i go by kenz...in my 20s...she/her...full time student...part time writer
requests open...dont be an asshole yall...
also if you are looking for the pitt x speech language pathologist (speech therapist; SLP), you're in the right place ! i noticed a lack of speech rep, so im trying to fix it
cw: smut (mdni, 18+), period sex, period symptoms, fingering (f rec), period blood as lube
wc: 800ish
a/n: reader is wearing period panties even though I have no experience with them, but I don’t want to have a tampon flying around in this fic, and I personally dislike pads.
also, I think this is my first period sex fic??? I remember writing one or two within the last year, but I don’t think I ever finished one. correct me if I’m wrong
now playing: River – Leon Bridges
It’s 7:34 AM when Jack comes home. For once, he is on time. The 12-hour shift lasted exactly 12 hours, no sudden emergencies or catastrophes forcing him to stay longer.
The first thing he notices is how high the heat is in the apartment. Jack sweats a little after only a minute inside. He kicks off his shoes and advances further into the home he shares with you.
A half-empty mug sits in the sink, the tea cold now. Jack peers at the label and frowns softly as he sees that it is raspberry leaf—your go-to herbal pain relief for cramps.
The kettle is still warm when he presses his fingers against it.
He walks up to your bedroom. The door is slightly ajar, and the soft sounds of the TV on low volume spill out into the hallway.
Jack finds you curled up on the bed, with your lips pressed together tightly and the hot water bottle resting on your lower tummy. Your face is buried in his pillow.
“Hey,” he whispers and leans down to kiss your forehead.
Your eyes flutter open, a little hazy and unfocused, slightly reddened from tears spilled earlier.
“Hi,” you manage to mumble.
“Bad day, hm?” Jack asks quietly.
He sits on your side of the bed and plays with your hair in an attempt to soothe you.
“Yeah,” you whisper.
“You talk to that gynecologist yet that I—“
You interrupt him with a glare. Now is not the time to talk about doctor visits.
“Okay,” he murmurs. “Got it.”
For a while, he just stays with you and smooths his palm over your head, whispering soft reassurances.
When a bad cramp hits, and your entire body tenses up, Jack winces sympathetically.
“C’mon, sweetpea,” he instructs softly. “Scoot over. Cuddle time.”
He spoons you from behind, one arm slung over your waist while the other snakes under your shoulder. His lips press against the back of your head.
“You take any painkillers yet?” he asks.
“Of course.” The ache makes your tone a little sharper. Jack forgives you instantly.
“Okay,” he replies and kisses your cheek.
His arm slides from your side to your lower tummy, applying gentle pressure over the tensing muscles. The warmth of his skin seeps into yours, easing the pain just a little.
Jack watches as your face relaxes a bit.
“That okay, sweet girl?” he mumbles and rubs his nose against the back of your head.
You nod silently. He tightens his arms around you until you melt right back into him.
Sleep doesn’t come for either one of you. Jack worries too much as your body tightens and shivers through the cramps. He just wants to help in any way he can.
He lets his hand wander from your lower tummy, just dipping down a little further until the tips of his fingers brush against the waistband of your panties.
“Jack?” you murmur.
You’re exhausted. Tired. A little out of it.
“It’s okay, sweetpea,” he answers. There’s a light rasp to his voice.
“I got you. Gonna make it better.”
His fingers drift below the waistband of your panties—your muscles clamp together.
“Jack, what are you doing?” you question.
He shushes you gently.
“I’m just helpin’, baby,” he mumbles. “Just helpin’ with the cramps.”
He feels the dampness in the curls that protect your folds, the blood that clings to your skin. His middle finger teases your slit, picking up some of that wetness as he swipes through your cunt.
“Let me help you,” he whispers.
He finds your clit with two fingers and slowly starts to circle it. His lips press against your cheek, soothing you tenderly.
A soft moan tumbles from your lips, making Jack smile.
“That feels good, doesn’t it, sweetpea?”
You nod, whining needily in response.
He keeps his touch gentle, just massaging your bundle of nerves for now. You’re in enough pain as it is; he won’t give you his fingers until you’re a little more relaxed.
Instead, he uses his free hand to slide under your sleep shirt and cup your breast. He feels the tenderness, the swollen tissue, and sighs pitifully.
“I got you, just relax,” he whispers.
His fingers keep swiping over your clit, easing you off towards an orgasm. Your face scrunches up beautifully, brows drawing together in bliss. For a moment, all cramps are forgotten as Jack guides you over the edge.
You cum softly—not so hard that it might disrupt the peaceful cocoon he’s been working hard to spin around you, but enough that your body releases happy hormones, which ease the cramps naturally.
Jack coos faintly and presses a kiss to your sweaty forehead.
“Better?” he whispers.
You nod, eyes half-lidded.
Jack smiles and pulls his hand from your panties, dismissing the blood underneath his nails completely.
“Good. Just what the doctor ordered, hm?”
❤︎ just a quick reminder that the best way to support authors on here is to comment and reblog ❤︎ ☆ find my masterlist here ☆
Summary: You finally talked Jack into ditching the hospital for a beach getaway since every other trip you've taken together has been during colder seasons, buried under layers. Stripping down to swimwear, you're reminded of how just damn good your man looks under the Italian sun.
Warning: SMUT (MDNI 18+) established relationship, language, pet names, flashbacks to so much vacation sex (p in v sex, oral - both m&f), heavy petting/teasing, insecurity (jack's leg and prosthetic), alcohol consumption, pushy italian man not understanding you aren't interested, protective jack, lots of physical touch (dat man is obsessed with you), dirty talk, praise, semi-public smut, (jack fingers you in the ocean - hallelujah), possessiveness, casual dominance, its basically a story about vacation sex, but with plot and love okay? (y'all are both severely horny for one another), jack’s perfect (as per usual)
A/N: How are there not more vacation!jack fics? Please send them all my way. I hope people have some fun upcoming vacations planned as summer ramps up! GIF by @sammy-bryant found HERE. Dividers as always by @saradika-graphics.
Thank you for reading!! if you comment/reblog i love you so much <3.
POSITANO, AMALFI COAST ITALY
You woke slowly, the morning light filtering through the curtains of your suite at Le Sirenuse. Jack lay on his stomach beside you, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other relaxed at his side. His face was turned toward you, lashes resting against his cheeks, mouth slightly parted. You had talked your man into ditching the hospital for a sunny getaway. Jack was utterly deserving of this rest. You leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, breathing in the faint scent of salt and his skin. He had been working tirelessly lately, and dating someone in such a high-stakes profession wasn’t easy, but he had recently switched to the day shift, telling you he didn’t like your opposite schedules anymore. Knowing he wanted to spend more time with you made you feel truly special.
You slipped out of bed and moved to the kitchenette, brewing coffee while the sea breeze drifted in from the open balcony doors. Once it was ready, you carried your mug outside and settled into one of the chairs overlooking the glittering water. It was Day 4 of the trip. The first day had been quiet, just wandering Positano’s narrow streets until Jack pulled you back to the suite and fucked you deep and slow until you fell apart for him. You felt his warmth flood your pussy before you both passed out after the long travel day.
Day 2 started with you going down on him, but he stopped you before things could go further. He pulled you up, his breathing heavy, and pressed you against the wall on the private terrace. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he thrust into you with harsh rolls of his hips, the morning sun warming both of you. You came with your forehead against his shoulder, and he followed soon after, breathing hard against your neck.
You then went to the hotel pool. Jack had said he would join you after lunch, but ended up staying inside and told you he got wrapped up in a book. Later, you drove to Tramonti, toured the vineyard, and drank tons of wine and cheese for hours. You both were probably a bit tipsy by the time you came back for dinner to sober up with some food and water. Before you went to sleep, you enjoyed another round. Jack ate you out from behind before bending you over the bed, taking his time to reach that spot that had your vision swimming with tears and your voice breaking over his name while he whispered words of encouragement in your ear. His teeth bared when he pumped you full of his spend, and you continued to scream his name into the mattress.
Yesterday’s boat cruise was an 8-hour journey along a breathtaking coastline, featuring sights like Emerald Grotto, Furore Fjord, Amalfi, Maiori, Minori, Atrani, and Nerano. Despite the warm sun and the stunning scenery, Jack stayed in his T-shirt and jeans the entire time, while you relaxed in your bikini and cover-up. Both of you ended up talking with a lovely couple visiting from California. For most of the cruise, you hung out with them, sharing stories and enjoying the beautiful views together before returning to the hotel and just sleeping in each other’s arms.
You sipped your coffee and cast a quick glance back inside. Jack was stirring, still half-asleep. You couldn’t stop thinking about how something was slightly off with Jack, and you weren’t an idiot. This was the first summer (and first beachy vacation) you’d taken together in the two years you’d been a couple. The other big trips had been travelling across the Maritime Canadian provinces one autumn, and exploring Japan one winter, hopping between cities on train platforms and staying bundled in layers the entire time. In his everyday life, it was rare for Jack to wear shorts unless he was in the privacy of your shared home—he even preferred his athletic pants when he ran every day back in Pittsburgh. But here, in this quiet, sun-soaked place, you hoped he might finally feel comfortable enough to shed those layers, to wear shorts or trunks like everyone else.
The soft scrape of crutches pulled your attention away from the glittering sea. Jack stepped onto the balcony without his prosthetic, the morning light catching the smooth, healed skin just below his knee. His chest was bare, and his boxer briefs hung low on his hips, revealing the sharp cut of muscle that disappeared beneath the waistband. His curls were mussed, eyes still heavy-lidded from rest. God, he looked so fucking good on vacation.
"You look beautiful," he said, voice gravel-rough from sleep, the corner of his mouth lifting in that familiar half-smile.
Warmth bloomed in your chest. "I never want to leave this place. It’s perfect."
Jack lowered himself into the sofa beside you and set the crutches aside. You reached for the bare skin of his amputated limb, fingers gliding over the smooth, warm flesh to massage it. He let out a low, rumbling groan, head tipping back against the chair, throat working as his eyes fluttered half-shut. The sound vibrated straight through you, heat pooling low in your belly.
You leaned in to quickly kiss him, not thinking it would escalate to anything, but then his hand slid up your side, strong fingers curling around your waist as he pulled you onto his lap. Your thighs spread over him, the heat of his body pressing up between your legs. His mouth claimed yours again, tongue sliding hot and deliberate against yours. He cupped your breast beneath your shirt, thumb dragging slow circles around your nipple until it tightened into a stiff peak. You felt yourself growing slick, the fabric of your underwear clinging damply as he rocked you subtly against the thickening ridge in his briefs.
"Feel that?" Jack murmured against your lips. "See how fucking hard you make me?"
"I have plans for us this morning," you whined as you began to pull away. "Stop trying to distract me."
"We’re on vacation, pretty sure this right here is the plan," his hand drifted lower, palm pressing firmly between your thighs, rubbing slow, teasing circles over the damp cotton. You whimpered softly, hips twitching forward into his touch. Your lips parted, breath coming quicker as your fingers curled into his shoulders. Jack’s eyes stayed locked on your face, watching every flicker of pleasure cross your expression—the way your lashes fluttered, the soft sound that escaped your throat when he pressed a little harder.
