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haztory · 2 months ago

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the lonely fight.

— masterlist | part one | part two — jack abbot x fellow f!reader; attending/fellow dynamic, age-gap (unspecified but reader is late 20s and up, jack is mid 40s), heavy plot, slow-burn, this is a crack/fluff followed by angst, alcohol consumption featuring the night shift team and team bonding exercises, more yearning, more wanting, escalation of tensions, city girl confronting jack's deep rooted issues, jack being a traumatized man — word count: 6.3k — summary: Karaoke night is supposed to be a morale boost for the team. It only escalates tensions even further for you and Jack.

It’s late into your shift on Wednesday when Ellis and Shen find you in the brief lull.

Saying the night has been easy is an insult, one you’re not keen on doling out without proper padding and a roll of sterile gauze clutched to your side, battle tested and ready for war. You’re down an attending, the three residents that were scheduled for tonight have been reduced to one, and two nurses have been cut early in the night due to budget constraints. Leaving only a skeleton crew to man the deck for the night.

You manage. You all do. With gritted teeth and the incessant propensity to keep moving.

Would manage even better in between putting your notes in for the girl in Room Three who got an earring stuck inside of her lobe if the network for the EHRs wasn’t experiencing a statewide slow-down. You’re one more loading screen away from punting the computer altogether when the two doctors brace either side of your work station. They settle next to you with a tired air—one not quite exhausted but close enough to know that they’re counting down the minutes until sunrise.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask the two of them, eyes locked on the buffering screen in front of you.

“We might have to go to paper.” Shen says.

Your eyes find him, quickly. “Who said that?”

”Richmond’s on the phone with admin.” Ellis says, leaning her chin into her palm. “They’re talking about it.”

You sigh, waving the white flag with the computer. “If they want handwritten notes, they’re not going to be up to standard and I don’t want to hear shit about it. I have three patients that need to get logged in and more that are going to come in soon.”

“Broken left hand. X-rayed. Fixed.” John supplies, dryly with a pantomime of his hand writing on paper. You snort in agreement. Shen bobs his head from side to side as he looks around the floor. “At least it’s quiet.”

Your head snaps to him just as Ellis’ falls into her hands and groans.

“What is wrong with you—“

“—do you ever learn—”

Shen shrugs you both off. “You guys are so superstitious.”

“We need a smarter attending on the floor.” Parker sighs, dragging her hands down her face. She looks at you, desperately. “How long before your boards, sunshine?”

You laugh at her, pitiful and flat. “Don’t count on me so soon. I’ve still got time.”

“We need more attendings who don’t play with God on the floor.” Parker pins an ugly stare at John, just as he shrugs in return.

“Jokes on you, Parker. I feel like I play with God everyday.” You tease, but you sympathy for her sorrow and continue, offering your answer as a means of consolation to her. “I take them in six months.”

Thing One and Thing Two nod slowly, digesting the words in what should be a passing understanding. But—there’s a look in their eyes. Too knowing, too conspiratorial, to be considered innocuous.

Your eyes narrow at them, “What?”

”What?” Parker parrots.

“Why do you guys have that look?”

John turns his head to Parker, then back to you. “We don’t have a look.”

”You’ll be here, right?” Parker ignores your question, giving her own. “After you pass?”

John seconds Parker. “Not going back to New York?”

”Or Florida?”

“No.” You tell them, skeptical at their line of questioning. Still, you give the truth. “Pittsburgh is home for a while.”

“It’s the winters, right?” John asks. “Keeps you coming back?”

Parker scoffs. “No, it’s definitely Eliza Furnace Trail. The smell of piss and shit, just addicting.”

“There’s reasons to stay.” You tell them, finalizing your notes on the system and returning to the home screen. A shadow moves in the corner of your eye, drawing your attention to it quickly. You spot Jack exiting North 10, speaking quietly to Anna Maria as the two head further into the hallway.

You turn your attention back to the Scooby and Shaggy, only to find them staring curiously at you. Then, with glib interest, you tack on, “And maybe it has something to do with you two.”

“Oh, sure.”

“Yeah, totally.”

Your laugh is light and the two smile knowingly. Peace settles in the air, complimented by the steady beeps of the machines in the examination rooms and the soft chatter across the floor.

Ellis clears her throat. “You’re coming, right? Friday night?”

You nod. “I am. Taking roll call?”

“Gotta make the reservation for the table.”

“Who’s going?”

“Us, Hilly, Anna Maria, a couple of people from day shift.”

“You guys ask any other attendings?”

“Basu’s doing a double, Robby gave a hell no, Walsh is on the fence and we’re fine with that. And we were going to ask Abbot, but—” Ellis’ voice trails off and she weighs her hand like a scale.

Shen cuts in, dryly. “We were hoping you would do it.”

Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum remain pointedly innocent even as your glare turns deadly on them.

“You both have to stop this.” You grit out. “Why me?”

“Because you guys got that weird telepathy thing going on.” Shen provides, simply. As if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He looks to Ellis for backup, which earns a supportive smile from her.

“He will give you the same answer that he will give me.” You insist for the hundredth time, punctuating the statement with an eye roll for emphasis on exactly how you feel about it.

They both stare blankly at you. Not that you blame them entirely. Try as you might otherwise, even you can hear the gentle deceit on your tongue when you insist on normalcy between you and the attending.

If anyone asks, it’s respect. Admiration, trust, and all the sister siblings of a well-meaning accord that force you to hold the man in high regard. Nothing more.

You keep the low pulse of hope and longing that toils within your stomach pointedly quiet.

“Just ask.”

“You guys are ridiculous.” You stand from your desk, deciding the moment has dragged on and you’d rather not be caught in the crosshairs of further investigation. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to check on my patients before Shen’s curse catches up to us.”

“Tell him we’ll cover the beer!” John calls after you as you make your way down the hall, conveniently in the same direction Abbot went down.

You wave your hand in the air, brushing the two of them off. “I know how to do it.”

They wait until you’re a safe distance away from earshot before turning to each other.

“Good work.” Parker tells John, holding her fist out to him. He bumps it in relaxed victory. “You adjusting?”

He shakes his head, his lips turning downward in a frown of intrigue. “Nah. I still think that it happens before the boards.”

“I’m switching to eight months.” Ellis supplies lowly.

“Why eight?”

“When she gets results back and passes, that’s when it happens. Abbot’s not going to fuck a fellow, too much of a power thing.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think he’d fuck any fellow, but he’d make an exception for that one.”

“My money is on when she becomes an attending. Abbot would fuck an attending.”

“So… you’re saying I have a chance.” John says and Parker shoves his shoulder with a laugh.

—

Luck is something rarely afforded to the ED. It’s sheer will power that things manage to work, human perseverance and triumph even in the moments of clear sabotage as the unit is denied more staff, denied more resources, forced into a corner to fend for themselves with bare threads of patience and the bottom of the barrel that nobody else wants to touch.

The floor isn’t lucky that the number of people waiting for care is relatively tame at the same time that the hospital's servers are undergoing an update that’s halted everything in its track. Luck implies something good, something that changes the tides for the better. The floor is just coincidentally in the eye of the hurricane at the moment. One ambulance away from teetering over the edge and plunging the unit into the swirling winds and drowning rain.

Jack doesn’t count his blessings. That’s asking for fate to be tempted. He watches the time tick on his watch and waits. Listens for the distant sounds of thunder approaching, finding only the soft squeak of sneakers on the tile floor.

He hears you before he sees you. The familiar sound of your steps, the steadied pattern, the jingle of your badge against the swivel clip on your chest

He’s standing beside the rolling cart outside of North 15, having given up on any attempt at reviewing the team’s charting notes when the screen gave its fourth error message. You lean against the door frame, watching him.

“I talked to Richmond. We’re switching to papers.”

“Medieval times.” His expression flickers with disbelief, before smoothing into one of calm neutrality. His jaw clenches, tight for a second. “We’ve been through worse.”

“Don’t speak too soon. The psych eval that was about to get sent up just got delayed because they can’t get access to his medical history. Probably going to get worse for my other three that were ready for transfer to different units that also have their records in a system that is shut down.”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.” He meets your eyes, unabashed in his displeasure.

“I wish I was. I called, tried to strike the fear of God into Psych but those people aren’t scared of shit. They said it’s too risky.”

He scoffs. “If they really want to know risk, why don’t they come down and see how the other half lives?”

“That’s what I said. I was able to pull a favor with Ortho. On the record, they’ll accept four so long as we provide them with some form of medical history.”

He raises a brow, “Off the record?”

“They said they want a sticky note, minimum, but can be convinced for oral presentation as long as we’re available for any questions. I told Shen and Parker to choose the most important to go up. Just need your sign off.”

The still nonchalance cracks slightly. He smirks. Impressed. “Done. Good work.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re scary, you know that?”

“You like it.” You smile and he shakes his head slowly, but he doesn’t deny it. And you know then that you’ve caught him ripe enough to push further. “By the way, Shen and Ellis want to know if you’re going to the karaoke night thing on Friday.”

It draws a narrowed stare your way. “You their messenger now? That’s the third time this week.” His eyebrow raises, entirely unamused at the prospect.

You take his annoyance to be directed at the invitation. He’s concerned by the fact that the two doctors know to send you.

You push past it, giving it little thought. “Are you?”

“…No.”

You catch the hesitation. Brief, but there. “Why not?”

“I deal with this place enough, I don’t need it cutting into my day off.”

“C’mon. It’ll be good for morale.”

“If I wanted to be tortured I’d pick up a double, not sit and listen to you all scream at the top of your lungs.”

You hold your hands up in surrender, “Fine, be a grouch. If you happen to find yourself free on Friday night, we’ll be at Riley’s. Eight o’clock. I’ll be wearing a blue sweater and singing ‘Single Ladies’. Can’t miss it.”

Jack looks at you from beneath lashes. “Don’t do Beyoncé like that.”

You pull your head back in amazement. “I’m surprised you even know who Beyoncé is.”

He steps towards you, his hands falling to hold the stethoscope around his neck. His gait is slow as he crosses the small distance from the cart to the other side of the door frame. You can see how he’s favoring his left leg yet makes no betrayal of that on his face. “I’m not that out of touch.”

“Had me fooled. You’re allergic to fun.”

“Our definitions are drastically different.”

“And what do you do for fun, Dr. Abbot?” Your head tilts. He leans against the other side of the frame and folds his arms across his chest. Your eyes flick quickly to the sight, tempted by muscle and veins.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” His smile slants. Hung and crooked, like a crescent moon in the sky. It creases into his skin gracefully and the urge to bask in the luster that shines from the rarity of his smile surges within you tenfold.

“I would, actually. I’d like to know what you get into on your days off. Except for building furniture for sleeping people.”

