synopsis when your and Robby's son joins PTMC he sees just how much his parents have to deal with, including Myrna, the gift that just keeps on giving, and she thinks trading in the older model for the younger is a good investment (4.1k words)
warning language. parents reader with robby, mom!reader, preganant reader! general hospital stuff, allusions to smut, allusions to sex work!
authornote a very lovely anon pointed out that Myrna would love to tease Carter because he looks so much like his dad and I couldn't stop thinking about it. I love Myrna. I tried finding out more about her for this and all I could find was that she's apparently a sex worker? I don't know how true that is but there's hints to it in this fic. Thanks to anon for the idea! robby gif credit to @emziess, john carter gif credit to @erotizmas
pitt masterlist! part one 'the kids aren't alright'!
“VIP, room twelve asking for you,” was never a good thing to hear. VIP's meant family and friends, or on the other hand - frequent flyers that had been in enough to know their favourite doctors and nurses faces and names and who to ask for.
You hung your head and sighed before dragging your feet over that way.
“Might want to take the cuffs,” Dana added, sending you on your way.
You pushed open the door to twelve and was greeted with cigarette breath and stale perfume.
“Hey, sugar tits!”
“Myrna,” you greeted. “I thought we agreed we'd stop meeting like this.”
She chuckled, showing off teeth that weren't particularly white anymore, stained by years of smoking and drinking. “What can I say? I can't get away from you hot stuff.”
Myrna was around enough you were shocked she didn't have her own room. She did have her preference of wheelchairs, the one that had the smoothest wheels she deemed that made pushing around the Pitt and chasing doctors easier.
“What are we in for today?” you asked, folding your hands over her age old chart and keeping to the end of the bed.
Her brows rose. “Aren't you gonna come any closer?” she teased, crooking a finger into her as best she could from where they were restrained softly to the bed.
“Myrna you know I'm married.”
“Happily?”
“Sadly.”
“To the fruitcake?”
“Still,” you said with an amused smirk. Sometimes when you wanted to annoy Robby you'd call him fruitcake and watch his face twist up.
Myrna scoffed. “Pathetic.”
“You had another seizure?” you asked, knowing already her usual tricks.
“Yeah.”
“Who brought you in?”
“Some guy.”
“And what was his name this time?”
“Antonio. Italian. Handsome,” she said with a drool. “Looked great in his uniform.” Myrna pulled at her restraints again as you walked around her, checking the vitals another nurse (most likely Dana) had already took. “Are these really necessary?”
“They are when police bring you in.”
“Is this because I grabbed fruitcakes ass?” she asked.
“No, Myrna,” you said, checking her IV. “It's because you grabbed my ass.”
As if she were proud of herself, Myrna grinned and chuckled.
The door behind you pushed open gently, two bodies, one tall and lean and the other slightly rounded blocking the doorway.
“And this is, Myrna. Seizure activity, or so she says,” said Robby as he gestured from his son next to him to the lady in the bed.
Carter's med student days had been spent mostly in Presby, in order to avoid such conflicts of interests like working with his mom and dad in the ED. However, Presby was closed for up to two weeks due to a viral outbreak and quarantines that Robby insisted Carter come do days in the Pitt.
Carter was pressed in his fresh and light coloured scrubs, a polished stethoscope slung over his shoulders and a pep in his step. Looking at him, you wouldn't have thought he was roaming the halls he ran through as a child, talking to Dana as if he didn't use to babble incoherently at her.
“Myrna, say hello,” said Robby, passing you a nod.
Instead, Myrna dragged her tongue over her teeth and growled.
Carter all but jumped back.
“Fruitcake, you've multiplied,” she smirked.
“Don't worry, Carter,” you said. “She's harmless.”
“She's-she's tied to the bed.”
“Exactly. So she's harmless,” you said. “Just don't get too close if you're examining her, she bites.”
At first Carter laughed but when nobody- not even Myrna- laughed with him, he fell silent, looking between his dad and you. Robby only nodded, confirming that fact.
“Who is this tall, lean, fresh blood?” Myrna asked, eyeing him up.
“Myrna, this is Carter. Our kid. He is doing a emergency medicine rotation and is here to learn,” said Robby.
Carter's chest puffed out, his hair that was soft to the touch and bounced around like Robby's used to do, fell in front of his eyes.
Myrna shifted in her bed. “You need to do a physical, huh?”
“He does not,” said Robby. “Rest easy, we'll be back soon.”
Robby held the door open, letting you and Carter out first as if to protect you from her 'abuse', but he didn't close it quick enough, the nicknames sugar tits and fruitcake floating out behind you.
“What-what was that?” asked Carter, frowning at the names he could have sworn he heard.
“Nothing, don't think about it,” said Robby, a firm had clamped on his shoulder and stirring him away.
“Fruitcake?” he laughed, probably thinking of every way he could use it against him.
“I said don't ask.”
“Don't worry about Myrna, just keep your distance,” you advised.
Carter looked between you and Robby, the both of you in doctor and nurse mode. It was the sort of thing he'd caught glimpses of throughout his life but never seen so much of. The both of you shed the scrubs like skin when you got home, pulling off the medical practices and putting on everything you'd learned about being parents. It was a fine line, Robby had decided, between happiness and work and he wasn't going to drag the dead and the sick into the home he'd created.
“You guys put up with her a lot?” he asked.
Robby huffed. “She comes in to avoid the cops.”
“She's here so often we're thinking of inviting her to thanksgiving next year,” you teased.
“But she doesn't actually bite, does she?” asked Carter, laughing at the very idea.
You and Robby shared a look, ignoring him.
“Just don't find out the hard way, son,” advised Robby, leaving him to it and letting him go.
Carter nodded. “Is she the reason you came home with a bite mark on your shoulder last week?”
He regretted asking almost immediately as he watched your cheeks grow pink and watched Robby fight a smirk down at you. He reached for you, turning you around as you walked away laughing.
“Yeah, sure, son.”
Carter was at the nurses station, leaning over the cool counter and watching the rest of the ward work. He watched nurses float around him, Dana be called off on different ventures, traumas being wheeled in and pushed through doors. Nobody was calling his name. He was waiting to be called, to be rushed into the action.
At some point he watched you and his dad be called around, the two of you taking patients like it was a tag team mission. He watched Robby's hand ghost the small of your back as he directed you around, he watched your careful words console him after tough patients.
So, that's what love was.
The squeak of wheels from behind him sounded, dragging over the floor closer and closer.
“Doctor, doctor, I got a bad case of loving you,” said the drag of a voice.
Carter turned, looking down at the wheelchair. “Oh, I'm not a doctor. I'm a med student.”
“Younger, even better,” she smirked, licking her lips.
“You're Myrna, right?” said Carter, looking around him for help before he was cornered by her.
“Call me mama,” said Myrna.
Carter gulped, eyeing the handcuffs that gleamed in polished silver. She was attached to the wheelchair. Could she still bite him? “Is there anything I can help you with, Myrna?”
“You could make my time worth while,” she said with a lur of desire.
Presby had been a different kind of chaos to PTMC. There'd been a blur of patients and an over crowded hall way of equipment, less put back and clean and darker than here. He could see Myrna in daylight, the ragged pull of a dressing gown which seemed to be strictly hers. The dark colour of exhaustion under her eyes. Hadn't he been told she came here to hide from the cops?
“I need the bath room hot-stuff,” she said, as if catching his hesitation.
“Oh. Right. Yes, course, let me just-” Carter looked around desperately, hoping to catch a face he could put a name to. He drew a blank.
“Come on, sweet-cheeks,” she said, a low droll of her voice. “Never seen a real woman before?”
If he said yes would word get back to his mom? If he said no would word get back to his dad?
Finally, a small doctor in a neatly combed-back braid and glasses walked by, focused and clear of mind.
“Hey! Um, hey! Wait, Can I-Can I get some help?”
She looked back to him, eyes alight. “Oh, Doctor Robby! I mean not-not our Doctor Robby, a Doctor Robby, our third, really,” she frowned at herself and shook her head. “I'm Mel, D-Doctor King.”
“Hey, nice to meet you, Doctor King,” he greeted with a bright smile. “Myrna needs the bathroom and I-”
Mel caught on quick and took over the charge of Myrna who was less than enthusiastic later.
“Strip down and get on my bed, sailor!” she yelled.
Carter's cheeks blazed.
It was one of those days where things seemed quiet for you and Robby. Where patients came in with small complaints that could be handed off to med students and residents, carefully supervised of course.
So carefully supervised from Robby's place in the lounge, you perched on his lap with his arms tightly around you. You were only blocking his view a little bit, he'd know if anyone was dying at least, it was basically a sixth sense.
But with you in his lap, tracing patterns in his hands, Robby didn't seem to care if outside was on fire.
“You know, if this one's another boy,” he said, resting his head on your shoulder, hands pressing into the small, nearly un-noticeable swell of your stomach. “We might have to call him Jack.”
You smirked. It was a running joke that with three sons and one daughter not one of them was named after Jack, even if he was there for the births of them. Once when Robby was not.
“He might start thinking we hate him.”
“But if we have a girl I am not calling her Jaqueline,” you said.
Robby huffed a laugh into your shoulder. “No, definitely not.”
“I think if it's a girl, we should call her Stacey,” you suggested.
“Stacey?” asked Robby, trying to go through everyone you knew to understand why Stacey was an important name. He came up blank.
“So I can be Stacey's mom.”
Robby knew there was a joke there that he didn't understand.
You backed up, peering at him. “You don't know Stacey's mom?”
The door squeaked open, flashes of the Pitt startling the two of you as Dana walked in, pushing her glasses up into her hair.
“There you two are! Hiding out here while the rest of us do your dirty work!” she said, smiling at the sight.
“Is somebody dying, Dana?” asked Robby, smug and still secure with you in lap.
She scoffed. “Yeah, your kid.”
You shuffled in Robby's lap, sitting up straighter. “Carter?” anxiety clawed at your nerves, turned over the little breakfast you'd eaten.
“Myrna's got her claws in him, poor kid,” she said with a show of no sympathy. The truth was all of them had to put up with Myrna at some point. It was always best to get it out the way in the early days. Let Myrna have her fun then she usually left you alone.
Except you. And Robby. By a common trend, Carter might not be so lucky either.
Robby's hands squeezed your thighs, a subtle signal that you were both going to have to get up. “All part of the hazing programme.”
The three of you crept to the door, huddled close and looking out the slim window at the door.
In his scrubs still yet to be strained, Carter was crowded at the counter, Myrna and her wheelchair up to his feet, practically rolling over his toes in the trainers you'd brought him. He was laughing awkwardly and trying to climb up the counter to get away from her. You'd never seen someone so afraid of an elderly woman in a wheelchair.
Robby's chest rumbled in a chuckle as he lingered over you. “He's your son.”
You swatted his chest.
“C'mon,” tutted Dana. “He's doing good. Says he wants to go inter surgery.”
“We taught him where the money is.”
Across the way the three of you noticed you weren't the only one watching the show. Hiding by an exam room, a curtain pulled close you could see Santos and Whitaker watching. Trinity was doing a bad job at hiding her grin while Denis was a decent guy, he looked bad.
“Shouldn't we be helping him out?” you pondered.
“Are you kidding?” smirked Dana. “This is the most fun I've had in years.”
“You think he gets treated better at Presby?” you asked.
Robby shook his head. “Presby doesn't have a Myrna.”
Carter had just stitched up a gruesome cut in a leg, finally staining his scrubs in a speck of blood. It was small but made him feel like a real doctor.
He was just walking past an exam room when he heard calling. He supposed it was for him, though it wasn't his name.
“Hey! Pussycat!”
He paused past the exam room, hand grasped at the doorframe to steady him. Sweet-cheeks. Hot-stuff. Pussycat. Carter dreaded to think what she could come up with next.
Carter stepped back. “It's-It's Carter, or Robinavitch.”
“Yeah, yeah, plenty of them,” she said, holding up her arm as far as she could while restrained. “I got an itch.”
“Okay?”
Her restraints jangled again as she proved a point. “I can't reach.”
He was stuck in spot, wondering if Myrna had been paid by his parents to make his day harder. With a sigh he took a step in at her bed side, making an exaggerated move in tugging on powderless, latex gloves.
She watched and rolled her eyes.
Carter was tempted to pull on a mask to prove a point. “Where's the itch?”
Myrna tugged a little at her gown, exposing the curve of her thigh. “Right here,” she said, as seductive as she could.
Carter stared down at the skin, veins a deep blue and a wide purple bruise forming over where she needed the itch. He drew a stool closer and settled, drawing a delicate circle around the mark. “When did this happen?”
“When the cops caught me, itch!”
Gently, Carter started to drag his fingers over the mark she emphasised. He eyed the bruise still, trying to find the best way about it. Had anyone else examined her? “I could get you a band for that,” he said. “To help with the inflammation. Some elevation and that-”
“Higher!” she said.
Carter looked to see if she had listened to him. It seemed she had not. He moved half an inch further, knowing where his hand would end up if he went any more, or even if she shifted.
“You know know one's been this high up to me since my third husband,” she said.
“What happened to the other two?”
“I killed them!”
When Carter looked up at her she seemed only smug and proud of herself. It was impossible to tell what was a lie.
Myrna rose her brows in challenge.
Carter itched a second more before slowly taking away his hand, yet she latched on like a snake sinking in its claws when his hand brushed hers. “Is your... itch satisfied?”
“Not yet sugar,” she smirked. “You want to see my Vagina?”
Carter felt his cheeks rise up in heat.
“Myrna,” you appeared in the doorway, leaning there with your pleasing smile, the sort reserved for patients. At home, the kids got a different one. And Robby got another one. “Are you behaving?”
“Me? Please. I'm a good girl,” she said with a wink, releasing Carter.
He fell to your side quickly, like you could protect him.
“Really? Cause we've had a complaint from a nurse saying you grabbed his ass,” you said.
Her face fell. “That grey-haired pussycat? There was nothing there for me to grab, please.”
“So you're keeping your hands to yourself?” you asked.
“Urm, mom- I-I mean Nurse Robinavitch,” said Carter with a clear of his throat. “Miss- Mrs, er-”
“It's just Myrna, Carter.”
“Oh, okay.”
“She won't tell us her last name,” you added, looking to her pointedly.
“It changes!”
“Myrna has a pretty bad coloured bruise on her thigh,” he said. “I suggested a band to help with the swelling and elevation.”
You nodded. “She knows all of this. We put a band on her when she came in with the bruising, she just choses not to.”
“You want to see my vagina?” asked Myrna.
Carter looked back to you. “And she keeps asking that.”
“I'd be worried if she didn't.”
“Can I see yours?” she asked.
Carter suddenly really didn't want to be in that room.
You patted his shoulder, gently leading him out the room. “When you become a doctor, Myrna and I have a problem you'll be the first I go to, I promise.”
You closed the door behind you and chuckled quietly, shaking your head.
“Is she- is she a real patient?” Carter asked. “Or has dad paid her to do all this?”
“Myrna is as real as they get. Just wait till you meet Earl.”
“Who's Earl?”
“Don't ask.”
It was only one hour later when Carter knew what all the warnings about Myrna had been about. Why Jesse had complained about her hand and his butt. He knew it in the cigarette breath, the scratch of a wheelchair against the floor and the pinch in his ass.
“Ah- what the-”
Myrna was still looking down at him when Carter turned, biting his tongue. “You have a much better ass than your daddy.”
“Okay, Myrna, that's-”
Before he could erupt about how wrong it was to flirt, to pet name, to touch, two doctors slid up on either side of her.
“Hey, pussycat,” said Santos, taking the bars of the wheelchair and pushing her away. Next to her Javadi accompanied and Carter followed slowly to see what happened to her. “We've got your discharge papers.”
“Fuck off,” she grumbled.
“Ah, my own term of endearment.”
“So you're like-” started Javadi next to Carter. “The prince of this place?”
Carter was surprised it had taken this long for someone to bring up his name. To bring up the fact he was a Robinavitch. “I mean, I don't know about prince.”
“Please,” said Santos with a scoff as she pushed the door open to Myrna's room with her back. “You're set to inherit this place when Robby retires. Or if.”
He didn't think Robby would ever retire. There were days his dad relaxed, always easier when with you. If the both of you had days off, which seemed to be the only days you and Robby took off, Carter could usually find the two of you at each other's side. It was all romantic but as the child to witness the stolen kisses in the kitchen, the moments you both thought you were being sneaky in making excuses as to why Casey shouldn't come in their room for ten minutes, it was also embarrassing.
In PTMC it didn't seem to change that much.
Robby still touched you all the time. Still looked for you when he left every exam room, still called for you at every trauma. He almost envied anyone else ever trying to get in Robby's good books because your name took up the whole thing.
Robby wasn't leaving this place without you.
“I'm thinking about surgery, actually,” he said.
Victoria's eyes widened. “Surgery. Woah. That's- that's really cool,” she said with a dusting of pink on her cheeks.
Santos's eyes rolled. “Surgery, yeah, great.”
“She's got a lover up in surgery,” said Myrna as she moved herself back into bed.
Carter's brows rose. “O-oh?”
“You know,” said Javadi as he looked back to her. She was staring up at him, a sparkle in her eyes. “It's-it's like they copy and pasted Doctor Robby.”
“Yeah, I- I get that a lot.”
“Goin’ into medicine like them?” Said Myrna with a cheap Ha! Punctuated at the end. “What’s the point? I won’t be around forever to watch out for you Robinavitch’s.”
“Don’t say that, Myrna,” Trinity said with an air of boredom, like she’d had this conversation a hundred times before. “You’re gonna live forever.”
Myrna chuckled dryly.
“I-I’m thinking of psychiatry,” said Victoria, still to Carter. “Emergency psychiatry.”
Carter nodded. “Cool.”
“You think so?” She blushed.
“Crash, you can’t flirt with Carter,” said Santos. “That’s like flirting with Robby.”
Victoria stuttered, ponytail swooshing as she looked between her and Carter. “I’m-I’m not flirting. What? No, I-I would never and that’s totally- totally-”
“Honey,” said Myrna. “This is painful.”
With some dull excuse, Javadi scrambled away quickly, Carter still trying to figure out just what had happened as he watched her go.
Santos looked at where she’d left. “Damn. Crash crashed.”
You were hunched over at the nurses station, chasing up labs for Robby as he always knew how to ask sweetly. In the dim reflection of the glow of the screen you saw Myrna creeping closer, regular clothes adorned.
“Myrna,” you warned.
“Can't a girl say hello?”
“So long as your hands are to yourself.”
“Then how are we supposed to shake hands?” she hummed, the gruff sort.
You shook your head and fought of a smile as you slowly turned to her. “I'm sure you'll be shaking something. Are you going home?”
Myrna smirked. “The city doesn't sleep for anyone.”
It wasn't a secret to you what Myrna did that had her being brought in so often enough you typically always had a gown and room ready, even her favourite snacks in the lounge. She'd maybe never said it in so many words but you knew the streets were her domain, the hospital her sanctuary. You'd offered to help, dropped of pamphlets on her first few visits before you realised she only used it to dump her gum.
“So, I'll be seeing you soon?”
“You know I can't stay away from you, Sugar Tits.”
“Don't I know it,” you said, walking her out to the doors. The real VIP treatment of passing through the ambulance bay.
“Your kid is good,” she grumbled.
You smiled to yourself. “You think so?”
“He's on a tight leash. You must have warned him about me?”
“That we did.”
She rolled her eyes, her mascara smudging at the edges. “He'll be an annoyingly good doctor. Just like his daddy.”
“Who knows, maybe the next time you're here he'll be around to patch you up.”
The automatic doors slid open as you walked her outside, letting her give her flirtatious smiles and winks to the paramedics on call and a special blow of the kiss to Ahmed.
“Yeah,” said Myrna in the dying light of the day. “I left him a little something to remember me by, just in case he forgets me.”
You chuckled. “I don't think he'll be forgetting you.”
When she was far away enough, Myrna popped a cigarette between her cracking lips and lit it up. Though she may have squeezed the asses of any hospital worker close enough, she respected the rules enough to stand out of the no smoking zone and light one up.
“Well, see you around sugar tits!”
You watched her slowly walk off, the click-clack of her heels fading as she went.
The doors behind you sounded and Robby's arm slowly slid over your shoulders.
“Was that Myrna?” he asked.
“Yeah, she's off to fight crime and defend our streets,” you teased.
“You worry about her?”
You worried about everything. Really, it was your job as a nurse. Your regulars who came in, Earl with his sandwich requests, Louis and his stories, Myrna with her nicknames. You worried that every time you saw them it would be your last.
Robby drew you in closer to his chest, caving you in in his warmth. “She'll be back, then you'll be sorry.”
Behind you the ambulance bay doors slid open and closed again and a distressed voice called out.
“Why is this in my bag?”
The both of you turned to Carter who was pink in the cheeks and hands trembled as he held up a thin and stringy lingerie set. It was pink with bows, saggy in all the wrong places and teared slightly at the seems.
You chuckled as Robby stared, almost as alarmed as Carter. “That's Myrna's gift. From her to you.”
You had a felling she'd be back for that.
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summary: robby’s sabbatical was meant to be peaceful, some time away for him to relax and clear his head. that is until he picks up a hitchhiker, who seems to want to stick around for longer than he anticipates.
word count: 2.5k
warnings: smut (18+ mdni), sleazy!robby, oral sex (m receiving), age gap, use of the word kid/kiddo, naive!reader, semi-public sex (i mean they’re in a truck on the side of an empty highway lolol)
a/n: this went longer than i anticipated but i’m lowk not finished so there’ll probably be a second part to this soon
after everyone at ptmc insists that his sabbatical is purely just a midlife crisis, robby decides that maybe the motorcycle trip isn’t such a good idea, especially after it took damage from the ambulance—so he takes his truck instead. driving along long empty highways north of pittsburgh, windows down and rock music blasting out his radio. he’s got one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the door, fingers tapping along to the music. he’s concentrating on the road, which is how he almost misses you standing at the side of the road, bag at your feet and your hand out. robby manages to slow down just in front of you, watching as you grab your bag and walk up to his window.
“hi, uhm, are you able to give me a ride? just to the nearest town?” you speak so sweetly, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet. robby smiles and nods, gesturing for you to get in. you thank him numerous times, opening the door and sliding onto the front seat, placing your bag at your feet and clicking the seatbelt in.
“so, what’s a pretty girl like you doin’ out here? you get lost or somethin’?”
“i didn’t have any change for the bus.. so had to hitchhike my way to the next town, but you’re the only person who’s stopped.. so thank you..”
“no problem, kid..”
you smiled at him, before settling more into the seat and staring out the window, mouthing along to the words of the song blaring out his radio. robby caught you out his peripheral and swallowed thickly—he’s trying to be good, to not want to just pull over and pounce on the first pretty girl he sees. but here you are in a white crop top and some short denim daisy dukes, silently singing along to life in the fast lane by eagles. he has to squirm slightly in his seat, trying to adjust himself in his pants as his dick twitches against the material. all he has to do is get you from a to b, just the next town over, which according to the map on his phone, is only a 15 minute drive. he can do that, he can contain himself for 15 minutes—he just has to focus on the road, the trees surrounding it, the birds screeching outside the car, the warm blue sky above him. anything but you. you, who’s now taken your shoes off and tucked your legs up on the seat, still staring out the window and tapping your fingers to the music.
robby’s hands slip down the wheel slightly, his hands suddenly all sweaty and clammy. he grips it tighter, knuckles going white as he blinks rapidly a few times, trying to zero in on the road ahead, making sure he doesn’t hit anything—but there’s not a single car for miles and he knows he probably won’t see one until he enters the next town over.
robby then notices you turn your head to face him and he swallows thickly again, trying to rid any perverted thoughts in his brain before he answers whatever question you’re about to ask him.
“do you think you’d be able to take me to an atm when we reach the next town? i have my card on me but no cash..”
“yeah, sure thing..“ robby somehow manages to keep his composure as he glances over at you, smiling as you nod at him, before turning your head back to the window, slowly closing your eyes.
the drive to the next town felt like it went on forever, but thankfully there was a gas station just on the outskirts and robby pulled over to let you get some cash. he refuelled before heading into the store to grab some water and pay for his gas. when he returned, you were in the front seat and he dropped a bottle of water onto your lap through the window. you thanked him and took a sip while he rounded the car to get into the drivers seat. he drove through the town, trying to find a good place to stop and let you off, before he pulled into a motel nearby.
“this okay? you didn’t really specify where you wanted to be dropped off and i’m staying the night so..”
“no no, this is perfect, thank you..”
robby gets out the car, before opening the backseat and grabbing his bag, heading over to reception and silently praying there’s still rooms available. he hadn’t notice you following behind him until he opened the door to reception and saw your hand keep the door open as you walked in. he huffs out a laugh as he turns to face you.
“you followin’ me or somethin’?”
“oh yeah, totally..”
robby raised an eyebrow at you before you spoke again.
“i’m just gonna ask someone in here for directions..”
robby nods and steps aside to let you go to the front desk first, watching as the receptionist points out the door and helps you on your way. you smile at her before thanking her and walking past robby, but you stop at the door and turn round.
“i never got your name..”
“michael..”
“well, michael, thank you for the ride.. hope the rest of your trip goes well..”
“same to you, see y’around kid..”
robby walks up to reception, pays for a room and then heads up to get some rest. he doesn’t even realise how exhausted he is until he lays down on the bed, yawns and closes his eyes. his mind wanders, thinking of back home, the hospital, everyone he misses, knowing he didn’t really leave on good terms. he knows he was self-destructive, but he won’t ever admit that to anyone, he doesn’t want to come across as weak. then he thinks of you, but he shakes the thought away, trying to think of anything else. but he keeps coming back to you, how soft you looked all tucked up on the front seat of his truck.
in his dreams, he pictures you so vividly, can hear you so clearly and he’s quite glad you’re out of his life because he’s not sure he could ever face you again—not after he imagined your sweet little voice, begging to have his cock in your mouth as payment for the ride he gave you into town. not after he pictured you with his cock down your throat, one hand on the wheel and one hand on the back of your head, encouraging words falling from his lips as he drives along the highway, blunt head of his cock hitting the back of your throat. and especially not after he comes in his pants, dreaming of coming down your throat, thanking you over and over again as you splutter around his length.
he stirs awake a few hours later, staring down at the wet patch on his jeans and groaning, tugging them off and throwing them on the floor, before he notices the bigger wet patch on his boxers and pulls his now soft dick out. he grabs a tissue and wipes himself up, throwing the used tissue in the trash can next to the bed. he grumbles as he gets up and walks to the bathroom, turning the shower on and stepping in under the water. resting one hand on the tiled wall, he drops his head and closes his eyes, letting the water drip down his back. it’s cold, stings his back slightly and he hisses, but he tries to push through, hoping that the cold water burns away any thoughts he still has of you.
you were too pretty for him, and way too good for him. he’s rough around the edges, and you’re so sweet—but maybe that’s why he’s drawn to you. maybe, he thinks, you’re exactly what he needs to turn his life around. something so sweet, so soft, so gentle, so kind.
he turns the shower off, grabs a towel to dry himself off, then slips into his pajama pants and gets back into bed. he tosses and turns for around an hour before he finally settles down, facing away from the window.
the light shines into his room in the morning, forcing him awake. he stumbles slowly around the room, grabbing the clothes he discarded last night and shoving them in his bag, before he slips the bag over his shoulder and exits the room. he jingles his keys in his hand as he makes his way down to his truck, but stops in his tracks when he spots you standing by his truck. you fidgeted nervously with your hands, your bag slipping off your shoulder as you occasionally pulled it back up. robby swallows, or tries to, his mouth suddenly going dry when you look over at him slowly walking towards you.