"That’s it, pretty girl," he whispered, lips brushing the shell of your ear. His palm rocked against your clit through the thin fabric, steady and deliberate, building the ache until your thighs trembled around him. You could smell the faint musk of his skin, hear the distant crash of waves below, feel the sun warming your back as your body grew hotter, wetter, needier.
"J-Jack," you moaned breathlessly, feeling yourself giving in.
"Keep those perfect eyes on me," he demanded, his tone making you shudder.
You made sure to listen and Jack’s breathing deepened—chest rising and falling faster, jaw tight, pupils blown wide as he watched you. A low groan rumbled from him when you rocked harder, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours.
"God, you’re the most gorgeous thing. I want to lay you out right here, and taste every inch of you until you’re shaking." His free hand slid up your spine, fingers threading into your hair as he kissed you again...slow and fucking filthy.
You moaned into his mouth, hips rolling, the wet heat between your legs growing slicker with every teasing press of his palm. Your nipples ached against the fabric of your shirt, every nerve alive and begging for more. When you finally pulled back enough to speak, voice breathy, you said:
"I booked us that exclusive Arienzo Beach Club pass for today."
"Oh?" Jack’s expression shifted instantly. The heat in his eyes cooled, the easy warmth fading.
"Yeah, it’s a short walk away."
His hand stilled between your thighs. He looked away, a deep crease forming between his brows.
"One of the hotel concierge staff told me about this little walking tour. Kind of a hidden‑gem thing. Figured we might check it out." It was a flimsy excuse, and the lie was obvious—he probably hadn’t thought about it for even a second before saying it.
You leaned closer, voice dropping into something silky. "Don’t you want to be in one of those private cabanas with me?"
He withdrew his hand with a final, reluctant twitch of his fingers, then gently lifted you from his lap and settled you onto the sofa beside him. Leaning over, he pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder.
"I don't want to take away from your beach time. You should go, and we can meet up afterwards."
Jack reached for his crutches, stood, and headed inside without another word. The door clicked shut behind him, and the sound of running water soon drifted out. The frustration (and horniness) hit you hard, twisting together in your chest as you sat alone on the balcony, the morning sun suddenly feeling too bright...and too empty.
The water hit Jack’s skin hard, almost scalding, but he didn’t turn it down. He braced one hand against the tile with his head bowed down. He hated disappointing you. Hated the look in your eyes when he shut down.
Traveling with him wasn’t simple, and he knew it. Checking his crutches at the airport. Packing the waterproof prosthetic. Making sure the shower chair fit in his duffle. Calling hotels ahead of time to double-check handicap accessibility, even when they promised everything was fine. It was exhausting. It required planning. It was stressful.
And he hated that you had to deal with any of it.
What he hated more was the thought that you might be pretending it didn't matter.
He pressed his forehead against the tile, letting the fear and self‑loathing churn through him. Jack’s insecurities about his leg didn’t usually own him. Most days, he moved through the world with his usual stubborn defiance. But trips like this, where his body was on display and mobility mattered… it brought every buried doubt roaring back. He hated the way he felt less on days like this—less capable, less appealing, less easy, less fun. He hated that he had to think about terrain, distance, accessibility, and pain levels. Hated that spontaneity wasn’t simple for him.
Jack also didn't want you dealing with the stares at the pool or the beach. The curious looks, the pitying ones, the ones that stuck around too long. He didn't want to slow you down. Didn't want to be the thing you had to work around. Didn't want to be the weight dragging down your plans. The truth was he wanted the cabana, the sun, and your skin under his hands.
He stepped out of the shower, steam curling around him as he reached for the towel. He dried off, sat on the bench, and reached for the prosthetic. The socket slid on with a familiar hiss of air, the weight settling against his residual limb. He flexed his foot experimentally, testing the response. Good. No pain today, at least. He dressed quickly, and when he emerged into the suite, you were already dressed. The cover-up was one of his favorites—that lavender cream-colored thing that fell from your shoulders and hinted at the curves beneath without revealing them. Your sunglasses were pushed up on your head, holding back your hair, and you were reaching for a book from the side table, your tote bag already slung over your shoulder.
His chest tightened. You'd been ready to go without him.
"No brunch together?" he asked, and even he could hear the wounded edge in his voice.
You glanced up, and he watched your expression shift—a flicker of something that might have been frustration, quickly smoothed over into something lighter.
"The beach club pass includes food and alcohol," you said, moving toward him with that knowing smile playing at your lips. "But I was waiting for you to get out of the shower to ask if you wanted to eat with me first. You know…if you have time before that 'walking tour' of yours." The sarcasm was gentle, but it was there.
He deserved that.
"I do have time," Jack said quietly. He closed the distance between you and kissed you, pouring everything he couldn't quite say into the press of his mouth against yours. When he pulled back, he kept his forehead against yours.
"I love you," he murmured. You were quiet for a moment, and he felt the weight of what you weren’t saying hang between you. He appreciated that you weren't calling him out, weren't demanding explanations or forcing a conversation he wasn't quite ready to have. But he also knew you deserved better than a man who was too afraid to just be with you at the beach.
"I love you too," you replied, and because you were perfect, you changed the subject as you both headed toward the door.
"There are rumors that George and Amal got here last night," you winked, stepping into the hallway. "They might be staying at this very hotel."
Jack followed, catching your hand and bringing your fingers to his lips as you walked toward the elevator. "I still can't believe you read celebrity gossip," he said, against your skin, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth as you pressed the elevator button. You were a highly respected wealth advisor at a massive institution managing over $7 billion in assets. Jack found it fascinating that you could dissect market volatility before breakfast and had an encyclopedic knowledge of who was dating who in Hollywood.
"It's Page Six," you squeaked in protest, as the elevator doors slid open. "It's basically required reading."
He grinned, watching you step into the elevator with that easy confidence you carried everywhere. God, he loved you.
"Oh, and Dua Lipa and Callum Turner just got married," you added as the doors closed, descending toward the lobby. "She looked so beautiful in her custom Schiaparelli skirt suit."
Jack paused. "Who?”
You gave him a look that suggested this was common knowledge as the elevator dinged softly. "You’re lucky you’re hot."
The sun blazed overhead, turning the water into liquid sapphire that stretched out in gentle rolls toward the horizon. You peeled off your cover-up in the cabana, the purple bikini clinging tighter than your usual suits, and the bottoms riding high on your hips. A quick squeeze of sunscreen across your shoulders and thighs left your skin gleaming. The beach wasn’t deserted, with couples lounging on loungers, and a few families splashing at the shoreline. But, the crowd was sparse compared to the packed stretches you had seen elsewhere. You wished Jack were here with you.
You settled into the padded chair, watching the scene unfold. A silver-haired man in linen shorts kept his arm draped around a much younger woman in a white micro-bikini; she laughed at everything he said and let him feed her strawberries from a silver bowl. Two cabanas down, another older man scrolled on his phone while his companion, maybe 22, knelt between his knees applying lotion to his calves, her ass in the air. The dynamic was clear everywhere you looked: older money, younger beauty, easy transactions wrapped in flirtation and sunblock.
A young waiter in crisp, white shorts and a polo shirt appeared at the edge of the cabana, a small notepad in hand.
"Good afternoon. Can I start you with any drinks from the beach bar?" he asked with a surprisingly Australian accent.
"A mojito, please."
"Right away, Signorina," the waiter said with a polite nod, already turning to head back to the thatch-roofed bar nestled among the palms. Less than five minutes later, the waiter was back, presenting a tall, frosty glass.
"Grazie," you said.
The mojito was perfect and just what you needed.
You cracked open one of the paperbacks you had packed, but then your phone buzzed with that unmistakable Outlook chime you had sworn you were ignoring this whole trip. You’d been doing a surprisingly good job of not checking emails on this trip, but curiosity tugged at you until you finally reached for the phone, muttering to yourself that you were just as bad as Jack when it came to being too dedicated to your job. One new email sat at the top from a long-time client whose portfolio had taken a beating in the market downturn. The message detailed how he'd panic-sold half his positions at the bottom last week; now he was second-guessing everything and wanted to move the rest into cash. You sighed, closed the app, and tried to focus on your book instead.
After a while, the heat became too much. You walked down to the water, the first cool rush licking up your calves, then your thighs, until you dove under. The sea felt silky against your sunscreen-slick skin, the salt stinging pleasantly at the edges of your bikini. You swam lazy laps parallel to the shore, and the current tugging gently at your body. When your arms started to tire, you waded back out, droplets sliding down your stomach.
You were halfway to the cabana when a tall man in board shorts stepped into your path.
"Bella, you swim like a goddess," he said in a thick Italian accent, eyes dropping to your chest. You smiled politely and kept walking, but he matched your pace.
"You’re not from around here, are you?"
"Nope."
"That explains it," he said, grinning. "The locals don’t look like you."
"Lucky them," you muttered.
"I would love to buy you a drink," he said, stepping a little closer.
"I can buy my own drink," you said, tone still polite but firmer now.
He tilted his head, amused. "Ah, independent."
"I guess."
"Come on, bella. One drink. You’ll enjoy it."
"I’m not interested."
"Oof. You’re breaking my heart here," he said, acting wounded. You closed your eyes for just a moment, gathering patience.
"You’ll live." You sort of hated that you had to say the next part, "Also, I have a boyfriend," but it felt like he was operating under the assumption that your rejection needed a reason he would accept. A simple lack of interest wasn’t going to be one. Maybe if you referenced another man's 'claim' on you, he would take you seriously.
"If you looked like that and were mine, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight, bella."
"Good thing I’m not yours, then."
He opened his mouth to fire back, but then his expression shifted. Not toward you, but past you.
A familiar voice cut through the air behind you, calm but edged with steel.
"Is there a fucking reason you’re harassing her?"
Jack stood shirtless in swim trunks, a t-shirt twisted between his hands, the afternoon light catching the scatter of freckles across his shoulders, chest, and arms. His salt and pepper curls looked so fucking luscious on this trip. His jaw was clenched, his hazel eyes fixed on the man with an intensity that made the air itself feel heavy. He didn't raise his voice. Didn't need to. There was something about the way he looked at people…that did all the talking.
The Italian man straightened, but you could see the hesitation flicker across his face. Jack took a step forward, unhurried, and his prosthetic caught the light as his leg shifted beneath him with each measured stride. The man's eyes locked onto it for a fraction of a second, and his confident smirk faltered.
"I asked you a question," Jack said, his voice dropping lower, more dangerous. "You deaf, or just stupid?"
"Look, I didn't mean—"
"You didn't mean to be a disrespectful asshole?" Jack's smile was all teeth, no warmth. The man took an actual step back. Jack didn't move; he just continued to look at him, that cold, assessing stare that suggested he had already decided exactly what he'd do if this continued.
"Listen carefully, you prick," Jack's voice was ice. "Women deal with enough without guys like you pretending that persistence is charming. She said she wasn’t interested. That’s your fucking cue to leave."
The man held up his hands and practically stumbled backward. "I'm g-going. I'm—I'm g-gone."