He huffs a breath, his head tucking down to his chest. Not in embarrassment, but shyness at the reminder of his good deed performed by the other side of Jack Abbot. One revealed to you in parts, with his hand lingering on your back, his eyes fixed on you, and care imbued in the small things he does.

He peers his head out of the doorway, looking over the floor before meeting your gaze. He thinks, for a moment, before deciding that disclosing is low in some kind of risk.

“I run.”

“Really?”

“Yeah really. Good for the heart.” He bats.

“Bad for the knees.” You return.

“Good thing I’m already down one.”

You hum, amused. Delighted to know more. “What else?”

“I read.”

“Yeah? What do you read?”

Jack shrugs, blasé. “Whatever catches my eye.”

“Romantasy, right? You seem the type.”

“Is that the elf shit the nurses are talking about?”

“Faes.” You correct.

“Whatever the fuck that means. Pointy-eared weirdos frolicking in flowers.”

“God, you are old.” Your laugh is soft, gently reverberating through him and he finds himself leaning into it. Watching it, letting it wash over him like a warm sip of coffee on the long shift. A sweet relief. “I’ve got some good recommendations if you want them.”

“I don’t want to read fairy porn.”

“No, I save that for the people who will appreciate that. I’ve got some memoirs, good educational reads, fun stuff. We can start our own book club.”

“A book club?” He repeats, eyebrows raised on his face in disbelief. “Now who’s old?”

“Well, the difference here is that I go out and have fun while still embracing old people things.”

A message interrupts, then. It sounds over the intercom and both your attentions are called to it. It’s over as soon as it happened, one of the nurses announcing someone’s name and instructing them to see The Hub, but it’s the disruption to the easy rhythm. A reminder to you both in your respective yet silent realizations that there is a world outside of this moment—one that was easily forgotten, for a second.

You tap his arm, voice earnest as you appeal to him, just before either of you can be called to duty. “Come to Riley’s on Friday. I’ll let you pick what I sing.”

Jack shifts on his feet, settling his lean further against the door frame. His shoulders, broad and sturdy, sway before finding stillness again. “You’re stooping to bribery now?”

“This is part of my tactic. Warm you up, bribe you, profit.” You explain. “I’ll pull out all the stops if I have to, which includes giving you the first pick of my song.”

“Your tactic needs some work.” He cocks his head at you. “You shouldn’t give someone that much power. Could land you in big trouble.”

“And yet, I’m giving it to you.”

The banter stills. Halts completely, only the low hum of the fluorescent lights filling in the space.

It’s not the first time you’ve said something to that effect—a seemingly simple declaration. Spoken as easy as you breathe, as if you haven’t further fractured the barely held boundary that lies blurred and frayed between you two. This tiny truth of yours isn’t a simple compliment. They’re windows of implications into something deeper. Something more volatile that simmers under the warmth of your skins and behind each tease.

It happens, then. The inevitable, the familiar, the expected. The song and dance that has become so routine that escape seems futile.

The induction of the soft feelings. The confusing ones.

Jack stares straight into the fire, unconvinced that you don’t know what you’re doing. Unconvinced that he should walk away.

“Beer will be on Shen.” Your voice lilts into a song, a means to diffuse the tension.

“That’s a terrible idea.” He says disapproving, but there’s no malice in it.

“Whatever gets people to come.” A beat passes and you know that, at the very least, he’s considering the offer.

“Tell Shen and Ellis to stop making you do their dirty work.” He says quietly. You shake your head softly, suppressing the want to tell him that talking to him is the farthest thing from dirty work. It’s an easy task, one you look forward to most days.

“I’ll consider it.” You say instead. He nods, knowing that the two will keep going to you for as long as the affinity he has for you is as obvious as it feels.

“So…” You kick your foot out, tapping his leg gently, “Are you coming?”

His lips curl, slightly. “…I’ll see.”

“Good.” You move from your place on the door frame, inching backwards into the hallway. Back into the rush and chaos of a world that feels so far away from this little bubble the two of you made.

“By the way, Shen said the “q” word, so prepare.”

Jack sighs, heavy and annoyed. Luck and fate tempted once more.

“Does he want a black eye?”

—

The door to Riley’s opens with a squeal at 9:15 PM on Friday. The sound is drowned out entirely by the screams that erupt from the crowded establishment when someone’s voice tilts falsetto at the opening line of Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive’.

Jack’s eyes look to the stage, only moderately surprised to see Shen delivering the performance of a lifetime. A bottle of beer is clutched close to the man’s chest as he hits notes only a prepubescent boy could to a crowd more than supportive of his endeavors, a red flush to his cheeks.

He wasn’t going to come.

A morning traffic jam that resulted in a six car pile-up on I-279 this morning led to a late exit for Jack which led to an even later morning trying to tackle all of the things he wanted to do for the day. Grocery shopping for meal planning, a stop at a supply store to fix the rubber seal on his leaky kitchen faucet, start his week’s worth of laundry, fit in some semblance of sleep in there (maybe). Top it all off with ESPN and a beer.

It wasn’t in the plan to come. It just didn’t fit.

…but then you sent a photo.

A picture of you seated at a table with a smile so bright it could single handedly illuminate the dark and dingy bar surrounding you. Parker sits to your left distracted by something off camera with John standing behind the two of you, a peace sign thrown up as he leans down to stay in the frame. And to your right, an empty chair. Your text saying: Saving you a seat!

So he came. Because the promise of free beer and a means to decompress after a shitty week of long and trying shifts was enticing enough.

(And because you asked, but he stomps out that answer like a low broiling fire needing to be put out.)

He finds you immediately in the surge. Blue sweater at the middle table and an empty chair beside you. Just like you said.

His steps are cautious, dodging moving bodies and his own discomfort as he zeroes you in his sight. He fits in beside you just as your hands raise upward shouting a song lyric with the singing group, sliding into the seat as if he just came back from the bathroom instead of making his grand entrance. You notice the movement, your singing faltering as you look to defend the empty chair from pilfering. Your hair is loose from the usual style you have from work, strands framing your face, your body relaxed from the alcohol you’ve no doubt been drinking. There’s a scrunch to your face as you look at him that immediately peels into one of joy when you realize who it is.

“You’re here!” You shout, your excitement bringing you closer to him. Your touch is liberal, spurred by the haze of drunken inhibitions. Leaning into him, your hands fall onto his shoulders, grabbing onto him as if you were afraid he would disappear. He lets you, watching amused as you fail to contain your elation. Affected, as you bleed into him.

There’s a dry resignation on his face, like he finds this to be equal parts burdensome and amusing. But he makes no move to put distance between you two. “I’m here.”

“Do you want a beer?” You shout over the noise, “Come on, I’ll get another one too!”

“How many have you had?”

You hold his gaze for a moment, smile turning sheepish. “I don’t know.”

“Let’s get you some water instead—” He moves for the pitcher of water in the middle of the table, grabbing a plastic cup sat beside it and filling it up.

“No! C’mon!” You grab onto his forearm, halting him from pouring anymore, “I don’t work tomorrow. Let me have fun.”

“You’re going to wake up nauseous and knee deep in regret tomorrow when you realize everyone’s recording you guys.”

“I don’t care.” You laugh, earnestly. “I don’t regret the things that I want, Jack.”

As his hand hovers over the pitcher, yours falls onto his arm nearest to you. Grasping onto the breadth and holding him tightly. Even in the slur of your words, he sees the honesty behind it. How intently you say it, mean it. Might mean something else behind it all, too.

“Come on.” You begin again, a siren song on your tongue perfectly heard even in the shrieks of the bar. “Grab a beer, have fun with us. With me. You held up your end of the bargain, I’ll keep mine.”

He looks over your shoulder, relieved to find that the table is too entranced by Shen’s glorious rendition of the ballad to be concerned with the intimate moment behind them.

“I haven’t gone up yet. You get to choose my song.”

Your eyes are warm, beautiful. And close. Too close.

“I was promised Beyoncé.” He says after a second, softer than the moment calls for, softer than he intended it to be.

You smile happily at him. “Beyoncé and a beer, coming right up!”

The soft feelings, the confusing ones, slip into the narrow space between you.

Despite it all, Jack is steady. Sipping casually at his Miller watching person after person head on the stage and make a fool of themself. It’s that steadiness that has you drawn to him. Not sloppily or messily, but just teetering past a point of buzzed and into the embrace of loose.

Your thigh touches his underneath the table mistakenly. Once, twice, four times. He presses back into you, comfortingly. You lean into him when you laugh, mutter the smart quip and teasing joke at a certain performance that he shakes his head at. His arm slings around the back of your chair, only slightly brushing against your shoulders.

And it’s easy.

“This is for you, Abbot!” Shen calls over the microphone an hour later, his face flushed red with his drunken stupor as he clutches the microphone like it's his last chance. The static from the speakers blows from how close he holds it to his mouth. “This is dedicated to that epic pericardiocentesis you did the other day that I’m still thinking about, you handsome man.”

The rushing piano of “I Need a Hero” plays and it’s the first time you see Jack’s shoulders shake from laughter as he raises a beer up to Shen. The song progresses to an ensemble as the team all shout the lyrics, their fingers pointing back to Jack at each proclamation of needing a hero throughout the song. And you swear, swear, that a flush rises up his neck at the lavish attention paid his way. His head tucks into his chest, and his eyes narrow like the sound of Shen’s voice is physically causing him pain but you can see it as clear as day.

He’s happy. And it dredges up a tingle in the depths of your heart that surges like a rushing tide you can’t hold back.

It soars even higher—feels even worse—when it’s your turn. Microphone shoved in your hand, dance moves pulled out as you sing about needing a ring on your finger and feeling Jack’s stare bore into you the entire time.

A smile, free, unabashed, admiring permanently fixed on his face.

—

“Someone get Mel home!” You call over your shoulder into the bar as you make your exit, the clock just creeping past midnight. Jack’s arm sits firmly around your waist, thick and corded as it supports and holds you steady. “I want her tucked in and sung to, precious girl.”

“Easy.” Jack’s voice is husky beside you and colored with a slight twinge of amusement. Startling, almost, as you’re reminded of how near he is. It’s rough and jagged and it flares a heat within you that has you whipping your head to look at him.

“Don’t want you spilling guts all over me.” He’s firm and warm next to you, a beacon of quiet strength. You’ve always known Abbot was broad from his forearms alone. Seeing it is one thing, feeling it around you? It’s something else entirely. Temptation sings for you to fall into him.

It’s hard to recover from it, taking much longer than you’d like to admit as your tongue feels thick in your mouth and your heart pounds in your ears. You blame that on the environmental circumstances of the night.

