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@abbots-go-bag
lee || 37 || 18+ || mdni || sideblog
masterlist
follows&interactions: @dark-mnjiro
content warning: sfw, nsfw, dark content, old man fucking, also literally obsessed with jack abbot, i have the right to just not engage if i choose not to, i’m not afraid of the block button, not spoiler free (sometimes i tag sometimes i don’t and if you don’t like that meh), and i may talk about other shows on this platform - if you wish to follow my anime blog - see my main blog
bonus:
Jack and Robby respectively
THE cutiest cutie ever. god I love him
I freaking adore katherine's little selfies with other pitt cast they make me so so happy
To celebrate being back home. First page of my comic.
Cover
msf!robby x medic!jack
They meet in a war zone. Robby hates everything Jack stands for and Jack loves him for it.
Not Here
Sammy Bryant x Fem!Forensic Psychologist!reader
Summary: Sammy is very frustrated with Tammi and maybe doesn't handle it in the best way… and by that… I mean he gets a good friend he’s lusted after for a while pregnant
WC: ~7.8k
Warnings: 18+ MDNI - anti-Tammi Bryant, alcohol consumption (Sammy is kinda drunk), Sammy is a bit of an ass, nightmare, emotional and physical affair (both Tammi and Sammy), infidelity, unfaithfulness, cheating, nudity, dubious consent (potentially not done well), cock stroking, fingering, implied but not depicted vaginal sex, breeding kink ig (potentially not done well), pregnancy (reader), don't like? aren't comfy with? That’s fine. Just don't read, don't comment, and just keep scrolling or block me, okay? Okay. Great.
Note: canon ✨inspired✨ but doesn’t fit squarely into it (canon divergent - expensive camera mentioned - what happened to it in canon doesn’t happen here), sped up events, flashbacks/time jumps
-
~One Day~
“Why don’t we…?” His hand brushed your ass as he came up behind you.
You pushed it away immediately, thoroughly unamused by him. You were getting tired of him and his horniness (you still enabled him so you weren’t completely blameless). “Nope, we’re not doing that here.”
He held his hands up in defense as he backed off, going to sit in a chair. “Alright, I’ll behave.”
“Good…”
He smirked at you from his seated position. “How badly did you wanna say “boy” after that?”
You shot him a look. “Shut up.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The smirk had not left his face.
You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. “Why do you do this to her?”
“To Tammi?” He asked for clarification that was not needed. He’d fucked you, then he’d been coming to your house for booty calls… specifically to have you suck his dick and to finger you or eat you out.
“Do you love her?”
“Of course I love her!”
“So stop fucking around with me, okay?! It’s not fair to her.”
“I love her but there’s no spark anymore. We don’t make love anymore. She loves that dog she claimed to hate more than she loves me. She understands it better too. And maybe it understands her more than I do.”
“You’re still married to her, Sam! It’s not right.”
“I’m meeting with an attorney.”
“You’re divorcing her?”
“I-I can’t do this anymore with her. She’s so…I don’t even know anymore. She does these stupid fucking things and I just…she comes from a good family, right? She was always taken care of. And now I’m responsible for taking care of her. She’s used to that. It’s just…she’s an adult woman and I swear sometimes it's like she’s a child. She doesn’t really understand me or my work. I really question marrying an upper-middle class woman.”
“You think you should’ve married a cop?”
“Or at least someone with a little more worldly experience. She’s so uncomfortable around anyone who isn’t from her world.”
“You’re from a working class family.”
“Cops are “honorable”. And me making 70k a year doesn’t hurt. Middle middle class. It’s not that much of a downgrade. And she’s got her own savings anyway. Mommy and daddy love their little girl.”
“But she doesn’t work, right?”
“Nope. But she wants a really expensive camera. I dunno how I’m supposed to pay for it.”
“Hobby?”
“She’s really good at it.”
“Good enough to make buying an expensive camera worth it?”
He tilted his head at you. “What’re you getting at?”
“She flighty about hobbies? Flitting from one to the next?”
He shook his head. “No, she’s not like that.”
“She know you’re seeing an attorney?”
“Not yet.”
“But you’re still buying her a camera?”
He just shrugged. “She’s still my wife. I-I still love her.”
“Do us both a favor, Bryant. Figure out who and what you want and don’t jerk both of us around, okay? It’s not fair to any party.” If he stopped hanging around you, wanting your touch… maybe you could both walk away from this sooner rather than later.
“Alright, you’re right. I’ll…figure my shit out.”
You walked out of the room, satisfied with the conclusion of the conversation. Sammy watched your ass as you went.
“Fuck.” He whispered softly to himself, about this clusterfuck and about your ass.
~Some Time Ago~
“And then she says… ‘what gun? That’s a banana, officer, I swear!’!”
Dewey’s sudden, boisterous laughter set you on edge. You could feel your shoulders bunch up. You were definitely gonna need another drink. Like…now.
You stood up from the table, going to excuse yourself when a hand found your shoulder.
“I got it.” Bryant’s voice murmured in your ear.
“I could use a break from the table.” You said awkwardly, not sitting back down.
“Join me, then. I was gonna grab another one too. I’m still payin’ for yours too.”
“Alright…”
You followed Sam closely as you weaved past people to the bar. He flagged the bartender.
“Tammi not with you tonight?” You asked curiously. You hadn’t seen her.
“She’s not really a people person. Doesn’t really “get” my people.”
“I think a lot of cop wives probably feel that way.”
He shrugged it off. “Yeah, well…she’s never really made an effort to get to know any of my buddies.”
“I’m really sorry. Is it important to you for her to be here?”
“It’d be nice, yeah.” He flagged the bartender again, frustrated. “Hello? Can’t a handsome guy and a pretty gal get some service here?”
“That’s not your wife, Bryant.” The bartender quipped.
“Does that make what I said untrue? No. I’ll have a whiskey. And the lady…?”
You gave the bartender your drink order. Now you had to wait.
“So what about you?” Sammy asked, trying to change the subject slightly. “Didn’t bring anyone tonight?”
“Oh, no. You know me… always solo.”
“That by choice or…?” He trailed off.
You sighed deeply. “God, I dunno really.”
“What, gal like you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” You asked curiously.
“Good job, put together, and I meant what I said. You’re an attractive woman.”
You scoffed lightly. “I do hope you can handle that whiskey coming your way.”
He smiled and shook his head. “I’m not drunk. I swear. And I’m not…god, I’m not hitting on you. I’m just calling it like I see it, plain and simple.”
“You really think I could catch a guy?”
“Why not?” He shrugged.
Your drinks arrived. You both sipped on them. The alcohol felt good going down.
“I’m not like that.”
“Not like what? Not into the whole dating thing?”
You shook your head. “Not really. Can’t really find the time. Nothing wants to stick.”
He leant in a bit. “You puttin’ in the effort to make it stick?”
“Maybe…maybe not…” You murmured, sipping your drink again.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He teased.
“I-I…just don’t bring much to the relationship table. Guys…don’t like women who are in forensics.”
“Fuck them, okay? You’re a total badass.”
“Not really. I’m not even a cop, just a forensic-”
“Hey, hey, no. You’re a badass, okay? There’s no argument there.”
“I-”
He booped your nose. “Hey, no argument means no arguing.”
“You’re literally-”
“Look at me.” He met your gaze. “You. Are. A. Bad. Ass.”
You avert your gaze but he doesn’t let you off the hook. “Say it, sweetheart. I’m not letting this go.”
“I really wish you would…” you murmured.
“Well tough, because I’m not gonna. We’re not moving on until you say it. And I’m not gonna let you even try to argue about it.”
“It’s-” you started.
“I’m.” He cut you off.
“Not-” you continued.
“A.” He cut you off again.
“True!” You exclaimed, exasperated.
“Badass. Yes, it is true!” He finished.
You sighed heavily. “Explain.”
He indulged you. “You understand criminals better than anyone I know. You interview them. You study them.”
“What about that is so badass?”
He looked at you in disbelief. “Seriously? You don’t know?”
You shook your head, clueless, frustrated. “No. That’s why I’m asking!”
He actually laughed at the absurdity of you not knowing you’re a badass. “You literally help officers and detectives catch criminals! We couldn’t do what we do without you. And I personally think that’s badass. Come on, take the fuckin’ compliment. This isn’t a time to be humble.”
“I guess I’m pretty good at my job…and it’s a good job. It makes me feel good.”
“You guess?” He laughed loudly and it didn’t set you on edge like Dewey’s laugh did.
“I don’t really…know.”
He set his hand on your shoulder. “Well, I’m telling you, honey. You’re a badass. And you’re very good at your job. Trust me. I’ve seen you in your element and it is a sight to behold.”
“Well…thank you. I can only hope I come across as…competent.”
“You’re…impressive, not just competent.”
He downed the rest of his drink and ordered another.
“You’re sure you’re good for another?”
“I’m fine.” He laughed it off.
“Mhm…sure you are…”
He narrowed his eyes at you. “You don’t believe me?”
You shook your head. “No, actually, I don’t.”
“I can hold my liquor.” He insisted.
“I won’t ask you to prove it.”
“You don’t have to ask.”
“I will insist you don’t, then. I will not be responsible for more alcohol entering your system.”
“Lighten up a little, sweetheart.” He grasped your arm and shook you slightly.
You shoved his hand away. “Don’t be like that, okay? Don’t be like Dewey.”
He leaned in, expression intensifying a bit. “I’m nothing like Dewey.”
“How many drinks is that, then?”
He scoffed. “Are you my mother?”
“How many drinks, Bryant?” You insisted.
“Three, Jesus. Why are you on my ass, what are you, my mom? My wife?”
“Are you drinking more because of problems in your marriage?”
“Are you trying to…psychoanalyze me right now?”
“I’m asking because I’m a concerned friend, Sam.”
“I’m fine.” He gritted out.
“This why Tammi didn’t wanna come? Didn’t wanna see you drunk?”
“Shut up!” He hissed.
“No! You’re a mess, Bryant. Switch to water.” You got up to leave but Sammy stood up abruptly.
“I-I’m sorry, alright? Fuck, I’m so sorry.” He looked so pathetic, with his puppy dog sad eyes. “I was an ass, okay? Can you forgive me?”
“Drink water. Sober up.”
“Alright. I’ll switch to water.” He conceded.
You both sat back down at the barstools. The bartender switched Sam to a big cold glass of water which his body thanked him for sipping.
“God, what was I thinking touching you like that?” Sam’s muffled voice came as he had his face in his hands.
“Just don’t do it again, okay? And keep drinking water.” You commanded him.
“I swear I won’t do it again.”
“Make sure you don’t. Or I’ll smack you.”
“I hear you.”
“I’m driving you home. And don’t you argue with me about that.”
“Hypocrite.” He huffed.
“Yeah, yeah.”
“I’ll only let you drive me home if you admit you’re a badass.”
You sighed deeply. “No, Sammy…no.”
“…yes…” he teased slightly.
You huffed. “Fine. I’m a badass. Happy? Can we go now? I’m exhausted.”
“I don’t believe you but I’m also exhausted so yeah, we can go.”
He settled his bar tab and yours and followed you out of the bar and toward your vehicle. Luckily, he’d caught a ride with Nate so he wasn’t leaving his vehicle here. He’d informed Nate he had a ride home and he left.