You stared at Jack, surprised and instantly warm between your thighs at the protective edge in his tone. He rarely swooped in, usually letting you fight your own battles and handle your own shit. But this was different; he had stepped in because someone had disrespected you, not because you were his property to protect. He did it without that ugly display of ownership and gross possessive edge some men mistook for devotion.
Jack balled up the t-shirt in his hand and tossed it into the cabana behind him before he grabbed your towel without a word and began drying you, slow passes over your arms, your stomach, the curve of your ass. The towel moved across your shoulder blades with surprising gentleness, and you realized his jaw had already unclenched.
"You okay?" he grunted, tossing the towel aside. You turned to face him, still damp, still warm from the sun and something else entirely.
"Yeah. I am."
He tucked a wet strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb brushing your cheekbone. "Good."
"That was a little caveman of you," you murmured, the corner of your mouth lifting.
"Yeah, well," he muttered, while a faint flush crept up his neck, settling high on his cheekbones. "He was out of line."
You stepped closer, nudging his arm with your shoulder.
"Relax, handsome," you said, smile widening. "I liked it." You pulled him into the cabana, the canvas flaps falling closed behind you. The waiter appeared almost immediately to take your drink orders. Once he returned, Jack took his beer and settled on the wide lounger, pulling you between his legs so your back rested against his chest. You set your second mojito of the day on the mantle nearby. His hands stayed on you, thumb stroking the inside of your thigh, fingers tracing the edge of your bikini bottom.
After the waiter left, the mood shifted. Jack’s fingers stilled. "I’m sorry about earlier," he admitted quietly. "Over the years, I’ve just… gotten tired of the stares. I didn't want you dealing with people looking at my prosthetic, wondering what you're doing with me. Honestly…" his voice dropped to a mutter, barely loud enough for you to catch. "…sometimes I wonder what you’re doing with me."
You turned in his arms, cupping his face, and his eyes that now looked green were fixed somewhere past your shoulder.
"Jack, look at me." You waited until his eyes met yours. "Talk to me."
"I can't remember the last time I went to a beach or a pool without dreading it. Years, probably. I've spent so long avoiding situations like this—all the stares, the questions people have asked, the way I've convinced myself that you probably regret travelling here instead of going with someone who could just... be normal."
"Hey." You tilted his chin up. "Stop. You are normal. And I'm not going anywhere."
"You say that now—"
"I'm not finished." You softened your tone but kept it firm. "I know you've probably convinced yourself that your prosthetic makes you less than, or that it's some kind of burden to be around." You traced his jawline. "But that's not the truth, Jack. Not even close." He exhaled slowly, his shoulders dropping slightly as he listened. "I love every part of you. Your leg doesn't change that—it never could." You kissed his forehead, then his temple, then his lips. "I love you."
His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer.
"And I really appreciate you for being here, and coming to the beach," you continued, your voice soft against his skin. "But I don't ever want you to put yourself in a situation where you feel uncomfortable either. It doesn't matter if we're here or in fucking Antarctica. I just want to spend time with you. That's it. That's all that matters to me." He pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression vulnerable. "If something doesn't feel right," you said, brushing a curl from his forehead, "you tell me. We figure it out together. We do what feels good for us—not what you think you're supposed to do or what you think I want. Your comfort matters just as much as mine."
His eyes glistened slightly as he nodded, his jaw working like he was fighting to keep his composure.
"For the record. I’m loving this trip, sweetheart. This might be the best vacation I’ve ever been on."
"Really?" you asked meekly.
Jack swallowed, his gaze locked on your mouth. "Really."
You leaned in and kissed him, slow and deep. His palm slid up your side, thumb brushing the underside of your breast through the thin purple fabric, before he cupped you fully, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch.
"4 more days of paradise," you murmured against his lips when you finally pulled back, voice dreamy.
Jack smirked, teeth grazing your bottom lip. "I could get used to this. You, half-naked all the time. Might never let you put clothes on again." He nipped at your jaw, then kissed the spot he’d bitten. You pulled back with a soft laugh, eyeing his pale, freckled skin (and the faint farmer’s tan he would absolutely deny having).
"We’re going to need another bottle of sunscreen just for you," you said as you reached for the bottle.
"For the record, I can tan," he rolled his eyes. "Eventually… After several medical interventions."
You giggled, squeezing sunscreen into your palms and began smoothing it over his chest and shoulders, careful and thorough. His skin warmed quickly under your hands, and he stayed still, letting you work while he reached down to cover the top of his thighs. Once you were done, he tugged you closer again. His hands never left you—stroking, squeezing, mapping every inch like he couldn’t get enough. The cabana stayed quiet except for the distant waves and the low murmur of your voices, the two of you wrapped around each other while the sun climbed higher outside.
"I haven’t seen this bikini before," he said, voice low. "It’s fucking sexy on you. Those little triangles barely cover anything. I keep thinking about peeling them off."
"You don’t think it’s too revealing?" you teased.
"Baby, it’s perfect. You look incredible. I can’t stop touching you." There was something almost disorienting about the way he was looking at you… like you were the only thing in his entire world worth seeing. It was still hard to understand why Jack saw you as sexy. Past boyfriends had never made you feel that way… but Jack? He fucking worshipped you. You had never experienced this kind of adoration before. Being someone's everything.
You lounged together for a while, then swam into the ocean. The water enveloped you both in its cool, briny embrace as Jack pulled you deeper, the waves lapping at your breasts while the sandy bottom shifted beneath your feet. The scent of sea air and his natural musk filled your nostrils, heightening every sensation as his breath mingled with yours in short, excited puffs. He leaned in, pressing his lips to yours, with your tongues dancing in a playful, teenage frenzy of sucking and exploring every corner of each other's mouths. Salty droplets ran down your faces, mixing into the kiss, while the smell of wet skin and ocean breeze enveloped you. His hands were on your hips, and he pulled you tighter against the hard evidence of his own arousal pressing through his swim trunks.
A sharp gasp hitched in your throat, your eyes flying wide.
"Jack," you whispered, your voice a shaky mix of awe and sudden, dizzying arousal. "What are you doing?"
A slow, utterly wicked smile spread across his lips, and his eyebrows lifted in a silent, unmistakable challenge.
"Shhh, just relax," he murmured, his lips brushing your ear. "I've got you."
You felt his fingers trace the edge of your swimsuit bottoms, a teasing hint that made your breath catch. "Jack, wait—" you breathed, your voice tight with a fear that was half genuine alarm, half intoxicating thrill. Your gaze shot to the shore, a frantic scan of the distant, blurred figures. "Someone could... what if someone sees."
"Half are asleep,” he whispered, his breath hot on your damp skin. "The other half are staring at their phones, trying to figure out if the weird shadow on their screen is a cloud or a notification that their life is profoundly boring." He dipped his head, his nose gliding along the column of your throat, inhaling the scent of saltwater and sunscreen on your skin.
His logic was a seductive trap.
"But..." you managed to say (not really knowing what else to say), as your hips gave a tiny, involuntary roll against his hard cock.
He hushed you gently, nuzzling into the damp hair at your temple. "I'm just finishing what I started earlier," he whispered, his voice a low, tender rumble. "Let me take care of you now."
His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, and your eyes went wide. A soft, surprised "oh" escaped you as he found your clit, circling with a touch that was electrifying. You could hear the distant laughter and chatter of beachgoers, the rhythmic crash of waves, but it all faded into the background.
Jack loved watching that little hitch in your breath. He loved that he could undo you like this. You were usually all sharp wit and raised eyebrows, but here…here you were just soft sighs and pliant for him. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, clinging for stability as your knees felt weak, even supported by the water.
"Jack," you breathed out, the name itself a plea. The sun warmed the top of your head while the underwater world remained your private haven.
"I know, baby," he murmured, his lips pressing a soft kiss just below your ear. "You’re doing so good for me."
You were so responsive. Every little circle, every shift of his fingers, and you were shivering. He was looking at your face… and all the tension was gone. Just pure, sweet surrender. He could do this forever, just watching you fall apart. His fingers continued their gentle, persistent torment. Then, slowly, he began to slide a finger inside you. The sensation made you gasp sharply, your body tensing for a split second at the new, fuller pressure.
"Shhh, easy," he soothed, his voice a velvet command. He stilled his hand, letting you adjust, his thumb never ceasing its soft circles. "Just relax into it, sweetheart. There you go… that’s my girl."
As your body accepted him, he began a slow, shallow rhythm, his fingers moving in and out with a slippery ease aided by the water and your own growing wetness. Your head lolled against his shoulder, your mouth falling open in a silent, overwhelmed gasp. The dual sensations were too much—the focused, maddening friction of his thumb and the soft, filling stretch of his finger moving inside you. A low, helpless moan finally broke free.
Jack caught the sound with his mouth, kissing you deeply, swallowing your noises as the waves gently rocked you both. His kiss was tender but consuming, his tongue stroking yours in time with the rhythm of his hand. When he broke for air, his praise was a hot whisper against your slick lips.
"Listen to you," he breathed, his own voice rough with want. "So pretty. So perfect.”
His movements became more deliberate, his fingers curling slightly, searching. When he found that sweet spot inside you, your entire body jolted against him. A sharp, broken cry tore from your throat.
"God, Jack, please..." you whimpered.
"There?" he asked, his voice thick with satisfaction. He pressed against it again, and your second cry was louder, less controlled, a raw sound of pleasure that echoed slightly over the water before being swallowed by a wave. Jack’s eyes, filled with lust, flicked toward the distant, indistinct shapes on the shore.
"Shhh, baby," he whispered, but there was a new, teasing edge to his tenderness. He pressed another soft kiss to your temple. "You don’t want everyone to hear, do you?"
He curled his finger again, rubbing that sensitive spot of yours. Another moan, high and desperate, was ripped from you as your hips jerked against his hand. You tried to stifle it, biting your lip, but it was useless. The pleasure was too overwhelming.
A low, husky chuckle vibrated against your skin. His lips were right by your ear. "Or… maybe you do," he murmured, his voice dripping with a filthy, knowing amusement. "Maybe you like the idea that someone might hear how good I make you feel."
He added a second finger alongside the first, stretching you just a little more, the sensation making you gasp. Every slight shift of your bodies rubbed him against you.
"Fuck," he groaned, the word strained. His fingers never stopped their sinful work, pumping into you with a steady, deepening rhythm now, his thumb a relentless counterpoint on your clit.
"God, I wish I could fuck you right now. Make you scream my name so loud the whole beach knows who you belong to."
The vividness of his words, the possessive heat in them, sent a fresh wave of arousal crashing through you. Your own sounds were becoming impossible to control—soft, choked sobs of pleasure with every inward stroke of his fingers.
"Jack..." your voice, a ragged, breathless mess against his neck. "Jack... I love you. I love you, don't stop, please don't ever stop..." The words tumbled out, unfiltered and soaked in pure, delirious pleasure. You were babbling, lost in the storm he was orchestrating with his hands. He shushed you again, but it was a mockery of comfort now. He loved this. He loved the raw, unfiltered honesty of your pleasure, the way you completely fell apart for him and him alone. Hearing you babble his name and those three little words while he had you at his mercy was the most potent aphrodisiac he'd ever known.