“Don’t forget, old man.” You poke just as his arm tightens around you. Your own hand falls to his wrist held right against the front of your stomach, falling in step beside him as he guides you through the bar’s parking lot. “I’m from the city. I can handle my alcohol.”

His interest is piqued, despite all well-meaning efforts to hide it. “I know. You don’t let anyone forget it.”

“Watch it. Don’t make me mad, I can take you if I need to.”

“Yeah? Gonna go for my ankles?”

“Oh please, this again—”

“You gonna slide across the floor again for my feet?”

“He was running away with a catheter in him. If I didn’t take him down it was going to be golden showers for all of us.”

“Yeah, but going for the feet puts you in the direct line of sight.”

“Alright, then next time you stop the meth head, Lieutenant Dan.”

“And get a mouthful of urine? I’m not kinky enough for that.” He says nonchalantly and you guffaw, your hand landing a smack at his chest. His walking slows as he approaches his truck towards the end of the parking lot. Shiny and well-taken care of, the car you remember him driving you home in before.

He guides you towards the passenger side of the car, loosening his grip on you as he fishes his car keys from his pocket. “All I’m saying is that the Giants missed an opportunity in their draft pick.”

Separating from him, you slump against the passenger door, watching him pull out the key fob. “If the Giants put me on the roster, we’re coming out with a ring every year, baby.” You hold your hand up for emphasis, pointing at each of your fingers. “You can kiss ‘Single Ladies’ goodbye.”

A beat passes. Jack’s eyes bore into yours. “Nevermind, let’s call the Steelers.”

You laugh echoes around the empty parking lot. A song on the wind, a hymn in an empty church as it bounces into the night. Your head leans back in joy, resting against the side of his car. Relaxed, easy, happy.

“Tonight was fun.” You hum. Jack nods, slowly. Carefully, guarded.

You see it, even in the sway of the uncountable number of drinks you’ve had that only makes you slightly unsteady—you see it clear as day. The way he is bobbing and weaving, ducking and side stepping a truth he’s not quite ready to admit yet. Not as though it’s a particular harrowing one. Your eyebrow flicks up, curiously.

“I didn’t know Shen had that in him.” He says, pointedly neutral.

“Neither did I. You must have brought it out.” You push. “Everyone was really happy to see you.”

A grimace pulls to his lips, small yet noticeable. It confirms a suspicion, then.

Jack Abbot can banter without issue. He can do the sincerity and the comfort when it comes to someone else needing it. But in this moment, cool, confident, and steady Jack Abbot actively avoids acknowledging a truth that implies something good about him—admitting that people wanted him around and that he actually had a good time.

“Someone just needed to make sure you guys didn’t burn down half of Pittsburgh. And drive your drunk ass home.” He demeans, disguises, dissuades.

Maybe it’s not that serious. Maybe it’s just a defense mechanism he uses when near drunk people, a release of a pressure gauge but for some reason you’re not having it. Blame it on drunken fixations, but they’re the heart of sober thoughts. You’re on the crux of something, inching closer and closer to the soft center of the man. Spurned on by little more than his continued dodging and the need to know, you ask. “Why did you come tonight?”

Surprise colors his features for a second before he schools it. “Morale boost.”

“For the team or for you?”

“Does it matter?”

“I think that you wanted to come out this whole time.” You dig. He stiffens, minutely.

“You promised ‘Single Ladies’. It was too good to ignore.” He says, stilted. Almost forced.

“No, before that. You wanted to come. You’re just using that as an excuse to justify it.”

“What are you trying to say?” His gaze turns stony, his voice curt.

His lips are drawn tight as he stares the particular Dr. Jack Abbot speciality into you. You should probably feel intimidated, should probably be scared into a dynamic of hierarchy between you two, should probably heed the warning signs that crease in his crow’s feet and settle in the lines of his small frown that tell you to stop where you stand.

You don’t. You stare back, equal in your press into him.

(Because you’ve seen the softness before, know it exists. It was only a few weeks ago that he drove you home, sat at your table, talked to you like it was the easiest thing in the world. Only a few months ago Jack made it a habit to start meeting you at each of your shifts with your coffee mug in hand, a quiet check-in in his eyes. Only a few days ago the two of you lost yourselves in the safety of a bubble built by the two of you in the midst of a chaos.

You know where the softness sits, you know it will keep creeping out.

And right here, right now, you can see how he tries to lock it away. Pretends that it doesn’t exist with all of the good in him.)

“I’m saying you’re allowed to want something for once, Jack.” You tell him, honestly. “You’re allowed to want, and to hope, and to have faith that for a moment something good will happen if you let it in. You’re allowed to want something and have it, because you deserve it.”

He says nothing. Only stares. A charged silence buoys between you two, lit only by the haziness of the street lamp. A warmed yet dulled light that casts a gentle halo around the suppleness of your face—soft and angelic as you peer up at him.

To anyone else, your words would be the ramblings of a drunken woman. Let off the tongue with nonsensical meanings. Prompted by nothing, and supported by whims. To Jack, it’s something else entirely. Not the once foreboding noose— the omen of the invitation, the threat of giving in. What he thought would be a long fraying rope beckoning for the sounds of his choking is replaced instead with you. Your hands, warm, and soft, and well-meaning that wrap around his throat and squeeze until his breath gets caught in his chest. Your nails digging in the skin in search of something he has long since buried. Fingers tenderly massaging out the truth, his reckoning, his undoing.

The in-between of your words isn’t hard to make out. Something good will happen if you let it in.

If you let me in.

He wonders if you know how close you are to getting to it. He wonders if he even knows how close it is to being released.

The night hums softly. Beckoning a closeness that is filled with a hostile tensity. Like peace and war, heat and ice, fusing into one. Becoming the energy that you both fuel. That something—the one that seems to follow you two when moments like this fall, when it’s quiet and the two of you acknowledge that the air feels weird—is here.

Loudly silent. Quietly screaming.

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” He gives, finally.

“Yeah. You are.” You huff out a breath. Then, with the familiar sound of a door being knocked on, you say. “I’m glad you came out. It made my night better, too.”

Your eyes flick down to his lips. His do the same. A question sits in the air.

Will you let me in?

He swallows, then makes his choice. Buckles the armor up his chest, shuts the door that has been creeping open all this time, that you’ve been pushing against. He locks it, keeps you barred on the other side.

“You gonna get in?” He asks, nodding his head to the car.

The air spoils as quickly as it was heated. Now cold and void with all of the things left unsaid.

You nod, simply. Leaving well enough alone. “Yeah. Okay.”

He opens the passenger door for you quietly, his hand hovering over you slightly as you step up into the seat, but he never touches you. You buckle yourself in, silent as he enters through the other side. Then he drives you home. It’s quiet, a suffocating, choking quiet, but neither of you make any effort to break it. The radio buzzes on the lowest volume, only barely filling the void.

You thank him for the ride when he gets to your apartment. He nods his head. You go inside and he watches until you're safely inside before peeling off on the road.

He pointedly tries not to think about anything the whole way home. Puts it onto the shelf, blocks it out, does everything to not remember how earnestly you looked at him, to not remember how you were the most beautiful thing he’s seen in a long time. But it’s his luck—the old funny thing called karmic fate that this night is the first night that he dreams of something other than the tense soundscapes of agony and grief that plague him and draw short bursts of sleep.

He wakes up with his mouth dry, sweat beaded on his temple, his heart pounding, and the phantom feel of a hand on his chest.

He dreamed of you. Eternal, effervescent, you.

Shrouded in the warm hazy light of a bedroom, your laugh on the wind. A quiet moment of serenity, peace. Enjoying the stillness of you two, basking in the feel of giving in before it transformed into something else. You, then, bare on a bed beneath him, your wistful sighs in the air of his room. A prayer on your tongue, the words that fuel his desire, unlock all that he’s kept held back and that’s released something he hadn’t allowed himself to yearn for. And he knows then that the door that was slightly ajar by your gentle hand, the one he so quickly and concisely shut earlier, has now been thrust open by a gust of wind from his exhaled shaky breath.

“Shit.” He thumps against his pillows in defeat, his hands rubbing at his face harshly.

He admits, here, in the dawn of his bedroom with sunlight slowly filtering in through the curtains, the long held truth. The guilt is tumultuous; roiling and biting. Shredding through his skin, through muscle and tendon and into the marrow of his bones as he realizes, harshly, violently, with a voracious sense of betrayal and fear—

—that he liked it. He liked seeing you in the after hours with your hair down and your smile effortless. Liked seeing you in something other than scrubs and liked hearing the squeal of your laugh. Liked the way you leaned into him throughout the night. Liked watching you, liked being watched by you.

Liked, liked, liked.

For the first time in years, he laughed—truly, belly achingly laughed— and the burden on his shoulders levied just as the lowlights of the bar fell onto the sweetness of your smile. In the sanctity of a spartan bedroom lingering with the last remnants of a life long lost and hollow of his own that aches to be filled, he admits it.

The familiar something that exists everytime the two of you meet has a name.

Want.

And Jack wants you.

All of you.

a/n: imma be real i don’t love this chapter but we need it before we get into the meat and potatoes. i was second guessing myself the entire time and then i remembered this is fanfiction so who CARES

this chapter was inspired by "the lonely fight" by mk.gee :)

#jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #the pitt x reader #jack abbot fanfiction #jack abbot x you #jack abbot x female reader #my writing #ask me and i'm there #jack abbot #jack abott #the pitt #the pitt fanfiction

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harmonysanreads · 2 months ago

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Halcyon

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Phainon x Reader

Some very soft Yandere themes. AU where there is no war, everything is fine, you and Phainon are happily married and have the ‘Puppy Phainon’ thing as an inside joke because today is Phainon Loving Wednesday. Written in the span of an hour so please excuse any errors. Enjoy the domesticity.

“Phainon, paw.” you beckon. It's as if the subtle curl of your fingers scratch a certain part of his brain, making him forfeit his hand to your outstretched palm in utmost obedience.

You gently squeeze his fingers, caressing his cheek with your free hand and it takes not a millisecond for him to lean into the touch. Eyes closed, lips stretched and survival instincts lost in bliss.

“Phainon, sit.” you order again. Ivory locks bump with the air as he straightens up, hand still in your grasp.

You hum, scrutinizing every little movement. The man does not dare breathe, eager to pass your assessment.

You lock your attention into those soliform eyes, observing the ripples among their serene surface at your next command, “Phainon, faint!”

He takes a second to soak in the word, before plopping down as if there exists no thought in his mind. The mattress dips under his weight, bedsheets rustling as you shift a bit closer to his defeated form.

Your fingers find refuge in his hair, the affectionate ruffles entices another seraphic smile to bloom on his face. But you're not done yet. Tracing the line of his jaw, you conduct his attention to you once more — the quirk of your lips perhaps a bit too sly.