“hi.. again..”
“yeah, hi.. is everything okay?”
“i uhm.. got a little drunk last night.. missed the last bus.. can you give me another ride?”
robby huffs out a laugh, stepping beside you to open the back door of his truck, throwing his bag in before turning to you with his hand out. you look up at him, slightly confused before he nods to your bag.
“oh, sorry..” you mumble, handing your bag to him before getting in the front seat once again. he shuts the door before quickly walking to reception and handing his key back. he comes back to his truck and gets in the drivers side, before he sighs and looks over at you.
“you look like you got somethin’ on your mind..”
“‘m fine..”
“yeah?” robby questions you, putting the truck into gear and driving off, pulling out the car park and down the street. occasionally he would look over at you, your eyes looking down at your hands in your lap, still fidgeting nervously. you kicked your shoes off again, tucking your feet under you and getting comfy as you stared out the window. it wasn’t until robby had driven out of the town and onto the next highway that you finally looked over at him, the vice-like grip he has on the steering wheel and the laser focus he has on the road ahead—and just for a second, your eyes flick down to his crotch area, gaze lingering longer than you wanted to as you watched his dick twitch slightly in his pants. you quickly glanced back out the window, hoping robby didn’t notice. but then you felt the truck slow to a stop, pulling over to the side of the road. you suddenly felt small sitting tucked up in the front seat, watching robby as he unclips his seatbelt and turns his body to face you.
“wh-why did you stop?”
“why did you come back? i want you to be honest with me..”
“i told you.. i missed the bus..”
“mmhm.. not because you want something else?”
“n-no..” you squeaked out a response, eyes flicking down to his crotch once again, watching his hand as he made an attempt to stroke himself through his jeans. you looked back up at him, eyes glassy and wet, as your hand subconsciously unclipped your own seatbelt. you’re not even entirely sure what you were doing, but you didn’t stop robby when he reached over and grabbed your hand in his, pulling you across the front bench to sit next to him and placing your hand over the bulge in his jeans.
“you feel that, honey?”
“y-yeah..”
“s’all because of you.. so sweet, makin’ me all hard while i’m drivin’..”
“m-me?”
“mmhm.. want to touch it?”
you open your mouth to speak but nothing comes out, voice lost as you nod meekly, pulling your hand back as he unzips his jeans and pulls his dick out. he lets you reach over yourself this time, hand barely fitting around his girth, hissing slightly when you tug at his cock.
“is.. is that good? am i doing good?”
“shit.. yeah, kid.. feels so, fuck.. so fucking good..”
“can i taste it? please?” robby feels like he’s been hit by an 18-wheeler when you ask him that, your voice all sweet and innocent as you continue to jerk him off. only last night did he have this exact dream, and he told himself he shouldn’t do this, shouldn’t let you get close to him—but he can’t say no, not when you’re asking so politely. so all he can do is place a hand on the back of your head and nod at you, letting you bend forward, licking at his tip a few times.
“s’that good?”
“yeah.. why don’t you try puttin’ it in your mouth, sweetheart..”
“o-okay..”
robby groaned as he looked down, watching your mouth open, tongue hanging out as you bent forward again, gagging when he was only halfway in your mouth. you immediately pulled off him, wiping up the trail of saliva dribbling down your chin as you look up at him again, eyes wet and wide as you blink back tears.
“wanna try again, kiddo? you were doin’ so well f’me..”
“hurts..”
“s’just because it’s big, honey..”
“n-no.. my knees hurt..”
“swing your legs down.. that’s it, that better?”
“mmhm..”
robby smiled, patting your hair as you moved back forward, taking him in your mouth again, bobbing your head up and down. robby tries to keep an eye on the road ahead, occasionally glancing at the rear view mirror for any other vehicles passing by. he struggles to keep his focus when you keep bobbing your head further down, getting more than halfway before coughing and spluttering. he coos at you, muttering little phrases of encouragement and telling you you’re doing such a good job—and you’re still not entirely sure what you’re really doing, but robby’s telling you it’s good so you try to keep going. it’s only when you finally manage to take all of him down your throat—blunt head hitting the back of your throat, his voice straining as he curses, his hand gripping the back of your neck tightly—that you realise what makes him feel good. so you go again, nose hitting his plush stomach, over and over again.
“fuckin’ hell, kid.. fuck, fuck, fuck! gonna make me cum.. shit.. that what you want? want it down your throat?”
you swallow him down again, nodding as you let him hold you in place, squeezing your eyes shut as your nose is squashed against the soft of his belly. you hear him curse a few more times before he exhales, feeling the warm liquid of his cum drip down your throat—the taste is weird, funny but you swallow it down, blinking back tears as he pulls you off him.
“good?”
“so good, kiddo..”
he leans forward to press a soft kiss to your lips, hand gripping your chin. you sit back down on the front bench, leaning into his side, looking down and watching his dick slowly go soft in his lap. you both sat in silence for a few moments, robby tucking himself back into his jeans as you nuzzled your head into his arm. he tilted his head, leaning his cheek on the top of your head, before you decided to say something.
“i uhm.. does this trip of yours have maybe.. room for one more?”
“you wanna come with me?”
you just nod, pulling slightly back to look up at him, as he turns his head to face you with a smile.
frank and robby's unresolved resentment comes to a head when their rivalry turns sexual and they start using you as the middle ground.
MASTERLIST | RULES | PINTEREST
PAIRING michael robby robinavitch x reader x frank langdon
WARNING 18+ MDNI explicit smut, fem!reader, AFAB!reader, ménage à trois, boyfriend!langdon & boss!robby, freaks being freaks, hate sex?, robby and langdon using reader as a stress toy and therapist all in one <3, possessive!langdon, robby is condescending per usual but like in a hot way, oral (male & female receiving), robby picks up reader to throw her on mattress at one point, voyeurism, lots of pet names (sweetheart, baby, doll, etc), starts with robby and frank at odds with each other, ends with them teaming up against you... wink wink, lots of dirty talk, robby and frank talking about reader to each other, langdon lowkey degrading robby? idk yall
WC 4.2k | REQUEST here!
You didn’t think this little plan of yours all the way through.
Which, in your defense, implies there was a point at which there had been a thought-through version, and that feels charitable now that you’re standing in the middle of your living room with a paper plate in one hand and a steadily souring sense of dread in the other.
Because really, what sort of person invites her chief attending over to the apartment she shares with her resident boyfriend while the two of them are still in the world’s iciest little bro-divorce?
Your sort, apparently. Certified dim-bulb. Girl who sees a gas leak and thinks, hm, maybe a sparkler would improve this situation.
But in your defense the frost between them had been spreading and you were tired of pretending it wasn’t. Tired of pretending it wasn’t affecting the job itself. Everyone was.
So yes, maybe engineering one contained, inescapable little social crucible had felt wise at the time. Healing, even. Put two men in a room and let nature take its course.
Frost can’t survive fire, you told yourself. What you failed to remember was that fire tends to not be warm in any benevolent way. Fire bites. Fire blackens. Fire leaves marks.
The proof of your terrible idea now sits on opposite ends of the sofa. Robby on one, Frank on the other, a clean swatch of empty cushion between them while they chew their food in perfect, hostile union — bite, grind, swallow, repeat — ostensibly watching the TV.
The screen washes them in intermittent blue light, giving them both somewhere neutral to stare, somewhere that is not each other’s face.
You give it three more seconds. A generous three, really. More than either of them deserves. Then your patient collapses inward on itself. With a sigh, you deposit your plate on the coffee table and cross the room.
If they want to commit to this pageant of masculine emotional constipation, fine. You can be disruptive. You turn and reverse yourself right into Frank’s lap, crossing your legs at the ankles.
His breath catches against your neck, a fracture in an otherwise composed exterior, surprise or shock of you climbing on him in front of your boss, but he stays statue-still except for the palm that migrates to your thigh and clamps there.
“Robby, you still think their rookie QB’s gonna choke in the red zone?” you ask, making a doomed little bid for peace with the ragged scraps of football knowledge you’ve managed to absorb by osmosis, your chin tipping toward the drive unfolding onscreen.
Without so much as a glance your way, Robby grunts, “Kid’s overdue for a disaster,” a verdict delivered to the television but seemingly tagged for his recovering subordinate to his left.
The half-smirk that follows is pure instigation, and Frank answers it the only way he can in mixed company: “Disaster? He just took them eighty yards in two and a half minutes. Think that earns him at least a little faith.”
And spiteful tone notwithstanding, the words pass between them minus bloodshed, which you decide counts as a victory.
Maybe not a large victory, not something they’d name a holiday after, but you’ll take whatever pocket-sized miracles the universe is handing out before it changes its mind.
Robby finally cuts Frank a sidelong look, head ticking just enough to register annoyance. “Faith won’t change the fact he’s already gift-wrapped the defense a few choice turnovers. Odds say he does it again once the end zone feels too close for comfort.”
Frank’s knee bobs once with a scoff, bouncing you with just enough force that your t-shirt shifts, neckline dipping. Robby’s gaze snaps there like iron to a magnet; he tips his beer to hide a grin, but the swelter in his stare is anything but subtle.
Interesting.
It’s not the first time you’ve caught Robby looking at you like that.
There have been other moments, in passing, usually at work. You’ve caught him with that glazed, faraway stare before he could reel it back in when you bend over a counter to grab a pen or crowd too close beside him in those paper-thin scrubs.
It’s always just been filed away under things that are none of your business, because you are Frank’s and happily so, and desire from other men has always struck you as one of those minor background inconveniences of having a body in public.
But now this feels less easy to write off. Like all that tension that had been hard and almost boring in its predictability has warped into something else entirely. It feels humid and unstable and just this side of visible.
You can’t name it yet, but it waits there all the same, right at the edge of articulation, poised like it knows you’ll eventually have to.
“Real rich, coming from you,” Frank says to himself and you, but the tail end mutters itself into “— jackass.”
They both return to the TV after that, or pretend to, shoulders squared forward, expressions set into the particular blankness of men who are absolutely not done arguing but have decided, temporarily, to ferment.
You take advantage of the attention shift, letting gravity slump you into Frank’s chest, hips shifting in an absent figure-eight as you settle. It would’ve been innocent if the movement didn’t drag you directly over the hard proof of his excitement beneath you.
Your brows lift.
Another interesting development.
Useful, too, knowing whatever strange atmospheric disturbance has rolled through the room has not passed over him untouched. Not just Robby, then.
“Easy.” His inhale saws across your nape, voice pitched for you alone, the consonants clipped and almost panicked. “You tryna start something?”
You really weren’t, but you know he’s not in a position to believe you right now after you made a show of climbing on top of him not two minutes earlier.
Across the cushions, Robby’s tongue drags across his lower lip like he’s cleaning a knife, bottle slack in his hand.
“Hmm? Third-and-four, babe. Pay attention.”
“You don’t even know what third-and-four means,” he growls under his breath. “You’re already on thin ice after springing Robby on me — so do us both a favor and quit squirming.”
“Should probably listen to him, kid,” Robby says suddenly. You and Frank turn at the same time, guilty in stereo. He reclines deeper into the couch, lids at half-mast, utterly unmoved by Frank’s incoming glare. “If Langdon wants you to quit squirming it’s only ‘cause he’s struggling to keep up,” he drawls, eyes flicking to the tell-tale bulge under your ass. “Guy’s never been great at thinking and feeling at the same time.”
You don’t even have time to be embarassed before Frank’s growling, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Robby.”
“Is that right?” he challenges with raised brows. “Well, you’re welcome to show me.”
Heat prickles along your neck, a phantom fingerprint.
Surely that’s not the invitation you take it as. You just have your mind in the gutter. A mind that happily projects the image anyway. Robby reclined in that same spot, beer perched on his knee, gaze foggy with lust while Frank’s mouth maps yours and your hips test how steady the good doctor’s hands really are.
It is, on reflection, not nearly as appalling a thought as it should be, which feels like a separate problem and also, perhaps, the main one.
“Relax, Frank. If you can’t handle it, just say the word — I’m happy to keep her occupied.”
Oh. You stand corrected.
Frank’s lips peel back in something just shy of a grin. His hand slips from your thigh only long enough to cup your jaw, turning your head until the room blurs to the halo of his face.
“She’s already occupied,” he tells Robby, but his eyes stay on you, a dare stretching between eyelashes.
You don’t blink. Don’t breathe. Don’t so much as twitch, and that tiny surrender is apparently all the permission Frank needs.
His lips crash into yours, teeth scraping, soda-sweet fizz sparking on this tongue while his arm bands tight around your waist. The couch groans under the sudden torque of bodies. Denim grinds denim until sparks pop behind your eyes and every rational neuron shrugs, clocks out, leaves libido in full command.
The instant your mouths part for air, Robby’s bottle clinks onto the table.
You turn just as he leans in, forearms braced on his knees, broad shoulders now blocking half the TV’s glow. Up close, his stare tracks the smear of Frank’s spit on your bottom lip, the way your chest still heaves in uneven intakes.
A shadowy smile carves on cheek as Robby tilts his head, dark eyes roaming from your swollen mouth to Frank’s white-knuckled grip on your thigh.
“Could use a closer angle,” he mutters.
“By all means,” Frank sneers, one fist gathering your waistband, tugging you a slow quarter-turn until you’re astride him, chest to chest, knees snug to his hips.
On the short but damning list of Professional Conduct Hell-Nos, “make out with your boyfriend while your boss spectates” probably ranks very high. Somewhere between falsifying patient charts and starting a fistfight in the ambulance bay. Possibly above stealing narcotics, which feels in poor taste to think with both men in the room, but then again, the evening has already wandered several zip codes past good taste.
It wanders even further when Frank kisses you again.
The list of reasons this is wrong atomizes into glitter until even Robby’s razor-keen gaze becomes another blur at the edge of the frame, taking in tremors you no longer have the bandwidth to hide.
But the awareness of the extra set of eyes of you only seems to dump pure accelerant into your bloodstream until you’re arching into Frank and rolling your hips down against the thick seam of his fly, bumping perfect pressure against your clit.
A wet rush answers between your thighs, lace sticking to your folds, and your breasts mash against Frank’s chest until you can feel your own heart ricochet through peaked nipples.
You break the kiss again only to clamp down on his lower lip in your teeth and tug, over-dramatic, leaving a sticky sheen that practically screams look what you’re missing, Dr. Robinavitch.
“Sure he’s convinced, Frankie?” you ask, breathless, thumb dragging over his lower lip to soothe the place your teeth had just nipped at. “Convinced I’m tied up and off-limits?”
Frank laughs, a thin, rattled sound. His hand coasts up the slope of your back, ironing himself into every dip and imperfection.
“Dunno, baby.” He ghosts a kiss at the corner of your grin, another softer one under your jaw. His gaze darts over your shoulder to Robby, then sinks back to you, trouble puddling in the dimples you love. “You wanna show him? Show him how much you like taking care of me?”
You’re nodding before the sentence is half-born, a frantic little yes-yes-yes of motion.
In your haste you misjudge your own limbs, nearly knotting them with Frank’s before scrambling free. You drop between his thighs, the carpet scraping your knee raw as one hand shoots out to catch the dense muscle of his quad for balance.
To your left, Robby shakes loose a low, entertained hum. “Poor thing was just waiting to be useful.”
“She’s useful all the time,” Frank murmurs, and there’s no bite in it. His fingers sink into your hair and comb it gently back from your face. With his other hand, he pops the button of his jeans, zipping sliding down slow enough to hear every metal tooth give way. “Just happens to be especially pretty when she’s desperate to prove it.”
A guttural breath escapes Frank as he eases himself out, fist wrapped around a length that stands fierce in his hand, the flushed head of his cock blushing deeper with every absent pass of his thumb.
Your lips part, tongue wetting the seam, gaze fixed with the naked intent of an animal staring down dinner. Satisfaction flickers in his eyes. He offers a slow, decisive nod.
You don’t wait for a second invitation. You are many things but wasteful is not one of them.
Fingers wrap him in one cautious loop, then tighten once his inhale hiccups above you. You lean in and drag your tongue in one flat stripe from base to tip, tasting salt and the darker thing that’s only his.
He hisses through his teeth, every muscle in his thighs wiring tight under your palms, his hands balling like he’s fighting the reflex to bury them in your hair and steer.
Before he’s recovered, you’re already sliding him past your lips, and all that soft worship knifes into raw, unfiltered hunger.
His fingers finally tangle at your nape, gathering the curtain of your hair back in a practiced sweep, granting him an unobstructed view as your mouth sets a slow pulse around him. Like he needs to see every inch of what you’re doing to him or he’ll die from not knowing.
Your hand picks up the slack, stroking the length your mouth vacates.
“Jesus.”
“Told you,” Frank says. “She likes takin’ care of me.”
And you are. Eager. Greedy. Shamelessly so, student-raises-her-hand-before-the-question-is-finished so. You take Robby’s little barb as praise anyway, letting it roll down your spine, because if he wanted you less eager then maybe he should stop sounding so interested in it.
You work him deeper, spit glazing the shaft, smearing over your knuckles. Saliva puddles in the cradle of his pants, printing a wet halo.
Frank’s head thunks back against the couch. “If you had her mouth on you, Robby,” he grits, “you’d be begging for the same… enthusiasm.”
“You offering?” Robby asks Frank. “Because I’ll admit — she’s a lot more tempting on her knees than being a smartass during rounds. I could get used to that view. Might even teach her some new tricks.”
You answer with a muffled growl that vibrates along Frank’s cock. He twitches under it.
That is such bullshit. You are not a smartass indiscriminately. You are a smartass with standards. A smartass in self-defense. A smartass only when Robby shows up in his holier-than-thou vestments and wonders aloud if you’re “having trouble following directions” for daring to question a single judgment call, or when he lofts that patronizing brow at a truth everyone else is simply too cowardly to say, or when he coaxes your attitude out of you with all the patience of a snake charmer and then acts scandalized when it finally bares fangs.
And yes, fine, maybe you’ve needled him once or twice simply because the little pinch of his mouth brings you joy.
Sue you. People have hobbies. Frank has terrible coping mechanisms. You have this.
Your nose nudges the downy trail at Frank’s belly, saliva threading between your lips as your throat opens, then you draw up in one long, slow drag.
Warning flashes through every tense line of him a second before his breath punches out in a fractured little curse.
“Fuck, sweetheart —”
Frank’s fist eases you off him, and when your mouth slips away with a wet pop, he’s panting, cock flushed bruise-dark, a string of precum still kissing the corner of your lip before it snaps.
“Sorry — shit. You keep doing that and I’m gonna come down your throat in front of your boss.”
You shrug. “I wouldn’t mind.”
Robby whistles. “Pretty sure we crossed that line a while ago, Langdon.”
Something hair-thin cracks across Frank’s face, a little fault line opening where the smirk had been, sour and old and too personal for the room you’re currently kneeling in. You can’t place it. Can’t tell how Robby managed to find the bruise when he’d only seemed to brush the skin.
“Kind of rich, you saying that.”
Robby’s smile doesn’t move, but his eyes freeze over. “You implying somethin’?”
“Implying nothing. You love quoting policy til it suits you to break it.”
“You wanna pick a fight with me right now?” Robby scoffs. “Because I gotta say, your sense of timing’s still shit.”
“At least I’m consistent”
“Listen, Langdon, the day I take a lecture on —” The rest of Robby’s retort dies when you stand, stepping straight into the line of fire and blotting out the last scrap of civility left between them.
This is what you wanted, right? The attention snapping toward you. Both of them suddenly silent because you have become, for one second, more interesting than their pride.
You catch both set of eyes as your fingers hook beneath the hem of your shirt, skimming it up your ribs, knuckles brushing the goose-pimpled slope of your stomach.
The cotton’s off before either man can inhale a protest, pooling at your feet like a dropped flag, and for a heartbeat you let them see you in nothing by the pale, breath-strained lace of your bra: straps sliding, cups stretched indecently tight, nipples pebbling hard enough to ache.
You reach behind, flick the clasp, and let the bra fall too, shoulders rolling back so your breasts lift, unapologetic, into the hush.
Frank reacts the way he always does, as if this is a miracle he’s somehow been deemed worthy of witnessing — never mind that he’s had your tits in his mouth four times already this week.
But it’s Robby’s look that reroutes every living cell in your body. No wide-eyed marvel here, just pure clinician, jotting mental footnotes on nipple angle, respiratory excursion, overall breast biomechanics.
He’s studying you so hard you swear the room compresses, a slow squeeze that coaxes your back to arch and your knees to drift tighter, slick pulse drumming a reminder of why you stood up in the first place.
You channel their attention straight into your backbone, thumbs hooking the waistband of your shorts and tugging until they puddle beside your discarded shirt, leaving you to stand in nothing but a damp lace thong.
“If you two would rather keep the pissing contest going, that’s fine,” you say. “I’m perfectly capable of finishing solo.”
A bluff — half bluff — because you could, but gods you’d rather make them beg to help.
You turn, gifting them a sway of your ass, all bravado, as you saunter toward your shared bedroom.
You make it exactly three steps. An insulting distance, really, before Frank’s hand brands the small of your back and Robby’s palm spreads wide over your belly, both of them converging so fast your brain barely has time to document the win under effective tactics.
Together, they swing you back into the wall hard enough for the plaster to kiss your shoulder blades.
The air leaves your lungs in a little hmph, quickly swallowed by Frank’s mouth claiming your collarbone, while Robby’s thigh muscles between yours and pins you there, your pussy dragging firm against his pant leg.
“Sensitive little thing,” Frank murmurs, thumb stroking the underside of your breast while his lips charts a slow latitude up your throat.
Robby catches your chin between his fingers and tilts your face, giving Frank better access and forcing your gaze up to his at the same time. Efficient. Very attending of him.
“All that attitude for a fifteen-second wait? Spoiled, aren’t we?” He glances at Frank, amused as he jerks his thigh higher to your clit. “Think she even remembers why she started the tantrum?”
“Doubt it,” Frank answers, sliding a palm between your panties and robby’s leg to cup at the wet heat there. A tremor shoots down to your toes. “Memory’s about to get a lot worse, too.”
“Good,” Robby says, smiling crookedly as his hands make their way up your thigh. “Maybe then she’ll let the adults talk.”
Adults, you want to scoff, but Frank’s thumb circles over your clit and you forget what else you wanted to say about that.
“Bedroom,” he decides.
“Copy that,” Robby answers, and then before you can blink, you’re scooped over his shoulder, world flipping until you’re staring at his (very nice) backside.
His hand smacks your ass once, proprietary punctuation as Frank follows, tossing directions like you’re precious cargo being delivered: “Second door on the left.”
You hit the mattress with a squeak. Plush bedding cups your spine, breasts pitching up and down before settling into a slow rhythm that seems to hypnotize them both.
You blink up into the twin eclipse of their silhouettes. Four eyes drinking you in. Every rise of your chest pulls a twitch from Frank’s jaw, drags Robby’s lower lip between white teeth. Shared silence of men who have finally found a reason to put their differences aside.
Robby looks to Frank for permission. “Can I?”
Frank gives one curt nod. “Hands and mouth only.”
“I can work with that,” Robby says.
He crawls forward, knees depressing the mattress, settling between your thighs.
He leans in, and suddenly his eyes are galaxies: black centers swallowing brown until just a thin halo glows like caramel on a burner.
It’s a weird feeling. How Robby, the same man who can watch arterial spray and merely sigh for suction, is gazing down at you like he’s the one white-knuckling the edge.
But then the galaxy eyes disappear and in their place returns Dr. Robinavitch. Cool and insufferably sure. His expression settles into something almost cruel, like he’s caught you noticing the crack and intends to punish you for it.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, thumb stroking a glistening stripe through your underwear. “Soaked through already. That’s pathetic, sweetheart.”
He punctuates the verdict with an almost tender kiss to the inside of your knee, then another, higher. Instinct yanks your thighs together, but Frank is suddenly there on your right, palm bracketing one knee and pressing it outward again.
“Don’t hide now,” he chides.
A raw, useless sound breaks from your throat.
“There she is,” Robby praises, mouthing higher. “Nothin’ smart to say?”
You do. You must. Somewhere. But you find only ache. Voice trembling, you plead, “Please… Robby.”
He answers with action, sealing his lips over your clip through the fabric, drawing a slow, punishing suction that makes you cry out.
Frank’s hand pushes your abdomen down, steadying the tremor, while his voice near your ear sounds: “That’s it — let him see how polite you can be.”
You look to your right to see his cock sitting against his stomach, free hand doing lazy strokes up and down the base.
Robby hums low, mouth dragging down the damp seam of your underwear in languid swipes. His tongue flattens, gathering your taste, then flicks upward. His nose nudges your swollen bud with every rise.
“Press a little harder right there,” Frank tells Robby. “She’ll act like it’s too much, but she likes it. Don’t let her squirm away.”
Robby listens. You hate that, you decide. How he’s on Frank’s side now.
You had been counting on his natural contrarianism to save you from Frank’s encyclopedic knowledge of all your most intimate buttons. No suck luck.
He bears down on the pulse point Frank named, then tongue-blades upward. White heat flashes through you and you flinch, trying to shear sideways, but his grip tightens, thumbs denting soft skin.
“Uh-uh, baby — stay right there and take it,” Frank croons, the up and down rhythm he approaches with his cock kicking up speed. “You know it feels good, let him give you every drop.”
Robby works you relentlessly, sloppy and dirty, tongue alternating broad licks and focused circles that make you arch off the bed. You bury both hands in his hair, nails scratching his scalp, unable to keep your moans at bay.
“Good girl,” Frank drawls. “Let him make it up to you. All those times he’s been a dick at work. Seems only fair he uses his mouth for something useful.”
Robby shoots him a murderous side-eye but doesn’t slow. Instead he hums, vibration punching straight through the fabric. Your moan breaks into pieces — so close you can taste it.