He trailed his mouth down your jaw, your neck, sucking a wet, salty path to your collarbone. The contrast of his hot mouth and the cool ocean sent shivers racing over your skin, pulling you tighter against his hard cock.
"I love you too," he murmured, while his eyes held yours, with flecks of green and gold that were endless. "You're going to come for me right here." His fingers curled, pressing that perfect spot with unerring precision as he spoke. "And when you do, I want you thinking about how when we go back to the hotel room, I'm going to spend an hour between your legs, tasting you until you come again, just from my tongue."
"Oh f-fuck," you gasped, feeling your orgasm building, a tidal wave of sensation starting deep in your belly, threatening to crest and drown you with the cool water lapping at your waist. Your hips began to move against his hand of their own volition, a frantic, shallow rhythm seeking more friction, more of him.
"And when you're shaking, when you're begging for it, that's when I'm finally going to fuck you."
He saw the panic and the pleasure warring in your eyes, the desperate clamp of your jaw as you fought to stay quiet. It only spurred him on. His thumb became relentless on your clit, a firm, circling pressure, while his fingers fucked into you with a deep, steady rhythm that hit that perfect, devastating spot every single time.
"Hard and fast," he growled, his own breath starting to come faster, his control fraying at the edges just watching you. "I'm going to fill you up so completely that you'll feel me for days. You're going to come on my cock just like you're coming on my fingers right now, aren't you, baby?"
The command in his voice, the filthy, vivid promise, was the final thread to snap. Your body went rigid, a silent scream locked in your throat as the orgasm detonated, a white-hot shockwave of pure, shattering pleasure.
He saw it the second it hit you—the way your eyes rolled back, the tears that instantly welled and spilled over. He captured your mouth in a deep, consuming kiss, swallowing every choked sob and whimper of ecstasy. His tongue swept against yours, tender and claiming, as he gentled the movements of his hand. He tasted the salt of your tears and felt the helpless tremors still coursing through your limbs.
You were a boneless, quivering weight against him, your face buried in the damp skin of his neck, breathing in the scent of salt, sunscreen, and him. His own breathing was ragged, his body a tightly coiled line of tension pressed against your stomach. For a long moment, he just held you, one arm a solid band around your back, the other hand gently cupping the back of your head.
"You did so good for me."
He shifted slightly, and you could feel him. The hard, insistent length of his cock straining against the fabric of his swim trunks, pressing into your stomach—a stark contrast to your own spent, liquid state. A weak sound of concern escaped your lips.
"Don't you worry about that." Jack gave a strained chuckle, the sound vibrating through you. "We'll take care of it later. Right now... we'll get you some water. And some shade."
He turned around, and you draped limply over the broad expanse of his back. Your cheek rested against the wet skin between his shoulder blades; the world reduced to the sound of his breathing and the gentle lap of the water as he swam. He reached the shallows where the waves gently broke. With a grunt of effort, he stood up, the water dropping from his torso. He kept you secure on his back, your legs hooked over his hips, his hands firmly under your thighs.
Jack walked up the beach in an almost casual stride, nodding at a few scattered sunbathers who glanced your way and were probably staring at his prosthetic (or his raging hard-on). You, clinging to him, were just the tired girlfriend getting a piggyback ride from her attentive boyfriend. The perfect, innocent picture. He reached the private cabana, and with a final, effortless heave, he swung you gently off his back, depositing you onto the lounger. You landed with a soft thump, your limbs still feeling like over-cooked spaghetti.
He turned and grabbed the bottles of chilled water that the waiter offered immediately. Crouching down in front of you, he uncapped it with a sharp twist.
"Open," he said, his voice low. He didn't hand you the bottle. Instead, he brought it to your lips. When you parted them automatically, he tilted it, the cold water pouring into your mouth. "Drink," he ordered, watching your throat work as you swallowed. A little trickled down your chin, and his gaze followed the droplet's path over your collarbone. You drank until the bottle was empty.
"Thank you," you whispered, the words barely audible. A shaky, sated smile touched your lips as you looked up at him through half-lidded eyes.
"Good girl," he said, his voice dropping that utterly intimate register of his. He leaned in, his lips brushing your forehead in a kiss.
"You wore me out," you mumbled, your voice thick and drowsy. Your head lolled back against the cabana bed. The sun felt like a warm blanket, and the intense pleasure had left your body feeling heavy, deliciously used, and utterly spent. "Just... gonna close my eyes for a minute..."
Your words slurred into a soft sigh as your eyelids fluttered shut. The world faded to the sound of the distant waves and the feeling of the warm lounger beneath you. You were already slipping into a contented, post-coital doze. He watched you, the bottle of water hanging loosely from his fingers. You were his masterpiece... and beautifully ruined. He sat down in the shade, the frame creaking softly under his weight, and leaned back, stretching his legs out.
"Come here," he said, his voice leaving no room for question. He patted his chest, right over his heart.
Still floating in that boneless, sated haze, you didn't hesitate. You crawled the short distance from where you were and settled against him, your head finding its perfect place on the solid pillow of his muscle. His arm came around you, heavy and secure, his hand splaying possessively over the curve of your hip. His other hand began tracing those lazy, hypnotic circles on the small of your back.
Your eyelids grew too heavy to hold open.
"I love you," you murmured.
"I love you," he echoed, just as you were slipping away.
You stirred, consciousness returning slowly, and pleasantly. The world came back in pieces: the dappled shade of the cabana, the distant cry of seagulls, the solid, warm weight beneath you. You blinked, your eyes adjusting, and glanced at your phone screen where it lay beside the lounger. 4:00 PM. You’d been out for over an hour.
You tilted your head up. He was awake, watching you from behind his sunglasses, a soft, unguarded curve to his mouth. You leaned up and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to his lips.
"Mmm," you hummed against his mouth as you pulled back just an inch. "I think I need a snack before dinner. All that... 'swimming'.. worked up an appetite." His hand slid from your back to cup your ass, giving it a firm, appreciative squeeze.
"Is that right?" he said, his voice gravelly with disuse. "What kind of snack are you craving?"
"Something sweet," you teased, nipping lightly at his bottom lip. "Maybe something I can eat right here."
"Tempting.” His gaze was hot and appreciative. "But if I start feeding you here, we won't make it to dinner. Let's pack up." He gave your ass one last, playful smack before releasing you. "Up you get."
You pouted dramatically, making a show of stretching your still-tingling limbs. He stood, pulling his t-shirt over his head, the fabric clinging briefly to his torso.
"Watching the people here is fascinating, isn't it?" he mused, his tone conversational but his eyes locked on you. You followed his gaze out to the beach. A group of young women were taking an absurd number of selfies a little way down the shore, angling their bodies and drinks just so.
"Right?" you squealed, playing along, putting a hand on your hip and mimicking their poses with exaggerated flair. "The struggle is so real! Do I look aspirational? Do I look like I have my life together?
He chuckled, shaking his head as he finished smoothing his shirt.
"You," he said, stepping close and pulling you to the edge of the sofa bed, "look like you just got fucked senseless. Which is infinitely better."
You laughed and swatted his chest, and wriggled out of his grasp to reach for your cover-up draped over the back of a chair and shimmied into it. The two of you stepped out of the cabana and began walking hand-in-hand, but you were surprised when Jack started pulling you closer to the shore. You saw Jack raise a hand, catching the eye of one of the influencer girls from the selfie group. She was tall and clad in a minuscule neon green bikini, her phone held up as she surveyed the light.
"Scusi," he called. He made a frame with his fingers, pointing at you and himself, then pretended he was taking a picture with an invisible camera. She immediately lowered her own phone.
"Oh! Photo! Yes, of course, I speak English," she said, her accent a pleasant, unplaceable blend, as she gracefully stepped away from her own photoshoot.
He handed her his phone, while whispering to you. "Is it that obvious that I'm American?"
"Yes," you giggled.
She grinned, positioning you both close, his arm tight around your waist, his waterproof prosthetic clearly visible in the frame. The fact that he wanted the photo with his leg showing made your eyes sting. Influencer girl took a few steps back, expertly using the natural light and the stunning views as her canvas.
"Get closer! Yes, like that. Perfect."
He pressed a kiss to your temple as the girl snapped the first photo.
"Beautiful! Now look at each other. Give me a real smile!" she coached, moving slightly to adjust the angle.
You turned your face toward Jack, and the look in his eyes stole your breath. It was open affection, a quiet joy at simply being there with you, exactly as you both were. Your smile changed, becoming real and unguarded. The camera clicked several times in rapid succession.
"Amazing! You two are gorgeous. That light is everything."
"Grazie," Jack said, the Italian word clumsy but earnest.
"Thank you," you said.
As the girl returned Jack's phone, she lingered for a moment and asked the usual small talk question about where you were from. You answered, and within seconds, the conversation shifted with the realization that you and she had grown up in the same country. What a small world. Your attention was suddenly fully on her, and you were completely absorbed talking to her in your native mother tongue and discussing the last time you had been back home. Jack took advantage of the moment and opened his messages to Robby and attached one of the many photos.
Surprisingly, Robby answered almost instantly since it was a little past 10 AM, which was usually when he sneaked in a snack.
Robby: She’s so out of your league.
Jack snorted under his breath. Out of his league? Absolutely. He’d known that from day one, and he still couldn’t believe you’d chosen him anyway. His thumb hovered over the send button for a full second before he finally tapped his next message.
Jack: I think I’m going to do it tonight.
Robby: Holy shit. About damn time, you’ve been carrying that ring around for a year.
Jack: I’m nervous as hell.
Robby: She’s perfect. Go get her, brother.
Robby then sent another quick message.
Robby: You look happy. Happier than I’ve ever seen you.
Jack thought about the man he’d been before he met you. He was convinced that good things weren’t meant for him. And then you showed up…and you made him want things he’d never let himself want.
When Jack looked up, you were turning back toward him, waiting with that patient little smile he loved more than he could ever say. Jack smiled, slipped the phone away, and reached for your hand as you walked back toward the hotel.
i feel like with all four of them in the house n reader bouncing between jack n frank that even robby would get a little jealous, missing the way she'd wiggle into his bed at an ungodly hour of the night. he's so sending frank n jack on a grocery trip or something just to get her to himself, insisting she has to stay home for xyz when it's just him boxing her into the couch <3 - 🍓
18+ mdni wait this is so cute… he’s desperate for some quiet girl time with how crazy and chaotic the house is :’) it’s nearing the evening and you guys are almost totally out of food, so it’s time for a store run and robby insists you and him hang back to tidy up the house while frank and jack are out…but he ends up settling on the couch and pats his lap for you to come sit with him… you guys chat and joke and giggle while he rubs his hands over your back and thighs… you totally think you’re pulling a fast one on him as you yap to keep him “distracted” so he doesn’t remember the chores you two are supposed to be doing, but this is exactly what he wanted :’)
frank n jack come back to a still cluttered house. robby’s sprawled out on the couch with you on top of him n both of you are out cold <3
robby so pretends to hate cuddling but there's nine million pics in the designated house groupchat of him laying on his back across the couch with reader sprawled out on top of him drooling on his shirt. THAT is canon - 🍓
CANON!!!!!!! YES!!!!! he always acts like he’s resigning himself to letting you cuddle with him, purely for your sake, but it makes his heart feel so full every time <3 god frank always taking pics and sending them when robby’s scolding you <3 like robby will text -> Brat, come clean up your nail polish. I’m sick of asking.
and frank responds with a picture from like an hour earlier of robby conked out in the chair holding you in his arms with the message -> You and brat btw
or you’re out with a friend and text -> can i stay over till 12 tn? 🙏🏻 😇
and robby responds -> Seriously? All you’ve done this week is piss me off. Curfew’s 11 like always.
and frank sends a picture he took the day before where you’re laying fully atop robby on the couch, and you’re gazing at him with big sweet eyes and he’s smiling at you and with it frank just sends -> ?
