Reader who has a real job and actual bills. Reader who prioritizes her own peace over his feelings. Reader who has hobbies that don’t revolve around a man. Reader who actually has a life outside of him. Reader who says “no” and means it. Reader who isn't easily impressed. Reader who’s petty. Reader who has trust issues. Reader who chooses her girls every single time. Reader who has a body count and isn't ashamed of it. Reader who is exhausted by male fragility. Reader who holds grudges. Reader who’s a mess. Reader who’s mentally ill. Reader who makes mistakes. Reader who’s manipulative. Reader who’s selfish. Reader who’s morally gray. Reader who’s awful. Reader who genuinely doesn’t give a fuck.
summary: One secret changes everything. As the Cody family’s carefully buried truths come to light, you find yourself caught between running from the people you love and fighting for them. In the end, loving Pope Cody doesn’t just change your life, it changes the entire family. andrew ‘pope’ cody x f!reader / cw: sexual content/smut, abusive relationship (not andrew), bestie!deran trope, not timeline specific, fix it fic, some parts are dark, mentions of SA/grooming, parental abuse, smurf and baz, manipulation, j redemption arc, murder, violence, major character death, canon show themes, substance use, drinking, gun use, possessive!pope, jealous!pope, soft boy!pope, discussions of mental health, warnings are chapter dependent. total word count: 130.4k amalia’s love note: finally started a masterlist for this series lol, love yall. this masterlist is ever changing and parts are being added inbetween updates as i go!! NOTE! this fic does not have a taglist, to be notified of updates pls follow this blog and turn on post notifs <3
doe-eyed running to my tranquility (smut, angst)
After escaping your abusive boyfriend, you get pulled into the dangerous world of the Cody family and unexpectedly become the center of Pope Cody’s obsessive attention. As dark secrets unravel around you, Pope grows fiercely protective, pulling you deeper into his chaotic life until the line between safety and danger disappears completely.
take what you want (smut, fluff, angst)
After a job goes wrong, Pope disappears for four days, hiding his injuries and burying himself in silence. But when you finally confront him, you realize his biggest problem isn’t violence, it’s that he doesn’t believe he’s allowed to want or need anything. So you show him exactly how badly you want him to take what’s his.
i love the sick (angst, dark)
What starts as a simple night watching Lena turns into something far more dangerous when Baz leaves you at Smurf’s overnight. As Smurf slowly tightens her grip, quietly isolating you from the outside world, J is the only one who notices the pattern for what it really is and for the first time, he steps between you and his family. The night cracks open the fragile balance you’ve built with the Codys, exposing a darker, more volatile side of Pope Cody that leaves your relationship hanging by a thread and forces long-buried truths dangerously close to the surface.
all my morals shot (smut, dark, angst)
One secret sends you running from the Cody family, but escaping Pope Cody proves impossible. As buried truths come to light and old wounds turn into reckless choices, you’re forced to confront the feelings you’ve been trying to outrun. Meanwhile, Smurf realizes too late that you’ve become a threat, not because you’re using Pope, but because you’re the first person who truly chooses him. And no matter how hard you run, Pope always finds his way back to you.
mirror (fluff, angst)
Vignettes from your years-long friendship with Deran Cody, and the long-overdue conversation that finally puts the pieces back together.
nothing at all (dark, smut, angst)
A phone call from your father cracks open wounds you thought had long since healed. As you struggle to keep yourself together, Pope shows you the terrifying truth about loving a man who would do absolutely anything for you.
siren sounds (angst, smut)
Smurf draws a line in the sand, and suddenly everything you love is at risk. Forced into an impossible choice, you tell a lie that could cost you everything to protect the person who matters most.
jealous type (smut, angst)
Jealousy isn’t your best look. According to Pope, though, it’s definitely your hottest. A harmless night out quickly turns into a game neither of you has any interest in losing.
boy (fluff, angst)
For the first time in your life, Craig Cody is speechless. Beneath the jokes and bad decisions is a man standing at a crossroads, trying to figure out whether he’s capable of becoming someone different than the people who raised him.
honeybee (angst)
For someone who’s spent their entire life expecting loss, happiness can feel just as frightening as heartbreak. As your relationship with Pope deepens, you’re left navigating the uncomfortable reality that the more you love something, the more there is to lose.
stranger danger (dark, angst)
Life. Death. Maybe the line between them was never as wide as people liked to believe. Sometimes it all comes down to a single choice, a single second, and when the dust settles, one person gets to keep living while another doesn’t.
did you miss me? (dark, angst)
Some moments divide your life into two parts: the person you were before, and the person you have to become after.
Time, You & Me (dark, angst)
You always imagined forever would be enough. You never considered forever might end six feet underground.
queen of nothing (angst, dark)
Separated by circumstance, Pope is forced to make a decision that unknowingly places you in danger. In return, you’re willing to shoulder decades of his pain, proving just how far you’ll go for the man you love.
shut up my moms calling (dark, angst)
Convinced he’s lost you forever, Pope is consumed by grief and the desperate need for revenge. As his hunt for J pushes him further toward the edge, he never realizes that vengeance may cost him the one thing he has left, his own life.
summary: After escaping your abusive boyfriend, you get pulled into the dangerous world of the Cody family and unexpectedly become the center of Pope Cody’s obsessive attention. As dark secrets unravel around you, Pope grows fiercely protective, pulling you deeper into his chaotic life until the line between safety and danger disappears completely. andrew ‘pope’ cody x f!reader / cw: DD:DNE, hard warning for smurf, naiveish!reader, she’s naive until she isn’t, not timeline specific, could be season one related but idfk tbh, pope says two words and reader is on her knees (who wouldn’t be), I imagine pope has his curly hair, possessive!pope, obsessive!pope, bestie!deran, deran goes crazy, the brothers really like reader except baz is sneaky with smurf, abusive relationship, damsel trope, reader has doe eyes and is called bambi, maybe ooc characters, drinking, reader is super taken by pope the second she meets him, murder!!!, blood, gore, canon violence, SMUT!! (they shower together it’s steamy, soft!dom pope, voyeurism,pervish!pope (my favorite), mentions of choking, dacryphilia, unprotected piv, creampie), mentioned sexual assault (not on reader), mention of sexual predators. word count: 14.8k amalia’s love note: 1000 followers special!!!! love you all thank you so much for supporting me always. If you hate this don’t say anything i’m extremely sensitive rn. Also i rewatched euphoria last week and totally based her bf off nate lol. credit to: The Deer’s Cry by Isabella Albuquerque NEXT PART!!
The music hit you before the house even came into view. Heavy bass rolled through the humid Oceanside air hard enough to rattle the windows of the massive beachside property perched at the edge of the cliff. The Cody house glowed gold against the dark, crowded wall to wall with people drinking, smoking, laughing too loud. Surfboards leaned crooked against the fence. Expensive cars packed the driveway bumper to bumper. Jetskis and dirt bikes sat scattered across the lawn like abandoned toys. Somewhere in the backyard a girl shrieked with drunken laughter loud enough to cut through the music.
You stumbled through the open gate barefoot, your pink heels dangling from two fingers. Your chest burned from running. Tears blurred your vision, hot and humiliating.
Your knees were scraped raw from slamming against the pavement after Nate shoved you down outside the bar. One side of your face still throbbed where he’d slapped you hard enough to split the inside of your lip maybe fifteen minutes earlier.
You hadn’t thought about where you were going. You’d just run.
And somehow your body dragged you here.
To the one place you’d been specifically told not to come.
Deran had mentioned the party offhandedly two days ago while fixing the walk-in freezer at the bar, half buried in tools and swearing at the wiring. Your shifts there had been sparse lately while finals swallowed your life whole, but somehow the routine of seeing him had become one of the few stable things you had left.
You weren’t even sure why your feet brought you to him.
Maybe because Nate hated him.
Maybe because Deran was one of the only people who ever looked at Nate like he saw exactly what lived underneath his skin.
Or maybe because somewhere along the way Deran Cody had turned into the closest thing you had to family. The older brother neither of you would ever admit out loud you needed. You knew things about him nobody else did. Dark things. Ugly things. And he knew yours too.
Which was exactly why he’d warned you more than once that Smurf’s house was not somewhere he wanted you.
You pushed through the side yard, adrenaline making you dizzy.
Nobody stopped you. Nobody really noticed you at first. You probably looked like every other fucked up girl stumbling through Oceanside at two in the morning. Mascara smeared under your eyes, dress strap hanging broken from one shoulder, blood drying on your knees.
The kind of girl people learned not to look at too hard.
Bodies crowded around the pool. Drunk girls danced in bikinis beside giant speakers while shirtless guys launched beer cans into the water. The whole place smelled like chlorine, weed, sweat, tequila, salt air.
Then Deran saw you.
His face changed instantly.
Not confusion. Not surprise.
Fear.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, already crossing the yard toward you. Fast. “What happened?”
Your throat tightened before the words could even come out. “I know you said not to come here, but-”
Deran grabbed your arm carefully, fingers surprisingly gentle as he turned your face toward the pool lights.
The second he saw the bruise blooming across your cheek, something in his expression went cold. “That fucking asshole hit you?”
You looked away automatically.
That was answer enough.
“Craig,” Deran barked sharply.
A guy with long hair sitting on top of a cooler looked over immediately. Beside him, another man with dark hair and calmer eyes straightened from his chair too.
“What happened?” the dark-haired one asked.
Deran didn’t take his eyes off you. “Her boyfriend hit her.”
Craig stood so fast the cooler tipped sideways behind him. “Are you fucking serious?”
“It wasn’t-”
“Don’t,” Deran snapped instantly. The sharpness of it made you flinch. His jaw clenched hard enough you could see the muscle ticking beneath the skin. “Don’t do that shit.”
You’d seen Deran angry before. At customers. At his family. At himself.
This was different. This looked dangerous.
“Where is he?” the dark-haired man asked calmly, already getting to his feet.
Baz, you remembered suddenly. That was his name.
You swallowed hard. “I don’t know. I ran.”
Deran looked like he wanted to tear somebody apart with his bare hands.
Then another voice cut through the tension behind him.
“Well,” she said smoothly. “Who’s this?”
You turned slowly, still clutching the broken strap of your dress against your chest.
Smurf Cody stood near the patio doors with a cigarette balanced elegantly between perfectly manicured fingers.
Beautiful in a way that didn’t feel warm. Sharp blonde hair untouched by the humidity. Gold jewelry glittering beneath the lights. She looked at you the way people looked at horses before buying them. Assessing. Calculating.
Like she could find every weak spot you had in under thirty seconds.
Deran exhaled through his nose. “Smurf.”
She ignored him completely.
Her eyes stayed fixed on you.
“You’re pretty,” she said casually. “Too pretty to be crying over a man.”
Heat crawled into your face immediately.
“This is Bambi,” Deran said tightly. “My best friend.”
“Friend,” Smurf repeated, amused.
And suddenly you understood an alarming amount about Deran’s issues.
Smurf stepped closer, gaze drifting over the ripped strap hanging off your shoulder, the bruise on your cheek, the blood on your knees.
“A boy do this to you?”
You nodded once.
Her expression barely changed.
“Hm.”
Something about the sound chilled you more than if she’d yelled.
Deran snatched his keys off a folding table. “We’re gonna go find him.”
Baz stood slower, calmer. “Deran.”
“I’m not gonna fucking kill him,” Deran snapped.
Craig gave a sharp laugh. “I might.”
Smurf waved her cigarette lazily through the air. “Just don’t bring cops back to my house.”
Then her eyes flicked back toward you.
“You can stay here tonight, sweetheart.”
“Oh, I couldn’t-”
“Yes, you could,” Smurf interrupted smoothly. “You look half dead.”
Deran turned toward you again, still vibrating with restrained anger.
“You good here?”
You nodded slowly, though you weren’t entirely sure that was true.
His jaw flexed as he looked around the party.
“Stay inside.”
Then the three of them disappeared through the side gate.
And just like that, they were gone.
You stood awkwardly near the pool while the party swallowed the moment whole. Nobody cared. Nobody even really looked twice. Music still blasted. Somebody cannonballed into the pool. A girl stumbled past you laughing with glitter smeared across her chest.
The world kept moving like nothing happened.
Smurf tilted her head toward the house. “Come inside.”
The kitchen felt strangely quiet compared to the chaos outside.
The bass still pulsed faintly through the walls, but softer now. Distant. Smurf moved around the massive kitchen like she owned every atom inside it. Which, honestly, she probably did.
“You hungry?” she asked.
“A little,” you admitted nervously.
She opened the fridge, pulling containers out without ever really stopping watching you.
The house was beautiful in an intimidating sort of way. Expensive without looking staged. Polished wood floors. Massive windows overlooking the black ocean. Family photos lining the walls.
Every room felt lived in.
Claimed.
Smurf moved through it like royalty.
Which, in a deeply fucked up way, she was.
“You and Deran sleeping together?” she asked casually.
You nearly inhaled your own spit. “Oh my God, no. No.”
Not that the idea itself was horrifying. Deran was objectively attractive and you had functioning eyes. But it was also probably one of the least likely scenarios imaginable considering Deran had spent the better half of your friendship pointing out hot men to you with alarming enthusiasm.
“Hm.” Smurf pulled leftover pasta from the fridge. “That’s disappointing. He needs prettier girlfriends.”
You laughed nervously.
“I’m serious.”
The smile fell from your face.
You genuinely couldn’t tell if she was joking.
Smurf handed you a plate before leaning against the counter, cigarette balanced between two fingers as she studied you openly.
“You’re too soft for my boys anyway.”
The statement landed strangely hard. It irritated you more than it should have. She didn’t know you. Not really. The first thing she’d ever seen from you was this version. Crying. Bruised. Shaking.
Weak.
“I’m just his friend,” you said quietly.
“Mm.” She lit another cigarette. “Girls always think they’re just friends with Cody men.”
She pointed at you lightly with the cigarette.
“Especially the pretty ones.”
You looked down at the plate in your hands.
“Does the boy do this often?”
You hesitated. “Sometimes. He was angry tonight.”
Smurf’s expression stayed unreadable.
Cold almost.
“You should learn now,” she said quietly. “Men don’t hit women they love.” She took a slow drag from the cigarette. “They hit women they own.”
The bluntness stunned you into silence.
Before you could answer, movement outside the kitchen windows caught your attention.
Someone sat near the fountain in the backyard, half hidden in the shadows.
You hadn’t noticed him before.
Large frame. Broad shoulders curled slightly forward, elbows resting on his knees. Dark curls falling over his forehead. Freckles dusted across skin that disappeared beneath the sleeves of a faded gray t-shirt. Around him the party carried on at full volume, people screaming over music, splashing into the pool, stumbling through clouds of smoke.
But he sat completely still.
Just watching.
His eyes moved slowly across the yard, detached from all of it like he existed outside the noise.
Then his gaze landed on you.
And stayed there.
Something twisted low in your stomach.
Not fear exactly.
Awareness.
Like some instinct deep in your body already knew who he was before anybody said it.
Smurf noticed immediately.
“Oh,” she murmured softly, almost amused. “There’s Pope.”
Pope.
The name alone tightened something in your spine.
Deran had warned you about him enough times.
If you ever meet Pope, avoid him.
Why?
Because he’s fucking weird.
You glanced back toward the window.
Pope was still staring directly at you.
Not smiling. Not moving. Just staring with an intensity that made your skin feel too tight.
“He just got out,” Smurf said casually, like she was discussing the weather. “Prison makes socializing difficult.”
You didn’t know how to respond to that.
“He’s harmless,” she added after a second.
The way she said it somehow made you feel the exact opposite.
“You should say hi.”
“No, I’m okay-”
“Pope!” Smurf called loudly through the open sliding door.
Your stomach dropped so fast it almost hurt. You shot her a horrified look while she smiled lazily around her cigarette. For a second you genuinely wondered if she was fucking with you. Testing you maybe. You still couldn’t tell when Smurf was being genuine and when she was setting somebody up for entertainment.
Outside, Pope lifted his head immediately.
“Come meet Deran’s friend,” Smurf called.
Your palms started sweating.
A minute later the sliding door opened.
Up close, he was even bigger than you expected.
Not polished like Baz. Not clean-cut like Deran.
Pope looked rough in a way that felt accidental instead of curated. Sharp eyes. Scarred hands. Thick shoulders that made the kitchen suddenly feel smaller. There was something restless underneath his skin even while he stood perfectly still.
And he looked at you like he was trying to figure something out.
“This is Bambi,” Smurf said smoothly.
Pope kept staring.
You shifted awkwardly under the weight of it, suddenly hyperaware of your ripped dress and smeared mascara.
“Hi,” you said quietly.
“Hi,” he echoed.
His voice caught you off guard.
Soft. Almost gentle.
Smurf looked between the two of you with obvious amusement sparkling in her eyes.
“Well,” she said, pushing off the counter. “Try not to scare her, baby.”
Then she disappeared down the hallway, leaving you alone with him.
Silence settled heavily into the kitchen.
You looked literally anywhere except directly at him.
“I like your dress,” Pope said suddenly.
You blinked. “Oh. Thanks.” You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear awkwardly.
“It’s ripped.”
Your eyes dropped to the broken strap hanging off your shoulder.
“I guess, yeah.”
Pope leaned back against the counter, arms folding loosely across his chest, but his eyes never left you.
You tried focusing on the food instead.
“You’re bleeding,” he said after another moment.
You looked down at your scraped knee. Blood had dried in messy streaks down your shin. “Oh.”
Without another word Pope opened the freezer and grabbed an ice pack.
When he handed it to you, your fingers brushed accidentally.
He pulled his hand back immediately.
Too fast. Like the contact surprised him.
And maybe you imagined it, but for half a second his entire expression changed when you looked at him directly. Something almost startled flickered across his face before he looked away.
You didn’t know it, but Pope spent most of his life disconnected from people. Numb to them. Detached. But there was something about you standing in his mother’s kitchen bruised and trembling with those wide, wet doe eyes fixed on him that hooked somewhere deep beneath his ribs before he could stop it.
Maybe it was how vulnerable you looked while still trying to pretend you were fine.
Maybe it was the softness in your voice.
Maybe it was the fact that you looked at him without immediately looking afraid.
He didn’t know.
He just knew he liked it.
“Thanks,” you said quietly.
He nodded once.
Now he was the one avoiding your eyes.
God.
Deran was right.
He was weird.
Not creepy exactly.
Just… off.
Like his brain worked differently from everybody else’s.
You glanced toward the backyard where music still pounded through the walls.
“You don’t like parties?”
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
Pope’s eyes shifted toward the window again. “Don’t like all these people in my space.”
You made a small oh with your mouth before he continued.
“They always break stuff.”
That felt oddly reasonable coming from him.
“You ran here?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
You shrugged awkwardly. “I knew Deran was close.”
Pope considered that for an uncomfortably long amount of time.
“You trust him.”
“I do.”
Another silence stretched between you.
“He said Nate hurts you sometimes.”
Your head snapped up. “Deran told you that?”
The question slipped out sharper than you intended.
Why would Deran tell them about you? About your relationship? About the ugly parts of it?
Had he told all of them?
Or just Pope?
Pope frowned slightly, like he could tell your mood shifted but wasn’t fully sure why.
“He said he doesn’t like him.”
That sounded far more believable.
You relaxed a little, pressing the ice pack carefully against your cheek.
Pope watched the movement intently.
Not flirtatiously.
Not even curiously.
Just intensely.
Like he noticed every little thing your body did.
It made you hyperaware of yourself. Of the way you sat. The way your fingers trembled slightly. The way your dress slipped against your skin.
You cleared your throat quietly.
“So…” you started. “What exactly do you think your brothers are doing right now?”
Pope didn’t answer immediately. You could practically see him debating how honest to be.
“Probably beating the shit out of him.”
Your stomach twisted hard.
“You think?”
Pope looked genuinely confused by the question.
“Yes.”
And somehow the certainty in his voice scared you more than the answer itself.
Nate hit the pavement hard enough to split the skin across his cheekbone.
The crack echoed through the empty marina parking lot like a gunshot.
Before he could even suck in a breath, Craig grabbed him by the collar and hauled him upright again like he weighed nothing.
“You like to hit women?” Craig snarled.
His fist slammed into Nate’s ribs hard enough to fold him sideways with a broken wheeze.
Nate choked violently, gasping for air that wouldn’t come.
The marina stretched empty around them. Black water crashed against the docks below while Baz’s truck headlights cut harsh white beams across the pavement. Boats rocked slowly in the distance, chains clinking against metal poles in the wind.
Deran paced nearby like something feral trapped in human skin.
He couldn’t stop moving.
Every few seconds his eyes snapped back to Nate, rage crawling visibly beneath his skin like he was seconds away from tearing him apart with his bare hands.
“You touch her again,” Deran snapped, voice low and shaking, “I’ll fucking drown you myself.”
Nate spit blood onto the concrete.
“She’s a lying-”
Craig kicked him hard in the stomach before he could finish.
Nate crumpled with a strangled noise.
“Wrong answer,” Craig muttered.
Baz stayed leaned against the truck, cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers while he watched the scene unravel with the exhaustion of someone who already knew this was spiraling too far.
“Enough,” he said finally.
“Enough?” Deran barked. He turned so fast the movement itself looked violent. “He beat the shit out of her.”
Nate groaned weakly on the pavement, curling onto his side.
Deran looked down at him with something far worse than anger.
Hatred. Pure, ugly hatred.
The kind that sharpened every edge of his face until he barely looked human anymore.
“We should tie a fucking cinderblock to him and dump him in the ocean.”
Craig immediately pointed at him. “That’s what I said.”
Baz rubbed a hand down his face slowly. “And then what? We explain a dead body to Smurf?”
Deran ignored him completely. “He put his hands on her.”
His voice cracked slightly on the last word. Almost disbelieving. Like his brain still couldn’t process the image of you standing in Smurf’s backyard bruised and crying.
Nate coughed wetly, trying to push himself up onto one elbow.
Huge mistake. Deran crossed the distance so fast Baz barely had time to move.
He grabbed Nate by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the side of the truck hard enough to rock it violently on its suspension.
“You think you get to touch her like that?” Deran hissed.
Nate cried out as the back of his head cracked against metal.
Craig’s expression shifted instantly.
The amusement disappeared. “Hey,” he said carefully now. “Deran.”
But Deran either didn’t hear him or didn’t care.
“You think because she stays with your sorry ass that means you can keep doing it?” he snapped. “You think she belongs to you?”
Nate’s face had gone pale beneath the blood smeared across it. “I didn’t mean-”
Deran slammed him against the truck again.
“Bullshit.”
Baz straightened immediately, cigarette dropping to the pavement.
He pushed off the passenger door and started toward them fast.
“Deran.”
Warning this time. But Deran didn’t back off.
He sidestepped Baz entirely, grabbed Nate by the throat with one hand and yanked him upright again. His other hand caught the open passenger door.
“You feel like a big-”
Deran slammed the truck door into the side of Nate’s head. The sound cracked through the marina.
“-tough-”
Another slam. Nate screamed this time.
“-man?”
The final hit sent Nate collapsing onto the pavement in a limp heap, blood streaking down the side of the truck.
Silence hit for half a second except for the waves crashing below the docks. Even Craig froze.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered under his breath.
Nate lay sprawled on the concrete unmoving for a second too long.
Baz moved immediately, shoving past Deran to crouch beside him.
“You trying to fucking kill him?” Baz snapped.
Deran stood there breathing hard, chest rising and falling violently. But he kept staring at Nate like he still wasn’t done.
Like every instinct in his body was screaming at him to finish it. Craig glanced toward Baz briefly. That look alone said enough. Even Craig was getting nervous now.
Nate finally groaned weakly, curling into himself as blood dripped from his nose onto the pavement.
“She always made me fucking crazy,” he slurred through swollen lips.
The second the words left his mouth, Deran snapped again. He lunged so violently Craig barely caught him in time, grabbing him around the waist before he could get to Nate.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Craig barked, struggling to hold him back now.
Deran fought against his grip anyway. Actually fought him.
“She was crying!” Deran shouted. “Did you see her fucking face?”
“Yes,” Craig snapped back. “I saw it.”
Deran shoved hard against him, chest heaving violently.
“I should kill him.” And the terrifying part was nobody thought he was bluffing anymore.
Baz stepped between them now, calmer than both of them but visibly tense for the first time all night. “We scare him,” Baz said firmly. “That’s it.”
Deran laughed once. “You think this shit scares him?”
Nate stayed curled on the pavement bleeding and shaking, but Deran still looked unsatisfied. Like nothing short of irreversible damage was going to quiet the rage clawing through him.
Three days later the bruise on your cheek had finally started turning yellow around the edges. It still hurt when you touched it.
You stood behind the bar beside Deran, wiping down glasses while music hummed low through the speakers overhead. The lunch rush had died an hour ago, leaving the place quieter than usual. Sunlight spilled through the open windows facing the street, warm salt air drifting inside with the sound of traffic and distant waves.
Craig sat at the far end of the bar half drunk already, arguing with Baz about whether or not a guy outside had stolen his parking spot.
“You can’t just threaten people with a wrench every time you get annoyed,” Baz said flatly.
Craig looked genuinely confused. “Why not?”
Deran snorted softly beside you while restocking bottles.
For the first time in days things almost felt normal. Almost. Nate was in a coma.
Nobody said it out loud, but everybody knew Deran had gone way too far at the marina.
You tried not to think about it.
Tried not to think about how part of you felt relieved.
The bell above the front door chimed. Then the entire room changed. You felt it before you even looked up.
Deran froze beside you instantly. A man stood in the doorway.
Older than Nate by maybe twenty years. Thick build. Weathered face. The kind of man who looked mean even standing still. His eyes swept across the bar once before landing directly on you.
Your stomach dropped so hard it made you dizzy.
Because Nate had his father’s eyes.
“Oh,” Craig muttered quietly. “Fuck.”
The man walked inside slowly. Every instinct in your body screamed. You backed up automatically.
Deran moved immediately, stepping in front of you slightly. “What do you want?” he asked coldly.
Nate’s father ignored him completely. His eyes stayed fixed on you. “So,” he said slowly. “This is where the little bitch that ruined my son’s life works.” Your breath caught.
The room suddenly felt too small.
Deran’s expression darkened instantly. “Watch your fucking mouth.”
The older man finally looked at him.
“You’re Deran Cody.” Not a question. “You put my son in the hospital.”
Deran didn’t answer. Didn’t deny it either.
The man laughed once under his breath, but there was nothing amused about it. “You know what Nate told me?” he asked, eyes flicking back toward you. “Said she cries real pretty.”
Your face went cold. You took another step backward unconsciously. And then you felt someone beside you. Solid. Quiet.
Pope.
You hadn’t even seen him come out from the back office. Your fingers wrapped around his arm before you could stop yourself “Andrew,” you said quietly. Nervously.
The name felt strange in your mouth after hearing everybody call him Pope for days.
But his real name fit him more somehow.
Pope looked down at your hand gripping his forearm. Normally he hated being touched. Most people knew better than to try. Craig once joked Pope reacted to physical affection like a feral dog. But he didn’t pull away from you. Didn’t tense. Instead he shifted slightly closer. Enough that your shoulder brushed against his chest.
And instantly, unbelievably, the panic inside you eased. You couldn’t explain it, Pope made you feel calm. Safe. Like if you stayed close enough to him nothing terrible could reach you. The feeling settled through your chest warm and strange and deeply confusing.
Nate’s father noticed immediately. His eyes narrowed. “That your new boyfriend?” he asked cruelly. “You spread your legs for the whole family now?”
Deran lunged forward instantly.
Baz caught him hard across the chest before he could reach him.
“Deran.”
“No,” Deran snapped violently.
But Pope moved first. He stepped fully in front of you now, blocking you from view entirely. The shift was subtle. Terrifyingly subtle. His face stayed calm, but something in his eyes changed.
“You should leave,” Pope said quietly.
Nate’s father laughed. “And what?” he sneered. “You gonna stop me?”
Pope tilted his head slightly. “Yes.”
Silence dropped heavily across the bar.
Nate’s father took another step toward you anyway.
You grabbed the back of Pope’s shirt tighter instinctively. The movement made Pope go completely still.
Then Nate’s father pointed directly at you.
“You think you’re safe now?” he snapped. “Girls like you always go back. You’ll crawl right back to him if he wakes up.”
Something cracked across Deran’s face.
“You need to get him out of here,” Baz said carefully.
But nobody moved. Nate’s father laughed again, uglier this time. “You Codys think you’re untouchable?” He looked around the bar. “Whole family’s fucking rotten.”
Then his eyes landed on you again. “And you.” Your body stiffened instantly. “You should’ve kept your mouth shut.” Pope stepped forward once.
Nate’s father finally seemed to realize something dangerous stood in front of him. Because for the first time since walking in, he hesitated. Then he scoffed and backed toward the door. “This ain’t over.”
The bell chimed again when he left. Silence swallowed the room immediately after.
You were still clutching Pope’s arm. Still half hidden behind him. Nobody pointed it out.
Deran stared at the door long after the man disappeared outside. That same frightening stillness settling over him again.
Baz saw it immediately. “No,” he said firmly.
Deran didn’t look at him.
Craig leaned back slowly against the counter. “He threatened her.”
“No,” Baz repeated harder.
But Deran was already somewhere else mentally. You could see it happen. That cold detached look settling into his face.
Pope glanced back toward you then. His eyes softened slightly when he saw how shaken you still were. “You should go upstairs,” he said quietly.
Deran owned the apartment above the bar. You’d slept there the last two nights because the idea of going home alone suddenly made your skin crawl. You nodded slowly. Your fingers slipped from Pope’s arm reluctantly. The loss of contact felt immediate. Strange, Pope noticed it too.
Something unreadable flickered across his face before he stepped back.
“I’ll lock up,” Deran said flatly.
Baz looked between both brothers and swore under his breath.
Later, long after you finally drifted asleep curled against the arm of Deran’s couch upstairs, the brothers left through the alley behind the bar. The city had gone quiet by then.
Streetlights reflected off damp pavement. The ocean air felt colder at night, heavier somehow, carrying the distant sound of waves crashing somewhere beyond the buildings.
Deran locked the back door without a word.
Pope stood beside the truck waiting calmly, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. His face looked unreadable in the dark.
Deran slid behind the wheel while Pope watched the apartment windows upstairs for one last second. The living room light was off.
Satisfied, he climbed into the passenger seat. The truck rolled silently out of the alley.
They found Nate’s father exactly where they expected. At the same liquor-stained dive bar off the harbor road where guys like him spent every night slowly rotting themselves from the inside out.
Deran parked across the street beneath a dead streetlamp.
The windows of the bar glowed dim yellow against the dark while old motorcycles lined the curb outside. Inside, Nate’s father sat hunched over the counter already half drunk, laughing too loudly at something the bartender said. Pope watched him quietly through the windshield. “You think he hits women too?” he asked.
Deran’s jaw tightened. Neither of them asked how the other knew that he did. Some things were obvious.
An hour passed. Then another. Neither brother spoke much.
Every once in a while Deran drummed his fingers once against the steering wheel before stopping himself again. Too much energy sitting beneath his skin. Too much anger still trying to claw its way out.
But Pope stayed perfectly still.
Around two in the morning Nate’s father finally stumbled out of the bar alone.
The brothers followed. His truck drifted lazily between lanes as he drove through the sleeping streets of Oceanside toward the edge of town. Small houses gave way to emptier roads. Fewer streetlights. Fewer witnesses.
Finally he pulled into a narrow gravel driveway beside a run-down one story house near the marshes. No nearby neighbors. No barking dogs. Perfect.
The porch light flicked on as he staggered toward the front door fumbling with his keys.
Pope watched carefully from the passenger seat.
Deran killed the engine two houses down. The darkness swallowed the truck instantly.
Ten minutes later the kitchen light inside the house flicked on briefly before disappearing again. Then nothing.
Pope checked his watch. “Give him twenty.”
Deran nodded once. The wait almost killed him. He sat leaning forward slightly, jaw clenched hard enough to ache while rage simmered quietly beneath his skin. Every time he closed his eyes he still saw you standing in the bar clutching Pope’s arm with fear written all over your face.
Girls like you always go back.
The memory alone made his hands tighten.
Twenty-three minutes later Pope opened the passenger door. The brothers moved silently through the yard.
Pope picked the back lock in under thirty seconds.
The house smelled stale inside. Beer. Cigarettes. Old grease. A television played quietly somewhere in the living room.
Nate’s father had passed out half reclined on the couch with an empty bottle hanging loose from one hand. Pope closed the back door carefully behind them.
The man woke slightly at the sound. “Huh?”
Deran moved first. He crossed the room in three steps and drove his forearm across the man’s throat hard enough to pin him against the couch before he could fully react.
Confusion flashed across the older man’s face. Then recognition. Then fear.
“What the fu-”
Pope grabbed the bottle before it hit the floor. Quiet. Always quiet.
Nate’s father struggled violently beneath Deran’s grip now, but alcohol slowed him down. Age slowed him down more.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t see this coming.” Deran said quietly.
The man wheezed against his arm. Pope stepped closer calmly, expression empty. Pope looked at him the same way somebody looked at a broken appliance they needed to get rid of. “You scared her,” Pope added softly.
Nate’s father started fighting harder then. Panic setting in.
Deran slammed him backward against the couch again hard enough to daze him.
“Left her scared in my fucking bar,” Deran hissed.
The older man reached desperately for the side table. Phone. Weapon. Anything.
Pope caught his wrist instantly. Then twisted. A wet crack echoed through the room.
The scream barely had time to leave his mouth before Pope clamped a hand over it.
“You should’ve stayed away from her,” he said.
Afterward, they cleaned everything carefully. Pope wiped surfaces while Deran staged the kitchen. A shattered beer bottle near the counter. Water spilled across the tile.
The body positioned wrong enough to look accidental but believable.
A drunk man falls hard enough onto the corner of a counter and sometimes he doesn’t get back up. Sad. Common. Forgettable.
By the time they left, the house looked untouched.
The brothers washed their hands at a gas station fifteen minutes later. Deran scrubbed blood from beneath his fingernails in silence while Pope leaned against the sink watching the empty parking lot through the window.“You think she’s asleep?” Pope asked quietly.
Deran nodded once. Pope looked back down at the water running pink briefly before turning the faucet off. Then they drove to the hospital.
The city was beginning to pale blue with early morning by the time they parked in the visitor garage.
Nate’s room sat on the fourth floor.
Critical condition. Machines breathing for him. Deran stared through the small window in the door for a long moment before entering. Nate looked smaller like this.
Bruised face swollen beyond recognition.
A machine beeped steadily beside him in the darkened room.
Pope closed the door quietly behind them. Nate’s eyes fluttered weakly at the sound. For one horrifying second he almost looked aware. Then his gaze landed on Deran. Fear flooded his face instantly.
Good, Deran thought.
He should be scared.
“You should’ve left her alone,” Deran said softly.
Nate tried to speak. Nothing came out around the breathing tube.
Pope walked calmly to the door, peeking once through the narrow window toward the empty hallway before looking back at his brother. Deran stepped toward the bed.
And by the time the sun finally rose over Oceanside, Nate’s room had become just another tragedy inside a hospital full of them.
It had been a few weeks. A few strange, chaotic, strangely comfortable weeks where the Cody family somehow became woven into your life before you fully realized what was happening.
You’d officially met everyone now.
J had shown up at the bar one afternoon quiet and observant, watching everybody with the same careful expression Pope wore sometimes. Nicky was sweet in an exhausting sort of way and latched onto you immediately after discovering you owned actual skincare products. Lena adored you after exactly ten minutes because you sat on the floor with her and helped untangle one of her necklaces without getting annoyed.
And Smurf… Smurf had become dangerously fond of you. Not in a normal way either. It felt more like she’d picked you out. Like she was studying you the same way she studied her sons. Watching your reactions. Learning your weak spots. Encouraging certain behaviors while quietly steering you away from others.
You noticed it more lately.
“You apologize too much,” Smurf had told you three nights ago while helping you clean up after dinner.
You blinked. “What?”
“You say sorry before you even speak sometimes.” She handed you a wine glass. “Men smell weakness, sweetheart.”
You laughed awkwardly. “I think that’s a little dramatic.”
“No,” Smurf said calmly. “It isn’t.”
Then she’d taught you how to hold eye contact during confrontation like it was a lesson worth learning.
And weirdly enough Pope started hovering more whenever Smurf was around. At first you thought you imagined it. But then you noticed how he lingered nearby anytime Smurf cornered you into conversations. How his eyes tracked the two of you constantly. How he interrupted more. Redirected you away from her. Like he knew something you didn’t.
Which honestly happened a lot with the Codys.
You were beginning to realize there were entire conversations happening beneath the surface around you. Things you weren’t understanding.
Like the fact that none of them ever talked directly about what they actually did.
You heard rumors, obviously. Everybody in Oceanside heard rumors about the Codys. Crime. Robberies. Violence.
But then Deran would make you coffee exactly how you liked it without asking, or Baz would walk you to your car after work, or Craig would spend twenty minutes teaching Lena how to cannonball properly into the pool while Pope sat nearby staring at you like you hung the fucking moon.
They didn’t feel dangerous around you. Not really. Just damaged.
And Pope… Pope was becoming something else entirely. Possessive wasn’t even the right word anymore. It was quieter than that. More constant. Like gravity. He always knew where you were in a room. Always noticed immediately when another man looked too long at you. Always positioned himself close enough to touch you somehow without making it obvious.
His hand brushing the small of your back. His knee pressed against yours under tables. His fingers curling around your wrist absentmindedly while you talked.
And the eye contact.
Jesus Christ.
Pope looked at you like he physically could not stop.
Sometimes it genuinely made you nervous how intensely he listened whenever you spoke. Like every word mattered. Like every facial expression was something worth memorizing. But you liked it more than you should’ve. Way more.
Which was probably why you found yourself currently squeezed tightly beneath Deran’s arm at one of Smurf’s massive pool parties wearing a bikini that barely qualified as fabric. A bikini Smurf picked out herself.
You should’ve known that alone was dangerous.
“Oh my god,” you muttered earlier that afternoon holding the tiny black swimsuit up between two fingers. “This is insane.”
Smurf looked unimpressed from her closet doorway. “No, sweetheart. It’s expensive.”
“It’s basically underwear.”
“Exactly.”
You laughed nervously. “Nate would’ve had an aneurysm.”
Smurf’s eyes sharpened instantly. “Good.”
And somehow you ended up wearing it anyway.
Now music pounded through the backyard while bodies crowded around the pool beneath strings of warm patio lights. Somebody was doing shots off a surfboard table. Craig had already thrown two people into the water fully clothed.
Deran sat beside you on one of the lounge chairs, arm hooked around your shoulders mostly because he was still paranoid about men approaching you at parties now.
You leaned comfortably against him sipping from a drink while laughing at something Nicky screamed near the pool.
Then you felt it. That familiar feeling. Being watched. Your eyes lifted automatically across the crowded backyard. Pope sat near the outdoor kitchen talking to Baz.
Well. Baz was talking. Pope was staring directly at you. Even from across the yard you could feel the intensity of it.
His eyes moved slowly over you once before locking back onto your face. Heat crept into your chest immediately.
Deran noticed your distraction and followed your gaze. “Oh my fucking god,” he muttered.
“What?”
“He’s doing it again.”
You looked innocent. “Doing what?”
“Looking at you like a psychopath.”
You snorted into your drink. “He’s not that weird.”
Deran turned toward you slowly. “Yes,” he said flatly. “He is.”
“I think you exaggerate.”
“Yeah?” Deran barked out a laugh. “Because you don’t work with him.”
You frowned immediately. “What work?”
The second the question left your mouth, Deran’s expression shifted.
“Nothing,” he said.
“That sounds weird.”
“It’s not.”
“You literally just made it more suspicious.”
Deran rubbed his forehead already irritated.
“You ask too many questions.”
“And yet you avoid all of them.”
“Smartest thing I’ve ever done.”
You narrowed your eyes slightly.
Again. That weird feeling.
Like everybody around you knew something you didn’t. Before you could push further, Craig suddenly cannonballed into the pool hard enough to soak half the patio.
You yelped as cold water splashed across your legs. “CRAIG.”
He surfaced laughing wildly. “That was for saying i’m six foot something with shampoo-commercial hair and I only have exactly three surviving brain cells fighting for fourth place earlier.”
“Was I wrong? You do have shampoo-commercial hair.”
Craig pointed dramatically. “See?”
While everybody argued around the pool, your eyes drifted back toward Pope automatically. Still watching you. Except now his expression looked darker somehow.
You followed his line of sight downward and immediately realized why. Deran’s hand rested against your bare thigh.
Oh. You bit back a smile.
“Your brother looks homicidal,” you murmured.
Deran glanced over again. Then groaned loudly. “For fuck’s sake.”
“What?”
“He’s jealous.”
You nearly choked on your drink laughing “Pope? No.”
Deran stared at you like you were stupid “Bambi. He follows you around like a stray dog.”
“That is so mean. Don’t be mean to him.”
“It’s accurate.” He rolled his eyes.
Your smile widened despite yourself. Because maybe Deran wasn’t entirely wrong. Pope looked at you differently now. Not subtle either. Everybody noticed. Especially Smurf.
You caught her watching the interaction from near the grill with an amused little smile pulling at her mouth.
“You should go sit with him,” Deran muttered.
“What?”
“Before he burns holes through my skull.”
You laughed harder. “You’re being dramatic.”
Deran looked back toward Pope. Then immediately removed his arm from around your shoulders. “Nope. Absolutely not. Go.”
“Deran-”
“I’m serious. He’s freaking me out.”
You looked back across the yard again. Pope hadn’t looked away once. God. It should not have affected you this much. But it did.
Because unlike every other guy who looked at you, Pope never seemed distracted. Never checked his phone mid conversation. Never split his attention elsewhere.
When he looked at you, he looked only at you. Like the entire room disappeared.
You stood slowly from the lounge chair.
Almost immediately Pope straightened slightly where he sat.
Deran watched the reaction happen and muttered, “Jesus Christ,” under his breath.
You crossed the backyard toward him through the crowd.
Pope tracked every step.
By the time you reached the outdoor kitchen, Baz was already smirking into his beer.
“Well,” Baz drawled. “There’s the reason he hasn’t heard a word I said in ten minutes.”
Pope ignored him completely. His eyes flicked slowly over your bikini again before settling on your face. “You cold?” he asked immediately.
You blinked. “What?”
“You’re shivering.”
“Oh.” You laughed softly. “The pool water.”
Pope grabbed the towel beside him without hesitation and held it out. Your chest tightened a little. Always paying attention. Always noticing.
“Thanks, Andrew.”
The second you said his real name, something changed in his expression. Softened. It happened every single time. Pope loved when you called him Andrew. Loved it in that deep quiet way he loved most things concerning you.
Baz noticed too because of course he did “Oh my god,” Baz muttered. “You’re whipped.”
Pope didn’t even deny it.
You smiled trying to hide your embarrassment while taking the towel from him. Pope’s hand settled automatically against your thigh once you sat beside him.
Possessive. Casual. Like it belonged there.
And weirdly enough you let it stay there without thinking twice.
Across the yard, Deran watched the interaction happen before looking deeply exhausted. Smurf appeared beside him sipping wine. “Told you,” she said smugly.
Deran sighed. “This is gonna end in a body. Hopefully not hers.”
Smurf smiled wider. “Probably will be.”
The party got louder the later it got.
Music pounded through the backyard hard enough to shake the deck beneath your feet while bodies crowded shoulder to shoulder around the pool. The entire property glowed gold against the dark ocean behind it, strings of lights hanging from the balcony while drunk strangers danced barefoot across wet concrete.
Craig had somehow started an argument about sharks. “No, listen to me,” he insisted loudly, pointing with a beer bottle while half sprawled across a lounge chair. “If sharks can smell blood from like five miles away then obviously they can smell cocaine.”
“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Deran said flatly.
“It’s literally dissolved in your bloodstream.”
“That’s not how drugs work.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I absolutely know that.”
J sat nearby trying unsuccessfully not to laugh while Nicky filmed the entire thing on her phone solely for future blackmail purposes.
“You’re embarrassing yourself,” she informed Craig cheerfully.
Craig pointed at her dramatically. “History’s gonna vindicate me.”
Beside you, Pope stayed stretched back against the outdoor couch with one arm hooked lazily along the cushions behind you. Well. Not really behind you anymore.
At some point during the conversation you’d shifted closer without thinking until your shoulder rested fully against his chest, your legs tucked partly beneath his along the couch. And Pope loved it. You could tell.
Not because he said anything. Because every time you touched him he got quieter. More focused. Like his entire body locked onto the feeling immediately.
His hand rested against your thigh now, large fingers spread lazily over sun-warmed skin while everybody argued around you. Every so often his thumb brushed absentminded little circles there.
Every single time it happened, his eyes flicked down toward your face. Checking. Watching your reaction carefully like he still hadn’t fully processed the fact that you let him touch you this much.
You leaned your head back slightly to look up at him. “You’re awfully quiet tonight.”
Pope’s eyes dropped to yours instantly. The height difference forced you to tilt your chin up slightly from where you rested against him. “I’m listening.”
“To Craig talking about drug-sniffing sharks?”
“Yes.”
You laughed softly.
Pope’s eyes lingered on your mouth a second too long afterward.
Across from you, Baz noticed immediately and smirked into his drink. The man was obsessed with you. Not even subtly anymore.
Smurf sat nearby with a glass of wine watching the entire interaction unfold with careful amusement. Like she was observing a particularly entertaining science experiment in real time.
You were halfway through making fun of Craig’s shark theory when a girl suddenly approached the couch hesitantly.
You recognized her vaguely from high school. Not close friends. Just familiar enough to know her name if somebody said it out loud. She looked relieved when she spotted you.
“Oh my god,” she said softly. “There you are.”
You frowned slightly. “What?”
“I’ve been trying to find you.”
Beside you, Pope’s hand engulfed your thigh more firmly instantly. Protective. Alert. His eyes lifted toward the girl carefully now.
Confusion twisted through you. “Why?”
The girl glanced awkwardly around the group before looking back at you. “You didn’t hear?”
Something in her tone made your stomach tighten immediately. You laughed nervously shaking your head. “Hear what?”
“Nate’s dad died.”
Everything around you seemed to go strangely muffled. Like somebody dropped water over your ears. “What?” you whispered.
The girl nodded quickly. “Yeah. Cops are saying he got drunk and slipped in his kitchen or something. Everybody’s freaking out because he was like… such a good guy..”
A good guy. Yeah fucking right.
You felt Pope’s entire body go still behind you.
The girl kept talking nervously. “And Nate…” Your chest tightened instantly. “He died Wednesday morning at the hospital.”
The words hit like ice water. Your body instinctively pressed backward into Pope’s chest before you even realized you were moving. And immediately Pope’s arm wrapped fully around your waist. His fingers slid beneath the tie of your bikini bottoms absentmindedly, anchoring you against him.
The touch made heat crawl up your spine despite the panic suddenly flooding your chest. Around you, every Cody had gone silent.
Especially Smurf. All of them watching your face carefully now. Measuring your reaction. Because you knew what happened at the marina. You looked between them slowly, heartbeat suddenly roaring in your ears “How?” you asked quietly.
The girl shrugged uneasily. “They said his ventilator malfunctioned or something. Like some weird glitch.” You suddenly became hyperaware of Pope’s hand tightening slightly against your waist. The girl laughed awkwardly into the silence. “Crazy, right? Anyway, his mom’s doing a service for both of them next week.”
Nobody answered her. Because now the atmosphere felt wrong. Heavy. You swallowed hard.
Your brain started racing violently. Nate dead. His father dead. The ventilator made no sense. The kitchen accident made too much sense.
And suddenly every rumor you’d ever heard about the Codys stopped sounding like rumors at all.
You looked toward Deran slowly. His expression stayed unreadable. Too unreadable. Like none of this was actually news to him.
Baz somehow looked calmer than everybody else which honestly made him scarier. Craig wouldn’t meet your eyes anymore. Even J looked tense now.
But Pope was only watching you. Like your reaction mattered more than the deaths themselves.
The girl shifted awkwardly under the silence. “I just thought you should know.”
“Yeah,” you said faintly. “Thanks.”
She disappeared back into the crowd quickly after that. But the weirdness stayed.
The party still raged around you. Music blasted through the backyard. Somebody screamed after getting shoved into the pool fully clothed again. Bottles clinked. People laughed too loudly. But around the couch, tension settled heavy and suffocating.
You sat stiffly against Pope’s chest now, barely realizing how tightly you’d pressed yourself into him. His hand stayed firm against your waist, thumb moving slowly against your side like he was trying to soothe you. Or maybe soothe himself. You honestly couldn’t tell anymore.
“Nate died?” you said finally, voice sounding distant even to yourself.
The words felt unreal. Deran exchanged a quick glance with Baz. Craig stared down into his beer bottle. J watched everyone carefully from the edge of the chair, quiet like always.
Smurf leaned back calmly, wine balanced elegantly between her fingers while sharp interest glittered behind her eyes.
The whole thing suddenly felt deeply wrong.
You looked around slowly. “Why is everybody acting weird?”
“No one’s acting weird,” Deran answered way too fast.
Your eyes narrowed slightly. “Yeah, you are.”
Pope’s grip tightened almost imperceptibly when your voice rose.
You looked up at him instinctively. His eyes were already on your face. Always.
“You okay?” he asked quietly. And somehow that almost made it worse.
Because he sounded genuinely concerned while everybody else looked tense as hell.
You swallowed hard. “I don’t know.” The girl’s words replayed violently in your head.
You suddenly stood up. “I need to leave.”
Pope immediately straightened beside you. “Hey-“
“I just…” You rubbed your forehead shakily. “I need a second.” Your fingers grabbed the nearest sweatshirt off the couch blindly before pulling it over your bikini top. You barely noticed the sleeves swallowed your hands completely.
Pope did. His eyes locked instantly onto the oversized hoodie hanging off your body. His hoodie. Something sharp and possessive flashed across his face so quickly only Smurf caught it.
Interesting.
You pushed through the side gate quickly. The metal slammed behind you. The second you disappeared down the street, Craig exhaled loudly.
“Good job not acting suspicious as fuck, guys,” Baz said sarcastically.
“Shut up,” Deran muttered.
Smurf swirled the wine slowly in her glass. “She knows something.”
J frowned slightly. “About what?”
Smurf’s eyes stayed fixed thoughtfully on the closed gate. “That girl didn’t react like someone upset her ex-boyfriend died.” Her expression sharpened slightly. “She reacted like she’s scared.”
Baz leaned forward now. “You think Nate told her something?”
“I think,” Smurf said carefully, “our sweet little Bambi is smarter than you boys thought.”
Pope stood immediately. “She’s not gonna say anything.”
Smurf’s gaze flicked toward him knowingly. “You sound very sure. You willing to bet your freedom on it?”
“I am.” The certainty in his voice shut everybody up briefly.
Because Pope trusted you completely. And honestly? That made him the most dangerous person in the family right now.
Smurf looked between her sons slowly before nodding once toward the street “Follow her.”
Deran groaned immediately. “Come on. She ran out of here looking terrified. She just found out her ex died.”
“And?” Smurf snapped lightly. “You think that girl’s stupid? She’s putting things together.”
Baz stood first. “Let’s go.”
But Pope was already moving toward the driveway before anybody else.
Because he knew the look on your face when you got overwhelmed. And more importantly, He wasn’t about to let anybody else get to you first.
Your hands shook so badly on the steering wheel you nearly blew through a stop sign.
The tires screeched slightly when you corrected too hard. Everything felt wrong.
Your thoughts kept colliding into each other faster than you could process them. Nate yelling. Nate crying the first time he begged you not to “ruin his family.”
Nate’s father smiling at barbecues while flipping burgers like some suburban dad straight out of a Home Depot commercial. Pretending he wasn’t a lousy drunk behind closed doors.
The hidden files on the computer. Your best friend sobbing in that video. God. Your stomach twisted so violently you thought you might throw up. The apartment complex came into view too fast.
You parked crooked and barely remembered shutting the car off before climbing out. The apartment you once shared with Nate was dark when you stepped inside. And it still smelled like him. Stale beer. Laundry detergent. Old cigarettes soaked into fabric and walls. You hated it instantly.
It hit you all over again why you hadn’t come back since the night he hit you. Why staying with Deran had somehow felt safer than being alone here. Your chest tightened hard.
The silence inside the apartment felt wrong now. Haunted.
You moved quickly toward the entertainment center near the living room wall, panic making your movements jerky. Books hit the floor one after another while you ripped them off the shelves searching.
“Come on,” you whispered shakily under your breath. “Come on, please…”
Your fingers slipped against the wood paneling behind the shelf before finally catching the loose edge. Relief hit so hard it almost made your knees weak. You pulled the hidden disk case free from inside the wall.
“Oh my god,” you laughed breathlessly to yourself. Not happy. Just relieved.
Your grip tightened around the case as you turned and nearly screamed. A solid wall of muscle stood directly in front of you. You stumbled backward violently before realizing it was Pope. A startled sound escaped your throat. His hand shot out immediately, grabbing your forearm gently before you could trip over the books scattered across the floor.
Your eyes snapped upward.
All four brothers stood inside the apartment doorway. The sight of them there made your pulse spike instantly.
“What the fuck?”
Pope stepped closer first. “Hey,” he murmured softly, saying your name like he was trying not to scare you. Too late. You took another step backward anyway.
“How did you even know I was here? Nobody answered immediately.
And for the first time since meeting them, the Cody brothers looked exactly like the stories people whispered about. Craig leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed, expression unusually serious. Baz’s eyes moved carefully around the apartment, taking everything in automatically. Deran looked tense enough to snap.
But Pope only looked at you. Or more specifically At the disk case clutched tightly in your hands.
Your heartbeat sped up immediately. “You followed me here?” you asked carefully.
Baz spoke first. “What’s that?”
Your fingers tightened around the disk instinctively. “Nothing.”
You shoved it behind your back too quickly.
The second Deran stepped forward with that cold unreadable look on his face, you regretted it. “Bambi,” he said carefully. “Why’d you come here?”
You looked between all of them uneasily. The atmosphere had shifted. Not violent exactly. But serious. Focused. Like they were trying to solve a problem.
Pope took another slow step closer. “You scared us.”
A nervous laugh escaped you. “So your solution was following me to my apartment?”
“Yeah,” Craig muttered. “Because you looked like you were about to have a fucking breakdown.”
Your eyes lifted back toward Pope automatically.
His gaze dropped briefly toward the disk behind your back. Then back to your face.“What’s on it?” he asked softly. And somehow him asking gently broke you more than if he’d demanded it.
Your throat tightened. “It belonged to Nate’s dad.” You swallowed hard. “It’s why he said I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”
Every single one of them went still. The memory of that night at the bar flashed visibly across their faces. Deran’s expression darkened immediately.
You stared down at the disk case in your hands. “A few months ago Nate’s dad let me borrow his computer,” you said quietly. “I found videos on it.”
Baz’s face flattened instantly. “What kind of videos?”
You looked sick even trying to say it. “Girls.” Nobody spoke. “High school girls.”
Craig swore quietly under his breath.
“One of them was my best friend.” Your voice cracked instantly. “She was crying and he was hurting her.” Pope’s face changed. You sniffed shakily and kept talking too fast now, words tumbling over themselves. “She went missing our senior year. They found her body all the way out in Point Loma.”
Silence slammed into the apartment. Pope looked genuinely frightening now. Not toward you. Toward the thought of somebody making you cry like this.
Craig sat down hard on the couch suddenly, elbows braced on his knees while he dragged both hands down his face. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered.
You rushed your words out quicker now through tears. “I wanted to go to the police but Nate kept begging me not to ruin his dad’s life and then we started fighting more and more and…” Your throat closed painfully. “The night he hit me was because I told him I was done protecting them.” Your breathing shook. “It had been seven years since she died and-” You stopped hard, trying to steady yourself. “Her parents invited Nate and me to breakfast every year after they found her body.” Your voice cracked again. “And I had to sit across from them pretending the person I was sharing my life with didn’t know his father murdered their daughter.”
Deran looked disgusted. Actually disgusted.
Pope stepped toward you immediately. His hand lifted carefully, fingers brushing against the side of your face almost hesitantly. “What…” he said softly, eyes searching yours. “What do you mean he knew?”
You swallowed hard. “Nate helped him.”
Even the air in the apartment felt different afterward. “That asshole helped his father?” Deran asked flatly. Not remorseful. Just colder somehow.
You nodded shakily. “He knew the whole time.” Tears slid down your cheeks faster now. “He wasn’t shocked when I told him what I found. He was angry I wouldn’t look the other way anymore.”
Baz rubbed a hand slowly over his mouth processing everything. Then finally he held his hand out toward the disk carefully. “Can I see it?”
You hesitated. And for one awful second, fear curled low in your stomach. Not because you thought they’d hurt you. Because suddenly you realized you didn’t actually know what these men were capable of. Now here they stood in a dead man’s apartment after silently following you across town.
You looked toward Pope carefully. He noticed the hesitation instantly. And it visibly hurt him. Something shifted in his expression almost imperceptibly. “Hey,” he said quietly.
Your eyes lifted toward him. “We’re not gonna hurt you.” The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache.
You nodded slowly before handing Baz the disk case.