“Michael, I’m gonna —”
He hears his first name like a starting gun. His tongue locks onto your clit in punishing patterns, each lap faster than the last, crooked nose grinding everything just right.
In two heartbeats the world pinpoints to a blistering of sensation. Your vision whites out, fingers clawing uselessly at this hair and the sheets as your climax slams through you. A ragged cry spills against Frank’s thigh while every muscle locks, then ripples.
Still, Robby doesn’t relent. His mouth stays on you, tongue lapping through the quake, coaxing aftershocks that make your thighs quiver against his braced shoulders.
Only when tremors give way to trembling afterglow does he ease back, breath hot against the sodden fabric, leaving you boneless and blinking, pleasure echoing through every nerve like a fading siren.
Robby lifts his mouth, chin and beard glistening.
“Thought about this every damn shift,” he says, tongue darting out to chase another bead of you from his lip. “Tastes even better than the fantasy, doll.”
Your eyes drag into focus by inches.
“That’s wildly unprofessional,” you mumble, the words softened by the fact that your thighs are still trembling around his head. You try to look stern. You suspect you look freshly exorcised. “You should probably report yourself.”
Frank’s hand tightens where it rests on you, his voice dropping to something rougher.
“Don’t worry, baby. We’ll give him plenty to confess to.” He looks over your body, then to Robby. “Think she’s ready to find out what happens when we stop taking turns?”
“She’s ready,” Robby responds. “And if she isn’t, she’ll tell us. Won’t you, angel?”
A twin grin blooms across two previously warring faces.
This is not how you pictured getting Frank Langdon and Michael Robinavitch back on the same page.
But if this is what conflict resolution looks like nowadays, who are you to stand in the way of progress?
MARIA NOTE posting and ghosting this one bc i lowkey don't know what came over me when i wrote it
Summary: Robby comes home early from his sabbatical to find you, the resident neither he nor Jack were supposed to touch, fucking the night’s shift attending.
Warnings: age gap, implied power-imbalance Smut| getting caught, unprotected p in v sex, creampie(s), voyerism, pet-names for reader, praising, Dr. Michael ‘monster cock’ Robinavitch.
“Jesus Christ”
You were on your attending’s lap, busy riding the man, completely naked, sweaty, and flushed, when Dr. Robby opened the door.
“This isn’t exactly what I imagined when I asked you to house sit for me.”
Your mouth was open in a gasp, eyes wide with mortification as you froze from embarrassment.
Dr. Robinavitch had just caught you fucking Dr. Abbot... on his couch.
“Brother” Jack grinned as he looked behind him, not even a little fazed at the interruption. “You came back early.”
You could feel your face setting on fire as you desperately tried to think of what to do.
Robby’s eyes weren’t on you anymore as he got rid of his jacket and boots… this would be the perfect time to get up and scurry away towards the bedroom… Robby’s bedroom— Shit.
Your hands went to cover your bare tits as you tried to come up with something else.
“Decided to cut my sabbatical short,” Robby was explaining, “You all were right- as it turns out, I can’t go more than a month without the ED.”
You heard and felt Jack’s snicker, his fingers absentmindedly drawing circles where he still held your waist.
His hard cock was still deep inside you, and as much as you hated having to depart from it, you really needed to get off and try to at least regain some decency.
Which is what you tried to do. You began rising from Jack’s lap, but in an instant, his eyes were on you, his brows furrowed.
“Where you going, sweetheart?”
He can’t be serious right now.
You glanced pointedly at Robby behind him, your voice barely a whisper as you murmured his name.
“It’s alright, honey, Robby doesn’t mind,” he spoke softly, his hands caressing you softly. “Do you, Robby?”
Robby’s soft chuckle came from somewhere closer than where he’d previously been.
“I sure don’t,” He was smirking once you slowly raised your gaze.
He’d walked to the edge of the couch, right behind Jack.
You felt your face burn with embarrassment- and yet your pussy clenched harder around Abbot as you caught Michael’s eyes drink you in.
“We were having such a good time,” Jack murmured, his mouth on your collarbones as he pecked your skin, “Would be a shame to stop now.”
Oh God, he was being serious.
“Jack- I-”
Were you dreaming? Was this one of the sick fantasies that materialized in your mind whenever Robby and Abbot were both on shift, and you had to squeeze your tights together at how incredibly hot of a pair they made?
Everything seemed to point in that direction, except for the fact that the feel of Jack’s fingers removing your hands from your naked chest was very much real- the same went for Robby’s voice.
“You know, sweetheart... we had a talk about you before I went away.”
You were bare again now, and Jack was making use of the space, filling it with delicious, taunting kisses as Michael spoke.
“Decided none of us were gonna try anything... didn’t wanna take advantage of you or anything….” His voice was rough and soft all at once as his hand went to cradle your cheek, “and now look at that.”
Heat bloomed low in your belly and on your cheeks as you heard yourself whimper.
What he was saying was… unbelievable. They liked you- both of them. Just as you liked them.
This was really happening- Dr. Robinavitch was watching you as you sat on Dr. Abbot’s cock. And they both looked incredibly casual, as if this were a daily occurrence.
“Since when has this been going on?”
When you didn’t answer, Jack stopped his ministrations on your neck to speak, “Just two weeks, man.”
“Is he lying to me?” Robby asked you, his head tilted in doubt.
“N-no,” You murmured as you cowered under his stare.
To that, he smirked, shaking his head as he muttered, “A week- that’s how long you lasted.”
“C’mon, man- you knew it was bound to happen.” Jack groaned, looking at you with a smirk as his mouth ghosted yours, “You’re too pretty not to do something about it.”
You felt your heart skip, and your hips involuntarily grind against Jack’s lap- causing you to whimper pathetically.
“Oh sweetheart…” Abbot cooed, his hands going back to rest on your hips, “Go on, take what you need.”
There was nothing you wanted to do more. As unusual as this situation was, you were so turned on that you feared you’d start dripping on the couch any second now.
Yet you watched the two men uncertainly, biting your lip as you went against your instinct to use Jack’s manhood to feel good.
“Go on, baby,” Robby encouraged you once your eyes settled on him, “Do as he said.”
His palm was still on your cheek, his thumb pulling on your lower lip to free it from your teeth’s grip… and you had no choice but to obey.
You started slow, shily grinding onto him, feeling Jack’s dick graze and reach all those sweet spots inside of you as your clit rubbed against his base.
Your mouth hung open as soft whines filtered through your throat. Robby’s hands held your face so you could only look at him- and the look in his eyes… the darkness in his iris and the locking of his jaw gave you all the more incentive to go faster.
You began raising yourself on Jack’s dick just to slide back down again until you found the delicious pace from before your interruption.
Your moans weren’t so quiet anymore as you struggled to keep your eyes open and gripped Jack’s shoulders for dear life, your nails probably leaving crescent moons on his skin.
“So good for me, baby,” Jack murmured against your neck, resuming his kisses on your salty skin as he thoroughly enjoyed the show. “Such a good girl.”
You cried like a desperate little thing at that, his dick hitting that spongy spot inside of you that had you feeling on cloud nine.
“Jack feels good, baby?” Robby’s voice felt muffled, as if the pleasure was acting as a sound shield.
“Y-yes,” You whined, your voice breathless, your movements more and more desperate, “B-big,” you cried brokenly.
You felt Abbot’s growl vibrate against your chest at that, and seconds later, you felt his mouth against your ear as he whispered loud enough for Robby to hear, “You’ve seen nothing yet.”
You didn’t have the brain capacity to understand what he meant by that, or to analyze the grin that spread Michael’s lips at those words, because all you could focus on was the growing sensation that sparked in your belly.
“Oh my god,” You whined, your thighs burning with the effort as the sound of your skin slapping with Jack’s echoed against the walls.
“It’s ok, baby,” Robby murmured, watching closely as your eyes almost closed and your brows furrowed in bliss, “You’re doing so good.”
You didn’t even realize you were doing it, but as Robby guided his thumb into your mouth, instinctually, your lips closed around it, sucking him in further.
“That’s it, baby,” he nodded, the weight of his finger on your tongue making you wish it was replaced by his cock. And that image… that image made your orgasm approach even faster.
Your moans were silenced by Robby’s thumb, but Jack could feel your walls gripping him like a vice.
“Let go, sweetheart,” he commanded, kissing the spot right beneath your ear. “Be a good girl and show Robby how pretty you look when you come.”
That was it.
You didn’t even have time to mentally prepare yourself that a bright white flash of pure ecstasy overtook your soul.
You came like the world would end tomorrow, your pussy spasming around Jack as he couldn’t help but follow suit.
Somewhere in the frenzy, you could hear Abbot’s groans while Robby murmured what appeared to be soft words to you, his hand never leaving your face.
The pounding of your heart thumped in your ears as you tried to calm your breathing.
Your eyes fluttered open to both the men looking at you, Jack’s eyes soft with gratification and adoration, while Robby’s irises swirled with lust and just plain need.
“You wanna switch?”
Jack’s words didn’t even make sense to you. You were still lost in the haze of what had just happened.
“Not on the couch, man.” Robby shook his head, his lips pulling into a small smile as he watched you. “Let’s get on the bed, baby.”
__ __ __
Your legs felt like jelly as Robby towered over you.
You knew what was happening, and yet your brain was still buffering.
His lips were so close to yours… just a few inches and you’d be kissing him.
But that’s not what he had in mind.
“Lay down for me, baby.”
You blinked, needing a second to understand his command and do as told.
The mattress was soft, the comfy duvet wrinkling underneath you as you laid back, your wide eyes watching him.
With a quick move, he removed his shirt, throwing it behind him… in the direction of Abbot.
Your breath hitched at the sight of him leaning against the wall, his eyes dark as he watched the scene unfold.
By the time you looked back, Robby was naked- and your lungs took another toll.
You were propped on your elbows, shamelessly eying all of him. His broad chest, the dark hair on his pecs, on his belly, until your gaze lowered just enough to catch his cock-
You were pretty sure you’d stopped breathing completely.
That’s what they’d been talking about.
You really had seen nothing yet.
You swallowed dryly as his big hand wrapped around his dick, giving it two slow strokes that had him seemingly grow even more.
Your eyes were wide as he stalked closer to you, his smirk everlasting.
“R-Robby,” you stuttered, clearly intimidated.
“’S alright, baby. I’ll go real slow.”
“I-I- How…”
“Don’t worry about it,” he shook his head, “spread your legs for me, baby.”
And even if your heart was going crazy and your brain was telling you that was an impossible fit, you did as told.
“Wider.”
You slid your feet further across the bed, opening yourself up to him completely, eliciting a delighted groan.
“Pretty,” he murmured, his palm going to your mound and his thumb moving to your folds, exploring slowly.
Jack’s come was still leaking out of you, creating a sultry mixture with your own juices.
Your cheeks heated at his unabashed gaze, but then his other hand grabbed the base of his manhood, his tip suddenly parting your folds, and all thoughts left your head.
You were whimpering already, still sensitive from your previous orgasm, and Michael would have done anything to record those sweet sounds and listen to them on repeat all day long.
“It’s ok, baby, relax for me.” That’s all he murmured, as he started guiding his impossibly thick tip inside of you.
“Oh!” You gasped, your eyes wide open as you watched him thrust into you.
He was looking at where your bodies melted into one another, watching your greedy pussy swallow him in.
The stretch burned at first- he had the biggest cock you’d ever seen after all- counting porn- but his soft growls and groans were making you all the more pliant.
His thumb started circling your clit to help you out as broken cries fled your throat.
He was retracting his hips just to thrust softly into you, over and over again, filling you up inch by never-ending inch.
“O-Oh my god,” You were crying, your hands fisting the sheets as he kept going.
“You’re doing so good, baby,” he reassured you, his free hand tight on our waist. “Stretching so good for me- such a good girl.”
Your walls tightened around him at that, causing him to hiss.
“Let me in- just like that… good girl”
You knew the moment he was in to the hilt, because you could barely breathe at the feeling of how unbelievably full you felt.
Breathy gasps spilled from your lips as your gazes met.
“Told you you could do it,” he smirked, before he started to move.
The moan you let out at the first full, deep thrust was more of a scream.
“Robby!” you gasped, your fingers gripping his forearm as he started building his pace.
His back hurt like a motherfucker from all those hours on his bike, but he’ll be damned if he denied himself this sight.
“He always makes you do all the work?”
How his voice was still so even when you could barely breathe, let alone think, was a mystery.
You want to tell him the truth, that no, Jack was usually very much adamant in his need to take care of you, to pin you beneath him and fuck you thoroughly well into the day… but all you could manage was a whine.
You watched his lips pull into a grin at the state he’d rendered you in.
“Oh, c’mon, brother, I’ve just come back from a twelve-hour shift,” Jack defended himself from his spot against the wall as your eyes found him.
You could see from the bed, even with his boxers back on, that he was hard again.
God, this was all so hot.
The way both their eyes were only focused on you as Robby’s thrusts had you bouncing up on the bed, your tits moving in tandem with his harsh movements…
“And she hasn’t?” Robby raised his brows, shooting Jack a quick, disappointed look, before coming back to you.
“You don’t have to worry about it now, baby,” he spoke softly, the thumb he still had on your bundle of nerves resuming its torturous movements. “I’ll take care of you like you deserve from now on.”
You felt butterflies in your stomach at those words.
Your hips were chasing his movements, forcing the loud smacking of his skin hitting your core over and over again to get even louder.
You could feel every inch of his dick inside you, every vein and ridge slide against your velvety walls as his tip speared you and reached parts of you no one ever could find but him.
And with a feeling like that… it was inevitable for tears to gather in your eyes, your vision blurring as a knot of pleasure tightened inside you.
“Oh baby, I know it’s a lot.” his voice was calming, soothing your overexited system.
It was a lot. He was a whole damn lot.
“Just take it,” he cooed, “Don’t think about it, sugar, just be good for me and Jack, yeah?”
You slowly nodded, tears rolling down your temples and onto the sheets as the air filled with your moans.
“That’s it, pretty girl— that’s it.”
And suddenly, it was all too much.
“I-I- Oh my-”
He groaned at how tight you got. His chest inflating with the effort not to come on the spot.
“Let go, baby,” he instructed. “Be a good girl and come for me.”
The last thing you saw was his smile; everything after that was sort of a blur.
A tidal wave of pleasure washed over your body; you were pretty sure you were moaning his name like a prayer as you experienced a mind-blowing orgasm.
Your eyes and ears started functioning again as Robby’s thrusts got sloppier, more erratic.
He grinned as you whimpered at the overstimulation, his groans getting louder as he got closer, until he spilled inside you with a feral roar.
“Jesus Christ,” he hissed after several moments, slowly pulling out of you.
Jack had gotten beside him somewhere in the meantime, and both men’s eyes fell to the release spilling out of your spent core.
“C’mere,” you whined, breaking them out of their amazed trance.
They both smiled, and it was Jack who joined you on the bed first, moving you so your head could rest on the pillow as he spooned you, wrapping his arms around you.
“You did real good, sweetheart,” he murmured to your ear, his stubble grazing your skin as your eyes fluttered shut.
You were exhausted.
You didn’t even hear Robby lying down next to you until he placed your head to rest on his chest.
“So… am I gonna have to sanitize every surface of the house?”
A soft laugh fled your throat as Jack grinned amusedly.
“The kitchen should be saf—” The look you sent Jack had him suddenly remember all the alternative meals he’d consumed on the kitchen counter. “No, yeah… the whole apartment.”
Summary: When Dr. Robby returns from his extended sabbatical, he discovers that the girlfriend he thought would be waiting for him has a baby bump – and absolutely hates him for leaving.
Tags/Notes: established relationship, groveling and forgiveness, acts of service, nurse!reader, pregnant!reader, getting back together, ft. trinity as a menace and dennis as a cutie
Content: pregnancy, pregnant sex (fingering), shaving scene
A/N: im not good at math <3 sorry i haven't posted in three weeks lmao
Word Count: 14.3k
The sabbatical was supposed to be three months, but somewhere around Bar Harbor Robby decided he needed more time. For what he wasn’t sure. But he knew he needed to stay far, far away from the Pitt for a little longer. With his position at the hospital safe, he stayed in New England through the end of the summer.
On his first day back, he’d been gone as long as the two of you were together. Six months. Six months without text messages or phone calls or, hell, postcards. Six months of feeling like Robby was a ghost in your life, something you had and lost that lingers around every corner. Six months of rebuilding your life after he disappeared from it.
You found out about Robby’s sabbatical the same way everyone else did, during one of his evening speeches exactly two weeks before he was scheduled to leave. Two weeks’ notice for a relationship you’d honestly believed was headed toward an engagement ring in a few months. He didn’t think to ask you, didn’t think to check in, didn’t even bother to tell you in the privacy of the home you’d basically moved into. Your life fell into brutal clarity in that moment: Robby was a huge part of your life, but you were a footnote in his.
He sent you a text five nights ago: Back in town. When can I see you?
You didn’t answer.
You don’t plan to.
The morning of September first, Jack hands off shift change seamlessly, like Robby had never left, and Robby finds his footing on the ED floor with a newness, a fluidity, a casual lightness on his shoulders that strikes everyone as foreign. A version of Robby with no tension in his shoulders and no sarcasm biting at his tongue might as well be a new doctor.
Once he has the ED machine churning on pace, Robby leans his elbows on the nurse’s station and scans the shift board. “And where’s my favorite nurse this morning? Night shift?”
Dana barely spares him a glance as she processes the last of a stack of paperwork. She’d always disapproved of Robby pursuing you, so she’s not exactly sympathetic when she tells him, “She transferred months ago. I’m sure the notice is in your email inbox if you ever get around to clearing that out.”
His mind spins at the idea of the Pitt without you – your steady hands, your shy smiles, your forgiving wit. “Transferred? Where? Why?”
“Not my business,” Dana replies with a shrug. She pushes a chart into his chest and says, “They need you in exam six.”
As Robby takes the chart and looks over it with blank eyes that don’t see a word, Princess stands up on her toes so she can meet Robby’s eyes. With a knowing but curious gaze, she tells him quietly, “She’s working at the hospital’s satellite methadone clinic up the street now. Rumor is that she had an ugly breakup with someone at the hospital and wanted to get some distance.”
Robby sucks in a sharp breath. Holds it. Lets it out slow. His eyes focus to actually look at the chart and he mutters out, “Thanks for the info.”
She adds, “Smart money’s on Frank, by the way, since they were always so close.”
Robby grits his teeth. “They weren’t that close.”
“Whatever you say, cap.”
The biggest thing Robby notices in his shift once he’s working closely with his doctors again is a change in the batch of residents he helped onboard last year. They’ve gained confidence during his absence, which he’d expected, but there’s something else. To put it briefly, there’s a lot of scowling and it’s definitely in his direction. Even Whitaker, who used to glance up for his praise like a puppy, is now averting his eyes and keeping his sentences short, professional, unsmiling. The newest batch of students and interns is all polite deference and eager introductions, but the ones he’d come to know and care for and consider friends are acting like he stinks of BO and betrayal.
In the locker room preparing for his lunch break, he approaches Dana, trying to be casual about his tone, and asks, “What’s wrong with the kids, by the way? I have a sign that says ‘ignore me’ on my back or something I didn’t notice?”
She snickers, “Maybe they’re just mad that daddy went to the gas station for milk and didn’t come back for six months.” She gives him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and adds, “Give them some time; it’ll take a minute for people to find their rhythm around you again.”
He nods slowly and swallows, hoping that’s all this is. “Right, sure.”
The truth doesn’t even occur to him: You had been their favorite person around the hospital, his abandonment had made you leave, and they aren’t quite ready to forgive him for that.
—
It’s almost your lunch break when a whole flood of people arrives at once. You’re behind the check-in desk today and you can’t help groaning to yourself. You have to pee, your stomach has been growling non-stop for an hour, and you’re desperate to put your feet up.
You’re on autopilot as you check in patients, collect consent forms, and support doctors however you can without getting up from the desk. You’d started modified work duty this month and it’s driving you nuts not being able to do the hands-on clinical work you love. With your eyes on your monitor, the next patient enters your peripheral vision and you tell him, “I’ll be with you in just one moment.”
“No worries, gorgeous.”
Your focus snaps.
Anger rises up like bile in your throat. Part of you wants to cry, part wants to run, part wants to scream. Ultimately, with so many wars raging inside of your body, your expression goes flat as you meet Robby’s eyes. “You pick up an opioid habit while you were screwing your way up and down the eastern seaboard?”
Robby almost laughs. Almost. He hadn’t expected you to act so hostile – in his mind, you’re still the woman he loves, waiting patiently for his return home – and it pinches like frostbite. Voice soft and respectful, he offers, “I just wanted to stop by and see you.”
You set your jaw and cut back, “Well I didn’t want to see you, but I forgot that my opinion doesn’t affect your decisions.”
He sighs. “You’re still mad at me.”
You turn back to your computer and finish up the file you need to before lunch. “‘Still’ implies that eventually I’ll stop, which won’t be happening.”
“C’mon sweetheart, you can’t-”
“Don’t.” Your eyes flick up as you shake your head. “Just- just don’t.” After closing out your computer and sighing heavily, you tell him bluntly, “You’re officially eating into my lunch, so I’m gonna ask you to leave or I can get security. I’m happy either way.”
Robby presses, “Let me at least buy you lunch.”
You extend your hand and reply without emotion, “Sure, give me $20 and I’ll happily spend it.”
Robby grits his teeth and digs his heels in. “Please.”
Anxiety sparks in your chest as you realize he really isn’t going to leave without talking to you alone first. You’re going to have to stand up from behind the safety of the tall desk and half wall right in front of him. The moment was inevitable, but you’d hoped to at least be in control of it.
“Fine. Buy me lunch.” You’re almost laughing as you mutter, “Let’s see how this goes. Might as well do it in public.”
Then you get to your feet. You stretch your arms above your head, back tight from sitting all morning, and your navy scrub top rides up slightly.
Robby’s next words are breathless and desperate. “You’re pregnant.”
“Glad your eyes still work after six months of wind burn without your goddamn helmet.”
He swallows hard, barely hearing the malice in your voice now. “How- how far along?”
“Take a fucking guess, Doctor,” you huff, shouldering your bag and walking around the nurse’s station. He moves to follow you, but you point at the ‘only employees past this door’ sign and give him a mock pout. “Wait outside if you care so much.”
Robby debates for a second and says weakly, “It’s my lunch, too; I need to get back to the hospital.”
You give him a look that reeks of ‘that’s what I thought’ and say, “Then get back to the hospital. I’m immune to being left behind now.”
It’s not your hatred that hurts. It’s your apathy.
He sends you texts. You don’t reply.
He leaves you voicemails. You don’t listen.
After a few more days of silence, he’s got his head in his hands at the bar while Jack nurses a beer, pitying his sorry ass. He’s been silent for two straight beers, clearly gathering the courage to tell him the good news. It takes Jack reminding him that this is his only night off for Robby to choke out, “She’s pregnant. Very pregnant. Seven months, probably.”
“Ah.” Jack studies his best friend’s face for a long time before settling on a simple, succinct, thorough, “Fuck.”
Robby sucks in a long breath and lets it out slow. “Yeah. Fuck.”
“And she doesn’t want anything to do with you now.” It’s not a question. It’s the truth of the matter. Jack shakes his head and then gives Robby one of those pointed looks only a brother could get away with. “I don’t blame her.”
Robby balks, “You said I should go on the trip.”
“But I’m not your girlfriend.”
“And thank god for that.”
“You didn’t talk to her about leaving?”
“I didn’t realize I needed her permission.”
“You didn’t. But you should’ve wanted it.” Jack puts on that sage old friend voice and goes on, “You told me before you left that she’s the one. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“A lot. That’s why I had to go,” Robby replies, grappling with too much of himself. “Look, leaving was the right thing to do. I know that now more than ever. I figured a lot of shit out and I feel a hell of a lot better – about myself, my future, my life. But now? Now there’s going to be a baby. My baby. Our baby.” Robby gently thumps his forehead on the bartop and groans, “The whole time I was gone, I thought she’d be waiting for me when I came home. Every step of the way, I figured- I figured she’d still want me.”
“Delusions of grandeur,” Jack opines almost absently. Then he yanks Robby to sitting upright by the back of his hoodie. “She’s so far out of your league you’d have to get drafted first just to be her water boy. Why the hell would you think that?”
“Because she always waited for me,” Robby mutters, sounding so absolutely pathetic Jack debates recording it for blackmail down the road. “She- she was always there. She always stayed.”
“And you repaid her by leaving.”
Robby’s voice drops to an ashamed whisper. “I didn’t realize she loved me enough to care that I left.”
“But she did.”
“She did.” Robby stares straight ahead, through Jack and through the walls and through the world until his eyes settle back on his relationship with you – the one good part of his life that had spiraled squarely out of his control. “She was shining a light in my face, but I was too busy covering my own eyes to see her. Too deep in my own self-doubt and self-hatred to recognize what was right in front of me.”
“Alright, Socrates, pack it in.” Jack claps a hand on Robby’s back and summarizes, “You fucked it up and you need to fix it.”
“I fucked it up and I need to fix it,” Robby confirms. “But how do I even begin to say sorry for something like that?”
“She doesn’t want you to say sorry,” Jack replies. It’s effortless for him, this kind of thing. Robby is supremely jealous of how simple Jack makes it all sound. “She doesn’t want Robby the rich attractive attending anymore.”
“Flatterer.”
“Shut up. I’m saying she’s spent the last six months thinking you were gone. While you’re god knows where, she’s figuring out how to be a single mom on a nurse’s salary. So I know she doesn’t want what you used to be for her.”
Jack pauses for long enough that Robby has to sigh and prod, “You’re really gonna make me prompt you? Tell me what you think she wants.”
“She wants a dad for her kid. A real dad, not a sperm donor. She doesn’t want a boyfriend. She wants a husband. And a husband doesn’t have to run away to figure his shit out. Show up for the baby and you’re showing up for her.” Jack finishes off his beer, slaps down a handful of cash, and tells him, “Let’s get a cab. I think you need to cry yourself to sleep to figure out your next move.”
At nine a few nights later, after his shift, Robby knocks on the door of the new address he definitely didn’t steal from your personnel file. It’s a small townhouse in an okay part of town, better than your previous shoebox, but it’s still nothing compared to his spacious home further out of the city. The place he always imagined raising his family in. The place where you’d taken up half his closet, half his bathroom counterspace, half his life. Half his heart, undeniably.
When Trinity Santos answers the door, Robby nearly falls on his ass. With a green face mask cracking on her skin and her eyes burning with anger, he’s never seen her looking so full of wrath. Which is saying something. “What are you doing here, Dr. Robby?”
His brows furrow as he explains, “I was trying to see my girlfriend, but I guess I got the wrong address somehow.”
Santos scoffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “You girlfriend? Pretty sure you forfeited that title when you ditched her like she didn’t mean anything to you.”