What if Jack has to stay at Robby’s place cuz the heatings broke at his or smth n then Robby’s house only has the three rooms (Robby, frank, reader) so reader says jack can stay in her room
Js thinking abt all the shenanigans they’d get up to 🤭
Maybe even frank getting a little jealous reader is spending so much time with Jack
18+ mdni omg your mind.... several little moments have come to my mind so this is gonna jump around a bit and probably end up kinda long
first im picturing you're all in the livingroom when jack calls robby and the second you hear robby's "Hey, brother" you're grinning, disentangling yourself from frank on the couch, going to robby’s chair, and crawling into his lap <33
"Oh, shit. Four days to fix it? Yeah, man, I heard it's gonna be a cold one. Of course. We don't have a spare room, but--" there's a short pause before robby scoffs lightheartedly. "you kidding me? I like you and all, but I don’t miss waking up to your arm hitting my face. We've got a perfectly good couch--"
"He can stay in my room!" You chirp right away. Robby looks at you with a raised brow, Frank rolls his eyes, and you can just barely hear Jack's chuckle through the phone. Jack says something that you can't make out, but whatever it is makes Robby scoff again. "Please?" You frown. "He shouldn't have to stay on the couch..."
"She ends up in one of our rooms most nights anyway." Frank points out wryly. As if you'll be sharing a bed with anyone other than Mr. Abbot for the short 4 days you have him.
"Yeah. Sure." Robby allows. You break out in a huge grin.
When Jack arrives that evening with his duffel bag, he also comes with pizza, wings, garlic knots, beers, and cookies <3 he shrugs it off when you gape and robby says it wasn't necessary "Gotta eat, don't we? And you're doing me a big favor."
ugh it's like a 4 day long sleepover with your biggest crush <3 you break out all your cutest pjs, you guys are constantly oogling one another and being all touchy... at one point jack comes out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, and asks "How the hell do you turn on the hot water?" and you brightly say "Let me show you!" and are up so fast that it's a wonder you don't get whiplash....
of course it leads to Jack fucking you in the shower... and when you both emerge later, hair wet and in your pajamas, frank laughs and robby looks at you both over his glasses and dryly jokes "If you do that every night you're helping with our water bill this month."
ugh YES and frank getting jealous!! i think he’s fine at first bc he really does like jack and doesnt mind the dynamic of the four of you… but by the end of day 2 the constancy of jack having most of your attention does start to get to him.
it comes to a head the morning of day 3… frank’s definitely starting to miss you guys’ usual morning routine of making coffee and being all cuddly :(( he comes to the kitchen to find you already sitting on the counter, looking so cute with your bedhead and your legs swinging idly… but you don’t even look at him when he walks in, you’re staring intently at jack as he cooks breakfast
Frank grumbles back a quiet “morning” when Jack greets him, then grabs a mug from the cabinet… and you scowl and say “That’s Jack’s mug.”
and frank shoots you such an exasperated look, so over it. “Jack doesn’t live here, how could this be his mug?”
“He uses it every morning—“
“It’s been two mornings”
Jack’s wearing an amused grin and cooly says “It’s okay, doll, I don’t mind.”
“But you said you pick it cause you love the color.” You insist, stubborn. Then to Frank, “Use a different one.”
But Frank just scoffs and rolls his eyes and continues the process of brewing his coffee. You stretch out your leg to jab him with your foot. “Fraaaank.”
“Watch it.” He snaps with more bite than usual.
You pout. “Why are you so crabby? It’s no fun.”
“No fun?” He mocks. He puts down the bag of coffee he’s holding and approaches you. Plants his hands on the counter on either side of your thighs, boxing you in and getting in your face. “You want me to be fun, princess?”
“Yeah,” you murmur, already a little breathless… his lips are on you the next moment, heavy and rushed and possessive. You gasp into his mouth and he grips your waist to pull you closer to the edge of the counter, allowing you to grind against one another…
Soon Robby walks into the kitchen to see Frank fully fucking you while Jack casually cooks at the stove not 4 feet away. He groans and tiredly scratches his beard. Mutters “Jesus christ, it’s too early for this.” as he moves to stand beside Jack and lean against the wall. “We’ve talked about fucking on the counter.”
“Please,” Frank pants. “You ate her pussy in this exact spot last week.”
Robby ignores the heat that rises to his cheeks when Jack shoots him a boyish grin. “That was after dinner— there is active cooking going on right now! Food is out!”
“Don’t be a prude.” You tease breathily. You grin, pleased with yourself, when both Jack and Frank let out shocked laughter. Robby shakes his head, resigned.
synopsis hi fell in love with your portrayal of dr. robby is it okay for me to request for dr. robby’s attending! wife and the early signs of pregnancy before she decided to take a test? (like falling asleep while doing charts or over a casual conversation hehe) request!
authornote this was a request that I loved writing so much but nobody needs to know the work that went into publishing it, that stays between me and @expreissionism who requested, thanks so much again!
Robby left exam room four and- like always- he found you first.
He smiled. The kind that took over his whole face, that crinkled his eyes and caused his cheeks to hurt. The sort people didn't see often in the deep hells of the Pitt unless he was looking at you. Or talking about you. Or thinking about you. Basically, if he smiled like that it was you.
But his smile faded quick when he took note of you.
“Hey?”
You jerked up, looking at him.
Robby leant over the counter, sliding on his glasses and looked closer.
He was too close to you to be studying you like a patient, but just close enough for his wife.
“You eat anything today?” he asked.
You squinted at him. “We literally got breakfast this morning.”
“Okay, okay.”
There were darkening circles under your eyes and your lips were chapped which was his first sign something was wrong: you treated moisturising your lips like some do religion. Other than that your body was slumped over a computer. You were far more active than this.
“You sleep okay last night?” he asked.
You smirked. “Well no, not really, someone kept me up.”
Robby smirked right back, leaning back just enough to give you space. “Are you complaining?”
“No.”
Flashbacks of last night came to mind in searing heat. The sweat of your bodies, the grip he held on your hand as he fucked you into the mattress like he did most nights.
They said your libido goes down the older you get but Robby was going through another one. His box of blue pills sat abandoned in his bedside draw- thank god.
Robby nodded once. “Good.”
“But that saying,” you continued, swivelling in your chair to face him. Still, he didn't move. He could smell the shampoo you'd bathed yourself in this morning and his mouth salivated like a dog with his favourite treat. “Four rounds?”
Robby took a quick sweep of the area, making sure nobody was missing him and his wife as they flirted shamelessly. “You asked for it.”
You frowned. “Did I?”
“Hey!” called Dana. “Mr and Mrs Adams, we could use your help here!”
You playfully rolled your eyes and Robby backed away slowly, hands up in surrender. He watched Dana turn to at least give them a second to finish up their flirting before digging into his pocket.
“Here- for your lips.”
A small, practically un-used tube of chap-stick fell from the palm of his hand to yours. He carried it for you, always. If you'd asked you'd know he carried an extra pack of nuts and hand cream too.
He'd been doing so secretly since your first dates years ago.
Of course the supplies were different but the sentiment the same.
You blushed, a bright smile coming to your face. “You are so adorable.”
Robby shook off the word like it was splash of cold water. “Yeah, don't let onto anyone, okay? Got a cold exterior to keep up.”
“Oh- of course.”
He could have stood there and watched you all day but he already felt Dana's gaze, un-wavering. He squeezed your shoulders and pressed a kiss on your forehead before slipping away with a quiet promise to himself that he'd get his hands on you later.
“You don't look so well, you know,” said Dana once the coast was clear of Robby.
“Don't you start,” you said. “I've had enough of this the last couple days from Robby.”
“Oh yeah, you got something?” Dana's hand was gentle on your back. If you weren't careful she'd push you onto a bed, have you in a gown with a chart written up herself. She'd mother you; smother you in her care even if she wasn't a doctor. Even if you were the attending around the place.
You shook your head and flashed her a un-convincing smile.
You were sure it was a bug, or burn out.
You'd caught burn out like some do colds or flus. As the second attending it was your job- with Robby's- to make sure everyone was taught, that patients were satisfied (you found you were doing that part for your husband as well) and you were saving as many lives as you could.
The careful art of delegation and avoidance was lost on you. You threw yourself into traumas like you were still a med student with something to prove.
“Okay, if you say so,” said Dana with a purse of her lips.
“I do say so.”
“If you need anything.”
“Am I married to you or Robinavitch?” you teased, tugging on gloves and readying yourself for a room of hustle.
Dana chuckled, backing away slowly to her station. “You should be so lucky, Robinavitch.”
Using the weight of your back you pushed into trauma two.
“Okay, kids- what have we got?”
“Fetal heart rate one-two-eight.”
Whitaker was at your side in an instant, handing you the chart. “Woman in her late twenties, came in complaining of cramping and migraines, twenty-nine weeks along.”
“BP is one-seventy, over one-nineteen.”
The woman was on her side, a whole score of nurses and doctors around her. It was always double the team for pregnant ladies. When there were two patients to care for in a package of one.
“Six grams of magnesium going in.”
You floated around the room, Whitaker following you like some guard dog. You took in everything going on, reading stats and taking in numbers everyone gave to you. “Okay, ma'am, I'm Doctor Robinavitch, everyone calls me Robin. It seems you have a medical condition called preeclamsia.”
The woman's eyes were teary and dark as they looked up to you in fear. “Wh-what?”
“Preeclampsia. Now that we know what it is we can help you.”
“But it was- it was just a headache,” she cried, hand cradling her stomach on instinct. “Is my baby going to be okay?”
“We are doing everything to make sure you and the baby do just fine,” you assured her, speaking a language you'd become fluent in. Diagnosis and comfort. Sometimes, when the job got tough, you wondered if you even really believed the words you were saying. They just floated from your tongue typically.
“The thing is with your condition we have to take you up to OB and deliver this baby,” you told her.
“OB's been paged,” Santos informed you.
“But it's too early,” the woman sobbed, clutching at her rounded stomach like she could keep the baby there.
“I know but the baby's pulse is strong which is good,” you told her. “And if we want to keep the ball rolling in the right direction we have to got to get to it now, okay?”
“Doctor Robin,” said Whitaker. “Labs are back in.”
“Read them to me.” You were still holding the lady's hand over her stomach, trying to comfort her.
“Don't hold out on us Huckleberry, what's going on?” asked Santos.