Baz opened it carefully while Craig leaned over trying to see too. Deran cursed quietly under his breath almost immediately. Inside sat a plain burned CD labeled in black marker.
S. DAVIS — 3/18/2009.
“Her name was Sarah,” you whispered.
“Jesus Christ,” Craig muttered again.
You looked away immediately, humiliation mixing violently with grief in your chest. “I know I should’ve gone to the cops sooner.”
You completely misunderstood the look passing between them. You thought they were judging you. Wondering why you stayed quiet so long. You didn’t notice the other realization settling in instead.
That Nate and his father being dead suddenly looked a whole lot less suspicious if this ever surfaced.
“No,” Pope said immediately. Your eyes lifted toward him again. His expression softened instantly the second he saw your face. “You tried.”
The words hit harder than they should have. Because nobody else had ever said that to you. Not Nate. Not yourself. Pope stepped closer carefully now. Close enough that you could smell him mixed with the smoke and beer still clinging faintly to the oversized sweatshirt hanging off your body. His sweatshirt. You suddenly became aware you were still wearing it.
Pope noticed you realizing. His eyes dropped briefly toward the sleeves swallowing your hands. Something possessive flickered low across his face again. Then he looked back at you. “You were trying to protect people,” he said quietly. Your throat tightened painfully “Sarah deserves justice.”
Baz looked up from the disk then. “We can help with that.”
You blinked at him. “What?”
Deran nodded slowly now. “You take this to the cops, they’ll actually listen.”
“Especially now,” Craig muttered darkly. “Perfect dead suburban family man bullshit kinda falls apart once this gets out.”
You stared at all of them. “You’d help me?”
Baz feigned confusion by the question. “Why wouldn’t we?”
You almost laughed at that. Because ten minutes ago these men silently appeared in your apartment like something out of a nightmare and scared the hell out of you without even trying. And now they were calmly offering to help expose a predator.
Nothing about the Codys made sense.
Pope stepped even closer. Close enough that your pulse stumbled slightly. “You don’t gotta do this alone anymore,” he said softly. “I’ll take you to the cops myself.”
And the terrifying thing was you believed him immediately.
The police station took almost two hours.
Two exhausting, emotionally draining hours of sitting beneath fluorescent lights while detectives asked careful questions and copied files from the disk. You felt nauseous the entire time.
Pope never left your side once. Not once.
He sat beside you in stiff silence through every interview, large body angled slightly toward yours the whole time like some unconscious shield. Every time your voice shook answering a question, his eyes lifted immediately to your face.
One detective finally asked if he was your boyfriend.
Pope answered before you could. “Yes.” The word came out flat and immediate. You turned toward him in surprise. Pope didn’t even look at you. Just kept staring at the detective like daring him to question it.
The detective only nodded slowly and moved on. But your stomach had flipped violently anyway. Because Pope didn’t say things casually. Everything with him felt carved in stone.
By the time you finally walked back outside, the sky had gone dark. You stood near the parking lot rubbing your arms tiredly while Pope watched you carefully beside his truck.
“You okay?”
“No,” you admitted honestly.
Pope nodded once like he expected that answer. “You wanna stay alone tonight?”
The thought made your stomach twist immediately. Nate’s apartment suddenly felt unbearable now, and you knew Deran had Adrian over. You looked at him quietly. “Can I stay with you?”
Pope’s entire body went still. You noticed. Because you’d started learning him now. And Pope looked at you like you’d just handed him something precious.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, okay.”
The drive to his apartment was quiet.
Pope drove one-handed, occasionally glancing toward you like he was checking to make sure you were still there. The apartment complex itself surprised you.
Small. Quiet. Nothing flashy.
Inside surprised you even more. Everything was spotless. Painfully spotless. You stepped inside slowly while Pope locked the door behind you. The apartment looked almost untouched. Counters completely clear. Shoes lined up perfectly near the wall. Blankets folded sharply across the couch. Not a single dish in the sink.
“You actually live like this?” you asked softly. Pope shrugged. “It’s cleaner than a hospital in here.”
“I don’t like mess.” You looked around again. The apartment felt exactly like him somehow. Every object carefully placed where it belonged. Even the air smelled clean.
Pope watched your eyes move around the room intently. Like he cared whether or not you approved.
You smiled faintly. “I like it.”
The tension visibly left his shoulders.
God. That should not have affected you as much as it did. You turned toward him fully then. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For helping me today.”
Pope frowned slightly like the answer was obvious. “You needed help.”
“I know but…” Your throat tightened unexpectedly. “Nobody’s ever really done something like that for me before.”
Pope stared at you so intensely your chest warmed. “You don’t gotta thank me for taking care of you.” There it was again. That dangerous kind of devotion sitting quietly beneath everything he said.
You swallowed hard. Pope’s eyes immediately dropped to your throat moving. Jesus Christ. The man stared like it physically hurt him not to touch you. “You can shower if you want,” he said suddenly. “I’ll find you clothes.” You nodded quickly mostly because you needed a second to breathe.
The bathroom was just as obsessively clean as the rest of the apartment. White towels folded perfectly. Everything organized. You caught yourself smiling slightly while turning on the shower. Of course Pope folded towels properly.
You stripped slowly, exhaustion finally crashing into your body as steam filled the room. The hot water felt almost painful against your skin at first. You closed your eyes beneath the spray immediately. For the first time all day, your brain quieted.
A soft knock sounded faintly through the bathroom. You barely heard it over the water. “Bambi?” Pope’s voice.
You called back weakly, “Yeah?”
“I got clothes for you.”
You hummed something unintelligible, eyes still closed beneath the water. A second later the bathroom door opened quietly. Pope stepped inside carefully holding a folded shirt and sweatpants. Then he froze. The glass shower door was partially translucent from the steam. Enough to see your silhouette beneath the water. Your head tilted back slightly. Wet hair slicked against your shoulders. Water tracing down your body slowly. Pope stopped breathing for a second.
You didn’t notice him immediately. Eyes still closed while water poured over your face. Pope should’ve left. Instead he stood there completely motionless staring through the steam like a man starving to death. His jaw flexed once hard enough to hurt.
Then you opened your eyes. And saw him.
For one suspended second neither of you moved. Pope looked almost caught.
Your heart started pounding instantly. But you weren’t scared. Not even a little. Because it was Andrew. Obsessive, strange, intense Andrew who looked at you like you were the only thing in the world worth seeing.
Slowly, you reached forward and pulled the shower door open wider. Steam curled out into the bathroom. Pope stared at you silently. Water dripped down your skin while his eyes moved over you openly now. No pretending otherwise.
Your voice came out soft. “You gonna just stand there?”
Pope swallowed hard. “You want me to come in there?”
You stepped closer instead of answering. Close enough now that steam dampened the front of his shirt. Then your fingers curled around the front of it gently and pulled. Pope came willingly. The second he stepped beneath the hot water, your mouths crashed together hard.
It wasn’t soft. Weeks of tension snapped all at once.
Pope kissed like he thought about it constantly. Hands immediately gripping your waist hard enough to bruise while yours tangled into his damp hair. A low sound left his throat when you kissed him back harder.
“You sure?” he murmured roughly against your mouth.
You answered by dragging his shirt upward impatiently. That nearly killed him. Pope pulled back just enough to yank the shirt over his head before grabbing your face again immediately. His hands were everywhere now. Like he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch you most.
Your chest. Your waist. Your thighs. Always pulling you closer. Always needing more.
You kissed down his jaw while your fingers worked open his belt beneath the spray of water. Pope’s breathing turned uneven instantly. “Bambi,” he muttered warningly. But his hands tightened against you anyway.
You looked up at him through wet lashes. The eye contact alone almost destroyed him. Because Pope loved your eye contact. Loved seeing exactly what you felt while touching him.
You pushed his jeans down just enough to make him curse softly under his breath before his mouth found yours again harder this time. The steam thickened around both of you while water poured over his shoulders. Everything about him felt overwhelming up close. Big hands. Heavy breathing. The intensity. Even kissing you, Pope watched your face constantly like he needed every reaction. “You’re so pretty,” he whispered suddenly against your mouth.
The sincerity in it made heat rush through you instantly. Pure Andrew.
Your fingers slid across his chest slowly and Pope actually shivered beneath your touch. That realization alone nearly made you dizzy. Because this terrifying man, this obsessive, dangerous Cody, looked completely undone by you touching him back. His hands stayed locked around your waist beneath the spray of hot water while your mouths moved together desperately, steam thickening the air around both of you until breathing felt difficult. Not because of the heat. Because of him. Because every time you touched him, Pope reacted like it meant something.
Your fingers slid through his wet hair and his entire body tensed instantly. A rough sound left his throat before he kissed you harder, backing you slowly against the cool shower wall. “Andrew,” you breathed against his mouth. His forehead dropped briefly against yours while he stared at your face through wet lashes, breathing uneven.
“You keep doing that,” he murmured.
“What?”
“Calling me that.”
You smiled softly. “Well do you like it.”
“Yes.” Always honest. You laughed quietly and Pope’s eyes locked onto your mouth again instantly. Like he couldn’t help himself. The intensity of it made your stomach twist pleasantly. Water ran down his chest while your hands moved lower, tracing slowly across muscle and scar tissue. Pope shivered again beneath your touch and the realization almost drove you insane. This terrifying man who scared half of Oceanside looked completely undone just from you touching him gently. Pope suddenly grabbed your thighs without warning. You gasped softly as he lifted you effortlessly against him. His mouth found yours again immediately. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively while his hands held you securely like he never wanted to put you down again. Which honestly,
he probably didn’t.
Pope kissed down your jaw slowly before pressing his face briefly against your neck. Not even kissing for a second. Just breathing you in. The intimacy of it made your chest ache. Then suddenly he pulled back just enough to look at you again. Really look at you. Water dripped from his dark hair into his eyes but he barely blinked.“You wanna stop?” he asked quietly.
The question caught you off guard. Because despite all the intensity, all the possessiveness simmering beneath his skin Pope had been careful with you from the beginning.
You shook your head immediately. “No.”
Pope stared one second longer like he needed to make absolutely sure. Then he kissed you again and carried you straight out of the shower. You laughed breathlessly against his mouth as water dripped onto the bathroom floor.
“Andrew…”
He barely let you finish speaking before pushing open the bedroom door. The room matched the rest of the apartment perfectly. You didn’t even fully process it before Pope lowered you onto the mattress and climbed over you immediately. The second your back hit the sheets, something in him snapped. Like having you in his bed meant more than it should. His large hands slid beneath your thighs while he kissed you deeper, slower now, finally able to touch you without interruption.
You tugged him closer instantly. Pope practically groaned into your mouth. “You want me close,” he muttered against your lips almost like he was amazed by it.
“Yes.” His eyes flashed dark immediately. Pope loved hearing that. Loved anything that sounded like you choosing him. He kissed you again rougher this time while his hands moved over your body constantly. Your waist. Your hips. Your stomach. Like he couldn’t stop touching you long enough to think straight. Pope kept pulling back just enough to look at you. Watching your face every time you touched him. Every little sound you made. Every reaction. It was almost overwhelming how focused he was on you.
You reached up brushing damp hair back from his forehead gently. Pope froze for half a second. “What?” you whispered.
“You’re…” He swallowed hard. “You’re nice to me.”
The quiet sincerity behind the words hurt your chest unexpectedly. Like he genuinely wasn’t used to tenderness. You touched his face softer this time. “Andrew.”
His eyes shut briefly. You realized suddenly that Pope Cody would probably let you ruin him completely if you asked. The thought hit hard. Because underneath all the danger and obsession and intensity Pope was touch-starved in a way that felt almost painful. Every gentle touch visibly affected him. Every kiss. Every time your fingers dragged through his hair or across his shoulders. He reacted like he’d remember it forever.
Your hands slid down his chest slowly while he kissed along your throat, breathing rough and uneven against your skin.
“You smell good,” he murmured distractedly.
You laughed softly. “That’s a weird thing to say during a makeout.”
“I know.” Again with the honesty.
You smiled into another kiss while Pope’s hand tightened slightly against your waist. Like he physically needed to keep part of you underneath his hand at all times. His mouth moved slower now, deeper, tension simmering heavy between you both while the room stayed quiet except for uneven breathing and the occasional creak of the mattress beneath his weight. His mouth broke from yours only long enough to drag his lips down the line of your jaw, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. The sound you made, breathless, broken, pulled a low hum of approval from his chest. Pope's hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, pressing you harder against him until there was nothing between you and the heat radiating off his body. “You have no idea,” he murmured against your neck, voice rougher than it had been moments ago, "how long I've been thinking about this."
You tilted your head back, giving him more space, and he took it without hesitation, tongue tracing down your throat, teeth sinking just enough to make you gasp. His other hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your face so he could look at you. Those dark eyes, half-lidded and burning, swept over your expression like he was memorizing every detail. “I need you to understand something first.” His thumb traced over your lower lip, tugging it down just slightly. “If we do this-“ He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. “You belong to me. Not for tonight. Not for the weekend. You’re mine. You understand?”
The possessiveness in his voice sent a shiver straight through you, pooling heat low in your belly. You nodded, breath catching, and he shook his head slowly.
“Words, sweetheart. I need to hear you say it.”
“Yes,” you whispered, voice steadier than you expected. “I understand. I'm yours.”Something flickered in his gaze, satisfaction, hunger, and a tenderness that made your chest ache. His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, pulling you into another kiss that wasn't gentle. It was claiming. His tongue swept into your mouth, and you moaned against him, fingers curling into muscle. He pulled back just enough to look at you again, breath mingling. “Such a good girl.” The words hit you like a live wire.
Pope’s hands cupped your breasts letting his knuckles drag across your skin as he went. His eyes dropped to your chest, and he let out a slow exhale. “Fuck,” he breathed. “You're so gorgeous.”
He didn't rush. His mouth followed the path his hands had taken, kissing down your collarbone, over the swell of your breasts, tongue circling your nipple and your back arched off the mattress. He sucked hard, then softer, then hard again, switching between the two until you were writhing beneath him, fingers tangled in his curly hair. His hand moved to your other breast, thumb rolling over the peak while his tongue worked the first.
“Please,” you gasped.
“Please what?” He lifted his head, dark eyes finding yours. His lips were wet, his jaw tight with restraint.
“Please-I need-“ You didn’t know what you needed.
“I know what you need.” His hand slid down your stomach, fingers circling your hip bone. “But I want to hear you say it.”
You swallowed, heat flooding your cheeks even as your hips bucked into his touch. “I need you inside me, Andy.”
The name, Andy, did something to him. His pupils dilated, his breath caught, and for a second he just stared at you like you'd given him something precious. “Say it again,”he commanded, voice rough.
“Andy.”
His mouth crashed into yours, hungry and desperate, and his hand finally, finally, slipped further fingers sliding through slick heat. He groaned into your mouth when he felt how wet you were. “That's for me,” he muttered against your lips. “All this, just for me.”
You nodded frantically, and he rewarded you by pressing two fingers inside you without warning. A cry tore from your throat, not pain, but pleasure sharp enough to make your vision blur. He curled them, found that spot immediately, and your hips jerked.
“Yeah,” he breathed, watching your face. “Right there. I know.” He worked you slowly at first, dragging his fingers in and out while his thumb pressed against your clit in tight circles. Your hands gripped the sheets, your moans growing louder, more broken, until you felt that familiar tension coiling in your gut.
“m’close,”you whimpered.
Pope shook his head, pulling his fingers out. “Not yet. I want to feel you come on my cock.” Your whine of protest died in your throat when he sat back on his knees, eyes fixed on you as he stroked his hard cock, and you watched, transfixed, as his head fell back and he let out such a deep groan. He was hard, thick, the tip already glistening. Your mouth went dry. Pope tightened his hand around his shaft, stroking once, twice, moving his head so. he never broke eye contact with you. “You want this?”
“Yes, fuck-yes, Andy.”
He leaned over you, bracing one hand beside your head while the other guided his cock to your entrance. He didn't push in, not yet. He just let the head rest against you, teasing, letting you feel the heat and the pressure. “Tell me you're mine.”
“I'm yours.” Your voice cracked, desperate. “I'm yours, Andy. Please-“
He pushed in. Slow. Impossibly slow. Every inch of him stretching you open, filling you until you couldn't breathe. Your eyes rolled back, a strangled moan escaping your lips. He paused when he was fully sheathed, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed to yours. “Fuck,” he whispered, voice shaking. “You feel-fuck.” He started moving. Long, deep strokes that hit exactly where you needed him. His pace was steady, controlled, each thrust a deliberate claim. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he groaned at the angle. “Yeah, just like that.”
One of his hands found yours, fingers interlacing, pinning it to the mattress beside your head. His other hand, you saw it twitch toward your throat, saw the want flash in his eyes, and you tilted your chin up in silent invitation. But he pulled his hand back, gripping your hip instead.
“I can't,” he said, voice strained. “I can't, God, I want to, but I can't stand the idea of hurting you.”
“It wouldn't hurt me,” you breathed. “I want it.”
“I know you do.” His thrusts grew harder, faster, chasing his own edge. “But I won't. I'll give you everything else, every fucking thing, but not that.”
You wanted to argue, but the way he was fucking you made any thoughts impossible. He angled his hips, and suddenly he was hitting a spot that sent electricity through your entire body. Your nails dug into his back, and he hissed in pleasure.
“That's it. Let me feel you.” The pressure built again, faster this time, and your mouth fell open in a cry. Pope watched your face, drinking in every expression, and when your eyes welled with tears, from the intensity, from the sheer overwhelming pleasure, his breath stuttered. “Fuck,” he groaned, his rhythm faltering. “Look at you. Crying on my cock.”
The tears spilled over, tracking down your temples into your hair. He lowered his head and licked one off your cheekbone, the gesture strangely tender in the midst of the brutality of his thrusts.
“You're so beautiful like this,” he murmured. “So perfect. I want you to come. I want to feel you squeeze me.” His hand slipped between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing in tight, fast circles. That was all it took. The orgasm crashed through you, violent and consuming, your body arching off the bed as a broken scream tore from your throat. Pope kept moving through it, fucking you through the aftershocks, groaning as your walls clenched around him. “That's it,” he panted. “Fuck, that's it.”
He didn't stop, couldn't stop. He flipped you onto your stomach in one smooth motion, pulling your hips up and entering you from behind. The new angle was deeper, harder, and you buried your face in the pillow to muffle your cries as he took you apart. His hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back just enough so he could lean down and speak against your ear.
“You're taking me so well. You feel that? That's me inside you. No one else. Ever.”
Words failed you. All you could do was moan and push back against him. His pace grew erratic, his grip on your hip bruising. “I'm gonna come inside you. Fill you up. You want that?”
“Yes-yes, Andy, please-“
His hand slid around to your front, fingers pressing against your clit again, and you felt a second orgasm building, impossibly fast.
“Come with me,” he commanded. “Now.”
Your body obeyed. The second wave hit as he drove into you one last time, burying himself deep, his groan long and guttural as he spilled inside you. Hot pulses of release filling you, and you felt every one.
He collapsed forward, chest heaving against your back, his lips pressing lazy kisses to your shoulder. Neither of you moved for a long moment, just breathing, just existing in the aftermath.
Finally, he pulled out slowly, and you felt the warmth of his cum trickling down your thigh. He turned you over gently, gathering you into his arms, his hand stroking your hair with a tenderness that made your eyes well up again. “You okay?” he asked softly.
You nodded, voice gone. Pope stayed wrapped around you for a long moment afterward, both of you breathing hard in the dark quiet of his apartment. The room smelled faintly like steam and laundry detergent and him. His forehead rested against the back of your shoulder while one large hand spread slowly across your stomach, almost absentmindedly keeping you pulled tightly against his chest. Like he physically couldn’t let go yet.
Finally, he shifted carefully, easing you up the sheets. His movements slowed immediately the second he saw your face twist slightly from sensitivity. Instant concern. “You hurt?” he asked softly.
“No,” you whispered quickly. “No, I’m okay.”
Pope searched your expression another few seconds anyway. Making sure. Then he leaned down pressing a slow kiss against your forehead before reaching toward the nightstand for a towel. The tenderness of it nearly undid you. He cleaned you up carefully, almost shy despite everything that had happened minutes earlier. Every time you flinched slightly from sensitivity, his hand smoothed automatically over your thigh or stomach in silent apology.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again.
You nodded, throat tight. Pope noticed immediately. “You’re crying.”
You touched beneath your eye in surprise.
God. You were.
“I don’t know why,” you admitted quietly.
Pope’s expression softened instantly. He climbed back beside you without hesitation and pulled you into his chest again, one arm wrapping tightly around your waist while the other hand moved slowly through your damp hair. The repetitive motion felt calming immediately. Safe. “Do you regret it?” he asked after a moment.
Your head lifted quickly. “No.” The answer came so fast it visibly affected him. Relief crossed his face so openly it hurt your chest “No,” you repeated softer this time. “Not even a little.”
Pope stared down at you in silence. Then his hand moved gently across your cheek. “You sure?”
You nodded. And maybe it was emotional exhaustion or the intimacy of being held like this, but suddenly your chest ached with it. Nobody had ever touched you like Pope did. Like your comfort mattered more than his own. Like he was constantly paying attention. You curled closer instinctively beneath the blankets. Pope immediately tightened his arm around you. His eyes dropped toward the top of your head where it rested against his chest. “You fit good there,” he murmured quietly.
You laughed softly against his skin. “That’s such an Andrew thing to say.” The second the name left your mouth, his fingers tightened slightly in your hair. He loved that name from you. Loved it in that deep quiet way he loved everything involving you “Y’know you’re the only one who calls me that,” he said.
“Is that okay?”
“Yes.”
You tilted your head up enough to look at him. Pope was already staring back down at you. Of course he was. You smiled sleepily. “You stare a lot after sex too, huh?”
“I stare at you all the time.”
You laughed quietly and his expression softened watching it happen.
For a while neither of you spoke. Pope kept tracing slow patterns against your back beneath the blankets while you listened to his heartbeat under your ear.
SUMMARY: It’s clear to anyone watching that you and Bob like each other. But whether it’s fear of rejection or comfort in the familiar will-they-won’t-they tension, neither of you dares to make the first move. Then comes the night of the charity gala, pushing both of you to your limits. Will it finally be the moment one of you breaks the stalemate, or will you keep pretending not to notice what’s right in front of you?
WARNINGS: Includes slight Thunderbolts* spoilers! Jealousy, idiots in love, mutual pining, slight angst, steamy kiss, self-deprecating thoughts, fluff galore, cursing, meddling teammates, lots of POV time skips, Bob is literally husband material, suggestive ending but no smut (sorry)!
A/N: I have been wanting to use this song on a one-shot ever since it came out!! Jealous!Bob has to be my favorite to write so far! Hope y'all enjoy, thanks for all the love on my first Bob fic! Divider by @luxifrv <3
➩ main masterlist
➩ bob reynolds masterlist
➩ read part two here!
For once, the Watchtower was silent. Not the eerie kind of silence that meant something was wrong, but a rare, peaceful quiet that settled over the usually chaotic space like a warm blanket. No echo of Walker and Bucky bickering over strategy. No sharp, exasperated Russian-accented scolding from Yelena as she tried, again, to convince Alexei that inside voice was not a myth.
Bucky was the only one moving. You could hear the soft rustle of pantry doors opening and closing, the metallic clink of a spoon against a mug, the hush of a coffee machine heating up. His movements were deliberate, quiet, almost tender, like he didn’t want to wake the moment. You and Ava sat perched on the cool granite countertop, shoulders bumping occasionally as you both tried to blink away sleep.
Ava cradled a mug of tea in both hands, steam curling into the space between you. You had your legs tucked beneath you, hoodie sleeves draped past your fingers as you absentmindedly picked at the assorted berries Bucky had placed in front of you. The quiet hum of appliances and the rhythmic sound of Bucky moving around the kitchen felt almost domestic, like the kind of normal you rarely got here.
Then, with a cheerful ding, the elevator doors slid open. The calm broke, but not in a bad way. Yelena was the first to step in, eyes sharp and expression unreadable as always, though a rare smile tugged at her lips when she spotted the three of you. Behind her, John carried an armload of grocery bags that looked one second away from slipping out of his grasp. Bob trailed in behind them, slightly out of breath, balancing two bulging paper sacks filled with produce.
Alexei, true to form, was juggling what looked like an oversized bag of kettle corn and an entire watermelon. “Hey, how was the farmers market? Get anything good?” You asked, eyes flicking between the group as they deposited their haul onto the counter. Normally, this would be the part where Yelena launched into a dramatic monologue about Alexei’s inability to stick to a list, usually punctuated by her chucking a random jar of pickled something at him.
But this time, she stayed surprisingly quiet. Too quiet. You caught the quick glances exchanged between her and John, an amused smirk on both their faces, like they were in on something you weren’t. Before you could even raise an eyebrow in question, you heard the shuffle of footsteps and turned just in time to see Bob making a beeline for you. You straightened up instinctively, suddenly very aware of your appearance, sleep-mussed hair, oversized hoodie, and socks that didn’t match.
Yet Bob didn’t seem to mind. His cheeks were dusted with the softest shade of pink, like he’d jogged over from the elevator, or maybe, maybe it was something else. He held a small paper bag in one hand and a cup in the other, both trembling slightly. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, then immediately dropped to the cup, as though he needed the courage to keep going. “H-Hi,” He greeted softly, his voice shy but laced with warmth. “They, uh… had a matcha booth. I got you a kit so you can make it at home.”
Your breath hitched, but he wasn’t done. “I, um, also got you one for now,” He added, extending the cup toward you like it was an offering. “Since I remember you said you ‘can’t function’ without it in the mornings. Extra matcha foam, a splash of vanilla, whole milk, not oat milk, because, well you hate it.” You blinked. He remembered all of that?God, could he be any more perfect? You laughed, a soft and breathless, fingers brushing his as you took the cup from him. The contact sent a spark up your arm, subtle but unmistakable.
“Thanks, Bob,” You murmured, your voice low and sincere as you looked up at him. “That was really sweet of you.” He opened his mouth to respond, but words never made it past his lips. Because in a rare burst of bravery, or maybe recklessness, you leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his warm cheek. You felt the way he froze for half a breath, how his shoulders stiffened, and then relaxed with a nervous chuckle as his other hand came up to scratch the back of his neck.
Across the room, John looked like he was trying not to fist-pump the air, and Yelena shot you the world’s most obvious finally face before elbowing Alexei, who just looked confused and whispered something about “young love” under his breath. “I don’t know how you drink that.” Bucky muttered from the kitchen as he grimaced at your bright green drink, breaking the moment with all the timing of a sledgehammer. He lifted his mug of black coffee in judgment.
You took a dramatic sip, eyes fluttering shut as if it was the best thing you’d ever tasted just to spite him. “Touché,” You scoffed, pointing at his cup with mock offense. “Although, you drink battery acid.” Bucky raised his brows in mock offense. “I drink coffee. You drink grass.” Ava chuckled beside you, shaking her head. But your attention drifted back to Bob, who was still standing just a little too close, still looking at you like he was stunned by what just happened.
His fingers lingered at the edge of the counter, tapping nervously. You took another sip of your matcha, watching him over the rim of the cup. That blush hadn’t faded. And the way he kept sneaking glances at you, like he wanted to say something else, but didn’t trust himself not to fumble it, made your chest ache in the best way. “Are you lot mentally prepared for the gala tonight?” Ava asked, her voice too casual to be innocent as she popped a grape into her mouth and leaned against the counter.
Her words cut clean through the pleasant haze you’d been floating in, one brought on by Bob’s lingering smile and the subtle hum of his presence next to you. Your gaze snapped away from him. “Shit,” You muttered, eyes widening as the reality slammed into your brain like a freight train. “I forgot that was tonight.” You let out a groan and dropped your head into your hands, the cool skin of your palms pressing against the heat rising in your face. The gala. Of course.
Between the back-to-back missions, late-night debriefs, and that impromptu grocery run, the fancy evening fundraiser had completely slipped your mind. Somewhere, buried beneath a pile of laundry you hadn’t had the emotional stamina to fold, was a garment bag Mel had sent over weeks ago. You hadn’t even unzipped it yet. It was probably crumpled and hiding behind your winter coats, tangled in a forgotten scarf and a rogue SHIELD-issued jacket.
“Who isn’t ready for an evening of kissing up to potential new investors and getting glares from Valentina across the room because we’re somehow 'misbehaving' and 'ruining our image'?” Yelena scoffed, rolling her eyes as she flopped into the nearest chair like it had offended her. “Don’t forget making small talk with politicians who couldn’t care less if we saved the planet or set it on fire.” Bucky added dryly.
The banter swirled around you, loud and familiar, but your mind was already spiraling, mentally calculating how much time you had to shower, tame your hair, find that dress, steam that dress, fix your eyeliner after inevitably smudging it, and somehow look like a person worthy of attending a gala where half the room would be dressed in five-figure gowns and tailored tuxedos. And Bob. Oh god. Bob would be there too. You dared a glance at him from the corner of your eye.
He was still beside you, watching the group with quiet amusement, his fingers lightly tapping the paper tea cup in his hand. You could just barely see the curve of a dimple when he smiled at something Bucky had said. He hadn’t said much about the gala, just that he’d remembered and already arranged to pick up his suit. Of course he had. He probably knew where his cufflinks were too. Probably even had a backup tie.
Meanwhile, you were a sleep-deprived goblin with chipped nail polish, half a to-do list scrawled on your hand in blue pen, and absolutely no idea what jewelry matched your dress, or if the strappy black heels you wore to last year’s gala were even still intact. They were probably at the bottom of your closet, missing a buckle, or chewed on by the mysterious Watchtower dust bunnies that lived beneath your bed. “Kill me.” You muttered under your breath, dragging your hands down your face until your cheeks were warm from the friction.
“I can fake a head injury,” Ava chimed in helpfully, straight-faced as she leaned back on her elbows. “You’ll be out for the rest of the week. No questions asked. We’ll even throw in a dramatic backstory.” You let out a weak snort. “Tempting.” You replied, voice muffled through your hands, though your attention was already drifting again, gravitating toward the quiet figure moving just a few feet away. You glanced over in time to catch Bob as he bent to retrieve something from one of the grocery bags.
The hem of his navy hoodie lifted just slightly, revealing a flash of worn flannel waistband and a sliver of skin at his hip. The way the fabric stretched across his back, the way his strong shoulders shifted beneath the soft cotton, it was criminal, honestly. He straightened and absentmindedly tucked a strand of hair behind his ear with the kind of casual grace that shouldn’t have affected you as much as it did. But it did. Oh, it did. The simple act sent your heart into an entirely unreasonable flutter.
You quickly averted your gaze and took a long, too-large gulp of your matcha to distract yourself. The condensation of the cup in your hands was the only thing grounding you. Well, that and the caffeine threatening to jumpstart your entire nervous system. “I’m gonna need a lot more of this if I’m going to survive tonight.” You grimaced, holding up your half-drunk cup like it was your savior. “It’s a good thing Bob has you covered then.” Yelena sang, her voice teasing and smile positively feral as her eyes bounced between the two of you.
Your cheeks instantly flushed with heat. Across from you, Bob choked slightly on the sip of water he’d just taken, coughing once as the tips of his ears turned unmistakably red. Yelena’s smirk deepened. She looked far too pleased with herself. “Yelena.” You hissed through your teeth, but she just wiggled her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders innocently like she’d done nothing wrong.
Bob cleared his throat, recovering admirably, though he was now suddenly very focused on reorganizing a bag of apples. “I can make you another one,” He offered, shrugging a little as his voice dropped to something quiet, gentle, like a secret just for you. “I watched the lady at the booth make them. I, uh... took notes. Kind of. She even showed me how to whisk it so it doesn't clump.” You blinked. He watched the demo just so he could make your favorite drink correctly?
Your heart threatened to leap out of your chest and do a somersault on the kitchen floor. If you weren't already smitten, that alone would have had you swooning. He didn’t meet your eyes, but his voice was soft, hopeful. God, how were you supposed to survive an entire night by his side? Standing beside him during red carpet photos, exchanging polite smiles for photographers, whispering jokes under your breath while pretending to listen to politicians drone on about defense funding.
All while pretending you were a fully functioning human being who wasn’t halfway in love with the boy who remembered your drink order and how you hated oat milk? You were a disaster. No dress plan, no jewelry plan, possibly no working shoes, and absolutely no idea how you were going to stand next to Bob all night without your brain short-circuiting. You were so screwed. It was safe to assure that it was going to be a very, very long night.
The charity gala. Even the phrase sounded intimidating, but nothing could have prepared you for this. The grand staircase unfolded beneath you like something out of a baroque painting, sweeping marble steps carved with painstaking detail, lined with golden banisters that shimmered in the warm light of antique chandeliers. Everything glowed in soft amber, like time itself had paused for this one evening.
The ceilings arched high overhead, frescoed and grand, while the walls whispered with centuries-old elegance. Ornate sconces flickered along the balconies, throwing gentle light across clusters of diplomats, donors, and operatives dressed to the nines. People moved like brushstrokes across a canvas, flowing down the double staircase in slow, graceful waves. Laughter drifted on the air, mixing with the faint sounds of a string quartet echoing from one of the upper halls.
And yet, even surrounded by diplomats, high-profile donors, and operatives in couture, you felt like you were the one out of place. You felt dizzy. The dress Mel had picked out arrived in a box so pristine you didn’t dare touch it until tonight. The sapphire gown hugged your frame like it had been made with you in mind, the fabric falling fluid over your hips and moving like liquid when you walked. A deep neckline drew the eye without giving too much, while the daring open back dipped low enough to make even Yelena raise a brow when she first saw it.
Thin, crisscrossing straps shimmered across your shoulder blades like stars strung in place. A thigh-high slit added an edge of danger, the hem brushing the floor with every step like a promise. And as fate, or fashion, would have it, the color perfectly matched the deep hue of his eyes. Unfair, really. “Stop fidgeting! You look gorgeous.” Yelena snapped behind you, swatting your hand away as you adjusted the neckline of your dress for the fifth time. “I feel like I’m one wrong step away from a wardrobe malfunction.”
“If you do fall, fall into someone rich. Or Bob. Preferably Bob.” Yelena’s deadpan delivery was so casual it made Ava snort. "Would you stop it! I have told you both a million times, Bob doesn't like me like that!" A synchronized eye roll rippled through the room like a perfectly rehearsed performance. Ava arched a brow in your direction. “You are either painfully oblivious, or actively choosing to be stupid, because Bob worships the ground you walk on.” She quipped, adjusting her earrings in the nearby mirror.
“Don’t even get me started on that lovesick puppy look he gives you.” Yelena muttered under her breath, pretending to inspect a non-existent chip in her nail polish. You scoffed, arms crossing defensively over your chest, the thin fabric of your dress pulling taut. “What look?” Ava met your eyes through the mirror, her expression softening just enough to make the jab land sweeter. “The same one you get whenever you’re looking at him.” You didn’t have time to respond, or argue, as if you could, because footsteps echoed down the upper landing.
You turned your head, and there he was.
Bob stood at the top of the staircase like some old-world portrait come to life, dressed in a sleek black tuxedo that fit like it had been sculpted onto him. The crisp white shirt beneath was buttoned perfectly, his tie was tied tight and straight down the center of his chest, and a subtle silver tie clip caught the light as he moved. His hair was swept back neatly, but a few rebellious strands had fallen across his forehead, softening his sharp jawline and giving him that boyish, just-barely-undone look that made your breath hitch.
But it was his expression that really undid you. Because the moment he spotted you, halfway down the stairs, bathed in chandelier light, wrapped in a dress that mirrored the color of his gaze, he stopped walking. Freezing, just for a second, as if he’d been hit by something. His eyes widened just slightly, lips parting, and he didn’t blink until he started moving again, descending the stairs slowly, carefully, like approaching something fragile and sacred. You couldn’t look away and frankly you didn’t want to.
Your pulse thundered in your ears, your fingers clutching your tiny clutch bag like it was the only thing keeping you upright. When he finally reached you, his gaze swept from your heels to your collarbones, and then, almost shyly, met your eyes. “I—” He cleared his throat, his voice low, almost reverent. “You look... incredible.” It wasn’t just a compliment. It sounded like something sacred. Your chest tightened, heat blooming under your skin.
“You clean up really well, Reynolds.” You murmured back, resisting the urge to bite your lip as your eyes traced the lines of his suit. His smile twitched, a little crooked, a little bashful, but the way he offered his arm was nothing short of classic. Chivalrous. “Ready?” You looped your hand into the bend of his elbow, fingers barely grazing the fine fabric of his suit sleeve, but even that tiny contact sent something fluttering under your ribs. “I think so." You whispered, but it sounded like a lie. Because you weren’t ready.
Not for the way he looked at you.
Not for the tension crackling between you like an invisible tether. And definitely not for the idea of surviving an entire night next to him, pretending not to fall deeper every second. As you descended the rest of the stairs together, surrounded by glittering lights and polished conversation, you felt his arm shift closer to yours. Protective. Steady. A quiet promise between the noise. Above you, Yelena leaned toward Ava and whispered with glee. "There’s absolutely no way they don’t crack tonight.”
Not that you or Bob had the slightest clue what was coming.
The grand hall was no less stunning than the staircase. If anything, it was overwhelming. Vaulted ceilings glittered with gold leaf, chandeliers dangled like constellations in glass, and a soft orchestral arrangement drifted from the far end of the room where a quartet played beneath velvet drapes. Candlelight flickered in sconces mounted on carved pillars, casting a warm, amber glow over the polished floor. You and Bob hadn’t taken more than a few steps into the ballroom when— “Group photo. Now.” Came a voice that made your spine instinctively straighten.
Valentina.
She stood to the side of the press station in a gunmetal-gray gown, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, brows raised in expectation. A very polite “smile for the donors” kind of threat behind her smirk. You barely had time to exchange a glance with Bob before the rest of the team was being herded like misbehaving students on picture day. “Let’s make it quick.” Bucky muttered under his breath as he straightened his collar beside Yelena.
You positioned yourself in the middle, as instructed, heels clicking as you moved into place between Ava and Bob. The photographer gestured animatedly behind the lens. “Big smiles! We want you to look like you’re changing the world and having fun doing it!” You barely heard him. Not with Bob standing beside you, his arm ghosting just behind your back, his presence impossibly close. Every time his shoulder brushed yours, your heartbeat fluttered.
Then, as if by accident, but you knew better, Ava shifted, bumping you just enough to send you leaning subtly further into Bob’s side. A small, satisfied smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she straightened, eyes fixed ahead like she hadn’t done a thing. He didn’t move away. If anything, you felt him steady you, his fingers briefly grazing the small of your back before settling just out of sight. He didn’t speak, but you could feel his eyes on you every few seconds. You could only hope he didn’t notice how wildly your heart was racing.
Flash. Flash. Flash. Flash.
And then, thankfully, it was over.
Yet before you could so much as step away from the group, a manicured hand slipped into yours. “There you are,” Mel’s voice purred from behind. “I’ve been trying to track you down. Come, there’s someone I want you to meet.” You turned, startled but obedient, catching Bob’s eyes briefly, he looked like he wanted to say something, his brows slightly furrowed, but Mel was already tugging you away with the quiet precision of someone used to getting things done.
You mouthed sorry to him over your shoulder, but then you were gone, swallowed by the swell of chiffon and silk and champagne. She led you toward the bar tucked elegantly into a corner of the room, polished mahogany gleaming under rows of backlit bottles. The crowd had thinned in this pocket, replaced by quiet, murmuring conversations and the occasional clink of crystal glass. “That man there,” Mel murmured low as you both slowed, nodding toward the tall figure at the bar.
“Elias Mercer. Powerful contacts. More interested in policy than politics. Be charming, but don’t make promises. Just listen.” Then she was gone, disappearing like a shadow before you could protest. Elias turned toward you just as you approached, and you understood immediately why Mel had bothered. He was handsome in the well-tailored, effortless power kind of way. He had that cultivated confidence that dripped from every movement: blonde hair slicked back, not a strand out of place; a navy suit pressed so sharply it looked dangerous.
“Well, well,” He drawled, eyes scanning your gown with a slow appreciation that bordered on bold. “They weren’t exaggerating. You’re the prettiest thing this event’s seen in years.” You forced a polite smile, though something in your chest already itched. “I’m not sure if I should thank you or ask who they are.” He chuckled, clearly pleased by your response. “Let’s go with ‘thank you’ for now.” He leaned against the bar casually, lifting a glass of something amber and expensive-looking.
“First round’s on me.” He flagged the bartender before you could protest, ordering for you like it was habit, something sweet, floral, and definitely not your taste. The glass arrived rimmed with sugar, the kind of drink chosen for aesthetics rather than preference. Your eyes flicked to the bar, your brain still playing catch-up with how fast everything had shifted. The hum of music still lingered in the air, and across the room you could just barely make out Bob standing by the photo backdrop, eyes scanning the crowd like he was looking for someone.
Elias leaned closer. “So,” He murmured, voice smooth like silk over ice. “What exactly does a woman like you do when she’s not dazzling rooms like this?” Across the ballroom, laughter rose like a tide, but Bob wasn’t listening to any of it. He stood near the edge of the photo setup, posture stiff, barely hearing a word John was saying about security coverage or potential press questions. His eyes kept flicking through the crowd, scanning for one very specific figure. You.
“I swear, if Valentina drags us into one more round of photos—” John was mid-rant when Bob finally cut him off. “Have you guys seen Y/N?” Bucky, who’d been standing quietly beside them sipping from a lowball glass, lifted a brow at the shift in Bob’s tone. “Didn’t Mel pull her away?” Bob’s jaw clenched. “That was fifteen minutes ago, I haven’t seen her since.” He scanned the crowd again. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his chest, a tension building behind his ribs that had nothing to do with the suit or the heat of the crowd.
The ballroom was crowded, sure, but he knew how to find you. He always did. And then, he saw it. You were near the bar, half-sitting on a velvet stool, your posture angled slightly away from the man seated beside you. Clearly uncomfortable. He also noticed something else, the man’s hand, resting far too comfortably on your bare thigh, fingers splayed against the slit in your dress. Your smile looked tight. Wrong. Bob saw red. But more than that, his eyes actually flashed gold. His jaw locked so tight it might have snapped.
Without another word, he’d already handed Bucky his untouched drink and was moving through the crowd. Every cell in his body buzzed, not with rage, but something deeper. Primal. Protective. “This is about to get really interesting.” John muttered, watching Bob stalk off like a predator. You weren’t even fully sure how Elias’s hand had ended up on your thigh. It had been gradual, subtle, the kind of entitled, calculated confidence that crept in like fog. He hadn’t asked. Just leaned closer, his drink in one hand, the other brushing your skin like it was owed to him.
You shifted away slightly, giving him a tight lipped smile. “I think that’s enough bourbon for you tonight—” But before the sentence could finish, a hand closed firmly around Elias’s wrist and yanked it away from your leg. The man let out a sharp exhale in surprise, and you gasped. Bob. He was suddenly there, towering over both of you with a look you had never seen on his face before. His usual warmth, his steady gentleness, was gone. In its place was something cold, crackling, and barely leashed.
The golden flicker in his eyes, subtle but unmistakable, made your heart stutter in your chest. “That’s enough.” He murmured, voice low and even. Elias blinked, startled. “Excuse me—?” Before he could finish, Bob smoothly stepped between the two of you, placing himself squarely in Elias’s line of sight. One hand still gripped the other man’s wrist, while the other slid gently onto your thigh, right where Elias’s had been. You could feel the heat of him through the silk, anchoring you and igniting you all at once. Only this time, it wasn’t unwelcome. You weren’t scared. You weren’t uncomfortable.
You were dizzy.
The heat of his palm on your skin sent a jolt through your body. Your breath caught in your throat, eyes wide as Bob’s fingers splayed possessively against the slit of your dress. You could feel the shift in him, the quiet tension in his muscles, the steady weight of his presence protecting you. “Didn’t realize she came with a guard dog.” Elias slowly raised both hands in mock surrender, lips twitching in annoyance. “She doesn’t,” Bob replied, voice calm yet razor-sharp.
“She comes with people who know the difference between being charming… and being a creep.” Elias chuckled low under his breath, stood, and tossed back the last of his drink. “She’s pretty, but not worth this much trouble.” With that, he walked off, disappearing into the crowd with the arrogant swagger of someone used to getting what he wants. But you weren’t even looking at him. You were looking at Bob. Still close. Still with his hand on your thigh. His fingers didn’t move, not yet, as if anchoring you, reminding both of you that he had been the one to step in.
To claim what someone else had touched without permission. And suddenly, your skin felt electric. Flushed. Hyper-aware of every point of contact between you. You blinked up at him, throat dry. “You—um, you didn’t have to do that.” Bob’s gaze finally shifted down to yours. His expression softened, but his hand didn’t move. “I know,” He murmured. “But I wanted to.” His voice was rougher now, softer somehow, like something inside him had cracked open and started pouring out. The orchestra swelled somewhere behind you. For the first time all night, you were speechless.
Bob’s hand eventually dropped from your thigh as the two of you walked, slowly, toward the long round table nestled near the center of the ballroom. Candlelight flickered over polished crystal and untouched hors d'oeuvres. A string of golden name cards decorated each seat with militaristic precision. As you approached, you could feel the weight of the group’s attention before you even reached the table. Yelena looked up first, elbowing Bucky with zero grace.
He arched a brow, then glanced between you and Bob, eyes narrowing. John, seated on the far side, was nursing a whiskey and doing a poor job of hiding his smug grin. Ava straightened in her chair, her brows raised high mouthing something behind her wine glass. Only Alexi remained blissfully unaware, focused entirely on buttering a roll with the intensity of a man dismantling a bomb. Bob pulled your chair out for you, subtle, careful, but the gesture burned in the back of your neck.
You could still feel the ghost of his hand on your skin. Your body hadn’t quite calmed down. Every part of you still buzzed like static under silk. He sat beside you, and though his posture had returned to calm, shoulders squared, hands resting easily, there was a tension in his jaw that hadn’t quite gone away. Bob cleared his throat, stiffening slightly as he unfolded his napkin. His cheeks still held the faintest pink hue, though whether it was from possessiveness or proximity, you weren’t sure.
Yelena leaned toward Ava, not bothering to whisper. “Who knew he had that in him?” Ava smirked from beside her. “I’m never letting her live this down.” You pretended not to hear them, focusing instead on the champagne flute in front of you, hands a little too still in your lap. Then the lights dimmed, and a hush swept over the room. A spotlight clicked on above the stage. Valentina glided to the podium wearing the kind of practiced smile only politicians and devils wore well.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor to welcome you all tonight. As you know, we are entering a new era. A better era. One guided by clarity, strength, and people who aren’t afraid to do what’s necessary for a safer world.” She gestured toward your table with a graceful sweep of her arm. “The New Avengers.” You felt Bob’s arm brush against yours under the table, his hand resting on his thigh, fingers flexing. He hated this part. You all did. Your eyes flicked toward the others. Ava looked like she was trying not to gag. Bucky had tuned out completely, arms folded as he stared somewhere past the chandeliers.
Even John, ever the polished soldier, looked like he was barely tolerating the performance. But it was all for the donors. The money. The future. And you smiled, because that’s what was expected. Polite applause followed. Investors, politicians, and old money donors gave their obligatory nods and toasts. Valentina basked in it.“With your support, this team will do more than protect borders. They’ll protect ideals. Influence outcomes. Ensure peace. Permanently.” Her voice sharpened on that last word.
You shifted in your seat, feeling Bob shift slightly next to you too. The whole thing was so carefully curated, so slippery in its language. She was selling the image of power. Of control. Of all of you. Eventually, the speech ended. Applause rose again, more enthusiastic this time. Cameras flashed. Servers moved between tables, offering more wine and champagne. That’s when Yelena’s hand snuck into yours beneath the table. “Bathroom. Now.” She whispered, dragging you to your feet before you could process it. Ava followed immediately, muttering something about needing to “re-apply her lipstick.”
You barely caught the way Bob looked at you as you left, his blue eyes warm, slightly curious, like he was still thinking about what had happened the bar. The hallway outside the ballroom was cool and quiet, lit with soft sconces and lined with velvet curtains. “Okay,” Yelena declared as soon as the bathroom door shut behind the three of you. “Are we going to talk about the fact that your man just went full golden-eyed possessive alpha male out there or—?” You rolled your eyes, but the pink hue of your face betrayed you.
“He’s not my man, Yelena.” You blurted, though it sounded hollow even to your own ears. Ava crossed her arms, tilting her head. “You’re glowing. You look like you’re on the verge of short-circuiting.” You groaned, leaning over the sink. “It was just… instinct. Right? He was just protecting me.” Yelena snorted. “Protecting you from thigh-grabby Mercer and staking a very visible claim are two very different things.” You stared at your reflection, heart still beating unevenly.
You took a breath, multiple sips of water, and composed yourself. Then reluctantly stepped back into the ballroom, because you couldn’t hide out in the bathroom for the rest of the evening no matter how much you wanted to. Ava and Yelena right behind you as you visibly froze. Your table was just ahead, and someone else was sitting beside Bob. A blonde woman stood beside him, hips tilted, her red dress criminally low-cut, practically a second skin. Her hand rested lightly on the back of his chair, like she was considering whether to touch his shoulder next.
Bob wasn’t leaning toward her, but he wasn’t exactly recoiling either. Then you saw it. Her fingertips grazed his shoulder, and lingered, before sliding down to his forearm. And Bob smiled. Not the full one, the soft one. The one you knew. The one that had made you fall harder than you wanted to admit. Your lungs didn’t quite expand. A quiet, unexpected knot tightened in your chest. That heat in your chest? It wasn’t embarrassment this time. It was jealousy.
Jealousy hit hard, sharp and acidic, curling beneath your ribs like heat. Hot, sharp, and unrelenting. You took a breath and walked back toward the table, slower this time, heart thudding painfully loud in your ears. The blonde noticed you approaching and barely shifted, still smiling at Bob like he was dessert. But then, before you could psych yourself out, you slid right into his lap. Sideways, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your dress shifted to reveal a little more leg, and the silk of it draped over both of your thighs as you curled an arm loosely around his neck.
The other hand came to rest gently, but possessively, over his abdomen. His entire body went still. The air around the table thickened. Your fingers pressed lightly into the fabric of his jacket, right over his ribs. You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to. “Oh,” You murmured innocently, leaning into the curve of Bob’s neck, breath ghosting his skin. “I didn’t realize we had company.” His hand found your hip instinctively, fingers tightening like a reflex. The blonde blinked, her smile immediately thinning. “I don’t think we’ve met—”
“No,” You replied monotonously, effectively cutting her off. “We haven’t.” Bob was absolutely motionless beneath you, save for the subtle flex of his jaw. His arm moved to wrap around your waist like gravity, pulling you just slightly closer. The blonde stood after an awkward beat, murmured something about needing to “go freshen up,” and walked off, her heels clicking sharply on the marble. You didn’t look away until she vanished behind a curtain of guests.
The orchestra struck its first chord, warm and elegant, notes blooming like silk petals in the air. Laughter bubbled from the dance floor as couples swept into each other’s arms, dresses twirling and polished shoes gliding over the marble. Yet, you remained where you were, perched sideways across Bob’s lap, hand pressed to his chest, rising and falling with every one of his increasingly uneven breaths. His arm curled around your waist as if it had been molded there, unmoving, unwilling to let go.
Your pulse stuttered beneath your skin, too fast, too hot. You knew he could feel it. He hadn’t spoken in nearly a full minute, but the tension in his body spoke for him. Then, he cleared his throat. A soft, barely-there sound that somehow made your stomach twist. You didn’t let him get a word in. “Dance with me.” The words came out breathier than intended, but they hung between you like an open invitation. Bob blinked, startled, then hesitated, like he wasn’t sure if you meant it.
You didn’t wait. You rose smoothly from his lap, your hand sliding down his arm until your fingers found his. You didn’t tug. You just looked at him. And of course, he followed. The two of you stepped into the glow of the chandeliers again, the hush of music guiding your steps toward the edge of the dance floor. You slipped your hand into his, placing the other on his shoulder, heart stammering in your chest as his hand settled cautiously on the curve of your waist.
You began to sway. Neither of you were dancers, but it didn’t matter. The moment held its own rhythm. Your dress brushed against his leg with each turn. His thumb caressed a soft, unconscious circle against your lower back. And though your eyes kept meeting, neither of you really spoke. You were both still pretending. Still holding back. Even with the air thick between you. Even with your fingers curling tighter into his jacket, his jaw tightening every time you swayed too close. And for a moment, it was quiet again. Then, Bob cleared his throat, awkwardly, softly, like he wasn’t quite sure he should speak.
“S-So are we just not going to talk about it?” Your gaze flicked up to meet his, and your stomach clenched. “Talk about what, Bob?” The response came sharper than intended, a defense before you could stop it. “The fact that you nearly ripped a guy’s arm off, or the fact that you were eyeballing that girl’s tits as she was blatantly eye-fucking you.” He froze, his hand on your waist tensed. “W-What, Y/N? She came onto me, I wasn’t looking at her, I swear. I was just… caught off guard.” You arched a brow, your voice dipping dangerously.
“So what, you just let her? Let her paw at you like you were on display?” His voice cracked under the weight of his urgency. “And what about you? That guy was making you uncomfortable, I saw it all over your face. I had to do something. I couldn’t just stand there while he—” He cut himself off, jaw clenched, that familiar gold hue resurfacing, swallowing the blue of his eyes. You were quiet. Your chest rose and fell in rhythm with the music, with your own chaotic thoughts. “Just…” You exhaled. “Come with me.” You didn’t give him a chance to argue.
You simply slid your hand down his wrist, fingers curling around his, and pulled him off the dance floor, past the swirling couples and flickering candles, toward a hallway bathed in soft light. Each step echoed with tension, yours, his, shared and unnamed. You reached the terrace doors and pushed through, cool night air kissing your overheated skin. The terrace was quiet, stone beneath your heels, stars scattered across a dark velvet sky. Only the distant hum of the orchestra floated through the open doors behind you. You turned to face him again.
Bob’s chest rose and fell like he’d just finished running, not dancing. His cheeks were flushed, not from embarrassment, but from everything he hadn’t said. The silence wrapped around you was thick and fragile. For once, neither of you spoke first. Your eyes flicked to his tie, crooked now from when you’d pulled him into you. Your fingers moved on instinct, reaching up, smoothing it gently. His breath hitched. “You didn’t have to defend me.” He scoffed incredulously. “Yes, I did.” You looked up at him. “Why?” You knew the answer, you just had to hear it from him.
Bob’s lips parted, and the glow in his eyes deepened, flickering like molten gold behind glass. His jaw flexed, like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. So you did something instead. You stepped in closer. Slowly. Deliberately. Your chest brushed his. You looked at him through your lashes. “Admit it Bob, you were jealous.” His hand found your waist again, stronger this time, steadier. “And you weren’t?” You didn’t answer.
Because the answer was already written in the way you leaned into him. In the way his breath fanned against your cheek. In the way your eyes dropped to his mouth for just a second too long. And maybe, just maybe, you both finally realized this game was nearing its end. You stood so close you could feel every breath Bob took, every shift in the way he held your waist like it grounded him. The silence between you wasn’t awkward anymore, it pulsed with something deep, charged, and entirely unspoken.
The golden flicker in his eyes had softened now, but it hadn’t gone. He opened his mouth. Closed it. And then, finally, he let it out. “I’ve been in love with you for months.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it was solid. Unshakable. A truth he’d been carrying so long it had carved itself into the marrow of him. Your heart stopped. “W-What?” You breathed, barely trusting your own ears. Bob didn’t flinch. Didn’t backpedal. His gaze never left yours. “I know I’m not supposed to say that, not like this, not here,” He murmured, voice rough with the edges of vulnerability.
“But I’ve been trying to keep it down, to keep it quiet, and I can’t anymore. I just, I need you to know.” You could only stare. He took a breath, his thumb brushing absently over your waist like he didn’t realize it was still there. “Ever since that first mission we got benched on together,” He continued, softer now. “You were pissed. You paced the hangar for twenty straight minutes, muttering under your breath, and I—God, I couldn’t stop watching you. Not because of how you looked. I mean, you’re—” He swallowed.
“You’re stunning, but it was more than that.” His voice dipped, vulnerable and almost reverent. “You didn’t treat me like I was fragile. Like I was broken. Everyone else, they hesitate. They talk to me like I might crack if they say the wrong thing. But you? You’ve never done that. You joke, you push back, you talk to me like I’m just, me. And that, that means everything.” Your breath caught in your throat. “I notice everything about you,” He went on, eyes burning into yours now.
“I know you hate oat milk. I know you hum when you’re wiring explosives because it helps you focus. I know the exact look you get when you’re over-caffeinated but pretending you’re not.” He chuckled, low and self-deprecating. “And yeah, I learned how to make that matcha drink exactly how you like it. Extra matcha foam, splash of vanilla, whole milk. Took me five tries before it didn’t taste like chalk.” Your chest was aching. “But it’s not just that,” He coaxed, quieter now.
“It’s the way you light up when you come back from a mission. Even exhausted, you have this, spark. And every time I see you step into a room, something in me settles. Like everything’s okay if you’re okay.” You could feel your throat closing, emotion swelling like a wave. “I leave you those notes because I never know what to say in person. Because you make my brain short-circuit. So I write it down. And when you’re out there getting bruised and saving the world, I refill your water, I tidy your gear, because it’s the only way I know how to say I care.”