“Can I get a ‘woof’?”

The ripples on Phainon's eyes still, a blink is all you see before you feel your head rest against the bedsheets — your husband's hand withdrawing after shielding the back of your head against any potential hurt. His towering form shields you from the acronycal rays, his silhouette illuminated by their touch.

You're not sure what you were anticipating, but Phainon's hand sliding from the curve of your waist to settle on your ankle certainly was not it. Your chiton slides up as he tilts your foot up, lips pressing against the dorsum.

“What... what are you doing?” you think you finally understand why Phainon looks like he's malfunctioning whenever you tease him. It should be obvious what he's doing, but the unexpectedness of it rendered your mind blank. You feel your lips purse against your will, the realization admittedly poking your pride.

“Since me acting like a puppy makes you so happy,” he rests his cheek against the skin he just kissed, peering up at you with dewy blue eyes. “What do you say to us taking the play a step further?”

You're certain he can see your mind buffering, if the way he smirks is anything to go by. Your hand reaches towards that smug smile, the force of your pinch making him whine and let go of your ankle in surprise.

“Bad boy.” you try to sound stern, not relinquishing until pink coats the area where your fingers squeezed. But your attempt at remaining firm remains for not long, as his carefree giggles fill the air — they're contagious, too idyllic for you to continue pretending that he ever displeased you. And soon, the sun-kissed afternoon becomes redolent with both of your laughter.

Such bliss faces an abrupt interruption, the insistent ringing of the calling bell of your apartment making you both cringe.

“Don't gooooooo!” Phainon clings to your clothes by instinct, baby blue eyes waxing with the tides of all the puppy energy he's gathered in that singular stare. All too used to his tactics, you gently push him to loosen his grip. Getting up after giving a pat on his head, as if to tell him that you'll be back soon.

You recognize the sight behind your door, “Sorry to trouble you, but could you lend me some salt?” it's the man who you remember living on the floor above yours, appearing rather flustered for such a simple request.

“Oh, sure. Give a moment.” you're about to turn around to go fetch the item, but an abrupt pitch in his voice stops you.

“Uhhhhhh on second thought, I'll just go buy it! Sorry again!” he dashes out of your vicinity before you can reply with anything. You stare at the now vacant area, taking a few seconds to register what exactly happened before your shoulders sag with a sigh.

“I know you're behind me, Phainon.” you call out pointedly, feeling no need check if your assessment was true or not as the accused man leans his entire weight against you.

“You were taking too long!” he grumbles against the dip of your shoulder, grip tightening around your body.

You heave a sigh again, crossing your arms over your chest. You consider whether you should reprimand him for death glaring at an innocent man again, but his coaxing gestures soothe your complaints.

“You know what, that irritated me as well. So, I'll let you off the hook this time — ” that is all he needs to hear to scoop you away from the ground. The loud thud of the front door being shoved close echoes around the building, as if to warn everyone to not intrude in your sanctuary, again.

#had to write something because i've been on a very particular phainon block the past week #hopefully this got me out of it #phainon #phainon brainrot #phainon x reader #phainon x you #yandere phainon #yandere phainon x reader #yandere hsr #yandere honkai star rail #phainon fluff #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader

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astrolook · 4 months ago

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🔮 Astrology’s Best-Kept Secrets: What Your Birth Chart Reveals That No One Talks About

Today I'm back with another post and don't forget to comment below!

You’ve probably heard the basics: ✨ Your Sun Sign is your personality. ✨ Your Moon Sign is your emotions. ✨ Your Rising Sign is how people see you.

But let’s be real—your birth chart holds WAY more secrets than that. And I’m here to spill the cosmic tea. ☕🌌

The 12th House – The “You” That Even You Don’t Know About

The 12th house is the hidden realm of your chart—it rules dreams, subconscious fears, past life karma, and the parts of yourself that you repress without realizing it. It’s basically the shadow version of you that leaks out when you're alone, emotional, or half-asleep at 3 AM.

💀 Planets in the 12th House? They operate in the background, influencing you in ways you don’t always understand.

🌀 Example:

Mars in the 12th House? You suppress anger until it EXPLODES. People might say you have "chill vibes," but deep down, you’re constantly in a mental boxing match. 🥊

Venus in the 12th House? You love in secret. You might be drawn to unavailable people, or you attract love that feels like a soulmate connection but in a tragic novel way. 💔

Mercury in the 12th House? You think FAST, but when you try to explain your thoughts, it comes out as ???—like your brain is buffering in real time.

💭 Ever feel like something’s holding you back, but you can’t explain it? That’s your 12th house at work.

The North Node – Your Karmic Destiny (a.k.a. What the Universe Keeps Pushing You Toward)

Your North Node is your soul’s assignment in this lifetime. It’s what you’re meant to learn, but it’s also the thing you naturally resist the most. 😭

🔥 Example:

North Node in Aries? You need to stop people-pleasing and become your own main character. You weren’t born to follow.

North Node in Libra? Relationships and balance are your destiny—but first, you have to stop running from love.

North Node in Capricorn? The universe is forcing you to step into leadership and take control of your life. No more “I’ll do it later” excuses!

👀 Knowing your North Node helps explain why life keeps slapping you with the same lesson over and over.

The 8th House – The “Dark Side” of You That People Feel But You Don’t See

The 8th house is deep, intense, and a little terrifying. It rules transformation, intimacy, secrets, power, and things that are “taboo.” People with strong 8th house placements have magnetic, mysterious energy—they either draw people in or make them nervous.

⚡ Example:

Pluto in the 8th House? You’re basically a walking X-ray machine. You can spot fake energy in seconds, and you’re probably low-key psychic. 🔮

Moon in the 8th House? You feel EVERYTHING too deeply but pretend you don’t. Your emotions come with a built-in intensity setting at 100%. Family and ancestral secrets.

Venus in the 8th House? When you love, you love with your entire soul. Your relationships are either all-consuming or simply casual flings. You won't settle down until you find the one and also your spouse could be richer than you.

💀 8th house placements = People either obsess over you or avoid you. No in-between.

Chiron – Your Deepest Wound (That You Keep Repeating Until You Heal It)

Chiron is the “wound” you carry throughout life—the thing that keeps hurting no matter how much you try to ignore it. But here’s the twist: once you heal it, you become a guide for others.

💔 Example:

Chiron in the 1st House? You always feel like you’re not good enough, no matter how much you glow up.

Chiron in the 7th House? You might struggle with relationships because deep down, you fear rejection.

Chiron in the 10th House? No matter how hard you work, you feel like success is always just out of reach.

💡 Healing your Chiron = stepping into your true power. But first, you have to acknowledge the pain.

Saturn – The Cosmic Life Coach (a.k.a. Why Life Feels Hard Sometimes)

Saturn is like that strict teacher who expects the best from you but never hands out A’s easily. It rules karma, discipline, and hard lessons. If something in your life feels extra difficult, check where Saturn is in your chart.

Example:

Saturn in the 2nd House? You’ll have to WORK for financial stability—no trust fund luck here. But once you learn the lessons, you build lasting wealth.

Saturn in the 5th House? Creativity and romance might feel blocked in early life. But once you unlock your confidence, you’re unstoppable.

Saturn in the 7th House? You’re probably not the “love at first sight” type. Relationships come with extra lessons—but they also get better with age. Either marry age or would have a significant age difference with your partner.

⏳ Saturn rewards patience. What feels impossible now will make sense later.

The IC (Imum Coeli) – The “Hidden Core” of Who You Are

Your IC (Imum Coeli) is the lowest point in your chart, ruling your deepest self, your upbringing, and what makes you feel safe. It’s often linked to childhood patterns and the part of you that only comes out when you’re truly comfortable.

🏡 Example:

IC in Cancer? You need emotional security like oxygen. A cozy home, family vibes, and deep connections = your safe space.

IC in Scorpio? You grew up learning that trust is earned, not given. You keep your emotions locked up unless someone proves they’re worthy.

IC in Aquarius? You never quite felt “normal” growing up—maybe you were the black sheep or had unique interests. But deep down, you just want to be accepted for who you truly are.

✨ Want to Know YOUR Hidden Birth Chart Secrets?

Your chart holds so many clues about your life purpose, struggles, and the cosmic blueprint of your soul. ��

📩 DM me for a complete birth chart reading! Let’s uncover what the stars are really saying about you. 🔮✨

Karmic Paths & Soul Purpose: A Complete Guide to the North Nodes & South Nodes in Astrology (13-page report) - $5

Get my full PDF guide for just $5! Payment via PayPal. Once payment is confirmed, I will send you the PDF. It covers North Node & South Node in signs & houses, who you were in your past life, your career, family, love and your relationships in detail. Message me to grab your copy! 🌟

Note : Due to different time zones, I might not reply immediately. Don't worry! Leave me your email address for me to send the password-protected PDF file. Once the payment is confirmed, I will give you the password to access to it.

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pupsmailbox · 1 year ago

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ROBOT ID PACK

NAMES ︰ aerobot.　agatha.　ai.　alan.　alethea.　alexia.　algernon.　alistair.　alpha.　amaryllis.　ambrose.　androbot.　androic.　andromeda.　angelica.　antenna.　arabella.　araminta.　arcade.　auto.　automaton.　axel.　axis.　badnik.　bionel.　bolt.　byte.　care.　celline.　cello.　chip.　chipique.　clank.　cloniste.　clonoid.　cobot.　codelle.　cole.　curiosity.　cy.　cyber.　cybette.　cybion.　cypher.　data.　dell.　della.　delpha.　delta.　digi.　dot.　droid.　droidess.　droidis.　dronette.　echo.　elektra.　euna.　eva.　eve.　fritz.　giga.　gizmo.　glitch.　grey.　gynoid.　helix.　holo.　holodir.　hydra.　ida.　jet.　kaput.　kinect.　krudzu.　linion.　mac.　mace.　machibella.　machina.　mal.　malware.　mation.　mech.　mecha.　mechael.　mechan．ace.　metal.　metalia.　metalish.　micro.　motherboard.　motor.　nano.　neo.　nucleus.　nyquist.　orbit.　parallel.　pip.　pixel.　prime.　primus.　proto.　quantum.　radar.　radius.　ram.　ray.　reflect.　reflectette.　robo.　robonaut.　rusty.　satellite.　scrappy.　selsyn.　sentiex.　servo.　shard.　siri.　solar.　sonar.　spark.　sparkie.　sparky.　sputnik.　steele.　sterling.　stochastic.　synchro.　synie.　synthett.　talus.　terra.　tin.　tink.　tobor.　ultramarine.　ultron.　unimate.　unit.　virus.　waldo.　zip.