“Woah, Jesus,” Robby chuckles, holding his hands up. “Is that the general consensus? Guess that explains all the hostility today.”
“Not hostile, just professional.”
“You were definitely hostile.”
Trinity glares. “File a complaint.”
She moves to shut the door, but he catches it with one large hand. “Is she here?”
Trinity continues to use her body to block him from entering. She knows he’d never do anything crazy like push her, but she wants to make her allegiance perfectly clear. “Yup.”
“She lives with you and Whitaker now?”
“Yup. Saving money until the last minute.”
“God.” Robby runs his hand over the back of his head. “Can I- Can I just come in and see her?”
Holding bitter eye contact, Trinity calls over her shoulder, “Do you want to see Robby?”
Your voice is immediate. There’s more hurt in it than he’d heard this morning, and something about that makes him feel hopeful. Like there might still be something for him to hold onto. “He’s here?”
“At the door.”
Robby listens as a chair squeaks across the floor and your footsteps recede toward a staircase. Away from him. Fainter now, you call, “Get rid of him.”
Trinity nods and turns back to her boss. “You heard the woman. Go home.”
“Fuck, fine. It’s getting late anyway; she should sleep.” With a rough sigh, he reaches into his inner jacket pocket and hands her an envelope. “Can you give this to her at least?”
Santos snatches it from his hand and demands, “What is it?”
“It’s ten thousand dollars.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fuck off, Robby.”
Without saying anything else, she slams the door in his face. Shaking her head, Trinity ascends the steps to the second floor, where all the bedrooms are, and knocks on your door. You answer with puffy, tear-swollen eyes. Right away, Trinity wraps you up in a hug and sighs, “He’s the worst. I’ll kill him at work tomorrow.”
You laugh, sniffle, and shake your head. “No need. I was going to have to deal with this eventually, right?”
“Yeah, but it should be your choice on your terms, not him showing up unannounced.” You nod and pull back from the hug, swiping your cheeks one more time. Trinity holds up the envelope and says, “Robby wants me to give this to you. I can rip it up or hold onto it or-”
“I’ll take it.” You smile softly at her and add, “Thanks, Trin. You shouldn’t have to deal with my drama.”
“You deal with my gay soap opera with Yo,” she points out with a conspiratorial grin.
Your reply is interrupted by the sound of Dennis emerging from his bedroom, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He’s been on the late-night shift the past couple weeks, slowly becoming nocturnal. “What’s going on?”
Trinity answers with malice lacing her tone, “Robby showed up.”
Dennis shakes his head. “Bastard.”
“You don’t have to say that,” you reply with a laugh. “I know you want to go back to being his personal assistant as soon as possible.”
“Trinity would kill me,” he mutters.
She punches him on the arm. “And I’d be right! We don’t defend shitty men who-”
“Robby’s not a shitty man; you know that,” he interrupts her. “He handled leaving in a shitty way; that doesn’t make him a shitty person.”
“You’re too forgiving, Nebraska.”
“And you’re not forgiving enough.”
You sigh sharply, “And I need to go to sleep.”
“At least open up the letter for us,” Trinity insists. “My nosiness is absolutely screaming for the intel. I won’t be able to sleep without it.”
Ripping open the envelope, you sigh, “I’m sure it’s just some stupid saccharine guilt bomb designed to make me-” Your voice falls to the ground and melts through the floorboards. There’s a folded-up note wrapped around something much more interesting. You hold it up to Trinity and Dennis and breathlessly announce, “It’s a check for ten thousand dollars.”
“Oh my god, I thought he was being a dick,” Trinity replies, her voice equally low and surprised, almost reverent – not for Robby but for the sheer amount of money. “Why the hell would he…?”
With shaking hands, you read the corresponding handwritten note to your roommates.
I don’t know whether or not when you’ll let me back into your life.
That’s up to you. I accept it. I respect that it’s your choice.
But I’m not going to be a deadbeat dad. You know I can’t do that. You know about my father. I’m never going to become him. I hope you believe that.
So this isn’t a bribe to take me back. I promise it isn’t. It’s not an apology. I’m still working on that.
It’s for our kid. For you as the mother of my child, not just the a woman I want need miss love care about. Nursery stuff, vitamins, doctor’s appointments, your favorite hot chocolate from Vino’s, anything you need until they’re born. I’m not going to let you want for anything. If money is all you’ll accept from me, then take every penny I have. Please.
I promise I won’t abandon the baby. I promise I will do whatever you need from me and more.
And I promise I love you. Both of you.
I hope you’ll Please, let me prove it.
Love,
Sincerely,
Yours,
M.
All three of you hold your breath in the space that follows Robby’s painstakingly scrawled words.
Then Dennis takes a long breath and urges, “See? He’s good. He cares. He wants to take care of you and the baby. You could do a hell of a lot worse.”
Trinity shakes her head and swallows hard. “She could do a hell of a lot better, too. He still left.”
Dennis argues, “He didn’t know she was pregnant.”
You whisper, “Do I really want a man who would only stay because of a baby?”
Knowing far too much for his own good, Dennis touches your shoulder and presses, “Do you really want any man besides him?”
You pinch the bridge of your nose and try to breathe. “I need sleep. I’ll…Fuck. I’ll let you guys know whenever I figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life.”
Trinity brushes your cheek with her thumb. “Love you, sunshine. Goodnight.”
You wish her goodnight and Dennis a good shift before retreating into your bedroom. You change into your pajamas, ignoring the tee of Robby’s that still lives in your drawer, and curl up with your thoughts. In bed on your side, you rest your hand on your bump and wish the little life inside could tell you the right thing to do.
In his home across town, all Robby knows is that he’s never felt so much relief watching $10,000 leave his account.
In the morning, on your way out, the door thumps against something heavy on the stoop. A large plastic tote with a brown bag from your favorite cafe on top of it. You call over your shoulder for Trinity and she hauls the heavy box inside while you focus on the little bag of treats with a note card stapled to it. Inside the bag is your usual order that Robby always brought into the hospital for you in the mornings, the coffee replaced by a ginger tea but the bear claw looking as delectable as ever.
I figured you might want your things back from my place. I’m sorry for being gone longer than you expected for not giving you a key in the first place for unintentionally stealing your stuff for coming by last night. I don’t want to make anything worse. M.
Trinity reads the note over your shoulder and announces, “He’s groveling.”
“What do you think I should do?”
“I think you should let him grovel.”
Biting the sweet fluffy pastry, you consider, “I don’t want to be cruel. I’m not going to keep his own baby from him.”
“Of course not. But that’s not what we’re talking about. Do you want him? Not just as your co-parent or sperm donor or whatever. A husband. A real man. Do you want to be Mrs. Robby someday soon?”
“Of course I do,” you sigh, “but I just…I don’t trust him anymore. How could I?”
“I’m just saying,” she reasons with a shrug, “if his baseline grovel is 10k, I for one would love to see where he goes from there. Maybe you’ll end up with a private plane or something.”
“Robby’s got money, but he doesn’t have that kind of money.”
“As far as we know,” she replies with a snicker. “Look, at the end of the day, you have to decide if you can trust him, so I say you tell him exactly what you need and see if he can hack it. Be blunt with him about your expectations. He can worship the ground you walk on from here on out or he can spend the rest of his life signing child support checks and seeing his kid every other weekend.”
You laugh and polish off the bear claw. “You’re a menace, Trinity Santos.”
“My specialty.” She pours herself a coffee and collects her bag. “Now do you want a ride or are you grabbing the bus?”
“It’s a beautiful morning; I don’t mind the bus.”
“Maybe Robby will get you a car.”
“Yeah,” you snort, “maybe.”
Right as your lunch break starts that afternoon, a delivery driver shows up by the staff entrance with an order bearing your name. After one of the other nurses calls you back, you take the heavy bag of absolutely heavenly-smelling Thai food and ask the driver, “Is this from Michael Robinavitch?”
“Yeah, he said you’d be expecting it.” He checks the order on his phone and reads, “The delivery instructions said ‘tell her I know for a fact she doesn’t eat enough protein to be growing a whole new person.’ Congratulations; he sounds like a nice dad.”
You shake your head and sigh. “Yeah, he can be.”
And it goes on like that for the next five days before you decide what to do. Robby always orders you lunch. None of the following meals come with messages, though, just something carefully chosen for your tastes and needs. He even remembers the way you order things – extra lime on your pad thai, salsa verde instead of pico on your tacos, and any bonus dessert he can throw in – to the point where you wonder if people at the Pitt are helping him out, campaigning for the two of you to get back together.
Robby checks his phone way too many times that entire first week that he’s back. He keeps waiting for you to text, call, email, hell he’ll even take a DM at this point. But you don’t. It’s agony. If nothing else, Trinity’s dagger-glare has dulled into more of a butter-knife-glare by Friday afternoon.
Then.
After he clocks out and heads to the parking lot, there you are. Leaning on his fucking motorcycle. You’re a vision in the waning afternoon, sunlight catching your hair and brightening your eyes. You speak first: “Can we talk?”
“Yes,” Robby answers too fast. “Of course we can. Do you…want to go somewhere else?”
“No. I don’t.” You swallow hard and then nod to a nearby bench, sitting down before he does the same. With one hand on your belly, you train your eyes forward and tell him, “You said in your note that you want to prove you love me. But I know you love me. That’s not the problem.”
Robby has to resist the urge to take your hands in his, to tilt your face toward him, to do anything that would ground your bodies together. “Tell me.”
Confirming his every fear, you whisper, “I don’t trust you enough to raise a child with you.”
Throat thick and limbs heavy, he rasps, “You don’t want me to be involved with my own kid?”
“Of course I want you to be in her life; that’s not- that’s not what I meant. But I don’t know if I can trust you to be her dad – her mom’s partner – and not just her biological father.”
The world tilts slightly.
Robby’s breath catches in his throat.
Tears sting his eyes and he blinks them back. His voice trembles alongside his hands as he confirms, “It’s a girl?
You can’t help the way that softens you. You can see the universe he’s building behind his eyes: Robby holding a pink-blanket bundle, Robby learning to braid hair, Robby being fiercely protective and achingly tender.
You want to share that life with him so badly that it hurts. To sit by his side at dance recitals and tell bedtime stories together and be real.
“Yeah,” you settle for saying, intimately quiet, just for the two of you, “she’s a girl.”
“Wow. Holy shit. A girl. A little girl. Have you-” He clears his throat and swats a tear from his cheek. “Have you picked a name yet?”
You shake your head and admit, “I have some favorites, but it wouldn’t feel right to choose by myself. Without you, I mean. She’s not just mine.” Robby lets the next few tears fall onto his scrub pants and you can’t bear to watch. So you dig around in your purse and hand over the few ultrasound pictures you’d set aside, always hoping you’d be able to give them to him. One from each of your check-ups, a timeline from blob to baby. “Here. Yours to keep.”
Robby stares down at pure gold in his hands. He looks over each photo like a precious ancient text, smiling with those lovely wrinkles of his. After looking at the most recent one for a long time, he murmurs lovingly, “She’s got your nose.”
You touch your pointer finger to the picture and reply, “And your huge feet.”
His eyes stay locked on the scan for another full minute; he’s too choked up to add anything else. Once he’s finally starting to recover from growing a new chamber of his heart so quickly, he tucks the photos into his backpack, slides onto the sidewalk in front of you like he’s about to propose, and gazes up at your face. “I’ll do anything to be yours again.”
Biting your lower lip, you nod. Slow. Thinking. “I can’t just pick up where we left off.”
“I don’t expect you to. I don’t want that.” He sits back onto the bench next to you, this time tilting his whole body towards yours. Creating space he begs you to fill. “I know we can’t exactly start over, but I- I want to be new together. I want to fix what I broke.”
“Okay,” you whisper back, trying hard not to cry. Hormones and hope make a brutal cocktail. You sniffle hard and suggest, “Trinity told me you have the weekend off. Breakfast tomorrow? Well, brunch; the baby likes to sleep in.”
“Absolutely. Anywhere you want, any time.”
Your eyes narrow. “That fancy place you took me after the first time I slept over?”
“I’ll pick you up at ten.”
You wince as the baby launches a foot into your ribcage. “Sold.”
With those dumb beautiful wide cow eyes of his, Robby asks, “Are you okay?”
“Your daughter’s beating the shit out of me,” you groan. When he laughs, though, you soften even more. Tentative, you offer, “Do you want to feel?”
Robby’s voice is ragged and desperate like you’ve never heard it. It’s heavy with love and with need and with hope. One word holds every dream he’s ever had. “Please.”
You take his hand and guide it to the spot where the baby is currently dancing a samba, watching his tender, reverent expression every moment.
“Holy shit.” Robby laughs and grins at you while the baby nudges him over and over like she’s saying hi. “That’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt.”
You roll your eyes and try not to smile. “Please; you’ve felt a million babies kick.”
“But this is-” He shakes his head and chuckles again at another flutter. “This is different. Is she always this active?”
“In the evening, yeah. Like she can tell I’m done with work and it’s playtime.” You put your hand over his, nothing more than an instinct, and rub your thumb over his skin. “She’s gonna terrorize us.”
‘Us’ settles, warm and cozy, in the hearth of Robby’s chest. He leans down and kisses your bump gently. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
You’re halfway through the insanely decadent strawberries-and-cream crepes you ordered when you actually get up the confidence to break the charged silence between you and Robby. He’d overly complimented your cozy but stylish enough ribbed knit dress and you’d noted his freshly trimmed beard making him look too handsome for you to think clearly. Then a healthy dose of small talk while you waited for food. Now silence.
After licking a bit of vanilla cream from the corner of your mouth, you rush out, “I want you to audition to be my husband.”
One side of Robby’s lip ticks up into a cute, amused smirk. “Shall I prepare a monologue or a musical number? Will there be a dance portion?”
You hum teasingly, “There’ll be whatever I want; that’s the whole point.”
“This has Trinity Santos written all over it.”
You shrug and relent, “She may have had a hand in the concept.”
His fork wavers in the air. “Should I fear for my life?”
“No more than you usually do around her,” you giggle, just a bit, and Robby feels part of himself taking flight at the proof of any lightness left between the two of you. Then you go on seriously (so seriously it wraps back around to adorable for him), “For the next two weeks, I’m going to tell you what I need from you and you’re going to do it as soon as you can. Every time. I want to be the most needy, most demanding, most pregnant person in the entire world. If you can survive that, you can apologize. Give me a real, thoughtful apology and I’ll accept.”
Right away, Robby nods and confirms, “Consider it done.”
You raise a challenging eyebrow. “That easy?”
He puffs up his chest a bit. “I’m an emergency room doctor; I think I can handle a few midnight craving runs.”
“Is that so?”
“I’m 100% confident.”
“Great. Love that.” You sip your drink, gaze at him over the rim, and then tell him with the most vindictive smile you can manage, “The first thing I want you to do is sell the motorcycle.”
That night, Robby’s phone rings with a call from you for the first time in six months. It wakes him from a dead sleep, but he’s been craving your custom ringtone so much that he still manages to answer within less than a second. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he slurs out, “Hi, mama.”
“Hey, Michael.” He can clearly picture you sitting cross-legged on your bed with a menacing smile as you ask, “Can you bring me a tub of that cake batter ice cream I like? The one with the blue frosting swirl and rainbow sprinkles and the actual chunks of pound cake.”
Robby puts you on speaker so he can sit up, stretch his arms, and hit the lights. As he tugs on whatever clothes he runs into, he clarifies, “You mean the one they sell at that kitschy 24-hour diner roadside attraction thing off the highway out in Bridgeville?”
“That would be the one.” Sounding downright wistful, you tell him, “I’ve been craving it my whole pregnancy, but I felt bad asking Trinity to do nearly an hour of driving to scratch the itch.”
Robby frowns as he fumbles through tying his shoes. “You still don’t have a car?”
“I’m living with Dennis and Trinity to save money so I can get one by the time the baby needs to go to daycare,” you tell him softly, trying not to let it sound like an invitation. You swallow hard and repeat firmly, “Ice cream. One hour.”
He smiles to himself as he picks up his car keys. “See you soon.”
Before Robby opens the door to the garage, his phone pings with a text. It’s Whitaker, for some reason.
Good luck on your first mission. Her feet are killing her extra today, by the way.
With a grateful little smile, Robby grabs a tube of the cocoa butter lotion you’d put him onto back when you were together and tucks it conspiratorially in his pocket.
Noted. Thanks for the tip.
Dennis shoots off two more texts before Robby gets to driving.
I’m rooting for you.
If you could also grab me some of those real rootbeers in the dark bottles they sell there that would be great.
Robby rolls his eyes and starts the car. It takes almost exactly one hour to make his way to the neighboring town, stand in line at the Cracker-Barrel-esque diner shop, and head over to your place. It’s quiet this time of night in your neighborhood, so quiet that he doesn’t even have to knock. You answer the door in a crop top that sits on top of your bump and gray sweatpants that hang low beneath it, rolled up around your ankles. You’re visibly exhausted and need a shower and you’ve never been more beautiful.
Then you glance over his shoulder at the car still idling by the curb and your mouth falls open in shock.
“Michael David Robinavitch,” you say breathlessly, hopping down onto the stoop to get a better look, “is that a minivan?”
“Brand new Chrysler Pacifica,” he confirms, following you over and slapping his hand on the hood like it’s a sports car. “Most safety and security features in its class. Ain’t she a beaut?”
With a shy smile, you confirm, “You got rid of the motorcycle?”
Robby shrugs modestly. “Not very practical when you have kids.”
“Kids. Plural.”
He cuts you a look that’s all cocky and loving. “Yeah. Plural.” Then, before you can stop buffering and come up with a response, he slides open the side door of the van and removes his spoils. Hoisting heavy reusable bags, Robby announces, “Two gallons of ice cream as ordered. Hopefully that’ll last you until after my next shift.”
You squeal and grab one of the bags from him, practically skipping back into the house. You leave the front door open and Robby hesitantly takes it as an invitation to join you inside, lingering in the doorway as you beeline to the kitchen, scoop yourself a hearty bowl, and put the rest away in the freezer. You pause, turn to Robby, and check, “You want some?”
Robby carefully steps the rest of the way into the living room and closes the door behind him. “I think all that sugar and fat would give me a heart attack even faster than the stress.”
You sigh and flop down on the couch, lifting your feet onto the coffee table and settling the bowl on your stomach. “Try telling that to your daughter; all she wants is sugar and fat.”
“Thus why I keep sending you balanced meals to eat.”
“Thank you for that, by the way,” you lilt gently, smiling around the spoon as you indulge in the ice cream. You close your eyes and throw your head back, moaning, “Fuck, this is so good. Are you sure you don’t want any?”
“I’m happier watching you eat it,” he chuckles as he memorizes your pleased expression. It’s the first time he’s seen you so content and not on the verge of yelling at him since he’s been back. “Is there anything else I can do for you tonight?”
“Yeah, actually,” you tell him as you try to get comfortable, adjusting pillows around your limbs, “I want to hear about your trip.”
Robby’s brows go up; he genuinely hadn’t expected you to want to talk to him at all. “Really?”
“Yup.” You pat the couch next to you. “Princess kept calling it your midlife crisis fuck-a-thon, so I want to hear about all your exploits.”
Robby tilts his head to the side and says plainly, quietly, urgently, “I didn’t have sex with anyone while I was gone.”
You try to ignore the way that knowledge makes you breathless, focusing on creating perfectly balanced bites of ice cream. “You didn’t?”
“Of course not.” He shrugs, joins you on the couch, and says sheepishly, “I thought I had my girl waiting for me when I got back.”
“Girls don’t wait for men who don’t even text while they’re gone,” you murmur back, sounding more pathetic than you’d wanted.
“I know. I was really screwed up before I left because of everything with the shooting and with Langdon and I- I didn’t see anything clearly. Couldn’t.” Without making anything of it, Robby shifts your bare feet into his lap and starts to rub the arch of one with his thumbs, deep and perfect. He gives you a cheeky look and adds, “But someone I’m trying to impress told me that I had to earn the opportunity to apologize, so I won’t get into all that yet.”
You give him a pointed look. “Any particular reason you’re rubbing my feet?”
He shrugs innocently and reasons, “You’re pregnant; I’m sure they’re killing you all the time.”
“It’s just interesting timing,” you muse, “considering I was complaining about needing a foot massage to Whitaker right before he left for his shift and you just so happened to bring him that weird Pennsylvania root beer he’s been wanting.”
“A man has to have some secrets,” he murmurs. Then he removes all pretense and rucks up the legs of your sweats, takes the lotion from his pocket, and really gets down to business. While he works tension from your feet and ankles and calves, Robby tells you honestly, “All I really did on my trip was think.”
You tease, “Sounds horrible.”
“It was, a lot of the time.” Robby takes the empty bowl from your hands and sets it on the coffee table, promising to wash it before he leaves, and insists you just relax under the expert working of his hands. “I didn’t go because I needed a vacation. I needed to…reset. I watched a lot of sunsets in beautiful places, wrote in my journal twice a day, tried to get eight full hours of sleep every night.”
Your mouth falls open. “You wrote in a journal?”
“Still do,” he replies, sounding a little impressed with himself. “It helps me think. Helps me view my thoughts more rationally – see how stupid they can get, how untrue – when I can read them on the page instead of just repeating them over and over in my mind.”
“That’s really good,” you sigh, head on the cushion and eyes closed. He’s not sure if you’re talking about the journaling or the foot massage or both. Frankly, he doesn’t care. Just getting to hear your sounds of simple pleasure is enough. Interlocking your hands over your bump, you sleepily prod, “Tell me about all the beautiful sunsets, then.”
Robby knows you’re about two minutes from falling asleep, but he happily obliges regardless. He talks about the rolling Appalachians that separate Pittsburgh from the East Coast, the light over the Atlantic early in the morning, the busy cities and empty back roads alike. He talks about the old man he sat with for three hours in a coffee shop listening to him glow about his late wife. He talks about the beach where he saw a family playing and finally felt at peace about Heather’s miscarriage years ago. He talks about the synagogue in New York City where he went just to feel connected to some peace but a rabbi sought him out from the sea of faces and said the Tefilat Haderech over him. He recites the lines he remembers.
…lead us in peace and direct our steps in peace, and guide us in peace, and support us in peace, and cause us to reach our destination in life, joy, and peace…grant me grace, kindness, and mercy…bestow upon us abundant kindness…
After a while, he hears you softly snoring, but he doesn’t stop. Instead he touches your exposed belly, gently working the lotion over your stretch marks, and soothes, “Someday I’ll take you all the beautiful places I’ve seen. You’re going to have the most perfect life I can give you. You and your mom and me.”
Coming in quietly after her shift, Trinity walks into the living room, takes in the scene in front of her, and grins unabashedly. Big bad attending Dr. Robby waiting on you hand and foot just like she told you he should. Grabbing a late snack, she chuckles and praises, “Now this is what I like to see, Rob.”
Robby whispers back, “Be quiet. She’s out like a light.”
“You were just talking to her.”
He corrects, “I was talking to the baby. Mom might be asleep, but my little girl is up and kicking in there listening to my stories.”
She gives him a slap on the back as she walks by. “You’ll bore her to sleep soon enough, gramps.”
Robby’s eating leftovers in bed the next time you call on him. He pauses the TV and picks up the call. “Michael Robinavitch personal assistant service, how may I help you?”
You groan, “I want to shave my legs and I can’t reach anymore.”
He chuckles quietly and hastens to eat the last few bites of his dinner. “Sounds like something I can handle. Do I need to pick up anything to enhance your experience? Chocolate?”
Your voice perks up just a little. “Twix. Several.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And a blue raspberry slushee if you get the Twix at a 7/11.”
“I think I can manage that.”
Half an hour later, you’re in the bath sipping on a Big Gulp and wearing a bikini – much to Robby’s eye-rolling amusement, you insisted he had to earn even non-sexual nudity – while Robby lathers up your legs with your fancy moisturizing gel. You don’t miss the way he takes the time to massage the knots from your calves with those deliciously large hands. God, you missed his hands.
“You’ve got a real jungle going down here,” Robby tuts as he starts in above your ankles, working his way over your skin methodically and thoroughly, his glasses sitting low on his nose as if he’s prepping a surgical field. If this is a measure of how much he cares for you, then he’s not going to miss a single hair. “Gonna need a weed wacker for those shins.”
You glare at him. “I will send that razor straight through your hand, Michael.”
“I’m just saying you could’ve asked me a week ago.”
“I didn’t have any reason to shave my legs a week ago.”
“But you do now?” He raises a suspicious eyebrow. “Hot date?”
“With the OBGYN, yup. She’s a real hunk.”
He gives you a very pointed look at that. “Do you want me to trim your bush?”
“Michael!”
“I know you prefer to keep the topiary neat and the ground below smooth.”
“I will not hesitate to splash you.”
Robby just laughs. As he rinses off the razor and touches up some areas – he even shaves your big toes without saying a word, the gentleman – he sighs and lets his voice go low and honest. “That was a sincere offer. I’m not trying to get off on your personal maintenance, I promise. You always told me you felt uncomfortable when things got a little unruly.”
Sounding far too flirty for Robby’s sanity, you reply, “And you always told me you like unruly.”
“But it’s your body,” he replies. Earnest. Insistent. “I’m not going to push it, but it’s on the table if you change your mind. I want to do anything that will make being pregnant more comfortable for you. I know being up in the stirrups every few weeks can’t exactly be fun.”
After a moment, you whisper, barely loud enough to be heard above the gentle movement of the bath water. “You’re making it really hard to stay mad at you.”
His eyes drift up to yours. You both hold the eye contact for so long that, for some reason, tears sting at your waterline. His golden brown irises are too familiar, too warm, too full of love you’re afraid to accept and afraid to lose. Finally he says, “I want you to be mad at me until you don’t need to be anymore.”
You scoff, “You want me to be mad at you?”
He swallows hard and amends, “I want you to feel everything you need to feel. I can take it.”
And you want to kiss him.
You hate him – and you want to kiss him. So you sigh and say, “Okay.”
“Okay?”
Untying the sides of your bikini bottoms, you confirm, “Let’s trim the bush.”
He makes a show of patting his pockets before announcing, “Crap, I think I left my pruning shears at home.”
You smile and roll your eyes, grateful for his levity and the effortless way he makes you feel safe in his presence. You slip the rest of the way out of the bikini, wring it out, and hand him the sopping fabric. He hangs it over the sink and returns to his place by your side.
As he cleans off the razor again, Robby assures you, “Tell me if you want me to stop. It’s okay if you change your mind any time. You know as well as I do that the OBGYN won’t care what your vulva looks like.”
You snicker, “I know. Get to it, doc.”