He got in the passenger seat of your vehicle and you began to drive to his home.
“Actually… could you take me to a motel?” He spoke up.
You looked over at him. “You’re sure?”
He nodded. “Don’t wanna go home. I’m sure.”
“Have a preference for a motel?”
“Nope. Just…away from home.” He looked out the window.
“You really wanna spend the night in a motel? You’ll be alright alone?”
“I’ll be fine. I’m a detective, remember?” He waved you off.
“You sobered up?”
He looked at you and considered this, then nodded. “Enough. You’re driving, right? So what’s the matter?”
“I wouldn’t leave you alone…drunk…and lonely…”
“I’m not drunk.” He insisted. “I’ve been drinking water.”
“Are you emotionally okay to be alone, though?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s not that big of a deal. I just need a break for a night.”
“You were drinking quite a bit.”
“But I’m fine now!” He insisted.
“You never answered my question as to why you were drinking. You usually don’t drink so much.”
“If I say it is because things are a little tense at home?”
“You just wanna cool down?”
“I swear to God. I just want some time alone. I’m sober and I’m an adult.”
“Alright, Mr. Adult.”
You pulled into the parking space of a parking lot of a definitely suspicious establishment.
“This okay?”
“It’s good enough. Thanks.” He got out of the passenger seat.
You watch him walk towards the motel check-in front desk. He really tried not to stumble at all but you definitely notice him almost trip on the curb leading up to the door.
You’re out of the car and walking up behind him.
“I told ya I was fine.” He said, pausing at the door, but he didn’t look back at you.
“You tripped on the curb.”
“So that means I’m drunk?”
“Look me in the eyes and tell me you’ve sobered up enough.”
He stepped closer to you. He looked you right in the eye.
“I’m sober enough.”
“Prove it. Walk in a straight line.”
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”
“Do it, Bryant.” You insisted.
He hesitated and looked at you for a few seconds to determine if you were completely serious. You were very serious. He let out an exasperated sigh and moved away from you to walk in a straight line.
He didn’t fall on his face or his ass but he wobbled a bit and lost his footing/balance slightly, his feet spreading to steady himself.
“We’re getting a double.” You declared as you entered the motel front desk/lobby.
He is hot on your heels. “I think I’m just taking whatever they have. You are getting in your car and you’re going home. We aren’t doing anything.”
“Do you have any doubles?” You asked the woman sitting behind the desk, ignoring Sammy.
“We’ve only got singles here, honey.”
“Only singles? We need a double.”
“Only got rooms with big queen beds in them. Why do you need a double? You two make a handsome enough couple.”
“We’re not a couple.” You quickly corrected her.
“So you’re also not…?”
“No. We’re not anything, just work colleagues.”
“Then a single should be fine.”
“I don’t want to sleep with him. Period.”
“Tell me how you really feel.” He scoffed. You shot him a look. He put his hands up in defense.
“You’re just gonna have to make it work. I’m sorry.”
“Just shut up and take the bed, alright? I’ll sleep in a chair or something.”
“There’s no chairs in our rooms.”
You and Sam looked at the woman at the same time, then at each other at the same time.
“I’ll sleep on the floor.” Sammy offered.
“Your back will literally be sobbing. You don’t have to do that.”
“Oooor…you could just go home.”
“No.” You said adamantly.
“Then it looks like we’re sharing a bed. You made it. Lay in it.”
You gave him a hard look as he got cash out to pay for the room.
“I’m gonna need more than that, honey.”
Sam looked sheepishly back at you. “Help pay for the room you’re staying in?”
You chuckled and shook your head. “Sure. Fine.”
You got cash out of your wallet and covered the rest of the fee.
The lady gave you both a room key.
“Thank you.”
The room is even sadder than you ever could’ve imagined.
“Yeah, no way I’d leave you here alone.”
“TV. Pay-per-view. I’d have been fine.”
“Oh! Yeah! Sure.” A beat. “Hey, Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“Neither of us has any change of clothes or toiletries.”
He looked at you, this dawning on him. He started to laugh. “No. We don’t. I’m gonna have a walk of shame tomorrow.”
You started laughing along with it. “How’re you gonna explain that?”
“I dunno. I really should’ve thought this through.”
“We both should’ve. There’s only one bed!”
“Right! There is!” You both keep cracking up.
“We have to sleep in these clothes.”
“Speak for yourself. I’m stripping down to my boxers.”
“Wha-Sam! No! Not when I’m in the bed.”
“What? I’m not gonna touch you.”
“You’d better not.”
He put his hands up defensively. “Don’t worry. I won’t. You tired? I’m exhausted. Come on. Let’s just sack out.”
He flopped down on the bed. He patted it.
“C’mere, baby.”
You grimaced at him. “Don’t “baby” me…”
“Come on. Get on the bed.”
You scoffed and hopped into bed next to him.
“You keeping your clothes on?” You asked him. He’d said he’d be stripping. And he was still clothed.
He smiled dickishly at you. “Want me outta them?”
You frowned. “Shut up. Keep ‘em on.”
“If you want me outta them so bad…” he tugged his shirt off.
“I really don’t. Put your shirt back on, Bryant.”
“It’s hot as shit in here. The A/C is broken and I’m tired. I’m keeping my shirt off.”
“Keep your jeans on, then.”
“Nope. Those are coming off too.” He had already undone his belt and put that aside so he moved to unbutton and unzip his jeans. He wiggled out of them, and in the process of doing this, his foot touched yours.
You squeaked. “Don’t touch me!”
“Calm down, I didn’t touch you.”
“Your foot did.” You shot back.
“My foot? You’re freaking out over my foot. My socks aren’t even off yet.”
“DO NOT TAKE YOUR SOCKS OFF!” You barked.
He smiled. “Oh, they’re coming off, baby.”
“Stop calling me baby!” You huffed.
“You’re the one insisting on sleeping in a bed with me.”
“That is so not the entirety of what’s happening here and you know it.”
“Simply…go home…if you don’t like sharing a bed with me this fucking much.”
“For the last time, I am not leaving you alone tonight, Bryant.”
“I’m literally so sober right now, I think I’m gonna cry about it actually.”
“I literally do not care.”
“So shut up about my feet, okay? And my clothes? Aren’t you roasting in that? Come on, show some skin.”
You frowned deeper. “No. I’m sleeping in my clothes.”
“You are going to be so uncomfortable. Meanwhile…” he’d finally managed to wrestle his jeans off, “I am going to be so comfortable.”
He maneuvered to take his socks off so the only remaining item of clothing on his body was his boxers. You shifted away from him to the other side of the bed. You’d decided to sleep above the covers while Sam got up to pull them back to get under them. He was just right there in his boxers. You tried not to take a peek at him before he got under the covers. Luckily, your back was already to him as you were lying on your side now. Over the covers. In your clothes.
He graciously shifted to face away from you, so your backs were facing each other now.
You couldn’t get comfortable so you shifted around.
“Could you stop please? I’m trying to sleep.” He huffed.
“Sorry…” you murmured.
“If you can’t get comfortable, maybe lose some clothes and get under the covers? At least lose the clothes. How aren’t you boiling?”
“Shut up. Just let me get comfy. Go to sleep.”
“You won’t be comfy until you’re wearing less clothes and I can’t go to sleep until you stop moving therefore I won’t shut up.”
You’re on your side facing him and he’s facing you now on his side. His soft cheeks are dusted pink, his head resting on his arm. His eyelashes are batting at you. “Go to sleep.”
“No.”
He scoffed dramatically. “And just what am I supposed to do with you?”
“You’re supposed to let me look after you.” You murmured.
“We’re in this motel bed together, aren’t we? I told you that you could leave…”
“You’re supposed to tolerate my presence. Not badger me.”
“I do much more than merely tolerate your presence and you know it. And I only badger you out of love.”
You scoffed. “Oh, is that what it is?”
“…yeah…it is. Come on. Get some sleep. You need it.”
“I look tired to you?”
“Very.”
“Shut up.”
“I will when you go to sleep.”
“Okay! Okay! I’m going…but I toss and turn! I can’t help it!”
He knows you’ll never get to sleep if he keeps badgering you so he holds his tongue and just leaves you be (thankfully).
He drifted off to sleep before you did, with you following and stilling after him. He was a pretty light sleeper on account of being a police detective so he’s grateful you’d settled down. At least for a little while.
You soon started to toss and turn. He was awakened pretty quickly by your fit. You then started to murmur. But you remained asleep.
“No…no…please no…”
Sam is immediately more alert when it becomes obvious you’re distressed in your sleep. He slid closer to you as you continued to squirm and murmur.
“Don’t hurt me. Please.”
Sammy put his hand on your shoulder and shook you slightly. “Hey…hey, wake up.”
You did not awaken immediately, continuing to react to whatever nightmare you were having.
Sam scooted closer to you, his concern for you growing.
“Hey, hey, come on, sweetheart. Wake up for me. Wake up.” He shook harder and even chanced a tap to your cheek.
You gasped sharply as you came to consciousness, one hand immediately clinging to his bicep. A thin layer of sweat could be felt by you at the back of your neck.
“Hey, hey, it’s just me. It’s Sammy. You’re alright.” He soothed you. “Quite the nightmare, yeah?”
“…yeah…”
“Well you’re safe with me, okay? Just take a few deep breaths for me, alright?”
You took a slow deep breath in, held it, then exhaled slowly.
“That’s it. Just breathe.” He spoke calmly, his hands holding your shoulders. “Do you need water?”
You nodded. Water sounded like a very good idea.
“Okay. Hey, you’re safe now, okay?”
You nodded as you started to calm down a little. “Okay…yeah, okay.”
After making sure your breathing had evened out, he got up and put his pants on. He then went to the little table to get his wallet and keys and room key. “I’m gonna go find you a bottle of water, okay? You gonna be okay here by yourself? I won’t be long. I promise. Call me if you need me before I’m back, okay?”
“Okay.” You heard yourself say but your voice sounded weak.
He left you alone in the room while he went to look for some vending machine that would dispense a Dasani or Aquafina for him to bring back to you.
You tried to focus on your breathing.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
That man couldn’t hurt you anymore. That man was dead. You’d seen him go down. You’d looked down at his body. You’d seen where the bullet had hit him in the head.
But the silence in the room was suffocating to you. It’s too goddamn quiet. How can it be in a shitty motel where people should be rowdy? You panicked and grabbed your phone to call him.
“Sammy?” You asked after he’d picked up immediately.
“You okay?”
“Where are you?”
“Right down the hall. Stupid water’s stuck in the vending machine.” You could hear the thud of his kick to it. “Ah-ha! Got it!”
“Great. Now get your ass back here.”
“I’m coming. I’m coming.” He hung up.
He was entering the room soon enough with the bottle in hand.
“You okay?”
“Just give me the water.”
“Okay, Grumpy.” He held it out to you.
You scowled at him as you took it from him.
“I’m not grumpy, I’m rattled. I had a nightmare.”
He took his pants off again, then sat upon the bed. “Feel like talking about it?”
You gulped water. “No.”
“Sip…sip…” he told you.
You gave him a stern look.