His hand slid gently from your waist to your cheek, thumb brushing beneath your eye, like he’d already guessed you were trying not to cry. “I didn’t mean to fall for you,” He whispered. “But it’s the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me.” You stood frozen, then your voice finally cracked through the silence. “Bob…” You blinked, your lashes wet, your chest tight. “I’ve been falling in love with you this entire time.” His breath hitched. “You… have?” Your laugh was barely a whisper. “Of course I have. You idiot. Do you think I just let anyone touch me like that?”
He laughed through his nose, but you stepped closer, resting your hands against his chest. You felt his heart stuttering beneath your palms, just like yours. “You learned how to make my favorite drink. You leave me the sweetest, dorkiest notes when I get back from fieldwork. And I know you always refill my water bottle even though you pretend you didn’t.” You looked up at him, and this time, you were the one who couldn’t look away. “I notice everything about you too, Bob,”
“The way your voice softens when you're calming someone down. The way you always take the corner booth because you know I hate sitting with my back to the door. How you’re the first one to offer help and the last to ask for any.” Your voice cracked, but you didn’t stop. “I didn’t want to admit it. I thought if I did, I’d ruin what we have. But the truth is, I’ve been yours this whole time.” He stepped forward. “I don’t want to pretend anymore, I’m tired of dancing around it. I want this. You.” His thumb traced slow circles along your ribs. “Then take it.” You breathed.
It happened fast. One step too close, one last look that lingered too long, and then the space between you disappeared like it had never existed. His mouth crashed against yours, months of repressed emotion and barely-contained tension igniting all at once. There was nothing careful or tentative about it, just teeth and heat, lips dragging hungrily over yours, and the immediate slide of his tongue demanding entry. He tasted like the Diet Coke he had been sipping and something utterly Bob.
You gasped into the kiss, but it only gave him more access. He swallowed it greedily, his hand rising to cup your jaw, thumb tilting your chin just enough so he could deepen it, tongue sweeping over yours in a hot, bruising stroke that made your knees buckle. Your hands were already tangled in his jacket, gripping lapels like your life depended on it. When his teeth tugged at your bottom lip, just enough to sting, you whimpered, and that sound broke something in him. The kiss turned desperate. His hands roamed like he’d been dying to touch you for years.
One gripped your waist, pulling you flush against the hard line of his body, while the other slid down, trailing over the exposed curve of your bare back, the silk of your dress offering no resistance. His fingertips skimmed the base of your spine, then lower, slipping under the open edge of your gown. He groaned low in his throat when his palm met bare skin, smoothing over the curve of your hip and down your thigh, fingers grazing the slit in your dress that had tormented him all night. Your leg lifted almost instinctively, wrapping around his as your bodies melted together, the slit parting even further to let him in.
His grip shifted to your thigh, strong fingers curling under it, anchoring you to him like he couldn’t possibly stand the thought of ever letting go, now that he was able to touch you like this. You could feel every inch of him, his chest heaving against yours, the twitch of his jaw as he fought for control, the hard press of arousal against your lower stomach. Your back hit the cool marble of the terrace wall. A gasp spilled from your lips, swallowed by his mouth again in a kiss that burned like wildfire.
He pinned you there with his body, hips flush against yours, one hand braced beside your head, the other still on your leg, pushing the fabric higher so his thumb could drag slowly along your inner thigh. Your breath hitched. A soft, helpless moan escaped, and he echoed it with a guttural noise, his tongue sweeping into your mouth again with a new kind of hunger. It was messy. Urgent. Dizzying. The taste of each other. The soft drag of your nails down his neck. His teeth grazing your lip again. The low, desperate sounds vibrating in your throat. His touch, leaving fire in its wake.
And the way you both kissed like it wasn’t just lust, but the breaking point of everything unsaid finally crashing through. Your body arched into his. His mouth barely left yours long enough to breathe. And the gala went on behind the doors, utterly irrelevant now. "Took you both long enough!" Yelena’s voice cut sharply through the thick fog of lust hanging around you like smoke. You and Bob tore yourselves apart, panting, flushed, his lips kiss-bitten and your dress now visibly wrinkled in spots that revealed far too much about where his hands had been.
"Poor guy almost lost his arm." Walker added with a grunt, nodding toward Bob, whose tie was still clutched tightly in your hand. His smirk betrayed no real annoyance, only amusement. "You gotta admit, it was entertaining as hell though." Ava drawled, one brow raised, arms folded as she leaned against the terrace rail like she’d been watching a soap opera play out in real time. That’s when it hit you. "You guys fucking planned this?" You and Bob yelled in unison.
“It was painful seeing both of you pining over the other, we had to do something.” Bucky stated, entirely unapologetic. "You also think Mel coincidentally got you a blue dress that matched his eyes?" Yelena deadpanned, eyes flicking pointedly to the leg slit and the exposed sweep of your back with zero subtlety. Your brow lifted. You narrowed your eyes. Then, slowly, the grin spread across your face like gasoline catching fire. "Well, I hope you all have noise-cancelling headphones."
They froze. Some blinked. Ava’s mouth twitched. Yelena cocked her head with an intrigued hum. But you leaned in, melting into Bob’s side, fingers slipping past his jacket lapel to trail lazily over the spot where his chest rose and fell in short, uneven breaths. "Cause Bob and I have a lot of lost time to catch up on," You purred, tilting your chin up toward him. His hand dropped to your hip again, almost on instinct. Possessive. Firm. Like he was already thinking about what he was going to do to you the moment the others vanished.
“It’s gonna get real loud.” You didn’t wait for a response. You yanked him down by the tie, lips crashing together with a loud, unapologetic smack. His arms locked around your waist instantly, pulling you up onto your toes as he devoured you right there in front of everyone. Tongue thrusting into your mouth without hesitation. His teeth grazed yours in the heat of it, and a growl, raw and deep, rumbled low in his chest as you dragged your fingers up the back of his neck.
You were keenly aware of the reactions behind you: exaggerated gagging, muttered curses, dramatic footsteps retreating, someone snorting with laughter. But it all faded under the hungry slide of Bob’s mouth, under the way his hand slipped lower, palm pressing just beneath the curve of your ass. They’d planned this? Fine. Only, they had no idea what they’d just unleashed. Because this wasn’t tension anymore, no, this was a reckoning. The night was still young.
It was going to be a very long night indeed.
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SUMMARY ⋮ ⌗ ┆Your father calls you mid-shift to make you feel how he always does: Like he couldn’t care less about his only daughter. You try to push through and keep your head up, be the lovergirl everyone knows you as, but you can’t help but crumble, because all you want is to be enough for your father. Special to him.
Who’d show you just how special you really are but the day shift attending?
PAIRING ⋮ ⌗ ┆grumpy!michael robinavitch x sunshine!reader
CONTENT WARNINGS ⋮ ⌗ ┆18+ SMUT AHEAD. MDNI. age gap (r! is in her 20’s, robby’s in his 40’s), r! is heavily implied to have anxiety. panic attacks. hurt comfort. r! is sort of a social worker but also a doctor. medical inaccuracies. other pitt characters featured. #alsomadeupcharactersfortheplot. small description of patient fall and sustained head injury. brief mention of blood. r’s father’s a deadbeat. briefly established backstory ⤷ ゛ ˎˊ˗ dom!robby. sub!reader. afab!reader. quick escalation. big dick robby. . .unprotected piv sex. tummy bulge. praise. cunnilingus (r!receiving). fingering (r!receiving). major daddy kink. two uses of little girl. slight fauxcest? (if you want to read it that way). pussydrunk!robby. use of pet names (kiddo, kid, sweetheart, babygirl, and honey are all used). palming. brief handjob. kissing. creampie. slight breeding kink.
WORD COUNT ⋮ ⌗ ┆ 6.7k
LYNNIE'S TEA ⋮ ⌗ ┆☕︎ started this on a plane ride and did not expect it to go as far as it did. . .everybody thank my own paternal issues for this one. . .i’m also not 100% i like this buuut hopefully someone else does ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა
ּ֯ . ❥ ּ֯ ┆꒰ I'D RUN AWAY .ᐟ ꒱
AND HIDE WITH YOU.
“I NEED EXTRA HANDS in Trauma 2,” boomed the unmistakable sound of Dana’s voice across the ER. “Where the fuck’s our lovergirl?”
That was usually your cue, but you didn’t catch it at first. If you had, you’d’ve probably bolted the other way, extending your already too long break that’d went from a five minute call to a fifteen minute panic attack. One more stressor and you’d be down for fucking the count.
“Right here,” you said with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, approaching the center desk. Too late to back out now. “What’s the case?”
“Six-year-old fell from her treehouse. Robby’s already in there,” said Dana. She gave you a quick once over, her eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Y’okay, hun?”
You blinked back tears at the genuineness of her tone. “Yeah. Fine. I’m on the case,” you said with a nod and a tight smile. Not too obvious, nor too shallow.
This was your poker face. This, you had to be good at. Because with even half the things you went through on the daily, it’d be foolish not to have mastered it.
You felt like an idiot for letting your father make you feel this way. For giving him so much leverage over your outlook on life. The people around you thought you loved wholeheartedly because you’d learned it from someone else, but the reality was far more complicated than that.
You loved the way you did not because of someone you knew, but someone you wanted to. Someone who loved like the word had no limits, like the way you did.
Your father was incapable of such treatment. When you left Boston for Pittsburgh years prior, he barely bat an eye. Just wished you well and asked you come back for the holidays, but never complained when you didn’t. Never cared that you didn’t. The man hardly cared about you, period.
And so he calls sometimes. Tries to be a father. Tells you he’s thinking of you, but it always feels like you’re a check on a to-do list. An afterthought. Like talking to you is an obligation, a thing he does because he has to, not because he wants to.
He’d called you in the breakroom the minute you got the door closed. You’d forgotten about the juice you were about to indulge in before answering the phone, wondering what he wanted. The man had promptly asked for help with the bills, and you being the angel you were, unable to ignore someone in need, no matter how salty, sent it without complaints. He hadn’t even told you he loved you when he hung up. Just told you this is what your responsibility was as a daughter now. He’d taken care of you, nurtured you after your mother had left. So you should be thanking him.
Man, you thought. Your old man had a twisted sense of family.
That call had you questioning your own validity. What had you done to deserve the loneliness you’d accumulated? To have a father who used you like an ATM? Friends who knew you but didn’t see you? It felt like the world was on your shoulders, too heavy for one person to carry, especially for someone so young.
The last place you wanted to be carrying all these feelings was the PTMC. But life didn’t stop just because you were having a go at it. So neither could you.
You all but sprinted to Trauma 2, not ready to get back to work, but at least able. Eleven in the morning was early for a fall out of a treehouse, and you’d hate to be the little girl who’d taken the damage, so you made quick work of your feet, willing them ahead until you arrived.
At the bedside were Doctors Santos and Garcia, as well as Langdon, Javadi, and your attending, Doctor Robby. Behind Santos and Garcia were the parents of the children who were in inconsolable tears, being comforted to no avail by Doctor Javadi.
“Still no consciousness,” said Santos with her lip between her teeth, her hands working quickly at the bleeding gash across the little girl’s forehead.
“How high’s this fucking treehouse?” said Garcia, ever the blunt one. You shook your head.
“Garcia,” you chided, because that was often your role. Keeping the flow of empathy in a room at any given time alive. Especially when that room contained people in dire need of it.
“Am I happy to see you,” said Robby. He excused himself from the bedside while the other doctors worked, handing you a chart. “Talk to the family before you jump on. Girl’s named Hailey, mom and dad are Janet and Carl Atkins. You know the drill, yeah?”
“Yes. Yes, of course, Robby,” you said with a nod. You tapped your fingers against the cardboard of the chart as you read its contents, like that’d somehow snap you back into doctor mode.
It’s the thought that counts, right?
“You’re an angel,” Robby said.
“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Atkins,” you said when you approached the parents, introducing yourself. “Why don’t we take a step outside?”
“We’re not leaving our daughter,” said Mrs. Atkins, who was still in tears.
“I understand your pain, Mrs. Atkins, but these doctors are doing everything to care for your little girl. Soon, that’ll mean lots of blood and sights you won’t want to remember of her. I promise you can come back in as soon as they’re finished.”
Mrs. Atkins, Janet, looked at her husband with teary eyes. He nodded and turned to you. You took that as your cue to lead them out of the room. Robby nodded as you made your exit with the parents.
“What happened this morning?” you asked gently, keeping any accusation out of your voice. You knew from experience that families of patients never responded well to that.
“H- Hailey wanted to play outside. It was beautiful out. We went into our backyard after breakfast, a- and Carl and I were having a bit of coffee after helping her into her treehouse. She’s a smart girl, so I thought—“ Janet stopped her sentence short to heave a sob. Carl rubbed her back.
“You thought you could trust her, like all parents do,” you finished. “She’s six. Still small, but she’s learning about the world in her own way, and you want to let her. There isn’t anything wrong with that. Then, what?”
“We didn’t even see her get out. Usually she stays inside and calls for one of us when she’s ready to come down. But this time, I guess she thought she could do it on her own,” Carl said. “She’d just hit the ground when we ran over. And we called 911.”
“I see. It’s to my understanding that Hailey’s very lucky,” you said after taking a good look at the chart. “No noticeable fractures, minimal chance of long-term brain damage. The worst she should walk away with is a concussion and a sprained ankle, but apart from that and her visible wounds, she should be back to health in no time,” you said.
“Then why is she not waking up?” said Janet.
“Her age and nature of the impact are likely to blame for her unconsciousness. Falling hard on your back is generally more dangerous, especially for teenagers and children. That doesn’t mean her injuries are severe,” you said calmly. “Hailey’s your only child?”
Janet nodded. “She’s the best little girl in the world. She was everything we prayed for.”
“Your love for her is palpable. You’re first time parents who are navigating the ups and downs of what it takes to raise a child. Mistakes don’t negate your progress. There’s no benefit in being hard on yourselves,” you said. “This wasn’t your fault. Children are naturally curious and occasionally unpredictable. That doesn’t mean you’re to blame for what happened today. The most you can do now is be there for Hailey. That’s all you can do.”
Janet sniffled, moved by your words. That was just the effect you had on people.
Most people, anyway.
It was your job at the PTMC to provide comfort to families in time of need, as well as finding balance in being a good doctor all the same. But it occurred to you more often than not that you had yet to acquire that same balance in your personal life.
As per usual, that wasn’t the matter at hand right now.
The other woman took your hand in hers and squeezed. You squeezed back.
“Thank you. You’re a great doctor,” she said.
You smiled. “No, thank you. Now, why don’t you two take a seat over here? I’ll come back out with any updates on Hailey.”
After the parents sat on a bench outside Trauma 2, you braced yourself and went back in. Robby eyed you as you returned.
“Worked your magic out there, kiddo?”
You gave that same fabricated smile you’d offered Dina not too long prior and nodded, grabbing a pair of sterile gloves. “Sure did.”
He didn’t have to know that was just more of your magic.
After half an hour or so, Garcia finally threw her hands up, exhaling a sigh of relief. “My services are no longer required.”
You’d been helping keep Hailey stabilized beside Robby, while Santos had been next to Garcia. Javadi and Langdon had since left to handle another case. You checked the monitor to view the girl’s heart rate and blood pressure and nodded your agreement.
“All set. Thanks for your help,” you said.
“Sure thing. Call if you need the jazz hands again,” Garcia said before heading off.
“Good work, you two. Couple hours and she should be waking up,” said Robby.
“Great. I’ll give the parents the good news,” you said.
You discarded your gloves and put some hand sanitizer on before turning to face the parents who were still seated outside Trauma 2. They both stood up with urgency, looking frantic at your return.
“How is she?” said Janet.
You smiled. “Little Hailey’s going to pull through. She’s still unconscious, but we’ve completely stabilized her and she should incur no lasting brain damage from this incident. She’ll wake in a few hours.”
Janet threw her arms around you, and you responded with a little “Oh!” before reciprocating the hug.
“Thank you so much,” Janet said.
“Can we see her?” said Carl.
“Of course. Right this way.”
You led the way back into the room, where Robby was still standing opposite Santos. The latter backed away to allow the parents room to see their child.
“Thank you, Dr. Robby,” said Carl.
“You’re very welcome,” said Robby.
The two of them sat at their daughter’s bedside. Carl instantly grabbed Hailey’s hand, squeezing gently.
“We’re so sorry, honey,” Janet whispered in a quiet sob.
“Daddy loves you so much, Hailey,” Carl sniffled beside his wife. “We’ll never let anything like this happen again. I promise.”
I promise.
At the little declaration, you felt your throat tighten with a weird feeling. It felt like plain sadness at first, salt on the wound after your interaction with your own father. But it was more than that. Deeper.
It felt like fucking jealousy.
Tears filled your eyes and threatened to spill at the scene as Carl whispered all the ways he loved his daughter. The promises to take care of her. The dedication to doing better. All things you wish your father could do for you.
It was too much.
“Um, if you’ll excuse me,” you said with your fake smile, though you weren’t sure how convincing it was now that it was paired with teary eyes and a broken voice. You practically sprinted out of there subsequently, and didn’t stop until you reached the breakroom.
You slammed the door closed behind you and went for the sink. Everybody was busy with their own cases—it was just one of those kinds of days—so there was no one around to see you break down for a second time that shift. While it didn’t necessarily feel good to be alone, you weren’t sure you wanted anyone to see you like this.
Splashing water on your face was futile for your nerves. The sobs you heaved that came from the innermost parts of you were so much more than tears. It felt like all the things your father had said to you since he created you, the words or lack thereof that you’d tried and now failed to suppress, were bubbling to the goddamn surface.
You were in the middle of pressing your thumb to your palm, a trick for anxiety you’d heard from Dr. Collins, when the sound of the break room door opening snapped you out of your thoughts. You took a large breath and didn’t immediately turn around, because you couldn’t give yourself away, couldn’t be vulnerable. Not on a day like this. Maybe not fucking ever.
You thought so, anyway, until the sound of Robby softly saying your name made your resolve crack in two.
“Y- Yeah?” you said without facing him.
“You alright? You kind of ran out of there,” he said. You could hear him coming closer.
“Oh, yeah, j- just needed a glass of water. Dehydrated,” you lied.
“Hydration is important,” he humored you. Yet his tone of voice gave way to the fact that you were a terrible liar. “But I’m not convinced that’s what this is.”
Fuck.
Tears spilled from your eyes. You still didn’t turn around, but when you felt your throat constricting again, your breath picking up speed, you realized it didn’t matter if Robby could see you or not. Your body language was going to betray you.
“I just need a m- minute,” you said, and that did him in. Your body started to shake with a familiar force, one nobody knew you dealt with on a daily basis.
A panic attack.
“Okay, okay, it’s okay,” Robby said as your legs started to fail you. He didn’t say anything about the mascara that was probably coming down your cheeks, or the blatant redness in your eyes when you finally turned around. Instead, he sat you down in one of the chairs in the breakroom, rubbing your back. “Head between your legs.”
You did as told. This tactic did sometimes work for you. But it wasn’t enough to stop your heaving sobs or uncontrollable breathing.
“Come on, s’okay, in through your nose, out through your mouth,” Robby said. “It’s not forever. S’all temporary, s’all temporary. Come on, kiddo, breathe with me.”
Robby’s words felt like honey. But even the sweetest of candies can’t overpower the taste of salt.
It wasn’t Robby’s fault. Robby didn’t know. He didn’t know much about your life beyond the city you’d come from or who you are now. No one did.
But that was just the thing. Even without truly, truly knowing you, Robby still wanted to help. That was more than your own father could ever say.
“It’s going to be okay,” Robby said finally. “Breathe with me.”
Every word had your nervous system slowly regulating again, and you tried to listen to the sound of his voice. After a few minutes of crying and shaky breaths, the world started to come back into focus.
“That’s a girl, just breathe. Breathe with me,” Robby hummed. “Let me get you some water.”
You felt the aftermath of your panic attack starting to hit the moment Robby returned with a glass of water. You drank it down in one quick gulp as your breath finally slowed back to normal pace.
“I’m. . .sorry you had to see that, I—“
“Don’t apologize. It happens to the best of us,” Robby said. You’d never seen the older man look so concerned. His eyebrows were wrinkled with worry, and there was a frown pasted on his lips.
After a beat, Robby spoke up again. “Did you. . .wanna talk about it?”
You shrugged, looking away. “It’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid if it’s making you cry.”
You shook your head and let out a bitter laugh. You’d tell anyone else the same thing, but you felt stupid for feeling the way you did about a man you’d known for a long time would never change. The stupid thing was holding out hope that he would.
“My dad called me. Just before I hopped on that case,” you said shakily. “He didn’t even ask how I was or what I was doing. He. . .he needed money f- for his bills. So I just sent it without thinking twice. He didn’t even tell me he loved me or anything before he hung up. Just told me this was my responsibility now. So that little girl. . .her father caring so much,” you sniffled. “Just felt like salt to the wound.”
You looked away from Robby completely now, turning your head to the side. “It’s dumb, right? I’m in my mid twenties and I’m still getting hurt by the man when he’s always been this way. Anyone else would have given up by now, but not me.”
“Now, that’s not entirely true,” Robby said sharply. “You need your father today as much as you did when you were born. Your age doesn’t have anything to do with it, kid. And if he can’t show up like he’s supposed to, that’s on him.”
Robby tilted your face to meet his and caught your eyes. “He has no idea what he’s missing.”
You sniffled at the sweet reassurance, leaning your cheek into his palm.
“You’re sure you’re fit to stay?” Robby asked, stroking your cheek.
You almost thought you’d misheard him. There was a loudly spoken rule about all hands on deck at this hospital. Confusedly, you returned, “It’s been crazy in here today. Don’t you guys need me?”
Robby shrugged. “We have the staff, for once. If you’re not 100%, we’ll be okay if you need to leave. Seems like you need to relax, and this place is definitely not helping with that.”
You giggled at that. “Yeah, probably not,” you agreed. Your smile then faded. “But it’s alright. I took the bus here and with midday traffic, who knows how long I’ll be waiting, anyway,” you sniffled.
“That’s true. And you can stay if you want,” Robby said as he stood up. “Or I can bring you home.”
You looked up at him confusedly. “Bring me home? But, Robby, you—“
“—Jack wanted to come in early,” Robby said. “S’no problem.”
The offer made your heart ache. “You’re sure?”
Robby gave you a small smile. “Wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t.”
That’s what wound you in the passenger seat of Robby’s truck the second Jack walked into the ER. He opened the door for you and buckled you in before getting into the driver’s side, putting the keys into the ignition.
“I’m sorry I’m making you do this,” you said with a small voice, leaning your head against the window. Even after his reassurance, you still felt guilty for pulling him away from work. “You have a job to do.”
“You’re not making me do anything. And Jack’s a good doctor. He’s got it under control,” Robby said. “How far are you?”
“I’m a little far. It’s about a half hour commute,” you replied. “You really don’t have to bring me, Robby.”
“How about we go to my place instead? It’s closer. You’ll want to decompress sooner rather than later, I imagine.”
You nod. “Okay,” you replied. Robby did the same and began to drive.
Your hands were still restless from the aftermath of your attacks. You leaned your head back against the leather seat, closing your eyes while shaky breaths left your lips. Robby didn’t say anything until he heard you hiccup another sob. He’d stopped at a red light and turned to look at you.
“Sweetheart? You okay?”
You cringed at the whimper that left your lips. “I don’t know.”
“Hey,” Robby said. He reached over and looped his fingers through yours, squeezing your hand to reassure you. “Don’t think about him. It’s not doing you any good. Put the window down, kiddo. That’ll help.”
You did as told, putting the window down ever so slightly. You used Robby’s hand like a lifeline while he drove, and not once did he let go.
Leaving the Pitt made you realize instantly how drastically it was affecting you. You had your anxiety under control most days, but it was easy for anybody to snap in a place like that. Now that you were here, you didn’t feel so frenzied. How Robby could run the show on a daily basis like he did, you had no idea.
The drive was mostly silent, save for the wind from your window and the low hum of the radio. The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable, not with Robby’s hand in your lap and intertwined with your own, grounding you throughout the trip.
He pulled up to a family home about fifteen minutes later. It was a beautiful place with flowers out front and two stories. Robby opened your door for you as you got out, and smiled when you immediately slotted your hand through his again.
“Come on, kiddo. Let’s get you inside,” Robby said.
You followed behind him and watched him unlock the door, letting you inside before following. You took the place in, shockingly neat for your sarcastic attending, while he slipped his shoes off at the door.
“You can shower upstairs if you want. I can give you some clothes to change into,” Robby said. “Are you hungry?”
“I don’t think I’m ready to eat yet. But thank you, Robby. A shower would be nice,” you said.
“Okay, sweetheart. Come on, you can have your pick of my closet.”
You followed Robby upstairs, taking in the various picture frames that lined the walls of the staircase. Most were with Jack or your other coworkers in group pictures. You were even in some of these.
Robby opened the door to his large room, his bed messy with strewn pillows and scattered books on the nightstand. There were some clothes on the floor and Robby grimaced as he retrieved them.
“Sorry about the mess. Don’t ever have company,” Robby said. “You can look through my dresser.”
“Don’t be sorry,” you said as you approached it. You went through his drawers and picked out an old band tee and baggy sweatpants. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll get you a towel.”
After Robby did so, you took the shower you’d been in desperate need of, hoping the cold water would cleanse your nerves. They still felt incredibly frayed even after leaving work, and part of you was still in panic mode.
Most of it was just plain sadness.
When you came out of the bathroom, Robby was sitting on the edge of the bed, which was now neatly made. He perked up when he saw you, standing up and pulling the covers back. “You didn’t like the sweatpants?”
You shook your head. The tee was long enough to cover the bareness underneath it, and your body temperature wasn’t regulated enough for pants yet. “No. I’m hot,” you said, folding the pants neatly back into the dresser.
“I see,” Robby said. “Feeling better?”
You shrugged, approaching the bed and settling in. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” you said meekly.
“I don’t. But I want to,” Robby said. He tucked you in and turned the TV in the room on, handing you the remote. “I’ve got a few streaming platforms. Watch whatever you’d like. Let me know when you’re ready to eat.”
With that, Robby turned to leave the room, evidently wanting to give you your space, but before he could, you sat back up in bed. “Robby?”
Robby turned to look at you with a foot out of the door. “Yeah, kiddo?”
“Stay? Please, don’t. . .don’t go.”
Robby looked slightly startled by the request, but his expression shifted back into a smile just as quickly. He closed the door and joined you in bed, laying down over the covers. “Whatever you need.”
You turned the TV on and pretended to be interested in the channels, but even entertainment couldn’t do its part in distracting you. You flipped a random movie on before turning to Robby, laying on your side.
Robby rubbed your forehead, then stroked your hair with such care that you thought you might cry all over again. Maybe you would. “Comfortable, kiddo?” he asked.
You nuzzled into his touch, scooting closer. “Mhm. Thank you, Robby.”
“You’re welcome,” Robby said. “You let me know if you need anything, yeah?”
That simple comment worked you right up again, tears brimming in your eyes. All this sweetness from your somewhat gruff attending, the one who’d tucked you in after taking you home and giving you his clothes, no less, had you wondering how hard it really was for your father to do the same.
“Oh, honey,” Robby said as you broke down all over again. “Come here, baby.”
You followed the instruction of Robby patting his lap, sitting up and settling into it. You buried your face into his neck while he held you, cradling you like you were a baby. The gesture made you sob harder as he soothed you, rubbing your back tenderly while he shushed away your tears.
“Your father doesn’t deserve you. You’re too sweet to feel so neglected by him,” Robby said.
“Wh- What’s wrong with me? I just want him to care and somehow I feel like an asshole, because all I do is beg for the man to love me.”
“That doesn’t make you an asshole. It’s normal to want your father. Even more normal when he’s mostly absent.”
“I just want to be enough.”
“You are enough. More than enough,” Robby reassured you.
You pulled back to look at Robby, tears swimming in your eyes. “You’d. . .you’d take care of me, right?” you said without thinking. “If I was your daughter? You wouldn’t let me go?”
Robby smoothed his thumb over your cheek. “No, baby. I wouldn't ever let you go.”
You moved impossibly closer to Robby at the reassurance, now sitting up with your thighs on either side of his legs. He had a hand on your waist, the other coming up to cradle your cheek as he watched you stare.
“What is it, kiddo?” he said softly.
“I. . .I want. . .” you whimpered, bottom lip between your teeth. You of all people knew how unprofessional this position alone was, with your attending, no less, but you were craving more. Comfort. Touch. Love. All things Robby was willing to give you. All things your father never had.
Before you could overthink it, and before your brain could even process what you were doing, for that matter, you leaned slightly forward in Robby’s lap so that your lips ghosted over his. You pressed your hands to his chest in a silent plea, hitting him with those sweet eyes he’d known and admired since you joined PTMC.
But it was different now.
“Please?” you whispered.
“Sweetheart,” Robby huffed. He held his hand on the small of your back and left it there, making no effort to pull you closer or push you away. “We shouldn’t. Hell, I shouldn’t. Shouldn’t even be holding you like this.”
“I know, Robby, but. . .please, I won’t say anything. No one will ever know, I just. . .” you trailed off.
Too late to back out now.
“Make me forget. Forget him, forget everything,” you said. Your fingers dug into his shirt, another wordless beg for more. “Please.”
Robby stared at you for a few long seconds, the silence louder than the sobs you’d heaved earlier in the breakroom. Your head was spinning from said tears, and it occurred to you that you should go home, lay in bed, pretend this never happened—
Until Robby cupped your cheek with a gentleness you’d hardly known he possessed, and pulled you in for a kiss.
The kiss was electric despite its initial slowness. He was soft with you like he was afraid to break you, as if you needed to be handled with fragility. Except when aggression is all you know, it’s natural to exert—which is why you push your tongue past his lips and wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss.
Robby understands instantly and settles a hand on your hip, the other finding its way to your neck. He holds but doesn’t squeeze, again, like you’re too soft to be handled in such a fashion, and works his lips against yours ravenously. You can already feel the hardness of his cock below you and it has you embarrassingly soaked.
“That what you needed, baby?” Robby said with a small smile, cupping your face as he said it. You shook your head, to which he replied, “Oh, no? Then, what?”
You let your hand drift downwards before you could think twice about it, rubbing the aching bulge in his pants with shaking fingers.
“Fuck, honey,” Robby groaned. “Big girl words.”
“I. . .I want your cock, Robby,” you whined.
“That right?”
“M- Mhm, please,” you managed through a few more rubs. Then, the cherry on top to completely seal the deal—
“Please, Daddy.”
He’d said to use your words, right?
“Shit,” was all Robby said. His pupils were completely blown at the name, but the disgust you half expected to see when you looked at him wasn’t there. No, when you looked at him, he held a different expression entirely.
And it looked a lot like lust.
“Y’want me to be your daddy, huh? Guess you really meant you wanted to forget,” Robby hummed like it was a normal Tuesday, and you hadn’t just asked your attending of all the people to play the part. Luckily, for you, Robby was happy to oblige—evidently so, as he yanked you closer by the waist, pressing a quick kiss to your mouth.
“S’okay, sweetheart. I can be his replacement.”
With that, Robby flipped you onto your back and pinned you underneath him with his body, using a hand to prop himself up. You continued to rub at the bulge in his scrubs, only now, you’d begun to tug them down, already ready for more.
Robby followed your lead and released his hardened cock from his jeans, the tip aching and bright. You tried not to think too hard about how the hell that’d fit inside you as you started to stroke him carefully.
“Let me take care of you, Daddy,” you said. “After everything you did today.”
“You’re such a sweet girl, honey,” Robby said through a grunt. “But I’m afraid that’s your Daddy’s job, now, isn’t it?”
The sentiment made your cheeks flare, and you simply nodded.
“Good girl,” Robby cooed. He slowly tucked his dick back into his pants. Confusion filled your face until he started to lift your shirt—his shirt—up so that your skin was exposed to him. He smirked at the sight of you without panties on.
“Someone was ready,” he teased. He tucked his dick back into his pants and pressed featherlight pecks to your belly, then started his descent down your body, starting with your inner thighs. He kissed and sucked at the skin there which had you squirming instantaneously, watching your every move to gauge how you were feeling.
“This okay?” he asked. You nodded.
Robby did the same and continued his ministrations. When he finally locked eyes with your pussy, a little sigh left his lips at the sight of your wetness. “Fuck, honey. You’re soaked.”
“Couldn’t h- help it, Robby. Need you.”
“Ah-ah, that’s not my name,” Robby chided with a sharp bite to your inner thigh. “You wanna try again?”
“I need you, Daddy,” you corrected.
“Much better, sweetheart,” Robby said. With that, he finally licked his first stripe up your pussy, groaning at the taste of you. He started slowly to watch your reactions, tonguing your puffy clit in steady circles while his fingers joined the ministrations, entering your aching hole.
Robby alternated between licking your clit and diving between your folds, but whether that was more for you or him was unclear. He was completely drunk on your pussy, and paired with the sound of your pleasured noises, he was eating you up like a man starved.
“Fuck, babygirl, your pussy’s perfect. You’re perfect,” Robby grunted, driving his fingers inside you. You arched back with a particularly loud moan, the new nickname making you dizzy.
“F- Feels so g- good, Daddy,” you moaned. Robby smirked.
“Yeah? S’your Daddy making you feel good, kiddo?” he grunted between your folds, though it felt like he was talking more to your pussy then to you. “You deserve it, honey. My girl deserves to feel so good.”
He lifted your legs above his shoulders so he could dive deeper into your cunt, and you gasped at the change in position, his face almost completely blocked by your own body.
“D- Daddy, can you even breathe like that?” you asked worriedly.
Robby chuckled against your cunt, the sound vibrating between your legs. “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. Just focus on feeling good.”
With that, he started to eat you out again, only this time, it felt completely different. This time, with his hands wrapped around your thighs and your knees hooked over his shoulders, there was no limit to what Robby could do to you. His tongue entered your hole this time while his big nose rubbed against your clit, and you were convinced you were seeing stars.
“Fuck, D- Daddy, m’gonna—!” you moaned loudly, bucking your hips into the heat of his mouth. You were grinding against his face shamelessly now. Thankfully for you, Robby didn’t seem to mind.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Let go, Daddy’s got you,” Robby cooed before flicking his tongue against your clit, and not letting up until you were practically exploding against his face, coming with a loud cry.
Robby eased you through your orgasm with small licks against your sensitive clit. When the feeling became overstimulating, he switched gears and pressed kisses to your inner thighs, peppering them in a gentle path up your abdomen soon afterwards. He continued until he was hovering you again, and you took the opportunity to press your lips against his.
You tasted yourself on his mouth and felt your wetness from his beard, both facts working you up even so soon after your last orgasm. You wrapped your legs around his waist, and he immediately caught on.
“Needy little girl. So eager to cum again, huh?” Robby said, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You nodded, to which Robby chided, “None of that, babygirl. You tell Daddy what you want.”
“Want you inside me, Daddy. Want your cock,” you managed through shaky breaths, bucking your hips against his for emphasis. “Please.”
“You sound so sweet when you use your words, honey,” Robby cooed. For the second time, he freed himself, only this time he was visibly more hard. The tip of his cock was an angry red and dribbling bouts of pre-cum, and, fuck, did he look so much fuller than before. You gasped as he ran his head between your folds.
“You’re sure you want this, sweetheart? Absolutely positive?”
“Yes, Daddy, m’sure. I want you so bad. Please.”
Robby didn’t need another word before he was thrusting inside you completely, filling you to the brim.
You’d thought he was big before, but this stretch was completely different. There was a visible bulge where your bodies were conjoined which became more prominent with every little thrust into your pussy. Robby watched, utterly transfixed, at the sight of his large cock causing such an imprint on your skin.
“Y’okay?” Robby grunted. He had one hand on your belly and the other next to your head.
“M- Mhm. You’re so big,” you huffed.
Robby chuckled. “Hope that’s a good thing, sweetheart.”
“I- It is, I—oh!” you were cut off by the feeling of Robby’s hips snapping against yours, trying to find his pace. His stamina isn’t exactly what it used to be, but he’ll be damned if he leaves this room without making you feel good.
“Too much, kiddo?”
“N- No, not at all.”
“Good,” Robby said. He kept a steady albeit rough pace, reaching the deepest parts of you. It wasn’t your first time having sex, but it was with a man who was set on really taking care of you and not chasing his own pleasure. The thought made it feel all the more better.
You pulled Robby in for a kiss he answered gladly. As your tongues pushed against each other, his hips rocked even harder, driving his thick cock into your spongy walls. He was starting to hit the part of you that made you see stars, and you weren’t doing a good job of hiding it.
“That’s it, babygirl. That feel good?” Robby grunted against your lips.
“M- Mhm, y- you’re s- so good, Robby. Feel so good,” you said.
Robby chuckled and decided to let the use of his name slide, deciding you were probably too fucked-out to even remember your own right now. “You feel good, too, sweetheart. You’re so pretty like this,” he praised.
It was only a few minutes before Robby’s steady pace was replaced with a stronger one, as much faster as it was rougher. At the blown look of your pupils, he figured as much that this was what you wanted, what you needed, and he was right.
His cock was driving so far into you that it felt like he was in your throat. Every push had your back arching off the bed, unable to make any noise beyond a few broken whimpers and moans.
“That’s it, sweet girl. I got you, I got you,” Robby said gently, a stark contrast to the way his dick was bullying into your pussy.
“You—fuck—you promise, Daddy?”
“I promise, honey. M’never letting you go, alright? Never,” Robby assured. Despite the pace, his words had your heart lurching, and you almost got emotional all over again.
“Robby,” you gasped. “I’m g- getting there again. Close.”
“S’okay, kiddo. Your Daddy wants you to feel good,” he groaned. He wasn’t so much looking for his pleasure as he was trying to give you yours. “What do you need?”
Easy.
“Just don’t stop,” you said.
And Robby didn’t. He pressed kisses down your neck and sucked hickeys into your skin while he fucked you hard and fast, setting an absolutely lethal pace. The same pressure from earlier when you’d cum in his mouth was starting to return, and you were seconds away from your second orgasm.
“Cum with me, Daddy, please, please, I wanna feel you,” you begged, framing his cheeks with your hands. Robby had his on either side of your head while he smirked down at you.
“Yeah, you want my cum, baby? Want me filling your pretty pussy with my load?”
You nodded quickly, pulling him in for another kiss. “Yes, please. S’all I want.”
“That’s what you’ll get,” Robby said.
He didn’t stop until you were right on the edge, and when you were, he kissed you through it, rocking his hips into your pelvis and driving his dick hard into your cunt while your second orgasm crashed over you. You clenched hard around his cock as he spilled into you, securing your legs even tighter around his waist so that every drop stayed inside.
Robby got the message and gave a few last thrusts that stirred his cum deep inside you. When he pulled out, small ropes of white dribbled out of your hole and stained the bed, while the rest of it remained nestled within you.
“Who knew my little girl could be so dirty?” Robby teased, kissing your cheek.
You giggled. “It takes two, you know.”
“Fair enough,” Robby chuckled. “I’m going to get a towel, honey. Get you cleaned up.”
As he made his move to leave, however, you tugged his arm. Robby was at the edge of the bed. “Robby, w- wait.”
“Yeah, honey?”
“Did you. . .mean it? When you said you’d. . .never let me go?” you asked. “That you’d be his replacement?”
Robby smiled at you and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, nodding. “Yeah, sweetheart. I meant every word.”
summary: it's well known across the ptmc that park the shark doesn't like anyone, except for a younger resident he calls 'crybaby,' who also happens to be jack abbot's secret girlfriend. (4k)
characters: jack abbot / sunshine!fem!reader, mentor!brendon park, whitaker & evil whitaker
contents: secret relationship, jealousy, age gap, humor, insecure!jack, not proofread cw for medical inaccuracies, allusions to smut 18+ (MDNI), and r getting turned out that jack takes viagra
( NAVIGATION ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( AO3 )
Crybaby.
Dr. Park was the first to call you by that name — or Park the Shark, they called him, on account of his strong features, and the fact that he looked like he could swallow you whole without blinking.
It was your first rotation at the PTMC, when you screwed up a simple tibia plate fixation. The reduction looked clean, in your defense, straight and stable. “You got it?” the attending had asked. And you’d nodded as you adjusted your grip on the patient’s broken leg — only slightly.
The imaging still looked clear from your angle, as the drill went into the bone. But then you looked down, realizing you had forgotten to account for rotation, and found the patient’s foot slightly turned. Your heart dropped to your stomach, and then to your ass at the look Dr. Park gave you when his screw went in off-axis.
“Everyone take a good look!” he’d announced to the crowd of interns and med students watching after the fact. “If anyone here was wondering how to invent a new way to misalign a fracture, congratulations— You just got a live demonstration.”
Your eyes stung with tears, until your attempt to blink them back had failed.
“If this is all it takes to rile you up, wait until something actually goes wrong,” Dr. Park had scolded. “Now do you want me to go easy on you, or do you wanna get better, Crybaby?”
You stayed. And he made you better. But the nickname stuck.
Crybaby became a term of endearment, a symbol of how far you’d come since your interning days, and was shortened to Baby somewhere down the line. “Baby, take this patient down to CT for me, will you?” and “Cut me an ET tube, Baby, six millimeters,” and—
“Good luck getting that consult, baby,” Jack Abbot says from the opposite side of the exam room, with his strong arms crossed over his chest. The nickname sounds different spilling from his lips. It always has. “The OR’s backed up with Westbridge patients. It could be hours before we get a room booked.”
“She doesn’t have hours…” you murmur under your breath, squeezing past Whitaker and Ogilvie as you part from your unconscious patient. “Excuse me…”
“W-What are you doing?” the former boy stammers.
“Getting us a consult…” you say, half-distracted, as you reach for the red telephone on the wall. You press the cool plastic to your ear and dial the ortho extension.
Jack watches attentively from the sidelines as you make the call upstairs.
“You already sound like you’re gonna say no, so I’m just gonna ask quickly,” you say. “I know, I know— Terrible timing. But we both know I’m your favorite, so just hear me out.”
“Favorite…?” Ogilvie murmurs. “Wait— Who is she calling?”
“Park the Shark,” Whitaker answers solemnly.
“Or as I like to call him— Doctor Dick,” Jack says with a cynical smile. “On account of him being a dick.”
Whitaker nods in concurrence. “To everyone but her.”
You hang up the phone and return to your spot at the patient’s bedside. “Ortho consult’s on its way,” you tell them, half-distracted, as you check the ketamine levels in her IV drip.
“How’d you do that?” Ogilivie squints.
“I asked nicely,” you shrug.
Brendon Park comes into the emergency department barely five minutes later, and brings a tense air in with him that matches the unsmiling look on his narrow face. The way his dark blue eyes lock on you the second he walks in can only be described as sharklike.
“What do we got, Baby?” he asks you, and only you, utterly ignoring the other bodies in the room as he makes a beeline to your side. He smells of sea salt and sandalwood when he towers just behind you, standing several inches taller.
Jack swallows down the anger that swells suddenly in his throat like bile.
“Ten-foot fall onto a metal fence,” you tell him. “Tib-fib amputation— Pretty clean cut.”
“Sliced right through the bone like a guillotine,” Whitaker adds.
Park turns slowly, dark eyes zeroing in on the mulleted boy. “Was I talking to you?”
The boy’s cheeks flare red. He clears his throat. “Uh— No. No, sir.”
“Let me see the X-ray,” the attending says to you, much softer in comparison, and follows you the short distance to the bulky machine in the corner.
“See?” you hum. “Not too bad, right?”
His eyes flit from the x-ray to your hopeful gaze. The corner of his mouth flickers faintly upward as he nods once in response. “Yeah. Should be pretty fun— Where’s the leg?”
“Double bagged on ice.” You motion across the room.
Whitaker watches the older man walk past him with an unblinking gaze. “I didn’t know he smiled…” he whispers incredulously under his breath.
“Yeah, me neither, kid,” Jack mumbles, swaying softly in place, as he keeps his eyes locked on the two of you.
His jealousy is misplaced, but inevitable. Everyone had a certain soft spot for you, but he couldn’t quite stand it from Park — the man who didn’t seem to like anyone or anything but his work and you. Jack knows it makes a part of you feel special, you are special, but he wants to be the only one making you feel that way.
“Tell him how we prepped the limb, Ogilivie,” you tell the MS3.
“Oh, please, not me,” the curly-haired boy mumbles under his breath, looking instinctively to Whitaker for assistance. He swallows hard when Brendon’s dark eyes snap to his. “Uh— Sterile saline in the inner bag, ice water in the outer bag. No direct ice to skin contact.”
Park nods and turns away, unwrapping the severed leg on the table below. “Good…”
“Thank you.”
“I wasn’t talking about you,” the attending snaps. His eyes soften the second he turns to you. “Let me guess— You wrapped this?”
“How’d you know?” you grin.
“Because it’s neat,” Park quips drily as he pulls the bluing limb from the plastic. “And I don’t think Abbot suddenly developed fine motor skills.”
“Stop flirting with me, Shark,” Jack monotones.
“Antibiotics?” the man squints.
“Cefazolin and gent,” you answer. “And we’re already cleared her chest, abdomen, and pelvis.”
Park nods to himself, examining the severed leg with his gloved hands. “Clean wound… No rush injury… Rapid transport time…” he mumbles to himself, visibly pleased in a way that makes your stomach do a backflip. “Replantation is a go. I’ll go ahead and book an OR, get it taken care of for you.”
“Thanks…” you say, smiling a little wider than you realize. Because ever since the day he embarrassed you in front of all your coworkers, you’ve made it your personal mission to impress him.
“What’s the catch?” Jack quips from across the room. “You already got a packed OR so… What? You’re just doing us a favor out of the kindness of your heart?”
“Hell, no,” Brendon scoffs. “Baby’s gonna scrub in with me.”
Your breath hitches in your throat. You’re not sure whether to be happy or horrified, ‘cause you haven’t done a surgery with him since you were an intern.
“Holy shit— Really?”
“Yeah. As long as you promise not to fuck up again,” Park deadpans, though there’s something distinctly soft in his eyes as he quips, “And if you can keep your guard dog on a leash for a few hours.”
Your eyes turn instinctively to Jack. You find his features slightly hardened but mostly emotionless. He shrugs despite the distant searing in his chest.
“She doesn’t need my permission.”
“Then why are you glaring like I’m about to steal your favorite toy, old man?” Brendon scoffs.
Jack’s eyes widen. His head swivels slowly over his shoulder, as if he were looking for someone standing behind him. “I know you’re not talking about me,” he quips drily.
“I would love the opportunity to scrub in, Dr. Shark— I mean, Park,” you stammer.
“Alright, then. Let’s go,” he nods, pulling off his gloves with a low pop as he storms back towards the door. “The rest of you, irrigate the hell out of this with three liters.”
“Wait— three liters?” Whitaker blurts.
Park glares. “Of saline, genius.”
“I… I knew you meant saline…”
You stop short in the doorway with Jack at your side, right before you turn to follow Park into the elevator. You flash him a wide-eyed look full of hope and distant worry, “You’re not mad at me, are you? For doing this with Shark?”
“I couldn’t be,” Jack scoffs.
“Well, then, I’ll let you know how it goes later?” you murmur sheepishly, shifting on your feet like a shy child. “Over dinner?”
“Sure,” he nods. “I’ll take you somewhere nice. You know, to celebrate.”
He gives you a soft smile that fades the second you’ve turned the corner. He feels the weight of his own insecurity sitting heavy on his chest. The notion that he’s much too old for you tends to follow him like a shadow, but it rears its mean, green, ugly head a little extra now.
“Hey…” Robby greets, then slows his stride when he walks past the tree men leaving the exam room. “What’s the long faces for?”
Abbot flashes him an unamused gaze. “Shark attack,” he deadpans.
Robby nods sympathetically. “Yeah, that’ll do it…”
The familiar chaos of the ED wraps around you like a blanket when you come down from the OR — the beeping monitors, the rolling stretchers, the hundred different conversations. It feels welcoming, in a strange sort of way; it fuels you in a way it hasn’t in a long, long time. It feels less like you’re surviving your shift now, and more like you could solve every medical inquiry in this hospital if someone asked you to.
You feel ten feet tall and lighter than air as you weave your way through the crowded emergency department. Jack can see it from where he watches you at the workstation with an eagle-eyed stare. Your scrubs are creased from your hours in the OR; your eyes are as wild as the distant smile sitting crooked on the very edges of your mouth.
You plant yourself at the computer next to his, and Abbot pretends like he hasn’t been waiting for you this whole time.
“How’d it go?” he asks distantly, trying to be casual.
“Great,” you nod with a proud smile. “Like really great. There was a twisted artery, and I was the only one who caught it. I got to reroute it all on my own— It was crazy.”
Jack feels himself smiling despite himself, basking in the rays of your sunshine disposition.
“Really?” he hums, nodding once. “Good job, baby.”
You couldn’t possibly count how many times you hear that nickname on a daily basis, but it’s different coming from Jack. It’s warmer, more familiar — makes your stomach do backflips like it’s the first time you’re hearing the word from his mouth. You go dizzy accordingly, as your fingers flit across the keyboard below.
“I’m just glad I didn’t make a total fool of myself like I did the first time,” you scoff.
“Yeah, me too,” a familiar voice quips from behind you.
You glance over your shoulder and catch a glimpse of Dr. Park as he appears suddenly behind you, dropping a file on the desk next to you mid-stride. His sea salt cologne pervades your senses instantly, clashing with Jack’s softer, muskier scent.
“I thought I heard the Jaws theme playing…” the older man quips in a dry monotone.
“You should be proud, Abbot— Your resident was a star in surgery today,” Park says with a knowing smirk hinting at the very corners of his mouth, so subtle it’s barely there. “Can’t wait for her to be my protégé in the OR someday.”
Jack’s frown deepens when the man claps him hard on the shoulder as he walks back for the elevator, though not without tossing a “let me know when you need a letter of rec for that fellowship, Baby,” over his shoulder as he goes.
He watches the younger attending until he turns the corner, and looks back at you with his jaw clenched a little tighter than before. His chest sears at the distant smile on your face, as the flames of his jealousy burn white-hot behind his ribcage
“Well,” Jack hums drily after a beat of silence. “You guys are getting awfully close, aren’t you?”
You scoff like it’s funny to you, because the thought of Park the Shark liking anyone is funny to you.
“What? No,” you laugh, then shrug at the unconvinced look Jack gives you in response. “He’s just nice to me. That’s all.”
Jack lets out a sharp exhale through his nose in place of a laugh. He turns back to his computer and deadpans, “Yeah. Because he likes you.”
You open your mouth to argue.
Jack beats you to the punch.
“And I don’t blame him, either. I think it’d make me a hypocrite if I did.”
Your face flares as a red-hot heat crawls up your neck. Your adrenaline-induced confidence fades into something softer as you struggle suddenly to meet the older man’s gaze. You glance down at the chart Park left, unable to hide the small smile on your mouth when you peer at Jack again from beneath your lashes.
“Where are we going for dinner after this again?” you wonder, half-sheepish.
The expression on his scruffy face shifts slightly, less tense but mischievous still. “We aren’t,” he says and logs out of the computer.
Your eyes narrow into a suspicious squint as you watch the man round the front desk. “What happened to ‘I’ll take you somewhere nice?’”
“Yeah…” Jack nods slowly, huffing sympathetically, as his hands curl around either end of his stethoscope. “I think we’re gonna miss that reservation, baby.”
Your stomach does a backflip.
By the time you make it to Jack’s place, the adrenaline has worn off just enough to leave you pleasantly exhausted.
He can feel it in your kiss, as you straddle him on his sunken couch in the middle of his dim living room — so quiet compared to the ER that it feels like stepping into a completely different world. You prop yourself over his lap with your palms cradling his silver scruff and lick into his parted mouth in slow, languid motions.
You’ve been at it for a while now. So long that Jack can feel your spit down to his chin. You could kiss him for hours and hours and never get bored — a testament to your youth, perhaps, because Jack doesn’t think he’s made out with someone this long since he was in college.
But, for you, he keeps his head tipped back against the sofa and his mouth obediently parted, letting you kiss him however you want — for however long you want. His wide hands fidget with anticipation on either side of your bare thighs, from where your shirt rides up to your hips.
You’d changed immediately into one of his old tees when you arrived, after a shower your body had been craving all day. You smell like his body wash and lotion as you sit on his lap, running your hands down his clothed chest like soft drops of summer rain.
Your fingers brush the tie in his dark navy sweatpants, and he tenses on instinct. You don’t seem to notice, though, as you leave a trail of wet kisses down his scruffy neck.
“Are you gonna fuck me tonight?” you mumble into his pulse. “’S why we didn’t go out for dinner tonight, isn’t it? ‘Cause I’ve been thinking about it all day…”
Jack goes dizzy at your words — at the otherwise innocent mouth they spill from. His stomach warms, and he jerks back from you before he means to; his mouth wet and rosy from the intensity of your kisses.
“Yeah, fuck— Yeah, I just…” he trails off, though it’s more of a dismissal than a true affirmative. “I just gotta go to the bathroom real quick, yeah?”
“Okay,” you smile politely, unaware of his subdued panic that he’s learned to keep well-hidden. You slide off his lap and onto the other side of the couch. “Sure.”
Jack rises from the sunken sofa with a low grunt in the back of his throat. There’s a slight limp in his step from where the long day has taken a toll on his prosthetic. “Feel free to make yourself at home while I’m gone,” he tosses mindlessly over his shoulder, before he disappears down the dim hallway, making an immediate beeline for his lamplit bedroom.
There’s a bottle of sildenafil in his nightstand drawer, with only one pill taken out of it — which he thinks is somehow even more embarrassing. He’d only taken it to masturbate once, after his SSRIs plummeted his libido and he was itching for a release after a long day.
The small orange bottle feels strangely heavy in his hands now, as he tips his head back to shake one of the tiny blue pills into his mouth before he can talk himself out of it. His adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows it dry. The pills rattle faintly when he sets the bottle down beside him again.
He drops onto the edge of his bed, mattress squeaking under his weight. He rests his elbows on his knees and hunches over to dig his palms into his eyes. He tries to will himself hard for you, even though he knows that isn’t exactly how that works.
He thinks of you — all young and pretty and waiting for him out there — wasting your youth on an old man who can’t get hard to save his life. It leads to a cycle of self-hatred that prevents him from getting turned on at all. And it’s maddening.
The ajar door creaks quietly as you push it open without knocking.
You slink inside the dim bedroom and freeze at the sight of the man on the bed, like you weren’t expecting to find him there. Jack’s head whips to your form across the room and spins when he finds your underwear peeking out from the bottom of his shirt — a soft orange color patterned with dark black bats, several months out of season.
“What are you doing?” he squints teasingly, blanketed half by shadow and half by golden lamplight.
“What are you doing?” you retort. “I’ve been waiting out there forever.”
“It’s only been five minutes,” Jack scoffs.
“Yeah, tell me about it…”
You’re all but skipping to his side then, bare feet padding along the thin carpet as you go. The thin fabric of his shirt swishes around your thighs when you walk to stand between his. When you wrap your arms loosely around his neck and duck down to kiss him, Jack tips his chin back and opens his mouth to welcome you — until the open drawer beside you catches your attention, as well as the orange pill bottle sitting on the corner of the nightstand, as if he’d just pulled it out of there.
“What’s that—?”
“Nothing,” Jack answers, a little too quickly, and reaches less than casually around you to chuck the bottle into the drawer again. The pills rattle loudly in the quiet bedroom when he shoves it shut a second later.
He can tell by the look in your eyes that you’ve already gotten a glimpse of the label. Your gaze is soft with sympathy and glittering with something wild that he can’t quite place.
Jack says nothing for several long moments, and instead waits for your response.
“You don’t have to be embarrassed…” you murmur when you catch his scruffy cheeks flaring a soft pink.
“I’m not embarrassed,” he blurts, less than convincingly, eyes shifting away and back again. “I’m just… selectively unthrilled with this timing…”
Your nose scrunches at the shy smile you give him. His warm hands settle again on your waist while your fingers twist in the silver curls at the nape of his neck. Your eyes soften with something tender when you wonder shyly, “Is that why… Is that why you haven’t wanted to… you know?”
“No,” Jack answers instantly, then tilts his head to think for a moment. “Well, I mean— a little, I guess, but… I only take ‘em ‘cause of my SSRIs, you know? It’s not… It’s not because of you or anything.”
“Okay…” you nod and struggle to meet his gaze when you ask, “Do you know, like, how long it takes to kick in… or whatever?”
“Last time I tried, it took about twenty minutes—”
“Last time?” you echo with raised brows.
“I was just trying it out!” Jack defends with a crooked smile, slightly egged on by your misplaced jealousy after stewing in his own all day. “I was by myself when I took it, if that makes you feel any better.”
“It does make me feel better, actually…”
Jack’s light eyes narrow. “What’s that look for, huh?”
“Nothin’…” you lilt quietly, with a poorly hidden smile. “I just… I think it’s kinda hot… That’s all…”
His expression flickers in an instant — surprise first, suspicion second, then something darker third. A white-hot desire threads through the distant embarrassment still swimming in his stomach.
“Yeah?” he presses lowly, with a voice like honey.