PRONOUNS︰ ai/ai.　algo/algorithm.　android/android.　app/app.　auto/auto.　auto/automated.　auto/automaton.　axis/axi.　beep/boop.　bio/bionic.　bio/bioplastic.　blast/blast.　bo/bot.　bolt/bolt.　bot/bot.　buffer/buffer.　byte/byte.　cell/cell.　chaos/chaos.　chi/chip.　click/click.　clo/clone.　code/code.　coil/recoil.　command/command.　compute/computer.　core/core.　cyb/cyborg.　cyber/cyber.　data/data.　dev/device.　device/device.　dig/digital.　digi/digital.　droi/droid.　droid/droid.　e/exe.　electric/electric.　entry/entries.　exo/exoskeleton.　gear/gear.　gli/glitch.　glitch/glitch.　hack/hack.　ho/holo.　holo/holo.　hologram/hologram.　in/install.　intra/intranet.　link/link.　machi/machine.　mal/malfunction.　mal/malware.　mech/mech.　mecha/mechanical.　mechanic/mechanic.　metal/metal.　metro/metro.　motor/motor.　neo/neo.　neon/neon.　nuclear/nuclear.　propeller/propeller.　radar/radar.　retro/retro.　robo/robo.　robo/robot.　robot/robot.　rubber/rubber.　satellite/satellite.　sca/scan.　shard/shard.　shine/shiny.　signal/signal.　solar/solar.　steel/steel.　stem/stem.　swi/switch.　syn/synth.　syn/synthetic.　tech/tech.　techno/techno.　test/test.　text/text.　turing/turing.　vi/viru.　web/site.　web/web.　whirr/whirr.　wi/wifi.　wire/wire.　wired/wired.　⚙️/⚙️.　🔧/🔧.　🔩/🔩.　🛠//🛠.　🤖/🤖.

#pupsmail︰id packs #id pack #npt #name suggestions #name ideas #name list #pronoun suggestions #pronoun ideas #pronoun list #neopronouns #nounself #emojiself #robotkin #machinekin #androidkin #robotcore

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nataliescatorccioapologist · 2 months ago

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I find it interesting that many of us, including myself, tend to focus on characters whose grief and trauma are more outwardly expressed, like Nat and Shauna, while often overlooking those who cope through deflection and minimization, like Van. The audience’s response to Van arguably mirrors her own experiences with her teammates and family: her pain is easily dismissed because she masks it so well.

She’s been through absolute hell and back (absent father, neglectful alcoholic mother, nearly fatally mauled by wolves, nearly getting burnt alive multiple times, having her entire face stitched up with a sewing needle by a teenager with no pain medication, constantly managing the safety of a girlfriend who may be dissociating into someone dangerous, ETC). And yet, she’s rarely recognized as one of the most traumatized characters because she copes through humor. It’s her job to lighten the mood, to be the emotional buffer, to make everyone feel better.

Van is a caretaker through and through. There’s no doubt in my mind that she raised herself and had to care for her mother on top of that. The praise she likely got from adults when she was growing up wasn’t comfort or support; it was, “You’re so strong,” “You’re so independent,” or “You’re such a ray of sunshine.” I think she internalized that, it’s become integral to her identity.

We rarely see Van cry, she doesn’t have the emotional outbursts and breakdowns that the other characters express, but her trauma is just as present and impactful. Van copes by denying, minimizing, and toughening up. Nearly burned alive on a funeral pyre? Crack a joke. Forced to eat an innocent kid to survive? Focus on being grateful you’re still alive. Diagnosed with terminal cancer? Refuse to acknowledge it, never let anyone see what it’s doing to you emotionally. Van is even calm and witty when she’s on that dream plane being told by her younger self that she’s actively dying. This is why small moments like Van wanting to call her mom with the satellite phone feel so prominent, they are small glimpses into that vulnerability she keeps hidden all in service of staying strong for the people around her.

#yellowjackets #Van Palmer

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warfaredoll · 2 months ago

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𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐚

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ warfare ⋮ Elliott x f!reader ⋮ smut w plot ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐭𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 “𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐞” 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐨. 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐞.

lovee this thank u @https-junebug ‹𝟹

the grainy youtube video buffered for a moment then came on full-force casting a neon-lit glow across the cracked concrete walls of the room

Elliott sat back on a hard wooden chair, arms crossed trying to look unfazed but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “this is what you call motivation?”

“fuck yeah” tommy said

and soon the room was alive. boots thumped on the concrete floor, and the whole group was shouting along with shameless joy.

“CALL ON ME”

Elliott found himself mouthing the words too, caught in the contagious moment. his body bobbed lightly to the beat, but his eyes were locked on the screen on her. the lead girl in the music video

the camera zoomed in again on the tight little outfit she wore, thighs and legs exposed, slick sweat on her body

Elliott ran a hand through his hair, trying to play it cool even though no one was looking at him everyone too caught up in their own moment

he shifted on the chair, eyes narrowing at the screen as if scrutinizing it might neutralize the sudden heat forming in his chest. it didn’t.

there was a lot going on in that video. too much. he’d watched it before, sure who hadn’t? but this was different. maybe it was because everything was so tense lately deployments stacking up, sleep at a minimum, emotions running thin.

he blinked hard and looked away at the wall, at the others anywhere but the screen.

Elliott forced a laugh, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, pretending to be entertained pretending like the heat in his neck wasn’t spreading.

he rubbed the back of his neck and muttered under his breath. “…Jesus Christ.”

“CALL ON ME” but it faded into the background for Elliott. because in his head? he was thinking of you.

you in that cute little sleeping set he loved so much, stretching on your tiptoes across the kitchen. that sleepy smile you gave him when you caught him staring. the way you bit your bottom lip just a little out of nerves

he could practically feel the heat of your skin beneath his fingertips. the weight of you against him. the warmth of your breath on his neck when you leaned in close just to mess with him.

and God, your voice. soft, teasing, sweet with just a hint of a little something extra when you wanted something.

that did it. a shiver down his spine, he clenched his jaw, sitting back again like he needed the extra space between himself and the rest of the group.

he imagined your hands again sliding beneath his shirt, nails skimming over his stomach. your laugh against his collarbone.

“Elliott you good?” Ray asked suddenly

Elliott blinked too. “Yeah” he lied. “Just… thinking.”

Ray nodded not pressing but the second Ray looked away, the smile dropped.

Elliott exhaled slowly, adjusting the collar of his shirt like it might cool him down. It didn’t.

Elliott didn’t say anything. just stood slow like he wasn’t rushing but his blood sure as hell was. that gnawing ache to see you, to hear your voice, to feel something

he slipped out of the main room quietly, past stacked ammo crates and peeling posters. the laughter faded behind him, the music finally muted by the humming silence of the back hallway. just him and the pounding in his chest.

there was an old comms room two doors down half-forgotten, full of outdated gear and dust. but one of the laptops still worked. barely. enough to get a video call out if you knew how to work it. and Elliott did

he shut the door behind him, fingers moving, flipping switches, waking the system up. the screen flickered, booted, glitched for a second.

then it opened to the encrypted call line. he typed in your contact.

connecting…

his knee bounced as he waited. he missed you.

he missed the sound of your laugh when you thought he was being too serious. the way you always tilted your head when you looked at him. the way your voice softened when you said his name

and he needed that right now. needed you.

the screen lit up.

he straightened up a little, swiped a hand through his hair, and exhaled slow as the connection clicked into place.

and then there you were. onscreen. backlit by the warm light of your apartment. wearing that small tank top and little shorts he loved, hair a little messy. that familiar look of surprise and joy lighting up your face.

“Elliott?” you said, breathless with relief. “is everything okay?”

he smiled small, tired, but there. “Yeah” he murmured, voice low. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just… I needed to see you.”

your eyes softened instantly. “I missed you” he said quietly, leaning closer like he could somehow be nearer through the screen. “so much.”

“I missed you too, you look tired.”

“I’m always tired” he chuckled. “but tonight… I just couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

you tilted your head slightly, smiling, just like you always did when you knew exactly where his mind had wandered. “Oh yeah?”

he nodded. “Yeah. you’ve been stuck in my head all night. I was watching something stupid with the guys and suddenly.. bam. all I could see was you.”

you leaned in a little closer, voice lowering, soft and teasing. “What were you watching?”

he laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “don’t ask.”

“im asking.” you softly replied with a little pout forming

“Fine” he said, smirking. “It was that Call on Me music video. the one with all the…” he gestured vaguely. “you know. the workout class.”

your laugh was immediate and beautiful. “Oh my God. you guys are still watching that?”

“Apparently it’s ‘tradition’ now before missions.”

you gave him a look that was half amused, “So you saw that and then you thought of me?”

“I always think of you. but yeah. that definitely sped things up.”

you smiled slowly. “Did I ruin the video for you?”

he shook his head, “no. you made it better. you’re all I saw.”

“but I wish you were here” he said, softer now. “I don’t even care about the mission tonight. I just want to be home. with you.”

“I know” you whispered. “but I’m right here. as long as you need me.”

the tension in Elliott’s shoulders slowly eased. you were smiling now really smiling.

“you cut your hair?” he said, leaning his cheek into his knuckles, watching you like it was the first time all over again

you ran your fingers through it with a playful smile. “not much. just enough to feel cute without making you freak out.”

Elliott raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t have freaked out.”

“You absolutely would’ve.”

“no I wouldn’t.” he said with a lazy smile.

you laughed, leaning closer to the screen. “yes. you. would’ve”

he narrowed his eyes playfully. “Don’t start. or I’ll start listing all the things you missed about me and I won’t stop.”

you raised a brow. “Like what?”

Elliott smiled. “like the way I make coffee better than you. and the fact that no one else knows how to fold your hoodie sleeves just right. and…” he leaned forward slightly, “the way I always know when you’re pretending not to miss me more than I miss you.”

you opened your mouth to argue, but then he added quietly, “and how no one else gets to see that look on your face. the one you’re making right now.”

you froze for a second, caught. then you rolled your eyes “you’re so annoying.”

his smiled softened more

you looked down for a second and when you tucked your hair behind your ear Elliott’s voice shifted.

“Wait” he said. “let me see your hand.”

“What this?” you said teasingly, holding it up.

he grinned wide as the ring caught the light.

“There it is” he whispered, “That’s my girl.”

you smiled like your heart might actually burst.

“you wear it all the time?”