“They're high- real high-”
“Which can mean?” you ask out to the room, remembering the hundreds of times Gloria reminded you off your status as a 'teaching hospital,'.
“HELLP syndrome,” said Denis.
“Point to you.”
Under your hand the patient began to tremble. A quick glance at the monitor showed her blood pressure rising. Panic, most likely, something else it could have been entirely.
“Hey, boy or a girl?” you asked, watching her eyes flicker. “Do you know what you're having?”
She blinked slow. “Boy.”
“Any name ideas?”
Her mouth had opened to say something but instead of a name vomit spewed, rolling down the gurney and splashing your scrubs- the one time you didn't put on a gown.
“Oh shit- she's seizing!”
Everyone and you reacted quickly in holding her, trying to calm her shakes.
It had never happened before, you'd never had so many senses tuning it an once but the smell of her breakfast wafted up to your nose. An un-familiar roll in your stomach curdled and you pursed your lips shut, turning away and burying your nose into the still fresh part of your scrubs.
“Fifteen litres on by mask!” Whitaker yelled. “Intubation?”
He was looking to you.
You shook your head, unable to speak with half your focus going on calming the insides of your stomach.
“With all the seizing we can't get a read on the baby's status,” said Santos.
Fuck- you'd have to say something. You couldn't leave a fresh doctor and student into clampsia blind. “Ultrasound,” you breathed out, still unable to face where the sick started to soak into your scrubs. “Check on baby!”
If Santos and Whitaker thought it was strange they said nothing, following you orders and relaying what they found.
“Doctor Robin- do we intubate?”
Another set of hands came up to help steady her and you could back away.
Even your shoes hadn't been spared the mercy of the vomit.
“Not yet, push keppra, four grams.”
Grabbing clothes cutters you quickly sliced at your scrub top, thankful you were wearing something long sleeved and covering more of you then a simple vest.
With the top in shreds you could finally breath but your stomach didn't get the memo.
“Pulse Ox eighty-eight!”
Groaning, you pulled the tray out for intubation, handing it to Santos.
She glanced at you. “Hey, you look a bit-”
“- don't say sick or I'll throw up on you,” you warned, following her around like she was your new human shield. You wondered if she'd be flattered or pissed if you admitted she was. “Push probofal.”
“Pushing.”
Eventually the seizing stopped with everything you pushed to get her stable and you moved quick. It was like putting everything else on aeroplane mode, shutting off your own systems to get hers stable.
“Intubate, get an EEG to check her brain levels. She's paralysed now but her brain could still be seizing.”
You slipped in sick, grabbing yourself on the nearest doctor and thanking them. You stayed for the intubation only then knew you couldn't hack it anymore.
You fled the room, bumping into Samira on your way out.
Dana jolted up. “Hey, what're you-”
“-get Robby in trauma one.”
You found the nearest bathroom, locked it and threw up everything. You hugged the toilet like it was your anchor, your body curling into the movements. Time escaped you, it could have been minutes it could have been hours but finally you fell back and flushed, wiping away everything.
You were young, you weren't as old as your husband. You'd had less experience in traumas all together, however you were a good doctor, capable enough to be a fellow attending.
Several substances had been chucked over you in your time. Blood, vomit, piss- some you didn't even know the name off.
Why had today been any different?
Clearing yourself up: re-tying your hair, washing out your mouth and applying Chapstick, cleaning your shoes and wiping tears from under your eyes, you blamed it on the bagels you'd had that morning.
It was the only logical explanation.
Leaving the bathroom you felt momentary guilt and fleeing but spotted Robby already taking your place in the trauma.
“Hey, hun,” Dana was at your side quick, gentle and peering at you closely. “What was that about? You doin alright?”
“Yeah,” you hummed.
“You throw up? You sick?”
“No, I-” you thought of every other time you'd lied to Dana and how it never went well. “Yes but it's probably just food poisoning. Don't tell Robby.”
If Robby knew you were sick- after already having been worried this morning- you'd be driven home in twenty minutes flat.
“Robby always finds out,” said Dana.
You ignored her and pushed open the door to the lounge. She didn't follow and you were left with spare seconds to yourself.
Your hands shook slightly as you fetched a glass to fill with water. To cool yourself down you ran your hands under, splashing the back of your neck with some. You gargled water and spit it back, ready to drain the glass and wet your sudden parched mouth when Langdon appeared in the door.
“Hey, I've got a head lac I need you to take a look at.”
Because you were an attending. Because of the kind of person you are you put down the glass and followed him.
“She just ran out?”
There was the all too familiar buzz of the sanitiser dispenser as Robby helped himself to a generous blob before rubbing it into his hands. A beat behind, Denis did the same, following in his footsteps- literally.
“Er-yeah,” he said, working fast to absorb every bit of hand sanitiser. “She ordered the EEG and bolted.”
Robby nodded, taking it all in clinically. “You said she looked pale?”
“Yeah but, she had just been thrown up on.”
Being thrown up on wasn't a pleasant experience but he hadn't known you to run from bodily fluids.
“Where is she now?” Robby asked, as if Denis was the soul person to look out for you. Well, Robby trusted Denis, a gift he didn't bestow on many so he did expect Denis to keep an eye on you at all times.
“She went to the bathroom but I don't know now.”
Robby checked the bathrooms, finding you void of those spaces. He checked the lounge where nothing but a deserted glass of water sat.
He was almost panicking when he saw the back of you and Frank in a room.
He paused.
You were sat next to a young girl, holding her hand. Although he couldn't hear you he imagined the softness of your voice as it always became when dealing with a pedes case. You'd always joked that if the ED wasn't so in need of two attendings at a time you'd have left his ass for pedes upstairs at once.
Robby didn't think so. For one, you'd miss his face, for the second thing- you liked bouncing from one emergency to another, switching off and relying only on your skills.
You hadn't been bouncing around as quick as usual the last couple days. He realised it only in that moment.
Frank was standing with his arms folded over his chest, pitching in every now and then and also getting the girl to smile.
He didn't want to go in, break the concentration and trust you'd formed with the small child. He'd find you later.
Whatever was going on, the two of you clearly had it handled.
Your dreams came to you in fades.
There was first an annoyingly weird dream about a animal circus finding it's home in the Pitt. They said work followed you home, but it even followed you into dreams which seemed just un-fair. Then there was a stork on an elephants back. How would an elephant even get in to the place?
They turned to some much more enjoyable memories that had your body warming un-consciously.
Robby's weight pressed down into yours on the couch in your living room. You'd begged him to put everything on you, to not hold himself up and with-hold his moans.
And because you'd asked, he did.
Robby wasn't a light guy and you liked him like that. The weight of him crushing you, his spit swapped with yours, sweat of his body being shared and the fingerprints you could feel at your hips.
“Oh fuck sweetheart, oh fuck!” he'd groaned out loud.
You felt parts of him deep in you you didn't know you could feel and still you wanted more. Your locked your ankles around his backside, keeping him into you in short and sweet thrusts.
“Oh, you like that? Jesus Christ,” he grunted into your neck, unable to hold himself up even if he wanted to. “So greedy. Fuckin' so greedy!”
“Please, Robby, please!”
Steady hands were sudden at your shoulders and a body pressed up to yours, decidedly unlike how one did in the dream.
“Go home,” said Robby.
You picked yourself up from where you'd dozed off, your head in your arms folded over on the counter. In front of you, the computer was blank. “Hm?”
Robby's eyes bored into yours. “Go home, you're sick.”
“It's only twelve. I'm not sick- I'm fine,” you said, waving off his hand as it came up to test your temperature in the very medical practise of hand on forehead.
Robby shook his head. “You were dozing this morning, you're asleep now, you threw up-”
“Dana, I told her not to say anything!” You cursed under your breath.
“Not Dana, Whitaker,” said Robby, looking at you with brows draw in, somewhere between anger (or as angry as he could get at you) and concern. “Did you tell Dana not to tell me?”
“Because you worry.” You used your secret trick of overwhelming affection to try to starve off Robby. Your hands were clammy as they held his cheeks, fingertips grazing over his beard just how he liked. He was kneeling at your side, melting into your touch. “I'm fine.”
For extra measures you pressed a kiss to his forehead and walked away.
There was a split second of head spinning blur. The sort that had you reaching out to balance yourself. It lasted maybe two seconds but enough to worry you.
If you hadn't taken such care in tending to Robby's own distraction he'd have clocked it and dragged you home himself.
You maybe weren't so fine. It wasn't every day you felt as tired as you did now, and however good the night before had been Robby had given you more. Plenty. You'd surpassed twenty-fours working in the ED with no sleep so nothing could phase you.
But being phased you were.
The lack of sleep.... the throwing up... maybe you were coming down with something.
You'd thrown up last week too, so it couldn't be food poisoning like you were trying to convince yourself it was.
Robby hurried after you, the jingle of his keys and ID card and such jangling. “I'm keeping my eyes on you.”
“Sexy.”
In trauma one the two of you worked together with a score of doctors and nurses. Mrs Albany- the pregnant lady with clampsia- demanded attention. Perhaps it was a waste of two attendings working on the same patient.
The emergency c-section you had to perform made the one patient two and as Robby worked to keep the mother alive you worked on the child, stimulating the baby boy till he breathed, wiping off the fluids and bloods and sighing when he cried out.
Under the gown and mask you could see Robby's own dimples at you as you both saved lives.
But the tang of iron from the uterus and child filled your nostrils and upset you close enough to tears. You were glad Esme had cleaned up the sick from early and equally as glad you had the chance to throw up your breakfast so you couldn't do it again.
“Holy shit!” Santos celebrated, yanking off her gown and gloves next to you as you did the same, “That was crazy!”
The baby was pushed by you, heading up to the NICU, the mother following, a pulse low but steady, heading up to the OR.
You ducked away from Robby as he followed the pair out. You took Santos with you, a pushing hand on her back. “Yeah, it was- listen I've got a patient that needs blood results quick, you think if I get it you can rush it up to labs, on an ASAP basis.”
Santos frowned. You knew what she was thinking before she even had to say it. It was a boring job, her skills were better off etc.
“Please?” you asked.
It took a roll of her eyes but she agreed to.
Five minutes later you had a vial of your own blood handed to her.
An hour later Santos found you, Ipad in hand.
“Hey, got the results for your patient,” she said. “Where are they? What room? I couldn't see them on the board?”
Dana would have had something to say about taking your own blood and getting it to labs without telling anyone. Robby too. As attending you should have been chastising yourself but there was no time for that. No need, either.
Doctors made the worst sort of patients, especially when they felt they didn't need to be one.
“Er, she left, discharged herself,” you lied quickly, trying to get a gage on the results that were cradled in your arm.
“Bummer. I wanted to give her good news. Or bad.”
“What?”
“She's pregnant.”
You stopped in you tracks.
It took Trinity at least four more paces before she realised you had.
The blood works showed just that. High HCG levels, you red blood cell count was high. Along with the nausea, vomiting, dizzy spells it made sense.
You were pregnant.
Inside the stomach that had been churning all day sat a life fully depending on you to take care of it. Suddenly none of your med school training mattered. Nothing you'd ever down before mattered. Looking after patients was one thing. You didn't have to go home with them, check they drank enough or ate enough, didn't have to check in with their boss they were taking it easy.