“Please?” He asked softly. “For me?”
You frowned at him but sipped the water. He lightly rubbed your arm.
“Feel better?”
You nodded. “A little.”
He rubbed your knee now. “What can I do to make you feel better?”
You looked into his eyes. “Would it be inappropriate to ask you to hold me?”
“I wouldn't care if it was. Come here.” He opened his arm and he held you against him.
“Thank you. I really appreciate this.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“You’re a good man, Samuel Bryant.”
This made him frown. “No, I’m not.”
“You’re a great friend, what do you mean?”
He huffed. “That’s exactly my point. I want to be more than your friend. I’m a married man but God help me, I want you. You’re emotionally vulnerable right now and I feel selfish wanting to keep you in my arms just because I want you against me.”
“Oh, Sammy…” you sighed, “what am I gonna do with you?”
He chuckled dryly. “I honestly have no idea. Maybe flog me?”
You chuckled softly. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Wouldn’t know until we tried.”
“Which we will not be doing.”
“What, are you more vanilla when it comes to sex?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Actually, I would. That’s why I asked.”
“Well I’m not telling you.”
“Shame.”
“Shut up, Sammy. Just hold me.”
He swallowed thickly. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good boy.” You whispered softly. You weren’t being serious. You were just saying it.
This caused him to stiffen, though.
“I’d be so good to you.” He spoke softly in return.
You sighed. “You can’t just say shit like that, Sammy. You’re married.”
“I know that! Doesn’t change the fact that I’d treat you like a fucking queen.”
“You have to stop talking. I told you to stop talking.”
“You’re the one who called me a good boy.” He murmured.
“Well I won’t ever do it again. Noted.”
“I-I liked it, though.”
“Jesus, Sammy, come on.”
“What?! I’m sorry? I can’t help it.”
“I am not your wife.” You reminded him.
“I know that.” He grumbled. “I said I couldn’t help it. But you can’t deny that we get along fairly well.”
“Except for when you’re too drunk and won’t admit it.” You chided.
“How often does that happen, though? And you’re only angry because you care about me, right?”
You furrowed your brows. “I still don’t see that as us “getting along”, though.”
“Most of the time, we get along, right?”
“Most of the time, yeah.” You agreed.
“I just feel like you get me better than Tammi ever will. You know how to handle asshole cops while she doesn’t even wanna meet them. You’re more comfortable living in the world while she’s comfortable pretending the world isn’t as bad as it actually is. She doesn’t try to understand the stress of my job while you absolutely do because you see it all the time. You’re so different than she is.”
“And that’s alluring to you?”
“Something like that, yeah.”
“That’s the worst part, isn’t it? Us being friends who fit so well together?”
“Not like she’d suspect it. It’s not like she knows you at all.”
“Sammy.” You chastised slightly.
“It’s true. I don’t think she even knows your name even though I’ve mentioned you to her several times. She never bothers to remember names. It’s like they’re my people, not hers, therefore they’re not important. Makes me feel unimportant if my friends are unimportant to her.”
“You’re not unimportant, Sammy.” You tried to console him.
“To her, I feel like I am. But you? You’re always genuinely interested in what’s going on in my life.”
“Generally speaking, that’s how friends work.”
“You really don’t see me as more than a friend?”
“Again, you are a married man.” You reminded him.
“Is that what’s stopping you?”
“I can’t pursue a relationship with a married man. That’s just not who I am.”
He sighed deeply. “Yeah, I know that.”
“I’m sorry, Sammy.”
“‘S not your fault.” He stroked your arm up and down.
“Maybe I should-” you slowly straightened up.
“Don’t. Please.” He whispered softly as he tried to keep you attached to him. “I need this. I need you.”
“You can’t have me, Sammy.”
“Why not?” He asked through watery eyes.
“I don’t need to answer that.”
“She withholds sex over every little thing or she’ll use it to get what she wants. It’s maddening. I’ve tried talking to her about it like an adult but she’s just not receptive to it.”
“Am I supposed to feel so bad for you, I’ll have sex with you?”
“What?! No, no. I didn’t mean that. I’m just venting. I don’t have any ulterior motives, I promise.”
“We’re all fucked up, Sammy, aren’t we?”
“Yeah… we are…” he whispered softly.
You let him lift your shirt over your head. The skin to skin contact was warm. It was hot even, as he held you to him. His lips met your temple.
“I’m sorry.” You murmured. “I don’t mean to take advantage of you.”
“I think we’re both sober enough for this at this point.”
You chuckled softly. “Sober but stupid.”
“Very, very stupid.” His lips ran down your jaw. “We really should stop. You’re right.”
“You don’t want to, though, do you?” You asked softly.
“God, no. But you seemed to have reservations about it. If you’re not sure, we shouldn’t be doing this.”
“I do want you, Sammy.”
He groaned softly. “Now you shouldn’t be saying that.”
“We can’t help how we feel.”
“But we can help what we do.” He lamented.
“Humans make mistakes, though.” You whispered.
“Am I a mistake worth making?”
“Am I?” You countered. “You’re the married one.”
“Absolutely.”
Your lips were on his before you could think better of kissing him. He reciprocated it more enthusiastically than you were expecting.
“Whoa, slow down there, cowboy.” You laughed against his lips.
“Nuh uh. Don’t tell me you haven’t felt this connection between us. You said you wanted me too.”
“I do want you. And I do feel it.”
“I’ve wanted you longer than I’ve been able to admit to myself.”
“Me too.”
Sammy smiled at that. He dove in for another kiss. Not satisfied anymore by you beside him on the bed, he tugged you into his lap, hands planted on your hips.
“Comfy?” He asked you.
“Are you?” You asked him.
He smiled that boyish smile of his. “Sure am.”
His hands caressed your waist, your back. He leant in to kiss your neck. “I’ve dreamed of holding you like this.”
“You have?”
“Mhm. You haven’t dreamed about my hands on you?” He murmured against your neck.
“Well I uh um…”
“It’s okay if you have or if you haven’t.”
“God, it’s so embarrassing.”
“You’re already in my lap. How much more embarrassing is any of this going to get?”
“I just doubt you’ve had a sex dream about me.”
“What makes you think I haven’t?”
“Well, you have Tammi.”
“But I told you I’ve wanted you. I’ve dreamt about you naked, on top of me. I’ve jerked off to you.”
You could feel his cock harden in his boxers underneath you. You shifted a bit and he hissed.
“You feel that? That’s for you. That’s from being in a bed with you. That’s from you being in my lap. That’s from thinking about the dreams I’ve had about you.”
“I really make you that hard?”
“All the fucking time.”
“All the… Sammy…” you sighed.
“I know, I know… it’s… bad.”
“You really can’t help it?”
“I’ve tried. But no, I can’t help what you do to me, sweetheart.”
“I wish I, too, could help how I feel.”
“How do you feel about me, hmm?”
“I’ve always thought you were very handsome and sweet.”
“Oh, just handsome and sweet, huh? Not sexy?”
“Well I also may have had a sex dream about you.”
“So you find me attractive?”
“I find you very attractive, yes.”
“Well I find you irresistibly attractive.”
“Yeah, I can feel it.”
“Do you wanna see it? Can I take it out?”
“Show me your cock, Sammy. I wanna see what’s going inside me.”
He groaned. “Jesus, sweetheart. You’re gonna kill me.”
“Don’t die yet, you haven’t fucked me.”
He laughed. “That’s true. I’ll try to stay alive for that.”
Your crotch further back from his (his hands were on your back to steady you), he tugged his boxers down a bit to fish his cock out. It was about average girth but it was slightly above average in length. And it was thickened… just for you.
“Touch it, sweetheart, please…”
You reached out your hand to wrap it around his length. He hissed sharply when your hand made contact with his cock. “Like that, Sammy?”
“Just like that, darling. Fuck. Squeeze a bit harder.”
You obliged him and strengthened your grasp on him. You tugged up and down, stroking him slowly.
“Look at me while you touch me.” He requested. You lifted your eyes to meet his. He smiled. “That’s it.” He continued. “Lemme see those eyes.”
His tip leaked precum as you continued to stroke him.
“You gotta stop.”
“Why?” You slowly retracted your hand. “Am I do-”
He cut you off when he saw your concerned expression. “Jesus Christ, no! No, that’s not it, honey. I’m gonna bust my nut too soon if you keep at it like that. And I don’t wanna do that.”
“Oh… okay…”
“Why don’t we get the rest of these clothes off of you, yeah?”
“Yeah, okay.”
He unhooked your bra. Your breasts were on full display to him now.
“Oh, wow.” He marveled at them.
“I know… they aren’t symmetrical…”
“What?” He did not peel his eyes away from your chest.
“They’re not symmetrical. They’re asymmetrical.”
“Oh… okay? You honestly can’t even tell.”
“My left breast is clearly smaller.”
“Well I still think they’re sexy.” He said it like it was some great duty he was taking upon himself, finding such ugly breasts to be mouthwatering.
“Why thank you.” You thanked him graciously.
His hands squished and squeezed them. “Goddamn, these are amazing.” He lightly pinched your nipples until they were hardened buds.
“Glad you… approve…”
“What kinda men have you been with, sweetheart, that aren’t appreciative of these?”
You huffed lightly. “You don’t wanna know.”
“Anyone I should know about?”
“Nothing like that, no.” You shook your head. “Just… bad compatibility.”
“You deserve someone who gives a shit about you.”
“…right…”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Conceptually… you’re correct…”
“Conceptually? How about practically?”
“In practice… I’ve never really experienced a um…” you lowered your voice to a mumble, “satisfying relationship.”
“I’m sorry, did you just say: “I’ve never really experienced a satisfying relationship”?”
“Yes?”
“Well that’s just a damn shame, then.”
“Gee. Thanks.”
“I mean that you deserve to be loved and taken care of. You deserve to be satisfied.”
“Yeah… sure, I do…”
“Hey, you do. I could satisfy you, you know.”
“Oh? Could you now?”
“Mhm. I could. I’d love to satisfy your needs, actually. You just have to let me.”
“I’m just not so sure how capable I am of satisfying your needs.”
“I’m a man, sweetheart. We aren’t exactly the most complicated.”
“You’re saying it wouldn’t take much?”
“Not when it’s you, no.”
“T-Tell me what you like.”
“A soft woman’s hand on my cock, firm grip, tugging up and down.”
“Like what I was doing before. What about a vagina?”
“Oh, any old one’ll do.” He joked.
“Oh, so you like older ladies?” You joked right back.
He laughed adorably. “That is not what I meant and you know it, missy.”
“Do I?”
He tickled your sides. “Yes, you do.”
“You’re sure I’m not too young for you?”
“You’re not. And I can prove right now just how similar to my type you really are.”
“Alright, Bryant, prove it.”
“Gladly. Let’s get these jeans off, shall we?”
He gently maneuvered you off of his lap so he could get your jeans unbuttoned. He tugged them off over your thighs and down your calves.
“There we go.” He smiled.
“Here we are…”
“I should take your panties off too.”
“Oh um I guess so…”
“Hey, sweetheart… look at me.”
Your gaze met his. “You don’t have to be afraid of anything with me. You know I think you’re gorgeous, right? I don’t give a shit about any stretch marks or rolls or pudge. And don’t you dare compare yourself to Tammi. I’m supposed to be showing you that you’re my type, aren’t I?”