“Every day” you said, turning your hand slowly so he could see it better. “I take it off to shower, sometimes when I sleep. but I never stop wearing it”

he was quiet, eyes locked on the ring then softly Elliott exhaled through his nose, gaze heavy with love. “Good.” the screen flickered faintly from the old wiring, but neither of you cared. even through the grainy pixels, it felt like you were right there. like if Elliott just reached out far enough, he could tuck your hair behind your ear. feel your fingertips between his.

he leaned back in the creaky chair, eyes still on you. he smiled lazily, eyes half-lidded like he was picturing it. “God, I wish I could crawl into that bed with you.”

you sighed, voice gentler now. “me too. I’d hold you. play with your hair until you actually slept.”

Elliott’s eyes softened at that. “you remember when you used to do that after I got back from drills?”

you smiled. “yeah.”

he looked at you like you were everything in the world. even through the grainy screen, even through the distance and the time difference especially through it he loved you. deeply. entirely.

you rested your cheek on your hand, blinking slowly. Elliott didn’t speak for a while he just watched you.

then you yawned. Innocently. a soft little sound, barely audible. your arms rose above your head in a big, sleepy stretch shoulders rolling, back arching slightly.

and that little tank top your were wearing rode up. just a little. just enough. enough to show a bit of soft, warm skin at your waist. the faintest dip of your stomach. and beneath that? a small glimpse of fabric. the top line of your underwear peeking out

you didn’t even seem to notice. but Elliott did.

his breath hitched. his jaw set. “Jesus Christ” he muttered under his breath, barely loud enough for the mic.

you blinked. “Hm?”

he shook his head quickly, coughing into his fist. “Nothing. Nothing. Just… stretchin’ too.”

you laughed softly, curling your knees up to your chest. “God, I’m tired.”

Elliott leaned back in his chair, one hand running over his mouth and moustache as he tried to calm his heart rate back to normal. his body was tense, filled with with pent up energy he hadn’t burned off earlier. you were sweet and soft and right there on the screen, just barely out of reach and it was torture.

“you still wearing those little cotton ones?” he asked suddenly casual tone, voice low.

your eyebrows lifted, lips twitching. “Elliott!”

“What?” he said, “Just making conversation.”

“Uh-huh” you said dryly, but your face betrayed you that smile broke through your pout

he eyes looked over you again, this time more slowly, a small grin on his lips. “is it the little pair with the flowers? or the one with the lace trim. black. low-rise. used to drive me insane, remember?”

your lips parted but the words got caught in your throat for half a second. you did remember. your back against the bedroom wall, his hands under your shirt, mouth somewhere between your jaw and shoulder, murmuring into your skin how good you felt in nothing but those

“Elliott stop!” you squealed

he exhaled a soft chuckle, low and rough, but his eyes never left you. “If I could touch you right now, if I could get my hands under that shirt, pull those panties down your thighs and…..”

“Elliott!!” your tone flustered cutting him off.

his tongue swept across the inside of his cheek thinking. “you know I don’t need to be there to hear how you sound when you’re squirming, trying not to make noise. you forget how many nights I’ve had to make do with just your voice in my ear?”

your heart was hammering now, one hand gripped the sheet of your bed comforter as you stayed quiet. “Can I tell you what I’d be doing if I had you under me right now?”

you didn’t hesitate, nodding quickly.

Elliott’s grin spread more on his face ,the kind of look he used to give you when he had you pressed to the mattress. his forearms were on the desk now, eyes taking in the view of you in that warm little room, soft light giving your skin a beautiful glow

“You remember” he said low and quiet, “How you used to squirm when I kissed down your stomach… slowly like I had all the time in the world.”

“that soft little gasp you make right before I get to your thighs.. yeah, that one.” He smiled to himself, “And when I finally get between them, how you’d buck up the second you felt my mustache tickle your clit… Jesus, you were always so fucking sensitive there.”

you could feel the warmth in your cheeks, but you couldn’t look away. his voice was a low in your ears now

“I’d open you up with my thumbs, just barely” he murmured, his own breathing shallowing “and lick teasingly slow until you grabbed my head, tried to push my face in deeper. thought I didn’t notice, huh?”

you exhaled shaky chest rising

he smiled again, softer this time. “I’d fuck you with my tongue, just like that until your hips were coming off the bed. you used to grind against my face. whimpering fuck, I can still feel your thighs squeezing around me.”

he swallowed, hard. his free hand drifted under the table. just a brush at first innocent, like he was adjusting himself but then it lingered, curled, and pressed. his cock throbbed painfully inside his military pants, precum dampening his boxers, thick and warm against fabric too

“Show me something” he said, voice rasping. “You’re sitting there in those tiny little shorts… show me what’s underneath.”

you blinked, mouth open slightly, eyes wide but your fingers had already hooked into the waistband of your sleep shorts. slowly you rose to your knees so he could see, dragging the shorts down the curve of your hips, thighs, all the way to your ankles. you dropped them to the floor

“Fuck” Elliott muttered before he could stop himself teeth sinking into his lower lip.

your panties were a pale soft pink, a thin cotton stretched prettily over the swell between your thighs, a damp patch already forming. you weren’t even trying to hide it. you knew what you were doing. and he loved you for it.

then came your tank top one hand gathering it up and over your head, revealing the matching bra underneath. your skin looked almost gold in the light, hair falling down your back, you sat back slowly letting him see everything. the rise and fall of your breathing. the innocent little smile on your lips.

he was gone. Elliott’s palm cupped his cock through his pants now, pressing against the bulge as it strained hard. he kept it slow, quiet, not wanting you to know how far gone he already was not yet. he just wanted to watch for now

and you? you leaned a little closer to the camera, fingers drifting lightly down your stomach, dancing just above the waistband of your panties as if wanting him to tell you what to do next.

his eyes locked on yours. “touch yourself for me.” his voice pleading but commanding. “real slow. just the way I used to. let me see how wet you are.”

he couldn’t stop himself his hand rubbed harder over the bulge in his pants, his hips shifting helplessly against the pressure.

you didn't break eye contact not once not even when your hand crept slowly down your stomach, tracing lazy, teasing circles along your skin like you were just getting to know your body again. and in a way, you were. but only through Elliott’s eyes. only for him. your breath came a little shallower with each inch downward, your thighs twitching as your fingertips slipped beneath the soft waistband of your panties.

Elliott's jaw clenched the second your fingers disappeared from sight, the image on his screen pixelated and grainy but real, real enough for him to imagine every movement, his hand tightened around himself over his pants, and he felt it then a warm spurt of precum soaking into the fabric staining the inside of his boxers. he didn’t care. he other hand clenched the edge of the desk hard enough to hurt.

you paused, fingers nestled between your pussy, then, without him saying a word you moved the fabric aside. just enough. just enough for him to see.

your wet hole, your arousal caught in the low light, the tiny twitch of your hips as you held yourself open for him.

“Fuck” Elliott groaned low in his throat, “Look at you.”

he palmed himself harder now, hips rocking slightly against the pressure, breath ragged. the sound of it came through in bursts between crackling comms static. he looked starved.

“Take it off for me” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “All the way.”

you moved slow. so, so slow.

the panties slid down your thighs, catching slightly at your knees before you pushed them off, you didn’t try to hide how soaked they were didn’t need to. that was part of what had him shaking on the other side of the screen. you tossed them just out of frame, then reached behind you.

the bra unclasped with a faint click, straps sliding off your shoulders..

you sat back, fully exposed, thighs parted, arms loose at your sides. your nipples were stiff and hard in the cool air, your chest rising with each breath, you didn’t speak. didn’t move. you just looked at him.

Elliott froze, a sound catching in his throat

“Jesus Christ” he whispered, pressing the heel of his hand against his cock through his pants.

you sat naked and calm in front of that shitty old laptop camera while he sat breathless and needy in a comms room ten thousand miles away.

he didn’t even notice his hand was trembling. you smiled sweetly at him

“Your turn.”

he didn’t blink, didn't stall, didn't even smirk. just moved.

the chair scraped faintly against the concrete floor as he stood, the sound of metal clinking barely audible as he undid his belt his hands moved quick. his fingers were tense as he unfastened the button, tugged down the zipper of those rough-stitched military pants, and let them drop around his boots.

you inhaled, soft and sharp. he was still in his boxers, but the outline was impossible to ignore. big and hard. the cotton strained over him, the bulge stretching toward his waistband, and there a wide wet stain soaked into the fabric, right over the leaking head. the way his cock twitched pressed like that, made your thighs clench

and then he hooked his thumbs into the waistband and dragged them down.

your breath caught as his cock sprang free.

it slapped against his lower stomach flushed, the head leaking, from the buildup he hadn’t touched properly all day. he didn’t say a word.

just sat back down, his pants and boxers somewhere around his ankles and reached forward to angle the laptop.

the screen jolted a little as he adjusted it down lower, framing himself entirely. you had a full view now Elliott’s broad chest rising and falling, the cut of his waist, and his cock, hard and glistening, resting against his stomach before he curled his fingers around the shaft and lifted it upright.

he exhaled through his teeth, hissing as his palm slid along the length once, slowly.

“For you” he said hoarsely, staring right into the camera. “All of it.”

your pulse quickened in your throat, hands still resting loosely on your bare thighs, but the tension in your shoulders gave you away. you looked down for a second then back at him. cock in his hand, hand trembling as he fought not to move yet.

but your voice came quiet, hesitant, barely above a whisper.

“But… Elliott” you murmured, “What if someone catches you?”

your pout deepened, your body still tingling with need, but your expression was suddenly unsure. “What if they walk in? What if someone hears you…sees us?” your arms came up instinctively to fold across your chest, not fully hiding just that feeling of fear tightening in your belly.

Elliott didn’t move. his hand stayed where it was, wrapped lightly around the base of his cock, but he let his voice soften again. gentle now.

“Hey” he said softly, the tiniest smile pulling at one corner of his mouth. “look at me.”

you did.

“No one’s gonna catch us” he said, calm and sure. “Comms room is closed. I locked the door. Everyone’s too busy rewatching that video. swear. just me in here. just us.”

you swallowed, eyes still searching his face.

he leaned in a little, the camera shifting just slightly, “We’re safe. nobody’s coming through that door. and even if they tried, i’d hear it. you don’t need to worry.”

“I’d never let anyone see you like this but me” he murmured.

the nerves in your chest calmed down a little, and you nodded.

“okay..” you whispered. your fingers slid slowly back down your thighs, arms unfolding again, “only because you said so.”

Elliott was back in his chair, hand around the thick length of his cock, his other arm braced against the edge of the desk. his eyes never left yours.

you laid back slightly, spreading your thighs wider as you dipped your fingers between them, already slick and aching. breath catching in your throat as you moved slow circles, just enough to tease. and he saw.

"That's it, baby" Elliott breathed, his voice sweet. “Let me see how pretty you get for me.”

you moaned, your hips twitching up instinctively.