“Yeah…” you nod once, unable to take your eyes off his prying stare.
He studies you for another beat, before huffing a quiet laugh of disbelief.
“You’re somethin’ else, baby, you know that?” he mumbles with a shake of his head, smoothing his calloused palms slowly up your bare thighs until they disappear under his shirt.
“I know…” you mutter on bated breath, trying and failing to be casual when you ask, “What do you wanna do then, huh? You know, for the next twenty minutes, anyway?”
You fight back a shiver when his thumb brushes over the center of the delicate mound peeking beneath the hem of your t-shirt, concealed by the thin cotton panties you wear.
Jack hears your breath catch in his throat. His darkened gaze flits from your Halloween-patterned underwear to your heavy eyes, now glazed over with a layer of honeyed desire.
summary - it’s hard to realize that “sweet” isn’t robby’s default, when that’s all he is to you. (you drag abbot into your schemes)
a/n - heeheeee this was so much fun to write. mohabbot crumbs! jack is a sweetheart, robby is an idiot then a sweetheart. rainy confession <3 does jack know the details from exes or experience? you decide. Am I even capable of writing less than 2 parts at this point? who knows. enjoy!
—
You were mean.
Just a little.
And you were sorry about it.
But really, just a little.
You knew what you wanted to do the moment Dana spilled the beans about Robby’s crush, but you took the night to “think it through” anyways. Robby was gorgeous, and smart, and nice, and gorgeous. You’d had a bit of a crush on him since the very beginning, so were by no means against dating him. That was your end goal, after all.
However.
You had no intention of making it easy for him. You’d gotten a whole history from Dana, and a reluctant Abbot, of Robby’s past flings, failed relationships, seven week itches… and you were cautious. You weren’t 25 anymore, you didn’t want a quick fuck and some deep conversations with someone who you’d pretend not to know in a month. That was in the past for you, and frankly, you thought Robby was a little old for it himself.
What you really, really wanted, more than most things, was the life you let yourself daydream about on the car ride home. You and Robby, sleeping in on slow sundays, breakfast in bed, weekend trips to secluded resorts. And, yes, eventually, ideally, a ring, a child. A big house in the suburbs.
But if he wanted it too, which Dana insisted he did, he’d have to work for it a little. Prove he was in it for the long haul.
“I’ve never seen him like this before,” said Dana over coffee one morning. “Emotional regulation? Unheard of. If he wanted a fling, he’d have made his move by now.”
You were inclined to believe her; when in doubt, always believe Dana. But that meant he was holding back because… he was scared? Flighty? Unsure? Nothing you wanted, anyhow. So you came up with a plan.
You would not swoon. You would not play his game. Asking him out would make his job too easy, so you were going to play a game of your own.
See how flustered you could make him before he snapped.
If he wanted you, he’d have to come get you. Whatever qualms he had about initiating things would either win, and end the whole thing altogether, or he’d find a way to get over them. And he’d better find a way.
After a week of pondering, or pondering pondering, you decided to start with a bang. You came in early just to be able to watch him as he walked through the door. As usual, he put his stuff away in his locker and he walked towards the steps to the roof. You pretended to be charting as he headed your way. As expected, right on time, he sent you a smile and a soft, raspy, “good morning,” that had your spine tingling. You held your ground and smiled back, batting your eyelashes a bit for good measure.
“Good morning, Michael,” you said sweetly. “Sleep well?”
He stuttered to a halt, ease dwindling from his posture. His wide doe eyes were on you, gazing like you’d just turned water into wine. You kept your breezy smile, struggling to keep any mirth from your eyes. He looked like a startled squirrel, holding his coffee to his chest and gaping at you, still as a statue. You cocked your head to the side.
“Are you alright?” you asked, furrowing your brow accordingly.
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Feigning real worry, you stood and circled the desk to reach him, and stood just an inch too close. His ears turned pink.
“You — uh, yeah,” he stammered. “You… I’m fine.”
He was really blushing now, and you used it to your advantage, feeling downright giddy.
“Are you sure?” you asked, raising a hand and placing the back of it against his cheek. “You look a little flushed. You feel warm, too.”
For a split second, you could feel him leaning into your touch, before he came to his senses and snapped his head back, taking several steps away from you. His grip on his travel mug was white-knuckled. He cleared his throat.
“Just a little warm in here, is all,” he said, already turning around. “Gonna head to the roof for some fresh air.”
You let your smirk rise only as he disappeared up the stairs. Mission certainly accomplished.
Throughout the rest of his shift, you took any opportunity to call him Michael. You enjoyed it, it felt right on your lips. You couldn’t wait until you worked up to Mikey. For now, you first-named him everywhere, no matter who was around: during a trauma, rounds, over lunch in the staff lounge.
“Will you hand me that ten blade, Michael?”
“Michael, I think I’m all set here.”
“Thank you so much, Michael, you’re so sweet!”
And each time, he’d sputter something barely legible, and run away. Usually leaving you to deal with the stunned stares of whoever witnessed it. You were pretty sure Whitaker had started avoiding staying in the same room as you two.
After a few days, Robby started to adjust. He’d barely double take when you talked, just put on a smile, and answered your many questions. So you decided it was time for something new.
He was leaning against the counter at the nurse’s station, talking to Perlah about the Penguins game last night. You grabbed a chart and sidled over, excitement thrumming in your veins. He turned his head as you approached, smile finding his lips almost at once.
“Michael, I just wanted to run this by you…”
As you talked, you slid a hand onto the back of his arm. An innocent hand, on an innocent limb. He tensed immediately. You worked hard to keep your face neutral, and eyes down on the chart, though you’d give anything to see the look on his face as he processed what you’d just done.
You weren’t sure you’d seen him do more than shake hands with anyone other than Abbot. It showed, you thought, as you finished your spiel and looked up into his eyes. He wasn’t looking at you, wasn’t looking at the chart — just staring, technically at the bobblehead at Dana’s station, though you didn’t think he was registering it. He was taking slow deep breaths.
You gave him a second, to see if he’d speak, or move, or do anything. He didn’t seem aware you had asked a question.
It was Perlah who broke the silence, clearing her throat loudly and making him jolt. He looked around like he was just realizing where he was. You raised your eyebrows. He flushed. He did that a lot these days.
“What?” he said stupidly. “Oh, yes, yes that’s — right.”
He stared daggers at the tablet.
“So, do you think I should call surgery, or…?”
He scratched the back of his neck, something you knew he did when he was stressed.
“You know what, why — why don’t I just take a closer look,” he said, grabbing the ipad. “I’ll think it over. Get back to you.”
Before you could open your mouth, he had turned on his heel and power walked away. You could still see the back of his neck burning red as he turned the corner, nearly bumping into Garcia as he sped by. She gave him a look over her shoulder as she approached you.
“What’s up with him?” she asked, popping gum.
“Lots,” you shrugged. “Thanks for coming down so fast.”
Perlah let out a laugh.
“You already called surgery?” she asked. “Why’d you have to torture the poor guy?”
You just winked at her as you led Garcia to South 2.
The touching seemed to be harder for Robby to acclimate to. He did get less tense after a while, didn’t bring his shoulders to his ears every time your hand brushed his back, or his wrist. But then he started leaning into it. Only for a second, but unmistakably. After one instance where you touched his wrist, and your thumb not-so-accidentally brushed over his tattoo, he actually shivered.
You were pretty sure that was when he became aware of his unconscious reactions to your touch, because after that, he started tensing up again.
“Not that I don’t support whatever… this is,” said Jack one early morning, after watching you send Robby running in the other direction with a bump of your back against his chest. “But what is the goal, exactly?”
“I’ll tell you, Jack,” you said, hopping up to sit on the counter, next to where his elbows rested. “I refuse to ask him out. So, I’m going to get worse and worse until he sacks up and does it himself. Kinda thought it would be over by now, to be honest.”
It had been weeks. You had been hoping he’d ask you out by Valentines Day, but it was already early February.
Jack hummed thoughtfully.
“Well, if you can find a way to scratch his head, do it,” he said. “He can’t resist.”
You gave him a suspicious look.
“How do you know that?”
He sighed tiredly.
“I know more than I’d like to,” he said resignedly. “Do you want the tips or not?”
You’d take anything. So, the next time you caught him taking a break, you approached with some friendly smalltalk. Then went for it.
“Oh, Michael,” you said, fixing your eyes on the top of his head. “I think you have some fuzz, or something, in your hair. Here.”
You placed your hands on his shoulders and gently pushed him into an office chair behind him. He didn’t fight it, even as you stepped a bit too close, knees knocking his. As you ran the first hand through his hair, you felt him take a sharp breath, then exhale slowly. You ran another hand through it unnecessarily, but then, the whole thing was unnecessary. You were picking imaginary lint out of his hair.
He needed a trim, and you could practically smell the 3-in-1 shampoo. That would be the first thing to fix when this was all over. Honestly, you’d need to fix that even if you were never anything but friends.
Thank you, Jack, you thought as you glanced down and saw his eyes were closed. His shoulders even looked less tense as you raked your fingers through his hair. Looking for lint was becoming implausible, at that point, but you were pretty sure he was too blissed out to notice, so you kept going.
Biting back a smile, you leaned in close by pretense of checking the back of his head. You swept a hand over it once or twice, letting him take in the perfume you sprayed that morning. You didn’t often use perfume; you weren’t supposed to, in case of allergies, but you figured breaking a rule once in a while wasn’t the end of the world.
“You really need some dryer sheets,” you said innocently, pulling back.
At your words, his eyes snapped open. He suddenly looked embarrassed. You couldn’t imagine why.
“Thanks —” his throat caught, and he cleared it. “Thanks for… checking. Getting it. Fixing it.”
You decided to go overkill.
“No problem, handsome,” you winked.
You walked away before he could go into cardiac arrest.
***
Still nothing.
You’d managed to work the hair thing twice more. Once after he hit his head on a shelf, once after he finally got that haircut. He didn’t respond well either time. Well, “well” as in for the workplace, that is. You couldn’t help but think that if that’s what he looked like after a scalp massage — eyes glazed over, practically purring — what could you get him to look like with your hands in other places?
It was a nice thought, one crossing your mind a lot these days, but it didn’t matter if he never made a move.
“I hate your best friend,” you grumbled, coming in early to catch Jack at hand offs. You were pretty sure Robby wasn’t even in yet.
“Not budging?” he asked. “Still?”
You shook your head.
“Wow. He must really like you.”
You scoffed.
“Why do you say that?” you asked. “Because he refuses to ask me out?”
“It means he’s afraid of screwing up,” he said, logging out of the computer and turning his full attention to you.
You smiled halfheartedly.
“That’s a nice thought,” you said, patting his forearm gratefully. “I don’t know if it’s true, though.”
“Well, Dana thinks it's true,” he said. “And Dana’s always right.”
Your smile turned more genuine.
“Yeah,” you conceded. “She did say you and Samira had chemistry, and she was right about that.”
Jack might have been a gruff, unshakable bastard, but he was also a ginger, once upon a time. And nothing could hide the blush flaring in his cheeks, red as his hair once was. Your grin turned a little teasing, and you chuckled.
“I think that’s enough outta you,” he said.
“Aw, c’mon,” you said in a low voice. “I think it’s sweet. Really!”
He chuckled from pure embarrassment, one hand coming up to drag down his face.
The moment was broken as a clatter sounded obnoxiously next to you. Robby was in, and he seemed to find it necessary to all but slam his bag onto the counter, motorcycle helmet clanging against the formica.
You raised your brows, glancing at Jack, who matched your expression. Robby had seemed in a better mood as of late, and usually greeted you with a fluffy, borderline shy smile. Right now, his face looked about as expressive as a slate of pavement. Eye brows and mouth in a straight line alike, hands working roughly to free his glasses from his bag pocket. He didn’t even look at you, and barely mumbled a goodmorning.
Then it hit you, slowly, then all at once.
Robby was jealous.
You looked down. You and Jack both had your elbows resting on the counter, leaning towards each other, heads close and talking quietly. When Robby finally turned towards you, his eyes landed too long on the hand you had over Jack’s arm. His expression darkened almost imperceptibly.
“Can you head to the kitchen accident in four?” he asked you, sounding like he was trying hard not to be short. “Dr. Abbot should be getting home soon.”
You smiled wickedly, turning to meet Jack’s stunned expression. When his eyes locked on to yours, they were confused. As he noticed your positively giddy, albeit slightly manic, look, confusion morphed into hesitation.
You knew it was probably a bad idea, but you were desperate. And this was the most action you’d seen from Robby yet. It seemed you’d finally found the key breaking him.
You slid your hand up to his, and swiped your thumb back and forth over his knuckles in parting. You leaned even closer to him, and spoke in your best sultry voice.
“I’ll see you later, yeah?”
Abbot blinked. You could practically feel Robby’s temperature rising.
“Um, yeah,” he said.
Sweet Abbot. Sweet, innocent Jack, swept up in this game whether he wanted to be or not.
“Great,” you whispered.
Then you headed off to four, skip in your step. You didn’t need to see Robby’s face to know he was fuming, and as you glanced back over your shoulder, you saw Abbot making quick work of packing up. You sent him a wink. His shoulders fell, and you knew he finally understood. And that there was no getting out of it.
***
“This is a horrible idea,” said Abbot.
You were up on the roof the next morning. You hadn’t been quiet as you asked Dana where he was, then made a show of heading to the stairs, all while Robby was watching.
“This is the only idea I have,” you said.
You were resting against the railing next to him. You wouldn’t let him go past it right to the edge. You screeched like a threatened bird and ushered him back. Heights were not your favorite.
He rubbed his eyes.
“I don’t want Robby thinking I’m going after his girl,” he said.
You held up a finger.
“I’m not his girl,” you said sharply. “That’s the problem. Your friend is one stubborn asshole. And you want to fix it, right?”
He huffed.
“He knows I know,” he said. “About his feelings.”
“Have you talked about it?”
“Not specifically, but —”
“Then you have plausible deniability!” you said simply. “Look, I’d hate to do this, but if you throw me under the bus on this one, I’m telling Samira you have a micropenis.”
He shook his head in disbelief. You’d never really, and he knew that, but it worked.
“Fine,” he said, resigned to his fate. “What do you want me to do?”
You grinned.
“You have the day off tomorrow, right?” He nodded. “So do I. All you need to do is come back tonight and pick me up.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it,” you said. “For all anyone knows, you’re just being a friend and doing me a favor. But Robby’s gonna jump to conclusions.”
Abbot rubbed a stressed hand through his curls.
“If this goes sideways…”
“I’ll take full responsibility.”
Without another word, he patted your arm and tried to walk away. You hurried after him, falling into stride.
“We have to walk down together,” you said like it was obvious. “He watched me come up to find you.”
You could tell he wasn’t thrilled, as he didn’t say a word to you on the way down. But he let you be touchy as you parted ways, with Robby watching.
“See you at seven!” you chirped.
He grunted unhappily and left.
You could feel Robby’s eyes on you frequently throughout the shift. He was still civil, but he had the slightest bit of an edge. It seemed you were seeing some of the bitchy Robby everyone else dealt with. You took it in stride. You’d straighten him out soon enough.
You’d tried to give him sugar. You’d flirted left and right, winked, touched him, called him pet names — but if he wanted it sour, sour he would get.
You made sure to stay on top of your charting as the patients passed, to make sure you’d be out by seven. Still, it was about half past when you were finally logging out of the computer and stretching. You stood, to make sure Robby, chatting with Donnie nearby, would see the sliver of your waist as your scrub top lifted. He was like a Victorian man seeing an ankle with those types of things.
You were surprised to see Jack strolling up to the hub. He was dressed in street clothes, some joggers and a bomber over a white t-shirt. He looked good. You really had to push Samira more.
You strolled casually over to meet him, leaning close. He looked well rested.
“Look who it is,” you said with a smile.
“You were taking longer than you predicted,” he said quietly. “I got worried and came in to check on you.”
You placed a hand to your heart.
“What a gentleman,” you swooned.
“Right,” he chuckled. “You ready to go?”
“Almost.”
You packed up your bag, and out of the corner of your eye you could see Robby trying desperately to act as though he wasn’t sneaking glances your way. You straightened up, feeling satisfied, and followed Jack outside, shoulders brushing.
Jack Abbot was nice. He was stable. He went to therapy, and he had a sensible SUV, not a death machine. It probably would have been much easier for you to have fallen for him instead. But you hadn't.
“He did not look happy,” said Jack as you drove through downtown in the direction of your apartment.
“He needs to learn healthy expressions of frustration,” you said. “He’ll be fine.”
“There was practically steam coming out of his ears.”
“We’ll work on it when this plan breaks him,” you said.
“Romantic,” Jack deadpanned.
You stuck your tongue out at him.
It was a good thing you had this plan, for more reason than one, you thought, as the light drizzle turned steadily into a torrential downpour. You’d taken the bus so you didn’t have to leave your car at work, and you would have been soaked taking it home.
You thanked Jack again and rushed inside, quickly removing your now damp scrubs for some pajama pants and a Dolly Parton t-shirt. After getting your greedy cat some dinner to stop her yelling, you heated yourself up a bag of frozen orange chicken and rice.
You sat down with some Bob’s Burgers and a glass of red, toweling your hair as you waited for your food to cool down. The cat was just snuggling up in your lap, no doubt hoping to catch some dropped chicken, when there was a short knock on your door.
You were yelled at again as you stood, throwing the towel aside. Your bones practically creaked as you made your way to the front. It was probably sweet Mrs. Papakirk, looking to borrow some flour, or ask you to fix her thermostat again.
But when you swung the door open, you didn’t see the little five foot tall lady.
You saw Robby.
He was wearing a raincoat, but his cargo pants were almost completely soaked, and his hair was plastered to his forehead. His eyes emanated a multitude of emotions, but the hurt was most prominent. Or maybe you were just seeing things.
“Michael,” you said, shocked but soft. “What are you —”
“Am I too late?” he asked.
Despite his 6’1 stature looming high, he looked a little small, wet and shaking. You furrowed a brow.
“Too late?”
“I —” he hesitated as a neighbor brushed past, shooting the two of you quizzical looks.
You grabbed his frigid hand and pulled him inside, closing the door on nosy listeners. He was creating a puddle on your rug, but you didn’t want to take his coat until you knew what he came here to say. Your heart was racing.
“I — I should have said something sooner,” he said.
You had to strain your ears to hear him. He was looking deeply into your eyes. You fidgeted, rubbing a socked foot over your shin, arms crossed. You realized you probably looked ridiculous, exhausted and ready for bed.
“Said what?” you asked, more softly still.
He swallowed thickly, and licked his lips.
“I should have asked you out,” he admitted. “You are probably — definitely — the most beautiful, skilled, intelligent woman I’ve ever met. It’s just… I haven’t felt this way about somebody in a long time.”
You weren’t sure what to say to that. You knew he liked you, sure. You had anticipated this moment, of course. But nothing could have prepared you for the heartbreakingly genuine, quiet confession he just gave you. You stayed silent for a bit too long.
“I thought… I thought you…” he huffed. “I thought you liked me, kind of. You made it seem like you did. I mean, I thought. But then” — he sucked his teeth, a hint of annoyance creeping in — “then I saw you with Abbot. I don’t know if you two…”
He rubbed a hand over his mouth.
“I don’t know what’s going on between you two,” he said, slower. “But, I figured I should come clean.”
At that moment, you heard a commotion from the living room, your fork clattering to the floor.
“Eloise!” you scolded, rushing to stop her. “No!”
You grabbed her just as she grabbed a piece of chicken in her mouth. You heaved her up into her arms. She didn’t even look guilty as she gulfed it down, licking sauce from her fur. You sighed heavily, burying your face in her white fluff. When you turned around, Robby was standing awkwardly at the entrance, looking anywhere but your face.
You plopped the cat down on the couch and moved the plate safely out of her reach. Then you walked over to Robby and took off his coat. He just watched as you hung it on the rack.
“Let’s have some tea,” you said, walking into the kitchen and expecting him to follow.
He did. You put the kettle on and set two bags of chamomile into two mugs. When you turned back to him, he was still standing uncomfortably. You patted a chair, and as he sat, you grabbed your discarded towel from the couch and returned. You gave his hair a nice rub, hoping to work some tension from his shoulders. It worked a little, but when you grabbed the tea and sat down across from him, his eyes were still wide open and looking at you.
You couldn’t help but smile at the way his hair stuck up in every direction, still damp from rain. You took a sip of tea and placed your chin in your hand.
“There is nothing going on between Jack and me,” you said. “We’re just friends.”
Robby raised a brow.
“But — I thought —”
“So you did notice the flirting, too?” you asked, leaning forward.
His expression was quite the picture. He stuttered for a while, then finally landed on:
“Huh?”
You smiled.
“I did like you,” you said, “do like you. And I was flirting. I wasn’t exactly shy about it.”
Pink tinged his cheeks. He took a sip of tea just to have something to do.
“Oh.”
“Oh,” you parroted. “I was waiting for you to ask me out. Jesus, it's been weeks. Why didn’t you?”
He opened and closed his mouth a couple times, then laughed self deprecatingly.
“To be honest, I was waiting for it to pass,” he said.
“But it didn’t?”
He gave you a sugary sweet smile.
“Not even a little bit. It’s actually gotten — I think I like you more every day.”
He spun his mug nervously, long fingers bending around it. You watched him do it fondly. Your heart was swelling more with each word he spoke.
“Michael,” you said seriously. “Before I do what I’m about to do, I need to know one thing.”
He nodded, confused.
“I need to know if this is real for you,” you said. “I’m too old for flings. I want something real. Will you be able to give me that?”
As he straightened instantly in his seat, and you thought, humorously, with you on opposite sides of the table, it was like an interview. A boyfriend interview. You were pretty sure his odds were good.
“Honey, that’s all I want,” he said, desperately.
With that, you were in front of him. Placing one knee on the chair, between his legs, you grabbed his face and kissed him. He sighed into it, wrapping his arms tighter around your waist until you were practically straddling his lap.
You gripped the back of his hair and tugged. He let his head fall back with a whine, and the kiss deepened. You were so lost in the feeling of him, and he of you, that you almost didn’t notice as the chair began tipping backwards.
“Woah!”
Robby jolted forward, steadying his feet on the ground and holding you close, one hand on your head. You couldn’t help giggling. He chuckled too, nipping at your neck. You sighed contentedly. Then you put your hands on his shoulders and pulled back.
“Stay,” you whispered.
He looked wonderful like this. His pupils were dilated, lips kissbitten. You were sure you looked the same. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip.
“If you want me to,” he said.
You stood up and pulled him with you.
“You need to change out of those pants,” you said.
He looked down at his damp legs.
“Into what?”
You hummed, intertwining your fingers with his and walking backwards towards your bedroom. You were pretty sure your bed was unmade, and there was a considerable amount of laundry to be done, but you didn’t care. Michael Robinavitch was in front of you, pecking your lips. Neither of you had anything to do tomorrow. You could stay in bed all day.
PLEEEAAAASE mama let me get more langdon x Mel x reader IM BEGGING
✉️ wow I love being bisexual & having the urge to slut myself out to the pitt characters <3 (btw, I'm not hopping off my lesbian Mel agenda don't fret)
demure! threesome/poly activities but nothing's established, vv ambiguous w the relationship but I do picture lesbian Mel & divorced Langdon, oral (m!receiving, f!receiving), face fucking, mentions of gag reflexes, fingering (f!receiving), p in v unprotected sex, creampies, so much public sex, exhibitionism, clit play, free use, Langdon is kind of mean?, questionable consent, finger sucking, implications that reader is younger, Langdon calls reader 'kid', they're both obsessed <3, nurse reader, not proofread wc 1.5k 18+ MEN & MDNI
okay… walk with me…
Thinking about being Langdon’s go-to nurse. He says he doesn’t pick favorites. That anything like that would: “affect patient care too much,” (as if he’s not just trying to earn scraps of Robby’s approval by leaning into the whole team player thing), but he definitely does pick and choose when it comes to you. Partly because you’re smart. Partly because you’re pretty. Part of him likes that you’re young, one that he doesn’t like to lean into. Mostly, he just claims that you’re always there. Right place and time. As if he’s not waving a hand to you across the central nurse’s station when a new trauma rolls in or deliberately watching to see which bays you enter and exit to take vitals. No, it's the right place and time.
Right place and time when things get to be too much. Too many people looking for him, and too much being demanded, and he has too much energy, and he knows altogether he could crash and snap any second. He just needs to get his mind off things, and you just happen to be in the break room, having found a spare moment to eat half of a breakfast bar. You offer him one, blueberry and lemon, and he can’t even remember if he says anything in response as he rounds just a bit behind the chair you’re sitting in. Langdon will forever remember how soft your skin felt against his palm as he gripped your jaw, tilted your head back to press against his stomach and forced two fingers from his other hand down your throat.
Wanting to see if you would let him do whatever he pleased. Testing how rough he could be. See if you would gag.
And you let him do a lot.
Because that interaction ends with you under the break room table, knees sore against the tile as he sits in the chair you were just in and fucks your mouth. Good stress relief, the way you drool around him and blink up at him with teary eyes. Langdon struggles to stay quiet, his own eyes squeezing shut every now and then as he tilts his head back when you manage to suck his cock softly. Every time he pushes your head down until you frantically tap at his thigh to signal it’s too much. He lets it pass this first time, cause, well, it’s the first time this is happening, but it’s something you’ll have to work on later. Cause your throat feels so warm, and you're just letting yourself be used so abruptly that Langdon's convinced that you must’ve been thinking about this. That you must've always wanted this. The idea has him panting against his free hand as he cums, fisting your hair to keep you where he wants as he rides out his high.
He’s sweet after–helping you up and fixing your hair for you. Feeding you that second breakfast bar and getting some water down your sore throat with soft praises being murmured. “Knew you’d do anything to be my favorite, yeah? Don’t have to do much, kid, ‘Ve always liked you.” He leaves you at the table with a drag of his thumb against the seam of your mouth, returning to work and spiraling through the ER as if nothing had happened.
The next time it happens, he’s fucking you in an empty trauma bay room. Neither of you gets to finish cause Langdon sees McKay walk by. He makes up for it by fingering you under the counter when you sit next to him while charting a few days later. The first time he cums inside of you, it’s in one of the on-call rooms after a particularly hard shift. He’d said he needed to get off before having to go home. Needed to see your face and remember what it sounded like when you’re trying to be quiet when he makes you feel good. You take the bus back to your apartment with his release leaking out of you, a dirty secret that turns you on beyond belief as it soaks into your panties.
It becomes a thing for the both of you. Langdon searches you out when things get too much. You like it, gives you something to be distracted over in part-time hell that is the Pitt, and he likes you.
Enter: Mel King.
She and Langdon hit it off right away. He listens to her, supports her, and recognizes her little tells that not many others would pick up on. She trusts him quite easily. Thinks he’s funny and easy to talk to, but what she notices more is that you’re close to him. And she doesn’t exactly hit it off with you, but it’s not your fault. It’s hers. Because, wow, she’s never met someone like you in her life, and it drives her crazy that you’re so doting over her–making sure she’s adjusting well and having someone to talk to and having a life outside of the hospital (she doesn’t, unless you count downloading Instagram for the first time to stalk your account). It makes her trip over her words and get all red and awkward, but you never act like it. You just smile at her, giggle in a way that even she can tell is not poking fun, but has a certain kind of fondness to it.
So, she has a crush on the pretty, young nurse. Big deal.
But she’s friends with Langdon, and she notices how close you and Langdon are.
And what kind of a friend and mentor would Langdon be if he didn’t let his new favorite resident in on the secret that was his favorite form of stress relief in those pesky, overwhelming moments?
The first time, he just lets her watch when he asks you to get medication for him. He gestures for Mel to come along too, and when he positions her to stand between you and the doorway, her mouth almost drops at how easily you let him tuck his hands into your scrub bottoms to play with your clit while you fumble with your badge. Mel’s all wide-eyed, line of vision never leaving your face as you let out a tiny gasp that she’ll be thinking about in her shower later that night. How big Langdon’s hand looks over your mouth as he keeps you quiet while you cum against the pads of his fingers. How you taste when Langdon pushes those two fingers into her mouth briefly.
“Use her if y’want, she’s not very good at staying quiet, though.”
After that, it doesn’t take Mel much longer to take after Langdon. She’s surprisingly more strict than him. He loves the thrill, but he’s honestly sweet. Rough in the moment and condescending, but you can tell he cares. Mel gets desperate, and there are times you can tell she’s taking a moment to get her head between your thighs cause she’s overstimulated, but you notice that it’s almost always more focused on you rather than her. Langdon likes you, but you think Mel might be in love with you. You, or your pussy.
Cause she’s taking advantage of you multiple times a week.
Grinding against your thigh and slotting one of hers between yours in the stall of the women’s bathroom. Kissing at the corner of your jaw any moment the two of you are alone. Dragging the curtain of a trauma bay shut to get you off with her fingers. Mumbling a little: “One taste– Always makes me feel better, please–” even as her fingers are already undoing your scrub bottoms. She’s insatiable. You can hardly walk past her without her trailing after you like a puppy dog. Like she picks up one whiff of your perfume and suddenly forgets whatever task she was doing. And she expects you to drop whatever it is you’re doing for her, too. Cause you do it for Langdon, so you should do it for her too.
It’s most fun when they’re together, though.
When Langdon fucks you, keeping one hand on your arm to guide you gently, doing quite a bit of work to keep you steady as he passes you off to Mel in the hallway so she can eat you out where you’re still dripping with his cum. Bounding up to them when they’re huddled around a counter to listen in on whatever they’re talking about, but it’s just them trying to figure out when they’re both gonna be free to fuck you that day <3 Hiding in a supply closet to jerk him off while Mel fingers you from behind <3 Making her kiss him just to see Langdon get excited from tasting you on her tongue <3 Sending them an explicit photo to see who gets to you first <3 Just a girl having fun <3
You don’t know how they manage to get any work done, but it’s not your concern. Probably should start seeing them outside of the PTMC, cause they’re friends, but they obviously trip over themselves to please you, and it’s just so addictive… Yum.
soft bf!dean who yearns for sweet romance and innocent intimacy ₊⊹
⊹ ࣪ ˖ dean never realized how much he craved sweet intimacy until you spent a whole night laying by his side on the hard matress of a motel bed, bodies facing each other as you whispered heartfelt confessions against the warmth of his skin.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ dean always holds your hand while driving, occasionally placing soft kisses on your knuckles as he listens to the soothing sound of your voice.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ whenever he came back to you after a stressful hunt, he often found himself toying with your favorite ring as you held his hand, waiting for him to tell about his day. now, whenever he's away and his mind wanders to you, his fingers wrap around your ring, that is now dangling off his necklace, smiling as if you were with him.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ dean fights sleep just to spend more time with you. even when he's clearly sleepy, he'll find a way to keep you near him. he doesn't mind laying in uncomfortable positions, he'd even ignore the numbness of his arm if that means you will stay awake with him just for a few more minutes.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ dean keeps his hands on you at all times. he loves to caress your cheeks when you look up at him, or even squish them together until your lips form an exaggerated pout, kissing them delicately before fully melting into you.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ if he happens to wake up before you, he will stay there in complete silence, watching your relaxed features as he slowly threads his fingers through your hair. after a few minutes, he'd lean in carefully before peppering soft kisses all over your face to wake you up.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ dean keeps polaroids of you in his car. one of them is a picture of you he'd taken after you forcefully woke him up at 5 a.m to watch the sunrise. it shows you, sitting on the hood of his car with the cutest smile on your face, his jacket wrapped around you.
the second one is a picture of you both at a halloween party that sam took while you were kissing, clearly amused by your sudden display of affection. despite the amount of alcohol you both drank that night, dean was fast enough to cover your faces with his ridiculously big cowboy hat.
he loves those pictures more than anything, and stares at them everytime he misses you.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ dean usually doesn't care much about classic litterature but slowy starts to find an interest in it after he hears you talk about your favorite books. one time, after a hunt, he came back to you with a bag full of books, ones that you have previously mentionned as 'on your tbr'.
you'd sometimes quietly laugh at him as he calls your books boring, before reminding him how he willingly spent an entire evening with his head on your lap, listening to you read out loud as you played with his hair.
notes/warnings: written to fulfill a request. Noelle is the bad guy in this one, for reasons. She's called a bitch more than once but it's deserved here. Flangst, my favorite.
wc: 3.1k
It had been a long day.
Not a bad day necessarily, just one where everything seemed to take twice as long as it should. You glanced at the clock as you finished discharging a young boy who’d come in with a broken arm. Seven was creeping ever closer. Tommy lifted his lime green cast in a wave goodbye as he headed out the door with his parents. You waved back with a small smile then sighed and headed to the hub to see where you could help. Mateo had arrived early for his shift and you’d already handed all your patients off to him. You wondered if you could talk Robby into takeout and shitty TV. You didn’t work tomorrow, but he did so he was just as likely to want to go home and crash.
The familiar form of Noelle Hastings striding across the department snagged your attention as she made a beeline for the family of Benito Rodriguez. Benny had arrived with a simple infection that quickly went septic. He was underinsured and Noelle had been down pressing for him to be sent home before the sepsis set in. Once that had happened, she realized observation had been the wisest course of action. He was still waiting for a bed upstairs in the ICU.
You had never gotten along with the woman and sincerely wished Robby had chosen anyone else on the planet to fuck. But apparently even Noelle Hastings was a better choice than you. You shoved the thought aside and crossed the floor to Rodriguez family. You moved faster when you heard what she was saying.
“With your son going septic, the possibility for long term disability increases. In that case, he would qualify for Medicaid and they will pick up the bulk of the costs.”
“Miss Hastings,” you said, voice low and sharp.
She held up a hand inches from your face and you barely resisted the urge to shove it away. “I just wanted to let you know because I am aware there were concerns about the bill. I thought it would relieve some of your worry.”
Yeah, you gave into that urge and pushed her hand down out of your face. Noelle snapped her attention to you with a scowl. “Did you just put your hand on me?”
You leaned forward and lowered your voice. “This is not the place for this conversation and it is certainly not the time. I realize compassion is in short supply where you’re concerned but give it a try. Who knows, you might find you like it.”
You turned to the family you’d been working with all day and gave them a soft smile. “I am so sorry about this. Why don’t we get you back to Benny. They said they should have a spot for him upstairs within the hour.” You turned your back on the case manager and directed the couple back to their son’s room. Once you made certain they didn’t need anything else, you headed back out.
You needed to find Robby. This was not acceptable in any way, shape, or form. And he needed to find another situationship. You really couldn’t stomach this one any longer. Your eyes scanned the halls as you looked for him. You slowed as you neared an open room and heard Noelle say your name. You caught of glimpse of them behind the poorly closed curtain.
“Not this again.” Robby sounded exasperated.
“She’s jealous of me, Michael. Of our relationship.”
Robby ran a hand down his face. “She’s not like that.”
“Do you really think she’s happy being on the sidelines all the time?” Noelle gave him a tight smile. When Robby just stared at her without saying anything, she continued. “She picked a fight with me in front of a patient’s family. I simply trying to talk to them about what they could expect when she snapped and called me unprofessional. She put her hands on me, Michael.”
Robby put his hands on her upper arms and rubbed slightly. “Calm down, okay? I’ll talk to her about it.”
A lump formed in your throat and you hurried away before they noticed you. I’ll talk to her. He was just going to take Noelle at her word without even discussing it with you? You thought he knew you better than that. Maybe things were more serious with Noelle than you’d let yourself believe. You needed to get out of here. To have a minute to get your head together before you had to sit in a car with your best friend and pretend you didn’t hate his current fuckbuddy.
Your hands trembled slightly as you grabbed your bag from your locker. You hurried over to Dana at the hub. She looked up as you approached, her smile immediately fading. Her eyes ran over you searching for a physical reason for your obvious distress. “Hey, you okay?”
You shook your head once and swallowed hard. “I’m not feeling the greatest. Would it be alright if I went ahead and left? I need the air and I’ve already handed off to Mateo.”
She studied you for another moment. “You sure you don’t need someone to do a workup on you? Make sure you’re not coming down with anything?”
You gave her the best smile you could muster. “I’ll be okay. I’m off tomorrow. I’ll rest. Promise.”
“Alright, hun. Go ahead.” Her gaze stayed locked on you until you disappeared through the bay doors.
You found Robby’s SUV in the parking lot and leaned against the side, waiting for him to come out. Closing your eyes, you breathed in the cool evening air to settle your nerves. It worked right up until you heard Noelle shout your name.
Your eyes flew open and you watched her storm across the parking lot in your direction. “You know that it’s your fault no one can get close to Robby, don’t you? You’re why no one ever sticks around. You are always in the fucking way.” You said nothing, your chest tight as she stopped in front of you and leaned into your space. “If you actually cared about him, you’d back the fuck off because he is never going to love you the way you want him to.”
Tears welled in your eyes and you hated yourself for it. Hated for letting her know that she’d gotten to you, that her words had hit where you were the most tender.
Jack hurried across the parking lot to where Noelle was accosting you. He’d been nearly in the building for his shift when he heard her yell your name. And he’d every word since. What a bitch. “Is there a problem here?” he snapped as soon as he was close enough to not cause an even bigger scene.
“Of course not,” Noelle said with a sneer. “Everything is fucking perfect.” Jack’s gaze trailed her as she stomped off, making sure she didn’t double back.
When he returned his attention to you, his heart sunk. Tears ran down your face as your shoulders shook. It was that silent sobbing that all health care workers seemed to perfect over their time in the field. “Hey, hey.” He stepped forward to pull you into his arms, kissing the side of your head. You’d been his friend for a very long time. “She’s gone. You’re okay.”
You shook your head, even as you clung to him. “No. I don’t think I am. She wasn’t wrong, Jack. I’m always around him. We’re always together. Am I the reason he doesn’t have anyone? Am I the reason he’s alone?” A wretched, broken sound left you.
Jack put his hands on your upper arms and leaned back to look at you. “Robby is not alone. He has us. Watching shitty TV with you and drinking beers over takeout is exactly where he wants to be. Trust me.”
You shook your head and let out another sob even as you tried to wipe away the tears. It was a futile gesture.
“Come inside with me, huh? We’ll get you cleaned up and Robby will take you home.”
You took a step back away from him. “No. I don’t…no.”
His eyes moved from you to the car behind you and back. “Did you ride with Robby today?” He wanted to make sure you weren’t going to try to drive in this condition.
You swallowed and nodded. “But I think I’m just going to walk home. Can you let him know?” You were attempting to sound stronger than you were but the tremble in your bottom lip gave you away.
“I don’t want you walking alone. At least let me order you a car. Or hell, I’ll drive you. Robby can cover until I get back.”
You wrapped your arms around yourself as you shook your head. “I’ll be fine, Jack. I need the air. Thanks for…” you gestured aimlessly. “For all that, I guess.”
You refused to look at him again as you headed toward the sidewalk that would lead you home. He called after you, but you kept walking without looking back. Shit.
He hurried into the hospital, beelining for Robby who frowned and checked his watch when he saw Jack. “You’re running late. I was getting worried.”
“We need to talk,” Jack said lowly as he walked past, heading to the lounge. He heard Robby fall into step with him but didn’t glance at him. Once they were in the room with the door shut behind them, Jack dropped his bag on the table and raked a hand through his hair as he paced the floor. He needed to calm down before he tried to relay everything to Robby.
Finally, Robby told him to get on with it because you were waiting for him.
Jack huffed a breath. “Actually, she’s not. She walked home.”
Robby straightened. “And you let her?”
“She’s a whole ass adult, Robinavitch. Wasn’t any stopping her unless I kidnapped her and that sort of thing is frowned upon.”
Robby started for the door. “Let’s get handover done so I can make sure she made it home okay.”
“Not yet. You need to know what I walked up on in the parking lot.”
Robby licked his lips and gave a slow nod. “Okay.”
“Noelle Hastings had her cornered by your car. She said some pretty nasty things. Bad enough your girl was sobbing by the end of it,” Jack said, because you were Robby’s girl whether either of you wanted to admit it or not.
Pure white-hot fury flooded Robby’s body. How dare Noelle even look at you, let alone upset you to the point you cried. He was fucking furious at the audacity. “What did Hastings say to her, Jack?”
Jack ran his tongue over his teeth then sighed. “That she was the reason no one could get close to you. That it was her fault no one stayed around.” He hesitated, then added, “That you would never love her the way she wanted you to.”
Jesus fucking Christ. Fucking Noelle. Robby should have known better than to ever sleep with her. The fact that you disliked her should have been enough of a deterrent. Robby ran both hands over his beard and hissed through his teeth. “That fucking bitch.”
“What set her off anyway?” Jack asked.
Robby sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Noelle caught me just before the end of shift claiming our favorite nurse had picked a fight, put her hands on her. You and I both know that’s bullshit but I told her I’d talk to her anyway just to get Noelle to drop it. That wasn’t good enough. Said I had to pick between them. So, I did.”
Jack ran his gaze over Robby then shook his head. “You know this isn’t the first time one of your ‘friends’ has made that ultimatum and you always pick her.”
“Of course I do,” Robby said with no hesitation.
Jack raised his brows. “Never occurred to you to do otherwise?”
Where was he going with this? Robby shook his head once, emphatically. “No, why would it.”
Jack’s eyes closed as he appeared to be praying for patience. “I don’t suppose it ever occurred to you that you’re in love with her?”
Robby studied him for a long moment before sighing, shoulders slumping in defeat. “Of course, I am, man. Why wouldn’t I be?” He’d been in love you almost from the first moment he met you.
A beat passed then another, Jack just staring at him.
“What does it matter, Jack? I can’t risk losing her. She’s the only thing that keeps me going.” Robby sounded so defeated he hoped it would be enough to get Jack to back off.
Instead, it only seemed to piss him off. “Did it ever occur to you that she loves you too?”
Robby just blinked at him, stunned into silence. It was impossible that you could possibly care for him the way he wanted you to, the way he imagined at night when he couldn’t sleep. Where he dreamed you were just in the other room and would come crawling into bed with him any moment chastising him for not sleeping yet when he had to work the next day. Sometimes it even worked, and there would be one brief second when he woke that he’d forget it wasn’t real.
“You two are a pain in my ass. Listen to me,” Jack put his hands on Robby’s shoulders and forced him to meet his gaze. “I have been third wheeling the two of you for years. Even when you had a ‘date’, it was the two of you and everyone else was just lucky to be in your orbit. That girl was sobbing at the thought that she was the reason you were alone. She wasn’t crying for herself. She was crying for you.”
Tears flooded Robby’s eyes at the thought. Jack squeezed his shoulders once before letting go. “Let’s get this handoff finished so you can go after your girl.”
Robby made the ten minute drive to your apartment in seven. He pulled into the spot he always used and hurried upstairs to your apartment. He knocked on the door, bracing himself with two hand on the doorframe as he waited for you to answer. Nothing.
He knocked again, calling your name this time.
Still nothing.
Come on, baby. Let me see you. I need to see you.
He thought about using his key to let himself in but if you didn’t want to see him after the shit Noelle spewed at you, that was your right. Instead, he pulled out his phone and called you.
Voicemail.
He tried again. Still no answer.
Finally, he sent a text. Just let me know that you made it home okay. Please.
A moment later you responded. I’m here. I’m just exhausted. I’ll talk to you later
He hesitated, wanting nothing more than see you in person. To reassure you that he chose you. That he will always choose you.
Instead, he sent: Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.
You woke to the soft light of morning filtering through your curtains. You blinked, head fuzzy as you tried to focus on what had actually awoken you. Sounds from the kitchen. The smell of coffee. It had to be Robby. He was the only one with a key. You did the minimum to ready yourself for the day, before slipping on a pair of sweats with the t-shirt you slept in. You stepped into your slippers then shuffled out to the kitchen.
Robby stood at the stove, scrambling eggs. Fresh fruit and two mugs of coffee sat on the counter. Your gaze moved from the food back to the man responsible for it. You frowned. “Don’t you have to work today?”
“Called off,” he replied simply, not looking up from the skillet.
The response stunned you momentarily. “You never call off,” you finally said.
He made a sound of agreement as he plated the eggs. “Grab the coffee and sit.”
You took both mugs to the table and took your usual seat. He put the plates on the table and sat across from you. You watched him as you ate, wondering what was going on. Maybe he agreed with Noelle and was trying to let you down gently. To be kind. But it wasn’t. It only made everything so much worse. “Is this…are you saying goodbye?” you finally managed to get out without crying.
His head snapped up, a panicked expression twisting his features. “No. Absolutely not. It’s kind of the opposite actually.”
Your brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”
He set down his fork and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “Noelle asked me to choose. You or her. That’s why she was pissed and took it out on you.”
“You chose me?”
He let out a quiet chuckle at that. “Baby, I always choose you.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d called you baby, but it was the first time he’d done it while completely sober. When you just continued to look at him, he continued.
“She wasn’t the first to demand I make a choice and it’s always you. Because I can’t imagine my life without you in it. The thought terrifies me in fact.” He leaned forward and took your hand in his, running his thumb across your knuckles.
“I’ve been in love with you for years.” His voice was barely audible. “Jack suggested maybe you were in love with me too. Said something about always being the third wheel.”
Your heart raced at the thought that the man you’d been head over heels with for years loved you just as much. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”
He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Didn’t you hear me, honey? You’re it for me. If I lost you…” He shook his head as if he couldn’t fathom the thought. “So, if you don’t feel the—”
You head tipped back as you let out a joyful laugh. “Michael, I’ve been in love with you since six months after we met.”
A slow smile crossed his face showcasing those happy creases you loved so much. “Yeah?”
You nodded and he pulled you toward him. Leaving your chair, you resituated yourself on his lap. He wrapped two long arms around you and held you close. He closed his eyes and sighed in contentment. “This is…you are perfection.”
Your face heated. “I’m not perfect. No one is. But I am deliriously happy.” You placed a hand on the side of his face. “Will you be mine, Michael Robinavitch?”
He laughed then. “Baby, I’ve been yours since the moment we met.”
And when his lips found yours for the first time, you were suddenly, finally home.
Summary: it had been some time after the first bet that landed you between your two attendings, and everyone had been speculating about the three of you since. Unfortunately that meant you found yourself the butt of a bet that went sour.
CW: 18+ MDNI, talks about sexuality and repression, boys kissing hhehehe, smut, unprotected P I V, fingering, Oral (m/f), Double penetration, anal, threesome, breeding kink, old men being pervs and very inappropriate use of the supply closet
Note: Heyyyyy welcome to part two so this one is a doozy at 11k words almost double part one 🫣, once again blame @valyntynhardy !! I hope it's as good as the first one and lives up to the expectations ENJOY!!!
It had been a handful of months since the initial bet landed you fucked silly between both your attendings in an on call room. An occurrence that definitely wasn’t a one off situation, but that was only truly known between the three of you. To everyone else it was a one time hook up that ended in you winning some money. However, there was rarely a time off shift that two or even all three of you if your schedules lined up that wasn’t spent together. Nor was there a night that wasn’t shared within each other's arms.
During the beginning of the relationship there were a few times that you had caught glimpses of quiet shared intimacy between Jack and Robby. It was never anything particularly explicit, simply a lingering gaze or touch. And sometimes if you were coherent enough to catch it a slight graze of their lips when they both made their way down your body.
But on one of the rare occasions the three of you had the day off together you decided to confront them about it. It was fairly late in the evening with Jack prepping and cutting the veggies for the recipe you decided on making, and Robby who was sitting on the couch with his readers and a book after coming back from the grocery store. You could hear the rustling of their movements and low hum of their voices while you came out of the shower, throwing on one of Robby's shirts and a pair of Jacks boxers before making your way out to them.
Entering the living room you walked behind the couch tilting Robby’s head back before pecking him on the lips. Moving towards the kitchen you wrap your arms around Jack's waist as you press your lips to his shoulder, turning his head in response and pressing his own to your forehead. You lifted yourself onto the counter sitting close to where he was cutting and swung your legs a few times before calling Robby over.
“Mikey can you come here please?” slathering your voice in honey and raising the volume just slightly so that he could hear you from the other room.
“Oh goodness,” He began as he made his way towards the two of you, “that tone always means she’s been thinking” Robby says as he enters the kitchen.
“Don’t I know it, and it rarely ever means anything less than borderline illegal” Jack chimes in not taking his eyes off of the bell pepper he had on the cutting board.
“Okay first of all ouch, second of all its just a small teensy thought that’s been brewing in my brain,” you take a minute to pull Robby between your legs, a position that has the two men separated only by your thigh, “have you two ever, I don’t know, kissed?”
Robby’s hands that had been rubbing up and down your thighs had halted in their movements, and Jack’s own hand that had been holding the knife slipped causing a sharp breath to escape his nose at the narrow miss of his fingers. Two pairs of eyes looked at you before sharing a subtle look out of their peripheral vision.
“Why, uh, why do you ask kid?” Robby was the first to break the prolonged silence trying to remain neutral, but that tell tale blush ratted him out every time.
“Well, I ask because I’ve just been noticing some stuff between you guys.” you take the time to wrap a hand around each of their forearms, "I'm not judging or anything. I mean we are already in an unconventional relationship, but I want you both to know that this is a safe place to explore you know”
“Sweetheart, I-” Jack's tone had his usual dismissal to it when there was something he was avoiding.
“No, what the two of you aren’t going to do is lie to me. I have been seeing the longing looks when you think the other isn’t looking or the touches. I also definitely know you both like to touch each other when you’re balls deep inside of me so don’t sit there and tell me that I’m wrong”
Fixing them with a hardened gaze as they stutter their way through an explanation. A look that you didn’t loosen as you locked it in on Robby, the one who was more likely to confess what they were holding back .
“Once,” He looked down as his hands pulled off of you, shoving them deep into his pockets, “I don’t even know if you remember this Jack, but it was many years ago at a party when we were both residents.”
“I remember,” a gentle and small interruption comes from Jack as he tries to catch Robby’s eyes that were expertly avoiding both you and him.
“You seemed like you were pretty drunk and I told you I was too, I only had one beer though. It started as a dare from someone, but honestly I was just looking for an excuse,” Robby paused as he dared to look up at you. He was so scared of the disgusted look you would have but he was only met with encouragement, so he continued, “It lasted a lot longer than the quick kiss it was supposed to be, but when you started to reach for me I just got scared.”
“Scared of what Mike?” Jack had put down the knife and turned so that his whole body faced Robby.
“I was scared of how much I liked it, I-I’m not supposed to y’know” His eyes glistened with moisture, “And I didn’t want to ruin the friendship that we had so I just left. I told you I was wasted and never brought it up again.”
Silence engulfed the kitchen, while you had settled a hand back onto his elbow that you could now reach as he leaned closer. However you stayed silent, wanting this to be between them. They needed to talk this through and you knew that.
“Is that why you never talked about it? Because you thought you did something wrong, or that it didn't mean anything but a silly dare?” Jack was careful not to overwhelm him. Settling for capturing his ever evasive gaze instead of touch, he left that to you who still had a grip on his arm.
“Michael Robinavitch, you listen to me. You are not wrong, nor did you do anything wrong.” His eyebrows raised in emphasis, “I wasn’t as drunk as you think either. I tried to flirt with you for so long afterwards but you kept turning away and I never knew why. And all this time you’ve just held this to yourself?”
Small streams of tears escaped from Robby’s almost hopeful eyes, hopping off the counter you embraced him tightly. Pulling back slightly to peer into his eyes for permission before pulling him into a gentle kiss, you felt the warmth of Jack's body creep behind before you felt his hands graze your back before moving them slowly to where Robby’s hands rested on you. Slowly moving them up Robbys arms, leaning his head beside yours you understood what he was trying to do.
Coming away from Robby he began to try and chase your lips before his chin was tilted towards your left where he was pulled into Jack's awaiting lips. You watched from your position, slightly smushed between them. It began slow and hesitant on Robby’s side but it wasn’t long before it became more heated as Jack slipped his tongue between his lips. A groan was released from a deep place within his chest, one that wasn’t just filled with pleasure but catharsis.
From that night on It took time and patience to re-learn each other, allowing an environment that made Robby understand that he was loved. It took some time before he himself was comfortable with initiating touches or kisses between just him and Jack. And even longer before they began exploring each other in the bedroom.
At first they always had you there, in between or next to them. It was more for Robby as Jack was seemingly more comfortable in his desires, so you encouraged them to try it out when it was just them. All it took was you making an offhand statement that was thrown out before heading to a night shift that you had picked up. A simple ‘you know you’re more than welcome to have fun without me, God knows I’ve had one on one time with the two of you’. It seemed like that was all it took, your permission, because at the end of the shift when you got home you were greeted with two naked men whose limbs were still entangled with each other in the soft sheets of the shared california king bed.
______________________________________
After months of what could only be described as a continuous positive feedback system of love in your relationship, it felt freeing. At home Robby and Jack were looser, sillier, and kinder to themselves. And even at work Jack’s mood had been clearly changed, clocked by almost everyone, on both days and nights. He was extremely flirty at work, with constant suggestive comments and small touches that were caught every time. Ones that you knew would absolutely breed rumors, and you knew all too well what rumors could do.
Every time he would stand just 2cm from you or brush a hair out of your face people stared. Every time he openly called you beautiful, gorgeous, and sexy, the people were left with mouths gaping open. And don't get them started on the neck kiss that was brief but happened out in the open of the nurses station.
Robby’s demeanor change was less harsh, it was subtle. He was more patient with his students and residents, more empathetic. He was making sure to take time to step back and breathe if it got too much, something he used to never allow himself to do. And between the two of you at work he was much less obvious than Jack. Robby only allowed himself to touch you in the hidden corners of the ED, not because he was embarrassed. No, never that, But more because you were still technically a day shift resident and he was still your direct supervisor.
Many didn’t notice how the lock on the bathroom was red for 20 minutes, or that if they stuck their ear to the door they could hear breathy gasps and giggles filled by a harsh shhh. Not many saw how he almost reached for you every time you passed by or how he would inhale the light scent of your perfume when you walked past him. Nor did they notice the red blush that ran from his neck to his cheeks every time he left the supply closet not long after you, and the color was absolutely aiding in the hiding of the blooming marks on his neck.
No one truly noticed much about Robby's change, and he wanted to keep it that way. The last thing he wanted to do was sabotage the attending position you had applied to (one that he knew you already got but couldn't say). Which is why the three of you decided not to say anything to anyone until it officially went through. However, they weren't subtle enough to go completely unseen by the little pittlings, the ever so observant students that noticed how little Robby was riding their ass lately and that Abbot hadn’t been to the roof in a while.
“Im telling you something is different” Trinity marched up to the group at the lockers. A group that comprised of; Dennis, Javadi, Mel, Samira, and one of the new med students Joy.
“Do you think it has anything to do with that bet from before?” came the timid voice of Mel.
“No I don't think so, she hasn’t said anything more came of it just the bet and thats it” Samira added in finishing up her chart, you and her were fairly close friends since both were in your R4 year. Having worked together for a while she felt that you would have told her.
“Wait, what bet?” Joy and Javadi asked simultaneously, both had been a little lost as Joy hadn’t started yet and Javadi used to try and stay out of bets when she first came to the PTMC.
“Oh we made a bet on if they got bushes or not since huckleberry over here is smoother than a dolphins ass naturally-”
“It's a condition!”
“So we sent cutie patootie over there to figure it out. Which turned out great for her”
Trinity smirked as she gave Joy the basics of the events from several months ago. And for everyone but the two younger girls deja vu hit them as that meddling expression made its way back onto Trinity’s face.
“Oh no, please no” Mel spoke up as she was the first to notice.
“Hear ye, hear ye I declare a new bet” Trinity ushered them all closer, “Okay so Abbot has obviously been acting like a lovesick teenage girl, but Robby has also been giving yearner. So do we think Little miss gone to Paris is dating Abbot or Robby, how long, annndd if the other one knows”
“I call holding the money” that was no surprise to anyone there as Mel once again backed out.
“Abbot for sure, since the bet, and Robby knows but he's upset” Joy's confidence bled through with every decision, even though she didn’t really know these people, she was extremely observant.
“No, absolutely not.” Javadi shook her head, "she's definitely dating Robby, about three months ago, and Abbot doesn’t know thats why hes still flirting”
“Ooh both are good points, I'll do the same bet as Javadi but five months. All because he hasn’t gotten on my case once for any of the tests I’ve ordered.” Samira had been thinking a lot about the encouragement that she's gotten from her attending. What she doesn’t know is how you called Robby out on his dick behavior one day and threatened him with no sex for a month if he didn’t pull his head out of his ass.
“I don’t think she's dating either, but I think they’re both fighting for her attention and both know it” Dennis didn’t want to think of the people he looked up to in compromising situations so he went the safe route.
“Nah, shes absolutely fucking Abbot, and Robby doesn’t know but he wants to be with her” Trinity was confident in her bet, feeling as if she knew the dynamic best since she started the first bet.
Since this bet was a bit more intense they all agreed to hand over 100$, making the pool a whopping 500$. And the first one to get proof or witness a definitive action won. However, the bet was about to get way out of hand before the end of the shift even started.
Right after they all gave Mel the money and shook on it they walked by the break room where they could’ve sworn they heard your laugh. They waited just a little longer before they heard your giggle once more, except this time it was followed by the distinct sound of Jack Abbots voice.