“Yeah… you are.”
“So lemme see all of you… please. I promise you’re safe here with me. The last thing I am going to want to do is judge you, especially when you’re naked. For me.”
His eyes practically pleaded with you to get to see all of you naked and beautiful. He’d verbally beg you if he had to until you relented but he’d collared enough sex pests to know the difference between him and them. Your comfort mattered to him. He’d wait until you gave him the go ahead. Sex just wasn’t enjoyable for him if both parties weren’t on board.
“Alright. Let’s get ‘em off, then.”
His face lit up as he grasped the waistband and slowly tugged those off you as well. Both of your clothes laid in a pile on the floor.
“You wanna come sit back in my lap?”
“If-”
“It is. I do. C’mere, sweetheart.”
He was tugging you into his lap again and you were both naked now. You settled into his lap.
“Hello, beautiful.”
“Hi.”
“Comfortable again?”
“You got a hold of me?”
“Why would I ever let you go?”
“You know what I meant.”
“Sure, sure… still don’t plan on it.” His hands squeezed the flesh of your ass, moving you forward so your bare clit dragged against his bare cock.
You gasped sharply. “Sammy…”
“Yeah, sweetheart? What do you need, hmm? All you gotta do is ask. I’ll give you anything you need.”
“Kiss me again.”
He chuckled softly. “I offer to give you anything and you want another kiss?”
“It felt nice.”
“Just nice?”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
He liked you bossing him around a bit like this. “Yes, ma’am.”
He happily obeyed you and cupped your face firmly before bringing your mouth to his. His hands ran up and down your back and gripped your hips. He wanted to keep you as close to him as he possibly could. His cock was hard and his tip was swollen in between your bodies.
“Lemme touch that pretty pussy, baby.” He rasped in your ear.
You started laughing. “God, that’s how you’re asking?”
He frowned, brows furrowing. “What’s wrong with how I asked?”
“Lemme touch that pretty pussy, baby.” You imitated the raspy tone he’d used and kept laughing and laughing.
He removed his hands from your body. “Well if you don’t want me touching you…”
“No, I do, I do. I dunno why I found that so funny. I’m so sorry.” You rubbed his shoulders.
“Lie down on the fucking bed, sweetheart, and I’ll show you who you’re laughing at. You won’t be laughing, then, not when I make you cum.”
“If you can manage to do that.” You teased as you maneuvered yourself so you were laying on your back on the bed.
He chuckled and shook his head. “You really shouldn’t have said that, sweetheart. Now my pride is on the line.”
“So come show me what you can do.”
“With pleasure.” He smiled as he covered your body with his own.
He knee spread your thighs apart before he bracketed your legs with his. His hand found its way between your thighs to run through your folds and run at your clit. He rubbed it nice and even and slow.
“There? See? You like that? That’s good, innit? I told you I’d be so good to you, sweetheart. I’ll make you cum so hard, you’ll see stars.”
“You talk a… good game, Bryant.”
“You think this is all just talk? Nuh uh, baby. I’m gonna make you squeal and that’s a fucking promise.”
His lips met your neck as he continued to work over your bundle of nerves.
“After I make you cum with my fingers, I’m stuffing my big fat cock inside of you. Would you like that? My big cock stuffing you so full?”
“Y-Yeah, I’d like that.”
“Maybe I could give you a real big load.”
“You should use a condom, Sammy.”
“Don’t have one.”
“So go get one.”
“Lemme make you cum, then we’ll talk about it.”
“We’ll talk about it now, Samuel.”
He frowned but removed his fingers from you. “Fine… we’ll talk about it.”
“We shouldn’t have unprotected sex.”
“You’re clean, aren’t you? Because I’m clean.”
“You’re married, Sammy.”
“I know that. A-And Tammi and I have been trying for a few months now but nothing’s been happening.”
“It might just take some more time.”
“We fuck like rabbits when she’s ovulating. If it hasn’t happened yet…”
“It still could.”
“Can’t tell you how many times I’ve looked at ya and imagined what you might look like pregnant.”
“Sammy…”
“Come on. Just think about my thick raw cock inside of you.”
““Raw” sounds gross.”
“Raw-dogging sounds gross to you? Because it’s the sexiest thing to me, sweetheart. I promise it’ll feel so fucking good, especially when I spill my white hit load right against your cervix so it’ll reach your womb.”
“Yeah,” you scoffed, “because that’s how that works.”
“It is.” He insisted.
“And you would know how, oh dear childless friend of mine?”
“Ouch. You wound me, peaches. Unprotected sex is how babies are made: I know that’s true. Are you on birth control?”
“… no…”
“Perfect.”
“What about Tammi…”
“Pretend she doesn’t exist, alright? Just let me have this. Let me have you, all of you tonight.”
“This is so wrong.”
“So why does it feel so right?” His fingers slipped inside of you.
You sighed.
And you were so goddamn tired and lonely. And here Sammy was begging to worship you.
How could you say no to him?
~Some Other Day~
You marched right up to his desk. “We need to talk, Bryant.”
“Well, I’ve-”
“Now, like urgently.” You insisted.
You both moved into a secluded room.
He crossed his arms as he stood in front of you. “What’s up?”
“I’m pregnant.” You cut to the chase.
He was shocked, blinking a couple of times. The pregnancy thing had been a kink to him more than anything else, really. He’d been absolutely shocked when you agreed to fuck him with no birth control or condom or plan b pill. He’d been taking a huge risk, obviously (you’d technically consented to letting him cum inside you, though and you seemed to have enjoyed rawdogging it with him) but now that you were saying you were pregnant? “Are you sure?”
You nodded. “Yes.”
“You’re sure it’s mine?”
“You’re the only man I’ve had sex with recently.”
“I’d been trying with Tammi… I told you that.”
“And then you have unprotected and penetrative sex with me once and just like that,” you snapped your fingers, “I’m pregnant.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Fuck…yeah…”
You put both hands. “I’m not saying anything about anything…”
“No, you’re right. It was probably Tammi, then.”
“Do you still want to go through with the divorce with her?”
“Yeah. I do. It’s just a cumulative thing, you know? It’s not just you. It’s not just because you’re pregnant. It’s not just because she wasn’t getting pregnant. I-it’s just…everything, I guess…”
“Did you ever do any kind of fertility testing?”
“Tammi refused to believe anything was wrong with either of us. She held out hope that it would just work somehow. But I don’t think it would’ve, even if we would’ve waited until the one year mark.”
“There’s no shame in infertility.” But there might be in infidelity. There’s 3 i’s in both words. And you doubted that was lucky.
“No woman in her family has ever had trouble getting pregnant. She’s got like three sisters. I think she’s got three aunts too…lots of cousins…”
You took a deep calming breath. “This isn’t fair to her. What’re you gonna do, leave her to help me raise my child?”
“Fuck, I-I dunno! Fuck…” he shook his head and paced.
“I’m not asking you to do anything, Sammy.”
“I know. And I’d never ask you to get rid of the baby but if you want to have it… I couldn’t not support it.”
“Are you gonna tell Tammi I’m pregnant by you?”
“I have to. Like you said, it’s not fair to her. I just dunno how she’s gonna react.”
“You won’t know until you tell her, I guess.”
~Two Weeks Later~
He frantically knocked on your door on a Saturday at 10am.
“Sam, what is it?”
“She’s in love with her photography teacher who apparently is in love with her.”
“I’m sorry, what?” It was too early and you hadn’t had coffee yet.
“She’s taking some classes at this community college and she’s in love with her instructor.” He paced your living room floor.
“You’re kidding me.”
He stopped briefly to look at you. “No. I’m not. He “just gets her”.”
“What does she plan to…?”
“Amicable divorce. She thinks we were doomed now anyway. She wasn’t even mad I was unfaithful.”
“Seriously? She’s not mad?”
He shrugged. “She’s happy we’re both gonna be happy. I think deep down we’ve both known for a while we didn’t work all that well together. Doesn’t excuse my unfaithfulness but… humans make mistakes. I begged her to stay, to try to make it work. I apologized, and so did she, tearfully, but she wanted out too.”
“Still feels pretty shitty.”
“It’s not like she’s not reckless as fuck.”
“But did she ever break her marriage vow?”
He shook his head. “Not that I know of.”
~Two Weeks Later~
“Motherfucker!” He exclaimed as he came into your home.
“Hello to you too?”
“She fucked him. We were still married and we were both unfaithful, how about that?”
“Jesus, Sammy, I-I…”
“Hey, no. You don’t have to say anything. I was way too strong that night. We’re both fucked up. Fucking powder keg that I’m surprised took this long to explode. What a goddamn mess!”
“She really fucked him?”
“Looked me right in the eyes. Serious as a heart attack.”
“So um… you’re both still okay with the divorce?”
“Yep. She doesn’t seem to give a shit.”
“So does that mean…?”
“Would you even have me? What a clusterfuck this has been?”
You cupped his cheeks. “Of course I will have you, Sammy.”
“Do you even want a child? My child?”
“If I really didn’t, I never would’ve let you cum in me.”
“You didn’t want to let me at first.” He murmured, averting his gaze to the floor.
“I would’ve kicked you in the balls, you know, if I really wasn’t ok with it.”
His puppy dog eyes met yours. “Promise?”
You smiled and nodded. “Promise.”
He sighed. “I still feel like a complete asshole."
You put a hand on his shoulder. “You should… because you were.”
~The End~
, grumpy x sunshine bit about park the shark and the remora he can't live without..
thinking about brendon park and intern!reader who is sooo bright-eyed and unabashed by his knack to be harsh on them. they understand his almost misanthropic tendencies on a fundamental level—a man sharpened by his trade who expects the same outcome of his residents.
and he gets frustrated because his ability to hone their skills by fear-factor is now useless, and he's also pissed because no matter how much he chews them out they're always happy.
their dynamic becomes the talk of the orthopedic department, because why is this first-year so immune to the apex predator of the hospital?
the simple answer: he has no idea what to do with you. but he wouldn't admit that in a million years, so he just acts like he can tolerate the rainbows and unicorns that follow you around.
he brings them down with him on a consult in the ED, some construction worker with a severed hand that had high hopes of reattachment.
everyone puts on their best military-grade facade, even garcia's back straightens noticeably because park is just that much of a dick to everyone.
and here comes reader, practically buzzing with excitement as they trail right on brendon's heels. it really throws everyone for a loop because you're so close to him, and you're the one asking all the questions to robby—who seems so chuffed by all of this—and he answers happily.
park unwraps the hand and you're right there with him, cheek squished against his meaty bicep with eyes glimmering bright with wonder. you're grinning with delight and clapping your hands when brendon green-lights the reattachment.
and then you're both gone, park the shark being tailed by a little intern bristling with anticipation.
everyone is fucking gobsmacked because, what the fuck? since when was anyone under park's supervision happy to be there?
it wasn't uncommon to see park followed by a brood of his residents. the usual joke was that they were his shark pups, his offspring that he molded into annoyingly good surgeons.
but that doesn't apply to you. you're nothing like him, yet you learn from him all the same. your relationship is almost symbiotic, in a way, where you thrive on the challenges he throws at you and he secretly feeds off of the warmth you radiate.
and the correlation smacks garcia square in the face after crossing paths with the two about five ED consults later.
you are his remora. you clean up the mess of his apathy and he feeds you the fruit of his knowledge.
and that's what she starts calling you—that's what everyone starts calling you.
and brendon? he starts to call you the stupid name too.
but to him, it's possessive. it is a name that claims you as his own, not as offspring, but as something far more important that he doesn't want to name.