Robby chuckles, sinks his hands into the water, and guides your legs apart just enough to give him access. When his fingertips graze your labia, he hisses in a needy breath at the familiar feel of your soft lips. Then he curses softly, shaking his head with a laugh. “Sorry, sorry. Reflexive reaction. Nothing short of professionalism from here on out.”
You laugh, “It’s okay. Glad to know someone still finds me remotely attractive even though I feel like a beached whale.”
“You’ve never been more attractive,” he says quietly. Quickly. But he doesn’t let it hang. He gives a sharp soldier’s nod and gets to work, using his precise doctor’s fingertips to guide his motions. “You know, the last time I did this, it was because a woman had superglue in her pubes. Gluing her shut.”
You wince. “Jesus fuck. How does something like that even happen?”
He shrugs. “Freak sex accident, I’m assuming. That’s half the job.” Then he furrows his brow and drags his fingers up your innermost thigh, cleaning up the edges. “Alright, no more jokes, I’ve gotta focus when I’m relying on touch.”
You roll your eyes. “Yes, sir.”
You close your eyes and lean your head back on the bath pillow Robby ordered to be delivered to your place a few nights ago. In the low light with a backdrop of soothing water sounds, you relax easily; Michael’s touch could never be unfamiliar to you. He uses the fingers of one hand to guide the other, methodically following his own touch along your labia, down near your entrance, up towards your clit. You try to control your breathing as his confident motions start to work some neglected parts of your brain. When he gently pushes against your mons to make the skin straighter and easier to shave, the heel of his hand rests against your clit and you can barely think. He’s not doing it on purpose – that much is clear from how he’s got his tongue slightly out in focus, attuned only to what he’s doing – but it’s working you up nonetheless.
Your shaky voice breaks through the silence. “Michael?”
Totally concentrated on the task at hand, he slows his hands and offers, “Hm?”
Like a guilty child, you admit, “You’re turning me on.”
Right away, he withdraws his hands from under the water and moves away from the tub. “Shit, I’m sorry. I swear I wasn’t trying to do any-”
“No, it’s- it’s okay,” you assure quickly. “I just haven’t been able to, um, do anything about, ah, that particular sort of thing for the last two-ish months. I’m a little…pent up. I didn’t want to, like, start moaning or something on accident.”
Robby hesitates. There’s a war in his eyes. You watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard, trying not to think about anything at all. His cheeks turn red the way you always teased him for and he opens his mouth to talk. Closes it again. Repeats that a few times.
Ultimately, he doesn’t say a thing, just waits for you to lead.
You love him for not offering, for not cracking a joke, for not deflecting. He just creates space for you, leaning against your counter and keeping his eyes on your face. The man in front of you is the same Robby you’ve adored for years and claimed as yours for months, but he’s different, too. There’s a calm to him you haven’t seen before. When Robby used to touch you, it was hot and claiming and craving and yearning. You felt his desperation in every kiss. This man is waiting. Deferent.
For the first time, you’re in charge. You get to decide.
So you decide.
Gently, certain but sheepish, you ask, “Would you mind, um, helping me out with that?”
His voice is strangled and his face is contorted into something akin to agony. “Are you sure?”
“I don’t want to change anything with where we’re at right now,” you clarify, speaking slow, like you’re worried about a nervous cat darting, “but I could really use some relief on that front. If that- if that wouldn’t be too weird.”
“Weird?” Robby laughs and rubs the back of his neck. “No, it wouldn’t be weird.”
“What would it be, then?”
He takes in a shaky breath and replies, “It wouldn’t have to be something.” Sitting down by the tub again, he says, “I said I’d do anything to make you comfortable. Anything.” He lets his hand once again drift below the water, looking at you like it’s a challenge. “I’m not a chicken about fingering a girl when she needs some help.” As his thumb ghosts over your clit, you gasp and stifle the ensuing moan with the back of your hand. Suppressing a self-satisfied smirk, Robby reminds you, “Just tell me if you want me to stop. This isn’t about me.”
You nod eagerly and tilt your hips forward to give him better access. Robby shakes his head a bit; you were always so greedy for him to touch you and it doesn’t seem like that’s changed. Robby uses the pad of his thumb to work your clit, keeping firm contact as he rubs it in small circles, not too fast but not teasing, either. Your need is obvious in the fast rising and falling of your chest, the twitching in your thighs, the way you bite your lower lip and pinch your eyes shut. He treats this like what it is: Relief.
When he can tell you’re wanting more – letting out those soft and desperate little moans he always replays when he jerks off – he dips his other hand between your legs and feels between your lips. You’re wet and begging and he’s not going to deny you for even a second. With the water not letting anything get particularly lubricated, Robby keeps his fingers seated inside of you, curling them instead of thrusting. Your pretty lips fall open in a pleased ‘o’ and Robby’s borderline dizzy from how good it feels to get you off again. He’s not sure if it’s the pregnancy or the desperation but you feel downright swollen with lust, hot and plush and like he could spend the rest of his life keeping you knocked up and-
Woah, asshole.
Calm down.
He takes a deep breath of his own, matching one of yours, and focuses back on you and not on his achingly hard cock straining for freedom from his sweats. As he massages your g-spot way too effortlessly, the palm of his other hand pulls the hood of your clit back slightly, just enough to light your nerves on fire from the intensity of his touch. Heat rises in your cheeks, your chest, your thighs. Robby knows how to work a long, hard orgasm out of you. He never rushes. He matches the curls of his fingers with his thumb on your clit and doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, doesn’t race. He lets you feel every singular sparking second until you’re tightening up around him, your toes curling, your thighs clamping around his hand, your back arching as much as it’ll allow.
All Robby gives himself permission to say as you cum around his fingers is a soft, loving, “There you go. That’s it.”
When your pussy finally starts to release him, only faint fluttery aftershocks remaining, Robby pulls out of you, resists the urge to lick his fingers, and wipes his hands dry. He shuts his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath before he can bear to look at you. The sweat on your brow, the blown darkness of your pupils, the slight swell from biting your lower lip. You’re too beautiful for him to cope with. Robby gazes at you only as long as he can handle before averting his eyes.
To distract himself from the goddess bathing below him, Robby absently strokes your oversized towel hanging on the nearby rack and offers, “Ready to get out? I’ll help you up.”
Still breathless, you stare up at Robby in surprise. He didn’t kiss you, didn’t ask for any pleasure in exchange, only gave you what you needed, what you asked for. Pure, unadulterated respect. For your body, your boundaries, your desires. That’s so much sexier than the desperate love the two of you used to make between agonized sheets. “That would be good. Thank you.”
Robby pulls the stopper on the tub and extends his strong hands for you. Your eyes lock together as you stand with a groan. As he wraps you up in the towel, he holds your shoulders a moment and says urgently, earnestly, “Anything. Any time.”
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
In the morning, Robby’s securing his sleeves with his nicest cufflinks when you call him exactly when he’d expected. He may have snooped on your calendar – it was hanging on your wall as he helped you into bed, sue him – and saw that your OGBYN appointment this morning is, in fact, your third trimester anatomy scan at 9:00am. He knew as soon as he saw it that you were going to ask him to come at the last minute, so he’d asked Jack to stay a few hours late and he’d do the same at night.
He picks up the phone, trying not to sound to pleased with himself. “What can I do for you, oh glorious mother of my child?”
“Laying it on thick already,” you tease. He can hear you talking around your toothbrush and the image makes him smile as he smooths out his charcoal gray blazer and applies a few dabs of cologne. “Would you mind coming to my ultrasound with me today? Trinity was supposed to drive me but I guess she can’t now.”
Robby grins from ear to ear when he catches you in the blatant lie. Trinity’s working a double, which of course Robby would know as her supervisor. You were never planning on asking anyone else. Tucking that knowledge away in a secret place in his heart, Robby nudges, “Do you need a ride or am I invited in?”
“It’s your baby, dumbass,” you reply, the words half-formed now as you floss. After you rinse and spit again, you tell him more seriously, “I want you there.”
“You do?”
There’s a beat of silence where he’s worried he’s pushed too far. But then you say, “Yeah, I do. I wish you could’ve been there for the first few.”
With a deep breath, he replies, “Me too. I’d give anything to go back and-” He takes another deep breath and shakes his head at himself. “I’ll be there to pick you up in a few, okay?”
“See you soon, Michael.”
“Lo- See you, sweetheart.”
When you see Robby leaning against that goddamn minivan, you nearly jump his bones. He’s wearing slim-cut jeans that make his thighs look like tree trunks, his white button-down is undone just enough to show off some chest hair, and he’s got on a fucking blazer. A blazer. The bastard. When did he start putting mousse in his hair to make it so…tousled? Touchable. You can just imagine grabbing it while you ride him into oblivion.
Robby can’t suppress the very similar thoughts he’s having at seeing your outfit. You’re wearing a tea-length floral skirt with a slouchy, oversized sweater half-tucked into it. You look so comfy. Something about how soft and domestic you look as you approach him with your lace-hemmed socks and your oversized travel mug of tea is driving him crazy. He sees his whole life walking toward him with a sleepy smile on her lips.
Trying not to gawk too hard, you eye him up and down and say, “Michael, you look-” sexy as all fuck “-very handsome.”
He puffs up his chest. “Gotta look good; it’s my first time seeing my baby girl. I need to make a solid first impression.”
You roll your eyes, grinning as Robby pulls open the front door. “She can’t see you through my organs, babe.”
You don’t notice the word slipping out, so Robby doesn’t call attention to it. He just makes sure you’re buckled in and then sits on your other side with a glow in his gut. Then he reaches into his messenger bag in the backseat and hands over a king-sized Twix before starting the car and heading toward the hospital.
As you greedily open the wrapper, you hum, “What happened to Mr. Balanced Meal With Lots of Protein?”
“Mr. Balanced Meal With Lots of Protein knows you’re having your favorite burger with bacon and an egg on it from your favorite dive for lunch, on me,” he replies, glancing at you knowingly over the tops of his too-sexy sunglasses. “Throw in a side of sweet potato fries and I’m pretty sure science says that balances out a chocolate bar or two.”
You give a mock-salute with the half-eaten Twix. “Whatever you say, doctor.”
When Robby parks in his reserved spot near the ED, you both seem to realize the same thing at the same time. Robby stiffens up in his seat and offers, “I’m sorry; I wasn’t thinking. I can, ah, drop you off at the main entrance and meet you inside?”
You turn to him with one of those soft, shy smiles that made his heart stammer every time he looked your way when you started in the Pitt. “It’s okay. Really. I mean, you’re gonna be on paternity leave in at most ten weeks, so it’s not exactly a secret, right?”
“Fair point,” he concedes. “You know they’re gonna make it a whole thing, right?”
“Of course I do.”
“There might even be cake by the time we’re done.”
“God forbid.”
“Alright, fuck it.” Robby kills the engine and then walks around to your side of the van, helping you get your footing. “Let’s announce our lovechild to the world.”
“They probably already know; Trinity isn’t the most tight-lipped person,” you reason as he guides you with a large hand on the small of your back. It feels too protective and grounding for you to even pretend to protest.
“Jack didn’t know until I told him.”
“Because he’s such a notorious gossip.”
Robby can’t even respond because, as soon as you’re through the staff entrance, Dana’s staring straight forward at the two of you. Without moving her eyes from your stomach, she beelines your direction and gasps. After wrapping you up in a a warm hug, she looks you over and, disbelieving, mutters, “Holy hell, you are extremely pregnant.”
“Not extremely,” you balk as if it’s a ridiculous idea, “30 weeks.”
Dana seems to notice Robby’s presence and she narrows her eyes suspiciously, running the numbers in her head. “Thirty weeks, eh? Is that a new Robinavitch she’s growing?”
You absolutely beam when Robby blushes like a middle schooler. He confirms, “Yeah, that would be my little girl.”
“A girl!” Dana hugs both of you again and then looks at you seriously. “This one treating you like you deserve? Groveling profusely?”
“Yes, mom.”
“Good. As he should.”
Robby cuts in gently, “We’ve got an appointment upstairs, so we need to try to get through the floor to the elevator without too many interruptions.”
“Yeah, good fuckin’ luck with that,” Dana laughs as she gestures to the buzzing crowd gathering around the nurse’s station to get a look at you and Robby. “Have fun, lovebirds.”
Your cheeks are burning hot, so you poke Robby in the side and murmur, “Can you do one of your magical Dr. Robby speeches to make them go away? I don’t do well with public interrogations.”
“Your wish is my command,” he assures you quietly, pressing a kiss to your temple. In the nerves of the moment, you want to turn and nuzzle your face into the comfort of his broad chest.
Then Robby claps loud a few times until the handful of free doctors and nurses gather up, including a deeply amused Jack, Trinity, and Whitaker. He announces in his Big Serious Attending voice, “Alright guys, a handful of things to stop-slash-start the rumor mill. One: Yes, I’m wearing a blazer; pictures are $45 a pop. Two: Yes, your former APRN is heavily pregnant. Three: Yes, it is my baby. Four: I’m in a period of repentance to regain her favor after being an ass for the last six months, but we’re figuring it out. Finally: The buy-in for the due date betting pool starts at $25; I’m not skimping out on my firstborn. Any follow-up questions can be directed to the admirable godmother Dr. Trinity Santos. Got it?”
Whitaker gives a charming little whoop and starts off the clapping, joined quickly by everyone else. As Robby accepts a handful of congratulations, Jack pulls you into a strong hug and looks you in the eyes, serious and stern as ever. There’s an undeniable warmth in the twitch of his lips, though, as he tells you, “He’s got you, kid. I know he does. He loves you to death and he knows he fucked up.”
You squeeze his bicep gently. “Thanks, Dr. Abbot.”
“No problem.” Then he points at your bump and adds, “That’s Uncle Jackie to you, miss.”
You blink back hormonal tears as you laugh. “Uncle Jackie, huh?”
He grins and boasts, “I was born to be an irresponsible but lovable bad influence uncle. That girl is gonna have the biggest and most annoying family of doctors and nurses.”
The baby gives you a swift kick in the bladder like she heard him say it. You place your hand over the ginger spot and smile. “Yeah, she will. We’re lucky.”
And suddenly so much love washes through your body you’re not sure you can hold it all. When you watch Robby absolutely glowing talking about becoming a dad, you know this is right. He’s the right man for you. For her. You’re swept up into the collection of hugs and congratulations, too, but you can’t stop watching Robby’s smile lines. The way he checks in with you every time he laughs. The way he’s looking at you not like a girlfriend or a baby mama but like the sun of his solar system.
Robby tucks you under his arm easily and calls, “Alright, alright, we have an ultrasound to get to, people, let’s back off the pregnant lady. You all have lives to save and baby shower gifts to buy.”
You giggle under your breath as he leads you to the elevator. “Baby shower gifts. Please.”
“What? You don’t want a shower?”
“I just don’t know who would put it together; I don’t really have the time.”
Robby scoffs, “As if either of us could physically stop the nurses from throwing one now that the cat’s out of the bag.”
“Good point,” you concede, trying to suppress the smile that won’t stop threatening your cheeks.
Maybe it’s just luck or maybe it’s the presence of one of the hospital’s more important doctors standing behind you, but you’re in the exam room with Robby holding your hand within a few minutes of checking in. The OB attending, Dr. Montgomery, arrives shortly after your vitals are taken.
She’s borderline glaring after she greets you and extends a hand to Robby. “Dr. Robinavitch, good to see you back at the hospital after so long away.”
“Good to be back,” he replies carefully, shaking her hand. “I’m guessing you’ve been given a harsh but fair view of me the past few months.”
“That would be an accurate assessment, doctor.”
Robby does that thing where he kind of hunches his broad shoulder to seem smaller and more approachable. It’s what he does when he’s hiding from Gloria or talking to a little old lady with chlamydia. He insists, “Call me Michael, please.”
“We’ll see.”
You snicker, “Addie, I promise he’s putting the work in.”
“Fine. Claws away while we say hi to baby girl.” Dr. Montgomery preps the ultrasound station as you get your clothes tucked out of the way. As she applies the warmed gel and manuevers the wand, she tells you, mostly addressing Robby since he wasn’t there for the other appointments, “She was a little small at our last scan, so I’m gonna take a few extra measurements to track her progress.”
Robby nods slowly and stares at the back of the ultrasound monitor like he can see through it and gather information. “Has there been anything else on the scans I need to know about?”
You gaze up at him while Dr. Montgomery takes her notes. “Nope, she’s been a total champ. I’m the problem between the two of us.”
Robby strokes your hair with his other hand; you can tell it’s more to soothe himself than you, so you let him. “What does that mean?”
You lean into his touch unconsciously and reply, “I’m just anemic; I passed out early on. That’s how I found out I was pregnant in the first place.”
Guilt skewers Robby like an ice pick. “You’re taking iron now?”
You roll your eyes. “And eating spinach and letting handsome baby daddies buy me burgers.”
Robby’s ensuing smile is cute and proud. Dr. Montgomery looks up from the ultrasound and happily announces, “Baby girl’s growth has gotten much better since your last vosot. She’s no longer small for her gestational age and is now firmly average. Good work, mom. Have you been adding more protein and healthy fats to your diet like I suggested?”
When Robby opens his mouth to speak, you narrow your eyes at him an say, “Michael Robinavitch I will strangle you right now with my bare hands if you say ‘I told you so.’”
He chuckles and gives your hand a squeeze. “I would never. I’m just glad to hear our girl’s healthy – and not a bowling ball. I was 11 pounds.”
You cringe at the thought. “Lucky she takes after me on that front.”
So softly it sounds more like a prayer, Robby asks, “Can we see her now?”
Flipping the monitor around with a smile, Dr. Montgomery replies, “Yeah, of course. There’s her side profile; she’s perfectly posed for us. I’ll turn on the doppler, too.”
Robby leans forward and looks at the screen. Something cracks open in his chest as the baby’s heartbeat fills the room, whooshing fast and steady. He lets out a tiny, barely audible whimper. Your eyes fly up to his and you see the tears flooding down his pink cheeks as he gazes at his daughter wriggling around on the monitor.
You squeeze his hand and he gasps a tiny bit like he just remembered you’re there. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
“She’s perfect,” he breathes softly. Then he presses his lips to the top of your head and takes a trembling breath. Even his softest whisper trembles. “How could I ever leave you? I can’t believe I let myself miss this. You’re so fucking perfect. So strong. I love you so much.”
Tears thicken your throat as you lean up to press your forehead to his, sniffling out, “Mikey.”
He starts to cry in earnest, then, and you reach up to hold him. Your arms tangle together and your tears stain each other’s shoulders and there’s nothing but future in the places where your bodies touch.
Things get easier between you and Robby after that. You find yourself asking him for more and more trivial things just to see him and hear his voice. Your phone calls turn from a few sentences to a few minutes to an hour or more if you catch each other at a good time. He takes you shopping for baby clothes and even pretends to have an opinion about different fabrics when you ask. He stocks up on diapers, helps with your labor go bag, and does absolutely everything in his power to take the mental load off your shoulders.
From that new closeness, a quiet tension emerges. As you reach week 32 of your pregnancy, the shared knowledge of your needing to move hangs over you both, unspoken but omnipresent. Robby hasn’t pushed the issue yet, but you know it’s going to reach a tipping point.
That day comes during the worst rainstorm of the year one gloomy day in October. It’s your day off, so you’re treating yourself to a shopping spree when the rain starts. The forecast had only been for a light drizzle, so you were comfortable leaving the apartment in something cozy with an umbrella and rain boots. But the light drizzle turned torrential while you were inside a baby boutique on the other side of town.
Meanwhile, the heavy, dark, oppressive thunderstorm has the ED swamped. All the attendings are on staff to handle the onslaught of car accidents, falls, and asthma attacks. As he’s supervising Mohan’s work on an elderly woman’s obliterated tibia, his phone vibrates in his pocket.
While closing another line of sutures, Samira asks over her shoulder, “Is that mama?”
Robby slips his phone out just long enough to check. “Shit, yes, it is. She wouldn’t call me during weather like this if it wasn’t important. Do you mind if I-”
Mohan chuckles, “I think Mrs. Frost and I have this handled. Go save your woman from her aching feet or lack of chocolate bars.”
Robby gives the patient an apologetic smile and excuses himself. He ducks around the nearest quiet-ish corner where the hospital’s chaos lowers to a dull roar and manages to pick up right before it goes to voicemail. “Hey, sweetheart, what’s going on?”
He can hear you crying on the other side, the sound barely coming through the rain. “Can you come pick me up?”
Robby half-jogs toward the locker room, already stripping off his trauma gown and dodging questions from his fellow doctors as he goes. “Where are you?”
“A bus stop in East Liberty,” you sniffle out. “The buses are all delayed because of the weather and I tried to get ahold of Trinity but she didn’t pick up and I’m soaking wet and freezing and I can’t-”
“Breathe for me, honey. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Robby can hear the shivering and the tears and the panic in your voice and his gut clenches up in pain. He spares a glance outside and sees that the rain is still a deluge, the clouds dark and murky above and the ground shiny and slick with oil leeching out below. Lightning strikes and thunder claps. “Which bus stop?”
As you tell him, he dumps his trauma gown, rummages through his things, and grabs his keys and his gym bag, which at least has a towel and some dry clothes. “I’ll be there in ten minutes, okay? Is there somewhere warm and dry you can wait for me?”
“I- I don’t know. I’m all frazzled,” you admit. He can feel your reluctance to tell him, but you can’t stop it from spilling out through the crackling rain. “There was this guy who wouldn’t leave me alone, asking all these gross questions about my boyfriend or whatever and I just ran to the closest public spot I could find.”
Anger flares in Robby’s chest. He scribbles out a note and hands it to Dana as he passes the nurse’s station, barely pausing to see her reaction – just long enough to see her annoyed but supportive nod – before he shoves out of the door into the rain. “Are you alone now? Are you safe?”
“I’m okay, just- just kinda scared and tired and- and-”
“Breathe, baby, breathe. I’m getting in the car right now.”
A few beats pass with nothing but the rain in Robby’s ears. Then your meek, nervous voice: “Would you stay on the phone with me?”
“Of course.” He guns the engine and peels out of the parking lot, careful but quick. “I’m right here with you. Just keep talking and the time’ll pass. Tell me about what you were doing. Shopping for something fun?”
“Yeah, I was.” You sniffle again and try to smile. “I bought this, um, this handmade baby wrap carrier thing. It’s really soft and, like, this quilted fabric that I think would be really comfy for her.”
“You gonna teach me how to baby wear like all the hip dads are doing?”
“Definitely.” You actually let out a small laugh as you tell him, “The whole ‘big man carrying baby’ thing is very sexy. I’m sure it’ll help you pick up chicks at the grocery store.”
Robby snorts. “You know perfectly well there are only two chicks I’m interested in picking up the rest of my life.
“Rest of your life, huh?”
“If they’ll have me.” He makes a turn and spots you huddling beneath a leaky bus stop shelter. “Alright, I’m only a minute away now, but I might be late because I have to stop and offer the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen a ride, okay? She’s soaking wet and very pregnant and dressed inappropriately for the weather.” Robby pulls up to the curb and pushes your door open as he hangs up the phone. “Hey, stranger, can I give you a lift?”
You slide into the car next to him, your eyes puffy from crying and your hair disastrous from the rain. As you buckle in, you pout and observe, “You turned on the seat warmers for me.”
“I also brought you a threadbare towel and a hoodie; I’m a real gentleman,” he replies as he opens up his gym bag in the backseat and hands them off.
Gratefully toweling off your hair and tucking yourself under the hoodie, you smile and nudge him. “Yeah, actually, you are.”
Robby gives your knee a quick squeeze and pulls the car into traffic, heading back toward the highway. You gradually begin to feel like a person instead of a pregnant popsicle.
Teeth still chattering a bit, you manage to get out, “I’m sorry for interrupting you at work; I’m sure things are swamped there.”
Despite the fact that his phone’s been ringing non-stop since he left, Robby replies earnestly, “Nothing’s more important to me than your safety.” He swallows hard and apologizes for himself, “I’m sorry for calling you baby on the phone; I wasn’t thinking. I heard you upset and I just went on autopilot.”
You tell him softly, “It’s okay, Michael.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah, it really is,” you murmur back. “You missed the exit, by the way.”
Robby shakes his head. “I’m taking you back to my place; you need a warm bath and a hot meal and to sleep for twelve hours uninterrupted in a king size bed.”
You avert your eyes and admit, “That sounds really nice, Mikey.”
“I like hearing you call me that again,” he says gently. “Thank you.”
“Thank me by ordering me some orange chicken while I take a bubble bath.”
Robby chuckles, “Yes, ma’am.”
As soon as Robby has you inside, he’s helping you strip your exhausted, pruny body and drawing you a silky bath. As he collects some of his old comfy clothes for you to wear from his closet, you call out from the tub, “Would you actually make that matzo ball soup that you made when you gave me mono?”
“I did not give you mono,” he laughs, “but I will absolutely make you some nourishing comfort food.”
He can hear the teasing eye roll in your voice as you call back, “You had mono. You made out with me. I then had mono. Who the hell do you think I got it from?”
“Alright, whatever.” Robby sets down the clothes on the counter and points at you seriously. “Don’t you dare try to get out of that tub without my help, missy. I’ll be back once I’ve got the soup boiling.”
You smile at him fondly and bat your eyelashes. “Yes, sir.”
“Don’t play dirty with me.”
“I would never.” You sink deeper into the bubbles and sigh contentedly, “I’m more than happy to stay in here and turn myself into a little matzo ball.”
He leans down and kisses the top of your head. “Good girl.”
“Now who’s playing dirty?”
“I would never.”
Robby slips out of the bathroom and you just…relax. While Robby takes care of you. While he waits on you.
God.
God.
Between the bubbles and the bergamot bath oil, the tension and nerves leave. The sound of the storm outside becomes white noise. From downstairs, the smell of rich schmaltzy chicken broth wafts into your nose and you feel settled. Held. By the time Robby returns to the bathroom, you know, deep down in your bones, that you’ve forgiven him.
Robby helps you out of the tub and wraps you up in a fluffy robe he must’ve been warming in the dryer for you. Then he grabs a tube of lotion, sits down on the bed, and gestures for you to join him. While he tends to your feet and legs, he pleads with you, “Move in here, sweetheart, please. I can’t- I can’t function not knowing if you’re okay. Not knowing where the baby’s going to be sleeping and not knowing if I can be there for her and for you and-”
“Michael.” It’s a whisper, a tender one at that. “I don’t want to feel like I’m trying to fit into your life.”
“I don’t want to make you feel that way; I swear.” He kisses your hand a few times and then takes a deep breath. “I’d like to apologize now. If you’d let me.”
You nod slowly and try to ignore the tears that rise to your waterline. “I’m ready. Go ahead.”