You struggled to look after yourself.
Throw a baby in the mix and you were doomed.
Chuck in Robby and you were-
Robby.
Jesus Fuck. You'd never spoken about kids. You'd only been married a year and were still in what some considered the 'honeymoon' phase.
“Everything okay?” asked Santos. “Did I miss something in the results?”
You cleared your throat. “No. No, that all... looks good. I'm just gonna take a small break. Quick one. Thanks.”
“Hey, Robby!” Denis called as he walked out from the ambulance bay. “Congratulations!”
“Thanks, Whitaker.”
It took Robby seconds to pause and think. What was he being congratulated for? The fact he went outside for some air? It wasn't impressive. Was it the quick life saving procedures they'd made on mother and son that sent them both upstairs alive? That was over an hour ago and Denis had been in the room.
Robby back tracked to Whitaker. “What am I being congratulated on, exactly?” he asked.
Whitaker looked at him like he was crazy. “The good news.”
Good news? The last good news he had was marrying you a year ago, and Whitaker had been at the damn wedding crying more than his own grandmother.
Robby shook his head.
“The good news, you'll be a great dad.”
Robby chocked on his breath, leaning on the counter. “Wh-what?” he chuckled in a breath.
“You're pregnant? I mean, not you, obviously, I-I know how it works. But you're having a baby, that's-that's what they say and I just wanted to say well done. Or not well done! No, that came out wrong, jus-”
Robby had let him stumble on his words as he tried to figure out what he was saying. The baby? What baby? “Denis, what are you talking about?”
He looked around quickly for you but couldn't see you.
“Oh my god, you didn't know, you didn't know did you?” Whitaker's face paled, his entire body sinking. “Santos told me, she told me not to tell anyone but I-I figured I could tell you! I guessed- oh god, did I just tell you your wife is pregnant?”
His wife...
Pregnant...
And Robby was finding out from Huckleberry!
Robby took a step around the counter and Denis stumbled back into his chair. “Are you telling me she's...”
Whitaker nodded when the words failed him.
Robby thought back to the sickness you thought he'd missed last week, the way you fell asleep at the computer earlier and the general exhaustion. He tried to think back to what night could have been 'the one' but somewhere along the line you'd both stopped being careful. Condoms were abandoned in draws and your pack of contraceptive pills were still full.
“Doctor- Doctor Robby? Do you need to sit down?” Denis asked.
Robby waved him off and gave himself one minute to compose himself. He knew panic, it was an old friend he'd lost contact with over the years, yet it returned to him then.
“Where is she now?” he asked.
“Oh, I don't- I don't-”
“Huckleberry!” he tried not to expose his fondness of the nickname Santos had given him but it slipped out in the most desperate of times.
Denis gulped, knowing this. “Exam room three.”
Robby nodded and made a be-line, Casey was asking him a question as he passed but he held up a hand, ignoring her.
Santos stepped out the room, closing the door and stopping when Robby almost collided with her. “You can't go in there.”
Robby inhaled a deep breath. It was one thing having Whitaker be the one to tell him you were pregnant. It was another to have Santos blocking him from seeing you. “Doctor Santos if you don't let me through you will miss every trauma that comes through those doors.”
Luckily, he knew how to work Santos.
Her arms budged over her chest. “For how long?”
Whatever you had promised her to keep him out must have been just as grand a prize. “Till I see fit now let me in.”
It was like a western stand off for longer than Robby would have liked. Every second he spent out of your room was longer you were spending alone.
Eventually, Trinity sighed and gave up. “Okay, fine, whatever, but she promised me first dibs at a REBOA for doing this. I expect that to still stand.”
Robby pushed through the room and snapped back the curtains finding you at the edge of a bed, the wand of an ultrasound hidden under your top and the grey scale picture of a baby on the monitor.
To your credit you didn't flinch or move as he stood there.
“Lets be real this is not the worst thing you've caught me doing.”
In five minutes Robby had wiped down your stomach of the gel, had helped pull your top down and sat with you on the edge of the patient bed, the curtain back to being pulled over and hiding the two of you from traumas and agitated patients and doctors alike.
“How long have you known?” asked Robby.
There was no anger, no mean undertones. It was frightening rather blank, the way he spoke. You'd always prided yourself on knowing how to tell when he was in a good mood or bad from the smallest of tics he had.
He'd trained them out of himself apparently.
Yet- he'd given you his hand and you'd pulled it into your lap, holding it and trailing your own fingers over his.
“The time's now-” you peeked over him at the clock over the door. “- about an hour and thirteen minutes.”
He shook his head, scoffing out a smile that pronounced his wrinkles. “Why didn't you come to me?”
You sighed, shrugging your shoulders. “I thought I was just sick, you know? So I thought I'd get some bloods and see.”
“Did you do the bloods yourself?”
You looked at him and that was telling enough. With the hand that wasn't with yours he rubbed at his temple in aggravation. So far there'd been little to no talk about the baby growing in your stomach but more concern about how you'd gone to finding out.
“You should've got me,” he said.
“Well if I thought I was pregnant I probably would have.” You tried to joke but it fell flat.
“Probably?” he repeated quietly.
Silence went by with only the ticking of the clock as company.
You held onto his hand, readying yourself for the question yet to be asked. “Are you mad at me?”
Robby shook his head but didn't look at you.
“Annnnd are you mad at...” you couldn't say baby yet. Didn't know if giving the clump of cells in your stomach a name would scare him off.
With the hand in your lap his fingers entwined with yours and clutched tight.
“I know we never talked about kids and this wasn't planned in the slightest,” you said even if you knew Robby had stopped pulling out months ago, favouring the way you felt when your walls swallowed him up. “You can be angry.”
“You keep asking if I'm angry, do you want me to be?” he asked, finally a touch of emotion in his voice as it rose an octave. “Are you mad?”
That was the question. It wasn't planned, but it wasn't unwanted. You couldn't say that seeing the way mothers caressed their stomachs when they came in with spotting or concerns didn't have you thinking of your own child one day. That talking to that little girl with the head lac earlier with Frank didn't cause a pang of longing in your heart.
You'd never tried to pretend you didn't want everything with Robby. Even if you've never discussed what everything was to each other.
“When I was in med school I thought I'd have it all worked out long before now,” said Robby. “Marriage and kids. Maybe on my second marriage by now.”
You dug your elbow into his ribs, rewarded with a quick, breathless laugh.
His eyes creased as his face scrunched up. “Didn't work out. Guess I... gave up thinking it could.”
“Then you met me, right?”
Robby looked at you. His eyes were like glass as he looked you over, his lips titled, cheeks red under his beard. He looked- if you didn't mind saying so- like a man mesmerised. He nodded.
“I thought you didn't want kids,” you said.
“Do you?” he asked, eyes boring into yours.
“Do you?” you threw back to him.
He squeezed your hand and gave you a look.
“I think I do,” you admitted, quietly, as if you could take it back if it displeased him. “I don't know if I'll be good at it. I hardly have time to look after myself, let alone a baby. And I don't want to be one of those people that gives up work for kids cause I love my job but... I think I could love a kid, too.”
Robby nodded along with what you were saying, a smile brightening everything you thought looked dark in him.
“Do you want kids?” you asked.
“Oh, kids?” he teased. “You're so sure its twins already?”
You rolled your eyes as he nudged his shoulder with yours, rocking the both of your bodies.
“I want everything with you, I said so much in my vows, didn't I? You thought I was lying, Doctor Robin?”
You couldn't help but smile at the nickname he gave you and was proud to call you. After all, calling out for two Robinavitch's in an emergency proved difficult quickly. “I don't believe your vows included, I want to fuck you so hard and deep you get pregnant within the first year of marriage.' ”
“Dirty mouth, cussing like that,” said Robby, his eyes drifting down your lips as he bit down on his own. “Have to sort that out before the baby gets here.”
“Lucky we have eight months to train it out of me.”
Robby's nose had just brushed yours before he was pulling back, studying you again. His gaze drifted to your stomach, wondering if the manifestation of your nights had started to show. “You're a month along, already?”
You clocked your head side to side. “Give or take a week or two.”
“Eight months it is.”
Robby kissed you, licking into your mouth and breathing you in with deep breaths. His large hands held your cheeks and kept you in, all but drowning you in lips and touch and love. He tilted his head aside, kissing you deeper.
At once the doors banged open and arguing voices drifted in.
Robby pulled back with his head lowered in disappointment while you licked the taste of him off your lips. “I swear to god, these kids-” he grumbled as Denis and Trinity stumbled in.
“Seems like you got the dad thing down already,” you said, hand rubbing up and down in his back.
The intruders had a hoard of things in arms. Denis was carrying a large bear in hand that almost drowned him as he struggled to hold him. The bear was holding a blue heart sewen into its paws while Trinity was struggling in pulling the pink balloons in.
It seemed they'd already made bets on what baby they wanted you to have.
“We er, wanted to get you these,” said Denis. “Sorry for ruining the surprise.”
“I'm not sorry, I didn't do anything,” said Santos with a scoff.
“You told me,” pointed out Whitaker.
“Yeah and I told you not to tell anyone, fuckleberry then you tell the dad!”
“I thought he knew!”
“I told you in confidence!”
“You were laughing while you were telling me! That wasn't every confident!”
“Oh my god, it's a figure of speech!”
You laughed at the two of them, hiding your face in Robby's scrubs as he leant his head back toward you.
“You think they'd notice if we started trying for baby number two now?”
who do you think reader would go to if she had a bad dream in her own room, i can’t tell if bro!frank would baby her or not lol
18+ mdni i absolutely think frank would baby you!!! probably more than robby tbh. So i think it would depend on what kind of comfort you needed. if you wake up needing to be coddled your best bet is to go to frank's room and gently shake him awake "Frankie."
"What, baby?" without even opening his eyes.
"I had a bad dream."
n he's opening his eyes and sitting up right away, immediately clocking that you're crying from how small and fragile you sound. "Aw, poor thing. C'mere, pretty girl." He coaxes you into his lap and holds you against his chest, swipes away your tears and pets your head and runs his fingertips against your scalp. "You're okay now, I've got you. Wanna tell me what was scary? No? That's okay, baby." n he'll cup your jaw and pepper kisses all over your face until you giggle. "That's much better."
robby's much more blasé about it, but that's comforting in it's own way. like it helps ground you in reality and makes you feel protected to have him be so unbothered and calm if that makes sense?? if you shake him awake through tears he'll raise an arm for you to snuggle in beside him. his voice is all low n gruff with sleep-- "Shhh." He rubs your back as you nuzzle into his chest. "Breathe, hon, you're fine. I've got you."
about: the day of your first hunt was the day titus decided you’d become mrs. danforth
warnings: 18+, violence, murder, wedding night smut, pinv, reader is a tease, spicy polaroids, use of good girl, lingerie, slight overstimulation, breeding kink
word count: 1977
a/n: titus deserves a wife who’s just as messed up as him
Titus had never believed in love.
He knew he’d have to marry eventually, produce an heir to carry on the family legacy. He’d find some advantageous match. Maybe he’d even be lucky and she’d entertain him enough. It wouldn’t be a marriage of love. Love had never been in the cards for a man like him, who’d had blood on his hands since the moment he was born.