"i'll write a recommendation letter for you," he says one quiet afternoon when you're both munching on leftovers in the breakroom.
you're confused, he can tell by the apparent tilt of your head.
"when you complete your residency. i'll recommend you for an attending position here."
"... that is disgustingly generous for a guy like you."
"i won't work without my remora."
stay tuned for season 48 episode 7 when they finally kiss and hold hands🙂🙂🙂
wait actually should i make that happen
Eight Days of Hanukkah —Michael Robinavitch
Summary: Everyone knows about your crush on Robby—except Robby. So, when Hanukkah begins, you leave Robby a gift every one of the eight days, hoping he'll know. Except he doesn't. What do you do when your great idea proves to be not so great? (8.6k)
Pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x fem!attending!reader
TW: Implied that the reader is not Jewish (she had to research Hanukkah); best friend Jack and ONLY best friend Jack; Mentions of burning a CD and if you don't know what that means then I feel far too old; there is a sex scene but it's not graphic and I've seen way worse in teen books these days so; Angst; misunderstanding; Baby Jane Doe's ending is revealed (or at least, my take on it). Think that's it, let me know if it's not.
Credit & Tags: GIF by @aryacoulson, DNA divider made by @diviniyae; Tag: @byefon A/N: I did a lot of research into Hanukkah and I hope I did it justice and I hope you guys like the story. It kind of got away from me because I did a lot of research and the release is a little delayed because I got sucked into my research. Hope it's okay.
Day 1: Silver and Blue Hand painted Dreidel
Everyone knows that you like Michael Robinavitch. It’s not a secret and, in fact, it’s fairly obvious, the way you smile, the way you go out of your way to talk to him when you never do it for anyone else. The way you sometimes in bring in a drink for him, something for him to try.
You remember when Trinity noticed. She asked you who the extra drink was for, her tone leading, hinting for herself. You’d explained that it was for Robby.
“Robby? Like Dr. Robby?” she’d asked and you’d nodded, lips pressing into a smile, the thin-lipped one that happens when you try to suppress a real one. “Jesus. Are you in love with him or something?” It was when she’d seen your face, the pinched, shocked expression like a grimacing deer in headlights that she’d gone wide-eyed and laughed. “Oh, Sunshine!” she’d laughed. “He doesn’t deserve you, but okay.”
Dennis had been the next and he’d been kinder. He’d just asked you one day, the two of you in the break room, a breather, ten minutes to come back to yourselves after the case you’d worked on, the five year old child who died, drowning in their own fluid build-up.
“Do you like Dr. Robby?” he’d asked and you’d turned from where you stood at the coffee maker, a mug in your hands smelling of that burnt, tar coffee that couldn’t really be coffee but had enough caffeine to get you through the day.
“Why do you ask?” you’d replied, fingers curling around the mug and its handle, attention fixed on him, unwavering.
“Because of the way you look at him. I just wondered.” It was the kind of question that was really just a formality. He was just telling you that he knew.
“Yeah, I do.”
The rest of the shift had picked up on it, silently but surely, tiptoeing around it and ignoring it for the most part, doing their best to act like they didn’t know even if they did. The night shift figured it out one day and Parker and John were never ones to let teasing you go, but they made sure they never did so around Robby. Even they had their limits, teasing as friends, yes, outing your crush to the crushee, no.
The only problem is that everyone but Robby knows. And sometimes that seems a blessing, sometimes that seems a curse.
It seems a curse because you like him, a lot yet you have had to watch him date women after women after women who are nothing like you. You have had to suffer through heartbreak over and over and over without ever saying anything to anyone, only brushing off the questions, putting on a smile and acting like nothing hurts, like everything is fine, everything is normal. What do you mean my heart is breaking? I’m the same me as always.
The only person who you have to talk to is Jack Abbot, your best friend. Jack is the one who is there to catch you as your heart breaks, swearing about Robby and how fucking blind he is and telling you to move on or just fucking tell him. It was Jack’s idea to do something to show Robby, but you don’t think he meant this.
“Fucking Hanukkah gifts,” he says, looking down at the papers with your notes, ideas and the plan. You researched quite a bit into Hanukkah, the tradition, the dos and don’ts of gift giving for it and the evidence is on the paper, in your own hand.
“Yep,” you reply, looking up from your tablet where the last gift to be ordered waits, sitting in the digital cart. “See I’ll leave them as anonymous gifts until the eighth day when surprise I’ll reveal it’s me.”
“I hope…” he pauses, lips pressing together as he looks from you to the papers, the concerned big brother look in full force, “I hope this goes the way you want, Sunshine. I really do.”
“It will,” you tell him, voice light, enthusiastic as you press order on the cart, now all eight gifts having been ordered or shipped, soon to be in your possession.
“I hope so,” is all Jack says again, sitting down on the couch and reaching for the remote, for your choice of movie for the monthly movie night. “What is it again?”
“How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days,” you answer and he groans, shaking his head as he clicks through the streaming services.
“So, what?” he says. “Are you trying to be your own rom-com now? The Eight Days of Hanukkah or something?”
“Obviously.”
But the truth is, it doesn’t matter about the teasing or the groaning, you know Jack has your back. Your best friend, partner-in-crime, and the one who’s stuck on this rodeo with you.
You can just see the edge of the silver and blue ribbons that you strung on Robby’s locker, tied from his lock, gift number one dangling from the ends. It’s a small, blue and silver dreidel that you painted yourself, taking special care to paint the nun, gimel, hay and shin right. The symbols on the blue sides are painted silver and the ones on the silver sides are painted blue.
You hope that what you’re doing is enough, that it won’t blow up in your face, that Robby won’t snap at the whole of the ER like he’s done a few times since coming back from sabbatical. You hope and hope and hope because really, hope is the thing that keeps people going. It always has.
“Hon,” Dana says, her voice soft, her hand gentle as it lands on your forearm, “you’re gonna make it obvious if you keep doin’ that.”
“But Dana,” you whisper, one hand drifting to your stethoscope, the one you bought yourself when you got the appointment of attending at PTMC a year ago, “I need to see his reaction.”
“There’s not gonna be a reaction if you keep lookin’ at it like that,” she says, her tone wry, voice a steady, sweet drawl. “You gotta do somethin’ else before he gets here. Migrate back once he arrives, okay, sugar?”
“Fine,” you say, pushing up and off the nurse’s station, reaching over and pulling an iPad out of the slots. “But if I miss it, I’m blaming you.” You point two fingers at your eyes at then at hers, the universal, ever-dramatic sign for I’m watching you.
“Uh-huh, sugar,” she says, waving you off with one hand and turning to the computer, to whatever message has come across it, “go be a doctor now.”
It’s at that moment that you hear a familiar whistle behind you, one whistling the tune of “Crazy Train” by Ozzy Osbourne, one you’ve heard laughing, crying, yelling and simply talking. One that sets your heart aflutter even when you wish it didn’t, even when that crush had meant that you got hurt more often than not.
“You’re in a good mood,” you call out, brows knitting together as you look at Robby, at the way he seems happier, a little brighter as he lifts his fingers from his backpack strap to wave at you, continuing on to his locker, never once stopping his humming.
“I think someone got laid last night,” you hear Trin call out and your muscles tense, go rigid of their own accord, your tongue pressing hard against the roof of your mouth, eyes hot, kind of burning as your chest constricts for a moment.
God, you hate crushing on people. Why does it have to happen? Why can’t you just, not like anybody? Because that would make life a whole lot simpler.
“Trin’s just being…well, Trin,” you hear Dennis say behind you, his hand coming to rest on your back, in the place between your shoulder blades. “She doesn’t…mean anything by it.”
“I’m well aware, Huckleberry,” you whisper, turning your head to look at him, lips pressed thin, nostrils flared and brows quirked as he rolls his eyes, a faint blush of pink upon his cheeks.
“I’m rooting for you,” he says and then he steps away, turning back into the bustle of the ED while you glance forwards again, watching as Robby reaches his locker, hands removing the dreidel from the ribbon.
You feel as your breath catches, as you wait like the tired expression with bated breath to see his reaction. He looks at it, holding it up and twisting it in his fingers, his humming finally stopped as he slips it into his pale blue zip hoodie pocket, the very same hoodie you got him for his birthday last year, begging him to retire his green one.
He slipped it into his hoodie pocket, you realize then, blinking once, twice and fighting back the smile that wants to grow as you turn on your heel, your shoes for once not squeaking on the polished linoleum roll floor as you head to Patient Bay 13, the image of him twirling it between his fingers before slipping it into his pocket remaining with you.
Because maybe this wasn’t such a fucked up idea after all.
Take that, Jack Abbot.
As you’re climbing into your car that day, at the end of shift, body heavy, bones aching and heart just…tired, you can’t help but smile, a small kind of smile because all day, Robby looked at the dreidel when he could, taking it out and spinning it, smiling at it, maybe remembering good times, happy times.
When he was stressed in traumas, his hand always drifted to his right pocket, the one where he’d placed the dreidel.
So, maybe you did something right.
Day 2: Silver Gelt
You step into the ED, your bag on your shoulder, hand hooked through the strap, the bag of silver gelt in the water bottle pocket of your backpack. The ED is your favourite place because of how alive it is; it’s a soul-sucking, soul-crushing, murdering machine and you love it. Because it’s never quiet, because it’s always going, because it will always exist.
“Look at who’s in to help us this fine, fine morning!” a voice calls out and you stop in your tracks, sighing once, the kind of sigh that is less a sigh and more just a sound of annoyance.
“What do you want, John?” you call out, glancing over your shoulder to see Thing 1 standing there, arms crossed and the ever-present accessory of a Dunkin’s iced coffee in his hand.
“I’m just so glad that a day shift doc came in super early before their shift, just to help us out,” he says and you glare at him, eyes narrowing even more as Parker walks over, their face lit up, lips pulled back in their smirk. That’s the only word for that smile.
“Could it be that Doc Sunshine is actually here to help us, night crawlers?” they ask and John uncrosses his arms, lifting one hand to his chin, rubbing it as if he has a beard on that smooth, baby-face.
“Or could it be that she’s satisfying her own selfish love interests?” he counters and Parker gasps, the sound fake and overdramatic, their dark eyes wide as they look at you. In response, you lift your hand, flipping them off.
“Fuck off, Things 1 and 2,” you reply, turning back to the locker room. “Don’t forget!” you call out. “You promised not to tell!”
“Wow!” you hear John yell, his voice once again returned to its normal deadpan. “How quickly you doubt your friends.”
“We’d never tell,” you hear Parker say, “we’re just bugging you, man! Go win your old man over!” You can’t help but roll your eyes at their words, slipping into the locker room and dropping your bag at your feet, pulling the blue and silver embroidered bag from your water bottle pocket, punching in Robby’s locker code, the light turning green and you pull the door open.
