ve been your euphoria or sheer breathlessness, but you could certainly feel it in your stomach.

“That’s it, darling,” he cooed. “Just hold on a little longer. By God, you’re so sweet, as if you were made for me...I cannot wait to wife you, my love, you must wish for me to bear you a child...”

A child.

The world went white. Your parents had always spoke to you about the presence of the afterlife, a place where a divine being would take you into his arms and cleanse you of sin...but you’d never imagined it to be so soon, underneath the man your father had often referred to as a second son.

Humorously, you only felt grounded once a sheer liquid dripped down your leg. Whether it was blood, his seed, or a mixture of both, you knew that you were forever impure, and naturally tied to him.

Forever.

#reader def got burnt at the stake after this #florence writes!!#friedrich harding x reader #friedrich harding smut #aaron taylor johnson x reader #atj x reader #atj smut #nosferatu #nosferatu 2024

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