“C’mon sweetheart, your shift hasn’t started yet and I missed you”
“Jackie stop” your airy giggles contradicted your words, “we swore not to do this at work anymore!”
They all peeked through the door that was slightly ajar, each stacked on top of one another as if it was a cartoon. With Dennis on the bottom and Samira at the top, the scene before them was Dr. Jack Abbott with his lips glued to your neck and hands under your scrub top grabbing at the exposed skin as it rode up. Jaws dropped as they stayed long enough to see your fingers curl into his hair and pull- no- push him into you as he made his way to your sternum. They were all locked into the view, not a single one of them noticing the footsteps coming behind them.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph what do you think you’re doing?” The thick accent of Dana broke the trance of the group huddled by the break room.
“We’re just-”
“Absolutely nothing-”
“Uhm I don’t-”
“I gotta go-”
The group quickly dispersed just to re-congregate at the hub, away from Dana and the two of you in the break room.
“Well that was quick” Trinity began, “but hey points to me Joy” the two quickly high five.
“Yeah but now we need to know if Robby knows.” Dennis watched as the Attending in question walked past them to the lockers.
“Good thing we have all shift to watch them.” Samira pointed out as she left to begin report.
______________________________________
Robby was becoming increasingly confused by the behavior of his fellow doctors. It was borderline worrisome. All day it seemed as if every time he tried to get a moment alone with you one of the med students or residents would pop out of the woodworks and keep a very close eye on the two of you. Something you, yourself noticed as well.
And it was something that made you increasingly irritable. Abbot had already left you wound up just before he clocked out, the only reprieve he gave you was knowing you had Robby this shift. Except every single time you tried to pull him away to get his hands on you the hairs stood on the back of your neck screaming that you were being watched. The longer you went without Robby’s touch the grumpier you got.
“Hey, can I present a case to you?” The sweet kind voice of Dennis came through your ears, but unfortunately for him you were beyond annoyed.
“Does it look like I have time for that, Whitaker? There is an hour left in this shift and I have too much to do” you gestured to the papers beside you and the microphone mid dictation in front of you.
“Oh so-sorry I just thought-”
“Well you didn’t think hard enough, just bring it to Samira” you rolled your eyes as he walked away with his head hung low.
You missed how Robby had seen you all but yell at Dennis, and how he had gone to Javadi looking upset who had also watched everything go down. So it caught you by surprise when Robby’s voice broke through the small silence that had settled.
“Hey, can I speak to you for a moment?” HIs deep firm tone rattled around your brain and settled deep into your core. All but creaming your pants as you looked up and saw his glasses low on his nose as he crooked a finger signaling you to follow him.
As Dennis and Javadi were talking about what had happened they caught you walking off with Robby. Thinking nothing of it other than a quick chastizing, they both headed to present the case to Samira. However, when they came back they saw you and Robby were still nowhere to be seen. So of course the two coworkers went to go see what both of you were up to, not once thinking about how curiosity killed the cat.
Passing by the supply room they saw you two enter earlier, they looked into the small window, one that had the blinds just barely open but enough of an angle they could see in. So as they each peeked in they were also close enough to catch an earful of words they never thought they’d hear from Robby.
“Is that what you needed, kid? Needed my fingers knuckle deep in that pretty cunt?”
“Fuck Mikey, y-yes”
The two outside the room pulled away from the window and made eye contact with each other, mouthing ‘mikey?’ before looking back in.
“Gotta be quiet baby, don’t want the whole floor hearing how desperate you are”
For both the parties it was thankful that the lewd sound of your squelching arousal was quiet enough that the ones outside couldn’t hear.
“B-but Jack” now of course this was meant to insinuate that if he was here, he would want to join in. But that's not what the ones outside interpreted it as, especially not with Robby’s next statement.
“He’s not here yet, so he doesn’t have to know”
Javadi’s hand shot over her mouth as she covered her gasp, Dennis himself was beet red at the thought that his senior R4 was cheating on his attending with his other attending. It was absolutely messy. So the two did what they thought was best, they immediately told everyone. The gossip circle that met in the breakroom was taken aback at the new information. Never did they think something like this could be going on, nor did they think that you could be capable of cheating. They thought too highly of you for that, so the next logical group thought was that Robby was using the power dynamic to coerce you. That had them angry at the older man, angry for both you and Jack.
Harsh whispers and words were being exchanged but that all died down when the door opened and in walked the new pariah himself. At the sudden silence Robby’s steps halted in surprise.
“You all good?” he asked as he was on the receiving end of glares and uncomfortable silence.
“Yeah, we are. How's your best friend, you know Dr. Abbot?” Trinity was the first to subtly confront the man as he finally moved to grab his coffee.
“Uh, he's good. Just got a new prosthetic so he can manage longer shifts better”
He nodded absentmindedly as the memory of the three of you putting it to the test with very vigorous night time activities. Specifically the part how you looked up at him with his cock stuffed down your throat while Jack shoved three fingers into his own ass stretching him in preparation. The scene in his mind changed to later in the night when you were on top of him riding him with all you had while Jack pushed his thick cock into him as deep as he could. With Robby balls deep in you and Jack in him that morning after it was his turn to walk into the ED with a slight limp.
He was quickly brought out of his memories by the man of the hour walking in, and that damned blush blooming from his chest to his cheeks made an appearance. While Robby thought it was a give away of his thoughts, to the younger ones in the room it was incriminating. The blush was clearly indicative of his shame of sleeping with you, Abbott's girlfriend.
“Is there not enough work on the floor for you all?” Jack huffs out at the large crowd under the guise of being mad, but he just wanted to be alone with Robby before clocking in.
Outside the group decided that they were absolutely going to get the three of you to confront each other, but they were unsure how to do that. Well they were until Samira looked at the schedule.
“Guy’s look Abbots working a double tomorrow”
“Yeah but look who isn’t on the schedule” Joy pointed to the lack of your name.
“Fucking damn it!” Trinity gritted her words in frustration, she was angry. Angry at the thought of some of the people she looked up to the most would do something like this. Javadi and Dennis were in a similar boat.
“Okay well why don't we just get through tomorrow, make him aware we’re angry and then look” Mel pointed to the next day where all three of you were working, “we can try and get them to confront it then”
All were in agreement over the plan, thinking up all the different ways to implement it, and while the bet had already spiraled into a mess of secrets and confessions it was only about to get worse for all involved.
______________________________________
“Hey, you want to tell me why all your children are mean mugging you?” Jack saddled next to Robby as he saw him walking out of central 6.
“Okay so it's not just me? You've seen it too?”
“Uh yeah it's kind of hard to miss, especially when they look at me like Im a puppy who just got kicked” Jack chuckles at the exasperated look Robby has while dragging his hands down his face.
All shift Dennis, Trinity, Javadi, Joy, Samira, and even Mel had been giving Robby the biggest fuck you. Trying to avoid him at all cost they were only presenting to Abbot or Mckay. And when they did need him to sign off on orders or god forbid work a trauma with him sharp snark was thrown into his face.
It got to the point Robby was almost on the verge of tears wondering what he had done. Jack, seeing Robby’s defeated posture, walked up and motioned for him to follow. Similar to how Robby had done with you, Jack led Robby to the supply room. Once the door was closed and locked Jack immediately wrapped his arms around the taller man.
“Don’t even worry about it, I’m sure it’s nothing” Jack mumbled into his shoulders as they shook with every inhale.
“I don’t even know what I did so I can’t even fix it”
“I know Mike, but this is clearly something they’ll talk about eventually okay?”
Robby nods his head at Jack's words even though he was feeling useless and unwanted. Emotions that Jack could clearly see. So he wasted no time in showing just how loved and wanted he is.
Except he wasn’t just showing Robby, he ended up showing Samira and Joy as well because apparently none of you can remember to close the blinds.
So as Samira and Joy passed by and heard Robby voice call out fuck Jack they were sure the two had been in a fist fight. Instead they came upon a locked supply closet, finding themself looking at something neither would have guessed in a million years would be happening.
Robby leaned his back against the shelves with his mouth hung open, and down at his groin was a head of silver curls moving in a suspicious motion. And while sure they could just assume what was happening wasn’t happening, that was stopped as they heard Robby’s voice again.
“Fuck yes Jack. Taking my cock so fucking good down your throat!”
A soft noise of wet skin and small gags bled through. It was nothing too loud that it could be heard in the expanse of the hallway, but enough if you had an ear pressed against the window. Which the two women absolutely did. Both had wide eyes and even wider mouths at what was happening. And no matter how crass it got they just couldn’t pull themselves away.
“Just like that good boy, massaging my balls so well. If we weren’t at work I’d have you bent over a bed” Robby grits his teeth and he growls out his words, thrusts becoming more wild as he nears his orgasm.
And poor Jack was hard as a rock, tip leaking onto the floor as he had one hand on Robby’s thigh and the other furiously stroking his own cock. Vibrations rumbled from Jack's throat and onto Robby’s length at every moan he let loose as he too approached his peak. It wasn’t long before a hand at Jack's head held him as deep as he could while Robby spilled his warm cum down his throat. The sensation caused Jack to shoot cum all over the floor with a little getting on the tip of Robby's shoe.
Pulling off of Robby’s softening cock he finishes swallowing as Jack is yanked to a standing position. Robby allows him a moment to catch his balance with his prosthetic while he brings them into a messy kiss, licking into his mouth he could taste the burnt break room coffee and the salty tang of himself. They were in their own little world for just a few more minutes before deciding to go out on the floor. Narrowly missing the two figures bolting around the corner.
“GUYS! GUYS!” a panicked voice called out to Javadi, Dennis, Mel, and Trinity.
“Woah, what's going on?” Javadi caught the rushing figure of Joy as Samira skidded to a stop beside them.
“We just- just saw, Abbot a-and” Samira takes a moment to inhale a deep breath before finishing her sentence, “He was totally going at it with Jack”
“Okay let me get this straight, or I guess not that straight,” Trinity giggles for just a moment at her own joke, “Jack and the ED princess are cheating on each other with the same dude? AKA our Chief attending Dr. Robby”
“The craziest part is, I now know that Robby is a real man” Joy quipped.
“What the heck does that even mean? So you have to be with a man, to be a man?” Dennis looked at her like he was reconsidering his entire life.
“What no?” holding an incredulous look on her face like he just said the stupidest sentence known to human kind, “Because he’ll kiss you after you suck him off, it takes a real man to do that” Joy finishes with an absentminded smile.
Dennis scrunches up his face in slight disgust but quickly schooled his features as he saw every single woman in the group nod their head, even Mel. And that had him second guessing everything he thought he knew. But that train of thought leaves at the sight of the two men walking back onto the floor. Everyone making quick work in dispersing except for poor Dennis who can't even think straight in this moment. The only thing in his mind is the image of what was just explained in great detail to him and the scene that he himself saw with Robby and you.
As he resembled the epitome of a deer in headlights the two men walked up to him, patted him on the shoulder and asked if he was okay. No response was made, just mouth open and eyes wide. Both Jack and Robby shared a look with each other before giving the newly minted resident a small nod before they walked off.
______________________________________
The next day arrived quickly much to your upset, you had enjoyed your off day even though you wished both of your boyfriends were off too. It wasn’t super lonely though, as they were texting you all shift about how the pittlings, as you all call each other, were acting weird all day. Which was something you had begun to notice yourself in the last week.
When they came home you were listening to them rant about how they were acting around them and how unsettling it was, which had you reminiscing about that one day many months ago now they had said the same thing about you. And suddenly it hit you, you had found yourself on the other side of a bet. But for the life of you, you couldn’t conjure up a type of bet that would have them being ostracized.
The three of you had planned on unveiling this whole operation as soon as you could, deciding that the beginning of the shift you all shared tomorrow was the best. Especially as everyone else was working as well by some miracle, figuring what better time than the present. Except you didn’t get a chance to do it yourself the next day, because as soon as you walked past the break room to go clock in you were snatched by your arm and pulled into the dark room.
“What in the actual fuck?” At your words the lights flicked on, blinking through the harsh adjustment nothing you could have guessed prepared you for what was waiting.
In front of you were your two boyfriends sat in chairs with Trinity behind Robby and Joy behind Jack. The expression on the women’s faces could kill, and by the looks of your two partners they about did.
“Should I be worried that you’re holding us hostage?” You question as you survey the room seeing how Dennis, Javadi, and Samira were lined up on the wall facing you.
A small ‘scuse me' sounded from behind you, and Mel scampered past you and to Samira's side. No one had started talking yet so you looked to the two older men and they both shrugged indicating they were just as lost.
“Look I care a lot about you, you know this” started Trinity, “and I want you to know that I- no- we are all extremely disappointed in you”
“I never pegged you for this kind of girl, and I’ve known you for five years” Samira's voice came out distant and sad.
And that had your mind reeling. You felt the blood drain from your face, felt your heartbeat rise as you began to sweat. Had they found out about the three of you? Were they judging you? Were they judging Robby and Jack? Did they find you disgusting?
The two men watched as your eyes began to dissociate from the situation even as the others continued their accusing words. Watching you spiral set them on edge, filling them with pain as the struggled with the conflicting thoughts of keeping it secret or saying fuck it and going to you.
They decided on fuck it
“Alright enough!” Jack's voice boomed.
His words set Robby off like a gunshot. Immediately standing up tall and heading to your side, grounding you with his touch as Jack stood one step in front of you two like the guard dog he is.
“You got something to say, then say it” It was Robby’s turn to chime in.
He wasn’t loud like Jack but the way his words were coated in anger shocked everyone in the room, even Jack. His thoughts had been similar to yours, and this was his nightmare. This was why he shut Jack out all these years ago. Fear of being found disgusting and burned at the stake for it, his only crime being that he loved someone no one thought he should.
But with Trinity’s next words his and your inner monologue felt truly melodramatic to the actual situation.
“YOU’RE ALL CHEATERS!” pointing her finger at the three of you as if waiting for the breakdown to come.
Except it didn’t.
Instead fits of laughter and sighs of relief left the trio. Wiping your eyes with your sleeve you took a deep breath before turning on your best senior resident voice, and fixing each and every one with a stare.
“Sit down all of you” it was their turn to have eyes go wide with shock. You rarely ever pulled that voice, they loved to call it your ‘mom voice’.
“I want one of you to tell me exactly what is going on, and then I want each of you to share your thoughts. One at a time.” Looking around once more, “is this clear? Blink twice if you understand”
Blink blink
It started with Trinity explaining the bet and when it had started and how they all saw you with Jack in the break room. Then Dennis took over and talked about him and Javadi coming across you and Robby in the supply closet. And that had you heating up with embarrassment, but not as much as the two men behind you after Joy took over.
“Yeah and then Samira and I caught these old ass boy toys going ham in the break room,” She gestured to Robby afterwards, “but also good on yah Dr.Robby”
“I- wait, what-“
“Okay,” you cut him off, “I am going to say this one time and one time only so you’re going to all shut up and turn your listening ears on”
They all nod in unison.
“We aren’t cheating on each other, with the other. That’s genuinely not possible because we are ALL together. Jack, Michael and I are in a relationship, the three of us together” you went slow as if they were a group of kinders who were learning the alphabet.
And behind you where you couldn’t see, Jack grabbed Robby’s hand as he saw him visibly stiffen as he waited for the responses. You did notice it however when you stepped back into their space and felt their hand locked together behind your back. It took everyone approximately three seconds to release their own breaths of relief. A mix of words melded together from the group all blending in. You caught a few here and there, some ‘thank god’s’ and ‘why didn’t I think of that’.
The group began to quiet down as the initial excitement settled into calm thought. But then Trinity who always had something to say turned towards Robby and opened her mouth.
“I didn’t know Peepaw was down like that, Abbot more so ‘cuz like he's old too but chill. The old decrepit man over here though?” Her brows raise as she looks at him in new light, “Honestly respect gramps”
You and Jack couldn’t help but laugh at the confused look that took over Robby’s face, mouthing peepaw with offense. Then looking at the two of you as if you had betrayed him deeply, which only had you gigging more.
“Okay that’s enough kidnapping and hostage taking for one shift, which has now started,” Robby began ushering everyone outside, “shoo children, and enough with the bets”
He closed the door in their faces before he turned back to the two of you. All three taking a moment to process what the fuck just happened.
“You know honestly from everything I’ve heard, we need to stop fucking in the supply closet” you’re the first one to break the comfortable silence.
Robby smiles at that as he moves to embrace you, the two of you kissing deeply before he pulls Abbot in and does the same. A weight that none of you realized was there flew off, half of your coworkers now knew and none of them looked at you differently. You knew they wouldn’t, but hearing it still helped.
“You three lovebirds done here? I need coffee” Dana as always pushes that damn accent thicker when she’s annoyed, while throwing the door fully open.
She knew about you all. She was actually the first to know. This was due to an incident that occurred within the earlier months of the relationship. Robby had forgotten that Dana had a key and that she mentioned coming by to grab something. So imagine her surprise when she walked into the house only to be greeted by you in a very compromising position between both men in the kitchen. Thankfully for you, you were still mostly dressed, but for obvious reasons Jack and Robby chose to stay behind the counter.
Parker had also known, but that's because you've decided she was a mind reader. And nothing anyone says can change your mind on this. She took one look at you coming in one night, peeked the car out of the ambulance bay and saw the smallest glimpse of the two who were in it. As you walked past Parker she caught your attention and said good for you girl, departing with a nod and a wink that had you genuinely considered asking her to be the fourth.
But now most of the people you worked with knew. It was an odd but freeing feeling for all of you. However, it was peaceful for about two hours before a few certain someone’s decided to be funny.
“Hey peepaw? Got a question for yah” Trinity’s voice rang out. She begins her line of questions without even looking up at him. As he gives her the answers she keeps her eyes on the tablet just nodding and heading back to wherever she came from when he was done.
And you, oh you were sitting right in front across the desk top pretending to chart as you shoved a hand over your mouth as if that would quiet your very loud giggles. But before he could reprimand you, he was cut short by another voice.
“Yo Dr. Gramps? Oglivie is trying to do a fasciotomy by himself!” Joy came around the corner, her hand pointing straight to the room where the student doctor was standing.
He didn’t even have time to dwell on the fact that it was the second person to call him a form of old in a short period of time. Robby was too busy speeding to the room so he could lay a new one onto the young gunner. While you knew the situation was serious and was absolutely no laughing matter, you couldn’t help but laugh about the fact that Robby was going to be known as the modern old man in a throuple to the young kids.
And much to your delight it was something that continued all shift, peepaw, gramps, papa were all nicknames pulled for Robby today. You expected something similar for Jack or maybe even a little for yourself, but nope. The focus was on the old boss. One he was more than happy to escape when the end of shift came, finally getting a reprieve from the teasing remarks. Walking up to the truck he saw you and Jack counting the money you seemed to have guilted them into giving to you for the trouble they caused.
“Ready to head out?” Jack called as he saw Robby walking up behind you.
“God yes please!” The answer was immediate, it had been a strange beginning to the day and the longer it went on the ED ended up being the hub for all things crazy today.
“Aww Mikey let me get that for you,” you slid Robby's bag off his shoulder, “wouldn’t want your fragile old back to get a pinched nerve”
Grabbing it from him you turned around quickly to hide the amusement on your face, but it did nothing to hide the mirth in your tone. Carrying it into the back seat as you hoist yourself in the truck. Robby, however, stood outside for a moment longer shaking his head as he realized this day absolutely wasn’t over like he thought. A sentiment that was enforced by Jack's next choice of words at the grunt Robby had let out when getting in the truck.
“Damn take it easy old boy, don’t want you breaking any hips. I’d have to call in the shark to fix it, and I don’t think either of us want that” A snicker from you sounds in the back while Jack turns his head pretending that backing up needed his whole attention.
“No, not you too” the exasperation bleeds into his words, tilting his head back to rest against the seat.
“Aww and what do you mean by that Mikey?” you lean forward brushing your hand through his hair as you coo words into his ear, “Did we hurt your feelings by calling you old?”
“We didn’t mean it Mike I promise,” Jack looks over as he comes to a stop at a red light, patting Robby's knee with the hand that wasn't on the wheel.
“Yeah yeah, sure. You know you’re not that much younger than me Jack?” He settles his gaze onto the man driving before turning to look at you in the back, “And you little miss, I expected more out of you.”
Silence fell over the car after a few more shared laughs were released. It wasn't until the three of you were at home that Robby brought up the situation once more. All of you had changed and showered off the sweat from a full shift, the cozy atmosphere had you ready for the next few days off that all of you had together. You were going through the fridge and pulling out the left overs as Jack began plating the food and throwing it in the microwave when Robby came in from his turn at the shower. With sweats hung low on his hips and a faded grey college tee that had ‘Northwestern’ over the front and cut off sleeves from his younger days.
“You know Stan Lee wrote his first comic at my age?”
“He was 40 Mikey, you’re literally in your 50’s” you rolled your eyes at him.
“50-ish” Robby countered as Jack just looked at him, seeing just how much being called old all day got to him. Now Jack knew he should probably stop you knowing how insecure Robby could get, but he also had known him for almost 30 years, so he also recognized the building lust behind his eyes. It was well known in your trio that the age gap between the three of you turned you on more than you could voice, but the two men tried to avoid agreeing as it made them seem like two old perves. However, it seemed like tonight that boundary was going to be crossed.
Walking closer to Robby you wrap your arms around his middle and settle your chin into his chest as you look up at him.
“Poor Mikey, at 50-ish I should probably be more gentle on your knees” that little pout you had on your lips was the death of him.
“Oh ho ho” Robby’s hands carded through your hair once, twice, and then he gripped it tight, “you’re right, you should be giving my old knees a break. Your’s on the other hand are just fine so do your old man a favor why don’t you?”
Tugging your hair sharply the shooting sting on your scalp had you dropping pretty quickly to the tiled floor as your hands came up to balance yourself on his thighs. Arousal shot through you at his words and strength, but you decided to play into it seeing just how far this would go. Looking over to Jack you meant to start whining about how mean Robby was being, but he just shook his head at you.
“Nope this is all on you sweetheart you decided to poke him about it” lips upturning into a smirk as he begins tugging down his own bottoms, “It’s up to you to get yourself out of it”
Your cheeks were mushed together as Robby's other hand gripped your face so that it was focused on him.
“C’mon kid take it out f’me, my hands don’t work so well in my old age” He pats your cheek a few times before letting go and waiting for you to follow through.
You needed no additional prompting to start pawing at him. With eager hands, you loosened the draw string on his bottoms and tugged them down until his heavy length bobbed up after being freed. The tip was already angry and leaking, begging for attention. Gripping his length with one hand you gave his slit small kitten licks before swirling your tongue around the tip. A groan left his lips at the light kiss you left.
“Im not getting any younger up here kid”
Robby’s words had you rolling your eyes this time at his teasing, but they also had you complying. Dragging your tongue from base to tip you wrap your lips all the way around as you get to the end, wasting no time in starting a rhythm with the occasional graze of your teeth that you knew drove him crazy. Small gags had your throat tightening around him, but his grunts weren’t the only ones filling your ears. Rougher ones that you knew belong to the other body filling this kitchen rung out, and just out of the corner of your eye you caught a glimpse of Jack pumping his cock to the rhythm you had on Robby.
But as you try and watch Jack, your ministrations on Robby slowed down. So with the hand still tangled into your hair he tightened his grip and shoved you deeper until he felt your throat lock up in a gag. His eyes met yours that were filling slightly with unshed tears, you knew what he was silently asking. So with a slight nod in response to his unsaid question you tilted your head just slightly, remembering to breathe through your nose as Robby pushed his cock further down. Reaching deep enough that there was a slight bulge to your throat from the outer view, he didn’t stop until your nose was nuzzling those unruly curls at the base. Taking a deep inhale through your nose you could smell the faint body wash that he had used just half an hour ago.
The sight had both Jack and Robby releasing moans, Jack having to squeeze his cock tight so that he didn’t cum prematurely. He pulled you back by your hair a few inches before pushing you back down to the base once more, this time you gagged slightly as your body tried to breathe through your throat forgetting that it wasn’t supposed to. Robby immediately let you off where you sat back on your heels with a small cough at the release of air, with a string of spit still connecting you to him.
“That a’girl” he held your cheeks in his hands once more before guiding you up, “Bedroom, now I want you naked before we get there”
You didn’t need to be told twice, running straight to the bedroom already stripping your shirt off before you left the living room, your shorts flung onto the coffee table. Both men watched as they tucked themselves into their boxers before making their own way to the shared room.
“You aren't gonna take it easy on her are you?” Jack laughed as he came up beside Robby.
“Her or you” He lightly smacked the side of Jack's ass, “Don’t think I forgot that comment in the car”
Walking into the bedroom they’re met with you bare naked on bed grinding your hips in the air trying so hard to keep your hands off your soaked cunt. Slowly they both stripped their own clothes off walking closer to the bed they both take their time in ogling your body adoring the way you’re so comfortable with them.
“Look at that, being so good for your old men huh? So young and desperate to listen to your superiors” he parts the soft hair and your glistening folds to get a better look, “all that for us, what do you think Jack, does she deserve a little reward for taking my cock so well earlier?”
“I think so, I mean she wasn’t even touching herself when we walked in.”
“Good point. Alrighty Jack go ahead and get a taste.” he gestured towards the bed, “ but I want you on your back, and kid I want you sitting right on his face. Think you can do that f’me?”
The both of you nodded. With Jack now lying on his back you maneuvered your knees beside his head, hovering for only a few seconds before he wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you down. His tongue wastes no time in moving up and down your cunt, burying his face as deep as it could go. Jack was a man on a mission, but the mission was intercepted with a strangled cry pushing through his chest as he felt a large hand grab his cock.
“Shhh keep going Jack, don’t worry about us” Robby looked at you, “how’s your throat kid think you can go for another?”
“Yes, oh god please!” You weren’t fully sure if you were begging for a cock in your mouth or for Jack to continue. Either way you had gotten what you wanted, with a nod from Robby your lips descended on Jack.
Jack was prepared for the feeling of your mouth but he wasn’t prepared for Robby to start stroking him in time with your movements. As your mouth went up so did his hand, and it followed the same path down. He was absolutely lost to pleasure, and it seemed like you were as well. Your hips began grinding down on his face chasing the growing tension in your lower belly. Soon he jumped once more in surprise as a second warm mouth descended on his aching cock.
The three of you had a mirror in the corner of the room, one he could see clearly over your thigh. He was met with the sight of Robby and you connecting your lips as best you could with his angry red leaking tip between the two of your mouths. He could feel the twists and tangles of your tongues caressing both his length and each other.
And god help him, he whimpered. Not a deep gravelly groan that he would usually let out, no it was an honest to god’s whimper. One that strung into a long vibrating moan against your clit as he felt the two of you move up and down at varying speeds and a hand began massaging his drool slick balls.
While Jack was struggling to keep his composure you were locked into your movements. Both of your hips over his mouth and your own on his cock, the feeling of walls fluttering around nothing signaled your oncoming orgasm. With Jack's vocals vibrating against your sensitive nerves and the way you and Robby were sharing his cock had you more aroused than you thought was possible.
Watching the moment Robby went down past Jack's base and straight to the soft spot of his perineum, you had come on the spot. Without even pulling off Jack the most pornographic moan escaped your throat as you felt a small gush of liquid cover your thighs and consequently his face. Mouth snug in place on his length as your body locked up with wave after wave of pleasure as your orgasm flew through you.
Robby however kept going right up until Jack was begging for mercy.
“Please Mikey, fuck! I don’t wanna cum yet wanna be inside her please!” Eyes screwed shut as his grip tightened on your thighs, you could feel where the blooming bruises would show come morning time.
“Alrighty, if you say so,” Robby saw where you had all but flopped on top of Jack and he wasn’t having any of that, “Ah, ah, ah gotta flip you around honey need you to ride him okay?”
“I’m s’tired” half coherent babbles left you after you were pretty sure you just had the strongest orgasm of your life.
“Come on now kid, I thought I was the one who was supposed to get tired first? Can’t quit on me now” Robby lands a smack to your ass, “I want you and Jack scooted up and you flipped.”
The graceless turn around had you questioning whether you were going to survive the night if he kept up with the age jokes, and your legs were already feeling like jelly as you moved. Which was crazy since you had barely been touched yet. The quiet click of Robby taking off Jack's prosthetic rang though the room as did the sigh of relief from the man as he leaned part of his back against the head board.
“Go ahead and hop on, kid.”
Angling your hips as Robby took hold of Jack and aligned him up with your sensitive cunt, sinking down the first few inches before pausing and continuing slowly. It didn’t matter how many times you had been with them, the stretch was immense each time even with prep it was still overwhelming.
“Fuck sweetheart! Feels so good” Jack grabs your face before bringing you into a kiss, you threw your arms over his shoulders to catch your balance. You could taste the tangy flavor of yourself as well as the taste of him and Robby from your own tongue mixing into an intoxicating cocktail. Thighs tensing as you prepared to move but hands gripped your hips right above the growing red marks left from Jack.
“Hold on not yet, we’re gonna try something new okay?”
With a nod in permission from you, the sound of the plastic top of the lube bottle clicked open. He coated himself and you in a healthy amount. You were confused how this was new, it wasn’t the first time you had taken them both at the same time. Hell your first time together that's how it went, and in an extremely similar position to how you were now. But the press of his blunt tip pushed against where your body already held Jack.
Oh that's new.
“Shit, ugh, Mikey!” Your body instinctively clenches at the intrusion.
“Shh, shh, shh you gotta relax for me, you’re squeezing Jack and we don’t want him to cum too early do we?”
“No we don’t, Jesus Christ!" Jack's voice was the one to answer, strained with effort as he tried to think of anything to get himself to stave off his orgasm.
Robby took his time working his way in, and when the first inch of him slipped through the barrier your brain had short circuited.
“AH FUCK!” The scream was all but punched out of you, “p-please, Mikey! I d-dont, s’much”
A full sentence was not about to leave your mouth, nor was your brain about to create one. He was barely in and you felt stuffed to the brim. And Jack wasn’t doing much better than you, your walls were constantly spasming and fluttering around him at the new intrusion.
“She’s fucking squeezing Mike, so goddamn tight right now sweetheart. You gotta relax for us” Jack’s still tight voice rumbled in your ear.
“C’mon baby, breathe” Robby’s thumb began massaging the stretched skin that was pulled taught around both him and Jack, “you can do it, you can take it for your old man”
And while that sentence never failed to have you wetter than a water park you were a little doubtful of your abilities at the moment.
“I-I don’t t-th..” you really tried to speak but words were hard at the moment.
But Robby knew you could take it without a doubt, for a moment all that sounded was the heavy breaths from the three of you all tangled together. Until he decided you were ready and started thrusting lightly into you working more and more of his length right up besides Jack’s.
“That’a girl. See you can do it just gotta stretch you out” it was barely above a whisper or at least that’s what it seemed like to your hazy brain.
Each thrust had your body accommodating more of him, Jack gritted his teeth and tightened his hold on your waist at the feeling of you stuffed full along with Robby's cock rubbing against his inside of you. It wasn’t long before it seemed that whatever patience Robby had displayed earlier with easing the first part of himself in had disappeared, bracing his hands at the junction of where your thighs meet your hips.
He pulled you back.
Finally bottoming out Robby let out a satisfied noise, Jack seemingly sighed in relief, and you saw stars. Never in your life have you felt so stuffed before, both of them together in your cunt had you drooling.
“Doing so good for us kid” Robby whispered in your ear as he leaned forwards over your back, his soft tummy resting in the curve of your back and pushing your cheek into Jack's chest.
“Fuck Mike, we may have broken her” a harsh chuckle came from Jack, looking down he saw your eyes had sheened over with tears and your lips seemed to be mouthing words with very little sound.
“S’go-od, s’full, move p-please” gasping your words over and over as your chest heaved with effort.
“Well you heard her, we don’t want to disappoint her do we?” Robby stretched just a bit further to reach Jack over your shoulder, and Jack braced his good leg against the mattress to connect their lips. A messy meeting of tongue and teeth before they manually turned your head to join in, you were on auto pilot opening your own and tangling your tongue with theirs.
And without warning they both pulled out and pushed back in. The sharp juxtaposition of being filled completely and then feeling so empty just for them to bully their way back in was intense. The pace was deep and languid as they allowed your body to get used to the stretch, each time they bottomed out a sob of overwhelming pleasure left your lips.
“Look at you sobbing over two old man cocks. How about we make sure everyone knows you’re ours? Get you all nice and round with us” Robby's tone was low and pleased at the sight of you being fucked stupid between the two of them. His words drew a deep grunt from the man below.
“Yeah how ‘bout it sweetheart? You gonna let your old men knock you up and mark you for all the young men to know you’re taken?” It was Jack this time, maybe it was the age focus that was put on the three of you today but it had them feral, “Like Mike said we aren't getting any younger sweetheart”
“Y-es, wa-ant you t’fill m-me up!” A new alternating push and pull rhythm had your words coming out choppy as you all but wailed in pleasure. The poor neighbors.
A low fuck left Robby and Jacks throat at the prospect of you full and round with their children, and that had them doubling his efforts. The ridges of their cocks caught on one other as they rubbed together. A crude squelching noise came from where the three of you were connected followed by the sound of their heavy balls hitting both you and each other over, and over again. Your toes curled as the pressure built in your lower stomach, walls fluttering over what little space they had left.
“Look at you desperate for two old men to claim you and get you so full with us that everyone knows who you belong to” Robby sucked a mark into your shoulder as he pounded into you with fervor.
“Gonna have everyone looking at us twice when we tell them we’re the ones that got you pregnant” Jack matched Robby's speed, “wondering how we coerced such a young pretty thing into our bed”
Their words had you reeling, the idea of showing up to work and everyone knowing just who did that to you had you careening to another orgasm without even touching your slit. Your abused cunt gushed once more as your over stretched walls tried to clamp down. Tears slid down your cheeks as the two didn’t stop their movements, fucking you right through the pulses drawing it out.
“oh fuck god yes-!” you wails carried through the house.
“That's it momma, gonna fill you up so good” And god if that new nickname didn’t have you melting, it was the only word that bounced around your brain, no thoughts just pleasure and that goddamn word.
Your body had gone limp moving up and down with their motion but having no strength to hold yourself up.
“Fuck just like that” Robby was nearing the edge as the constant flutters, the friction of Jack right beside him, and the thought of you pregnant had him losing his restraint.
“Mike m’gonna cum, shit!” It was a few more thrusts before the both of them came with raspy growls.
Shoving their cocks as far as they could go, you swore that they had somehow stretched themselves into your womb. Feeling them both in your stomach as heat pooled deep into you as they came, a feeling that had your body orgasming once more as your cunt milked them for all that they had.
Both waited until they began to soften before slowly pulling out, Robby leaned back watching Jack's cock slip out after his. Pulling your cheeks apart to get a good look at you stretched open and pulsing around nothing. As their mixed cum started leaking out you felt him swipe two fingers to collect it and shoved it back inside.
“Hold it in for me kid, just a little squeeze you can do it”
Eyes drooping you nodded and did your best to tighten your pelvic floor as much as you could. With gentle hands they flipped you onto your back beside Jack hooking your knees over his legs so that they were angled up. Your limbs felt like wet noodles as you let them manhandle you into whatever position they wanted. As your breathing began slowing down you felt Jack's hand stoking your hair leading you to begin drifting off. Although the feeling of a warm cloth jerked you from the edge of sleep, Robby took the time to clean up the three of you seeing as Jack still had his prosthetic off and his crutches were left in the bathroom. The bed dipped as he laid down beside you, his own hand coming to rub the expanse of your lower belly.
“You okay kid?”
“Mmhmmm” your soft confirmation barely reached his ears.
“So kids huh?” Jack was the first to speak.
“Yeah I don’t know where that came from,” Robby’s cheeks glowed with his telltale red blush, “Guess being called old makes you think about things” A soft calm fell over the room as you all ruminated through your own thoughts on the subject.
“I know we wouldn’t be the most conventional family, but I would like to be one” coherency was quick to return to you with the direction the conversation was led into, “With both of you”
The confession settled across the three of you, all thinking about a future and what it could bring. At first you felt silly as you had all been together for less than a year but this was also years in the making. So the idea that you could be pregnant with their child felt right, and being here with them felt like home.
|| rabbot x reader || smut mdni 18+, pwp, not a single lick of plot here folks, pinv, anal, dirty talk, pet names, threesome, double penetration, creampie x2, slightly mean!robby and softdom!jack, fingers in mouth, teasing, boyfriends kissing, praise, just silly girly things ||
a/n: heavily unedited, word vom, a little spank bank idea I had today and had to deliver to you
wc: 1.7k
"please—"
it wasn't the first time you'd begged. you'd begged for many, many things in this same position, truth be told. robby behind you, jack below. both of their cocks splitting you open. jack was thick, just like the rest of him—thick fingered, thick bodied, thick cock throbbing and twitching where it stuffed your pussy. robby, on the other hand—long and curved up to the right—enjoyed fucking you in your tight puckered muscle, making you whine and squirm beneath him.
robby laid down over you, crushing you further into jack's chest, who moaned with you at the change in angle. robby’s breath was hot against your ear, his lips pressed into the shell.
"please what, baby? hmmmm?" he groaned, his voice hoarse and cracked, his chest wiry with hair against your slick back.
you brought your hand up to fist in his hair, holding on tight as he pulled his length from you almost to the very tip before thrusting slowly back in.
"oh my god," you heard jack curse, his hands tightening at your hips, his mouth opening in a gasp.
both of them were to the right of you—your face laid down on jack's collarbone, robby's chin hooked over your right shoulder. they were so close. breathing one another's air, enough that you could feel jack’s breath leave him and robby’s cheek shift against the side of your head when he opened his mouth to kiss the crest of your shoulder.
you tightened your grip in the latter's hair.
"wanna see you kisssss—"
jack let out a breathless little laugh, robby chuckling into your shoulder.
"baby, we talked about this—" jack said, his voice hardly more than breath, his chest heaving under yours.
"—but it would be so hottttt," you whined.
robby ignored you. "how's she feel, brother?"
jack's head tipped back into the pillow beneath him, and you watched the rough scruff of his unshaved neck shift as his adam's apple glided up and down, swallowing around the broken gasp he pulled in.
"so god damn good—go a little harder, she squeezes me so fucking tight when you really give it to her, mike."
you barely had time to register the gleam in robby's eyes before he was swinging his hips back again, this time thrusting hard against you, his skin slapping hard, balls clapping right above where jack's cock was buried deep inside.
you squealed and jack groaned loudly. your hand hung on tighter to robby's hair, your other hand digging into jack's shoulder beside your head.
"ohhhh fuck—" you mewled. "so—so deep, robby, oh god—"
"she sounds so pretty when she makes those little noises," jack strained to say, turning to kiss you on the nose. "huh, honey? robby's dick feel good like that? yeah? gimme a kiss."
you tilted your chin, pushing into his lips lazily, your tongue reaching out to lick at his, wet muscles sliding together. when you began to drool out the side of your lips, you brought robby's head down closer, resting your cheek back to jack's chest.
"your turn—" you murmured sleepily, your brain fucked out of any logic.
nothing passed through you but the ecstasy of having these two men and being sandwiched between them and their weight pressing in around you. jack began jerking his hips up into you, making you hiccup and whine, his thrusts getting erratic, his breath heavier.
robby's cock pushed deeper into you too, the pressure of both of them at the same time making you feel so content, so full, so cock drunk.
"please, please," you chanted. "wanna see you kiss so badly—"
"she really does beg so cute, doesn't she?" robby murmured, kissing your shoulder.
"yeah—" the other breathed, a light groan strangling the word as both of them slid in and out of you in tandem—full of jack's cock, then robby's, empty. then again, both of them filing you at the same time. the rhythm made your jaw go slack, your thoughts thinning. it felt so right, with jack below you, robby behind you, both of them too big, too hot, too much. still, you wanted more. wanted this so badly the need burned behind your eyes.
"like this—" you said, ignoring their cooing, and you craned your neck, pressing a chaste kiss to robby's lips.
it was hardly a second, your brain too foggy to make it anything more.
"that's it, huh? that's what you want, honey?" robby murmured, voice even hoarser with mirth as he smiled at you.
"yesss!" you whined, kicking your feet into the bed beneath.
"not good enough to have both of us, huh?" he teased. "such a needy little girl."
"be nice, mike—" jack moaned. "she's a good girl."
his praise always effected you—making you flutter around him, and you knew he could feel it, even with the increased fulless from robby deep inside you with him. he cracked a little knowing smile between moans.
"oh, i know she's a good girl, brother," robby said, and his mouth dragged over the back of your shoulder. "no doubt about it. but we've spoiled her. she thinks she can have whatever she wants."
you pouted, the prick of tears in your eyes not from him denying you, but from the utter fullness of their cocks punching in and out of you. from the easy back and forth of them—robby pretending there wasn’t a soft spot in him you could reach with the simplest look. and jack caught it every time and teased him for it.
"enough talking—" jack cursed. "fuck, fuck, she's tightening up on me— think she's gonna come, mike, oh god—"
"please—" you moaned louder, thrashing a little bit out of frustration.
"fuck it—" robby growled.
he leaned down and placed a kiss on the corner of jack's mouth.
they didn't stop entirely when robby pulled his lips away from jack's. their thrusts only softened into shallow rocks, jack's hands tightening on your skin, both his and robby's throbbing lengths still pressed deep enough inside you that every quiet breath made you feel the stretch of both of them. you held yours without meaning to—waiting, feeling both of them still around you.
robby's chest pressed heavier against your back as he breathed through his nose. you felt jack's beneath you, his ribs expanding, pressing against your breasts.
"yes," you whispered, though not wanting to rush them. your mouth brushed jack's skin when you said it, soft against the damp hollow below his collarbone. "more."
"you're right—" jack huffed a little laugh that shook his chest on the way out. "she really is needy."
robby smiled, as if grateful for the lightness, "told y—"
but he couldn't say anything else, because jack's lips were suddenly on his.
a deep, harmonized groan passed between the two of them, and it did something terrible to you. your stomach dropped, your hips jerked. even a little lick of jealousy flamed in you, warming your skin, but they looked good together. so good. exactly as you pictured it. it made you moan and writhe to see their mouths slot against one another, lips parting, tongues sliding, jack's stubbled jaw working under the rough scrape of robby's beard.
"oh my god," you whispered.
when they paused their kissing, a string of spit connected them, shiny and wet.
"d'you feel that?" robby whispered.
"yeah," jack answered, his one hand squeezing your hip while the other came up to robby's hair along with yours. "her pussy is gripping me like a vice—"
"yeah, she really tightened up—fuck, c'mere."
robby's hand went up to jack's hair too, fisting in the messy graying curls. jack's mouth fell open in a guttural groan, and robby's other hand came to the nape of your neck in answer. he pulled you into himself harshly, his tongue sliding against yours as your mouths met.
it was slick and wet and lewd, and just when you began to moan in earnest, their thrusts picked up again. harder now, less patient. jack fucking up into you from beneath, robby driving into you from behind, the bed frame knocking against the wall harshly again and again.
then you felt a second tongue at the corner of your mouth.
you pulled back only enough to welcome it—jack's tongue sliding against yours, robby's flicking against the two of you together.
the room filled with louder moans and the thick slap of skin, the wet drag of mouths, jack's rough little curses disappearing against your lips. robby's hand stayed tight at the back of your neck, holding you there for it, making you take the kiss you had begged for. you gushed around them, pussy fluttering and convulsing in pleasure.
"come for us, baby," robby whispered between kisses. "come for jackie. he wants you to come all over his big cock."
jack groaned under you, his hips jerking up harder, his member punching even deeper.
"I wanna feel it too," robby said. "c'mon now, gave you what you wanted. now I get to feel this perfect little ass take my come."
"just wanted your boyfriends to kiss, huh, baby?" jack cooed, his hand moving up to grip your face, forefinger and thumb squeezing your cheeks. his thumb hooked into the tender hinge of your lips, sliding along your molars to pry your mouth open wider for the two of them.
you cried out around his salty skin, and he pouted in mock pity as he looked at you.
"come on my cock, baby," jack moaned, leaning in to keep licking and nipping at your lips. "know you wanna, come on my cock now—gonna fill you up so good, mmmm—"
"i'm—i'm—i'm coming—oh, god, oh god—"
"yeah, that's it, that's it—oh fuckkk—" robby groaned, his thrusts slamming harder, turning erratic before he froze up, jaw unhinging, breathing hotly against wanton mouth.
jack's opened too, in shock, in awe, and when you looked at him you saw his eyes go wide before they rolled back behind his eyelids.
your orgasm ripped through you, a heady pressure down your spine and tightening your hips, making your legs lock up before it crested you like an ocean wave swelling and crashing. your hand clenched in robby's hair as your mouth fell open around jack's thumb. both of them groaned in tandem, trapping you between them, both buried deep while your body squeezed down, making jack curse and robby bare his teeth.
as the euphoria eased and your body went loose with the oxytocin flooding your blood, the three of you kept kissing—gentle little nips, soft flicks of tongue, spit sliding and glistening at the corners of your mouths, collecting where lips met and parted. jack retreated his thumb from your mouth to gently pet at your cheek, and they let you have as much as you wanted, just like always. spoiled thing, they'd tell you again afterwards, while they washed your hair in the bath and cleaned you up.
but for now, you kissed them as your eyes grew heavier and heavier, your breathing deepening against jack's chest. robby's weight behind you felt heavy and comforting, tucked between two men, utterly spent and completely content.
wrote this at 8pm posted at 9:30pm so please ignore any typos or mistakes lol my horny lil mind couldn't be stopped
jack learned to deal with all of his problems alone. when he finds someone to help shoulder his burdens, he falls deeply, unconditionally head over heels for you—and he loves coming home.
Contents: smut. SOMETIMES jack needs to talk shit about Robby and fuck his wife in the kitchen. discussion of sex over 35, fluff & smut, a healthy marriage is a sexy marriage, blue pill mention.
[jack abbot x fem!reader. wc: 5.4k ]
Masterlist | Other Jack Fics
When Jack couldn’t sleep, he found a solution.
Those solutions built up over the years and as his therapist put it: “were concerning, ‘not real’ activities to help him.” He didn’t listen. Instead, kept chugging along when weather churned his emotions into a mature storm.
It built. Heavy and hot and angry every day. For every minute Jack spent without a break, the boiling point seemed to climb.
And then when he got home, he crashed.
Bag dumped onto the floor, feet dragging louder every step as he followed the light into the kitchen and tried not to think about how at eight in the morning, all he wanted was to fuck his frustration out.
It was eight. He didn’t want to burden you with having sex with him just because he was combusting with weeks of problems.
He tossed his keys on the kitchen counter and watched you pour a cup of coffee from behind. Jack leaned, with relief, into the wall and shut his eyes for a moment.
“Do you want one?” You asked aloud. He hadn't said a thing and you were already helping ease the tension behind his brow.
Jack shook his head. “Not if you want me like the energizer bunny.”
“Oh, oh,” you exhaled. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
A short, airy chuckle escaped Jack’s lips as his head dipped. He was exhausted—you could see it in the frame of his body and the way his shoulders drooped like a person who had given up on the day when you turned around. With the mug to your mouth, you blew on the steaming coffee carefully.
“Rough night?”
Jack nodded. “Yeah.”
“Do you,” you began to breach slowly, “want to talk about it?”
Your eyes fluttered around his face for an answer before he gave it. He chewed on the inside of his lip before hovering, his right fingers twisted his ring on the left. Probably a female patient stuck on his conscious, you imagined.
Jack only ever got in a funk about patients that reminded him of himself, the men he served with, children, or women who reminded him of you.
He'd argue that the ones "like you" were the worst. For you, it all looked relatively the same.
“Robby came in early and this woman…” he trailed. A shake of his head followed the click of his teeth. “He really fucking pissed me off about her care.”
“Oh?”
“He’s been such an asshole lately.”
“I’ve heard.” Your eyebrows raised in acknowledgement. “He’s been an asshole for months, apparently.”
“Try a fucking year,” Jack scoffed. He lifted from the wall and ran his hands over his face. “He stalled too long and by the time Neuro came down, they berated me for waiting so long to page. It’s not my fucking fault. I told Robby what the course of action was and all he did was argue about it.”
The steam began to roll.
“He’s just—” Jack huffed “—is so dense sometimes it makes my blood boil.”
“Sounds like you need to go to couples therapy,” you replied lightly and his shoulders dropped further at the retort. “They must have a platonic co-worker, bestie session somewhere.”
“Funny,” he panned. “Robby needs fucking therapy. He’s gonna get me into a lawsuit that I have no reason to be apart of.”
“You’re gonna need more therapy for Robby’s lack of it.”
“And you know what?” Jack exasperated. He held up a pointer finger and wagged it around to make a point. “He’s a know-it-all too.”
“Aren’t you all?” You looked at him seriously. “Isn’t the whole point of your job to be the biggest know-it-all for your staff?”
“He’s an ass about it though. I’m not. I’m like… cool. Like a coach or something… he’s… he's just an asshole.”
“Then don’t ask for his opinion, Jack. Rely on your residents, your seniors, before falling back to him. Robby isn’t the chosen one, you know.”
“I know.”
“Then why act like it?”
Jack shook his head. “Maybe because he does. He’s a fucking… wolf in sheep’s clothing and every time it pops out, I wonder why the hell I listen to him in the first place sometimes.”
“He can be a bully,” you agreed from what you knew of Robby and what Jack debriefed to you in confidence.
He loved his friend, truly, but even friends can be a larger stressors of life. In Jack’s line of work, it was more probable than not that Robby and Jack’s friendship would ebb and flow over time. Robby was hitting a low—and everyone always suffered when the great Michael Robinavitch hit rock bottom.
“I just wish he’d just knock it off.”
“You know that it’s not that easy.”
Jack concurred. “Doesn’t mean it’s not frustrating when other people don’t accept it.”
“Why won’t he?”
“I really don’t have a clue, honey.”
Your mouth quirked a smile to one side. “Then fuck ‘em right now. As much as I care about Michael’s well being, I really don’t want to talk about him when you’re home.”
“I know you don’t.” Jack breathed in. He shook off Robby and the patients and looked at you truthfully. “Hi.”
“Hi,” you returned.
He paused, gazing at you with a refreshed appreciation. Jack’s eyes softened easily. You’d been home alone without him for an entire night and while he knew you didn’t mind his deflation of work drama, it really wasn’t what you wanted to hear this early.
Let alone when you’re in his presence again, on an off day, with a whole day to waste.
“How was your night?”
“Fine,” you gave a vague, noncommittal motion. “Didn’t do much. Watched the news, I told you I didn’t want to make dinner so I had a bowl of cereal… went to bed, but I don’t like sleeping without you.”
Neither did he. Jack hummed. He nodded in listening and his eyes trailed down your body shamelessly. The shorts you wore to sleep always bunched weird—your own reasoning—when you walked. A shape he could only identify as an upside down heart narrowed his attention to the apex of your thighs. It targeted Jack’s mind with a reminder that he was home.
There was nothing more to worry about at work.
He was at ease under a roof to share with you.
You. You. You.
And his body sure knew it.
“Is that all you did? Sleep?”
You narrowed your eyes at him. The time on the microwave read 8:36 and for anyone else, maybe it would be too early for this. But for Jack, time was an illusion of practice.
He slept for four hours a day and devoted himself to a million different tasks to escape the quiet. However, when you were home together on a Saturday, Jack couldn’t help the way his brain immediately shifted into one mode. He missed you. He missed being close to you on nights where he imagined you tossing and turning because he wasn’t around to hold you.
“Why?” You said warily. “What did you imagine me doing other than sleeping?”
Jack’s tongue wet his lips; it ran over his bottom lip before he bit down to stop himself from blurting out the first thing that came to mind. He wasn’t seeking to be so fucking dirty minded at the break of goddamn dawn, but one look at you and he was always on the brink of exploding.
He thought you were the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes on. The kind where sailors of old were bewitched by sirens in the water... empires surely fought over you in another life. You looked so simple and refreshed in your pajamas and robe as you stood in front of the window that looked out into the backyard. The sun had risen, painting a swirl of Valentine’s colors in place of its generic blue.
He loved you. Immensely. And all of that love often transpired in every room of the house.
Jack’s mouth frowned in dismissal. “Nothing…” he scoffed. “Just like… did you read a book? Watch a… movie… or something? An audiobook?”
“Jack.”
“Maybe you watched a couple of episodes of—”
“I didn’t!” You were quick to defend. “I told you I’d wait for you to be off!”
He waited for seconds to pass. “So… nothing then?”
“Jack.” You set the mug down beside the sink. “Are you trying to ask me if I did something dirty?”
“Well that makes me feel and sound like I’m 10.”
“You’re kind of acting like you’re 10.”
“Rude,” he joked. “I… I guess so.” He answered your question.
“You wanna know what I do in bed without you when you’re ten minutes away and so frustrated about your job and all you can think about is fucking me?”
“Now you’re just being lewd.”
Jack stepped toward you and caged you with his hands stretched onto the counter beside you. Your hands landed on his stomach, smelling the antiseptic that always traveled home with him.
“Don’t you want to shower?” You inquired as his chin tutted out in observance of you.
“Don’t you wanna tell me what you did?”
“You have an imagination, Dr. Abbot,” you breathed. “Maybe you can use it to figure it out.”
Your hands smoothed over his sides. His breathing leveled out from his ire against Robby. Building the walls of his home around his heart, Jack hands gripped onto the counter hard. The strain of his muscles pulled on the veins of his arms that made you weak in the knees. Every bit of the man was attractive to you—everything.
“I think you were a little… cold,” he suggested. Your eyes lingered on his lips before meeting his own that seemed to pin you to the counter. “And you needed something to warm you up.”
“Oh,” you frowned, “so very cold.”
Your hands drifted higher. In a break from their internal memorization of Jack’s body, your hands traced his biceps and forearms, bumping over the shallow ridges of veins.
Jack rumbled. “Was it your hands? Or our friend in the drawer?”
Your eyes flickered back to his lips. Jack’s dick twitched in his scrub pants. Fuck. You were just perfect.
“A little bit of both, I guess.”
“You guess?” His face inched closer, noses brushing against one another. “Need a reminder?”
“Why would I?” You mumbled quietly. “You’re here now.”
“Hasn’t stopped you before.”
Jack’s nose danced across your cheek and to the side of your face where he sucked in the scent of you. Your hands brushed up to his pecks and back down, threatening to go lower at the bottom of his top. His breath hit your ear and your head lulled away from him playfully.
“That’s not what I want. It’s not what I wanted, either.”
“I was thinkin’ bout you last night,” Jack rasped against your ear, “how much I wanted to be here. All the things I wanted to do you.”
“Oh yeah?” You smiled as he placed a kiss on the side of your face. It was barely a kiss, a brush of his lips, but it was there. “You gonna tell me about it or do I have to guess.”
“Well you know how I feel about these shorts, honey.”
Jack backed away from your face and looked down between your bodies. He could see your nipples peaking at the fabric and the way your legs pressed together as he gazed. He wet his lips hungrily.
“Who knew sunflowers could be so fuckin’ sexy, huh?”
You laughed. He grinned like a schoolboy at the sound.
“I might only wear them just for you,” you said with a lazy smile. “They’re like my ‘Jack Trap’ I suppose.”
“Jack Trap?”
“Mhm,” you bit down on your lower lip. “Guaranteed romance with them on.”
“Guaranteed?” He joked and pretended to pull away. You tugged him back without resistance.
“Honey,” he lamented casually. “There is no trapping me. Ever. You got me. On my knee or not. Prisoner of your heart for life—honestly.”
“A prisoner?” You gagged. “In the world’s most cozy prison then.”
“Well I’ve never been to any so I wouldn’t know.”
You pushed against his stomach and he shook his head smiling before returning to blocking you in.
“I think about you every minute of the day,” he brought back. “Even if I know you’re working or reading or just making a sandwich, I’m thinking about you.”
The sincerity in his eyes killed you. He was certain death. Your certificate would read: CAUSE OF DEATH—HUSBAND’S LOVE, and it would be correct.
“Why don’t we put all that thinking to good use now?” You proposed.
You pushed up to him and planted a quick, easy kiss to his lips.
“For all the time I missed you at work,” another kiss, “and for all the time you missed me while you were at work.”
You kissed him again, longer.
“I think you have really good ideas.”
“That’s why you married me.”
“No,” he shook his head but his lips landed on yours. “I married you because you’re my best friend. And that you put up with all of my shit and still somehow love me.”
“Eh,” you shrugged, “that too.”
Jack kissed you deeply in return.
You sunk into a warm place because of it. His mouth commanded you to fall into him every time. A routine of adoration, his tongue was fast to escalate the scene to one of cuteness to one of craving. Chasing an itch that could never be fully scratched, Jack’s mouth devoured yours.
Shallow, hushed shaky breaths filled your ears when he chose to let them go. His left hand left the counter to cup your face gently. In a stark difference from his kiss, his thumb traced over your bottom lip, then top, resting in the center where your lips parted.
You locked eyes with him. Jack’s thumb breached your lips and your warm mouth accepted it. A mixture of your combined saliva coated his thumb and as he retracted, your teeth grazed his skin. Jack used his wet thumb to coat your lips before pulling your face back to his and kissing you once more.