You and Robby exchanged codes in that just in case event. That just in case being one of you is mortally injured or dying or needs something and can’t get away to get it. And, it really helps you out right now as you set the bag with the silver gelt inside, shutting the locker door, lock clicking as it closes.
“All good?” Jack calls out and you turn to him, giving him a thumbs-up as you toss your bag back over your shoulder.
“All good.”
“I need those labs on the kid in Central 3 back now, Whitaker,” you say as the two of you step out of the room, the iPad held to your chest. “Do whatever you can, just get them!”
“Yes, of course,” he says, cheeks flushing the way they always do when he gets even slightly nervous. “I’ll…I’ll do that right now.”
“Okay,” you reply, turning away from him, towards the nurse’s station, your heart stopping for just a moment at the sight there. At Robby laughing with Dana and Jack, holding the bag of the silver gelt you got him, unwrapping a piece of the chocolate and popping it into his mouth.
He looks…happy. Light. You hope it’s the gifts, but something inside of you worries that it’s not. That it’s someone else.
“Give me one,” Jack says, his voice carrying across the ED as he nods at the bag of the chocolate, but Robby shakes his head, pulling the bag to his chest.
“My secret…Hanukkah gift-giver got these for me,” he replies, his voice as light as he seems, the sound making you happy, a small smile blooming on your face as you bounce on the balls of your feet, walking over to the nurse’s station, a renewed spring in your step. “Get your own secret gift giver.”
“Dana?” you call out, eyebrows raised as you exchange one iPad for another, another patient, another bay, another problem that you get to solve. “Any labs back for me?”
“Let me check, sugar,” she says, reaching over and squeezing your forearm in the touch she has that is maternal and safe and precious all the same time. You can feel Robby’s body not far from yours, seeming to radiate heat over to you as you lean on the counter, your torso and arms digging into the edge, no doubt lines will be on your forearms after.
“Hey, Sunny,” you hear him say, his voice raspy in that way that sets your soul aflame and you turn to him, a small smile on your face, one that stutters, shutters for a moment like a malfunctioning camera lens when you see the smile on his face, the way he’s tipped the bag towards you. “Want one? I have a secret admirer, apparently and, you know, spoils are no fun when it’s just for yourself.”
“What?!” Jack cries, his face twisting in mock hurt and irritation. Well, knowing Jack it’s real irritation, but it might not be; everything both does and doesn’t irritate him. He’s not an open book. “She gets one and I don’t?!” You roll your eyes at him, sticking your tongue out as you reach forwards, pulling one of the silver coins from the bag.
“I’m special, Jack,” you counter, your eyes flicking back to Robby, your heart skipping beats when you see that he’s still looking at you with that precious half-smile he has. The one that means he’s really happy. He looks good, really good, unfairly good, his hoodie sleeves pushed up, revealing broad forearms covered with dark coarse hair, a watch on his left wrist, fingers long, thick…you blink, swallowing hard, looking away from him and back to your best friend who stands with his arms crossed, one eyebrow raised as he shakes his head.
“You’re really not,” he says. “You’re just nice.”
“No,” Robby says, turning to Jack, expression darkening. “She is special, Jack.”
Day 3: Sufganiyah
Your kitchen is a warzone, the counters covered with flour, bits of drying dough stuck on the granite countertops, jelly here and there, glaring red and congealed like blood. It’s more of a murder scene than a warzone, actually, you realize as you stand there, wiping your hands off on the dish towel you’ve tucked into the ties of your apron. A murder of the special donuts currently being deep-fried outside, watched over by one Jack Abbot.
“How are they coming?” you call out, stepping out of the kitchen, feeling the flour as it sticks to the lines of the soles of your feet. “Almost done?”
“Remind me again,” he calls out, “why we’re doing this?”
“So, that I can work up the nerve to tell Robby that I like him,” you answer, pausing at the doorway, your back porch doors wide open, the smell of oil frying dough acrid and disgusting, but a necessary evil.
“Don’t lie to me,” he says, looking up at you before back down to the fryer as he scoops a golden brown ball of dough out of the fryer, laying it on the paper-towel laden tray. “You love Robby. There’s a difference between like and love and you crossed it long ago.”
“No,” you say, but inside you can feel that sinking of your stomach, the pit that tells you that he’s right, that you crossed that line into love. Maybe when you reached out to his grandparents, spoke to his grandmother about her recipe, got her excited that her grandson would be celebrating the holiday with someone again. Maybe when she offered to send you the bag that you’d placed the gelt in, the one from his childhood and the locket that had been in his family for generations.
Or maybe just when you spent your days off with him or anything with him.
Because you don’t think a crush would hurt this much when they fall for someone else.
“Maybe,” you pause, looking up at the still dark morning sky, “maybe I do love him. And maybe that’s what this is all about.”
“What? Telling him you love him?”
“No,” you whisper, meeting Jack’s worried, unsure gaze with yours. “Making sure he knows he’s worth it to me.”
The coffee is brewing and the worst part is, is that it always smells like coffee, yet it never tastes like coffee. But caffeine is caffeine and you forgot to pack both your espresso beans and Kopiko so you have no other option but…breakroom coffee to get your caffeine fix. Energy drinks are out of the question, you can’t stand the fizz in your mouth, the texture of it as it snaps, crackles and pops in your throat as it goes down.
You reach up and pull down your mug, the one you keep in the breakroom, emblazoned with your name on it so if anyone uses it, they’re admitting to trying to steal your stuff. And once when you caught Donnie with it, you said that he was stealing your identity, just to be a bit dramatic.
“Hey, Sunny,” you hear Robby call out, your body jumping just a bit at his presence that wasn’t there but now is.
“Hi, Robby,” you reply without turning around, focusing on the nearly full coffee pot, on the so close escape. You didn’t see his reaction to the day three gift and you worry that you’ll give something away if you speak with him, act normal. You’d rather act strange and not have to worry about it than act normal and reveal too early that you’re the admirer.
It’s then that the coffeepot beeps and you pull the carafe from its base, pouring the tarlike coffee into your bright blue mug, turning around and waving once at Robby. Robby who is sitting at the breakroom table with the container of three Sufganiyah you packed this morning and tied with silver and blue ribbon.
“You know,” he says before you can exit the room, escape your own nerves, “my admirer gave me three of these donuts and that’s one too many.”
“Shouldn’t that be two too many since there’s only one of you?” you ask, glancing over at him, your heart aching at the way he smiles at you, waving you back and over. Back towards him.
“I said what I said, Sunshine,” he replies. “You want to share them with me?”
“Unfortunately,” you answer, nodding your head to the breakroom door, to the ED that lives outside, its own living, breathing entity, “I only had five minutes for my break and I spent them all brewing coffee.”
“Uh-huh,” he says, “I’m the boss and I am hereby extending your break so you can help me finish these.”
“Fine,” you sigh, walking back over to the table and sitting down, feeling your joints crack and pop and creak as you do so, reaching into the Tupperware container and withdrawing a single Sufganiyah, the smell of frying dough still clinging to the walls of your kitchen at home. “But only because you made me.”
“I’ll have it be known,” he says, his voice light and bright to match the smile on his face, the one that appeared as soon as you sat down, as soon as you bit into the pastry, jelly oozing out on your hand, your squeal echoing through the breakroom.
His laughter joining it.
Day 4: Motorcycle Helmet
You feel dead on your feet and you haven’t even started your shift yet, haven’t even put your stuff in your locker, but honestly, that’s what you get for being convinced by Trinity to go out with her, Dennis and Mel to the karaoke bar, Victoria busy with Cassie.
“Looking great, Sunshine,” Jack says as you step into the ED, your bag feeling way too heavy on your back, your only response to flip him off as you walk towards the locker room, your feet already aching. “By the way! It’s all good!”
That’s when you realize that he dealt with the fourth gift, the one you got both for practicality, point making and sentimentality. The one that Jack had arranged because he had an old army buddy that did graphic design. A buddy that had done the detail work on the motorcycle helmet you bought.
Jack had promised yesterday when you went out that he’d deal with the helmet, get it in the locker and everything for you and yay, it all went well. But really, you’re too sore to really care today.
“Rough night?” Robby asks and you can feel your heartrate speed up, body tensing, preparing for flight or fight over the jump scare, your one hand pressing against your chest as you turn to look at him, narrowing your eyes and shaking your head at him.
“You have no idea,” you reply, voice dry and rough, tired in its own right, tone low, slightly irritated as you turn to your locker, jabbing your button far too hard into the keypad, violent as it beeps and unlocks, the light turning green. You pull on the door and throw your bag in, grabbing your water bottle and box of chocolate covered espresso beans before slamming the door and turning to leave.
But seeing Robby holding the helmet and rolling his eyes, lips twisted in a wry smile has you stopped in your tracks, the detail work facing you, his attention focused on the front.
“Think my secret Hanukkah giver is making a point?” he asks.
“Look at the back,” you tell him, voice still tired, still dry and wry but lightening as you see Stevie Nicks’ logo, the heart with wings and the lyrics thunder only happens when it’s raining. He flips it in his hands, sucking in a deep breath at the blue and silver detailing before lifting his gaze to you, lips quirking in that boyish smile he has.
“Guess I have to wear a helmet now.”
Day 5: Leather Bound Collectible of Gray’s Anatomy
You’re waiting for Robby, leaning against the bank of lockers, listening to his voice as he gives last minute, going off shift advice to the team that isn’t his team, but he just can’t let go of the ED. Even coming back from sabbatical hasn’t changed that, in fact it’s almost worse, like he feels he has to make up for his time away. Like he’s abandoned this place. This place that is alive in its own right, this place that will last long after all of you have gone.
“Go home, brother,” you hear Jack say, can imagine him pulling Robby aside and pushing him towards the locker room, pushing him away, to leave. To rest. But Robby’s never been good at that, resting.
“I’ll stay for that incoming trauma,” Robby replies and you sigh, rolling your eyes as you push yourself off the lockers, striding to the archway and peering around, taking note of Jack, arms crossed and Robby, one hand in his pocket, the other rubbing the back of his neck.
“No, you won’t, Robinavitch!” you call out and you can see as his back goes rigid, muscles tensing as he turns, glancing back to see you, face melting into that happy, regretful expression.
“How long have you been waiting?” he asks and you step out from the archway, your arms crossing like a mimic of your best friend, the two of you the wall, preventing Robby’s entrance back to the ED.
“Long enough,” you answer, tone arch and dry, “especially considering I was promised disco fries.”
“But t—”
“No, Robby,” you interrupt, holding up a hand to stop him in his tracks, his explanation not needed, excuses not important. “Let’s go!” He sighs and holds up both hands in that gesture for I give up, I give up, walking over to you, his lips curving up in that boyish smile he has the closer he gets to you, one hand coming to land on your shoulder, steering you back into the locker room.
“Is it just disco fries or have you added to the order considering I’ve made you wait way past shift end?”
“Oh-ho, I am glad you asked,” you say as he steps around you to open his locker, the square blue and silver wrapped package still sitting on the bottom of his locker, unopened. “It’s now disco fries, a giant chocolate milkshake and…let me think…yeah, coffee.”