“Thank you.” After a deep breath, Robby starts, “Look, I’m not going to apologize for leaving. I needed to leave. I needed to-” He gestures wide and begging as he searches for the right words. “I needed to grow up. I know I’m a little old for that, but I think it’s the closest thing to true. I’m sorry I told you instead of talking it through. I’m sorry I went radio silent. But honestly?”
Suddenly he reaches out and cups your cheek in his large hand. His palm is warm and so familiar that you can hardly breathe. With his thumb stroking your skin, he finishes, “What I’m the most sorry for is that I didn’t ask you to come with me. Every sunset, every motel mattress, every wide open highway would’ve been so much better if I shared them with you.”
He presses his forehead to yours and murmurs, “I swear I’ll spend every single one with you from now on. I’ll be there for every birthday, every Chrismukkah, every fucking thing you want me at. Nothing has ever or will ever matter to me more than being your husband. The father of our children. So tell me what you want. Tell me every single thing you want for you and for me and for the baby and you’ll have it. Because I love you more than my stupid bike and more than my career and more than everything I’ve ever had. You are everything now.”
The air sparks like the lightning outside. For a full minute, it’s you and it’s Robby and it’s the storm.
Then you lean forward. You hold Robby’s face with both hands and search his golden brown eyes. His heart pounds in his ears. His lungs are tight and screaming.
And you kiss him.
It’s slow, so gentle, and he’s holding his breath. Then reality seems to settle softly on his shoulders and he smiles against your lips, slides his hands onto your waist, thumbs affectionate on your bump, and kisses you back. When you pull away only slightly, you inform him, “I want a house with a yard. One that I get a say in. Further from the city. I want a safe, sensible family car for myself. No black interior. Light brown. I want a big fat diamond ring. Four carats minimum. I want sex at least three times a week. Six orgasms for me as a baseline. And I want a husband who works at most 50 hours.”
Robby gazes at you with watery eyes. “Okay.”
You smack him on the chest and laugh, “‘Okay’? I was trying to be unreasonable, Michael!”
“Well I’m being serious. Let’s move to the suburbs and have a huge wedding and fuck whenever you want. I’ve got savings to get us through as long as we need. I’ll start my own practice, slow down, buy a grill, join the PTA, the whole nine yards.”
You roll your eyes and scoff, “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not,” he assures seriously. “If you’re taking me back and making me a dad, you can be a hell of a lot more unreasonable than asking me to put my family first.”
“Fine.” You cross your arms over your chest and try not to grin. “I want a puppy.”
Robby grips his heart like you’ve stabbed him. “If you really want one – when the baby’s old enough that I won’t have a panic attack having a dog around her.”
“Deal.” You rest your forearms on his shoulders, playing with the hair at the back of his neck. “I want you to mow the lawn shirtless on Saturday mornings.”
He melts under your touch and smiles. “Okay.”
You lean in closer, a smile of your own breaking out. “And I want my own craft room in the house.”
Glancing down at your lips, he promises once again, “Okay.”
“I want a hot tub.”
“Okay.”
“And a soaking tub.”
“Okay.”
“Manicures every other week. A tropical vacation every summer. Two more babies in the next ten years.”
“Okay, okay-” he kisses you again, soft and warm and unhurried “-very okay.”
Your hand slides down his chest and toys with the hem of his tee. You watch his stomach twitch and his chest gasp upwards as you purr, “And I want you to fuck me. Right now.”
Robby’s lips return to yours. Urgent now. He pulls you into his lap and drags kisses up your neck, tasting your clean skin and your pulse beneath him. His breath is hot and his every touch – slipping the robe from your shoulders, lazing his fingers along your arms, kissing the shell of your ear – is an act of worship. At last, he murmurs against your lips, “Okay.”
summary ⸝⸝ Jealousy is never flattering. But sometimes it's exactly what two stubborn people need.
warnings ⸝⸝ inappropriate workplace relationship, MDNI, implied age gap but reader’s age is not specified, insecure reader, jealousy (obviously!), bit of angst, mention of exes (noelle), explicit sexual content, penetrative sex, fingering, happy ending. No use of Y/N.
notes ⸝⸝ first serious Robby fic, amazing gif by my darling @bodeckerhedron 🥹 he looks so pretty there!! wanna smooch
⟡ READ ON AO3 ⚚ PITT MASTERLIST
Robby left.
Every single time. Didn't matter if the shift had spit him out, be it one in the morning or two in the afternoon, soaked through with somebody else's blood or just bone tired from twelve hours — he got his fill of you and then he got up.
You used to think that was the safest part of it. No staying meant nothing left to lose. You'd actually said that out loud once, alone, brushing your teeth, like saying a thing into a bathroom mirror could make it sound convincing.
It wasn't safe. You're aware of that now, eleven months in, thinking about stuff you have no business thinking about at 2 AM. How many times he's actually said your name versus just grunted it into your collarbone like a reflex he doesn't have control over.
You weren't insecure. You were not someone who rereads texts looking for a tone that wasn't there. Not a tear was shed when you'd found out your college boyfriend had cheated on you. You just changed the locks and ate an entire rotisserie chicken by yourself in front of the TV and felt, weirdly, fine.
People used to call you unflappable. You liked being unflappable. It felt like a skill you'd built on purpose, brick by brick.
That went right out the window when it came to Robby. Now you're someone whose ribs go tight the second he so much as looks sideways at a woman he might actually like instead of just being decent to.
There's a difference, and your body grew an awful radar for telling those two things apart when it came to him. It happened sometime around month four and never really left.
The radar pinged when you were bored out of your mind, chewing on the end of a pen that might have once belonged to Whittaker.
He was at the nurses' station with Noelle. Her hand was close enough to his, on a chart neither of them was actually reading anymore.
He laughed. Head tipping back a little, eyes doing the crinkle thing, the laugh you maybe get twice on a generous month, handed over to somebody else like it was nothing but easy.
"Ouch." Santos appeared out of nowhere with an iPad on one arm, completely without the instinct most people have for reading a room, or she did but just didn't care. "That's rough. Watching your guy's ex flirt with him in broad daylight, front row seat and everything."
"He's not my guy."
"Sure." She wasn't even looking at you, eyes still on the iPad, chewing gum leisurely. "They dated. Robby and Noelle. Year and a half ago, give or take, before whatever you two have going on.” Her hands did a vague gesture spanning the two of you. “Mohan told me. Mohan doesn't lie about gossip. She lies about how much sleep she's getting but never gossip." Dropping the iPad on the rack, she actually looked at you, gum still going. "You good? You're holding the pen kinda tight there."
You put the pen down.
You didn't say anything to him for the rest of the shift, which felt like the mature call, right up until it didn't.
Somewhere around hour four, it started feeling a lot more like a slow leak behind your sternum that nobody else could see.
Robby texted you at eleven. You up?
Same two words he always sent, and you typed back yeah before your brain got a vote. Maturity apparently left you as you'd entered your building.
He showed up still smelling like the hospital underneath his cologne, antiseptic and something warmer you stopped being able to separate from the actual him months ago.
Chapped lips met yours in your doorway, like it was nothing but routine, and you let him. Even if Noelle's laugh was sitting in your chest, a fish bone you hadn't managed to cough up yet.
Hands went under shirts before you'd even cleared the hallway, clothes dropped on your living room floor, his shirt on the couch, yours over his.
You told yourself you weren't going to think about her. Genuinely tried, with his mouth dragging down your throat and his hand already working your pants open.
For maybe four minutes it actually worked, his teeth scraping just hard enough at your clavicle to scatter every thought that wasn't more, now, please.
Without conscious effort, you found yourself on your bed and his fingers inside you, curling at the exact angle he's had memorized since the first time.
Somewhere underneath all the noise your brain went and sabotaged you.
Did he do this with her too? Did her thighs shake like this under his hand? Did she get the real laugh in bed the same way she gets it at the desk?
"Where'd you go?"
You hadn't even noticed your hips had stopped moving until his did too, both of you stalled in a strange suspended quiet that only happens when somebody's head leaves the room without bothering to take the rest of them along.
"Nowhere." Nowhere good.
"You went somewhere." If it was any consolation, Robby didn't pull his fingers out. It unfortunately wasn't. They stilled there, full and aching, which felt a little something like cruelty. "Tell me."
"It's nothing. Keep going."
"Not until you tell me what it is." His thumb found your clit , barely moved, like he could multitask being patient and torturing you in the same breath. "What happened?"
A lie was loaded and ready, something about being tired, a bad case. But his fingers curled again, reaching deeper than it had any right to at this moment. Your whole body betrayed you with an arch and a moan that had no performance in it at all.
Right on the heel of the moan came the truth, ugly and completely unplanned. "I saw you with Noelle." Your voice trembled. "Laughing like that. And Santos told me you two used to date. I know I have zero claim to feeling anything about that, we never called this anything, but I felt sick. Standing there. And now you're —" you gestured to the situation, "— and I'm still thinking about her instead of you and I think that makes me fucking insane."
With the amount of hurry it took to stumble into the bedroom, neither of you had the slightest thought to turn on a light, not even the bedside lamp. So whatever his face did was between him and god, you remained oblivious to anything but his hands frozen in your cunt.
"That was a year and a half ago."
"I — I know. That's not the point."
"Then what is?"
"You — you laugh like that with her and you've never once laughed like that with me. Not one time, Robby. I— I just lie here every single time wondering if I'm just what you do because the real thing already happened with her and ended… and you haven't bothered looking for anything else since." You turned your face into the pillow, mortified at the sound of your own voice saying it out loud. "You leave every time. You don't even turn the light on so you don't wake me. But I'm always awake. I just lie there and pretend, so I don't have to watch it happen in real time."
"I'm sorry, sweetheart, I didn't know that."
"It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me." He pulled his fingers almost to the edge, and pushed them right back into you without warning. You gasped at the sudden fullness of it, his voice dropping into a rougher tone than you'd heard from him before. "I laugh like that with her because there's nothing left. It's easy because none of it means a damn thing anymore. Because you're the one person I actually —"
You felt the sentence die in the air between you, felt your stomach drop through the mattress in the silence that followed. "Actually what?"
Without answering, Robby pulled his fingers free and lined himself up, the blunt head of his cock pressed against you, teasing, his body needing a job to do while his mouth caught up to whatever it was trying to say.
"Care about," he said finally, and pushed into you in one slide that knocked every other thought clean out of your head. "That's the word. Care about."
"Robby —"
"I've been leaving because I didn't know how to stay without telling you why I wanted to." His hips bottomed out and went still, both of you frozen there, joined, neither one pulling apart even though this conversation had clearly outgrown the bed it started in. "Didn't want to say it out loud. I'm fifty two. Buried more people than I can count and most days I couldn't tell you what I had for breakfast. Not exactly a catch."
"I don't care about any of that."
Hips stilling, he dropped his forehead to your temple, breath fanning the side of your neck, the slight tremble in him giving away how hard it was for him to stay perfectly still. "That's the part that scares me. I — That's the thing — I've been leaving so I wouldn't have to say."
"Say what?" Your own words were a breath lost in cold air.
"I love you."
Three words.
You'd built entire personality traits around not needing to hear stuff like that from men, had a whole bit you did with your friends about how love confessions were basically a review nobody asked for.
Flat on your back with this man's hips locked against yours, none of that seemed true, completely unable to produce a single clever thought about it. Even though you knew it lessen the burden of the thing that's been eating at you for months.
"You love me?" Buying time, the way your brain used to stall during viva in med school, repeating the question out loud while you scrambled for an answer.
"Yes."
You'd expected a nervous laughter to soften the landing, you'd even braced for it, but it didn't come.
"Was that why you left everytime?"
"If you say it like — yes. Yes, that was why."
That was so completely him, agreeing to a version of events instead of supplying his own, like the truth was easier to hand you secondhand than to actually build from scratch. If the two glasses of wine you'd had before he'd texted didn't make your chest loose, this definitely did.
He kissed you before you could ruin it with whatever your mouth was about to attempt. Slow at first, and then not slow, his hips finally moving again. You felt the difference in your bones. Heavier somehow, like he'd been holding something back this whole time and had only just now set it down.
You thought, stupidly, your mother's voice from years ago, some lecture about how men who can't say things outright will show you instead. You'd rolled your eyes at the time because it sounded like a fortune cookie. It didn't sound like a fortune cookie right now.
Then came Noelle again, all the other times where they could've been like this. Wondered if he'd said the same thing about someone else to her.
You knew it wasn't fair. He wasn't some monster gaslighting you into believing he's a good guy.
The thought evaporated with Robby's hand sliding up to rest against your throat, like he needed somewhere to put his hand. "Don't think about her," he said against your mouth. "Not while I'm inside you."
"Hard not to," you admitted, and immediately hated yourself a little for saying it out loud. It was ugly.
But his hips snapped forward right then, your honesty earning a reaction out of him he hadn't planned on giving.
"She never had me like this." His voice had gone rough. The headboard started its soft, steady complaint against the wall, the same sound you'd heard a hundred different times over the past few months, but none of them felt like this. "Never had me saying the things I'm saying to you right now."
You wanted to ask what things he'd told her specifically, still room left in your brain for petty curiosity. But when his mouth found your jaw, the question dissolved somewhere between your teeth.
"Every time you see her face," he went on, breath hot against your ear, "I want you remembering whose bed I keep coming back to."
Somewhere distant, you knew what he was doing. Saying with his hips what he couldn't get out standing up in a hallway with the lights on. You'd have called it sad on anyone else. But you'd thrown a whole tantrum over a laugh mere minutes ago, you didn't have an upper hand.
Even without being fair, your body had completely overruled whatever your brain was attempting to negotiate, as you clenched around him without meaning to.
The small, helpless noise that came out of you was something he clearly enjoyed. "There it is." You could hear the satisfaction crawling into his voice even through the strain of it. "You like hearing it."
"Say it again." No more point pretending it didn't matter.
"Yours." He bit down at the curve of your shoulder, enough for you to find the mark tomorrow. You'd find in the shower and touch it on purpose, the way you did with every other one he'd left over the months, a little private inventory of evidence of his body on yours. "You're the only one I want."
You broke as the words left him, his name tearing loose from your chest mid cry.
Robby cared enough to notice, but kept going right through your aftershocks with none of the restraint you'd gotten used to from him, the confession having used up the last of whatever discipline he usually operated on. "Look at me. Look at me when I —"
You forced your eyes open through the blur, to find his, even though every nerve in your body was begging you to just shut them and float. "I'm here."
He came with his mouth pressed to yours instead of buried in your neck the way he usually finished, a monumental leap.
Your name broke apart between his lips in pieces, hips jerking through it before his arms finally gave out and his whole weight dropped onto you.
Robby was careful even falling apart, catching his own weight at the last second so he didn't crush you completely.
Somewhere in the haze, you thought that there was probably an entire personality you could write about a man based solely on how he chose to fall on top of someone.
His mouth found your shoulder as he left open mouthed kisses all over it. You could hear both your heartbeats slowing down at slightly different speeds. It was oddly endearing how his stayed a little fast even after yours settled down.
You half expected the scramble even now. Pattern recognition came easy too you, part of your brain already listening for the rustle of him finding his jeans in the dark.
It didn't come though.
Robby's breathing evened out near you, one arm slung heavy over your stomach, settling in instead of lunging towards the exit.
You thought about asking what time it was. An old habit you didn't even fully understand the function of anymore — maybe to give him an easy excuse if he wanted one, maybe just to confirm he was choosing this on purpose and not simply losing track of the clock the way exhausted people do after a double shift.
"You're not leaving," you said eventually, voice muffled into his chest.
You felt him laugh, more breath than sound. "Said I wasn't going to."
"You say a lot of things."
His arm tightened slightly, pulling you closer in against him, his chin coming to rest against the top of your head. "Well, get used to this one."
You thought about Noelle, briefly, one last unwelcome flicker. You wondered if she ever got this, the staying part, the arm that didn't pull away, and decided, almost immediately, that you didn't actually care anymore, not the way you had three hours ago.
It felt less like jealousy now and more like a story that had already ended, one you'd just happened to read the last page of tonight.
"For the record," you said, "Santos has a big mouth."
"Santos has always had a big mouth." His hand was drawing idle shapes against your hip, only aimed at staying connected to you. "Glad she does, though. Wasn't sure I was ever gonna get around to saying it myself."
"You weren't?"
"Was planning on being a coward about it indefinitely." There was no real shame behind it, not really. "You kinda forced my hand."
"I had a mental breakdown over your ex. That's not forcing anyone's hand, that's just embarrassing."
"Didn't feel embarrassing though." His mouth pressed against your hair, brief, almost absent, like he wasn't even thinking about doing it.
You didn't have a comeback for that, which was rare for you. You let the silence sit there instead of filling it, listening to the quiet of your own bedroom at — what, one in the morning? Two? You genuinely didn't know anymore. Hadn't looked at a clock once since he walked through your door, actually, and it took you a second to even notice that about yourself.
𑣲⋆｡˚ rabbot love taking you at the same time p link
jack is grasping your hips from below you with an iron rip as your boobs press against his chest, dragging against him with each harsh thrust. he's looking straight up at your face, and you gaze down at him with bleary eyes, already so fucked out :(
he pouts sympathetically at the dumb look on your face and brushes some of the hair that had fallen in front of your eyes when your head lulled forward. you make sensual eye contact while he caresses your face in his big hand, gazing at you adoringly.
it would've been so romantic
if not for the absolute brute robby was, pounding into you from behind, with a harsh grunt from each thurst.
no wonder you were so dumb already, your poor pussy was struggling to fit both of their big cocks at the same time :(
robby readjusts and hikes his leg up to give him more momentum, gripping onto your shoulders to drag you right back down their lengths when you tried to squirm away.
the new angle caused you to let out a shocked squeal and then a defeated whimper when you realised robby wouldn't let up. jack tuts, "aw robby's being mean isn't he baby?"
you let out a dumb nod, making eye contact with jack again while they both plough into you. robby ignores the comment and just keeps going, and jacks hands drag up your body to squeeze the plush planes of your boobs, still holding eye contact while teasing your nipples.
you were a mess, bless your soul, spasming, drooling, your hole leaking. but they loved it. they revel in knowing they ruin you so good your brain can't function anymore and all you can think about is dick.
rabbot love ruining their girl at the same time ᥫ᭡.
robby and hate sex. robby and degradation/humiliation kink when reader denies how good he feels WHOA WHO SAID THAT
— ɴᴏ ᴛᴇɴᴅᴇʀɴᴇss ᵎᵎ ݁.
→ warnings: michael ‘robby’ robinavitch x R2 fem!reader, 4.5k wc, smut, small angst?, age gap, not even mean!robby more like asshole!robby & prob a lil ooc, oral [m receiving], unprotected sex, degrading & humiliation [so degrading language used], slapping, biting, spitting, all the beautifully nasty things that come with hate fucking.
→ a/n: title taken from Hatefu--k ; The Bravery because when I saw your request I genuinely may have let out a little evil laugh then thought of that song immediately soo. also i prob missed warnings
It was no secret to the entirety of the PTMC that you have a certain disdain for Dr, Robby. It wasn’t instantaneous no, you actually used to like the guy. You transferred to the hospital for your R1 year and Robby was a little harsh around the edges but a good enough mentor at the start. Then you start to notice him becoming more and more callous and brash with you specifically, you notice it with Samira and Langdon after he comes back but he just seems worse with you.
It doesn’t even get any better like you sort of hoped maybe it would when he returns from his short sabbatical. You thought that maybe him taking a breather away from the hospital, away from the stress of being a boss. Plus the apparent irritation you caused that he could come back more level headed. Evidently as you sit on an empty patient bed being berated by him for being ‘so dumb’ that you messed up a few charts and missed important information, nearly losing a patient in the process — you realized you were wrong. “Im just- I’m having an off day Robby alright, Im sorry” you groan out “I’ve already apologized to you, to the patient, to damn near everyone at this point for it so…lay off” you hiss, clenching your jaw and squeeze your hand into a fist, pushing your nails into your palm in an attempt to ease your anger.
He scoffs out and you watch his face contort in a way you haven’t really seen before, stalking his way over to you til he is pushing his way between your legs that dangle off the bed, getting in your face. You try to not let the proximity affect you but it’s hard when a scent so distinctly him fills your nose, hints of whiskey and leather underneath the antiseptic and hand sanitizer smell. He plants his hands either side of your body on the bed, effectively cagging you in and a small fear runs through you that you’re about to get fried as you take in Robby's scrunched face, his eyes full of anger, his lips pulled in a scowl. “You can’t have a ‘off’ day in the ER, lives are in your hands and you fucked up, do you get that?” His voice comes out harsh and deep, enunciating each word as if you couldn’t understand him. “That man could’ve died” he continues on – “What’s got you distracted anyway, your little boyfriend break up with you or somethin’ ??” he guesses not having any clue he hit the target dead center in an aggravating way. You feel your face drop from your angry expression into a small pout and open your mouth but before you can jump to your own defense, he keeps on. “I don’t care, I don't care what it is, you don’t bring that shit into the ER, thought i taught ya’ better than that” He shakes his head and pulls away. He moves to stalk off and let himself cool off a bit but his ears prick up at the words you mumble under your breath. “If screaming at me every other week after my R1 year counts as teaching sure”
He stomps out of the room, letting the sound of the glass door slamming shut behind him echo in the cold empty white room. You sulk out of the room, your head down as you walk to your locker to grab your bags. You avoid Dana’s motherly concerned gaze and Samrias sympathtic one as you walk out of the hospital to head home. You didn’t have any charts to do anyway, Robby took them all away when scolding you saying ‘it’s better he finish them so you don’t screw anything else up any further’. It wasn’t even the end of your shift just yet but you could care less as you drive home, white knuckling the steering wheel with tears threatening to fall from your eyes. You sniffle and shake your head, you weren’t about to waste any more tears than you already had on that bastard.
Suddenly you blink and you are home, you might have gone a little over the speed limit in your anger you can’t exactly remember or give a fuck currently. Turning the doorknob to your apartment you open your door, throwing your bags on the floor and your keys on your end table as you walk in. Being too exhausted and mentally drained to change, you start to strip out of your dirty scrubs while heading to the kitchen for food, leaving a trail of clothes behind you until you're left in your bra, panties and socks. Letting out a forced exhale of air before taking a deep breath in, you attempt to regulate your nervous system and finally calm down. Your aching body catching up to you slowly as you open the fridge and search for the easiest and least effort form of nutrition you could consume. Spacing out a bit as you stare off into the fridge the cool breeze brushing across your exposed skin that blooms in goosebumps in response as your trance is interrupted by a knock. Cursing out in a whispered tone and frantically looking for something to cover up with, your eyes catch on your bathroom robe thrown atop your clean basket of clothes that sat on the couch. ‘Thank you, you lazy bitch’ you laugh softly to yourself as another knock comes. Quickly pulling on the fluffy covering and leisurely tying it closed the best you can as you rush to the door when a third knock fills your ears, yanking it open you bark out a “What?!” to the person on the other side.
Immediately you straighten back up and cross your arms under your unbeknownst to you slightly exposed breasts, “What could you possibly want Robinavitch?”
Robby stands at your door, still clad in his scrubs though his signature zip-up covered his top half now, backpack thrown over his shoulder. His hair is more tousled than when you left as if he couldn't stop running his hands through it and his eyes seem to find the door frame quite interesting. “Dana said when you left it looked like you were gonna cry” he explains as if it’s enough; “And? What about it?” you prompt with a curt nod, growing more impatient and irritated. “She chewed me a new one and told me i better pull my head out of my own ass and apologize” he murmurs out like a disgruntled little kid who got scolded. An abrupt chuckle leaves your lips vividly hearing Dana’s voice in your head saying those exact words to him, “This is your sorry excuse for an apology you can’t even say the words let alone look at me” you huff out and it causes Robby to finally look up at you and the annoyed look in his eyes dulls a little at the sight of you.
The front of your robe is fairly open exposing your lace bra that is perfectly cupping your breasts and a sliver of your leg and the lace of your panties that hugs your hip bone. “I’m sorry” he grits like it physically hurts as he reluctantly peels his eyes away from your figure, flicking them back up to your face. “See, now was that so hard?” you coax in a mocking sweet baby voice making the older man’s blood boil. “Should be illegal ya’ know to have the brat mouth you’ve got with a body like that” he grunts under his breath his eyes falling down to your body the same time your own do while his fingers twitch at his sides. God the things he’d do to you if only you shut the hell up for once.
“Saying it as if you’ll do something ‘bout it” you scoff in a challenging tone, stepping closer to the man you were supposed to be mad at. “What?” he spits out in slight disbelief, all the air feeling as if it just left his lungs, he can’t stop himself from stepping further into your space. “You heard me” you roll your eyes and before you can say another word, Robby grabs ahold of the shittily tied knot of your Robe and pulls your body to him. Crashing his lips against yours in a heated mess of anger and teeth, smirking into the kiss when you don’t hesitate to kiss back. Waddling the two of you back fully into your apartment, kicking the door shut behind him he drops his shoulder letting his bag join yours on the floor. Your fingers making quick work at his hoodie zipper and pulling it off him.
You gasp against his mouth when large rough hands sneak under your robe palming at your ass and using that leverage to tug you flush to him. With zero space between your bodies you can feel his cock chubbing up and growing harder against your bare skin. “Gettin’ hard all over just some kissing?” you tease and pull away from his mouth causing Robby to grunt. “Oh trust me sweetheart i plan to do more than kissing, gotta do something about this damn mouth” he coos mockingly, his eyes drifting down to your parted lips. Bringing his hand up to your face he pushes at your mouth with his thumb. His eyes darkening when you instantly open up and wrap your lips around it, sucking it seductively. “Got a plan then huh? You do this often old man, fuck your residents?” you ask, searching for an answer you’re not entirely sure you want. “Just the ones very blatantly obsessed with me” he remarks with an arrogance that makes your chest hurt in a way you don't care for. “M’ not obsessed with you” you slur around his thumb as he pushes it down on your tongue in defiance, “Yeah? Remember when you’d follow me round like a lost puppy your R1 year” his tone is cocky as he chuckles at the memory, eyes still locked on you lapping at his thumb, coating it in your saliva. “Was so cute, this pathetic thing glued to me desperate for my praise, now she’s just turned into a reckless brat” Your eyes burn with the desire to well up as his words hit you and you bite down on his thumb in retaliation. Jerking his hand away from you in response, you bring your own hand up, slapping him fairly hard across the cheek. Why did he have to ruin every damn thing.
The sound bounces off your walls, Robby rubbing at his cheek trying to ease the sting blooming on his face, his eyebrows scrunched in anger and confusion. “What the fuck was that for, huh slut?” he growls, grabbing ahold of your face, digging his fingers in and squeezing your cheeks hard. “I hate you” you bite out with your eyes narrowed at him, yet you make no fight when he pulls your face to his. Aggressively pressing his lips to yours again, licking into your mouth and swallowing every little sound he can pull from you. “Yeah, yeah sweetheart, can hate me all you want n’ still fuck me” you sniff softly to fight back the tears before wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing back with fever. “Now where the hell is your bedroom?” he mumbles out, pulling at the loose tie to your robe letting it fall from your body, it joining the group of all the other clothes scattered around.