It was thoughtless. A mindless warping of his body into yours and no one needed to think about anything except where hands went and how lips moved. Jack pushed his body into yours to lessen any possible space. Your back dug into the counter, quick to remind you that you weren’t 25 and sex outside of soft spaces wasn’t always easy.
But it was exciting and different and new.
You couldn’t remember the last time you had sex with Jack that wasn’t in bed. As much as your imaginations sought spaces that seemed sexy or exhilarating, the reality of it was that sex was a bodily maneuver that over time, became prisoner to age. It didn’t only matter if someone’s sexual prowess was dimmed by time. Knees ached, a back’s soreness frequented, and the longevity of the act became sporadic with hormone imbalances.
Jack’s twelve hour shifts and leg also didn’t always allow for more adventurous loving. But you were both satisfied with what you could do. You didn’t need to have pornographic levels of acrobatic flexibility to enjoy having sex with each other. Simple lust and attraction did all the heavy lifting where kinesthetics just didn’t work out.
Yet he kissed you like all of it was possible every time. His mouth moved against yours with fervor. Devoted to one task only: Jack wanted you to feel him. To sense one’s intent through only a kiss seemed useless—Jack gave every ounce of himself in it. Your lips nearly puckered with a grin, hands moved to cling to his scrub top as his hand tipped your head back.
His right leg wedged itself between yours. Jack’s hand that had lodged itself stiff against the counter slid between the opening of your robe and smoothed over your back before grasping your ass so hard you moved to grind against his leg. Your lips never released his, alternating between chasing his dominance and giving into it.
Jack’s hand prompted you to move. Switching to hold onto your bare thigh and sinking his fingers into your flesh, he asked your hips to roll without words. Heat rose to your cheeks when he let out a sound of appreciation.
It was something “new” he offered during times like these.
He’d always been vocal about praising you during sex—it was a non-negotiable for you when you first met so many years ago. This wasn’t a silent game. It wasn’t an unimportant encounter that could be quietly passed over until the next. Sex was sex. It was vulnerability in a bottle and fuck, if you were gonna let him see all of you, he better show that appreciation audibly.
So, when he followed up with a quick and low: “just like that baby,” your heart picked up a few extra beats.
However, Jack had become more aware of it over the last year. When he wasn’t able to give all of himself during intimacy because of his meds, he resorted to focusing on your pleasure alone and doubled down on the vocal praise. It added onto a long list of things that made Jack irresistible for you. He moaned more, let himself feel more openly, and sometimes, he talked you through it.
He was always willing to learn.
If someone asked him what makes his marriage to you work, Jack would say it was that he never stopped learning about you. People change. All the time. And just because you think you know someone in and out, it doesn’t mean that things become stagnant.
He never stopped dating you just because he married you. Jack learned, listened, and adapted when he needed to because that’s what good people did.
So, he knew when something needed to change and he knew when something clicked.
The kitchen? It’s doing it for him. It clicked.
It’s where he hoped he’d find you when he walked through the door and it was a magnificent feeling mixed with his anger to witness.
The gentle roll of your hips against his thigh was sending shockwaves throughout his body. His hand gripped your thigh harder, the other firmly grasping the back of your head as if to tell you telepathically to keep going. You leant your body on a diagonal away from him, pushing your hips down where the seam of your shorts began to press into your clit just right.
Shit. He really did love those fucking shorts.
Jack’s lips deserted yours. He looked down between your bodies, letting your face fall forward and down too, to watch you grind down on his scrub pants like a fucking machine. All you could feel, however, was the thickness of his thigh underneath it.
He loved that it being his right leg didn’t bother you.
And he thanked fucking God that he was a stronger goddamn soldier than the thought because he wasn’t sore, shaking, or ready to collapse under the pressure.
“Oh fuck,” he said your name breathlessly. “That’s so…”
“Mhm,” you hummed with a huff. “I knew you had a thing for these fucking pajamas.”
Both his hands landed on your waist, just above your hips.
“Is it bothering you?” You asked a bit softer. Still, your breath was catching.
Jack shook his head. “Think you can get off like this?”
“You’re not gonna fuck me?” Your hips faltered.
“Oh,” Jack’s voice dragged out like a cautious warning. “I’m gonna fuck you.”
Jack moved his hands underneath your pajama shirt and to your breasts. He palmed over your nipples before kneading them in his hands.
“You’re gonna come like this first.”
“You think I can?” You knew you could.
The seam of the shorts outlined your pussy perfectly. You “forgot” underwear whenever you wore these but under the guise of “she needs to breathe.” Jack didn’t argue. He didn’t argue as Dr. Abbot and he sure as hell didn’t argue as Mr. Abbot. The friction it gave felt better after every grind made them tighter. Soon, they were barely considered shorts and you hoped that the wetness building on his pants wasn’t going to wear down the fibers of it.
But Jack didn’t give a shit.
He’d buy a thousand pairs of pants if it meant you orgasmed on them.
“Yeah,” he murmured and your breath hitched. “You can, baby. I know you fucking can. You feel this?”
Jack left one of your breasts to guide your hand over his cock. He was hard, fully, without any assistance from the little blue pill.
“If you can do this to me?” He placed your hand along his covered shaft and your hand molded quickly. “Then yeah, you can fucking come on my thigh.”
You rubbed his length slower than you humped him. Nevertheless, you encouraged your bones to keep going. Jack watched your chest rise and fall more rapidly every minute that passed. It used to take no time for him to get you to the finish line but with time, that changed.
Your needs changed. He’d been rough, gentle, and everything in between but it varied from day to day what was needed.
This… this was working wonders.
“You feel so good,” you whined. “F-fuck me.”
“I will, be patient.” Jack’s head dipped to your neck where he nipped at your skin. He pressed kisses into the column of your neck and moved his hands back to the counter for support.
“Tell me if it’s too much Jack,” you said shakily. “I’m not going to leave you hurting.”
“You could take my other leg and it would hurt less than you stopping.”
“Jack,” you said seriously and hesitated moving again.
“Did I say you could stop?”
Jack lifted his head to look you in the eyes. You were taken aback by the boldness—you aren’t sure he’s ever said that before. Your mouth, against your heaving breaths, fell open into a small O.
“Did I,” he repeated, “tell you that you could stop?”
“N-no,” you sputtered.
“I know you’re close.”
“So? I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’re not,” he assured. “But if you don’t get moving, my fucking erection is gonna hurt from not blowing my load into you.”
“Romantic,” you muttered dryly. “You’re not gonna fuck me if I stop? What happened to thinking about me all day?”
Jack moved his thigh instead and your chest stuttered.
“I told you that you need to finish first,” he nearly demanded. He said your name resolutely. “You gotta move, baby. Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen if you’re not moving.”
You tested the waters and realized that it only jolted you back into place.
“You’re kind of mean, do you know that?”
“Something new.” He kissed your cheek. “Does it work?”
“A little.”
“Good.” He helped you pick the pace back up.
Not thirty seconds later, his hands left yours and pinched the back of his scrub top. He lifted it up and over his head before taking his tee off too.
“Does seeing these help?” He asked honestly about his pecks and you couldn’t help but laugh.
“What?” Jack’s eyes matched the furrow in his brow. “I’m serious.”
“I know,” you chuckled. He was so sweet.
You placed a hand on his cheek and rubbed your thumb over his skin softly. “You’re just so damn charming.”
“And you’re everything,” he replied.
“Yeah?”
He nodded and brought your hand from his face to the dip where his abs started.
“What’s everything?” You asked.
He didn’t even have to think. “You’re beautiful,” he started, “and kind. You’re always the most pleasant person in the room even when you’re a little bit bitchy. You take care of me when I need it the most and even when I don’t, you’re always there.”
Your head shook in agreement but Jack knew that’s not what it was. You were close. Hearing what he loved about you was sending your body into overdrive and the hand that was still on his cock loosened from distraction.
“You’re so good at your job and everyone loves you. But I love you the most, I think. Pretty sure on that one. And you’re so sexy. So, so, so fucking sexy that I can barely keep my hands to myself every time we’re in the same room. Your body is magnificent. Just a fucking smoke show of a wife.”
Your lips fought a smile.
“And I think you really want to come on me. I can see it, baby. I know you want to. You can do it. I’ve got you.”
“Yeah?” It sounded near pathetic coming out of your mouth.
“Yeah,” he affirmed. “Don’t stop, baby. Don’t fucking stop. I wanna watch you.”
Jack’s hand grasped your chin tightly. He locked eyes with you, never letting you out of his sight. His head nodded up and down as you whined and then shook once, twice, and wrapped your hands onto his arm as tight as a vice.
The lights seemed to flash brightly inside of you and your hips jolted against him.
“There you go,” Jack tutted. “There you go. Good fucking girl.”
“Oh what the fuck, Jack.” You stated. Your head dipped into his chest. “Good girl? Shit.”
“You like that one?” You could hear the smile in his tone.
“You know I fucking do.”
“Do you know what I like?” Jack asked you and helped lift your head. “Hm?”
“The idea that you’re gonna fuck me into the counter now?”
“No,” he shook his head. “You.”
“You’re so cheesy. You’re the cheesiest person I think I know.”
Jack scrunched his nose and ran his hands up your sides as your leg fell to the floor and you slumped against the counter.
“It’s a cute cheesy, right?”
“A hot cheesy. Like a Philly Cheesesteak kind of hot.”
“Disrespectful to Pittsburgh, but okay.”
Jack guided you to turn around. He helped slip off your robe before discarding it onto the counter so it didn’t get dirty on the floor. His hands went to the waist band of your shorts before sliding them down and palming your ass for the sake of it.
“Are you ready to go?” He asked softly. He guided his body to slot against yours.
He was as hard as rock from just watching you dry hump his goddamn thigh.
“Yeah,” you sighed in. “I’m ready.”
“Good.” Jack’s hand lightly slapped one cheek.
You backed up, leant forward onto the counter and having spread your legs enough to where he whistled at the view.
“Honey,” he swooned. “Why haven’t we done this sooner?”
“We usually don’t have sex when you walk through the door.”
“We might have to from now on.”
Jack lowered his scrub pants and pumped himself from balls to head as he zoned in on your glistening pussy from behind. One hand glided to your hips to position you right, his good foot nudging you closed just enough.
“I don’t know if I’m gonna be nice, baby.” Jack huffed low. “I’m still pretty fuckin’ pissed inside.”
You pushed closer to him. “And I’ll tell you if I don’t like it.”
“Such a good girl,” he praised. His cock lined up nicely. Jack guided his tip along your folds and closed his eyes at the sensation of it mixing with you. “I think I told you that? Right?” He suddenly couldn’t remember.
“Drunk on it already?” Jack’s hand ran up your back as he began to sink in.
Both of you lost words at the feeling. It was always like this—and you’re relieved that never changed. Jack fit inside of you like a hand in a glove. He was made for you, if that was a possible thing to manifest. Enveloped in your warmth, Jack let out a loud reset sigh with a satisfactory moan.
“Fuck. You feel so good.”
“Give me a minute,” you told him as your forehead fell against your arms on the counter.
Even if Jack fit you well, he was still big. You didn’t engage in this position much. It wasn’t practical 90% of the time with how much you’re both on your feet, plus it wasn’t the most comfortable setting. No one wants marble countertops digging into their stomach and arms. No one wants to be standing for however long it takes to come.
But when lust overtakes the both of you, it’s impossible to think of the consequences down the line.
“You’re good, baby,” he encouraged. Jack’s palms cupped your hips and sides.
“Okay,” you were ready. “I’m fine.”
“Yeah?” Jack tested it by pulling out a fraction and slowly going back in. “Sure?”
“Positive.”
Jack thrusted in and out carefully the first few times before gradually snapping his hips harder. The grasp on your waist tightened, fingers telling you that his upset hadn’t disappeared completely and it was rapidly creating a mask of attention diverting from you.
You felt his cock deeper every time. He was hitting you in the spot that made you see stars; head lulling back to your arms and up to the window, the early morning blues and greens meaning nothing when all you could focus on was Jack’s thrusts impairing your senses.
“Baby,” he said out of breath. “Give me your hand.”
You wordlessly obeyed and slid one of your hands back where he grabbed it fast. His hand entwined with yours and now pulling your shoulder back too, he picked up his pace further. Harder, all consuming where the thoughts were truly lost. Jack’s hips slammed into your ass and the sound of his cock pushing into your ecstasy made your eyes roll. His growls came at a close second.
“Shit.”
The words came spewing out of Jack’s mouth the closer he became.
“Fuck.”
“You feel so fucking good, baby,” he gasped when your walls squeezed uncontrollably. “Oh, just like that. Yeah… you’re taking me so well. Your pussy feels so fucking good.”
You let out a meek sound of disbelief.
“Oh my God, Jack.”
“I know,” he hissed. He repeated your name like a prayer.
His cock was immensely hard and he pounded into you just as much. You’d surely have a bruise or two on your arms, but it wasn’t something you were peeved about. Jack wasn’t hurting you. He would never hurt you.
“Fuck,” he gritted through his teeth. “I’m not gonna last long baby.”
“Neither am I,” you replied just as lost.
A follow up orgasm was on your horizon. Jack’s cock clipped your clit, sliding out of you for a moment of reprieve before he recorrected and pushed on. He never let go of your hand.
“I love you so much.”
You bit your cheek. “I love you, Jack.”
“I don’t think you know how much I love you,” he grunted. His hips shuddered. “I love you so goddamn much. You’re just fuckin’ perfect. My perfect fucking wife—that’s right, my fucking wife.”
The hand he held onto was your left. He would never get over the feeling of your ring on his skin.
“Oh you have no idea.” He sighed loudly.
“Come with me, Jack,” you begged him.
You were so close again. You squeezed your muscles around him, relishing the way it made his effort slow just enough for a moan to escape his lips.
“I’m right there.” Jack was starting to lose the rhythm.
“Oh fuck,” you groaned, feeling the precipice hit you again and making your legs quake in the process. You were suddenly overstimulated by the feeling and whined loudly as he chased his high.
“I’m there,” Jack repeated like a mantra. “I’m there, I’m there, baby—shit. F-fuck baby—”
Jack’s hand slipped from your grip and his hands planted themselves on your back as he rutted to stillness. His finish pushed into you with every thrust after it was over and he began to calm down his racing heart. The rush of his hands on your back soothed the overstimulation that continued to shake your legs.
Jack shushed you sweetly as he stayed buried inside.
“What the hell, Jack,” you mumbled almost incoherently into your arms.
He laughed but continued to rub your back. Around where his cock was softening, he felt a slow release of his ejaculation coming back and drip onto the floor between your feet.
He’d clean it up later.
“You okay?” He asked quietly.
“Yeah,” you were still catching your breath. “I just don’t think I need my coffee anymore.”
“No?” Jack asked amused.
“Wake me up fully like this everyday and maybe I won’t ever need it again.”
His hands gave one more appreciative swipe at your body before he gently removed himself for you and you could stand up straight again. Jack tucked himself back into his scrubs and then helped you back into your shorts and robe.
Your dazed eyes met his.
Christ. You simply loved him… maybe a little too much.
A/N: shawn doing a quinn app story maybe MAYBE inspired the fact this takes place in the kitchen. MAYBE. like probably greater than 99%.
reblogs, comments, and likes keep writers writing!!
summary: you and robby have managed to keep your relationship a secret from your coworkers for sometime with zero complications. that is, until the new attending and a positive pregnancy test threaten to ruin everything. (6.6k)
pairing: michael robinavitch / fem!pitt crew!reader
contents: established relationship, secret relationship, implied age gap, angst, hurt/comfort, jealousy (dr. al-hashimi wants your man BAD), protective!robby, domestic bliss cw for mentions of pregnancy & pregnancy complications, brief mentions of blood, very brief mentions of puking, very brief mentions of surgical procedures, smut 18+ (MDNI): mirror sex, fingering, overstimulation, hand jobs
“Want a coffee?”
You hear Robby’s voice behind you, half-muffled, like it’s coming from underwater. The bitter stench of a fresh brew finds you a second later, followed by the man’s familiar cologne. You blink hard to remove the glaze from your eyes when his towering warmth looms behind you. Only then do you realize that you’ve been staring at the chart before you for some minutes now, still blank, with only a blinking black line looking back at you.
Robby knows you could use the pick-me-up. He can see it in your heavy eyes, still not all the way alert, even when you turn slowly to face him. You are neither pleased nor dissatisfied by his presence — and this foreign indifference from you has been haunting him for some days now. He extends the paper cup of steaming coffee to you like a peace offering, and pretends it doesn’t hurt when you snap the proverbial olive branch in half.
“Not particularly,” you answer, a little more deadpan than you mean to be, because you can feel the exhaustion down to your bones now.
You think you need coffee right now like you need to breathe, in truth, but all the websites and forums have scared you off of caffeine for the foreseeable future — or, at least, for the next seven to eight months.
Robby nods through his own coffee, which singes the tip of his tongue and stings going down just the same.
“Okay…” he lilts and clears his throat as he sets his coffee cup on the desk next to your untouched one. “Then do you wanna tell me why you’ve been avoiding me lately?”
He drags his glasses from the pocket of his dark scrubs and slides the black rims over his eyes in one fell swoop, pretending to examine your empty chart just to be closer to you. Your heart lurches into your throat when you feel his crossed arms rubbing against your back. Your skin crawls in annoyance a second later, when his warm breath fans across the exposed skin of your neck.
It’s a tug of war your body has been battling for weeks — you love everything and nothing all at once. It’s driving you as crazy as it’s probably been making the man behind you.
“I live with you, Robinavitch,” you murmur lowly, fingers click-clacking on the clunky keyboard as you type on borderline autopilot. “I couldn’t avoid you if I wanted to.”
“Well, that just makes it sound like you want to avoid me,” he scoffs.
“If I wanted to, I wouldn’t be letting you breathe down my neck right now, would I?”
Robby laughs, a sharp exhale through his broad nose. You can hear the smile in his voice as he quips, “Well, now I’m gonna stand closer just to piss you off.”
Dana watches from the other end of the circular work station, peering at the two of you over the top of her clear glasses and shaking her head to herself. Because, sure, you work with some of the smartest people the world has ever seen, but she’s the only one perceptive enough to see how lovesick the two of you are.
(It took her less than a month to find out the two of you were dating, after your return from a less-than-subtle shared week off, with your scrubs smelling less of your perfume and more of Robby’s expensive laundry detergent).
“And they say romance is dead…” the woman lilts in a gritty deadpan.
Robby laughs under his breath in response.
The distant frown on your face never wavers.
The sight finds Robby like a knife to the chest.
His brows pinch as his brown eyes squint behind his glasses. “What is with you?” he hears himself ask, a little more blunt than he intended to be. “You’ve been acting weird for days now. It’s like ever since—”
“Dr. Robby?” a familiar voice calls from the otherside of the bustling work station.
Your heads whip over your shoulders in tandem to where Dr. Baran Al-Hashimi stands at the edge of the hall. Her plush lips curl into a smile as she smooths a rogue curl back behind her ear, with the hand not clutching her tablet. The polite grin sparkles in her eyes, so brown they’re almost black against the soft canvas of her olive skin.
As if it weren’t already abundantly clear that the universe despises you, the unmerciful gods have sent the most beautiful woman on this side of Pennsylvia into the Pitt. She was older than you and far smarter than she probably realizes. The combination of her being both closer to Robby’s age and intellect has given you a complex you’re too ashamed to admit to.
“Are you busy?” she asks, dark eyes flitting between the two of you. “I don’t want to interrupt.”
Robby opens his mouth to speak, to turn her down.
You answer for him.
“No, we were just wrapping up, actually,” you tell her, plastering an artificial smile on your lips that makes Robby’s brows furrow when your dull eyes dart back to his. “Right, Dr. Robinavitch?”
He takes the hint in stride and your distant rejection on the chin.
“Uh, right…” he drawls, nodding slowly and parting from you with a huff. “What do you need, Dr. Al?”
“Well, I think there are still a few things we need to go over before we…”
Their voices disappear as they walk down the long hallway.
You mourn his warmth when he leaves. Your chest deflates with a wavering breath you didn’t know you were holding.
“So…” Santos lilts as she leans on the desk in front of you, drumming her palms on the surface. She flashes you a smile, but the wide look in her green eyes makes it look more like a grimace. “Dr. Al-Hashimi… Do we… like her?”
You shrug, still typing. “She seems nice. I guess.”
“Oh, yeah. She seems real nice…” Santos lilts in a gritty monotone, then scoffs at the look you give her. “You don’t see how close she is with Dr. Robby? Yeah, she wants a taste of that tall glass of skim milk real bad.”
“Haven’t noticed,” you respond, despite the jealousy burning like rolling lava in the pit of your stomach.
“Ew,” Whitaker blurts from the desk over, pale features screwed in disgust. “Why would you choose the worst type of milk?”
“Because men are the worst type of milk,” Santos answers like it’s obvious.
Whitaker doesn’t exactly understand her meaning, but to be fair, he rarely ever does most days. He just nods with a confused look pinching his face. “Touche…?”
The interaction from earlier that morning weighs on you all day. You can feel it physically, a heavy swirling in your stomach, that rises inevitably into your throat some hours later.
You were in the middle of performing a particularly bloody cricothyrotomy in a busy examination room with all hands on deck when it finally hit you. You were just barely able to ask Langdon to take over before the nausea could strangle you.
With Robby manning the camera shoved several inches down the sedated man’s throat, he was forced to watch you storm out, ripping off your bloody gown and gloves as you went.
“Is she okay?” Dr. Al-Hashimi wondered aloud, passing Langdon the thin blue bougie and helping him ease the instrument into the man’s open mouth.
It took Robby a second too long to realize she was asking him specifically. He blinked hard, clearing the glaze of concern from his eyes, and shook his head. “No idea…”
“Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” Dr. Garcia crooned from the head of the room with a knowing smirk and a mischievous twinkle in her eyes behind her safety glasses. “Kept her up all night, didn’t ya, Robby?”
“Not the time or the place, Garcia.”
“I was just asking if you had her working late,” the woman shrugged with a feigned air of innocence. “That’s all.”
“Oh, I’m sure you were…”
Robby didn’t see you again until the procedure was done. By then, you had already puked up your breakfast and brushed your teeth with the hygiene kit typically reserved for patients. You’d gotten some of your color back, too, from where the sudden wave of nausea had you corpse-like and clammy-skinned.
“You okay?” he’d ask with concern sitting heavily in his dark brown eyes behind the glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He peers over the monitor, following your form as you pump hand sanitizer from the dispenser on the wall.
“I’m fine,” you answered instinctively, rubbing your palms together. “It was just… a lot of blood.”
“Never bothered you before.”
“I know. Weird, right?”
Robby opted not to press you on the obvious at the time, just told you to take a break for a while —“if not for you, then for me,” he’d pleaded, and thought you might listen to him for a change.
You’re much too stubborn for any of that, though, and you’ve never been entirely sure what to do with yourself when you aren’t doing something useful with your hands. It’s two of the main reasons he fell in love with you in the first place — and, coincidentally, two of the main reasons you constantly stress him out.
Robby stops suddenly in his tracks, shoes squeaking against the tile, when he passes by the security room window. He sees you through the glass, sticking post-it notes to the wall with Ahmad, the security guard, at your side.
The dry-erase board has since been cleared and labeled: “How come? How long? How many?” with various other specifications scrawled in your neat handwriting to make a makeshift grid.
The man shakes his head despite the soft smile on his face and doubles back for the door.
“You know, when I said ‘take a break,’ I meant an actual break,” he says in lieu of any real greeting. His arms strain against his scrub sleeves when he crosses them over his chest. “I didn’t mean helping these bozos out with their gambling ring.”
“Well, this bozo is about to be $100 richer, Robinavitch,” Ahmad says with a wide grin, flashing him the wad of cash he’s been collecting from miscellaneous bets all day. “Don’t worry— I’ll throw the Pitt a pizza party or something. I’m not totally heartless.”
“Good to know,” Robby nods before his eyes flit back to you.
“I like organizing,” you tell the man, when you feel his gaze boring into the back of your head. You press each of Whitaker’s bets into the proper squares — outage, $40. “I’m good at it. It helps take my mind off… everything…”
You exhale a heavy sigh and smooth the bright blue post-it onto the board.
Robby frowns, though you aren’t looking at him to see it. “Like what—?”
“How’s the grid coming along?” Dr. Al-Hashimi wonders aloud as she saunters into the security room.
Robby notices that you don’t turn your head to answer her question or to otherwise acknowledge her presence. Your shoulder just tense instead, like she’s startled you, or like her being there alone has you holding your breath. To be fair, though, Robby doesn’t turn to look at her either when she walks to stand at his side.
“Why?” Ahmad asks with a teasing grin. “Wanna get on the books?”
“Yeah, actually…” the woman lilts in a pretty voice as her dark eyes scan the slowly building grid before her. Her lips curl into a teasing grin when she finds Robby’s name scrawled along several neon orange sticky notes. “Put me down for… Flooding, four hours, and thirty patients.”
Robby scoffs to himself — it’s an exact copy of his bet, just a bit more dialed up. His eyes follow the woman’s form as she passes Ahmad a creased twenty-dollar bill. He scratches at the gray patch in his beard and jokes, “Well, that sounds awfully familiar, doesn’t it, Dr. Al?”
“Don’t worry, Dr. Robby,” she shrugs. “I’ll buy you a drink with my winnings.”
You can hear the quiet smile in her voice, even though you aren’t looking at her to see it. You can practically feel the look she’s giving Robby, too — all doe-eyed and glittering, like she knows some sort of secret she isn’t willing to share just yet.
What you can’t quite figure out, though — and what you’ve struggled to figure out for days now — is how Robby might be looking at her. He’s too secretive. Too stoic. A brick wall in every sense of the word.
His squinted eye expression never wavers, and never truly does when he’s looking at her, but you wonder what he might be thinking behind him. Does she annoy him? Does he like that she annoys him? Is her constant teasing attractive to him the way it used to be with you?
The nauseous feeling returns to your stomach in that instant, along with a distant cramping that makes your heart drop — a ring of dull, red-hot pain you can feel up into your back.
“That is… very presumptuous of you,” Robby responds with an air of indifference that borders on playful.
“Well, I happen to call that confidence,” she retorts with a similar playfulness that’s far more obvious in her pretty voice.
Your mouth parts to gulp for air when the nausea starts to strangle you once more.
“Have you talked to Dana yet?” you hear yourself ask Ahmad, though your voice sounds much further away than that, like it’s coming from someone else entirely. “I haven’t seen her name.”
“Not yet,” the taller man answers, still scribbling down Dr. Al’s bet with a pungent Sharpie you can smell from here. “I meant to catch her in the break room, but it slipped my mind—”
“I’ll go find her,” you blurt before the words have properly left the man’s mouth.
You spin on your heel, fighting back the dizziness and stumbling back a step when you find Robby much closer than anticipated. His dark eyes soften with concern; yours widen like you’re looking at a stranger.
“Excuse me, Dr. Robby,” you murmur, polite and half-strangled, as the cramping sensation swells. You duck your head from the quiet looks of worry all around you and hurry out of the room.
Robby watches you disappear through the window, unsure of whether or not to follow after you. The dilemma glues his feet to the floor.
You don’t want him near you now but, at the same time, you hate him for not coming with you. The contradiction makes you feel like puking.
Your vision goes red. The sight of blood stains your retinas, as though you had been looking at the sun for too long and are blinded with every blink. The deep crimson blotched in your panty liner was too dark and much too heavy to be the normal spotting you’d anticipated. Your mind reels for what might be the cause — the worst case scenario and then some — and you get lost in the spiral for several long minutes, all alone in the narrow stall of the E.R. bathroom.
A knock on the door brings you to life again.
A call of your name makes your heart drop to your cramping stomach.
“Robby?” you call back, rushing to pull up your scrub pants and flush the toilet behind you, despite not having actually used it.
The stall door clicks open and fills the tense quiet of the bathroom. You step out and find the man peeking through a crack in the ajar door, with only a sliver of his face on display. Despite not having the strength to smile, you manage to joke in a strangled voice, “Do you have any idea how creepy you look right now?”
Robby exhales sharply through his nose in place of a laugh. His eyes are still heavy with worry as they follow your form to the sink, where you drench your hands in foamy soap and warm water.
“Just wanted to make sure you didn’t keel over in here,” he tells you, only partially joking. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? I wouldn’t have let you come in today.”
“I’m not sick,” you say, definitive but still a little vague, as you reach for the paper towel dispenser at your side.
“No?” he calls when you turn your back to him. “What are you then?”
Hopefully still pregnant, you think cynically to yourself as you shut off the running faucet and chuck the crumpled paper towel in the bin. Because apparently I can’t even do that right—
“It’s just been a long day, Robby…” you confess with a heavy sigh as you close the distance between you.
“It’s barely noon,” he says.
“I know.”
You don’t look at him as you walk by, knocking gently into his shoulder as you slide past him in the doorway. The chaos of the Pitt finds you immediately — muddled conversation, constant beeping, and three nurses chasing a naked psychiatric patient down the hall. There is a strange comfort in the noise, but there’s a never-ending panic in it, too.
You struggle now to find the balance as you weave through the crowded emergency department with all the effortlessness of someone who’s mastered the sea of chaos. Robby tries to follow you, but loses you first behind a patient in a wheelchair, then another in a gurney headed for the morgue downstairs, and then by—
“Everything okay, Dr. Robby?”
He flinches when Dr. Al-Hashimi appears suddenly at his side, seemingly everywhere all at once — which is probably the exact reason why she’s one of the best attendings to ever touch this floor.
“Jesus…” the man huffs when the fleeting panic passes.
“You think you’d be used to meeting me this way by now,” the older woman jokes with a quiet laugh. Her pretty smile wavers with a flickering look of confusion when Robby’s eyes dart over her shoulder, flitting over the crowd like he’s searching for something within it. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been acting off all morning.”
Robby chokes back the immediate anger that rises in his throat like bile. He understands why you’ve been dismissing him all day, now that the same suffocating concern he’s been giving you is now being pointed at him.
“Great observation, Dr. Al,” the man quips in a gritty monotone.
He steps to the side to walk past her. She steps back in front of him a second later, always so stubborn in her way. Her doe eyes harden while Robby’s widen in confusion.
“I can’t help out around here if you cut me down with something snarky every time I try to talk to you, Dr. Robinavitch.”
Robby concedes with an exhaled breath through his nose. He nods slowly to himself, raking his calloused palms down the length of his scruffy face. Muffled behind his hands, he says, “You’re right. I apologize—”
“I forgive you,” the woman nods.
“—But you can’t come in the middle of everything and expect to fix it,” Robby continues with a sterner look.
“I can try.”
“But not everybody wants you to,” he says, far kinder to her than he’s been since she got here, despite the harsh truth in his words.
She’s left stewing in them when he walks away from her and after you.
It takes Robby another five minutes to find you. You’re not with Dana at the work station, or with any of your patients, or getting a coffee in the breakroom. He’s almost certain you’ve disappeared entirely until he starts checking empty rooms. He finds you in Central 20, catches the back of your form through a sliver in the drawn curtains.
He raps his knuckles against the glass door, which squeaks quietly when he pushes it ajar. “Yell at me all you want, but I’m coming in,” he says to announce his presence, before stepping past the threshold.
He says it mostly in jest, and with a smile you can hear in his gravelly voice. The distant playfulness ebbs at the sight he finds before him — you, in front of an ultrasound machine, with tears glittering on your face beneath the white-blue fluorescent lights overhead, which you wipe haphazardly away with the back of your hand.
You drop the wand into place at the sound of Robby’s voice, stepping back from the screen as if it had burned you. Your black top falls into place over your stomach a second later.
Whatever was on the screen before has since zapped to black.
Robby’s eyes dart between it and you. A distant panic flashes across his chest. He crosses his arms as if to stifle that feeling, and clears his throat to keep it from strangling him.
“What’s… What’s this?”
You sniffle, blinking wildly at him with wet eyes and dark lashes clumped together with tears. “I… I can explain.”
He nods slowly, feigning an air of composure despite his racing heart. “Please do.”
“I, uh… I took a pregnancy test,” you confess for the first time out loud, voice wavering under the weight of your emotion. “A few weeks ago now, I think—”
“Weeks?” Robby hears himself blurt with his brows raised to his hairline. “Why… Why are you just telling me this now?”
“Because I don’t know how,” you shrug, voice cracking, as you wring your hands into a knot and ramble in a single breath: “You told me you didn’t want kids. We agreed that we didn’t want any— So I thought I’d just get rid of it, you know? So we wouldn’t have to worry about it. But I didn’t want to do that without telling you first, but I… I didn’t know how you’d take it, or the pregnancy, and so I just siked myself out—”
“Breathe,” he tells you, ducking down to meet your watery gaze as he takes slow steps towards you. He can feel the panic radiating off of you like steam.
“I was scared you were gonna leave me either way, and then Dr. Al came—”
The name gives him great pause. “Dr. Al? What does Dr. Al have to do with this?”
“Everything!” you answer, a little louder than you mean to be in your hysteria. “She’s perfect! She’s smart, she’s your age, and she’s not actively carrying your child after we agreed that’s not what we wanted— Don’t laugh!”
Robby hides his smile behind his fist.
“I’m not,” he says, struggling to choke back his laughter. “I’m not, okay? I just— I love the shit outta you, you know that?”
He closes the distance between you in a few short strides. He wraps his arms around your shoulders and pulls you into his chest, swaddling you in his inherent warmth and musky cologne. Your hands wrench in the stiff fabric of his scrubs, like you’re worried he might slip away at any moment. Your tense form deflates with a wavering sigh.
“You don’t hate me?” you wonder, muffled into his shoulder.
Your words make his heart ache.
“I couldn’t,” he tells you.
“I just… I feel so bad…”
“Why?” Robby asks with his lips against your hair, right before he presses a chaste kiss there.
“‘Cause I… I didn’t think I wanted a baby. Like, at all. And then I went to the bathroom, and there was blood, and I thought—” You cut yourself off when your voice breaks. “I thought that maybe I lost it, and it made me realize that I do want it— The baby, I mean. But that scares me even more than not having it, ‘cause I don’t know what that means for us—”
“Doesn’t have to mean anything,” he shrugs. “Doesn’t change a thing— whether you want to keep it or you don’t.”
You jerk back from him, flashing the man a teary-eyed scowl. “Don’t just say that ‘cause you don’t wanna hurt my feelings.”
“I’m not,” he promises through a chuckle you can feel rumbling in his chest. “If you don’t wanna have a baby, we’ll take care of it here. But if you do, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll even sell my motorcycle in solidarity.”
“Oh, thank god—” A teary laugh sputters from your mouth before you can stop it. It feels like it’s the first time he’s seen you smile in days. He leans in to press a kiss to it, but you keep him away with your hands to his chest. “Do you really mean it?”
“About the motorcycle?” he presses.
“About having this baby? With me?”
Robby inhales sharply through his nose, calculating his words because he only knows one thing for sure: “I wanna spend the rest of my whole life with you… I’m in it for the long haul, alright? Whatever that looks like.”
When he ducks down to kiss you again, you let him.
You exhale slowly through your nose and savor the feeling of his beard against your skin and the taste of his mouth, a mixture of coffee and spearmint and something without a name but still achingly familiar. Your fingers wrench in the collar of his scrubs to pull him impossibly closer.
The feeling of him against you is louder than the familiar voice outside.
“20 is open. Why is nobody—”
The door swings open again. The two of you just barely manage to pull away from each other when Dr. Al-Hashimi peeks in. She stills suddenly in the threshold, wide eyes darting between the two of you. She gains her bearings in a flicker of a second and calls over her shoulder as she shuts the door behind her.
“Never mind. It’s taken…”
You and Robby hold your breaths until she’s gone.
“Do you think she’ll…?”
“No,” Robby shakes his head. “She won’t tell anybody.”
Your lips curl into a quiet, crooked grin that glimmers mostly in your wet eyes. “Well, I was actually going to ask if she’ll finally stop flirting with you now, but… Good to know.”
“She’s not flirting with me,” Robby scoffs.
“She literally asked you out for drinks earlier. She couldn’t be less subtle if she tried—”
He tilts his scruffy cheek to his shoulder, dark eyes squinting in time with the quiet smile that pulls slowly at his mouth. “You get real pretty when you’re jealous. You know that?”
“Well, I’m about to get real damn adorable, Robinavitch—”
You survive the rest of your shift, but only barely.
It pains you to turn down beers with your coworkers after the fact, but you feel the exhaustion of the day down into your bones, and you opt to save yourself the embarrassment of having to come up with a lie about why you’re not drinking with the rest of them.
Robby hangs around for a bit, just to make it a little less obvious. He sips at his can of beer just long enough for you to walk out of sight before following behind you, where you wait for him at the bus stop around the corner. You make the trek to your shared home together like you do every day, and nobody’s the wiser.
The rest of them are left betting on how long it’ll take for you and Robby to finally start dating while you’re getting ready for bed alongside each other.
“Did you hear me?” the man calls over the drumming shower faucet behind you.
“Mhm,” you hum through the toothbrush in your mouth. “Something about… moving something?”
Your freshly washed hair dampens the collar of your oversized t-shirt, borrowed from Robby’s side of the closet, when you bend over to spit toothpaste into the sink.
“Moving out,” Robby corrects.
“Why would we do that?” you ask, and then, muffled through the toothbrush, say, “We’ll just turn the guest room into a nursery, and then we’ll be set. It’s easy.”
“You say that now, but I know you,” he says with such conviction that it makes you roll your eyes. Without looking at you from behind the opaque shower curtain, he continues, “And don’t roll your eyes at me, either. This baby is gonna be here before we know it, and by then, you’ll wanna get out of here and move somewhere more permanent—”
The hissing shower faucet turns off to a slow, steady drip. Robby reaches blindly for his towel, wiping it down the length of his face before wrapping the fluffy white nettle around his waist. The curtain opens with a faint swishing sound.
Your eyes remain locked on his form through the steamy bathroom mirror as he steps out onto the plush bath mat — pale skin flushed, dark hair wild on his head, scruffy chest dripping, pudgy stomach hanging over the towel.
“And, trust me, honey. The last thing you’re gonna wanna do while you’re nine-months pregnant is move,” Robby continues, meeting your glassy gaze in the mirror. “Or much less with a newborn. Could you imagine?”
You forget to respond for a long beat, with your toothbrush still caught in your mouth, softly jutting out your cheek
Robby’s brows pinch at the glassy-eyed look on your face. His lips quirk into a soft smile behind his glittering beard. “Are you even listening to me?”
“Mhm…”
“Yeah?” Robby grins wider as he closes the distance between you, bare feet padding on the tile. Warmth radiates from his freshly washed skin, which smells distinctively of sweet musky bodywash. You lean further into him, letting his towering body dampen the back of your t-shirt.
He presses his nose to your hair and leaves a chaste kiss to your temple before he mumbles there, “What’d I say then, huh?”
“You said that…” You drag the toothbrush from your mouth, talking through the spit on your tongue and the foam on the corner of your lips. “…My pregnant girlfriend is really hot and super turned on right now, so I should probably take care of that for her before the moment passes and she hates everything again.”
You feel Robby’s chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Yeah, close enough—”
He ducks down to press a longer, wetter kiss to your neck. You giggle quietly when his beard brushes the delicate skin there, shrugging him off with your shoulder as you bend softly at the waist to spit toothpaste in the sink. Robby keeps you at that angle with a wide hand smoothed over your shoulder.
“Oh, we’re doing this here?” you lilt, rinsing off your toothbrush and dropping it back into the cup beside the faucet.
“Well, I’m nothing if not proactive, honey…”
You wipe your mouth off with the hand towel beside the sink and rest your elbows on the counter’s edge. You have only a partial view of Robby’s body in the steamy mirror from this angle — a sliver of his soft stomach, the expanse of his scruffy chest, and the attentive gaze he points at his free hand that trails down your spine and over the curve of your ass.
Your breath catches when his pointer and middle finger run over the most sensitive part of you through the thin cotton of your underwear — from your drooling cunt to the top of your throbbing clit. He presses the pads of his fingertips there, and your exhale leaves in a quiet whimper as you hang your head on your crossed arms.
“Look how sensitive you are already…” Robby hums, almost sympathetically so, as he rubs his fingertips up and down the length of your clothed pussy. “I bet I’ll slip right in… What do you think?”
You nod slowly, wordlessly.
Robby grins to himself at the sight of you, already half-gone, and he’s barely even touched you.
He hooks his fingers around the hem of your panties, dragging them to the side to put your glimmering cunt on display for him. His middle finger slots effortlessly between your folds, slippery like silk under his touch. It slides within your velvety walls with little effort as your cunt clenches around him, subconsciously suckling him further inside.
Another whine sounds in the back of your throat despite yourself as the stress of the day ebbs from your body. Robby can feel it under the palm he keeps curled around your shoulder. He knows you’ll cum for him any second now with how sensitive you’ve gone, but he doesn’t say that out loud. He just keeps searching for your sweet spot as your honey leaks into his palm.
“You shouldn’t have let yourself get all pent up like this, baby…” he mutters in a low voice, slipping in his pointerfinger beside his middle with a similar ease. “Should’ve let me take care of you.”
“I’m sorry,” you hear yourself say — apologizing not just for now, but for earlier that day, and for all the days before when you refused to be open with him.
“Don’t be sorry,” Robby coos in a gravelly voice, too sweet for the sinful words that follow. “Just cum for me.”
You mourn his grounding touch when his hand leaves your shoulder. The protesting whine gets caught in your throat a second later when he curls his left arm around your waist and presses his fingers to your clit again, rubbing mercilessly at the sensitive button.
His touch is unrelenting. A honeyed pleasure starts to bloom within you almost instantly. A coil in the pit of your stomach threatens to snap, wound tight from a week or more of not being touched.
“Please fuck me,” you hear yourself beg through panted breaths as you lift your heavy head to meet Robby’s gaze in the mirror. Your eyes glaze over with pleasure. Your thighs start to tremble around his hand. You whine again, “Please fuck me…”
“This isn’t the only time you’re gonna cum tonight,” Robby promises you, warns you. “So just go ahead and cum for me. I got you.”
Your head drops back onto your arms again. Your hips buck against his fingers, chasing the pleasure and running from it all at once. You rise to the tips of your toes when the buzzing pleasure crescendos. Your body tenses, trembles, then releases when the orgasm finally hits you. You cage your bottom lip between your teeth when your leaking pussy flutters around Robby’s fingers.
“There you go…” you hear him praise through the heartbeat in your ears. “C’mon. Give it to me. I want all of it. C’mon…”
His fingers never let up, even after the high has come and gone and left nothing more than tremoring aftershocks in his wake.
Your blissful moans turn into strangled whines as the sensitivity increases — a pleasure you crave, but a pleasure that terrifies you nonetheless.
“It’s okay,” Robby rambles in a gentle coo. “I got you— It’s okay. Just give me one more. I got you.”
You whimper when his fingers drag out of your cunt. You’re left clenching around nothing when he hooks his right arm loosely around your neck, dragging you up against his scruffy chest, still damp from the shower.
Your head tips back against his shoulder as your hands curl around his biceps. You watch through lidded eyes in the foggy mirror as Robby sticks his middle and forefinger into his mouth, licking your honey from his skin and sighing at the familiar taste of you. You whine at the sinful sight, and at the man’s fingers on your clit that refuse to slow down.
Your right hand slips from his arm and reaches blindly behind you, slipping in between your bodies. The towel unknots and pools around Robby’s barefeet when your hand wraps around his stiff cock. He’s softer than velvet in your fist, and leaking pearls of precum that your thumb swipes over.
A groan sounds deep in Robby’s throat. A dazed grin tugs at your mouth.
“Cum for me,” you tell him through labored breaths.
“You first,” Robby huffs, then commands. “Put your leg up.”
You bend your knee and rest your foot on the shelf below the counter, opening yourself up for him. You sigh a low moan. Robby exhales through his nose in place of a laugh.
“You’re close again, aren’t you?” the man pants in a gruff voice, gritting his teeth through the distant stinging in his wrist — ‘cause he’d sooner lose the feeling in his hand than stop now. He smiles lazily when you nod against his shoulder, digging crescent shapes into his bicep with the hand not massaging his twitching cock.
“Hold it.”
Your breath catches at his command. It makes the warmth in the pit of your stomach swell all at once. Your body tenses instinctively to hold it off.
“Wait for me,” Robby says, breath fanning against your cheek. “I’m almost there— Fuck.”
You turn your head, and he catches your mouth with his own. He kisses you like he’s trying to swallow you whole, licks into your parted lips like he’s tasting you for the very first time. His tongue feels like velvet as it ruts against yours — you can feel every grunt that rumbles in his throat as his orgasm nears; he can feel each of your whimpers as your second one sends shockwaves down your spine.
Your thumb swipes over the sensitive head of his cock, collecting the drools of precum there, and using that as lubricant to jerk the rest of him in your fist. Robby exhales a low grunt just before he parts from you with a quiet smack.
“Cum,” he pants, eyes heavy and lips kissed. “Right now. Cum right now. Shit.”
You cum for him again, not as quick or as powerful as the one before, but still enough to bring you to your knees if it weren’t for Robby’s strong arm keeping you to his chest. You whine as the coil in your stomach unknots itself, and as Robby’s twitching cock spits warm cum along the top of your fist.
He ducks down to bury his face in your neck, nipping at the burning skin while he groans through the waves of his own orgasm. You bury your nose in his damp hair as your high comes and goes, inhaling the sweet musk of shampoo in his silky brown locks.
There’s a lazy smile hinting at the edges of your mouth when Robby catches your eye in the mirror.
You hold his gaze when you release his softening cock, flashing him the glittering pearls of milky cum on your skin as you bring your hand to your mouth. Your pink tongue darts out to lick the salty tang away. Robby exhales a rumbling groan against you at the sight.
“Just give me a second…” he says through labored breaths. “And I’ll fuck you like you want…”
“Nah, you’re down for the count, Robinavitch,” you quip with a smile, parting from him for the first time in several minutes to flip the faucet back on to wash your hands. “You’ll be asleep before you can get it up again.”
“Hey,” he scolds, feigning offense, as he reaches for the discarded towel on the floor.
“It’s okay,” you shrug with a knowing glint in your eye. “It was a long day.”
“Well, if you weren’t so greedy, I’d have you face down in the bed right now,” he says, only partially playful, as he tucks his towel into place around his hips.
“Ooh. That sounds fun,” you lilt, flicking water from your fingertips before you turn the sink off again. “Raincheck?”
“Raincheck?” Robby scoffs in amusement. “Get your ass in that bedroom.”
The act of dominance makes your chest flare with a warm feeling. You smile all giddy as you walk by him. “Think if you fuck me good enough, we’ll have twins?”
Robby laughs at your stupid joke, a sharp breath through his broad nose. “I guess we’re about to find out…”
Summary: When Dr. Robby returns from his extended sabbatical, he discovers that the girlfriend he thought would be waiting for him has a baby bump – and absolutely hates him for leaving.
Tags/Notes: established relationship, groveling and forgiveness, acts of service, nurse!reader, pregnant!reader, getting back together, ft. trinity as a menace and dennis as a cutie
Content: pregnancy, pregnant sex (fingering), shaving scene
A/N: im not good at math <3 sorry i haven't posted in three weeks lmao
Word Count: 14.3k
The sabbatical was supposed to be three months, but somewhere around Bar Harbor Robby decided he needed more time. For what he wasn’t sure. But he knew he needed to stay far, far away from the Pitt for a little longer. With his position at the hospital safe, he stayed in New England through the end of the summer.
On his first day back, he’d been gone as long as the two of you were together. Six months. Six months without text messages or phone calls or, hell, postcards. Six months of feeling like Robby was a ghost in your life, something you had and lost that lingers around every corner. Six months of rebuilding your life after he disappeared from it.
You found out about Robby’s sabbatical the same way everyone else did, during one of his evening speeches exactly two weeks before he was scheduled to leave. Two weeks’ notice for a relationship you’d honestly believed was headed toward an engagement ring in a few months. He didn’t think to ask you, didn’t think to check in, didn’t even bother to tell you in the privacy of the home you’d basically moved into. Your life fell into brutal clarity in that moment: Robby was a huge part of your life, but you were a footnote in his.
He sent you a text five nights ago: Back in town. When can I see you?
You didn’t answer.
You don’t plan to.
The morning of September first, Jack hands off shift change seamlessly, like Robby had never left, and Robby finds his footing on the ED floor with a newness, a fluidity, a casual lightness on his shoulders that strikes everyone as foreign. A version of Robby with no tension in his shoulders and no sarcasm biting at his tongue might as well be a new doctor.
Once he has the ED machine churning on pace, Robby leans his elbows on the nurse’s station and scans the shift board. “And where’s my favorite nurse this morning? Night shift?”
Dana barely spares him a glance as she processes the last of a stack of paperwork. She’d always disapproved of Robby pursuing you, so she’s not exactly sympathetic when she tells him, “She transferred months ago. I’m sure the notice is in your email inbox if you ever get around to clearing that out.”
His mind spins at the idea of the Pitt without you – your steady hands, your shy smiles, your forgiving wit. “Transferred? Where? Why?”
“Not my business,” Dana replies with a shrug. She pushes a chart into his chest and says, “They need you in exam six.”
As Robby takes the chart and looks over it with blank eyes that don’t see a word, Princess stands up on her toes so she can meet Robby’s eyes. With a knowing but curious gaze, she tells him quietly, “She’s working at the hospital’s satellite methadone clinic up the street now. Rumor is that she had an ugly breakup with someone at the hospital and wanted to get some distance.”
Robby sucks in a sharp breath. Holds it. Lets it out slow. His eyes focus to actually look at the chart and he mutters out, “Thanks for the info.”
She adds, “Smart money’s on Frank, by the way, since they were always so close.”
Robby grits his teeth. “They weren’t that close.”
“Whatever you say, cap.”
The biggest thing Robby notices in his shift once he’s working closely with his doctors again is a change in the batch of residents he helped onboard last year. They’ve gained confidence during his absence, which he’d expected, but there’s something else. To put it briefly, there’s a lot of scowling and it’s definitely in his direction. Even Whitaker, who used to glance up for his praise like a puppy, is now averting his eyes and keeping his sentences short, professional, unsmiling. The newest batch of students and interns is all polite deference and eager introductions, but the ones he’d come to know and care for and consider friends are acting like he stinks of BO and betrayal.
In the locker room preparing for his lunch break, he approaches Dana, trying to be casual about his tone, and asks, “What’s wrong with the kids, by the way? I have a sign that says ‘ignore me’ on my back or something I didn’t notice?”
She snickers, “Maybe they’re just mad that daddy went to the gas station for milk and didn’t come back for six months.” She gives him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and adds, “Give them some time; it’ll take a minute for people to find their rhythm around you again.”
He nods slowly and swallows, hoping that’s all this is. “Right, sure.”
The truth doesn’t even occur to him: You had been their favorite person around the hospital, his abandonment had made you leave, and they aren’t quite ready to forgive him for that.
—
It’s almost your lunch break when a whole flood of people arrives at once. You’re behind the check-in desk today and you can’t help groaning to yourself. You have to pee, your stomach has been growling non-stop for an hour, and you’re desperate to put your feet up.
You’re on autopilot as you check in patients, collect consent forms, and support doctors however you can without getting up from the desk. You’d started modified work duty this month and it’s driving you nuts not being able to do the hands-on clinical work you love. With your eyes on your monitor, the next patient enters your peripheral vision and you tell him, “I’ll be with you in just one moment.”
“No worries, gorgeous.”
Your focus snaps.
Anger rises up like bile in your throat. Part of you wants to cry, part wants to run, part wants to scream. Ultimately, with so many wars raging inside of your body, your expression goes flat as you meet Robby’s eyes. “You pick up an opioid habit while you were screwing your way up and down the eastern seaboard?”
Robby almost laughs. Almost. He hadn’t expected you to act so hostile – in his mind, you’re still the woman he loves, waiting patiently for his return home – and it pinches like frostbite. Voice soft and respectful, he offers, “I just wanted to stop by and see you.”
You set your jaw and cut back, “Well I didn’t want to see you, but I forgot that my opinion doesn’t affect your decisions.”
He sighs. “You’re still mad at me.”
You turn back to your computer and finish up the file you need to before lunch. “‘Still’ implies that eventually I’ll stop, which won’t be happening.”
“C’mon sweetheart, you can’t-”
“Don’t.” Your eyes flick up as you shake your head. “Just- just don’t.” After closing out your computer and sighing heavily, you tell him bluntly, “You’re officially eating into my lunch, so I’m gonna ask you to leave or I can get security. I’m happy either way.”
Robby presses, “Let me at least buy you lunch.”
You extend your hand and reply without emotion, “Sure, give me $20 and I’ll happily spend it.”
Robby grits his teeth and digs his heels in. “Please.”
Anxiety sparks in your chest as you realize he really isn’t going to leave without talking to you alone first. You’re going to have to stand up from behind the safety of the tall desk and half wall right in front of him. The moment was inevitable, but you’d hoped to at least be in control of it.
“Fine. Buy me lunch.” You’re almost laughing as you mutter, “Let’s see how this goes. Might as well do it in public.”
Then you get to your feet. You stretch your arms above your head, back tight from sitting all morning, and your navy scrub top rides up slightly.
Robby’s next words are breathless and desperate. “You’re pregnant.”
“Glad your eyes still work after six months of wind burn without your goddamn helmet.”
He swallows hard, barely hearing the malice in your voice now. “How- how far along?”
“Take a fucking guess, Doctor,” you huff, shouldering your bag and walking around the nurse’s station. He moves to follow you, but you point at the ‘only employees past this door’ sign and give him a mock pout. “Wait outside if you care so much.”
Robby debates for a second and says weakly, “It’s my lunch, too; I need to get back to the hospital.”
You give him a look that reeks of ‘that’s what I thought’ and say, “Then get back to the hospital. I’m immune to being left behind now.”
It’s not your hatred that hurts. It’s your apathy.
He sends you texts. You don’t reply.
He leaves you voicemails. You don’t listen.
After a few more days of silence, he’s got his head in his hands at the bar while Jack nurses a beer, pitying his sorry ass. He’s been silent for two straight beers, clearly gathering the courage to tell him the good news. It takes Jack reminding him that this is his only night off for Robby to choke out, “She’s pregnant. Very pregnant. Seven months, probably.”
“Ah.” Jack studies his best friend’s face for a long time before settling on a simple, succinct, thorough, “Fuck.”
Robby sucks in a long breath and lets it out slow. “Yeah. Fuck.”
“And she doesn’t want anything to do with you now.” It’s not a question. It’s the truth of the matter. Jack shakes his head and then gives Robby one of those pointed looks only a brother could get away with. “I don’t blame her.”
Robby balks, “You said I should go on the trip.”
“But I’m not your girlfriend.”
“And thank god for that.”
“You didn’t talk to her about leaving?”
“I didn’t realize I needed her permission.”
“You didn’t. But you should’ve wanted it.” Jack puts on that sage old friend voice and goes on, “You told me before you left that she’s the one. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“A lot. That’s why I had to go,” Robby replies, grappling with too much of himself. “Look, leaving was the right thing to do. I know that now more than ever. I figured a lot of shit out and I feel a hell of a lot better – about myself, my future, my life. But now? Now there’s going to be a baby. My baby. Our baby.” Robby gently thumps his forehead on the bartop and groans, “The whole time I was gone, I thought she’d be waiting for me when I came home. Every step of the way, I figured- I figured she’d still want me.”
“Delusions of grandeur,” Jack opines almost absently. Then he yanks Robby to sitting upright by the back of his hoodie. “She’s so far out of your league you’d have to get drafted first just to be her water boy. Why the hell would you think that?”
“Because she always waited for me,” Robby mutters, sounding so absolutely pathetic Jack debates recording it for blackmail down the road. “She- she was always there. She always stayed.”
“And you repaid her by leaving.”
Robby’s voice drops to an ashamed whisper. “I didn’t realize she loved me enough to care that I left.”
“But she did.”
“She did.” Robby stares straight ahead, through Jack and through the walls and through the world until his eyes settle back on his relationship with you – the one good part of his life that had spiraled squarely out of his control. “She was shining a light in my face, but I was too busy covering my own eyes to see her. Too deep in my own self-doubt and self-hatred to recognize what was right in front of me.”
“Alright, Socrates, pack it in.” Jack claps a hand on Robby’s back and summarizes, “You fucked it up and you need to fix it.”
“I fucked it up and I need to fix it,” Robby confirms. “But how do I even begin to say sorry for something like that?”
“She doesn’t want you to say sorry,” Jack replies. It’s effortless for him, this kind of thing. Robby is supremely jealous of how simple Jack makes it all sound. “She doesn’t want Robby the rich attractive attending anymore.”
“Flatterer.”
“Shut up. I’m saying she’s spent the last six months thinking you were gone. While you’re god knows where, she’s figuring out how to be a single mom on a nurse’s salary. So I know she doesn’t want what you used to be for her.”
Jack pauses for long enough that Robby has to sigh and prod, “You’re really gonna make me prompt you? Tell me what you think she wants.”
“She wants a dad for her kid. A real dad, not a sperm donor. She doesn’t want a boyfriend. She wants a husband. And a husband doesn’t have to run away to figure his shit out. Show up for the baby and you’re showing up for her.” Jack finishes off his beer, slaps down a handful of cash, and tells him, “Let’s get a cab. I think you need to cry yourself to sleep to figure out your next move.”