“Milk shake and coffee?” he asks, looking over his shoulder at you, motions paused, bag half on his shoulder, half off.
“Yeah,” you tell him, eyebrows arching. “Do you have a problem with that, Michael?”
“No,” he says, lips seeming set permanently in his smile, other hand grabbing the package, slipping it under his arm, backpack on his shoulder as he slams his locker closed, the lock clicking with its high-pitched electric beep. “No problem.”
“You haven’t opened the gift yet?” you ask as he turns, the package still wrapped, the special edition of the classic book still inside, unseen.
“I’ll do it at the diner,” he says. “Come on.” And he reaches forwards, taking your hand in his, his palm warm against yours and you can feel that hitch in your breath and that ache in your heart because you wish, god you wish that this was a date and he was your partner and not just your friend. You wish that gesture wasn’t a friend just tugging you along after him, but your boyfriend leading you to a date, to romance and love and everything you want and hope the gifts will give you even when you have that feeling that they won’t.
The sad fact is, is that even if they don’t work, you’ll still love him and still follow him wherever he leads. Whatever force guides the actions of the universe, it’s a real bitch.
“Open it!” you whisper, tone excited as you reach across the diner table and poke him in the arm. He rolls his eyes at you, the gesture sweet and affectionate and layered with knowing and he picks the wrapped book up off the Formica table, fingers sliding into the line of the wrapping paper, sliding along it, the tape tearing off and paper falling open to reveal the gold-leaf lettered copy of Gray’s Anatomy.
The book that made him want to be a doctor.
He read it when he was a kid, one of the older, long since revised version, one that his local library had put on the free cart, the one for books too old and not used to be taken and he did. He read it in two days at ten years old and told his grandparents the next day that he was going to be a doctor. That he would do what was in the book, that he would know everything that he needed to know.
And you found a special edition of the version he spoke about.
“Jesus,” he whispers, lifting it from the paper, twisting it in his hands and looking at every facet of the paper. “I…” You can see the tears in his eyes, one slipping down his cheek, tangling in the dark and greying beard, just a bit of shine, a little bit of glitter made of sadness.
“Good gift, I take it,” you say and he looks up at you, eyes narrowed just slightly, his nostrils flared as he nods, carefully unzipping his backpack that rests beside him on the red, cracking vinyl booth, sliding the book inside with a tenderness reserved for treasures of the utmost importance.
Good gift for sure.
Day 6: Iron Maiden Hall of Fame Induction Shirt
“What did you do on your sabbatical?” you ask Robby, the two of you walking into the ED together, matching cups of Starbucks in your hands, thin plastic cups sweating onto your palms.
“Not telling, Sunshine,” he says, glancing over at you, sunglasses hiding his eyes from you, the ones you’ve seen in a million different ways, angry and sad and happy and at their lowest.
“But why not?” you press as he lifts one hand, pushing the sunglasses up and onto his head, those perfect chestnut eyes warm and familiar as his lips curl up in an affectionate smile. He adjusts his backpack on his shoulder, something jangling inside it, something light and bright and tender.
“Because,” he says as the two of you cross the floor towards the locker room, steps in sync, in tandem. You roll your eyes at him, dramatic to make a point, one he pointedly ignores in favour of crossing into the locker room ahead of you.
“Did you go to Starbucks?!” you hear John cry and you pause, turning around, lips pressing thin as you see him standing there, arms crossed, Dunkins’s cup in hand.
“Yes,” you answer, your tone wavering in the face of his steady, steely gaze. He doesn’t play around with coffee and Dunkins is his place. The one he favours and supports and Starbucks is his enemy. Says they pollute the propriety of the coffee.
“Betrayer!” he cries and that’s when you break, your laugh cracking out of you, loud and bright and filling the air, a locker beep sounding behind you.
“Sunshine!” you hear Robby and you glance back to see him, holding up the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame shirt you special ordered from their site. “The Hanukkah gift-giver apparently knows I love heavy metal.”
“Maybe they actually think you’re a lover of Phil Collins,” you counter and he laughs, his face seeming to open up rather than draw together.
“Fair enough,” he says and then he’s ducking past you, waving people off to head to the bathroom, the t-shirt balled up in his hand.
“I’m still waiting for an explanation you traitor,” John says and you sigh, gritting your teeth and turning back to him, lips pressing into a line.
“And I don’t have one except: I felt like it.”
“Betrayer.”
Robby wore the Iron Maiden shirt all day. You could see it poking it out from under his scrub top during traumas, could hear him talking about it and how he’d been a fan for years.
It gave that feeling of happiness that is unique to making Robby happy. Even if he doesn’t know that it’s youmaking him happy.
But he will, if things go according to plan.
So, why do you feel like they won’t.
Day 7: Burned CD
You’re waiting to see Robby, to see his reaction to the gift today because it’s the one you worked hardest on. It wasn’t easy to figure out how to adapt the new systems of technology for burning a CD like you did as a kid, but you did it, selecting songs you know he loves, ones that remind you of him and one that captures how you feel for him.
You even redid the lyric book, taking the album cover of Rumours by Fleetwood Mac and the lyrics of “Songbird” the one that seems to be how you feel for him. You took the sheets of all the other songs on the CD, reattaching all the papers together and tucking it into the grooves of the empty CD case. It was work, but it didn’t feel like work because you love him and you want him to know at the end of all of this, that he’s worth it.
He’s slightly late getting in, his eyes tired, but happy as he walks into the locker room, but he freezes at his locker, the CD taped to the outside of it, album cover facing him. He’s frozen for just a moment before he moves, tearing it off his locker with a violent force, tossing it into the garbage can like it’s nothing but a waste.
Like it’s disgusting.
You swallow hard, pushing up and away from the computer, from charting, feeling like, for all the world, you’ve been gut-punched. You feel light-headed, woozy, off-balance. This, his throwing out of your work, hurts more than seeing him fall in love a thousand times over. Because his falling in love has nothing to do with you, it’s not a rejection rather just a not noticing.
That…that was a rejection.
“Sugar?” Dana calls out as you stumble, blinking past the tears lining your eyes. Her voice is worried, concerned, but you wave her off, ducking into the bathroom, shoving into a stall and letting the tears fall down your cheeks, slip down your face, searing lines into your skin in their wake as you press your forehead against the cool metal wall of the stall.
Best laid plans are always the ones laid to waste.
You should have listened to Jack when he said just fucking tell him, Sunshine. Because it would have been a rejection, but it wouldn’t have hurt like this. It wouldn’t have been your hard work rejected like that. Thrown away like it’s nothing.
Nothing but an annoyance.
The tears slow and you draw in a deep, shaky breath, stepping back from the wall, pressing your palms against your cheeks and wiping away your tears, unlocking the door and stepping out, going to one of the sinks and splashing cold water on your face, patting it dry with paper towels from the dispenser.
You look at yourself in the mirror, realizing that the look in your eyes is not sadness but numbness as much as feeling numb seems better than feeling sad, you wonder if it really is.
Or if you’re only numb because there’s still a long way to fall.
You’re tired as you step out into the ambulance, drawing in a deep breath of the winter air, delighting in the way it feels against your fevered skin. Robby was in a foul mood all day, yelling and losing it at everyone and you felt it was your fault. You pushed too much, wanted too much, hoped for a true romantic moment, but it faltered.
It failed.
You had told Dana you were sick and could she tell Robby you wouldn’t be in tomorrow at the end of shift and she asked if you were okay and you put on the same face you used to when Robby was dating around. The one that says yeah. The one that says fine. The one that says I love myself and definitely don’t think I’m a fuck-up.
But you’d gone to Jack. Because he was the one who was stuck with you on this crazy, scary, stupid, heartbreaking journey.
“You were right,” you’d whispered. “It was stupid to do this.” He’d placed his hands on your shoulder, looking at you one way and then another and looked up, seeing Robby behind you. You could tell because his jaw hardened and his nostrils flared.
“You don’t need him,” he’d told you. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, okay? I’ll bring your favourite ice cream and we’ll watch whatever movie you want.”
“Promise?” you’d asked and he’d looked back at you and nodded, lifting one hand from your shoulder to offer you his pinky. You’d wrapped yours around his and he’d whispered, “promise.”
And Jack always keeps his promises.
You shake your head now, coming back to yourself and turning, body going rigid as you see Robby standing there with the director of the daycare, Noelle Patrick.
“It’s all set,” she says and you watch as she places her hand on Robby’s arm, the gesture comforting and familiar and all too much like a girlfriend, assuring her boyfriend and oh my god, how dumb could you be?
Of course Michael Robinavitch has a girlfriend. He always has a girlfriend. How could you be so stupid to think that he was single and you had a chance? You’re his friend. That’s it. And, honestly, you’re done with it all.
You’re done with him. You’re tired of feeling this was, so you resolve that when you get home, you’re going to run a bath and play Ethel Cain and drink a glass, maybe two of your expensive red wine and cry until you have no tears left, banishing him from your mind and moving on.
You deserve that.
He has love and you deserve that too. It’s time to purge him from your mind.
“…this Hanukkah thing, Noelle, really?” you hear Robby say, his voice cutting through your resolve, his words causing all your just built walls to crumble because of fucking course he thought the gifts were from his girlfriend.
Christ, how could you be so blind?
You run your tongue along your teeth as you draw in a deep breath, muscles tense as you hook your fingers through the straps of your bag and walk past them, head down, attention locked on your shoes, on the cracked and greying asphalt that scuffs underneath your feet.
“One sec,” you hear Robby say to Noelle and then, “Sunshine! Hey, Sunshine, wait up!” But you don’t. You don’t stop or pause or turn around, you just keep going and even though you hear him following, you keep going. You keep going faster until you’ve reached your car and you throw your bag in, climbing in and starting it, driving off before you could hear his voice and decide that you’d rather be his friend than lose him completely.
You need a break from him.
Day 8: His Family Locket Plan Cancelled
It’s a good day, for the most part, if you can ignore that perpetual ache in your heart. But, for the most part, it’s good—you got up late, put on comfy pajamas and didn’t worry about your hair too much, didn’t worry too much about makeup, rather just remaining comfortable and makeup free.
You watched a classic, one guaranteed to make you feel both better and worse, The Princess Bride, the movie you watched as a kid, wishing for a Wesley of your own, but never getting one.
You realized this time, watching it, that you’re Wesley, doing everything for Robby with love, determined that he’ll know love, even when all he does is hurt you again and again and again. Except that unlike Wesley who ends up with the one he loves, you’re destined to be alone. Because Robby is no Buttercup.
Now, you’re reading, a book you’ve waited on for a year, waited to conclude a book series that you love and you’re curled under a blanket, music spilling from your speakers, surrounding you, the soft, lilting voice of Conan Grey and “Vodka Cranberry.”
“SUNSHINE!” you hear, accompanied by open-handed slaps on the wood of your front door. You know it’s Robby, know his pitch and timbre and volume like no one else. You know him period, like no one else. “OPEN THE DOOR!”
You huff out a breath, one of aggravation, irritation and sadness all in one as you push your blanket off and set your book aside, tucking in the bookmark for your page. You were hoping to finish it today, but Michael Robinvatich has other plans and you’re still, sadly, his Wesley. The one who comes when he calls.