“I can see it” he went on, pumping himself slow from base to tip, the skin tight and glossy from how hard he was. “Your little clit all swollen begging for me to put my mouth on it. miss that so much tasting you, tongue deep inside you while you push my head down.”

you whimpered, your fingers dipped lower, teasing your entrance

“Want you so bad it hurts” he breathed. his hips shifted forward into his palm, then smack he slapped the head of his cock against his hand, a groan coming out of him. “Fuck, look at you. so needy. you miss this cock?”

“Yes” you gasped, arching your back, rubbing faster now. “Elliott- I miss you, I.. God..”

“Yeah, baby? you gonna cum for me? can’t stop thinking about how tight you feel, how you used to squeeze around me when you were close. just for me.”

you switched hands using your non-dominant one, the one that wore the ring. you slid your fingers lower slowly, slowly down your wet hole. the cool metal rubbing against it, and you moaned as you pushed your finger with the ring in until it disappeared, snug, your body swallowing it.

his jaw parted slightly, mouth open, breath ragged.

“You- holy fuck” he groaned, cock twitching in his grip.

“I wanted you in me somehow.” you moaned.

“God” Elliott murmured, “You’re so fucking perfect. look at you, fucking yourself with the ring I gave you, whimpering like you need me right now. and I’d be there, if I could I’d push that ring in deeper with my fingers, with my cock-“

thighs shaking, fingers moving frantically now, you were a mess, panting and whimpering, lips parted, your free hand gripping the sheet beneath you.

Elliott’s breath came in ragged gasps, teeth clenched thighs trembling. he was pumping himself with desperate strokes now, the slick wet sounds of his fist on his cock

“baby-” he grunted, head falling back, “I’m.. Jesus- I’m gonna fucking cum.”

your eyes widened, still working your fingers in fast tight circles over your clit, your thighs twitching from it already building inside you but you weren’t there yet.

“No- Elliott wait” you gasped, making your voice high and sweet. “Please.. Elliott wait for me don’t cum yet.. please-”

He groaned like it physically hurt to hold back, he slowed just barely, chest heaving, “Shit alright- alright, baby”

you moaned out, back arching, fingers curling against your clit faster now, faster as you let the other hand rise up, cupping your breast. you moaned at the feel, needy and high-pitched, groping yourself hard, tweaking your nipple between slick fingers until your hips bucked off the bed. thighs trembling, that white creamy ring of slick clinging to your knuckles

“look at you look how wet you are for me- squeezing that pussy like you’d milk me dry if I was there..”

Elliott continued pumping his cock

his groan was deep as thick spurts of cum shot on his fist, dripping hot down his knuckles. he stroked himself through it, hissing, gasping your name

your breath still came in short gasps, chest rising and falling, your hand resting lazily across your belly, fingers glistening, ring still nestled deep inside you

Elliott slumped back in the chair, arm limp over the edge of the desk, thighs streaked with his own mess, his cock slowly softening against his thigh. his other hand brushed through his short hair, damp with sweat, eyes half-lidded but on you.

and then his mouth twitched. a little crooked smile, barely there, but visible

you let out a breath of laughter, soft, lips curving as your cheeks flushed not from embarrassment, but from how happy he looked, how much you loved seeing him smile like that again.

“I can’t believe we just did that” you murmured, a giggle breaking through the words

Elliott grinned wider, still panting a little, his voice rough with pleasure and affection. “I can” he said, “and I hope we do it again. like. every night.”

you both laughed now, you reached for the sheet with one hand, tugging it lightly over your lap, but not rushing to hide. you liked that he could still see the curve of your thigh, the softness of your skin.

he wiped a streak of cum off his thigh with the bottom of his shirt and winced. “Shit. I really made a mess.”

you giggled again, then leaned toward the screen, “you always do.”

he rolled his eyes, smiling stupid now, teeth showing.

first writing for elliott 😩

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 - 𓊆ྀི 𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞𓊇ྀི

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sapphiccup · 1 month ago

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Burning Blue...

Word count: 1.3k

Pairing: Abby x reader

Cw: Slow burn <3 series…. //light panic attacks descriptions, awkward conversation, slightly suggestive, warning there will be nsfw in later chapters, Malnourished abby for the first few chapter, trust issues, anxiety, yep, gay stuff. MDNI AND CIS MEN -> DNI!

Summary: Abby is in quite the pickle, she is trying to get back in the real world again after dealing with so many cross roads with life. Scared to make the the wrong move again, however a certain someone pushes her to get back out there with life again. And once she does take that step.. well. Let’s find that out together, shall we?

Dc!:@/mmadeinheavenn

Song: Burning blue by Mariah the Scientist🧪💎

Prologue…ᖭི༏ᖫྀ

You sat on the same couch with a woman who is particularly on the more buffer side than most. She’s new, different, doesn’t speak a lot in your little village you call home. Home away from out there.

You could say, it’s like freedom from the real world.

Freedom in more ways than one, it felt as though this home of yours was so mundane that even this quiet woman has been accustomed to it. So accustomed that.. she’s forgotten about human touch, and would like to remind the both of you, how good it feels to be human again. Not weapons, not survival, just.. human.

In doing so—- here it all began. One hand on your thigh, and the other around your waist, a kiss so tender pulling away from your now warm swollen lips, panting in unison. The scent of arousal permeated the air,<- (credits to moonie for this highlighted line) like a spark to a flame as if it was strong as gaz de pétrole liquéfié.

But before you got here, there was quite a story that begun a little like this…

She arrived months ago with some kid, named Lev. He’s also quiet, but more like speaks when spoken to,

quiet. Cuts the bullshit and gets to the point. Got along quickly with that one. So, quickly, they figured you and Abby should meet. And after a while of insisting over and over again. You finally, exhaustedly gave in. Dragging your feet behind them, as they walked up the stairs upon a porch, knocking on the door. You suddenly understood that you felt more nervous than before, meeting this unknown silent woman. Who definitely looks like they’ve seen more shit than they should have. You took purchase to the ground instead of the porch, rocking back and forth on your heels to the tips of your shoes. Arms behind your back, as if you were a kid again, nervous to say hi to the new kid in class or you are the new kid. In your 20’s feeling more vulnerable than before, odd that those feelings are crawling over your skin, that you claimed has thickened. It was hot too, the sticky kind of hot, and of course you’d pick the ground under the beaming sun instead of her porch with a sun roof to banish momentarily hot rays. Another knock to the door came. You’d hear some heavy steps come near the door, whipping your head upwards to see. Abby.

“What’s up Lev?” She asks, only peering a bit out of her white door. Her face barely out the door, only able to see her nose.

“It’s time to get out and actually socialize. Like we practice” Lev urged them, with a slight groan to their cords.

“Ah, yes, definitely tell the whole village that as well Lev, thank you. Appreciate you so much..”

“Oh, is this what this sarcasm you spoke of before feels like?”

“Yeah— ugh, you know what.. we’ll work on your sarcasm skills later”

“Cold, okay see you—I’m gonna go work on a few cars today” he said turning on his heel, speeding down the stairs, giving you a cheeky smile before heading towards back into town.

“I- wai-“ She reaches out for them but they are already gone. Poor Abby, after years of finally finding a place she feels she can relax, she finds herself in quite the pickle to actually start speaking to people again. Feeling as though she doesn’t even deserve a friend after.. the Seattle incident. She slips through the door and out there she goes, greeting you with a nod, and an awkward bitten lip.

…

“So..” She starts off, with hands in her pockets, trying to regain some kind of comfortability. Or control.. You introduce yourself before this entire thing you’ve prepared takes off like a failed paper airplane. “—Lev said you needed some company, so here I am.” You continued, noticing her eyebrows raised, and a hint of pink embarrassment kisses her appled cheeks. “Yeah… I- you know..—-“

“I’m sorry I’m just..— not used to being insisted that I need to get back out there and socialize. Been a while.. with infected out there and.. all” is what she chooses to say as eels slip down her back, her once rosed hinted face now blanched with paleness. The memories of what she's done, the mistakes that were made, the karma that was dealt, the two sides of the same coin situations, everything that she wish she could take back and do differently… The conversation with Mel especially still lingers and has made a terrible cocoon in her mind. Ready to just pop open one day. But of course she sticks with the story that would be more common to share than her past of many unique decisions.

“Uh-huh…” you began,

“Well, I’ve been here for at least 5 years. Truly—- since the buildings used to be just scraps and what not.. but here we are.. heh, ha— um.. anyways… D-don’t really see you around the dining hall?” You bambled, blubbed, your sentence, wanting to just crawl back into your bed and sleep off whatever silly nerves are trying to camp in your nervous system.

“Yeah?”

This conversation is clearly not going anywhere! Might as well switch it up, you are afterall “You haven’t been able to meet everybody, and we’re all soooo curious about you”

“Is— is that sarcasm?”

“Maybe” you respond with a playful smolder, you manage to get a quirked eyebrow from this mysterious woman, and for that.. that is a win of sorts. Though, you fwip your head away from her, teeth dragging against your chapped bottom lip.

“Huh, didn’t pick you to have that kinda of humor” She states, as she slowly walks down the stairs. You turn back your attention to her as those wooden stairs creak under her. The closer she gets the more you notice how tall she actually is, and if you didn’t know any better. You took a step back, caught off guard from the height. In fact your eyes wander a bit more, not pervertedly of course just.. observing her physique. She wore a black wife pleaser, some dark blue jeans, her hair slightly chopped in a… interesting style.. seems like a struggle with scissors but that is no matter. Maybe she’d like a haircut some day by one of the friendly locals.. however you’re careful to not just bring that up yet. You’d also ponder if she had a muscle regression before getting here, unless you are mistaken from her stretch marks on her arms. Abby rubbed the back of her neck letting out a grunted ‘ahem’. You regain your focus with a twiced blink and ears are hot as ever.

“Maybe you should pick a little harder, miss socially inept” you jested, a little poke of fun wouldnt hurt after being caught for starring… you’ll apologize in your own way later tonight.

“Ha.. haa, okay watch yourself— I didn’t say you we’re that funny”

“Wait till you get to know me some more, maybe you’ll be smiling one day”

“Yeah, good luck with that” Abby muttered to herself, rolling her eyes. Reminding herself that maybe this is what she needed. Something familiar, conversation, regardless of how oddly blunt you are. Some directness would be nice for once. No wondering in her ocean of a mind if she made a fool of herself with you with your kind of attitude.

And just from that one conversation, things moved slow, then a bit quick, then slow again, but as time moved on, the more you both figured, this is okay. At first you figured you both are a little weird, but honestly this is the most at peace she’s been in a while. So fuck it if you’re weird, fuck it if you’re a little blunt. Just fuck it. At least you’re not something that represents her past. And thank fuck for that too.