At nine a few nights later, after his shift, Robby knocks on the door of the new address he definitely didn’t steal from your personnel file. It’s a small townhouse in an okay part of town, better than your previous shoebox, but it’s still nothing compared to his spacious home further out of the city. The place he always imagined raising his family in. The place where you’d taken up half his closet, half his bathroom counterspace, half his life. Half his heart, undeniably.
When Trinity Santos answers the door, Robby nearly falls on his ass. With a green face mask cracking on her skin and her eyes burning with anger, he’s never seen her looking so full of wrath. Which is saying something. “What are you doing here, Dr. Robby?”
His brows furrow as he explains, “I was trying to see my girlfriend, but I guess I got the wrong address somehow.”
Santos scoffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “You girlfriend? Pretty sure you forfeited that title when you ditched her like she didn’t mean anything to you.”
“Woah, Jesus,” Robby chuckles, holding his hands up. “Is that the general consensus? Guess that explains all the hostility today.”
“Not hostile, just professional.”
“You were definitely hostile.”
Trinity glares. “File a complaint.”
She moves to shut the door, but he catches it with one large hand. “Is she here?”
Trinity continues to use her body to block him from entering. She knows he’d never do anything crazy like push her, but she wants to make her allegiance perfectly clear. “Yup.”
“She lives with you and Whitaker now?”
“Yup. Saving money until the last minute.”
“God.” Robby runs his hand over the back of his head. “Can I- Can I just come in and see her?”
Holding bitter eye contact, Trinity calls over her shoulder, “Do you want to see Robby?”
Your voice is immediate. There’s more hurt in it than he’d heard this morning, and something about that makes him feel hopeful. Like there might still be something for him to hold onto. “He’s here?”
“At the door.”
Robby listens as a chair squeaks across the floor and your footsteps recede toward a staircase. Away from him. Fainter now, you call, “Get rid of him.”
Trinity nods and turns back to her boss. “You heard the woman. Go home.”
“Fuck, fine. It’s getting late anyway; she should sleep.” With a rough sigh, he reaches into his inner jacket pocket and hands her an envelope. “Can you give this to her at least?”
Santos snatches it from his hand and demands, “What is it?”
“It’s ten thousand dollars.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fuck off, Robby.”
Without saying anything else, she slams the door in his face. Shaking her head, Trinity ascends the steps to the second floor, where all the bedrooms are, and knocks on your door. You answer with puffy, tear-swollen eyes. Right away, Trinity wraps you up in a hug and sighs, “He’s the worst. I’ll kill him at work tomorrow.”
You laugh, sniffle, and shake your head. “No need. I was going to have to deal with this eventually, right?”
“Yeah, but it should be your choice on your terms, not him showing up unannounced.” You nod and pull back from the hug, swiping your cheeks one more time. Trinity holds up the envelope and says, “Robby wants me to give this to you. I can rip it up or hold onto it or-”
“I’ll take it.” You smile softly at her and add, “Thanks, Trin. You shouldn’t have to deal with my drama.”
“You deal with my gay soap opera with Yo,” she points out with a conspiratorial grin.
Your reply is interrupted by the sound of Dennis emerging from his bedroom, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He’s been on the late-night shift the past couple weeks, slowly becoming nocturnal. “What’s going on?”
Trinity answers with malice lacing her tone, “Robby showed up.”
Dennis shakes his head. “Bastard.”
“You don’t have to say that,” you reply with a laugh. “I know you want to go back to being his personal assistant as soon as possible.”
“Trinity would kill me,” he mutters.
She punches him on the arm. “And I’d be right! We don’t defend shitty men who-”
“Robby’s not a shitty man; you know that,” he interrupts her. “He handled leaving in a shitty way; that doesn’t make him a shitty person.”
“You’re too forgiving, Nebraska.”
“And you’re not forgiving enough.”
You sigh sharply, “And I need to go to sleep.”
“At least open up the letter for us,” Trinity insists. “My nosiness is absolutely screaming for the intel. I won’t be able to sleep without it.”
Ripping open the envelope, you sigh, “I’m sure it’s just some stupid saccharine guilt bomb designed to make me-” Your voice falls to the ground and melts through the floorboards. There’s a folded-up note wrapped around something much more interesting. You hold it up to Trinity and Dennis and breathlessly announce, “It’s a check for ten thousand dollars.”
“Oh my god, I thought he was being a dick,” Trinity replies, her voice equally low and surprised, almost reverent – not for Robby but for the sheer amount of money. “Why the hell would he…?”
With shaking hands, you read the corresponding handwritten note to your roommates.
I don’t know whether or not when you’ll let me back into your life.
That’s up to you. I accept it. I respect that it’s your choice.
But I’m not going to be a deadbeat dad. You know I can’t do that. You know about my father. I’m never going to become him. I hope you believe that.
So this isn’t a bribe to take me back. I promise it isn’t. It’s not an apology. I’m still working on that.
It’s for our kid. For you as the mother of my child, not just the a woman I want need miss love care about. Nursery stuff, vitamins, doctor’s appointments, your favorite hot chocolate from Vino’s, anything you need until they’re born. I’m not going to let you want for anything. If money is all you’ll accept from me, then take every penny I have. Please.
I promise I won’t abandon the baby. I promise I will do whatever you need from me and more.
And I promise I love you. Both of you.
I hope you’ll Please, let me prove it.
Love,
Sincerely,
Yours,
M.
All three of you hold your breath in the space that follows Robby’s painstakingly scrawled words.
Then Dennis takes a long breath and urges, “See? He’s good. He cares. He wants to take care of you and the baby. You could do a hell of a lot worse.”
Trinity shakes her head and swallows hard. “She could do a hell of a lot better, too. He still left.”
Dennis argues, “He didn’t know she was pregnant.”
You whisper, “Do I really want a man who would only stay because of a baby?”
Knowing far too much for his own good, Dennis touches your shoulder and presses, “Do you really want any man besides him?”
You pinch the bridge of your nose and try to breathe. “I need sleep. I’ll…Fuck. I’ll let you guys know whenever I figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life.”
Trinity brushes your cheek with her thumb. “Love you, sunshine. Goodnight.”
You wish her goodnight and Dennis a good shift before retreating into your bedroom. You change into your pajamas, ignoring the tee of Robby’s that still lives in your drawer, and curl up with your thoughts. In bed on your side, you rest your hand on your bump and wish the little life inside could tell you the right thing to do.
In his home across town, all Robby knows is that he’s never felt so much relief watching $10,000 leave his account.
In the morning, on your way out, the door thumps against something heavy on the stoop. A large plastic tote with a brown bag from your favorite cafe on top of it. You call over your shoulder for Trinity and she hauls the heavy box inside while you focus on the little bag of treats with a note card stapled to it. Inside the bag is your usual order that Robby always brought into the hospital for you in the mornings, the coffee replaced by a ginger tea but the bear claw looking as delectable as ever.
I figured you might want your things back from my place. I’m sorry for being gone longer than you expected for not giving you a key in the first place for unintentionally stealing your stuff for coming by last night. I don’t want to make anything worse. M.
Trinity reads the note over your shoulder and announces, “He’s groveling.”
“What do you think I should do?”
“I think you should let him grovel.”
Biting the sweet fluffy pastry, you consider, “I don’t want to be cruel. I’m not going to keep his own baby from him.”
“Of course not. But that’s not what we’re talking about. Do you want him? Not just as your co-parent or sperm donor or whatever. A husband. A real man. Do you want to be Mrs. Robby someday soon?”
“Of course I do,” you sigh, “but I just…I don’t trust him anymore. How could I?”
“I’m just saying,” she reasons with a shrug, “if his baseline grovel is 10k, I for one would love to see where he goes from there. Maybe you’ll end up with a private plane or something.”
“Robby’s got money, but he doesn’t have that kind of money.”
“As far as we know,” she replies with a snicker. “Look, at the end of the day, you have to decide if you can trust him, so I say you tell him exactly what you need and see if he can hack it. Be blunt with him about your expectations. He can worship the ground you walk on from here on out or he can spend the rest of his life signing child support checks and seeing his kid every other weekend.”
You laugh and polish off the bear claw. “You’re a menace, Trinity Santos.”
“My specialty.” She pours herself a coffee and collects her bag. “Now do you want a ride or are you grabbing the bus?”
“It’s a beautiful morning; I don’t mind the bus.”
“Maybe Robby will get you a car.”
“Yeah,” you snort, “maybe.”
Right as your lunch break starts that afternoon, a delivery driver shows up by the staff entrance with an order bearing your name. After one of the other nurses calls you back, you take the heavy bag of absolutely heavenly-smelling Thai food and ask the driver, “Is this from Michael Robinavitch?”
“Yeah, he said you’d be expecting it.” He checks the order on his phone and reads, “The delivery instructions said ‘tell her I know for a fact she doesn’t eat enough protein to be growing a whole new person.’ Congratulations; he sounds like a nice dad.”
You shake your head and sigh. “Yeah, he can be.”
And it goes on like that for the next five days before you decide what to do. Robby always orders you lunch. None of the following meals come with messages, though, just something carefully chosen for your tastes and needs. He even remembers the way you order things – extra lime on your pad thai, salsa verde instead of pico on your tacos, and any bonus dessert he can throw in – to the point where you wonder if people at the Pitt are helping him out, campaigning for the two of you to get back together.
Robby checks his phone way too many times that entire first week that he’s back. He keeps waiting for you to text, call, email, hell he’ll even take a DM at this point. But you don’t. It’s agony. If nothing else, Trinity’s dagger-glare has dulled into more of a butter-knife-glare by Friday afternoon.
Then.
After he clocks out and heads to the parking lot, there you are. Leaning on his fucking motorcycle. You’re a vision in the waning afternoon, sunlight catching your hair and brightening your eyes. You speak first: “Can we talk?”
“Yes,” Robby answers too fast. “Of course we can. Do you…want to go somewhere else?”
“No. I don’t.” You swallow hard and then nod to a nearby bench, sitting down before he does the same. With one hand on your belly, you train your eyes forward and tell him, “You said in your note that you want to prove you love me. But I know you love me. That’s not the problem.”
Robby has to resist the urge to take your hands in his, to tilt your face toward him, to do anything that would ground your bodies together. “Tell me.”
Confirming his every fear, you whisper, “I don’t trust you enough to raise a child with you.”
Throat thick and limbs heavy, he rasps, “You don’t want me to be involved with my own kid?”
“Of course I want you to be in her life; that’s not- that’s not what I meant. But I don’t know if I can trust you to be her dad – her mom’s partner – and not just her biological father.”
The world tilts slightly.
Robby’s breath catches in his throat.
Tears sting his eyes and he blinks them back. His voice trembles alongside his hands as he confirms, “It’s a girl?
You can’t help the way that softens you. You can see the universe he’s building behind his eyes: Robby holding a pink-blanket bundle, Robby learning to braid hair, Robby being fiercely protective and achingly tender.
You want to share that life with him so badly that it hurts. To sit by his side at dance recitals and tell bedtime stories together and be real.
“Yeah,” you settle for saying, intimately quiet, just for the two of you, “she’s a girl.”
“Wow. Holy shit. A girl. A little girl. Have you-” He clears his throat and swats a tear from his cheek. “Have you picked a name yet?”
You shake your head and admit, “I have some favorites, but it wouldn’t feel right to choose by myself. Without you, I mean. She’s not just mine.” Robby lets the next few tears fall onto his scrub pants and you can’t bear to watch. So you dig around in your purse and hand over the few ultrasound pictures you’d set aside, always hoping you’d be able to give them to him. One from each of your check-ups, a timeline from blob to baby. “Here. Yours to keep.”
Robby stares down at pure gold in his hands. He looks over each photo like a precious ancient text, smiling with those lovely wrinkles of his. After looking at the most recent one for a long time, he murmurs lovingly, “She’s got your nose.”
You touch your pointer finger to the picture and reply, “And your huge feet.”
His eyes stay locked on the scan for another full minute; he’s too choked up to add anything else. Once he’s finally starting to recover from growing a new chamber of his heart so quickly, he tucks the photos into his backpack, slides onto the sidewalk in front of you like he’s about to propose, and gazes up at your face. “I’ll do anything to be yours again.”
Biting your lower lip, you nod. Slow. Thinking. “I can’t just pick up where we left off.”
“I don’t expect you to. I don’t want that.” He sits back onto the bench next to you, this time tilting his whole body towards yours. Creating space he begs you to fill. “I know we can’t exactly start over, but I- I want to be new together. I want to fix what I broke.”
“Okay,” you whisper back, trying hard not to cry. Hormones and hope make a brutal cocktail. You sniffle hard and suggest, “Trinity told me you have the weekend off. Breakfast tomorrow? Well, brunch; the baby likes to sleep in.”
“Absolutely. Anywhere you want, any time.”
Your eyes narrow. “That fancy place you took me after the first time I slept over?”
“I’ll pick you up at ten.”
You wince as the baby launches a foot into your ribcage. “Sold.”
With those dumb beautiful wide cow eyes of his, Robby asks, “Are you okay?”
“Your daughter’s beating the shit out of me,” you groan. When he laughs, though, you soften even more. Tentative, you offer, “Do you want to feel?”
Robby’s voice is ragged and desperate like you’ve never heard it. It’s heavy with love and with need and with hope. One word holds every dream he’s ever had. “Please.”
You take his hand and guide it to the spot where the baby is currently dancing a samba, watching his tender, reverent expression every moment.
“Holy shit.” Robby laughs and grins at you while the baby nudges him over and over like she’s saying hi. “That’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt.”
You roll your eyes and try not to smile. “Please; you’ve felt a million babies kick.”
“But this is-” He shakes his head and chuckles again at another flutter. “This is different. Is she always this active?”
“In the evening, yeah. Like she can tell I’m done with work and it’s playtime.” You put your hand over his, nothing more than an instinct, and rub your thumb over his skin. “She’s gonna terrorize us.”
‘Us’ settles, warm and cozy, in the hearth of Robby’s chest. He leans down and kisses your bump gently. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
You’re halfway through the insanely decadent strawberries-and-cream crepes you ordered when you actually get up the confidence to break the charged silence between you and Robby. He’d overly complimented your cozy but stylish enough ribbed knit dress and you’d noted his freshly trimmed beard making him look too handsome for you to think clearly. Then a healthy dose of small talk while you waited for food. Now silence.
After licking a bit of vanilla cream from the corner of your mouth, you rush out, “I want you to audition to be my husband.”
One side of Robby’s lip ticks up into a cute, amused smirk. “Shall I prepare a monologue or a musical number? Will there be a dance portion?”
You hum teasingly, “There’ll be whatever I want; that’s the whole point.”
“This has Trinity Santos written all over it.”
You shrug and relent, “She may have had a hand in the concept.”
His fork wavers in the air. “Should I fear for my life?”
“No more than you usually do around her,” you giggle, just a bit, and Robby feels part of himself taking flight at the proof of any lightness left between the two of you. Then you go on seriously (so seriously it wraps back around to adorable for him), “For the next two weeks, I’m going to tell you what I need from you and you’re going to do it as soon as you can. Every time. I want to be the most needy, most demanding, most pregnant person in the entire world. If you can survive that, you can apologize. Give me a real, thoughtful apology and I’ll accept.”
Right away, Robby nods and confirms, “Consider it done.”
You raise a challenging eyebrow. “That easy?”
He puffs up his chest a bit. “I’m an emergency room doctor; I think I can handle a few midnight craving runs.”
“Is that so?”
“I’m 100% confident.”
“Great. Love that.” You sip your drink, gaze at him over the rim, and then tell him with the most vindictive smile you can manage, “The first thing I want you to do is sell the motorcycle.”
That night, Robby’s phone rings with a call from you for the first time in six months. It wakes him from a dead sleep, but he’s been craving your custom ringtone so much that he still manages to answer within less than a second. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he slurs out, “Hi, mama.”
“Hey, Michael.” He can clearly picture you sitting cross-legged on your bed with a menacing smile as you ask, “Can you bring me a tub of that cake batter ice cream I like? The one with the blue frosting swirl and rainbow sprinkles and the actual chunks of pound cake.”
Robby puts you on speaker so he can sit up, stretch his arms, and hit the lights. As he tugs on whatever clothes he runs into, he clarifies, “You mean the one they sell at that kitschy 24-hour diner roadside attraction thing off the highway out in Bridgeville?”
“That would be the one.” Sounding downright wistful, you tell him, “I’ve been craving it my whole pregnancy, but I felt bad asking Trinity to do nearly an hour of driving to scratch the itch.”
Robby frowns as he fumbles through tying his shoes. “You still don’t have a car?”
“I’m living with Dennis and Trinity to save money so I can get one by the time the baby needs to go to daycare,” you tell him softly, trying not to let it sound like an invitation. You swallow hard and repeat firmly, “Ice cream. One hour.”
He smiles to himself as he picks up his car keys. “See you soon.”
Before Robby opens the door to the garage, his phone pings with a text. It’s Whitaker, for some reason.
Good luck on your first mission. Her feet are killing her extra today, by the way.
With a grateful little smile, Robby grabs a tube of the cocoa butter lotion you’d put him onto back when you were together and tucks it conspiratorially in his pocket.
Noted. Thanks for the tip.
Dennis shoots off two more texts before Robby gets to driving.
I’m rooting for you.
If you could also grab me some of those real rootbeers in the dark bottles they sell there that would be great.
Robby rolls his eyes and starts the car. It takes almost exactly one hour to make his way to the neighboring town, stand in line at the Cracker-Barrel-esque diner shop, and head over to your place. It’s quiet this time of night in your neighborhood, so quiet that he doesn’t even have to knock. You answer the door in a crop top that sits on top of your bump and gray sweatpants that hang low beneath it, rolled up around your ankles. You’re visibly exhausted and need a shower and you’ve never been more beautiful.
Then you glance over his shoulder at the car still idling by the curb and your mouth falls open in shock.
“Michael David Robinavitch,” you say breathlessly, hopping down onto the stoop to get a better look, “is that a minivan?”
“Brand new Chrysler Pacifica,” he confirms, following you over and slapping his hand on the hood like it’s a sports car. “Most safety and security features in its class. Ain’t she a beaut?”
With a shy smile, you confirm, “You got rid of the motorcycle?”
Robby shrugs modestly. “Not very practical when you have kids.”
“Kids. Plural.”
He cuts you a look that’s all cocky and loving. “Yeah. Plural.” Then, before you can stop buffering and come up with a response, he slides open the side door of the van and removes his spoils. Hoisting heavy reusable bags, Robby announces, “Two gallons of ice cream as ordered. Hopefully that’ll last you until after my next shift.”
You squeal and grab one of the bags from him, practically skipping back into the house. You leave the front door open and Robby hesitantly takes it as an invitation to join you inside, lingering in the doorway as you beeline to the kitchen, scoop yourself a hearty bowl, and put the rest away in the freezer. You pause, turn to Robby, and check, “You want some?”
Robby carefully steps the rest of the way into the living room and closes the door behind him. “I think all that sugar and fat would give me a heart attack even faster than the stress.”
You sigh and flop down on the couch, lifting your feet onto the coffee table and settling the bowl on your stomach. “Try telling that to your daughter; all she wants is sugar and fat.”
“Thus why I keep sending you balanced meals to eat.”
“Thank you for that, by the way,” you lilt gently, smiling around the spoon as you indulge in the ice cream. You close your eyes and throw your head back, moaning, “Fuck, this is so good. Are you sure you don’t want any?”
“I’m happier watching you eat it,” he chuckles as he memorizes your pleased expression. It’s the first time he’s seen you so content and not on the verge of yelling at him since he’s been back. “Is there anything else I can do for you tonight?”
“Yeah, actually,” you tell him as you try to get comfortable, adjusting pillows around your limbs, “I want to hear about your trip.”
Robby’s brows go up; he genuinely hadn’t expected you to want to talk to him at all. “Really?”
“Yup.” You pat the couch next to you. “Princess kept calling it your midlife crisis fuck-a-thon, so I want to hear about all your exploits.”
Robby tilts his head to the side and says plainly, quietly, urgently, “I didn’t have sex with anyone while I was gone.”
You try to ignore the way that knowledge makes you breathless, focusing on creating perfectly balanced bites of ice cream. “You didn’t?”
“Of course not.” He shrugs, joins you on the couch, and says sheepishly, “I thought I had my girl waiting for me when I got back.”
“Girls don’t wait for men who don’t even text while they’re gone,” you murmur back, sounding more pathetic than you’d wanted.
“I know. I was really screwed up before I left because of everything with the shooting and with Langdon and I- I didn’t see anything clearly. Couldn’t.” Without making anything of it, Robby shifts your bare feet into his lap and starts to rub the arch of one with his thumbs, deep and perfect. He gives you a cheeky look and adds, “But someone I’m trying to impress told me that I had to earn the opportunity to apologize, so I won’t get into all that yet.”
You give him a pointed look. “Any particular reason you’re rubbing my feet?”
He shrugs innocently and reasons, “You’re pregnant; I’m sure they’re killing you all the time.”
“It’s just interesting timing,” you muse, “considering I was complaining about needing a foot massage to Whitaker right before he left for his shift and you just so happened to bring him that weird Pennsylvania root beer he’s been wanting.”
“A man has to have some secrets,” he murmurs. Then he removes all pretense and rucks up the legs of your sweats, takes the lotion from his pocket, and really gets down to business. While he works tension from your feet and ankles and calves, Robby tells you honestly, “All I really did on my trip was think.”
You tease, “Sounds horrible.”
“It was, a lot of the time.” Robby takes the empty bowl from your hands and sets it on the coffee table, promising to wash it before he leaves, and insists you just relax under the expert working of his hands. “I didn’t go because I needed a vacation. I needed to…reset. I watched a lot of sunsets in beautiful places, wrote in my journal twice a day, tried to get eight full hours of sleep every night.”
Your mouth falls open. “You wrote in a journal?”
“Still do,” he replies, sounding a little impressed with himself. “It helps me think. Helps me view my thoughts more rationally – see how stupid they can get, how untrue – when I can read them on the page instead of just repeating them over and over in my mind.”
“That’s really good,” you sigh, head on the cushion and eyes closed. He’s not sure if you’re talking about the journaling or the foot massage or both. Frankly, he doesn’t care. Just getting to hear your sounds of simple pleasure is enough. Interlocking your hands over your bump, you sleepily prod, “Tell me about all the beautiful sunsets, then.”
Robby knows you’re about two minutes from falling asleep, but he happily obliges regardless. He talks about the rolling Appalachians that separate Pittsburgh from the East Coast, the light over the Atlantic early in the morning, the busy cities and empty back roads alike. He talks about the old man he sat with for three hours in a coffee shop listening to him glow about his late wife. He talks about the beach where he saw a family playing and finally felt at peace about Heather’s miscarriage years ago. He talks about the synagogue in New York City where he went just to feel connected to some peace but a rabbi sought him out from the sea of faces and said the Tefilat Haderech over him. He recites the lines he remembers.
…lead us in peace and direct our steps in peace, and guide us in peace, and support us in peace, and cause us to reach our destination in life, joy, and peace…grant me grace, kindness, and mercy…bestow upon us abundant kindness…
After a while, he hears you softly snoring, but he doesn’t stop. Instead he touches your exposed belly, gently working the lotion over your stretch marks, and soothes, “Someday I’ll take you all the beautiful places I’ve seen. You’re going to have the most perfect life I can give you. You and your mom and me.”
Coming in quietly after her shift, Trinity walks into the living room, takes in the scene in front of her, and grins unabashedly. Big bad attending Dr. Robby waiting on you hand and foot just like she told you he should. Grabbing a late snack, she chuckles and praises, “Now this is what I like to see, Rob.”
Robby whispers back, “Be quiet. She’s out like a light.”
“You were just talking to her.”
He corrects, “I was talking to the baby. Mom might be asleep, but my little girl is up and kicking in there listening to my stories.”
She gives him a slap on the back as she walks by. “You’ll bore her to sleep soon enough, gramps.”
Robby’s eating leftovers in bed the next time you call on him. He pauses the TV and picks up the call. “Michael Robinavitch personal assistant service, how may I help you?”
You groan, “I want to shave my legs and I can’t reach anymore.”
He chuckles quietly and hastens to eat the last few bites of his dinner. “Sounds like something I can handle. Do I need to pick up anything to enhance your experience? Chocolate?”
Your voice perks up just a little. “Twix. Several.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And a blue raspberry slushee if you get the Twix at a 7/11.”
“I think I can manage that.”
Half an hour later, you’re in the bath sipping on a Big Gulp and wearing a bikini – much to Robby’s eye-rolling amusement, you insisted he had to earn even non-sexual nudity – while Robby lathers up your legs with your fancy moisturizing gel. You don’t miss the way he takes the time to massage the knots from your calves with those deliciously large hands. God, you missed his hands.
“You’ve got a real jungle going down here,” Robby tuts as he starts in above your ankles, working his way over your skin methodically and thoroughly, his glasses sitting low on his nose as if he’s prepping a surgical field. If this is a measure of how much he cares for you, then he’s not going to miss a single hair. “Gonna need a weed wacker for those shins.”
You glare at him. “I will send that razor straight through your hand, Michael.”
“I’m just saying you could’ve asked me a week ago.”
“I didn’t have any reason to shave my legs a week ago.”
“But you do now?” He raises a suspicious eyebrow. “Hot date?”
“With the OBGYN, yup. She’s a real hunk.”
He gives you a very pointed look at that. “Do you want me to trim your bush?”
“Michael!”
“I know you prefer to keep the topiary neat and the ground below smooth.”
“I will not hesitate to splash you.”
Robby just laughs. As he rinses off the razor and touches up some areas – he even shaves your big toes without saying a word, the gentleman – he sighs and lets his voice go low and honest. “That was a sincere offer. I’m not trying to get off on your personal maintenance, I promise. You always told me you felt uncomfortable when things got a little unruly.”
Sounding far too flirty for Robby’s sanity, you reply, “And you always told me you like unruly.”
“But it’s your body,” he replies. Earnest. Insistent. “I’m not going to push it, but it’s on the table if you change your mind. I want to do anything that will make being pregnant more comfortable for you. I know being up in the stirrups every few weeks can’t exactly be fun.”
After a moment, you whisper, barely loud enough to be heard above the gentle movement of the bath water. “You’re making it really hard to stay mad at you.”
His eyes drift up to yours. You both hold the eye contact for so long that, for some reason, tears sting at your waterline. His golden brown irises are too familiar, too warm, too full of love you’re afraid to accept and afraid to lose. Finally he says, “I want you to be mad at me until you don’t need to be anymore.”
You scoff, “You want me to be mad at you?”
He swallows hard and amends, “I want you to feel everything you need to feel. I can take it.”
And you want to kiss him.
You hate him – and you want to kiss him. So you sigh and say, “Okay.”
“Okay?”
Untying the sides of your bikini bottoms, you confirm, “Let’s trim the bush.”
He makes a show of patting his pockets before announcing, “Crap, I think I left my pruning shears at home.”
You smile and roll your eyes, grateful for his levity and the effortless way he makes you feel safe in his presence. You slip the rest of the way out of the bikini, wring it out, and hand him the sopping fabric. He hangs it over the sink and returns to his place by your side.
As he cleans off the razor again, Robby assures you, “Tell me if you want me to stop. It’s okay if you change your mind any time. You know as well as I do that the OBGYN won’t care what your vulva looks like.”
You snicker, “I know. Get to it, doc.”
Robby chuckles, sinks his hands into the water, and guides your legs apart just enough to give him access. When his fingertips graze your labia, he hisses in a needy breath at the familiar feel of your soft lips. Then he curses softly, shaking his head with a laugh. “Sorry, sorry. Reflexive reaction. Nothing short of professionalism from here on out.”
You laugh, “It’s okay. Glad to know someone still finds me remotely attractive even though I feel like a beached whale.”
“You’ve never been more attractive,” he says quietly. Quickly. But he doesn’t let it hang. He gives a sharp soldier’s nod and gets to work, using his precise doctor’s fingertips to guide his motions. “You know, the last time I did this, it was because a woman had superglue in her pubes. Gluing her shut.”
You wince. “Jesus fuck. How does something like that even happen?”
He shrugs. “Freak sex accident, I’m assuming. That’s half the job.” Then he furrows his brow and drags his fingers up your innermost thigh, cleaning up the edges. “Alright, no more jokes, I’ve gotta focus when I’m relying on touch.”
You roll your eyes. “Yes, sir.”
You close your eyes and lean your head back on the bath pillow Robby ordered to be delivered to your place a few nights ago. In the low light with a backdrop of soothing water sounds, you relax easily; Michael’s touch could never be unfamiliar to you. He uses the fingers of one hand to guide the other, methodically following his own touch along your labia, down near your entrance, up towards your clit. You try to control your breathing as his confident motions start to work some neglected parts of your brain. When he gently pushes against your mons to make the skin straighter and easier to shave, the heel of his hand rests against your clit and you can barely think. He’s not doing it on purpose – that much is clear from how he’s got his tongue slightly out in focus, attuned only to what he’s doing – but it’s working you up nonetheless.
Your shaky voice breaks through the silence. “Michael?”
Totally concentrated on the task at hand, he slows his hands and offers, “Hm?”
Like a guilty child, you admit, “You’re turning me on.”
Right away, he withdraws his hands from under the water and moves away from the tub. “Shit, I’m sorry. I swear I wasn’t trying to do any-”
“No, it’s- it’s okay,” you assure quickly. “I just haven’t been able to, um, do anything about, ah, that particular sort of thing for the last two-ish months. I’m a little…pent up. I didn’t want to, like, start moaning or something on accident.”
Robby hesitates. There’s a war in his eyes. You watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard, trying not to think about anything at all. His cheeks turn red the way you always teased him for and he opens his mouth to talk. Closes it again. Repeats that a few times.
Ultimately, he doesn’t say a thing, just waits for you to lead.
You love him for not offering, for not cracking a joke, for not deflecting. He just creates space for you, leaning against your counter and keeping his eyes on your face. The man in front of you is the same Robby you’ve adored for years and claimed as yours for months, but he’s different, too. There’s a calm to him you haven’t seen before. When Robby used to touch you, it was hot and claiming and craving and yearning. You felt his desperation in every kiss. This man is waiting. Deferent.
For the first time, you’re in charge. You get to decide.
So you decide.
Gently, certain but sheepish, you ask, “Would you mind, um, helping me out with that?”
His voice is strangled and his face is contorted into something akin to agony. “Are you sure?”
“I don’t want to change anything with where we’re at right now,” you clarify, speaking slow, like you’re worried about a nervous cat darting, “but I could really use some relief on that front. If that- if that wouldn’t be too weird.”
“Weird?” Robby laughs and rubs the back of his neck. “No, it wouldn’t be weird.”
“What would it be, then?”
He takes in a shaky breath and replies, “It wouldn’t have to be something.” Sitting down by the tub again, he says, “I said I’d do anything to make you comfortable. Anything.” He lets his hand once again drift below the water, looking at you like it’s a challenge. “I’m not a chicken about fingering a girl when she needs some help.” As his thumb ghosts over your clit, you gasp and stifle the ensuing moan with the back of your hand. Suppressing a self-satisfied smirk, Robby reminds you, “Just tell me if you want me to stop. This isn’t about me.”
You nod eagerly and tilt your hips forward to give him better access. Robby shakes his head a bit; you were always so greedy for him to touch you and it doesn’t seem like that’s changed. Robby uses the pad of his thumb to work your clit, keeping firm contact as he rubs it in small circles, not too fast but not teasing, either. Your need is obvious in the fast rising and falling of your chest, the twitching in your thighs, the way you bite your lower lip and pinch your eyes shut. He treats this like what it is: Relief.
When he can tell you’re wanting more – letting out those soft and desperate little moans he always replays when he jerks off – he dips his other hand between your legs and feels between your lips. You’re wet and begging and he’s not going to deny you for even a second. With the water not letting anything get particularly lubricated, Robby keeps his fingers seated inside of you, curling them instead of thrusting. Your pretty lips fall open in a pleased ‘o’ and Robby’s borderline dizzy from how good it feels to get you off again. He’s not sure if it’s the pregnancy or the desperation but you feel downright swollen with lust, hot and plush and like he could spend the rest of his life keeping you knocked up and-
Woah, asshole.
Calm down.
He takes a deep breath of his own, matching one of yours, and focuses back on you and not on his achingly hard cock straining for freedom from his sweats. As he massages your g-spot way too effortlessly, the palm of his other hand pulls the hood of your clit back slightly, just enough to light your nerves on fire from the intensity of his touch. Heat rises in your cheeks, your chest, your thighs. Robby knows how to work a long, hard orgasm out of you. He never rushes. He matches the curls of his fingers with his thumb on your clit and doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, doesn’t race. He lets you feel every singular sparking second until you’re tightening up around him, your toes curling, your thighs clamping around his hand, your back arching as much as it’ll allow.
All Robby gives himself permission to say as you cum around his fingers is a soft, loving, “There you go. That’s it.”
When your pussy finally starts to release him, only faint fluttery aftershocks remaining, Robby pulls out of you, resists the urge to lick his fingers, and wipes his hands dry. He shuts his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath before he can bear to look at you. The sweat on your brow, the blown darkness of your pupils, the slight swell from biting your lower lip. You’re too beautiful for him to cope with. Robby gazes at you only as long as he can handle before averting his eyes.
To distract himself from the goddess bathing below him, Robby absently strokes your oversized towel hanging on the nearby rack and offers, “Ready to get out? I’ll help you up.”
Still breathless, you stare up at Robby in surprise. He didn’t kiss you, didn’t ask for any pleasure in exchange, only gave you what you needed, what you asked for. Pure, unadulterated respect. For your body, your boundaries, your desires. That’s so much sexier than the desperate love the two of you used to make between agonized sheets. “That would be good. Thank you.”
Robby pulls the stopper on the tub and extends his strong hands for you. Your eyes lock together as you stand with a groan. As he wraps you up in the towel, he holds your shoulders a moment and says urgently, earnestly, “Anything. Any time.”
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
In the morning, Robby’s securing his sleeves with his nicest cufflinks when you call him exactly when he’d expected. He may have snooped on your calendar – it was hanging on your wall as he helped you into bed, sue him – and saw that your OGBYN appointment this morning is, in fact, your third trimester anatomy scan at 9:00am. He knew as soon as he saw it that you were going to ask him to come at the last minute, so he’d asked Jack to stay a few hours late and he’d do the same at night.
He picks up the phone, trying not to sound to pleased with himself. “What can I do for you, oh glorious mother of my child?”
“Laying it on thick already,” you tease. He can hear you talking around your toothbrush and the image makes him smile as he smooths out his charcoal gray blazer and applies a few dabs of cologne. “Would you mind coming to my ultrasound with me today? Trinity was supposed to drive me but I guess she can’t now.”
Robby grins from ear to ear when he catches you in the blatant lie. Trinity’s working a double, which of course Robby would know as her supervisor. You were never planning on asking anyone else. Tucking that knowledge away in a secret place in his heart, Robby nudges, “Do you need a ride or am I invited in?”
“It’s your baby, dumbass,” you reply, the words half-formed now as you floss. After you rinse and spit again, you tell him more seriously, “I want you there.”
“You do?”
There’s a beat of silence where he’s worried he’s pushed too far. But then you say, “Yeah, I do. I wish you could’ve been there for the first few.”
With a deep breath, he replies, “Me too. I’d give anything to go back and-” He takes another deep breath and shakes his head at himself. “I’ll be there to pick you up in a few, okay?”
“See you soon, Michael.”
“Lo- See you, sweetheart.”
When you see Robby leaning against that goddamn minivan, you nearly jump his bones. He’s wearing slim-cut jeans that make his thighs look like tree trunks, his white button-down is undone just enough to show off some chest hair, and he’s got on a fucking blazer. A blazer. The bastard. When did he start putting mousse in his hair to make it so…tousled? Touchable. You can just imagine grabbing it while you ride him into oblivion.
Robby can’t suppress the very similar thoughts he’s having at seeing your outfit. You’re wearing a tea-length floral skirt with a slouchy, oversized sweater half-tucked into it. You look so comfy. Something about how soft and domestic you look as you approach him with your lace-hemmed socks and your oversized travel mug of tea is driving him crazy. He sees his whole life walking toward him with a sleepy smile on her lips.
Trying not to gawk too hard, you eye him up and down and say, “Michael, you look-” sexy as all fuck “-very handsome.”
He puffs up his chest. “Gotta look good; it’s my first time seeing my baby girl. I need to make a solid first impression.”
You roll your eyes, grinning as Robby pulls open the front door. “She can’t see you through my organs, babe.”
You don’t notice the word slipping out, so Robby doesn’t call attention to it. He just makes sure you’re buckled in and then sits on your other side with a glow in his gut. Then he reaches into his messenger bag in the backseat and hands over a king-sized Twix before starting the car and heading toward the hospital.
As you greedily open the wrapper, you hum, “What happened to Mr. Balanced Meal With Lots of Protein?”
“Mr. Balanced Meal With Lots of Protein knows you’re having your favorite burger with bacon and an egg on it from your favorite dive for lunch, on me,” he replies, glancing at you knowingly over the tops of his too-sexy sunglasses. “Throw in a side of sweet potato fries and I’m pretty sure science says that balances out a chocolate bar or two.”
You give a mock-salute with the half-eaten Twix. “Whatever you say, doctor.”
When Robby parks in his reserved spot near the ED, you both seem to realize the same thing at the same time. Robby stiffens up in his seat and offers, “I’m sorry; I wasn’t thinking. I can, ah, drop you off at the main entrance and meet you inside?”
You turn to him with one of those soft, shy smiles that made his heart stammer every time he looked your way when you started in the Pitt. “It’s okay. Really. I mean, you’re gonna be on paternity leave in at most ten weeks, so it’s not exactly a secret, right?”
“Fair point,” he concedes. “You know they’re gonna make it a whole thing, right?”
“Of course I do.”
“There might even be cake by the time we’re done.”
“God forbid.”
“Alright, fuck it.” Robby kills the engine and then walks around to your side of the van, helping you get your footing. “Let’s announce our lovechild to the world.”
“They probably already know; Trinity isn’t the most tight-lipped person,” you reason as he guides you with a large hand on the small of your back. It feels too protective and grounding for you to even pretend to protest.
“Jack didn’t know until I told him.”
“Because he’s such a notorious gossip.”
Robby can’t even respond because, as soon as you’re through the staff entrance, Dana’s staring straight forward at the two of you. Without moving her eyes from your stomach, she beelines your direction and gasps. After wrapping you up in a a warm hug, she looks you over and, disbelieving, mutters, “Holy hell, you are extremely pregnant.”
“Not extremely,” you balk as if it’s a ridiculous idea, “30 weeks.”
Dana seems to notice Robby’s presence and she narrows her eyes suspiciously, running the numbers in her head. “Thirty weeks, eh? Is that a new Robinavitch she’s growing?”
You absolutely beam when Robby blushes like a middle schooler. He confirms, “Yeah, that would be my little girl.”
“A girl!” Dana hugs both of you again and then looks at you seriously. “This one treating you like you deserve? Groveling profusely?”
“Yes, mom.”
“Good. As he should.”
Robby cuts in gently, “We’ve got an appointment upstairs, so we need to try to get through the floor to the elevator without too many interruptions.”
“Yeah, good fuckin’ luck with that,” Dana laughs as she gestures to the buzzing crowd gathering around the nurse’s station to get a look at you and Robby. “Have fun, lovebirds.”
Your cheeks are burning hot, so you poke Robby in the side and murmur, “Can you do one of your magical Dr. Robby speeches to make them go away? I don’t do well with public interrogations.”
“Your wish is my command,” he assures you quietly, pressing a kiss to your temple. In the nerves of the moment, you want to turn and nuzzle your face into the comfort of his broad chest.
Then Robby claps loud a few times until the handful of free doctors and nurses gather up, including a deeply amused Jack, Trinity, and Whitaker. He announces in his Big Serious Attending voice, “Alright guys, a handful of things to stop-slash-start the rumor mill. One: Yes, I’m wearing a blazer; pictures are $45 a pop. Two: Yes, your former APRN is heavily pregnant. Three: Yes, it is my baby. Four: I’m in a period of repentance to regain her favor after being an ass for the last six months, but we’re figuring it out. Finally: The buy-in for the due date betting pool starts at $25; I’m not skimping out on my firstborn. Any follow-up questions can be directed to the admirable godmother Dr. Trinity Santos. Got it?”
Whitaker gives a charming little whoop and starts off the clapping, joined quickly by everyone else. As Robby accepts a handful of congratulations, Jack pulls you into a strong hug and looks you in the eyes, serious and stern as ever. There’s an undeniable warmth in the twitch of his lips, though, as he tells you, “He’s got you, kid. I know he does. He loves you to death and he knows he fucked up.”
You squeeze his bicep gently. “Thanks, Dr. Abbot.”
“No problem.” Then he points at your bump and adds, “That’s Uncle Jackie to you, miss.”
You blink back hormonal tears as you laugh. “Uncle Jackie, huh?”
He grins and boasts, “I was born to be an irresponsible but lovable bad influence uncle. That girl is gonna have the biggest and most annoying family of doctors and nurses.”
The baby gives you a swift kick in the bladder like she heard him say it. You place your hand over the ginger spot and smile. “Yeah, she will. We’re lucky.”
And suddenly so much love washes through your body you’re not sure you can hold it all. When you watch Robby absolutely glowing talking about becoming a dad, you know this is right. He’s the right man for you. For her. You’re swept up into the collection of hugs and congratulations, too, but you can’t stop watching Robby’s smile lines. The way he checks in with you every time he laughs. The way he’s looking at you not like a girlfriend or a baby mama but like the sun of his solar system.
Robby tucks you under his arm easily and calls, “Alright, alright, we have an ultrasound to get to, people, let’s back off the pregnant lady. You all have lives to save and baby shower gifts to buy.”
You giggle under your breath as he leads you to the elevator. “Baby shower gifts. Please.”
“What? You don’t want a shower?”
“I just don’t know who would put it together; I don’t really have the time.”
Robby scoffs, “As if either of us could physically stop the nurses from throwing one now that the cat’s out of the bag.”
“Good point,” you concede, trying to suppress the smile that won’t stop threatening your cheeks.
Maybe it’s just luck or maybe it’s the presence of one of the hospital’s more important doctors standing behind you, but you’re in the exam room with Robby holding your hand within a few minutes of checking in. The OB attending, Dr. Montgomery, arrives shortly after your vitals are taken.
She’s borderline glaring after she greets you and extends a hand to Robby. “Dr. Robinavitch, good to see you back at the hospital after so long away.”
“Good to be back,” he replies carefully, shaking her hand. “I’m guessing you’ve been given a harsh but fair view of me the past few months.”
“That would be an accurate assessment, doctor.”
Robby does that thing where he kind of hunches his broad shoulder to seem smaller and more approachable. It’s what he does when he’s hiding from Gloria or talking to a little old lady with chlamydia. He insists, “Call me Michael, please.”
“We’ll see.”
You snicker, “Addie, I promise he’s putting the work in.”
“Fine. Claws away while we say hi to baby girl.” Dr. Montgomery preps the ultrasound station as you get your clothes tucked out of the way. As she applies the warmed gel and manuevers the wand, she tells you, mostly addressing Robby since he wasn’t there for the other appointments, “She was a little small at our last scan, so I’m gonna take a few extra measurements to track her progress.”
Robby nods slowly and stares at the back of the ultrasound monitor like he can see through it and gather information. “Has there been anything else on the scans I need to know about?”
You gaze up at him while Dr. Montgomery takes her notes. “Nope, she’s been a total champ. I’m the problem between the two of us.”
Robby strokes your hair with his other hand; you can tell it’s more to soothe himself than you, so you let him. “What does that mean?”
You lean into his touch unconsciously and reply, “I’m just anemic; I passed out early on. That’s how I found out I was pregnant in the first place.”
Guilt skewers Robby like an ice pick. “You’re taking iron now?”
You roll your eyes. “And eating spinach and letting handsome baby daddies buy me burgers.”
Robby’s ensuing smile is cute and proud. Dr. Montgomery looks up from the ultrasound and happily announces, “Baby girl’s growth has gotten much better since your last vosot. She’s no longer small for her gestational age and is now firmly average. Good work, mom. Have you been adding more protein and healthy fats to your diet like I suggested?”
When Robby opens his mouth to speak, you narrow your eyes at him an say, “Michael Robinavitch I will strangle you right now with my bare hands if you say ‘I told you so.’”
He chuckles and gives your hand a squeeze. “I would never. I’m just glad to hear our girl’s healthy – and not a bowling ball. I was 11 pounds.”
You cringe at the thought. “Lucky she takes after me on that front.”
So softly it sounds more like a prayer, Robby asks, “Can we see her now?”
Flipping the monitor around with a smile, Dr. Montgomery replies, “Yeah, of course. There’s her side profile; she’s perfectly posed for us. I’ll turn on the doppler, too.”
Robby leans forward and looks at the screen. Something cracks open in his chest as the baby’s heartbeat fills the room, whooshing fast and steady. He lets out a tiny, barely audible whimper. Your eyes fly up to his and you see the tears flooding down his pink cheeks as he gazes at his daughter wriggling around on the monitor.
You squeeze his hand and he gasps a tiny bit like he just remembered you’re there. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
“She’s perfect,” he breathes softly. Then he presses his lips to the top of your head and takes a trembling breath. Even his softest whisper trembles. “How could I ever leave you? I can’t believe I let myself miss this. You’re so fucking perfect. So strong. I love you so much.”
Tears thicken your throat as you lean up to press your forehead to his, sniffling out, “Mikey.”
He starts to cry in earnest, then, and you reach up to hold him. Your arms tangle together and your tears stain each other’s shoulders and there’s nothing but future in the places where your bodies touch.
Things get easier between you and Robby after that. You find yourself asking him for more and more trivial things just to see him and hear his voice. Your phone calls turn from a few sentences to a few minutes to an hour or more if you catch each other at a good time. He takes you shopping for baby clothes and even pretends to have an opinion about different fabrics when you ask. He stocks up on diapers, helps with your labor go bag, and does absolutely everything in his power to take the mental load off your shoulders.
From that new closeness, a quiet tension emerges. As you reach week 32 of your pregnancy, the shared knowledge of your needing to move hangs over you both, unspoken but omnipresent. Robby hasn’t pushed the issue yet, but you know it’s going to reach a tipping point.
That day comes during the worst rainstorm of the year one gloomy day in October. It’s your day off, so you’re treating yourself to a shopping spree when the rain starts. The forecast had only been for a light drizzle, so you were comfortable leaving the apartment in something cozy with an umbrella and rain boots. But the light drizzle turned torrential while you were inside a baby boutique on the other side of town.
Meanwhile, the heavy, dark, oppressive thunderstorm has the ED swamped. All the attendings are on staff to handle the onslaught of car accidents, falls, and asthma attacks. As he’s supervising Mohan’s work on an elderly woman’s obliterated tibia, his phone vibrates in his pocket.
While closing another line of sutures, Samira asks over her shoulder, “Is that mama?”
Robby slips his phone out just long enough to check. “Shit, yes, it is. She wouldn’t call me during weather like this if it wasn’t important. Do you mind if I-”
Mohan chuckles, “I think Mrs. Frost and I have this handled. Go save your woman from her aching feet or lack of chocolate bars.”
Robby gives the patient an apologetic smile and excuses himself. He ducks around the nearest quiet-ish corner where the hospital’s chaos lowers to a dull roar and manages to pick up right before it goes to voicemail. “Hey, sweetheart, what’s going on?”
He can hear you crying on the other side, the sound barely coming through the rain. “Can you come pick me up?”
Robby half-jogs toward the locker room, already stripping off his trauma gown and dodging questions from his fellow doctors as he goes. “Where are you?”
“A bus stop in East Liberty,” you sniffle out. “The buses are all delayed because of the weather and I tried to get ahold of Trinity but she didn’t pick up and I’m soaking wet and freezing and I can’t-”
“Breathe for me, honey. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Robby can hear the shivering and the tears and the panic in your voice and his gut clenches up in pain. He spares a glance outside and sees that the rain is still a deluge, the clouds dark and murky above and the ground shiny and slick with oil leeching out below. Lightning strikes and thunder claps. “Which bus stop?”
As you tell him, he dumps his trauma gown, rummages through his things, and grabs his keys and his gym bag, which at least has a towel and some dry clothes. “I’ll be there in ten minutes, okay? Is there somewhere warm and dry you can wait for me?”
“I- I don’t know. I’m all frazzled,” you admit. He can feel your reluctance to tell him, but you can’t stop it from spilling out through the crackling rain. “There was this guy who wouldn’t leave me alone, asking all these gross questions about my boyfriend or whatever and I just ran to the closest public spot I could find.”
Anger flares in Robby’s chest. He scribbles out a note and hands it to Dana as he passes the nurse’s station, barely pausing to see her reaction – just long enough to see her annoyed but supportive nod – before he shoves out of the door into the rain. “Are you alone now? Are you safe?”
“I’m okay, just- just kinda scared and tired and- and-”
“Breathe, baby, breathe. I’m getting in the car right now.”
A few beats pass with nothing but the rain in Robby’s ears. Then your meek, nervous voice: “Would you stay on the phone with me?”
“Of course.” He guns the engine and peels out of the parking lot, careful but quick. “I’m right here with you. Just keep talking and the time’ll pass. Tell me about what you were doing. Shopping for something fun?”
“Yeah, I was.” You sniffle again and try to smile. “I bought this, um, this handmade baby wrap carrier thing. It’s really soft and, like, this quilted fabric that I think would be really comfy for her.”
“You gonna teach me how to baby wear like all the hip dads are doing?”
“Definitely.” You actually let out a small laugh as you tell him, “The whole ‘big man carrying baby’ thing is very sexy. I’m sure it’ll help you pick up chicks at the grocery store.”
Robby snorts. “You know perfectly well there are only two chicks I’m interested in picking up the rest of my life.
“Rest of your life, huh?”
“If they’ll have me.” He makes a turn and spots you huddling beneath a leaky bus stop shelter. “Alright, I’m only a minute away now, but I might be late because I have to stop and offer the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen a ride, okay? She’s soaking wet and very pregnant and dressed inappropriately for the weather.” Robby pulls up to the curb and pushes your door open as he hangs up the phone. “Hey, stranger, can I give you a lift?”
You slide into the car next to him, your eyes puffy from crying and your hair disastrous from the rain. As you buckle in, you pout and observe, “You turned on the seat warmers for me.”
“I also brought you a threadbare towel and a hoodie; I’m a real gentleman,” he replies as he opens up his gym bag in the backseat and hands them off.
Gratefully toweling off your hair and tucking yourself under the hoodie, you smile and nudge him. “Yeah, actually, you are.”
Robby gives your knee a quick squeeze and pulls the car into traffic, heading back toward the highway. You gradually begin to feel like a person instead of a pregnant popsicle.
Teeth still chattering a bit, you manage to get out, “I’m sorry for interrupting you at work; I’m sure things are swamped there.”
Despite the fact that his phone’s been ringing non-stop since he left, Robby replies earnestly, “Nothing’s more important to me than your safety.” He swallows hard and apologizes for himself, “I’m sorry for calling you baby on the phone; I wasn’t thinking. I heard you upset and I just went on autopilot.”
You tell him softly, “It’s okay, Michael.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah, it really is,” you murmur back. “You missed the exit, by the way.”
Robby shakes his head. “I’m taking you back to my place; you need a warm bath and a hot meal and to sleep for twelve hours uninterrupted in a king size bed.”
You avert your eyes and admit, “That sounds really nice, Mikey.”
“I like hearing you call me that again,” he says gently. “Thank you.”
“Thank me by ordering me some orange chicken while I take a bubble bath.”
Robby chuckles, “Yes, ma’am.”
As soon as Robby has you inside, he’s helping you strip your exhausted, pruny body and drawing you a silky bath. As he collects some of his old comfy clothes for you to wear from his closet, you call out from the tub, “Would you actually make that matzo ball soup that you made when you gave me mono?”
“I did not give you mono,” he laughs, “but I will absolutely make you some nourishing comfort food.”
He can hear the teasing eye roll in your voice as you call back, “You had mono. You made out with me. I then had mono. Who the hell do you think I got it from?”
“Alright, whatever.” Robby sets down the clothes on the counter and points at you seriously. “Don’t you dare try to get out of that tub without my help, missy. I’ll be back once I’ve got the soup boiling.”
You smile at him fondly and bat your eyelashes. “Yes, sir.”
“Don’t play dirty with me.”
“I would never.” You sink deeper into the bubbles and sigh contentedly, “I’m more than happy to stay in here and turn myself into a little matzo ball.”
He leans down and kisses the top of your head. “Good girl.”
“Now who’s playing dirty?”
“I would never.”
Robby slips out of the bathroom and you just…relax. While Robby takes care of you. While he waits on you.
God.
God.
Between the bubbles and the bergamot bath oil, the tension and nerves leave. The sound of the storm outside becomes white noise. From downstairs, the smell of rich schmaltzy chicken broth wafts into your nose and you feel settled. Held. By the time Robby returns to the bathroom, you know, deep down in your bones, that you’ve forgiven him.
Robby helps you out of the tub and wraps you up in a fluffy robe he must’ve been warming in the dryer for you. Then he grabs a tube of lotion, sits down on the bed, and gestures for you to join him. While he tends to your feet and legs, he pleads with you, “Move in here, sweetheart, please. I can’t- I can’t function not knowing if you’re okay. Not knowing where the baby’s going to be sleeping and not knowing if I can be there for her and for you and-”
“Michael.” It’s a whisper, a tender one at that. “I don’t want to feel like I’m trying to fit into your life.”
“I don’t want to make you feel that way; I swear.” He kisses your hand a few times and then takes a deep breath. “I’d like to apologize now. If you’d let me.”
You nod slowly and try to ignore the tears that rise to your waterline. “I’m ready. Go ahead.”
“Thank you.” After a deep breath, Robby starts, “Look, I’m not going to apologize for leaving. I needed to leave. I needed to-” He gestures wide and begging as he searches for the right words. “I needed to grow up. I know I’m a little old for that, but I think it’s the closest thing to true. I’m sorry I told you instead of talking it through. I’m sorry I went radio silent. But honestly?”
Suddenly he reaches out and cups your cheek in his large hand. His palm is warm and so familiar that you can hardly breathe. With his thumb stroking your skin, he finishes, “What I’m the most sorry for is that I didn’t ask you to come with me. Every sunset, every motel mattress, every wide open highway would’ve been so much better if I shared them with you.”
He presses his forehead to yours and murmurs, “I swear I’ll spend every single one with you from now on. I’ll be there for every birthday, every Chrismukkah, every fucking thing you want me at. Nothing has ever or will ever matter to me more than being your husband. The father of our children. So tell me what you want. Tell me every single thing you want for you and for me and for the baby and you’ll have it. Because I love you more than my stupid bike and more than my career and more than everything I’ve ever had. You are everything now.”
The air sparks like the lightning outside. For a full minute, it’s you and it’s Robby and it’s the storm.
Then you lean forward. You hold Robby’s face with both hands and search his golden brown eyes. His heart pounds in his ears. His lungs are tight and screaming.
And you kiss him.
It’s slow, so gentle, and he’s holding his breath. Then reality seems to settle softly on his shoulders and he smiles against your lips, slides his hands onto your waist, thumbs affectionate on your bump, and kisses you back. When you pull away only slightly, you inform him, “I want a house with a yard. One that I get a say in. Further from the city. I want a safe, sensible family car for myself. No black interior. Light brown. I want a big fat diamond ring. Four carats minimum. I want sex at least three times a week. Six orgasms for me as a baseline. And I want a husband who works at most 50 hours.”
Robby gazes at you with watery eyes. “Okay.”
You smack him on the chest and laugh, “‘Okay’? I was trying to be unreasonable, Michael!”
“Well I’m being serious. Let’s move to the suburbs and have a huge wedding and fuck whenever you want. I’ve got savings to get us through as long as we need. I’ll start my own practice, slow down, buy a grill, join the PTA, the whole nine yards.”
You roll your eyes and scoff, “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not,” he assures seriously. “If you’re taking me back and making me a dad, you can be a hell of a lot more unreasonable than asking me to put my family first.”
“Fine.” You cross your arms over your chest and try not to grin. “I want a puppy.”
Robby grips his heart like you’ve stabbed him. “If you really want one – when the baby’s old enough that I won’t have a panic attack having a dog around her.”
“Deal.” You rest your forearms on his shoulders, playing with the hair at the back of his neck. “I want you to mow the lawn shirtless on Saturday mornings.”
He melts under your touch and smiles. “Okay.”
You lean in closer, a smile of your own breaking out. “And I want my own craft room in the house.”
Glancing down at your lips, he promises once again, “Okay.”
“I want a hot tub.”
“Okay.”
“And a soaking tub.”
“Okay.”
“Manicures every other week. A tropical vacation every summer. Two more babies in the next ten years.”
“Okay, okay-” he kisses you again, soft and warm and unhurried “-very okay.”
Your hand slides down his chest and toys with the hem of his tee. You watch his stomach twitch and his chest gasp upwards as you purr, “And I want you to fuck me. Right now.”