“Go away,” you say, voice flat as you pull your door open a crack, enough that you can look out and see Robby, his face distressed as he looks at you, tears staining his cheeks. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“No,” he says and his voice is quieter, a pitch you haven’t heard before. “I love you, Y/N.” And you know when he says your name, a name he rarely ever says that he loves you. That he means it. But you have watched him date people over and over and over and that was heartbreak enough. Loving him and losing him…that would destroy you.
“Go away, Robby,” you say again, your voice still flat. Still strong and steady even as everything inside of you is cracking. “I need a break from everything. That’s why I didn’t come in. So, please, respect me enough to leave me alone.” You move to close the door, but he shoves his foot into the crack, wedging it in place.
“I know it was you,” he whispers and your eyes close for a moment, the image of your meddling best friend popping up in your mind as you do so. Fucking Jack Abbot, you think because you know that he told Robby. You know he probably yelled and swore but he didn’t have the right to do that.
You wanted this to be done and now it never will be.
“Robby,” you whisper, your voice cracking on his name, cracking on that second syllable as he reaches into his back pocket, withdrawing the CD case, the album cover staring up at you, haunting and precious.
“I listened to it,” he whispers. “And I owe you an explanation about why I threw it away.” You sigh, the kind of sigh that reverberates through your whole body as you wrench your door open all the way and gesture him inside, conscious of the cold bite of the wind and the fact that you’re not wearing a bra underneath you pj shirt.
“Won’t Noelle care where you are?” you ask, closing the door behind him, crossing your arms over your chest as you turn to face him, noticing the way his face has knitted together, confusion shining back at you.
“Noelle? What does she have to do with this?” he asks and you look at him, feeling that dumb-founded expression you have take over, the one of absolute shock.
“You mean your girlfriend won’t care that you’re here at my house to let me down easy?”
“Noelle’s not my girlfriend,” he whispers and he reaches into his front pocket, pulling out his phone and opening it up. “She’s my babysitter.”
“Babysit—” you cut yourself off when you see Robby’s phone screen, see the picture of the infant that was abandoned before he went on sabbatical. Baby Jane Doe.
“I adopted her,” he whispers. “That was my sabbatical. She’s my daughter…I named her Abigail.” The baby on his screen is smiling, happy, clapping, eyes wide and innocent.
“You’re a dad,” you whisper and he nods, shutting his phone off and slipping it back into his pocket, tapping the CD case with his now free hand.
“I threw it out because ‘Songbird’ is the only song I remember my mom playing when I was a kid. The one that was playing when she left and…and never came back. It was all I could hear when the social workers finally came and found me and placed me with my grandparents so I saw this and…I reacted badly.”
“But you listen to ‘Dreams’ all the time,” you counter and he nods his head, lips twisting into an expression you aren’t entirely sure what it means.
“But that’s Stevie Nicks,” he says. “And I listen to her re-recording. ‘Songbird’ is Christine McVie.”
“I chose it because…” you pause, swallowing hard, your eyes feeling hot, tears stinging them and the back of your throat, your pulse thudding in the base of your throat, a metronome of your emotions. “Because it’s how I feel about you. But…but you thought Noelle did all of that for you. I heard you Robby so…I don’t think she’s just a babysitter.” He steps towards you, setting the CD on the table you have beside the door, hands resting on your arms as he looks into your eyes, his gaze steady and unwavering. True.
“I thought it was her because she’s been pushing me to find my mother,” he whispers. “I thought it was her way of pushing me again.”
“I—” you pause, unsure what you want to say, caught in a situation you had never imagined. You had imagined giving him the last gift and that was all. Maybe a relationship beginning to unfurl, but mostly you hadn’t wanted to go down in flames of embarrassment at the nurse’s station.
“Jack told me,” he whispers now and you could kill Jack, you really could. “See when Noelle had no idea what I was talking about, it clicked that the only person who knew the story of Gray’s Anatomy was you. And I tried to catch you, but you left, so when I went back in to get my bag and follow after you…Jack found me and shoved the CD at my chest and told me to fix my fucking mess. To make it up to you because you deserve so much. Probably more than me, but I’m here, Sunshine. I’m right here now and I want to fix it.”
“Do you know how hard it is to burn CDs now?” you whisper, your voice thick and teary, the burn of tears echoing through your body as he lifts one hand and wipes away a falling tear with his thumb.
“No,” he says, “but I can figure it out if you want one.” Those words are enough to draw a laugh out of you, one that bubbles through you, watery and weak yet strong and light in its own right. “I love you; I just never thought you’d love me back.”
“Well, I do,” you whisper and his face cracks into a smile that is new, one that is still boyish, but more hopeful and light and happy, so very happy.
“I didn’t think I deserved you, to be honest,” he says and you close the distance between the two of you, wrapping him in a hug, one that is tight and needed and necessary to continue to feel. “What was day eight going to be?” he asks, his words ruffling your hair, his arms warm and safe and strong around you. A circle you don’t want to escape from but you startle and pull back, stumbling away from him.
“Come on!” you call out and you can hear him following you as you climb the steps of your split level house up to your bedroom, where the box rests on your dresser. “Here,” you tell him, grabbing it and handing it to him as he sinks down on the edge of your (thankfully) made bed.
You watch as he pulls open the top of the blue gift box, his breath hitching as he reaches in, fingers looping underneath the aging chain and pulling the old locket out, the Star of David on the front.
“Is this…” he pauses, watching the necklace as it dangles, twirling around and around in lazy circles in the air.
“Yeah,” you whisper and he looks up at you, his warm chestnut eyes lined with tears. “I called your grandparents when all this started and I was researching Hanukkah and your grandma mentioned this locket. And I asked if I could give it to you and she said of course and she sent it. She told me the whole story too and how much you’ve always loved it.”
“I can’t—” he breaks off, his body heaving with sobs and you cross the room to him, kneeling before him, your one hand resting on his leg, the other wiping away a tear with the edge of your finger.
“Open it,” you whisper and he does, with shaky hands, his breath hitching again and you know what he sees, the old grainy, sepia coloured photo of his grandparents on their wedding day and the other side has a picture of him and you, taken the day you became an attending, his arm around you. He looks at you in the picture while you look at the camera and it occurs to you now that maybe he did love you all along but you just didn’t see it.
“I love you,” he whispers, his voice watery and yet steady as he slips the locket on over his neck. The rest becomes a bit of a blur as he pulls you up and presses his lips against yours in a kiss that tastes like chocolate and coffee and hope and love.
His lips are warm and soft as they move against yours, his beard scratching your skin in a way that feels precious and delicious and right and like it was always meant to be. The way his tongue slides along yours makes you think it was meant to happen because it feels right. Maybe…maybe this was always going to happen.
And that’s what you think all along as he undresses you and you undress him and he slides in and seems to fit, justfit to you. Maybe it’s not the best sex of your life, maybe it’s not proper or earth-shattering or something that makes you not capable of walking, but that’s what makes it all the better.
Because it’s real and the way his body feels pressing down on yours as he moves against you is something you wouldn’t trade for anything.
Because the sex itself doesn’t need to be earth-shattering, the very fact that it’s with Robby and that he loves you as you love him is earth-shattering.
And maybe, the locket he wears moves with his thrusts, hitting you in the face a couple of times, but it doesn’t matter.
Because it’s Robby and you love him and he loves you.
And that’s enough.
“You know,” Robby whispers after, your body drawn against his, the two of you laying underneath the sheets, looking up at the ceiling, your head on his chest, his arms around you and yours around him, “I’ve always wanted my own miracle.”
“Oh, yeah?” you ask. “Did you get one?”
“Yeah,” he whispers. “I did. I have you and I have Abigail and what’s more of a miracle than that?”
“Well then, Michael,” you whisper, shifting on his body to see him, to see his face and that boyish smile and the love in his eyes. “What now?”
“Now,” he says, one hand reaching up to smooth your hair down on the back of your head, a constant rhythm as he looks at you lovestruck, “we take it one day at a time, Sunshine.”
Thinking about Robby's canonically bad back and how he complains about it, knowing damn well he's only making it worse with you around
CW: this man's bad back is all on him, gn!reader, mentions of somnophilia, mentions of shower sex, mentions of couch sex, Robby's referred to as Michael once, this IS /reader
Between the hectic nature of a shift, it's not uncommon for staff and patients alike to see Robby stretching or twisting in some way to try and take some amount of strain off of his back. I mean, the man’s up there in age, the constant motion and bending and crouching and general stretch a day in the ED brings getting to him at some point. He'll moan and bitch about it under his breath, which, while understanding, can get a bit annoying when you're seven hours into a shift and have two traumas rolling it at once.
He hears the same consistent reminders from Abbot, Dana, and just about anyone who is oh so lucky enough to hear him bitching. They constantly tell him that he needs to be stretching outside of work, that he should put some type of pressure, that he needs to sit down whenever he can instead of pacing just to be in motion— it all goes on deaf ears at this point in his career. To his credit, he is telling them that he's "working on it" when he gets home after shift.
But he isn't. Why would he? After a long, sometimes overtime, shifts, the last thing he wants to do is do pilates bullshit when he could reheat yesterdays leftovers and fall asleep. Or, of course, stay up a bit to see you.
You being the one he comes home to most certainly doesn't help. The worst part is that it (most of the time) isn't even you trying to temp or coarse him into bed. It's solely a him problem. He KNOWS it's a him problem. And yet he continues to leave his shoes and work bag by the door, not bother getting anything to eat, and wait for you. Sometimes it's waking you up from a late day nap already inside you. mumbling small apologizes for waking you up, having "needed you" too much to wait. Sometimes it's meeting you in the shower, already bending you a bit even though you were startled by him, telling you to "spread f'me a little more— there ya go". Sometimes it's finding you on the couch, turning your innocent and welcoming kisses into wandering hands and you whining that the couch, ironically, will make your back hurt.
By the time morning comes, when you're waking in an admittedly fuzzy state due to the bed shifting, you hear his voice mixing with the gentle hum of the fan and the generic dialogue of whatever he'd left on the TV.
"Fuck, my back…"
Even in your haze, you can't help but laugh at the complaint.
"You do it to yourself, Michael."
"Shut it."
By the time the morning "rush" begins at the ED, with residents coaching med students through the multiple elderly patients being brought in, Robby's already leaning against the central station. He leans against it enough to put some type of pressure on his lower back, twisting this way and that way to try and bring some type of relief. He listens as Dana speaks without even looking away from the spreadsheet plastered across the overhead screens.
"You never do anything I tell you to."
He shakes his head, already defensive.
"I do. I do those stretches every night— they don't do anything."
Dana let's out a laugh, passing him a chart as she walks back into the station.
"Take your bad back to Room 2. Got a patient with his own bad back waitin' for ya."
He really does do to himself.
It's not like he'll stop. Not with you around, at least.
yellow is her color!
BROOKLYN NINE-NINE ⇢ 6x10 | GINTARS
Look, Charles, don't look behind you, but we're being followed. I saw this guy when we were leaving the precinct, and he was in line at lunch, and now he's right behind us.
Some Mellis fanart, because I love them <3
If we don't see more of these two in season 3, I might RIOT!!