But the moment he truly saw you, his mind had changed.
It had been a once-in-a-blue-moon kind of hunt where all the families had been invited. One sacrifice had been picked by Chester Danforth, who held the high seat. Each family had picked a representative for their family (or two, in the case of the twins).
This hunt was the first time your parents had allowed you to be the representative for your family. You’d been preparing for it your whole life. And you were eager to prove yourself.
Titus was eager for blood.
He’d split off from Ursula to cover more ground. And he’d thought it was his lucky night when he’d seen the trail of blood leading into the greenhouse. But instead of finding his prey, wounded and hiding, he found you, knife embedded in the man’s neck.
You didn’t even flinch as you pulled the blade out, blood spraying from the wound, across your face. There was only a proud glint in your eyes as the man crumpled to the ground.
Titus wanted to be angry. He’d wanted the kill for himself. But seeing you there, that look in your eye matching his own when he took a life, stole the very breath from his lungs. You were beautiful even with blood spattered across your cheek.
You finally looked up, meeting Titus’s eye.
You’d really only heard stories about him. While you socialized in the same circles, you’d had little interaction beyond a polite greeting at events you both were required to be at.
You shifted your weight from foot to foot. There was something heavy in his gaze, something you couldn’t quite decipher. But it made you nervous. And it made your stomach twist, heat curling between your legs.
He looked down at the body in between the two of you. He nudged his leg with a heavy boot, looking for any sign of life. When there was none, he grunted in approval. “Two hours,” he said. It had only taken you two hours to find and kill him. “Impressive.”
And from that moment forward, he knew he had to have you.
Two years later, you were only minutes away from truly being his forever – from becoming Mrs. Danforth.
You stood in front of the full length mirror, adjusting the lace of your veil. You’d kicked all of your bridesmaids out along with your mother. All you wanted was a moment of peace and quiet before the ceremony to calm your nerves.
You weren’t having second thoughts. Of course not. You were in love with Titus, desperately so. He completed you in a way you never thought was possible. Wedding planning had simply been taxing. And now that the day was finally here, it was catching up to you.
The sound of floorboards creaking pulled you from your thoughts. You glanced back, expecting it to be your mother telling you it was time. But it wasn’t. It was your groom.
“Titus, you know you aren’t supposed to see me beforehand,” you chided despite the smile tugging at your lips. It was like he’d known exactly what you needed before you even knew – him. His presence seemed to shut your brain up.
He shrugged. “That is a stupid tradition,” he said, stepping further into the room. His eyes roved over your dress, taking in the lace and beadwork with an appreciative hum.
“Tradition is important.” Once he was close enough your hands found their way to his chest, trailing upwards to adjust his bowtie. You pressed a chaste kiss against his lips. “Now you need to go before my mother realizes you’ve been in here and blows a gasket.”
“I’ll see you at the altar, Mrs. Danforth,” he whispered before finally pulling away.
Mrs. Danforth. The sound of that echoed through your brain as your father walked you down the aisle. There were a thousand eyes on you but the only pair you cared about were those hazel ones waiting for you.
“We are gathered here today,” the officiant started the ceremony.
You were practically buzzing with energy as you went through your vows. You were eager to be his wife, to be Mrs. Danforth. And soon enough he slipped the ring on your finger and you repeated the action on him. Your ‘I do’s’ were said.
“You may kiss the bride.”
And Titus did.
His hands cradled your face, holding you like you were something precious, before he kissed you hard. He didn’t care who was watching as he devoured you.
When he finally pulled away, you were both breathless. But he didn’t go far. He pressed his forehead against yours, eyes falling shut for just a moment.
“Mrs. Danforth,” he whispered, breath ghosting against your skin.
“Mr. Danforth.” You grinned. “Shall we?”
“We shall.”
The reception was perfect – just how you’d envisioned it.
The night was finally winding down. The first of the guests had begun to leave. The rest were scattered around the gardens, a few still on the dance floor, the rest mingling in groups.
Titus was sitting at your table, sipping on a glass of champagne. He looked around, searching for you. Every moment you’d been apart he’d spent looking at you. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. He watched intently as you conspired with your bridesmaids. You were clearly plotting something, all huddled together with hushed voices.
It was even more evident that you had something up your sleeve as you peeled off from the group, a little grin on your lips. You made a beeline for your now-husband.
“Hi,” you hummed as you sat next to him.
“What are you up to?” he asked, straight to the point as always.
“I have a surprise for you.”
“A surprise?”
“Yep,” you said, popping the ‘p’. “A surprise.”
“Hm.”
He eyed you, tracking your movements as you slid a polaroid, face down, towards him. He picked it up.
It was a photo of you, wearing white, lacy lingerie and the veil you currently had on. You were laying on his bed, ass up, back arched, with one hand stretched in front of you to show off your wedding ring.
Titus inhaled sharply at the sight, his pants suddenly feeling tight.
“D’you like it?” you asked.
“Of course I like it,” he gritted out. It took every ounce of his self control not to pull you out of that chair and haul you inside. “Now, be a good girl and say goodbye to your guests, then we’re going inside.”
You nodded eagerly, scrambling to your feet. He didn’t leave your side as the two of you made rounds, thanking your guests for coming. And the moment you were done? He was practically dragging you to the bedroom.
“Fuckin’ tease,” he muttered, coming up behind you after locking the door. He toyed with the neckline of your dress. “You have that set on under here?”
“Yes,” you replied breathlessly.
“Let’s get you out of this, yeah?”
His hands meticulously undid the laces and buttons. If it were any other article of clothing, he wouldn’t bother. He’d have already ripped it off of you. But this was your wedding dress – the one you’d spent months grueling over. You’d probably suffocate him in his sleep if he ruined it.
You stepped out of the dress as it pooled around your ankles. Titus picked it up, draping it across one of the chairs.
“Get on the bed.”
The silk comforter was cool against your back as you laid down. Titus approached slowly, like a predator sizing up his prey. He nudged your thighs apart. His eyes locked onto the wet spot on those lacy white panties of yours. They were practically see through now that you’d soaked them thoroughly.
“Got yourself all worked up, huh?” He pulled your panties to the side. “Fuck, she’s dripping for me.”
Your hips shifted unconsciously, seeking friction from those thick fingers of his. He rolled his eyes at the impatience but he decided to be nice. It was your wedding night after all. So he dragged a finger through your slick.
He pulled a breathless noise from your lips as he finally sunk one finger into your aching hole. He pumped it slowly. In and out.
He pushed a second finger in, moving them in a ‘come-hither’ motion. Your head fell back against the pillows, his fingers curling against the spot that always had you seeing stars. He moved his fingers languidly, enjoying the feeling of your silky walls wrapped around him.
“Titus,” you whined his name, hips bucking into his hand. “Please!”
“Please, what?” he asked, voice dripping with condescension. “Gotta tell me what you want, honey.”
“Want more.” He clicked his tongue. “Want your cock, please.”
“That’s better,” he crooned.
He pulled his fingers from your cunt, bringing them up to your mouth. You opened up, licking your own arousal off his hand. With his free hand he worked open his pants, pushing them down far enough to free his aching cock. He hissed as your hand wrapped around him.
You stroked him a few times, before lining his tip up with your entrance. His hips finally met your own. He pulled one of your legs over his shoulder, letting him slip even further in. The other he hooked around his waist.
Each roll of his hips punched the air from your lungs. Nails dug into his broad shoulders in an attempt to ground yourself.
“Fuck,” he groaned. The sound of skin against skin and moans filled the room. “So fuckin’ perfect. Such a good wife.”
His hand slipped between your thighs, thumb landing on your engorged clit. He rubbed slow circles against the bundle of nerves. He could feel you clench around his length with every pass of his finger.
“‘m gonna cum,” you said.
“Cum for me, honey. Wanna feel you milk my cock.” His hips moved faster, trying to push you over the edge. And with a few more well angled thrusts he had the knot in your tummy snapping. But he didn’t stop, even as you began to squirm from the overstimulation.
“Titus–” With his name on your lips, it didn’t take long for him to follow you over the edge, spilling inside of you.
He stayed there, savoring the warmth of your cunt around his cock for a moment longer, before finally pulling out. You cringed as his cum spilled out of you, dirtying the sheets beneath you.
Once you’d caught your breath, you started to move, but he clamped his hands down on your hips, keeping you still.
“Titus,” you drawled. “‘m all sticky.”
“You can’t move yet. Gotta let it take.”
You raised an eyebrow. But he wasn’t even looking at you. He was completely transfixed, eyes on your weeping cunt. He lifted your hips slightly, putting a pillow under you to stop his cum from leaking out.
He finally looked back up at you. “Don’t you want t’give me a baby, honey?”
Oh. Heat crept through your body at his words.
Finally, you managed to nod.
“Then we gotta start trying now.” You shifted slightly, already getting worked up all over again at the thought. Titus grinned at the movement. “Does my wife like that? Y’want me to fill you up again? Make certain you get pregnant, honey?”
gill this is lowkey an insane thought but I’m thinking about cnc with toxic robby… reader wants to go out with her friends or something but robby being so controlling ofc doesn’t want her to go. they’re fighting about it or whatever so robby fucks her and gets her all soft and subby and pliant so she can’t leave or fight him🫣 omg sorry if this is too crazy
18+ mdni major cnc, major toxic!robby, controlling dynamics!! oh em gee.....this is crazy and toxic and i love it.....
hngggh it starts as hate sex while you guys are arguing... "I don't want you getting sloppy at a shitty club with a bunch of twenty-somethings." "I'm a twenty-something! I'm allowed to have fun!"
you expect it to stay rough and rushed, for him to be grabbing you and holding you still and taking what he wants with no regard for your pleasure.... but instead he fucks you just the way you like and has his hand between your thighs playing with your clit right away... he's still talking mean, his voice all angry and condescending as he grits out "You think you can just run around and do whatever you want?" "Are you starting to forget who's in charge around here? Huh?".. but at the same time he's very meticulously making you feel so good
you quickly cum on his cock but are still giving him pushback.... and then he really surprises you by pulling out, moving downwards, and licking a fat stripe up your wet slit. your hips jerk away since you're still so sensitive but he plants both arms across your middle and holds you down tight. you can't help but gape at him "What are you doing?"
and he just ignores you and eats your pussy like it's his job... grumbles occasionally against your mound "c'mon, where's my good girl" "don't fuckin' move. behave for me." while he does it.... he has you cumming in about 5 minutes
he sees the shift in you afterwards. He crawls back up your body as your chest is heaving on your come-down, and you're gazing up at him with blown pupils and heavy eyelids. He cups your cheek and strokes your balmy skin with his thumb, keeps his face stoic but his voice soft and asks "You wanna make daddy happy, honey?" n he finally lets himself smirk when you immediately nod. his thumb moves towards your mouth and pulls down your lower lip before slipping inside "Yeah. That's right. Gonna stay right here aren't you?" You give him another nod. "Attagirl. Love it when you fuckin' listen."
no, nothin shakespearian @deardev0teddelicate - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