Of course Abby didn’t just bounce back outta no where though, hell no?. There were her good days, and her bad days. The panic attacks from when the position of night terrors that favored her dad dying to her being afraid of dying herself. The pain and regret fostering in her soul, leaving traces in her finger tips, and the blood that was once there by her friend Manny, still haunts her. To a point where she find herself rubbing that spot on her face, washing her face longer than usual, or just full on diving full face in her bathtub— when taking a simple bath.

She hasn’t even told Lev this situation of hers, don’t wanna burden anyone in her mind that is. However those small conversations you have with each other helps. Only on her good days though.

Her bad days, you could tell if they were about to erupt. The bad blood that she would spill, those tiny curses of something minor slipping out in big crowds when something or someone went wrong, even just a regular hand on the back had her fidgeting more than usual.

And asking her if she’s okay? Out of the question. She just leaves and goes home. Little did you know, she just cry from how not okay she is. The realization of it all tumbling down for her and not knowing how to fix it. She feels as though she must fix it. To be “normal” again, not as feeble as some skittish deer. Is what she would refer herself to when she calms down from her episodes.

Sometimes, something thicker than water can either help you with life, or drown you, pulling you down like a creature of the deep. That’s what it felt like for Abby everyday. Something creeping on her skin as if one day her past will just burst through the door or she herself blabbed a bit too much about what she’s done. Scared of being perceived the way she used to be seen.

Until one day after a month of knowing you something happens…

Prolouge||continue?->

A/n: Hello! I never wrote a Abby x reader before, and I want to make this a slow burn with some real life situations that reader and Abby could go through together. This is just my take on how Abby could be like if she were to go back to civilization again especially after dealing with the rattlers. It had to been added upon trauma? In so in this series it will be Abby and reader trying to tame the tides of her traumas/secrets/and most of all her episodes that come and go. 💋☁️

#abby anderson #abby tlou #abby x reader #abby x you #abby the last of us #wlw #LITERALLYIDKIJUST..YEAH UM ERM yes 😔#I’m gonna write these minis before posting smoking out the window with Vi to get back in the groove of writing again :3 #Dw they’re gonna do the do just wait #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson fanfic #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #tlou2 fanfic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us abby #abby angst

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v1si0n · 7 months ago

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ch.6: since we’re lying now…

The slight creak of the dance studios door pulls Jeno from his focus and he scowls, turning his head to see you standing like a deer in headlights at the entrance.

“Can I help you?” He grumbles, returning his attention back to his phone where he compiles a series of tweets on his private account.

“Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine?” You coo sarcastically, walking into the studio and shutting the door.

“What are you doing?” Jeno asks as he watches you put your bag down in the corner and take your sweater off.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” You quirk a brow at him, stretching your arms over your head with a satisfied moan. “I’m in a dance studio with athletic clothes on. What else could I possibly be doing?”

Jeno ignores the way his eyes almost instinctively flit down to the exposed skin of your waist, and he averts his eyes to the wall. He feels a twinge of annoyance bubbling in his chest at your snarky remark, and he scoffs. “Can’t you see I’m already in here? Go somewhere else to practice.”

“Is there some sort of rule that says I can’t practice at the same time as you?” You ask rather nonchalantly, the steadiness in your voice driving Jeno up the wall as he continues to look everywhere else but you.

“No, jackass, it’s just common courtesy to respect each others space,” He huffs.

“I’m not even in your space, or remotely close to your space. I’ll stay on this side, so you can stop your bitching and whining so we can both lock in, deal?” You counter, putting your Airpods into your ears before turning your back towards him and facing the wall of mirrors on your side.

Jeno stands dumbfounded for a moment, slowly processing your words before turning around to his own wall of mirrors. He clears his throat and stretches, cramming his headphones back into his ears and letting the beat of the song flood his eardrums.

For the next hour, you’re both in your respective zones, and while you’re effortlessly moving through the choreography, Jeno was struggling to even remember the moves to his own routine. He loops the song once, twice, then by the eleventh time he’s cursing under his breath out of frustration that he completely believes is your fault.

With both of your mirrors facing each other on opposite ends of the room, Jeno could see your every movement despite having his back towards yours. His eyes trace your figure as you move to the music blasting in your headphones, his breath hitching every time the hem of your shirt rides up at the slightest movement of your arms.

Despite the booming bass that occupies his ears, he’s almost certain the erratic beating of his heart is louder, and he doesn’t know what comes over him as he surges forward and forcefully turns you by your shoulder.

“Dude! I was so locked in, what the hell are y—“

“Get out,” He barks, his jaw clenched as he keeps his fists balled up at his sides.

You let out a short laugh, partially in disbelief and partially because of the way his cheeks were tinted pink from dancing.

“No. Anything else?” You reject, looking up at him and beckoning for him to continue.

“I’m serious, Y/N. Get out. I don’t want you here,” Jeno snaps, and you let out a long sigh.

“Listen, buddy—”

“I’m not your buddy.”

“We have been peacefully coexisting in this studio for the past hour, and not only have you just physically harmed me—”

“I grabbed your shoulder?”

“But you are now telling me to leave for no reason. Tell me Jeno, is it fun?” You probe, your arms crossing over your chest.

“Is what fun?” Jeno buffers, his eyes finding it difficult to tear away from the way the light sheen of sweat makes your skin glow.

“This one sided beef you have going on. Is it fun to hate someone for no reason?” You question further, stepping closer to him.

“I have my reasons,” He mutters under his breath, refusing to tear his eyes away from yours in fear that they’d wander to places that he should definitely not be focused on.

“Please, share with the class,” You gesture for him to continue.

“Well, you’re extremely loud, thats one,” Jeno scoffs, his hands on his hips as you continue to stand in front of him tauntingly in your absurdly tight top and dangerously low waisted sweats.

“Amazing, next?” You count off one finger, sticking up the next as you wait for his response.

“You’re…you’re always off beat!” He calls out pathetically, his brain short circuiting as he struggles to keep his eyes on yours.

“Not true. Hyuck messes up more than I do, but go off. Three?” You stick up another finger.

Jeno racks his brain for any sort of insult he could hurdle at you but begins to find it impossible as you stand less than two feet in front of him, your head tilted to the side as you regard him with a hint of challenge in your eyes.

“You’re too energetic, you talk too much, and you…you’re always taking up too much space!” He blurts out all in one breath, his chest heaving.

In the midst of his fervor he hadn’t realized that you had started to step closer to him, and he balks at the way you practically have him backed up against the wall of mirrors. You, on the other hand, sport a wicked, almost knowing, smile, and you clear your throat to speak.

“You know, for someone who hates me so much, it sure was hard for you to come up with five simple reasons for not liking me,” You feign a pout, tilting your head in mock sympathy. “Was that hard for you, Jeno?”

His face hardens at your mocking tone and he mumbles out a quiet “No.”

“Alright, well, one, I do have a lot of energy, but don’t you think we need that to dance?” You question him gently, a satisfactory smile spreading on your face when you see the way his jaw clenches.

When he doesn’t answer and opts to narrow his eyes at you, you continue “Two, even if I do talk too much, it’s almost never to you so why do you care? Are you paying that much attention to me, babe?”

He doesn’t want to admit it but his heart nearly lurches out of his throat at the pet name, and he takes a deep breath to ground himself.

“Do you even realize how loud you are?”

“Oh, please. You can’t be friends with Chenle and Mark then call me loud,” You scoff, poking his chest with your finger. “Can I be real honest, Jeno?”

“I guess,” He digs his nails into his palms to distract himself from the feeling of your finger gently tracing shapes on his chest.

“I think you have a little crush on me,” You smirk up at him.

“You’re ridiculous,” He says through gritted teeth, “I don’t like you at all.”

Theres a moment of silence as you look at each other, fire burning behind both of your gazes as you let out a breath of laughter.

“‘Love and hate are visceral. Your stomach twists at the thought of that person. The heart in your chest beats heavy and bright, nearly visible through your flesh and clothes. Your appetite and sleep are shredded. Every interaction spikes your blood with adrenaline, and you’re in the brink of fight or flight. Your body is barely under your control. You’re consumed, and it scares you. Both love and hate are mirror versions of the same game.’ Sally Thorne,” You let out in one breath.

“I did not understand a word you just said,” He deadpans.

“It’s a quote from a book. And it’s basically saying theres no real difference between how you feel when you love or hate someone. So how sure are you that what you feel for me is hatred?” You prod at his chest again.

“You’re an idiot. Stop that,” He pushes your finger away from his chest.

“An idiot you might just be in love with,” You continue poking at his chest.

“I said stop, Y/N.”

“Or what? Is little Jeno gonna do something bad-”

Your words die in your throat as he grabs the hand that has been relentlessly poking his chest and swiftly spins you around. Your breath hitches when he presses you against the cold surface of the mirror, and your eyes widen as he peers down at you.

His breathing is heavy as he keeps a firm grip on the hand that you used to prod at him, and his eyes study your face before trailing up to your eyes.

“I told you to stop.”

The silence that fills the studio is enough to make your ears ring as you two stare at each other. An unwelcome thought pricks at your brain and your gaze falls to his lips, your eyes following his tongue as it darts out to wet the surface.

The jingling of keys breaks you out of your reverie and you gasp, your head snapping towards the door before you shove Jeno away from you. He stumbles back with a grunt, his gaze still lingering on you as you watch the door open.

“Uh, sorry kids. Time to go,” A janitor stands in the doorway as he taps at the watch on his wrist, “Nightly roll call is in like ten minutes. You better head back to your dorm.”

Your feet move quickly to your side of the studio and your frantic hands grab at your belongings. You hug your bag and sweater close to your chest before scurrying past the janitor, who watches you with mild concern as you leave.

Jeno doesn’t move from his spot in front of the mirror. His eyes are trained on the spot you were standing not long ago, the image of you shamelessly staring at his lips burned into his memory. He groans, rubbing his eyes with his palms as he mutters under his breath.

“Idiot.”

wc: a little over 1.7k im SORRY

ch.7: odd…peculiar even…

masterlistΣ(-᷅_-᷄๑)

TAGLIST: @sunghoonsgfreal @jenohyun @n0hyuck @tywritesstuff @dinonuguaegi @slayhaechan @botchedbrat @nayulvr @jenoleeaesthetic @ldh0000 @nctrawberries @meowtella @insaneanddrained @blamingontheboogie @jich3nle @flamingi @mmjhh1998 @byeonwooseokabs @qiankunslove @conwunder @sunflowerhae @lotties-readings @keeryverse

NOTES: this writer does not know how to stfu im sorry. but i hope you guys like this chapter bc i sure enjoyed writing it ;) i promise it wont take two weeks for the next one💗

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