Grabbing onto the front of his scrub top you drag him with you as you walk backwards heading towards your open bedroom door. Along the way Robby starts to rid himself of his remaining layers, kicking his shoes off one by one. “Hope this mouth is good for something other than bitchin’’ don’t wanna disappoint me now do princess?” every term of endearment that left his mouth were dosed in condensation. “You’ll just have to see old man” you work at untying his scrub pants, yanking them down his legs, he steps out of them and pulls away from the kiss. You stare at him with swollen spit coated lips and glassy eyes as he tugs off his scrub shirt and under shirt. Slick settles in your core at the sight, his muscular chest covered in thick hair matching his arms, his stomach less toned but the pudge to him does nothing to lessen your desire for the stupid man. Finally making it to your room he is left in only socks and black boxers that stretch across his thick thighs and are extra tight around the bulge of his aching cock. Your mouth watering at the sight, He is stood half away across the room from where you stand frozen, still staring. Beckoning you over with a wave of his pointer finger he points down at the floor in front of him. With a short rolling of your eyes, you move to walk forward but he stops you by putting up his palm, “Crawl sweetheart, come on” he coaxes as he sits down on the edge of your bed. “Fucking hate you, Bastard” You murmur out a few more curse words and profanities aimed at him before dropping to your hands and knees, slowly and sensually crawling over to him, your face hot with embarrassment.
“Good puppy” he exclaims in faux appreciation when you land at his feet and sit down on your calves. You really hate just how much you yearn for more of his praise, fake or not. You’ve seemed to forget when the last time he threw it your way so willingly was. Trailing your hands up his legs, rubbing at his knees, running over his thighs before you start pawing at his cock, groping at it through the fabric before trying to tug his boxers down. “So impatient” he tsks but still helps, pushing his thumbs under the waistband, lifting his ass and sliding them down his legs to pool at his ankles.
Not wasting a second Robby or letting you admire his cock at all, he wraps a hand around the back of your neck, pressing his fingertips into the sides in a way you know will leave bruises and tugging your body closer. Grabbing his cock at the base he guides it to your lips, tapping the reddened leaking tip against your pout — “Open up sweetheart before I make you, c’mon.” You comply. Without care or any more warning he bullies his cock into your mouth, using his hold on your neck to push your face down. All the way down until your nose is buried in the patch of dark coarse hair at the hilt. Sputtering and gagging a little he makes no move to lift you while you scratch at his thighs, you attempt to suction your mouth around him but with his thick cock filling it, it makes it a tad hard to breathe. Trying again, sucking at him as best you can, you gag again when his tip hits the back of your throat making it tighten around him and your teeth lightly scrape. “Oh come on, this is how you suck dick?” Shaking his head he uses his grip on your neck to guide your mouth up and down his cock, setting an unrelenting pace, “S’ like this sweetheart, thought you’d be better at this really” his voice dripping in disappointment. Regaining a bit of your composure after a bit and taking a deep breath in through your nose you let your tongue run along the underside of his cock. Hollawing your cheeks you suck hard letting your spit coat his cock as and slide down as you mouth at him, using that to aid your hand that comes up to stroke at what can’t fit in your mouth. “That’s a little better princess” he coos, the faux non meaningful praise once again going to your head. “Fuck you” you murmur out, the vibration of your words against his dick only adding to the older mans pleasure, plus the satisfaction he gets at pissing you off.
Pulling off him slowly, a string of saliva still connecting you to him you latch your mouth back on just to drag your tongue down his shaft til it meets his balls. “Oh fuck” Robby pants out, his eyes blowing a little wide in lust as he lets go of your neck finally. Tilting your head down you lap at his full heavy balls, letting the hand that was on the base of him stroke up his entire length at a decent pace before popping one ball in your mouth and suckling at it. Rolling it around in your mouth with your tongue, whining at the taste of his sweat that coats it. A smirk twitches at your face when you hear the man above you let out a very breathless moan, letting go of his one ball that is now coated in spit, you slip the other in your mouth and give it the same attention. You can feel your nipples harden against the lace of your bra, wetness soaking through your panties at this point from the obsceneness of this all. Sliding your free hand down under your ruined panties you slip two fingers through your drenched folds collecting your slick as lubrication before plunging them inside to ease the deep ache in your core, rutting your clit up against your palm. “Fuck c’mere” he grunts out, your mouth releases as he is grabbing you under your arms as he stands, lifting you up and throwing you onto your bed. “Bra ‘n panties off sweetheart, now” he growls as he steps out of his boxers. Now as bad as he wanted to rip your panties off you, he’s pretty sure you’d kill him if he did plus he is not about to embarrass himself by fumbling a try at undoing the clasp of one of those new fangled bras. He knows he made the right choice in the end when one you unclasp the bra at the front, oh yeah fuck no he was never getting that. And two when you sensually let it fall from your body revealing your tits, giving a little and completely undeserved show but you're desperate for reactions out of him. Robby pokes his cheek with his tongue, his cock giving an enthusiastic twitch when you reach down and shimmy the scrap of lace you call underwear down your legs.
Once the last layers of fabric separating your body from the chilly AC filled air is thrown somewhere in your room, Robby wraps a big hand around your ankle yanking you further down the bed. Landing you sprawled out in front of him, legs spread giving him an unobstructed clear view of your leaking cunt that he can’t help but rub his thick thumb at. Collecting slick as he pushes it through your folds and presses on your hole before it lands on your clit. “Such a perfect pussy wasted on a bratty whore” he tsks.
His words make you kick at his thigh with a hiss, he grabs onto that other ankle to stop you from further squirming and kicking. “Your the one so desperate to fuck this brat, gonna do it without a condom like the pervy old man you are too huh?” you question, an edge to your voice — “Huh Dr. Robby? Are you?” you taunt in a faux soft seductive voice, fluttering your eyelashes at him adding onto it all. The thought of having you bare excites him far more than it should but he’d never admit to that, let alone to you. “Yeah sweetheart, cause you’re gonna let me like the slut you are” he bites back before using the hold he still had on your ankle and flipping you onto your stomach. Gripping onto your hips he pulls your hips off the edge of the bed, running his cock coated in your spit down your ass and pushing through your cunt with the throbbing tip. His cock was red and beyond angry at him for pulling you off it. He had been far closer to cumming than he wanted to be, watching your fingers slip between your thighs with your mouth lapping at his balls almost undid him.
Your mouth parts in an inaudible moan you’re grateful Robby can’t see as he lets his hips buck forward, not so dry humping your ass and pussy making you clench around nothing. “Gonna be an dick this whole time n’ just tease me the whole time?” you half whine half groan out, your feet kicking up in impatience. If you weren’t such a brat, Robby might even find it cute. Deciding it’ll be the quickest way to shut you up, he lines his cock up and thrusts with brutal force pushing every inch of his thick cock inside your cunt. The air gets knocked out of your lungs, your eyes burning with small tears as your pussy stings in an attempt to accommodate the size of him. “Fucking asshole” you moan out breathlessly, your fingers grabbing ahold of your sheets, bunching them up in your fists as he starts thrusting. Gripping the back of your neck he turns your head to take in your puffy eyes that swim with both lust and irritation, your swollen lips parted in a pant. A beautiful sight that makes a cocky smirk spread on his face as he snaps his hips back and bucks forward practically hard just to hear a whine fall out of you. “Why so quiet now huh whore? S’ too much huh? You poor baby” he remarks with mocking sympathy that makes you squirm trying to pull away.
Sliding the other hand that was still gripping your waist up to the small of your back Robby pushes at your back, effectively pinning you down and making your ass arch up to meet his hips. “Just a dumb little pillow princess, who knew all ya’ needed was some dick to shut up” he chuckles softly, pushing your face back into the bed muffling the rather wanton cry that you let out when his dick hits that spongey spot deep inside you. “S’ all your good for anyway” he grunts out and continues to fuck you at a bruising speed and pace. “Hate you s’ much” you mumble out into your sheets as your eyes roll back.
“What was that slut?” Robby questions, pulling out and flipping you back over onto your back and grabbing your face so you look right at him. You grab at his forearm, nails scratching him as you try pulling his hand away from you. “Repeat it sweetheart, c’mon” he nods with his head at you, you grit your teeth together and spit at him. “I hate you s’ much Robby” you repeat your words ignoring the way your eyes feel like they are about to well up again.
He shakes his head, dropping you back down on the bed and easily thrusting his cock all the way back in making a shiver run down your spine. “Who cares, she doesn’t hate me” his eyes drop to your cunt, biting his lip slightly at the sight of it wrapped around his cock trying to swallow him whole. You clench down around him at the filth that is him talking to your pussy like it’s separate to you. “No she loves me don’t ya’ baby” he coos, his thumb rubbing at your clit as his hips draw back and snap forward hard again, not giving you a catch to breath. The feeling of his cock rutting against your walls and prodding at your g-spot with every thrust has your head going spacey, staring at Robby with an angry face but indescribable look in your eyes. Grabbing a hold of your hips he lifts your body up, instinctively you wrap your legs around his center as he climbs onto the bed. His aching full balls slap against your ass, filling the room with an obscene sound that mixes with your cries and robby’s grunts the closer the two of you get to your joint orgasm. You are determined to make the old man break before you, clenching down hard on his cock, pussy trying to ring him dry. And Robby is determined to make you break first, rubbing circles at your clit as his cock pistons in and out of you, eyes glued to every twitch your body makes. His fingers digging into your hips and yours scratching angry red lines down his chest as your head falls back in a silent moan when his tip practically hits your cervix. You think you feel him in your throat and you are scared to look down and see the most certainly there bulge in your stomach from him filling you.
“What if our co-workers could see you now, huh sweetheart? The little fuck up resident slutting herself out for their attending” he shakes his head, pressing forward to get in your face but also fuck his cock deeper inside you. It appears like the fight has now left your body and Robby leans in as if to kiss you again but is met once again with your open palm. He clenches his jaw and grips your face and smashes his lips to yours anyway, a heated fight for dominance of your mouths that Robby wins when he snaps his hips just right and you gasp out. Taking the opportunity he slips his tongue in your mouth licking at yours — “Thought we got the slapping outta your system out there whore.” he hisses out when you pull back from the kiss and bite his lip hard enough to draw blood.
He groans and sets a rentless pace of fucking you until your body arches up and you cry out. The knot in your stomach is tightening faster and faster, “Mmm Robby…m’ gonna cum” you moan out, screwing your eyes shut and pulling him deeper in with your legs that are still around him. “Shouldn’t let you cum at all sweetheart, Just been an ungrateful slut whole time” he hums, his own orgasm fast approaching the tighter you clench down on him, the sight of you lost in pleasure also helping him along. “Miss my little puppy who hung on my every word her first year, should bring her back” he taunts and watches you squirm in both anger and frustration. “No! Please please let me cum” you plead, your hands clenching in fists. “Fine” he groans, the fight not worth it plus he isn’t gonna last much longer either — “Cum f’ sweetheart” he commands and fucks up into you hard causing you to scream out in pleasure as your orgasm hits you, your pussy spasming and legs shaking as you coat Robby’s cock. He isn’t far behind, quickly pulling his cock out and spewing hot ropes of cum all over your stomach and abused puffy cunt.
As you lay there a panting mess trying to calm down and ride out your high he asks — “Still hate me sweetheart?” With his casual cocky arrogance that has your anger bubbling up in you all over again.
→ a/n: i realized robby never took his socks off not that i really write that part much anyway but i think the old man he is he’d keep em on anyway i sort of proofread this and i really like this so if it flops I’ll cry.
|| rabbot x reader || smut mdni 18+, pwp, not a single lick of plot here folks, pinv, anal, dirty talk, pet names, threesome, double penetration, creampie x2, slightly mean!robby and softdom!jack, fingers in mouth, teasing, boyfriends kissing, praise, just silly girly things ||
a/n: heavily unedited, word vom, a little spank bank idea I had today and had to deliver to you
wc: 1.7k
"please—"
it wasn't the first time you'd begged. you'd begged for many, many things in this same position, truth be told. robby behind you, jack below. both of their cocks splitting you open. jack was thick, just like the rest of him—thick fingered, thick bodied, thick cock throbbing and twitching where it stuffed your pussy. robby, on the other hand—long and curved up to the right—enjoyed fucking you in your tight puckered muscle, making you whine and squirm beneath him.
robby laid down over you, crushing you further into jack's chest, who moaned with you at the change in angle. robby’s breath was hot against your ear, his lips pressed into the shell.
"please what, baby? hmmmm?" he groaned, his voice hoarse and cracked, his chest wiry with hair against your slick back.
you brought your hand up to fist in his hair, holding on tight as he pulled his length from you almost to the very tip before thrusting slowly back in.
"oh my god," you heard jack curse, his hands tightening at your hips, his mouth opening in a gasp.
both of them were to the right of you—your face laid down on jack's collarbone, robby's chin hooked over your right shoulder. they were so close. breathing one another's air, enough that you could feel jack’s breath leave him and robby’s cheek shift against the side of your head when he opened his mouth to kiss the crest of your shoulder.
you tightened your grip in the latter's hair.
"wanna see you kisssss—"
jack let out a breathless little laugh, robby chuckling into your shoulder.
"baby, we talked about this—" jack said, his voice hardly more than breath, his chest heaving under yours.
"—but it would be so hottttt," you whined.
robby ignored you. "how's she feel, brother?"
jack's head tipped back into the pillow beneath him, and you watched the rough scruff of his unshaved neck shift as his adam's apple glided up and down, swallowing around the broken gasp he pulled in.
"so god damn good—go a little harder, she squeezes me so fucking tight when you really give it to her, mike."
you barely had time to register the gleam in robby's eyes before he was swinging his hips back again, this time thrusting hard against you, his skin slapping hard, balls clapping right above where jack's cock was buried deep inside.
you squealed and jack groaned loudly. your hand hung on tighter to robby's hair, your other hand digging into jack's shoulder beside your head.
"ohhhh fuck—" you mewled. "so—so deep, robby, oh god—"
"she sounds so pretty when she makes those little noises," jack strained to say, turning to kiss you on the nose. "huh, honey? robby's dick feel good like that? yeah? gimme a kiss."
you tilted your chin, pushing into his lips lazily, your tongue reaching out to lick at his, wet muscles sliding together. when you began to drool out the side of your lips, you brought robby's head down closer, resting your cheek back to jack's chest.
"your turn—" you murmured sleepily, your brain fucked out of any logic.
nothing passed through you but the ecstasy of having these two men and being sandwiched between them and their weight pressing in around you. jack began jerking his hips up into you, making you hiccup and whine, his thrusts getting erratic, his breath heavier.
robby's cock pushed deeper into you too, the pressure of both of them at the same time making you feel so content, so full, so cock drunk.
"please, please," you chanted. "wanna see you kiss so badly—"
"she really does beg so cute, doesn't she?" robby murmured, kissing your shoulder.
"yeah—" the other breathed, a light groan strangling the word as both of them slid in and out of you in tandem—full of jack's cock, then robby's, empty. then again, both of them filing you at the same time. the rhythm made your jaw go slack, your thoughts thinning. it felt so right, with jack below you, robby behind you, both of them too big, too hot, too much. still, you wanted more. wanted this so badly the need burned behind your eyes.
"like this—" you said, ignoring their cooing, and you craned your neck, pressing a chaste kiss to robby's lips.
it was hardly a second, your brain too foggy to make it anything more.
"that's it, huh? that's what you want, honey?" robby murmured, voice even hoarser with mirth as he smiled at you.
"yesss!" you whined, kicking your feet into the bed beneath.
"not good enough to have both of us, huh?" he teased. "such a needy little girl."
"be nice, mike—" jack moaned. "she's a good girl."
his praise always effected you—making you flutter around him, and you knew he could feel it, even with the increased fulless from robby deep inside you with him. he cracked a little knowing smile between moans.
"oh, i know she's a good girl, brother," robby said, and his mouth dragged over the back of your shoulder. "no doubt about it. but we've spoiled her. she thinks she can have whatever she wants."
you pouted, the prick of tears in your eyes not from him denying you, but from the utter fullness of their cocks punching in and out of you. from the easy back and forth of them—robby pretending there wasn’t a soft spot in him you could reach with the simplest look. and jack caught it every time and teased him for it.
"enough talking—" jack cursed. "fuck, fuck, she's tightening up on me— think she's gonna come, mike, oh god—"
"please—" you moaned louder, thrashing a little bit out of frustration.
"fuck it—" robby growled.
he leaned down and placed a kiss on the corner of jack's mouth.
they didn't stop entirely when robby pulled his lips away from jack's. their thrusts only softened into shallow rocks, jack's hands tightening on your skin, both his and robby's throbbing lengths still pressed deep enough inside you that every quiet breath made you feel the stretch of both of them. you held yours without meaning to—waiting, feeling both of them still around you.
robby's chest pressed heavier against your back as he breathed through his nose. you felt jack's beneath you, his ribs expanding, pressing against your breasts.
"yes," you whispered, though not wanting to rush them. your mouth brushed jack's skin when you said it, soft against the damp hollow below his collarbone. "more."
"you're right—" jack huffed a little laugh that shook his chest on the way out. "she really is needy."
robby smiled, as if grateful for the lightness, "told y—"
but he couldn't say anything else, because jack's lips were suddenly on his.
a deep, harmonized groan passed between the two of them, and it did something terrible to you. your stomach dropped, your hips jerked. even a little lick of jealousy flamed in you, warming your skin, but they looked good together. so good. exactly as you pictured it. it made you moan and writhe to see their mouths slot against one another, lips parting, tongues sliding, jack's stubbled jaw working under the rough scrape of robby's beard.
"oh my god," you whispered.
when they paused their kissing, a string of spit connected them, shiny and wet.
"d'you feel that?" robby whispered.
"yeah," jack answered, his one hand squeezing your hip while the other came up to robby's hair along with yours. "her pussy is gripping me like a vice—"
"yeah, she really tightened up—fuck, c'mere."
robby's hand went up to jack's hair too, fisting in the messy graying curls. jack's mouth fell open in a guttural groan, and robby's other hand came to the nape of your neck in answer. he pulled you into himself harshly, his tongue sliding against yours as your mouths met.
it was slick and wet and lewd, and just when you began to moan in earnest, their thrusts picked up again. harder now, less patient. jack fucking up into you from beneath, robby driving into you from behind, the bed frame knocking against the wall harshly again and again.
then you felt a second tongue at the corner of your mouth.
you pulled back only enough to welcome it—jack's tongue sliding against yours, robby's flicking against the two of you together.
the room filled with louder moans and the thick slap of skin, the wet drag of mouths, jack's rough little curses disappearing against your lips. robby's hand stayed tight at the back of your neck, holding you there for it, making you take the kiss you had begged for. you gushed around them, pussy fluttering and convulsing in pleasure.
"come for us, baby," robby whispered between kisses. "come for jackie. he wants you to come all over his big cock."
jack groaned under you, his hips jerking up harder, his member punching even deeper.
"I wanna feel it too," robby said. "c'mon now, gave you what you wanted. now I get to feel this perfect little ass take my come."
"just wanted your boyfriends to kiss, huh, baby?" jack cooed, his hand moving up to grip your face, forefinger and thumb squeezing your cheeks. his thumb hooked into the tender hinge of your lips, sliding along your molars to pry your mouth open wider for the two of them.
you cried out around his salty skin, and he pouted in mock pity as he looked at you.
"come on my cock, baby," jack moaned, leaning in to keep licking and nipping at your lips. "know you wanna, come on my cock now—gonna fill you up so good, mmmm—"
"i'm—i'm—i'm coming—oh, god, oh god—"
"yeah, that's it, that's it—oh fuckkk—" robby groaned, his thrusts slamming harder, turning erratic before he froze up, jaw unhinging, breathing hotly against wanton mouth.
jack's opened too, in shock, in awe, and when you looked at him you saw his eyes go wide before they rolled back behind his eyelids.
your orgasm ripped through you, a heady pressure down your spine and tightening your hips, making your legs lock up before it crested you like an ocean wave swelling and crashing. your hand clenched in robby's hair as your mouth fell open around jack's thumb. both of them groaned in tandem, trapping you between them, both buried deep while your body squeezed down, making jack curse and robby bare his teeth.
as the euphoria eased and your body went loose with the oxytocin flooding your blood, the three of you kept kissing—gentle little nips, soft flicks of tongue, spit sliding and glistening at the corners of your mouths, collecting where lips met and parted. jack retreated his thumb from your mouth to gently pet at your cheek, and they let you have as much as you wanted, just like always. spoiled thing, they'd tell you again afterwards, while they washed your hair in the bath and cleaned you up.
but for now, you kissed them as your eyes grew heavier and heavier, your breathing deepening against jack's chest. robby's weight behind you felt heavy and comforting, tucked between two men, utterly spent and completely content.
wrote this at 8pm posted at 9:30pm so please ignore any typos or mistakes lol my horny lil mind couldn't be stopped
synopsisyou were Robby's star pupil, his favourite person, but when he catches you and Jack in the middle of performing a high risk procedure you definitely shouldn't be doing he can't handle the jealousy. so really, is it your fault if your pushed into Jack Abbots bed, but can't stop thinking about Robby?
warningsjealous&possesive Robby x reader, Jack Abbot x reader, kinda Rabbot, Jack kinda wants Robby in this, language. smut MDNI. fingering, oral (f receiving) breast play, dirty talk, praise, Robby calls while Jack eats you out. handjob
authornotei'm so close to writing Rabbott fics, I need them both!
pitt masterlist. last robby fic! last jack fic!
“What the hell are you doing?”
If you weren't as skilled a resident as you were, as stony as you'd been made, the raise of voice and slam of a door would have stolen you from your attentive work. But it didn't. You didn't flinch. As your hands were all but inside a patient it was a good thing, too.
Jack tutted from over you, the heat of his breath hot on the back of your neck. “Robby...”
“I said- what are you doing?” he barked again, standing in the middle of the trauma room.
Nurses turned to look at him and then back to you and Jack, un-sure of which immovable force was greater.
You only focused on the woman in front of you. Bruises up her arms, blood on her cut-away clothes, tubes coming out of her and into her, monitors beeping with life signs fleeting.
“It's a hypotensive pelvic bleed,” you said through your face screwed in concentration.
“A REBOA? Are you serious, right now?”
“I'm here, supervising, brother,” said Jack, still caved over you like he could protect you from Robby's wrath.
“You're not her attending,” Robby argued.
“No but I'm an attending.”
You could hear Robby's sharp inhale of breath, picture the clock of his head in annoyance and the tight pinch of his eyes. You knew every small give away of his that he didn't know he had. The tightness of his muscles when angers, the way he clutches at his chest for his star of David when silently scared.
The tension in the room chocked you.
Jack was still at your side, a comfort, a gentle wave against the sharp rocks. “Keep going.”
Robby said your name, an edge to it you'd never heard before.
Looking past Jack you found Robbie. He stood blocking the door, gowned up already, arms over his chest. His brows were pulled in, eyes dark as they levelled on you. He was danger dressed as a man.
But in front of you there was Jack, nodding encouragingly.
“Keep going.”
Your hands moved to carry on in spite of Robby's sigh.
“Okay... good...” said Jack as you pushed in the needle. “Femoral artery, couple inches. All right, let's guide wire and introduce the sheath.”
You pushed and did what Jack said, careful under his guidance.
Robby watched all the while, walking slowly around. He knew how well you preened under praise and careful instruction, like a cat purring at an owners touch. Robby knew because it was always him, ever since you began as a med student to intern to resident he'd been there to build you up, crafting you into a perfect doctor.
His perfect doctor.
Apparently he didn't like to share.
“How much saline have you pushed?” asked Robby.
“Five CC'S,” said Jack, without entertaining his attitude.
“Your carotid is weak,” said Robby. “Is it even there?”
“Yes,” you said.
Jack caught your gaze behind your goggles, pleading silently. You hadn't worked with him as much as you had Robby, or Langdon or almost anyone in the day shift but he seemed to catch on to your needs at once. “You know what to do.”
With his words you proceeded.
“Push another three CC'S of saline in the balloon,” you ordered.
“Injecting.”
There was a moment of silence as the saline was passed through tubes into the woman.
“How we looking?” asked Robby.
“Radial is up, pressure's up too- BP hundred-and-ten,” said Donnie.
For the first time since Jack dragged you into the trauma to teach you a REBOA, you looked at the patients face. At the blankness of it, the blood splattered at her cheek. There was colour returning to her.
“Check the wound,” said Jack.
You did so, the wound at her pelvis are that had been gushing on arrival had stopped bleeding.
“Looks okay,” you said.
Jack's gloved hand squeezed your gowned shoulder, blood of the woman passing between the two of you. However, it was the physical contact that broke you from your trance, pulling you up taller. “Good job, you saved her life, another couple minutes she wouldn't have made it.”
“She's still not out the woods yet,” said Robby.
You looked back at him with enough time to catch an un-characteristic roll of his eyes.
“Surgery can take her now,” said Jesse from the phone.
“Oh, finally they're ready for us?” teased Jack as he moved around the gurney. “Now that they've missed all the fun.” He passed you a wink that sent butterflies in your stomach rolling around.
The team pulled off gowns and gloves, pulling the gurney out the room.
“Wait-” said Robby, arm out stopping you as you went to follow.
The doors shut behind the gurney before Jack could understand you were behind, trapped in a room with a bear of a man who was failing at concealing his anger.
You waited for him to begin. Whether it were to be a lecture or an approval that you saved a woman's life, you wanted it over and done. The adrenaline was coursing through your body in crashing waves of red. You'd crash if you didn't calm. “There was no time for anything else-”
“- save it-”
“- there was no time for me to come and get you-”
“- stop!”
You stepped back, hands balled at your sides.
It wasn't un-common for any member of staff at PTMC to have Robby Robinavitch yell and demand the stars and moons from a person. It was scary to have him yelling at you, his deemed shadow and golden girl.
Since day one everyone knew you held a special place in Robby's heart.
“I saved a patient's life,” you defended. Was that not the most important thing to be doing? Could you not be attending to at least two other patients while he stood- imposing- in front of you.
“Doing an extremely risky procedure that is only reserved for the senior residents which you are not,” he scoffed out.
“Doctor Abbot was at my side the whole time, he talked me through every step.”
Robby shook his head, chuckling and looking around the room as if to be anywhere but with you. “Abbot-”
“- he believed me capable,” you said. “Don't you think I'm capable?”