Robby’s lips return to yours. Urgent now. He pulls you into his lap and drags kisses up your neck, tasting your clean skin and your pulse beneath him. His breath is hot and his every touch – slipping the robe from your shoulders, lazing his fingers along your arms, kissing the shell of your ear – is an act of worship. At last, he murmurs against your lips, “Okay.”
♡ synopsis: when robby goes on sabbatical, he asks you to watch his house for him. you agree & spend the next two months looking after the space while he's away on his road trip. it's only when he returns & completely latches onto you that you become aware of the feelings he's been harboring for apparent years & find yourself reluctant to tell him no in anything—to the point of lying to protect his feelings—because he's become so unstable.
♡ content: angst, power imbalance, implied age-gap, jealousy (on robby's end), possessiveness, codependency, depression, ideation, emotional coercion, p in v sex, creampie, fingering, nipple play, he has a mommy kink if you squint, robby is a trainwreck & reader is standing on the damn tracks
♡ a/n: inspired by this amazing fic!
"I'll see you next week," Noelle replies with feigned sarcasm, which somehow irks Robby—her presuming to know precisely how he works; that he's that simple and predictable.
She's not the only one tonight, and that's what truly gets under his skin which used to be far thicker.
His eyes flit over the top of her head, and he just catches the sight of the back of yours retreating to the ambulance bay when he does. Forcing a tight-lipped smile, he brushes past her with a quiet, distracted 's'cuse me' before following along in your direction.
Carefully trailing his eyes along the gentle curve of your jaw, the generous swell of your breasts, the soft skin of your dainty hands, and long lashes that brush your cheeks each time you blink, Robby endeavors to commit your every facet to memory. He nearly winces at the thought of never setting eyes on you again, but if he considers that prospect too deeply, he'll never let go.
"Hey," he says quietly while taking a few measured steps forward.
Glancing up from your illuminated phone, you smile warmly before turning to face him. "Hey."
Robby sinks his trembling hands into his pockets. "There's, uh," he glances down to his scuffed boots and gently shrugs. "Something I was wanting to talk to you about."
When his exhausted eyes return to yours, you swiftly lock your phone and tuck it away to grant him your undivided attention.
Is he about to lay into you now as well?
Oh boy...
"I'm all ears," you assure softly. Cautiously.
"While I'm gone, I'd like to have someone housesit for me," he explains. "Just to keep an eye on things. Bring in the mail, make sure nothing stops running in my absence or shorts out. I was hoping maybe that could be you."
At least he isn't ripping into you the way he has so many others tonight. Such as Dana, Abbot, and poor Samira. You caught him glaring at Frank on more than once occasion as well, and on the poor man's first day back, no less.
You still have yet to learn the full story there of what exactly happened ten months ago which sent him on a long vacation from the ED, but maybe it's best you not know; it's none of your concern. He's back to treating patients, and that's what matters.
"Oh," you say in quiet surprise. "Are... Are you sure you wouldn't rather it be Abbot or Noelle?"
His brows furrow and he steps closer. "Noelle?" Robby asks with a slightly quirked head.
"I just thought that the two of you..." Situationship sounds inappropriate, so it's best you not use that adjective, probably. "Seem to have something—"
"Noelle and I are not together," he deadpans. "She's not the one I—" he huffs, shakes his head tiredly while gazing across the empty lot while running a nervous hand down the back of his neck, then returns his attentions to you. "There's nothing there."
You wonder if she knows that.
You'd hoped it would work out for him, in truth—that they'd make a charming couple who'd understand one another's struggles here at work. But wishes hardly ever come true, it seems.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make assumptions," you state with regret.
Robby shakes his head dismissively to intimate that it's alright; no harm done. "It's fine." Contemplating the color of your lips, he continues. "I'd just feel better knowing you're there looking after things for me. It'd help you save on rent for a few months. And if I don't come back, you've got yourself a brand new home."
Your brows knit together. "If you don't come back?" you question with worry.
He purses his lips and shrugs yet again. "Never know. Trying to keep my plans open." Rocking back on his heels, he studies the asphalt beneath his shoes, then steadies while looking at you once again from beneath his lashes. "So, we got a deal?"
He's due to leave very soon. So there's little opportunity for him to make other arrangements if you decline. It's not great that he waited until the literal last minute to begin with, because it indicates—at least to you—that he's not thinking clearly.
You want to ask him to wait until the morning before he takes off—go home, take a shower, make sure you're indeed who he wants to fill this responsibility, and tend to any other loose ends he's yet to tie up before taking such a prolonged sabbatical—but know such pleas would ultimately fall upon deaf ears.
You nod. "We do. It's no problem."
He sighs, and his shoulders loosen when the anxiety of a potential rejection alleviates. "You can follow me over there after our shift ends. I'll give you a tour, list a few rules, and..." his head bobs in an indifferent nod. "We'll talk then."
You rub nervously at your arm. "Alright."
Following along behind Robby's Bonneville, as the miles pass between work and home, a feeling of unexpected dread settles into the pit of your belly.
You know Abbot talked to him shortly before dayshift finally came to a close, and from what you could see from afar, he managed to finally chip past his stony exterior, but it obviously wasn't enough.
You want to make a genuine attempt at getting through to him yourself, but you honestly have no idea what to say to do so. What can you tell him that will convince him to stay his hand, even just a bit longer, which Jack—someone he's known far longer, and is much closer to—hasn't already?
You wouldn't be so worried if he didn't seem like such an utter wreck today. He doesn't even look well. His face is pale, his cheeks appear hollow in just the right light, and his eyes are so...dark and empty.
It scares you.
As you pull up next to Robby's motorcycle, you switch off the engine to your vehicle and watch as he knocks the kickstand of his ride into place before swinging a leg over the side of the stupid deathtrap before waving for you to follow him to the door of his condominium.
You'd assumed that he was a homeowner. Perhaps he still is, though, even if it's a condo that he's residing in. You're not sure how it works, exactly. Not your living situation, though, so you suppose it ultimately doesn't matter.
Popping open the driver's side door, you maneuver yourself out of the vehicle.
You're quiet as Robby leads you from room to room in his spacious abode while he shows you how to work the dishwasher, washing machine, dryer, and even the shower.
You simply nod along because you know that you'll most likely be coming by every other day at best for a handful of minutes to do a quick walkthrough before heading back to yours and Samira's shared apartment. The thought of spending enough time here to require use of a washing machine is unimaginable.
You still fail to understand why you're the chosen person for the job, but nevertheless feel flattered that he hand-picked you for it.
You humor yourself with the thought that it's because you're so very reliable and organized. Robby has always had a bit of a soft-spot for you—favoritism which seemed to increase in fervor as time went on—but you assume it's only because he sees your promising potential as a healthcare provider.
Once he's led you back toward the foyer where the front door lies, he shoves his hands into his pockets and you bristle as he lets his eyes roam freely across you.
"I'll come by at least every other day and bring your mail in for you. And I'll do a walkthrough of the—"
Robby frows and your words drift into silence.
"I want you here," he states softly, but with conviction. "It'll give me peace of mind. So just...live here while I'm away. Since I never set up any of the other rooms for guests, just sleep in my bed," he remarks while nodding behind you, toward the direction where the bedroom lies.
"Wear my clothes if you want, if...if they're more comfortable to for you to lounge around in," Robby mutters with a shrug. "Make yourself at home. Eat what's in the fridge, and contact the building manager if anything needs fixed. As for bills, everything comes out of my checking account automatically. The mortgage, electricity, sewage, trash disposal, water, wi-fi and cable... It's all taken care of."
Samira won't be happy about losing her roommate, but you'll still see each other at work. And you can always come over to visit.
You wonder if he would mind if she did the same here.
Sleeping on the same mattress as him is a surreal thought, but you've never owned a king-size bed before. Might be nice to be able to roll this way and that without fear of falling onto the floor. You'd rather not think of other things he's done in it, though, with... Well, others. Feels wrong to imagine him that way.
So you choose not to.
"Rules?" you ask, since he mentioned such a thing previously.
"No parties, pets, kids... Other men—"
You shake your head. "No worries there, about any of it. It's your home and I fully intend to respect the space you're letting me stay in temporarily."
Robby purses his lips and contemplates for a moment to ensure he's left no stone unturned before he steps out. "Do you have any questions for me?"
You think. "What if something breaks? I can contact the building manager, and I assume they'll have a repairman come, but what if they tell me it needs replaced entirely? Like...the fridge or dryer? Unlikely, I know, but—"
Robby reaches around to his back pocket and unfolds a leather wallet. "Here, take this," he says while holding out a credit card between his index and middle finger. "It's not one I ever use anymore, but if something like that happens, just charge it to it. I'll keep an eye on the account and pay off anything that pops up."
You shuffle forward and slip the thin plastic card from his grasp. "I doubt I'll need it, but I'll put it in my wallet for safekeeping just incase."
"If you need it for gas or groceries, that's fine, too."
You shake your head. "No, Robby, I can—"
"It's the least I can do," he interrupts while glancing to the right, toward a curtained window. "Since you're doing me a favor by keeping an eye on things. It'll give me peace of mind while I'm on the road: knowing you're here, living in my home; sleeping in my bed."
He seems oddly adamant about the last part...
You should analyze that, as well as him telling you to wear his clothes. Perhaps he's just trying to be a good host by ensuring you feel comfortable here, and not like you have to be conscious of so much as moving a dishtowel or salt shaker out of place?
You choose to go with that theory.
"Okay." You'll only use it to restock anything of his that you run out of and need to replenish. Wouldn't feel right to use it for something as simple as a few gallons of gas, which you can afford.
"Make sure to enjoy yourself," Robby murmurs with a forced smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, but does make his crow's feet wrinkle.
"You too," you whisper. "Drive safe, wear your helmet, and pull into a motel or hotel if you start to get tired. Get plenty of rest. And eat—I'm sure there's lots of good diners and food trucks along the way," you say with a soft, reassuring grin. "If you need anything, call Abbot. Or...me. I'll do what I can," you finish with a nod.
You're not sure what exactly, but you figure that you'll cross that bridge if and when you come to it.
Robby's eyes flit between your own, and your heart squeezes with the thought that he's maybe changed his mind. Taking time off from the ED is essential right now, but an almost four thousand mile round trip certainly isn't, in your opinion.
Maybe he can—
Robby advances forward while his footsteps sound across hardwood floors, then suddenly cups the back of your head and presses his lips firmly to your forehead while pulling the rest of you flush against himself.
His grip is iron-tight, and you register the soft swell of his belly that melds against your abdomen, his palm that's splayed across your back, his other which twitches against the base of your skull, and his wiry beard that softly scratches against your skin.
You slide your own arms around his middle after a beat, and gradually tighten your hold after a handful of seconds so the embrace isn't quite so one-sided.
In the ED, Robby's touched you an innumerable amount of times—your shoulders, back, hands, even your cheek once or twice—but you've not deigned to think too much on it, because you always assumed it was just his way of bestowing silent reassurance or praise in way of encouragement.
You're sure that's all it ever was, and that this is just...thanks.
You don't see it, but he squeezes his eyes shut to battle away stinging tears before suddenly releasing you and turning on his heel. "Take care of yourself," he mutters before grabbing his bag and swinging the front door open.
"Y-You too," you squeak before he shuts it behind him.
A moment later, his motorcycle revs to life outside and its headlight casts itself across the living room walls before disappearing entirely.
You don't move until the sound of its purring engine has morphed into silence.
You swallow thickly and shift on your feet while sniffling.
You've never thought of Robby as anything more than a mentor, so you find yourself at a loss when you try to explain the hollow feeling in your chest that his absence has left behind.
"I'm sort of glad he's gone," Samira mumbles from where she's sitting cross-legged on your bed. "Is that bad of me?" she asks while glancing up to where you stand plucking various clothing items from your closet.
"No," you reply while folding and tossing them into your bag. "Of course not. I know he'd been riding you for awhile, and there's no excuse for it. But..." you sigh.
"If you can, try not to take it personally. It was just him lashing out, I think. Samira, you're one of the best doctors I know—not to mention people. Calling you slow? What? Because you bother taking your time, actually listen to your patients, and are diligent in your diagnoses and treatment—unlike most, who've otherwise sold themselves for and to corporate greed, whether they're aware of it or not, by double-booking or rushing through patients? Not that you plan to go into it, but if you were a PCP, I'd want you as mine. And I'm not just saying that because we're best friends and live together."
She's practically beaming by the end of your heartfelt speech.
"Don't take the crap he's said to you to heart. Collins believed in you, Al-Hashimi does, too, as well as Abbot it seems, and so do I. Robby needs to sort out his own issues before he starts harping on anyone else's."
She flops back onto your bed. "What did he say to you exactly before taking off?" she inquires while rolling her head in your direction. "Just curious, since you were the last one to see him."
You shrug. "Not much. Showed me around, laid some ground rules, told me what to do if I had any issues..." You chew your lip for a moment. "He... He told me to make myself at home, obviously, and it's not like there's another one there for me to occupy... He told me more than once: sleep in my bed. Even mentioned something about wearing his clothes so I could be comfortable."
She bolts upright. "I'm sorry, what?"
You consider a thin sweater, then shake your head. It's hot as hell out right now, so you don't imagine you'll be needing it anytime soon. "He might've given me a credit card, too. But only for emergencies. Like if the washer breaks and can't be repaired and a new one has to be delivered instead. That sort of thing."
She bobs her head from side to side in understanding. "I guess I can get that. But... Wearing his clothes?" she asks incredulously.
You opt not to mention the part about him telling you to also use it for gas and groceries. The latter is sort of understandable, but the former not so much, at least in your opinion.
He's just not himself right now, right? Makes sense that on top of acting out of sorts, he's also saying some off-the-wall stuff.
You ball up a ratty old t-shirt and stuff it in your luggage bag. "I won't be."
"It's the fact he said that to begin with," she presses while scooting closer. "It's inappropriate."
You snort. "And me staying in his house isn't?" You raise a brow while refolding a pair of jeans. "Still don't understand why he didn't ask Jack or Noelle instead. Because even if she and him aren't in an established relationship, they had something going on between them. You'd think he'd be begging her to take up space in his home and bed and clothes instead."
"Oh my God," Samira whispers, like realization of something shocking has just overcome her.
"What?" you asked with a raised brow.
Her brown eyes flit to yours. "How do you... You don't even see it, do you?"
You blink absentmindedly. "No, but I assume you're about to tell me whatever it is that I'm apparently blind to."
"He's in love with you," she expresses doubtlessly.
Unable to help yourself, you bark a laugh. "You can't be serious right now. I'm a resident. And he's—"
"Telling you to make yourself at home, giving you his credit card, telling you to bathe in his shower, eat his food, lie in his bed, put on his clothes," she counts off across two hands. "I always sort of questioned all the extra attention he gave you at work, but I guess I get it now."
You shift uncertainly on your feet. "He's just...being a good host."
"But he's not really hosting you if he isn't there, is he?"
Turning your back to her to begin emptying your underthings from your dresser, you shake your head. "I'm sure he'll rekindle things with Noelle once he gets back. It's not like that."
She shakes her head. "Never took you for the clueless type."
You sigh while tucking a bra away into a mesh pocket. "We should've all taken bets on what he'll get up to while away. I say that wherever he's headed, it's to see someone that he's perhaps fallen for."
Or to check out a new job opportunity...
You start in on socks next.
After only two weeks on the road, Robby already feels beat. Then again, he did before he ever planted two wheels upon it.
Lying in a strange motel room in a strange town far from home, he's unable to control the tempest of thoughts that rage in his tired head in the unwelcome silence that encapsulates him. All the patients that died beneath his hands, all the people he loved whom he failed, all the students he should've done better by.
It all started with the first who failed him, he thinks. The catalyst for why his life has fallen apart, or never had a proper chance to become what it should've to begin with.
But he can't think on that right now or he'll...
As always, his thoughts instead drift toward another.
One who's currently warming his bed that he's at least a thousand miles from at present. She's all feminine curves, sweet smiles, and warmth in every spoken word.
It's easier to lose himself in delusional daydreams with her instead of facing the harsh, ugly reality that's collapsing all around him.
It's become prevalent, this habit: when he's driving, eating, taking a piss, even when he's supposed to be sleeping, his mind instead chooses to paint a false picture that's becoming increasingly harder to pull himself out of day-by-day, like quicksand.
He's losing hours to it, but it's so much more soothing than addressing his own self-made problems.
He worries that if he ever finds the strength to go home, that he'll struggle with being able to tell the difference between what's real and what he's willingly imagined as he trails across the Badlands.
If he'd done things differently—been braver and spoken up—perhaps he'd be there with her now. Lying beside her, holding her close to keep her safe and warm while she dreams peacefully in his arms and against his chest... But his time has come and gone for such fanciful romances. He's too old, broken down, and hollowed out now.
He'd be no good for someone like her.
It's why he settles for fantasy instead. It's the closest he'll ever come to actually having her the way he means to.
The reveries can vary. He's become quite adept at storytelling, in truth. In some, he's beside her in the ED, coaching her through every move, every incision, every decision, and the patient never dies. Others—his favored ones—she's at home with him. She greets him at the door with an adoring smile and an affectionate kiss before pulling him inside so that they can have dinner while she listens about his day. Sometimes she works in it, others, she's a quaint housewife with a swollen belly who lives for her husband, and he for her.
And then there are the darker ones where he's buried inside of her—right between her legs—and he loses himself to the feeling of her soft, trembling body lying beneath his own, where she clutches at his chest and arms while whimpering wantonly against his lips. He always finishes inside of her, and she promises him a baby in return.
He's projected so many idealized archetypes and scenarios onto her that when the time finally came to reluctantly say goodbye, he'd been a bit taken aback when she didn't beg him to stay while throwing herself at him with reckless abandon.
She was supposed to react differently. Not bring up another woman that he only half considers an ex. Robby made things clear to Noelle at the beginning that whatever they were doing would be casual—no strings attached or grand expectations had.
She would find no commitment on his end, because he knew that he wanted another, and as long as his heart was held in her unwitting hands, he couldn't give anyone else 100% of himself. So, after almost a couple months, when Noelle started dropping hints that she was desiring more, he broke it off entirely.
Live in my home, sleep in my bed. Why couldn't he have just told her what he really meant?
I love you, I love you, I love you and you alone.
Pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes, he groans in frustration. Did she really have no idea? Why didn't she question further as to why she was his chosen candidate for house sitting? If she had, though, would he have told her?
He's not sure.
He truly is a fool.
Can't have the fairytale—kids and all—if you can't even achieve an erection anymore. Happened once or twice with Noelle, actually.
He preferred to keep his eyes shut during at times because it made imagining easier, but the truth was always right there beneath his hands.
He knows it hurt her feelings; that she blamed herself when he failed to properly perform. Bless her, she even tried to help him, but it somehow made it all the worse instead. Just gave him one more reason to cut it off clean. If you can't please a woman, what's the point?
Rolling onto his side, he tries to sleep.
"Have you heard from him?"
Tucking your stethoscope into your bag, you shake your head and click your locker shut. "I haven't. I'm sorry, Jack. Guessing it's the same for you?"
He shrugs and shakes his head. "I check the fuckin' thing about a dozen times a day, always expecting something. Think after over a half a month I'd get the hint that he doesn't want to reach out or be reached out to, but I clearly haven't."
You slide your backpack onto your shoulders. "You're a worried friend. Nothing wrong with that."
He doesn't tell you about how he keeps Googling 'Buffalo Jump Albany deaths'.
He should've done more to keep Robby in Pittsburgh.
Wrapping his arms around you, he pulls you into a tight hug and gives you a firm squeeze. "Let me know if you do."
You nod. "I will."
It takes about two and a half weeks before you even think to snoop around a bit. Between work, errands, taking care of Robby's space by regularly cleaning and tidying up after yourself, and trying to tend to your own health, the thought of rifling through his sock drawer just didn't register.
After fixing yourself a stir-fry dinner with a small glass of red wine, you had sat on the couch for awhile watching Netflix before you finally got bored with some poorly scripted period drama and switched the TV off in favor of exploring.
You begin where many do: the medicine cabinet. Your hand hovers over the small silver knob which will reveal to you some of Robby's medicinal secrets, and frown slightly. You'd dislike if someone did such a thing to you, but... What he doesn't know also won't hurt him. Just might cause you to see him in a bit of a different light is all.
Pulling the small door with a gleaming mirrored front open, you trail your eyes over mostly predictable finds: shaving cream, a razor, as well as clippers, an assorted box of Band-Aids, triple antibiotic, ibuprofen, a glass bottle of half-empty cologne with a gold cap, wet wipes, and a couple prescriptions are amongst the items within.
Plucking the first orange bottle from the middle shelf, you turn it over to study the label. Buspar 10 MG. You slide the pad of your thumb over his printed name, Michael Robinavitch, and your brows knit together in sympathy.
"Oh, Robby," you whisper before returning it to its rightful place. A pretty basic medication for anxiety, yes, but it nevertheless tugs at your heart to see. Especially since it's here, and not with him like it should instead be.
Grabbing the next one, blood immediately rushes to your cheeks and you nearly toss it back inside with a quiet squeal. Viagra.
Slamming the door back closed, you thoroughly wash your hands, then exit the bathroom and head for the bedroom instead.
Flipping through the clothing that hangs in Robby's closet, you find yourself underwhelmed. Scrubs, scrubs, and more scrubs. Along with a couple three-piece suits which you deign he must look rather sharp in. At the back, though, is a collection of t-shirts. Half of which are just basic, solid colors—black, blue, forest green, grey—but there's also surprisingly some graphic tees, too. You grin as you swipe your fingers over a decal of Led Zeppelin's untitled album. The 4th one which included Stairway to Heaven.
Nearly pulling it from the hanger, you bunch the hem up beneath your nose and inhale, but are met only with hints of detergent instead of him.
You click the door back shut and pad over to the chest of drawers that stands across from the foot of the bed—which doubles as an entertainment center, since he has a small flatscreen on top—and you grip a wooden picture frame and slide it toward you.
Inside is a photo that was taken approximately a year ago in the ED around Christmas. No one is dressed up for it, but you remember that afternoon and how a fresh box of cookies from a local bakery was delivered—their tops complete with designs of Santa, Rudolph, Christmas trees, and snowflakes.
You'd rolled your eyes, then looked at Robby and muttered how you were sorry that there wasn't one with a menorah on it. He'd stared at you, and the look was so intense that your mind short-circuited for a moment as you actually doubted whether you remembered his heritage correctly. He was Jewish, right?
And then he kissed your forehead before biting through a Christmas tree and saying sarcastically that he hoped he wasn't being sacrilegious somehow.
You'd not entirely understood the joke, but laughed anyway.
Studying the photo, you examine all the familiar faces included. Dana, McKay, Langdon, Trinity, Mel, Samira, and many more. But only now do you notice that only one wasn't smiling at the camera lens, but instead was gazing at you with a toothy grin.
Robby.
Pulled flush against his side you'd been, and his hand was wrapped around the crown of your shoulder to keep you close.
Was Samira right after all?
Letting go of the frame, you plop down on the bed and begin to think.
You've known him for a long time now, as you've been at PTMC since you were but a med student. You'd initially tried to get yourself on night shift after your first couple weeks there so that you could have your days to accomplish everything else you were overwhelmed with, but Robby was insistent that you stick with him and that he'd 'see you through thick and thin'. So you did, and to be fair, he hasn't steered you wrong.
His teachings have been invaluable, which you're thankful for, but now you wonder when the relationship shifted from mentor and mentee to something more affectionate—at least on his end.
You want to tell yourself that you're reading too much into it, but all you have to do is look around to know that that's a lie.
With a sigh, you slide over to the head of the bed and pull the top drawer of his nightstand open. A Roku remote greets you, as well as an issue of The New England Journal of Medicine, a small flashlight, and an open box of Trojan condoms.
Size?
Large.
You shove it back closed and stare ahead at the open doorway.
Before tonight, you never imagined him that way: naked and sweaty and writhing on top of a woman.
Now, you can't stop.
With a huff, you begin readying yourself for bed.
It's been an hour and rest still has yet to find you. Counting sheep is fruitless, as is mentally singing yourself old childhood lullabies.
It's because you can't stop the racing thoughts now that you've been bombarded by silence. Thoughts...of just how lonely you truly are. Living with Samira, it was easy to ignore. At work, there was no time to think of anything but the medicine, and at home, you had a friend to always talk to and share things with. But here, in a house too big for just one person to occupy, you're left to take stock of how outside of your roommate, you really don't have anyone else.
So you ponder whether Robby's feelings are returned.
An attraction you've always had towards him, sure, but something even bordering on love? He's...him. Doctor Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch. Chief of the ED at PTMC and a whole lot of man, to boot. He's worldly and wise and steady and capable.
Meanwhile, you're more like a wobbly newborn chick fresh out the egg that has no idea how to even walk some days, let alone carry on with a damn rooster.
Ok, so the analogy is getting a little weird.
Point being that he's lived a life, whereas yours has yet to even form its first greatest hit.
Turning onto your side, you slide your hand across a half empty mattress and fantasize about it being occupied, and what such a thing might entail. What has he considered, you wonder? Shared meals, movie nights on the sofa, and sex right where you lay? Bills and correspondences with both your names printed on the envelope? Matching his and hers coffee mugs hanging from Command hooks in the kitchen?
Just when you think to close your eyes again, your phone lights up, so you grab it from atop the nightstand and check what's just come through.
You sigh with relief when you see that it's the very man occupying your current deliberations.
Everything going ok?
"Thank God," you whisper while making a mental note to text Abbot that Robby has reached out.
It is! Been taking care of the house. I've sorted your mail, too, by the way. Junk mail is set aside incase something piques your interest.
You debated whether to toss fliers for cheaper internet and brochures for a new car wash that just opened up down the street, but figured that was his decision to ultimately make. Perhaps you'll use a Pizza Hut coupon one of these nights.
Thanks.
You raise a brow and begin rethinking everything you were only just ruminating over. Like imagined fondness. Short, straight, and to the—
I meant with you.
Talk about whiplash.
I'm doing okay. Thinking about adopting a cactus. Figured you could use the company once you get back.
Not really a lie, since the lack of any other living thing here sort of depressed you to see after first moving in, so to speak. Not having pets you get for numerous reasons, but even just an air plant could be nice.
Had one before. Overwatered and killed it, but thanks.
How the hell do you overwater a cactus? Something that literally thrives in the desert. Too much of a good thing, you suppose.
Air plant, then.
typing...
Work going alright for you with me gone?
No more talk of flora, apparently.
It is. You're still very missed, though.
typing...
Miss you, too.
Your heart somersaults in your chest. What do you say now?
Thanks? Come back soon? Want a selfie of me in your bed so your replies might become a bit more lively?
Your fingers hover above the keyboard, but before you get a chance to attempt a reply, another message comes buzzing through.
Going to sleep. Talk later.
You reply with a simple Goodnight before doing the same.
It's too fucking ridiculous to ever admit, but the sign for him to finally turn back came in the form of a country song playing on an overhead speaker in a small roadside diner. He forgets the name of the artist, but he sang of being on the road more than home, and how leaving the woman he loved all alone was killing him. How only if he returned could he feel, see, touch, and kiss her anytime he wished. Could place hands upon her bare skin as they slept together.
Robby paid his tab and turned his ass back in the other direction without a second thought.
With him being so far gone, it taking an almost thirty-year-old tune to change his mind about whatever the hell he was doing tracked.
So, here he stands, leaning against the doorway of his bedroom sipping on a cold bottle of Budweiser he found in the fridge while watching you sleep.
A small twinge of disappointment had settled in his chest when he trailed his eyes along one of your bare arms that's thrown across a pillow when he caught sight of the thin strap on your shoulder. Certainly not something of his.
You never bothered using the credit card, either, turns out. Not even for a quick snack at work.
He dislikes the fact.
You stir, then promptly calm and return to breathing evenly.
With a sigh, he turns and heads for the bathroom to take a quick shower.
At least you're in his bed.
Small blessings.
You're groggy and initially unsure of what you think you just felt.
When you slide a hand over to the left side of the bed and your palm meets with that of a soft belly smattered with hair, you jerk your head and hand both back and open your mouth to scream, until Robby swiftly cups your cheek in his hand. "It's me. You're safe. It's just me."
You bury your face in a pillow and groan. "You scared the daylights out of me," you mumble sleepily.
He runs a comforting hand along the curve of your spine. "Sorry. I was trying not to wake you."
This feels natural to him: the two of you in bed in the middle of the night with only a simple exchange of words between you. Like it's habit, almost. Being near you has always came as easy as breathing to him, though.
Just something about your nature.
Resting your cheek back atop the pillow, you gaze at him from beneath drooping lids. "You're back early," you whisper.
He considers for a moment, then slips his hand beneath the hem of the thin camisole you wear and he begins massaging your naked skin.
Something a husband would do for a wife.
"I am."
"Everything go okay?" you ask with a yawn. "Did you make it to the site in Albany?"
He shouldn't really be touching you like this, but his callouses gently scratching against your soft skin feels kind of nice. And you're too tired to tell him to stop.
It's sort of soothing.
Robby nods.
"Everything you hoped it would be?"
He shrugs. "Just a cliff."
You're grateful he chose not to drive off of it. Means he found a reason after all.
"I picked you up a few things," he murmurs. "They're in my bag. I'll give them to you in the morning."
You smile lazily—a sight which causes his cock to twitch unexpectedly. Then again, he was already sporting a semi in the shower due to standing there naked while holding a pink bottle of soap that belonged to you in his hand.
"Is it a keychain or magnet?" you ask with a soft giggle.
He shakes his head and his lip barely twitches into a smile in response. "No. I think more of you than cheap, tacky gifts."
You're certainly intrigued now.
Removing his hand from beneath your top, he cups the back of your head and tenderly strokes the side of your scalp with the pad of his thumb. "Did you miss me?"
You nod. "We all did. Just glad you're back in one piece."
His eyes flit to where the comforter has been pushed down to your hips. "But did you?" he presses.
Your brows merge together. "Of course."
His darkened eyes roam upwards again and settle on your face.
Robby leans in toward you while his large, calloused hand ghosts across your waist before gently gripping your hip and tugging you against his chest.
When his lips meet with yours, his eyes flutter closed and yours widen.
It's almost comical that this moment finally confirms for you that he does indeed have feelings. You would think someone with a degree in medicine would be a bit more perceptive, but apparently not.
When he runs the speared tip of his tongue along your bottom lip, you gently pry your lips apart to grant him entry to your mouth. With patience, Robby savors this first kiss he's desired for so long. His tongue greets your own with quiet passion—first sliding along the slick underside before twisting to meld it against your own.
Lifting his right leg, he plants it over your opposite side, then rolls himself atop you.
With Robby's full weight settled across your body, and his forearms bracketed on either side of your head, it leaves you securely covered in him. Raising an uncertain hand, you cup his cheek and curl your fingertips against his unkempt beard while your other toys with the gold chain that hangs around his neck—its charm of the Star of David resting between your breasts.
It almost feels like something this monumental should've been proceeded by a lengthy conversation first—just out of respect for the weight of this moment—but now isn't the time for talking.
Slipping a hand beneath your top, Robby eases the material past your belly and breasts, and ultimately over your head before he balls it up and tosses it across the room to rid himself of any hindrances toward having you entirely.
Dipping his head, he sucks a nipple into his mouth and groans.
Your back arches off the bed, and Robby plants a palm against the curve of it to keep you impossibly close while switching sides. Dragging the pad of his tongue over your pebbled nipple, he laps at the smooth skin which surrounds it before dragging it between his teeth.
"God, Robby," you sigh while carding your fingers in his tousled brown hair.
"Michael," he mutters with a lift of his head. "Call me Michael when we're like this."
Nibbling his way toward your throat, his hand crests its way past the waist of your panties and he swipes a finger through your slick folds, followed by a rasped 'fuck' uttered from his lips. Shoving off of you, he rests back on his haunches and hooks his fingers under their waistband and tugs. "Lift your hips, sweetheart," he instructs.
You do.
Once you're lain wholly bare before him, you watch as his eyes trail over your every feature and asset with lustful abandon.
"I've wanted this for years," he whispers while kneading your breasts in his hands. "You don't know how long I've waited for you."
Caressing your cheek, Robby grips the side of his briefs and pulls the elastic band below his hip. "Do you want me inside of you?"
Your head is absolutely spinning, and as you survey the generous swell of his belly that now hangs over the waistband of his underwear, you swallow thickly and nod.
A gesture he returns before pushing them down to his knees and removing them.
With his cock only semi-erect, he fists it in his hand while pressing the index and middle fingers of his other against your dripping entrance. Easing them both inside, your knees fall apart in quiet welcome.
Robby doesn't want to bother with a little blue pill tonight. No performance enhancers. Not with you.
Slowly easing his digits between your fluttering walls, he swipes his thumb over your clit and you gasp in response.
He eyes his bedside table fleetingly, but decides against it.
Unless you ask him to use protection, he won't offer. Bare is the way he's always wished for it to be between you.
"Did you ever touch yourself?" he asks. "Here?"
Your eyes slowly open and you grip the pillow beneath your head in either of your hands. "I did."
It had felt wrong with it being his place of rest, but you figured there would be no way for him to know in the end, so it was fine.
He lines himself up against your cunt and swipes the weeping tip of his cock against it, leaving it shimmering and wet from your arousal. "Did you think of me?"
Yes and no.
You found it invigorating that it was Robby's bed you were lying upon and playing with yourself in, but you didn't imagine anything particular while doing so. You just enjoyed the sounds of your own breathy moans and whimpers to get you to your finish.
"Yes."
His cheek twitches and he eases inside of you inch by inch. Slow is his descent as he allows you to adjust to his size. Your walls stretch to accommodate his girth, and he mutters quiet, affectionate praises all the while of how well you're taking him; that he's almost there.
Once he's bottomed out, Robby leans forward and rests his right forearm next to your head while his opposite hand grips your chin, tilts your head to the left, and he plants featherlight kisses along your jawline. "That feel good, sweetheart?" he rumbles while rocking his hips against yours.
You draw in a ragged breath. "Y-yes," you stutter while running your hands up his warm back.
"It's only ever been you," he rasps while running the tip of his nose along your pounding carotid. "You're why I came back."
Turning your face toward him, he grants many slow, open-mouthed kisses which break the silence of night. "Couldn't stand the thought of you here alone," Robby whispers before kissing your cheek.
He draws out his cock until only the tip remains, then eases back in. But gently, for your sake.
You shudder beneath him. "Glad you're home," you whimper.
As is he, because look at what he had waiting.
Perfection.
His forever, if you let yourself be.
He tilts his head back to watch you for awhile as he makes love to your body. Your every mannerism endears him to you even more—something he hadn't thought possible. The way a tiny crease forms between your brows every time his cock fills you, your parted lips which tiny puffs of breath escape from, quiet whines that get caught in your throat, and the way he's so completely surrounded you.
Rolling his hips, you tremulate and sink your nails into his shoulder blades. "Oh, Michael," you mewl against his pec.
His cock quivers inside of you and his breath shudders in his chest.
Robby runs a palm under your thigh and lifts it over his hip. "Tell me," he rustles against your ear. "You're mine."
You're so, so close. Just a little more.
"I am," you sigh.
"Please," he pleads with a wet kiss before twining his fingers between your own and sliding your conjoined hands across smooth white sheets.
You lift your hips and they buck when the coarse patch of hair that rests above his cock brushes against your swollen clit. "I'm yours, Michael," you assure.
His eyes fill with tears, so he buries his face in the curve of your shoulder and groans from behind clenched teeth as his cock spasms between the intimate safety your slick walls provide him with. Spurts of semen coat—he presumes, or, rather, prays—fertile walls, as he empties a part of himself inside of you; all for you to have.
A broken sob breaks on his lips, so he clutches you close to him to try and calm his pattering heart.
Due to his cock spilling against your core, and the feeling of it still continuously twitching, you throw your head back and snap your hips upwards while biting your lower lip in a race toward your own orgasm.
Squeezing your ass cheek in his palm, Robby guides you toward where you want to go and reels back to watch as it happens.
Your lip is drawn between your teeth before you release it entirely in favor of your mouth quirking into a perfect 'O'. Your body gyrates beneath his as your warm walls pulsate around his softening member and you quake beneath his touch. Quiet "Oh, oh, oh My God"s vocalize as soft bursts of light paint themselves across your eyelids.
When you finally calm, Robby doesn't pull out, but instead remains lying on top of you as his cock softens and his cum dribbles out of your pussy and onto what were previously clean sheets.
The two of you stay like that for awhile: him planting kiss after kiss against your damp cheek and you lying still—apart from your right hand running soothingly up and down his left forearm, because the rest of you feels depleted, and like your limbs are now made of wobbly jelly.
When your lids begin to grow heavy and your heart starts to slow is when you blink yourself back awake. "I'm gonna use the bathroom," you whisper while manuevering a leg out from under him.
He grunts quietly in response. "Just come right back to me," Robby murmurs while squeezing your hand.
You nod with a tight-lipped smile before sliding off the bed and padding into the other room.
Once you've peed, squatted in the shower and washed yourself thoroughly between your legs, and panicked for just a moment as to how you could've been stupid enough to have unprotected sex—not to mention allowing him to finish inside of you—you exit the bathroom and watch as Robby throws back the covers for you to rejoin him.
Your mouth waters at the sight of him like this. Naked, his long legs extended toward the foot of the bed, his belly that's covered in dark hair lying against the mattress, and his strong chest which you were nuzzled against only moments ago.
Could he truly be all yours?
You hold up a towel and nod sheepishly toward the mattress. "Should probably put this down. Sheets are kinda...damp."
He scooches to the side and you fan it out across the middle where the two of you will lay, then climb back in beside him again.
Robby doesn't spare a moment before he pulls you flush against his abdomen and throws his limbs back over your own to make sure you don't go anywhere during the night.
Once your mind has calmed again and you're at the pleasant, humming in-between of waking and sleeping, you hear a muttered 'I love you' before drifting off.
When you wake, it's to an empty bed. Something you're actually rather grateful for, since it grants you a bit of time to catch your bearings before you start your day. Splaying your fingers across the mattress, you play and replay every moment from last night in your head.
It all happened so fast, didn't it? One minute, you were asleep, and the next, Robby's cock was buried inside of you without even an ultra-thin condom to keep you safe from any unwanted consequences his semen may bring about.
You should run out and pick up a box of Plan B today.
Last night he'd seemed... Not himself. Somehow worse than when he left. More emotional, maybe? Or detached? Then again, he was utterly exhausted, you're sure. Which is why you're the least bit surprised that he's already up.
You wonder when he'll return to work.
With a sigh, you rise and wince as your muscles strain. Ones you're not exactly used to utilizing were certainly given a bit of a workout not too many hours ago.
Perhaps you'll try and work on doing some squats and lunges today to loosen them up.
When you pad into the kitchen, you're greeted by the sight of Robby leaned back in a chair with a steaming mug of coffee sat before him and a newspaper spread open on the table.
He turns and smiles softly at the vision of you clad in an old Led Zeppelin t-shirt of his that falls to your knees. "Mornin'."
"Morning," you reply shyly.
"Looks good on you," he remarks. "You wear a lot of my stuff while I was gone?"
This makes a first, but you fear that he'd be disappointed to hear as much. "I did. I sort of favored this one," you lie while fingering the soft, cotton hem of it.
He nods. "That makes me happy to hear." He tilts his head back toward the counter behind him. "There's coffee."
You walk over to pour yourself a cup. "Thanks."
Once you've a mug in hand that's drowned in cream and sugar, you pull out a chair and sit to Robby's left while taking idle sips of your caffeinated drink.
Folding the paper back up, he rests an arm atop the table and his other in his lap. "How d'you feel?" he inquires with a slightly tilted head.
Crossing your legs at the ankles, you study him from beneath your lashes. "Good. A little sore," you say with a quiet laugh. "Just...muscles I'm not used to working."
"But a good kind of sore," he replies while searching your eyes with his own. "Right? Sort of," he shrugs, "Reminder of me."
You nod silently and take another sip after blowing on it to cool it down.
"So, should we go ahead and address the elephant in the room?" Robby asks warily.
Your eyes flit to him. "We can."
He scoots his chair closer to you—the legs quietly scraping against polished hardwood—and loosely hangs an arm off the table while folding his hands. "I thought it was perfect; everything I hoped it would be."
You wonder if he's thought about it a great deal.
"It felt like..." he purses his lips and glances away, toward the living room. "Something finally falling into place." Looking at you again, he listens earnestly. "Did you feel it, too?"
It'd felt wonderful, of course. Robby had taken his time in being slow and sensual so that he could savor every moment, thrust, and kiss, but you're not sure that you felt some magical awakening when he sank between your thighs.
It takes a handful seconds for Robby's features to gradually shift into that of unease and worry, though, so you swiftly reach forward and pry his hands apart so that you can squeeze his fingertips reassuringly. "I did feel it. I wasn't...sure if you did."
He exhales in relief and you feel a twinge of guilt for giving him false sentiments.
"It seemed right somehow: having you in my bed. Being inside of you." He leans back again and your muscles suddenly loosen. "It's why I returned a month early."
He shakes his head. "Thinking of you here all alone got to me." Shifting in his seat, he sucks on his teeth. "I didn't like it. But now that I'm back..." Robby reaches forward and cups your cheek. "You don't need to worry about leaving. I mean, you're half moved in already. So just stay here for awhile longer. And if things progress the way I hope they will, then it can become a permanent thing."
Your brows furrow and you open your mouth to question him, but your words fizzle into silence when he stands. "I'll go get your gifts."
A couple paper bags are set on the table before you, which you slowly rifle through. Truth is, you want to rip them open like an excited kid on Christmas Day, but are trying to be an adult about it.
Your first find is a plush stuffed buffalo with fluffy brown fur and glass eyes, which causes you to grin and giggle. "He's very handsome," you state before setting him to the side with an affectionate pat on the head.
Robby smiles softly and cups the back of your head which he gently kneads with his fingertips as you go through the rest of it. Next is a snow globe which you turn back to him for explanation over.
"It's the heritage site," Robby clarifies with a nod toward it.
"Oh," you chirp with surprise. You shake the glass bulb and watch as white flakes swirl around. "Now I get to see it in winter."
He presses a kiss to the crown of your head.
Next is a non-fiction book titled Ancient Alberta.
"Figured we could put it on the bookshelf in the living room," Robby states. "I wasn't sure if you much cared for history."
"I do," you reply in confirmation.
Lastly is a long black box that's not quite the length of your forearm. Prying is carefully open, you gasp at what lies inside: a beautiful necklace comprised of brilliant white and brown beads. "Oh, Robby, this is lovely," you murmur while tracing it with your fingertips.
"So you like all of it?" he inquires warily.
Rising from your chair, you wrap your arms around his neck and stand on tiptoes. "I do," you say with a kiss.
That night as you make dinner, you study Robby from afar. You've done a lot of that today: staring. More so because he somehow seems worse than when he left. His face is more gaunt, but at least he seems to have gotten some sun on the road, and now has a healthy golden tan going for him. His belly has receded just a little, but since he's asked you to continue staying here, you'll have him fattened back up in no time.
After all, when you cooked him breakfast, he cleaned every bite of syrupy pancake from his plate.
That made you happy to see.
He's not as chatty as he once was some time ago—his words are more measured and to the point now—but maybe he's just tired.
Lounged back on the far end of the sectional, Robby is currently thumbing through the book he purchased at the heritage site's gift shop. You admire the glasses perched upon his long nose and smirk. You feel quite domesticated today playing house with him.
You haven't done much digging into the things he said, however. Like about things 'falling into place', and his 'hopes for the future', or how you're fairly sure he uttered those three little words last night as you were just drifting off to sleep.
You care for Robby—deeply—but you don't know that it's love, exactly.
You're afraid that if he says it again, however, you'll return the sentiment because the last thing you want to do is make him unhappy. Not after all he's been through.
It's why you've tried to make the house a peaceful environment for him today. You took the liberty of changing the bed sheets and doing a couple loads of laundry, as well as unpacking his things for him. It kept you busy at least. Folding his underwear and hanging his belts back up in the closet had caused your cheeks to warm, but if you didn't, he probably wouldn't have himself.
It's a dreamlike experience being here while he is. Two months ago, Robby was an attending you conversed with and aided on the daily, but aside from the occasional embrace, things never went further.
Now...
"Dinner's ready," you chime from the table you've just set respective steaming plates of steak upon.
Dog-earing the current page he's reading through, Robby rises with palms planted against old knees to join you.
He's surprisingly cuddly.
You're learning much about him today, turns out.
"Oh, shit," you hiss before snatching your phone from the back of the couch.
"Somethin' wrong?" he questions from where his head currently lies between your breasts.
"I forgot to run out and pick up Plan B today," you explain while bringing up the Postmates app.
He bristles. "Do you need it?"
Your eyes flit to the crown of his head, and he tightens his arms around your waist while staring ahead at the TV. "I mean, I'm on something, but I'd rather be safe than sorry."
His jaw ticks. This isn't how he imagined you would be—that you would want to prevent your womb from quickening. It's unwelcomely breaking the fantasy he's painted in his head.
He shrugs casually. "I always thought you were exceptionally maternal. Not saying you shouldn't order it, just an observation."
You want to tell him to just shoot where he's aiming, but don't think you're entirely keen on opening such a horrific can of worms after a long day such as this one. It'd be better for you if you did, but...
You lock your phone and tuck it back away, deigning that you'll do it tomorrow, either before or after work.
After a moment, Robby raises his head and kisses you softly while yanking at your hips to bring you beneath him.
When he shoves a hand beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, you also spread your legs, as if on instinct.
You once again don't mention a condom.
Stupid.
Robby plans to remain off work for a few more days, but insisted on driving you today. So much for a pharmacy run. Perhaps you'll venture up to obstetrics today and see if they can give you what you're looking for.
With your hand held tightly in his the whole way there, only the radio playing quietly in the background interrupts the hum of the engine and the wheels beneath you.
When a rather twangy tune enters the truck stereo, Robby smirks and turns the dial up a few notches. "Like fuckin' fate," he drawls. "This is the song that made me decide to head back. Heard it one morning and just," he shrugs a shoulder, "Made a choice."
It's a song you know—Gary Allan.
All this leavin' her alone is killin' me.
Your forehead creases and your nose stings.
I can feel her skin against me when I sleep.
You glance to Robby and admire the soft smile that's now spread across his lips.
Where I won't miss her, I can kiss her anytime that I want to.
You cup the back of his head.
'Cause I've finally got all my priorities in line, and I'm right where I need to be.
It's so incredibly silly because it's a little country song that came out at least twenty-something-years-ago, but it's like the singer is providing a voice for the thoughts in Robby's head. His feelings. He drove how many hundreds, if not thousands of miles to race back just to be with you?
"I want to stay," you state then, with certainty. "At home. With you."
Raising your hand toward his lips, he presses a firm kiss to the back of it before resting your entwined arms on the center console.
Your chin wobbles when you see him swipe an unbidden tear from his weathered, freckled cheek.
"I'll be here to pick you up after shift," Robby informs you as you gather your things.
"Alright. Thank you." You lean across the cabin and cup his cheek before planting a soft kiss upon his lips.
Once you've exited the truck and are standing between the driver's side door where Robby sits and the glass doors of the ED, he calls to you.
Turning back to him, you await with a raised brow to hear what he has to say. "Text me if shift runs over."
You nod. "I will."
He rests an arm upon the windowsill and plants the pad of his thumb against his chin while studying you with quiet adoration. "I love you."
Your stomach squeezes uncomfortably and you find yourself at a loss for words.
Why did he have to do this so soon?
He clears his throat and shifts in his seat while hanging a wrist over the wheel and glancing ahead, then back to you.
You allow a smile to bloom upon your lips, as if you're only just registering his romantic admittance. You take a couple small steps toward him. "I love you, too," you reply with a lilted tone of surprise.
Why're you doing this to yourself? Have you always been such a people-pleaser?
He chuckles and hangs his head with a happy grin. "Glad to hear it."
"Is he back?" Jack asks insistently while following you to your locker.
"As of a couple nights ago."
"You never texted me," he retorts with crossed arms.
"I know, I'm sorry." Popping open the small door in front of you, you hang your backpack from a silver hook. "I meant to, but got distracted."
"Well," he begins with a shrug. "How is he? He seem to be doing better?"
Clicking it shut, you wrap your stethoscope around your neck and hold fast to each end of it. Yes? No? "Too soon to tell."
Seems a safe enough answer.
He raises a brow and plants his feet in quiet expectance of elaboration.
"He's done a lot of driving, Jack. I think he just needs a few days to rest up from... Whatever the motorcycle equivalent is of jet lag. He needs to be able to catch his bearings, and Robby will be back here soon enough, I'm sure."
He sighs while scrubbing a hand down his face. "He say anything to you to let on how he's doing after his sabbatical?"
You mean while he was fucking me in his bed, or came inside me again on the couch last night? He's been communicating in other ways, Abbot.
You need to run up to OB before your shift starts to take a much needed pill.
"Well," you drawl while skirting past him. "He still has a month left technically, so it's not over yet."
"Just answer the damn question," he spits while trailing you to the elevator.
You huff in exasperation. "He hasn't really talked much about his state of mind, no."
"I mean, did you just take off back to your and Samira's once he got in, or did you have a chance to sort of—"
"Observe him?" you ask with a raised brow while pressing the button that will take you up.
He stays silent.
"I guess you'll just have to wait and ask him yourself how he's doing." Saved by the bell, stainless steel doors spread apart and a couple people exit before you step inside.
"Where're you headed?" Jack questions while crossing his arms.
"Just something I need to see to."
You watch him shake his head as they close.
Robby's return to the ED is two weeks later. You try to keep an eye on him, as does Jack—since he chooses to hang over for a couple hours so that he can try and get a conversation in with his friend—but he otherwise seems... Okay, you think.
Maybe not great, but functional. Better than he was a few nights ago when you awoke to the sight of him hunched over the side of the bed with his head held in his hands while he quietly wept.
You'd promptly crawled into his lap, wrapped yourself around him, held him incredibly close, and rocked him in your arms like a mother would her baby while showering him in soft kisses and comforting words of reassurance that everything would be okay.
He never did tell you what had him so tore up, but instead fell asleep with your breast in his mouth while you sang him a lullaby. You were just glad he managed to rest for the remainder of the night.
Robby starts off strong with a coding patient straight off an ambulance that he pulls you in for, to which Abbot accompanies, and he runs the entire trauma room operation from start to finish without impediment.
His keeping you close isn't just a one-time occurrence, though. It's every single case, much to the frustration of a few others when he barges into this exam room or that trauma bay to steal you away, saying he needs you more than they do.
You were elbow-deep in someone's chest cavity at one point and trying to keep a level tone while insisting that you cannot just come because he orders you to when he lost his temper and shouted that as your attending, he wasn't asking, but telling.
Jack thankfully barged in and pulled him out for a private conversation, while you returned to your patient.
"What's going on with you, man? First day back and you're acting like unless you have her strapped to your side that you can't function in there."
Back to the fucking ambulance bay again. Robby should've known he was in for another goddamn lecture the second Jack started leading him in this direction.
"Just trying to teach my resident," he replies with a shrug and hands slid into his back pockets.
"Is she..." He crosses his arms and takes a step forward. "Is she still living with you?"
Robby shakes his head dismissively. "Hardly see how that's of concern to anyone but us."
He wonders a bit more seriously now as to what that trip up to OB was all about a couple weeks past, and if it had anything to do with the man standing in front of him now. "So in other words: yes," he retorts.
Robby purses his lips and narrows his eyes while shrugging. "We done here?"
"What do you think, Robby? That keeping her around is going to solve whatever's gone wrong? The road trip clearly wasn't the solution. Brother, I'm—"
Folding his hands behind his head, he arches his back and groans. "Why don't you try minding your own fucking business?" he growls while leveling him with a malicious glare.
Abbot stumbles back a step and hurt flashes across his wounded features.
Robby sighs and runs his hands down his face while opening his mouth then shutting it again. "I'm sorry," he mutters in apology. "I just don't have time for this right now, alright? I need to get back in there."
"I'm concerned," he says, trying again. "The last couple weeks, I thought she seemed different—off somehow. If you lay all your baggage at her feet and expect her to unpack, or—or solve all your problems for you, or be some ultimate God-given solution... How long before she's exactly where you're standing?"
With brows drawn together and creases folded across his forehead, Robby's attention flits back to the ED. "We're fine. She's fine. Y/N is a big girl, and is more than capable of telling me how she feels." He takes a step back. "Listen, after..." he sighs. "Maybe while I was gone you got a little close to her. Thought something was there that wasn't. After losing your wife—"
"This has nothing to do with my wife," he spits while nervously twisting his wedding band.
Robby nods and half turns away. "She's with me now," he states. "So just... Keep that in mind going forward."
Jack watches him walk away.
Just across from the computer station, Robby observes Frank conversing with you.
He's in the middle of tugging off a pair of gloves when he feels his body grow cold all over at the sight of the pair of you looking at one another. It's just casual conversation, he's sure, but how can he be certain of it?
Somehow, the only place that Robby feels whatever bond he's forming with you is safe is when he's with you in bed. When his limbs are lying heavy atop your own and his cock is softening inside of you after finishing into a condom—no, he's not pleased that you insist on using them, but either he does, or you stop making love altogether—and for a fleeting moment, everything else fades away.
He can't be left again. He can't...lose you.
But you promised him, the day he divulged his mother's abandonment to you, that you were here to stay.
You'd pressed his head close to your heart and carded your fingers in his hair while he quietly cried, despite trying to choke it down for your benefit.
He exhales and throws the gloves away before seeing to another patient.
"You doing alright?" Robby asks while sidling up next to where you stand at a computer cart.
You nod while typing. "I am."
He chews the inside of his cheek for a moment. "Are we okay?" he questions hesitantly
You jerk your head to the side and gaze into Robby's troubled, glassy eyes. "Of course. Why would you ask that?"
He shrugs nonchalantly. "Saw you talking with Langdon earlier and I got worried. Been away from here for awhile, so—"
Your brows furrow. "He's married, Robby. With two little ones. We had a patient a couple hours ago that we worked on together, and since I was already at a computer, he asked if I could check on him in the system. He's upstairs and resting now," you finish with a small smile.
He sighs. "I'm sorry. Just me being—" Insecure in his old age? "I'm sorry, sweetheart."
You sign out of the desktop. "It's okay, sweetie."
You're unsure if you truly mean that.
"Knew you'd come back early," Noelle states with a laugh and slender, folded arms.
"Just two weeks," Robby replies while finishing up some charting at the same cart you made use of earlier in the day.
"Still," she states with a cocked head. "May I ask what brought you back before your sabbatical's end?"
He raises a shoulder. "Just had someone at home which I didn't like the idea of being there alone."
Her manicured brows furrow and she leans back to study him. "Last I checked, you were at least half single before you left. Don't remember you having any housemates."
Robby continues tapping away on the keyboard.
"May I ask whom?"
He considers for a moment.
He's already caught shit from Abbot, and with your shared shift nearly at its end, he just wants to walk out of here in half-decent shape. Not pissed off now that he's finally cooled down after twelve hours.
He glances toward the computer station where you're seated yet again and nods.
Noelle turns and almost snorts when she spots you. Turning back to him, it's with raised brows and wide eyes of incredulity. "Robby, you cannot be serious. She's a kid. Not to mention a resident."
He signs out of the desktop. "She's woman enough, trust me." Stepping past her, he mumbles "And all I need" before coming to join you.
Observing from afar, she watches as he seats himself next you and cups the back of your head while staring at you with unabashed adoration and warmth—like you hung the moon and dotted the sky with stars.
You giggle, say something she can't discern, and he grins while rolling his shoulders.
But she does make out his reply: I love you.
With a roll of her eyes, she makes a beeline for the elevators.
"I can't concentrate on charting if you're staring at me, Michael."
He grins. "Can't help it. Just hard to believe that you're real sometimes." Robby massages the back of your neck. "And finally mine."
He slides a hand between your thighs while mentally making plans for tonight once you're alone together. Perhaps a talk should be had soon about getting you off birth control so the two of you can start trying for the baby he's always wanted.
Maternal as you are with...patients, he knows you'd be an ideal mother.
"Don't know what I'd do without you now." He shrugs. "Don't like to think about it, anyway."
You give his hand a squeeze and shift in your seat. "I'm right here, Robby." You look at him. "I'm not going anywhere."
He kisses your cheek. "I know."
"I can carry that."
You slide the straps of your backpack onto your shoulders and shake your head. "It's okay, I got it. You already have one."
Robby extends his hand then, and you twine your fingers tightly between his and hold firmly to his arm. Navigating your way through Chairs always gives you anxiety, so now having him to shield you from impatiently waiting individuals who're likely to ambush you and demand an ETA on when they'll be seen is a relief.
Just as he opens the door that'll lead you toward the perpetually crowded space, you glance over your shoulder and still at the sight of Abbot watching the two of you leave.
When your eyes meets his, his face crumples at the sight of you so intimately attached to Robby's side, but the exchange is cut short when he pulls you along beside him to take you home.
The door swings shut behind you, leaving Jack behind.
i could sense my anxiety increasing the longer i read this (in a good way!)
no one realizes how HARD it is to care for someone incapable of caring for themselves, and the portrayal of codependency and projection in this was PERFECT!! i kept wanting to scream with every development, it was driving me crazy (all good!)