His teeth bit into his bottom lip as he turned away from you, stretching his hand to the back of his head and flattening the hair there. When he turned back to you he took a step closer, watching the toes of his shoes meet yours.
“Do you know why I'm angry?”
No, you really didn't.
You took in a deep breath, meeting his eyes that lowered to yours. “Because I performed a high risk procedure.”
“A high risk procedure without me,” he corrected. “You're on day, not night. I'm your attending, not Jack. You get me when you're doing something like that, you understand?”
There was little room for argument. Your body trembled, the mixture of blood on your gloves and the beating of your heart heard in your ears. The lights of trauma two were suddenly too bright; walls too sterile. You nodded.
Robby tsked. “Do you understand?”
Every word was punctured with anger.
You rose to all your height. “Yes, I understand.”
He didn't dismiss you, only jutted his head back as he dragged a hand over his beard.
Without a word, you dismissed yourself.
“I just don't get why he was so.... angry,” you admit quietly.
The lights of the bar were dimmed in a golden light, casting sun set gazes around the bar Jack had told you was a good place to get a drink. He'd led you to a small table by a window with the blinds pulled down, his hand- the one that had saved so many lives- splayed out on the small of your back.
Somewhere along the night Jack's chair had scraped around closer to you. So close with every inhale you could catch the musk on him and his arm was comfortably slung around the back of your chair.
There were two empty whiskey glasses of Jack's and you were still cradling your first, down to the dregs.
“It's Robby,” said Jack with a shrug of his shoulders, but it didn't stop the crease in his brows.
“But he's never been like that with me.”
Was it the fact you'd seemingly lost your favouritism bothering you? More than you cared to admit. More so the fact you didn't understand why he'd yelled.
Why the flare of anger had burned brighter with you saving a life than anyone else?
Why your body had trembled at the rise of his voice.
Jack's body tilted toward yours, head bowed low as he looked up at you through his lashes. “Oh, come on....”
You slurped the last from your straw and looked at him. “What?”
“You don't have to play dumb with me.”
Your own body gravitated towards him. “Play dumb? I'm not playing dumb, what are you talking about?”
Jack chuckled, shaking his head to himself. He sipped the last of his drink. “Robby's...” he trailed off.
“Robby's...”
Jack levelled his gaze to yours. “He likes you.”
The words sat frozen in your brain. You knew Robby must have had some soft spot for you, you knew he liked you. But the way Jack said it, a teasing lift to his voice and the serious gaze of his eyes suggested it was more than the competence of your skills as a doctor that had Robby's affection.
“He doesn't,” you chuckled.
“He does,” said Jack, nodding along with your words.
“How would you know?”
Jack's cheeks dusted a faint pink, the rain on the window behind you dropping like mini thunderstorms. “Believe me, I know.”
You waited for more clarification.
“You have no idea the kind of effect you have on old men like us.”
Like us. Jack didn't just speak for Robby but himself. The pink in his cheeks, the hand on your back earlier. The heat from him was all different now. A wanting.
“Old men?” you smirked.
Jack's eyes darted between your eyes and lips. “Yeah, old men.”
“You're not that old, are you?”
Jack tilts his head side to side.
You peer closer at him as if trying to find the lines of age in his face. “Younger than Robby though, right?”
Jack nods. “Younger than Robby, if that makes any difference.”
“Any difference to what?” you asked, stirring the straw against the ice in one hand, the other holding your chin.
“To you.”
Under the table Jack's fingers traced over your knee, gently, as if he was trying to go un-noticed. You felt it anyhow. Felt as his fingers gripped your knee when you pushed your leg against his.
He watched you, analysing.
“Well,” you began, pushing your leg to kick over the other under the table and moving his hand further up your leg, till his all too eager fingers were splayed over your thigh. “What kind of effect is that?”
Jack was always a serious man at work. Competent and well kept. You didn't expect him to be so well versed in 'playing games'. “I dunno if I can tell you.”
“No?”
Jack shook his head, eyes lingering over his lips and his head tilted to the side, watching you. “I could show you?”
There was lip gloss stain over the straw in your glass, you saw it catch Jack's eyes as he pushed away your empty glasses to provide more space on the table.
“See any time you look at us, it's like-like a tingling sensation,” he said. “Like when you know someone's got their eyes on you.”
His hand that had been riding higher at your thigh darted away, leaving a sudden tremble of everything cold through your body. Instead, he rested his elbow at the table and beckoned your hand to his. He didn't hold it, instead, spread your fingers out and put palm to palm in a tender touch.
“And then when you touch us, it gets worse,” he uttered, eyes stuck on where your palms met. Jack's hand moved around yours, playing with your fingers.
“Worse?” you ask.
“A good worse. Good shivers,” said Jack, pulling at a finger.
“I touch you enough for you to gather all that?”
Jack's dark gaze found yours again. He bit down on his bottom lip. “Not nearly enough as I'd like.”
The door of the bar opened and a gush of wind cooled the heat on your skin. But Jack's eyes were like a furnace that you were sitting too close to, burning yourself and delighting in it. When the door shut again with an un-oiled squeak, Jack reached over.
He plucked the necklace charm from against your chest, the brush of his knuckles against your chest. “Pretty necklace.”
“Thank you,” you said, voice shaky un-characteristically.
“You get it yourself?”
“No, it was a present.”
It was almost as if he didn't have to ask who had gifted it to you. Whose hands had brushed back your hair in the middle of a shift and clasped it around the back of your neck.
Or maybe he just didn't want to know.
Jack's apartment was everything that made him.
As you passed the kitchen and he peeled off his jacket, keeping his lips close enough to breathe you in, you could smell the coffee from the morning plastered to the walls.
When he pressed you up to the sofa to shove his hands down your pants and slide a finger into your wet pussy your fingers scratched at some blanket he had thrown over the back of it.
You caught a glimpse of pictures around the place, a frame of meddles too but his place came to you in flashes and glimpses through pleasure.
“I'm gonna show you,” he uttered against your mouth as another finger slipped into you, worked inside of you. They curled up, your body moving into him at the feeling. “Just how I want to touch you.”
The car ride over had been torture enough. He could hardly get himself inside the car, stealing himself away from you. But your lips had been at his neck at every stop sign and red light. Your hand had ghosted over his crotch and the hardening length of him. As occupied as you'd been in each other in the front seats of his car you'd been beeped at twice.
“Jack,” your voice whispered, lips dragging against his as he slowly worked his fingers in and out of you, pulling at the seams of your panties.
“I'm gonna show you just how Robby wants to touch you.”
You wish the name didn't have the effect it did. That the fury you felt at him for how he yelled didn't turn to a throb in your core when Jack said his name.
“You're touching me, Jack,” you said, breathless.
“Yeah... yeah,” he said. “You like that I'm touching you?”
You nodded as his fingers retracted, finding your clit and wetting the bud of nerves, circling it.
“Say it,” said Jack. “Say it.”
“Yes, I like it.”
Jack grinned into the curve of your neck as his fingers plunged back in, working you open and spreading your wetness of the black of your panties. “God, you're making such a mess for me baby, aren't you?”
He worked you open a little longer, mumbling encouragement with every moan and throw back of your head. 'So pretty, arg, you're so pretty baby.'
By the time your stomach was coiling tight like a snake ready to pounce Jack removed his hand from your pants and kissed you again. It was a hard kiss, his clean hand grasping your cheek and keeping you still as he forcefully worked his lips against yours, like it had only just clocked in his head it was you he had on his lips, it was you he was turning to putty in his hand. Like he wanted to forge you into his lips
“Not done yet,” said Jack, hands sliding down to your hips as he guides his nose up and down your neck, breathing you in. “I wanna make you moan on my tongue, like Robby wishes he could, yeah?”
Your body betrayed you, shivering again in anticipation.
Jack's hands stirred you by the hips, urging you to his room. He pushed the door open over your head, licking into your mouth.
“Please... don't mention Robby right now,” you said as Jack fell slowly to his knees in front of you.
His brows rose. He kept his eyes on you as he pulled down your pants, helping you step out of them. “No? You don't want me to mention Robby?” he asked.
You shook your head, looking away from him. You knew you'd soaked yourself through by the small touches and passionate kisses from Jack. But you didn't need to see the realisation hit when he realised Robby's name had as much effect on you as Jack's own touches.
“Eyes on me, keep your eyes on me,” said Jack.
With a tight squeeze, you looked at him, seeing the attending of the night shift get closer to your heat.
“See, I think, you like when I say his name, huh?” his nose nudged your clothed clit. “Robby.”
Jack licked a stripe up your pussy, gathering your want through the cloth.
You were left, mouth agape, to catch your breath. Your hands didn't know where to go till Jack peeled off his shirt and guided your hands to his shoulders, your nails digging into the freckled skin there.
Jack wet his tongue with his spit before he rubbed it along your panties again, kissing you there. “I think you're so wet for me, but you're wet for Robby too, huh?”
“Jus-just you, Jack,” you gasped.
He swept a finger into your panties and let the elastic snap back against your skin.
Your body jolted in its wake.
“Not just me, don't lie,” he said, darkly.
In the morning would you realise what you'd done? Jack wasn't your attending but an attending none the less and Robby's friend- brother- at that. Although you and Robby were nothing more than colleagues, it didn't feel right to have Jack licking up your want with his name on his tongue.
“Liars don't get to come, you know,” he said. “So, you get this wet when you think about me?”
“Y-Yes.”
You could feel Jack's smile against your thigh as he pressed a kiss there.
Jack hooked two fingers around the bands of your panties and slowly dragged them down. “Do you get this wet when you think about our Doctor Robby?”
“Yes. Yes I do,” you gasped, your body curling up in the relief of letting go.
Yes, you liked Robby's extra attention. You couldn't even be left angry at his chastising you when it sent a wave of need through you, settling in your core. When you'd been at the bar with Jack, touching him in ways you'd thought about touching your own attending, almost wishing he would storm through the door and see the two of you.
“Good girl.”
Quickly Jack tilted his head back and found purchase in your pussy.
His tongue laid flat against your core.
It didn't stay in one place long. It explored all around you, tasting you for the first time and mapping out delicate spots. He slipped between your folds like he was always supposed to be there, moaning into you.
Your nails dug into his shoulders. “Mmh, Jack!”
He licked you up, spreading the mess of your want around and cleaning it up. “Taking my tongue so well,” he said against you. He dragged his lips down your thigh, wet tongue dragging up and down.
Your legs trembled as Jack spread the lips of your pussy and buried himself in there again. He pressed his thumb onto your clit, your body lurching at the pressure.
“Oh fuck, J-Jack!”
“Pull my hair, pull my hair,” he said into you.
Your did so. Your hand fell into the short strands of his salt and pepper hair, twirling into the strands and tugging just enough to rip a groan from him.
Jack buried himself into your further, his nose nudging into you deeper and deeper till he was almost trying to be inside of you.
Every time your eyes fluttered shut Jack pulled back, easing up on his work of your pussy and easing the orgasm that was slowly building up.
“No, no- eyes on me, keep your eyes on me, baby,” he said.
You looked down to him. “Jack, I want- I want to come.”
“I know, I know you do baby,” he said, flicking the tip of his tongue against your clit again. “You will, I promise, I promise.”
He eased himself up from his knees and helped off your shirt and peeled off your bra before he latched himself onto your breast.
Your back arched into him. His hands felt larger than ever as they curled around your waist and held you in. He groped at your breast, watching it jiggle as he moved before swirling his tongue around your nipple.
“Jack-”
“God, I wish Robby were here,” said Jack as he switched his attention to your other.
“Wh-what?” you didn't know if you'd heard him right.
Jack looked at your breasts instead of you, dedicating time to licking up each of them. “Wish Robby could see how good a girl you're being,” he muttered, almost to himself, like he wasn't talking to you. “How responsive you are. Would you like that? Would you like Robby to watch?”
You imagined it, closing your eyes.
Jack let you.
You pictured Robby sat on the bed, watching. Would he watch with his glasses perched low on the bridge of his nose? Would he keep his hands to himself or want to touch and play? You imagined how big he was, if he'd get hard watching.
If he'd touch. If he'd stand behind you while Jack kissed along your breasts. Would Robby dedicate enough time to the back of you?
“You want Robby?” asked Jack.
Anyone else eating you out or with hands on your chest wouldn't want another mans name on your lips.
Jack seemed to thrive on it.
“Yes,” you gasped.
Jack reached back up to you. “Yeah.... yeah...” his nose ghosted yours as he inched closer to kiss you.
In the slim lighting of his bed room you could see the shine of his lips from your arousal, the burn of red at his cheeks. There was a clink as he un-did his belt, throwing it behind him as he slowly pulled down his trousers.
First you saw the prosthetic of his leg before you trailed up, past the scars, to the heavy set of his cock. It flushed red at the tip, a leak of pre-cum running down. It stood tall onto the thin, greying hair down his sternum.
“Jack-” you reached for him, wrapping your hand around him.
“Ah- ahh fuck, baby,” he moaned as you slowly pumped him. “You feel so good. God, Robby doesn't know what he's missing.”
You tangled your tongue with his as you pumped, growing confident in every pump, in every leak of his cock, in ever groan of him into your mouth.
Would Robby guide you to holding Jack's man hood in your hand? Would his own hand wrap around your wrist and guide you up and down, muttering how good you were doing.
It was like you could hear him in your head.
'What a good girl doing what you're told, so responsive,' you imagined the heavy set of his tongue dragging over your pulse as you wrapped your arm around Jack's shoulders, smothering him in closer.
“I wish-” you said against his lips, making a mess out of you mouth as you squeezed his cock. “I wish Robby were here.”
“Yeah. Yeah, me too baby,” said Jack, slowly wrapping his fingers around your wrist and peeling back your hand. He pulled two of your fingers into his mouth, licking the taste of himself off and into the warmth of his mouth. “Next time.”
Jack eased you back on his bed, crawling over you.
You shuffled up, sitting up on his headboard. “Do you- do you want me to?”
Jack's brows pulled together as he brushed back your hair, tucking it behind your ear. “To what, baby?”
“To ride you? Would it be easier on your leg?”
Jack smiled, love sick. “That's very kind of you sweetheart. Next time, I'll let you ride me like I'm a damn horse,” he whispered as he slowly lowered you down. “Right now I want you to finish on my tongue. Then I'm gonna really fuck you like I've wanted to for so long.”
You watched with a bite to your lip as Jack rolled a condom over his cock before hovering over you.
He stirred the base of his cock against your pussy, rubbing the arousal of you over your slit.
“You want me to fuck you?”
“Yes, yes.”
Would Robby hold you against him, keep your legs spread for Jack? Or would Jack insist on Robby going first.
“Beg for it, baby.”
Before your words could leave your mouth the familiar buzz of your phone echoed between you.
Maybe anyone else would have ignored it, sent it to voicemail or let it ring. Except Jack- he moved down his bed, reaching for your pants and fishing out your phone. He smirked down at the contact before holding the phone out to you.
“Answer it.”
You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, looking at him. “Wh-what?”
“Answer him,” he said, grabbing your hand and putting the phone it in.
Robby.
You looked to Jack, having no time to ask if he was serious before he was descending on the bed again. His eyes were pointed, gaze locked on you.
You answered, holding the phone to your ear. “H-hey, Robby.”
“Hey. Is everything okay?”
Did he know you'd left the bar with Jack? Did he hear his name called from both your lips?
“Yeah, everything's okay.”
Jack smirked at you.
“I've been calling you all night, you didn't answer,” you could hear the slight accusation in his voice, the small anger you hadn't bowed and answered the phone when he called. He wasn't good at hiding it though maybe he thought he was.
“Sorry I-”
Jack slid two fingers inside of you at once and pumped them without warning.
You caught your breath in your throat. “- I was busy.”
“Busy?”
“Yeah,” you gasped.
Robby stirred down the line. “You okay?”
Jack was looming close enough to you, nodding for you to pull the phone back enough for him to hear.
“Yeah, it's just, cold in my apartment,” you lied.
Jack's brows rose, he mouthed the word, cold?
“Still haven't sorted that heating, huh?” Robby chuckled down the line. “You need someone to come sort that out for you.”
Jack withdrew his hand, dragging those two fingers from inside of you around you, before lowering himself back down. He spread you open, lying his tongue back in.
“Yeah, I do.”
“Want me to come take a look at it?” asked Robby.
“Not- not right now,” you pushed your phone back as Robby scoffed lightly. You sort Jack's attention, begging for the end of the torture he was inciting. His eyes were a haze of lust as he only watched you, shaking his head slowly to feel all around you.
His hand pushed your knee up to your chest, welcoming him in deeper.
“Are you still mad at me for earlier?”
“Y-yes!”
“You are?”
You'd forgot Robby down the line, forgot his question, could only feel the depth of Jack's tongue in you. You bit down on the bottom of your lip. “Yes! Yes! Yes, I am!”
“Okay- well, i'm sorry,” he said down the line. “You just have no idea what seeing you with Jack does to me.”
Jack moaned into you, sending vibrations through your body. His nose nudged against your clit, circling his tongue in you. Your mouth opened, a moan ripping through you that Jack managed to stifle quickly by slamming his hand over your mouth.
“- It's just, I think of you as one of mine,” Robby continued down the line, un-aware's to Jack tapping your phone on speaker and placing it next to you.
Jack dropped his mouth next to your ear, nipping at the lobe. “As mine,” he uttered.
“- seeing you with Jack, I can't stand it, you know I can't-”
Jack went back down to his work, two fingers working inside of you as he sucked in your clit. Your walls are like silk that his fingers thread through with ease, your mind blank with pleasure.
Your moans continued to be muffled by his mouth, he dared not move it.
“- you know I... you know I favour you over anybody else in that ER-”
Your hand reached out for your phone, sure you would come soon and needed to end the phone call.
Jack reached out for you. “Be nice, be nice.”
You picked up the phone and put it to your ear, Jack sucking diligently at your bundle of nerves. “Robby, I-”
“What is it? You sound like you're burning up? You need me?”
Yes, you needed him.
Jack curled his fingers up and you came with a loud gasp, ending the call abruptly as your world shattered in stars of want. Your back arched into Jack's mouth as he laid there open mouthed, taking what you could give him like a man dying of thirst.
Only when your breathing calmed and you could open your eyes to make sense of the world- and Jack's room- did Jack slowly move out his fingers, gently crawling up you body with kisses like butterflies.
You laughed when Jack reached your neck. “Oh god.”
“What?” he said, laughing along with you.
“I hung up on Robby.”
Jack fished for your phone, holding it between the two of you as he rubbed the head of his cock against the slick of your folds. “Then I guess we better call him back.”
and does your husband know the way
that the sunshine gleams from your wedding band
does he know the way?
does he know the way of the crickets that would convince me to call it a night
does he
does he know the way i worship our love?
– headfirst slide into cooperstown on a bad bet, fall out boy
summary: PTMC is hosting their annual fundraising gala, an event you're required to attend despite your objections. Also in attendance is your ex-fling, Dr. Michael Robinavitch, who takes the opportunity to try and rekindle the long extinguished flame. The problem? You're both married.
tags/warnings: MDNI 18+, cheating (Robby and reader are both married to other people), unprotected piv sex, creampie, oral (f receiving), spanking, light degradation, breeding kink, orgasm denial, cockwarming, light hair pulling, light choking, age gap (reader is an attending, but still younger than Robby), reader calls him michael, religious discussion (reader talks about christianity, sorry y'all this one is a little self-indulgent), toxic!robby, but also therapized!robby?
wc: 9.3k
a/n: this would not leave my brain and I had to get it out. To be clear, I do not condone cheating in real life!!! but there is something so delicious about the forbidden nature of it, of the secrecy and illicit yearning. Please do not read if that makes you uncomfy, I totally understand!! I also added the songs I listened to while writing this to a playlist if anyone is interested :)
The first time you met Dr. Michael Robinavitch you were a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed first year pediatrics resident beginning your emergency medicine rotation. He wasn’t the chief of the department back then–no, Adamson was still alive and kicking, instilling his paternal wisdom to all who worked under him and keeping Robby’s head on straight.
Robby was lighter then, not carefree, per se, but less burdened by grief and trauma. You were quickly enamored with the man, his warm demeanor and soft eyes drawing you under his spell. For your part you tried to play it cool, shyly avoiding eye contact and stumbling over your words when you had to present to him.
Robby was less subtle. It started with lingering looks filled with a fondness no one else was able to pull out of him; extra words of encouragement (“did so good in that trauma, hon,” and “nice pickup, smart girl,”); unnecessary (but welcome) touches on your shoulders, arms, nape of your neck, the small of your back.
It didn’t take long for him to take you home, to have you sprawled across his bed naked. Your legs thrown over his shoulders as he fucked into you, thighs slapping hard against your ass as he pistoned his cock into you over and over. And it didn’t stop there; you spent most nights folded into various positions under him, on your knees, or on top of him. The sex was incredible, obviously. Robby was nearly two decades older than you and had been fucking for all of them. His experience was vast and he never failed to make you see stars, whether by his cock, mouth, fingers, or an unholy combination of the three.
You never defined your arrangement. You’d heard about his reputation, about his tendency to stick around just long enough to get someone hooked before cutting ties and getting the hell out of dodge. You were prepared for that, and maybe a tiny part of you thought you might be different.
And it was casual, for the most part. Except when you started calling him Michael instead of Robby, like it was a secret only the two of you shared. And for the key he’d given you to his apartment, for you to use when he wasn’t around because he knew how much you loved his shower and in-unit laundry. Or the trips you’d take up to his cabin, where he’d make you dinner after a day spent in the lake, hair still damp as you sipped the expensive whiskey he kept there. Or the time he’d taken you to his college buddy’s wedding, introduced you as his girlfriend, masquerading as the perfect boyfriend all night. Other than that, though–totally casual.
But things got bad when Adamson died. Michael was devastated, that much was clear, though he didn’t exactly open up to you about it. He faded into a dimmer version of himself, a sunken husk of his former self just going through the motions to survive.
You kept seeing each other, for a while, but it was different. You were now a purely sexual pursuit, the informal little dates and trips to his cabin abandoned for quick fucks in the on call room. The sex was now a means to an end more than a communal experience. It was detached, void of the exhilarating high you shared before. He rarely invited you over to his place anymore, and when he did, he didn’t stick around, the sheets beside you long cold by the time you woke up.
Eventually, Michael did what he’d done to dozens of men and women before you. He pushed you away, not meanly–you knew what he was like when he was mean, had enjoyed it, even, at times–but with indifference. He stopped asking you to come over, stopped the flirting between cases, stopped calling you down for consults just to see your face. Soon enough you were just another co-worker, and he’d moved on to his next flavor.
It hurt, of course it did. Even though you never defined your relationship as anything more than casual sex, you cared about him. Tried to support him through this time the best you could, the best he would allow you before he started lashing out. Had given far more of yourself to him than anyone else. Maybe you loved him. Maybe you thought you could fix him. Maybe it was some secret third thing that you’re still not sure how to articulate.
You continued like that for a while, acting like two strangers who hadn’t seen the most intimate parts of each other, cordial to onlookers despite the taut tightrope you felt like you were walking every time you spoke to him.
That is, until Pittfest, when he’d shown up on your doorstep, sad brown eyes begging you to make him forget, if only for a few hours. You obliged, leading him by the hand to your bedroom. You let him take you apart, use you however he saw fit. He spread you over his lap and spanked your ass until it was hot, then spent hours between your legs, devouring your cunt until he was dripping with your juices and your thighs were rubbed raw from his beard. His cock plundered your tight walls thrust after thrust, hot ropes of his cum painting your insides, your heated ass an hour later; your pretty tits the next morning.
Then acted like nothing happened the next day.
That was a wake-up call that he wasn’t coming back. So you moved on. Met a nice guy–an accountant–who treated you well, took you on vacations, talked about the future with you, in a way that made it clear he saw you in his. After being together for a year, he proposed, and you’ve been married now for 6 months.
And Michael had too. He found himself a nice woman, closer to his age, and settled down, put a ring on her finger and bought her a house. You didn’t know much about her, but from all accounts she seemed like a lovely woman. You were happy for him, really, you were. There was absolutely no pit of rancid jealousy pooling low in your stomach. Not at all.
This history rushes through you as you catch sight of him at PTMC’s annual fundraising gala, an event you were required to attend if you wanted any chance to upgrade some of the more expensive, 10-year old equipment in your department. You’d tried to get out of it–not just because you were likely to see Michael in a non-work setting, but because you’d never been one for schmoozing; it just wasn’t your bag. You wished these people would donate out of the goodness of their hearts, not because the hospital promised to dedicate a wing to them.
You hadn’t been able to completely avoid Michael these past few years, you did work at the same hospital after all. You’d seen him somewhat regularly, though far less than you did when you were a resident. As an attending, you weren’t often tasked with answering consults in the ED–residents usually took the brunt of the workload. You stayed upstairs most of the time, only wandering down to the Pitt to oversee the more complex cases, which you were thankful for.
It’d been about four months since your last interaction. You’d just gotten back from your honeymoon, a trip to Paris that was supposed to be romantic, idyllic. And it was, at least to everyone on the outside looking in.
You made your way down to the ED, Dana directing you to the physician assigned to the case, which happened to be Michael. He was different, less restrained when he spoke to you. He looked you in the eye–a courtesy you hadn’t been afforded in some time–he joked, put his hand on the small of your back as he maneuvered you away from an incoming gurney. He was flirting. Not in a crass way, not in a way that anyone else, really, would notice. But you did. Because you knew him, knew how frosty you’d become to one another over the years.
You stuttered your way through, thrown off by Michael's change in demeanor. You approved the transfer to peds and his plan of treatment before quickly excusing yourself, heart racing–not because you didn’t like this side of Michael, but because you did.
The exchange sat heavy on your tongue that night as you sat across the table for your husband, the lovely dinner he’d prepared tasting acrid in your mouth. You’d never mentioned your relationship with Michael to your husband–not because it was a secret, but because it seemed too complicated to explain in the beginning, and eventually enough time passed that bringing it up now felt awkward. It was unnecessary to tear open the wound when it had already scabbed over. Why upset the peace now?
Which is why your stomach clenched as he approached the punch table you were stationed at, where you were scoping out the gala from afar. He looked good, really good. It wasn’t often that you saw him dressed up; he much preferred his scrubs and cargo pants to starched slacks and fitted shirts. Tonight he was styled in a perfectly tailored black suit, crisp white dress shirt underneath, and a silky black tie nestled against his neck. The soft swell of his tummy was sinful under his suit jacket. His hair wasn’t styled, exactly, but it was wrangled into something more kempt than his usual mussed look, and his beard was neatly trimmed, the graying strands more pronounced than they were years ago.
He came to a stop about a foot away from you, close enough that you could smell the spicy, woody scent of his cologne; the same cologne he’d been wearing for years. The one that permeated the sweaters you’d borrow; that lingered on your sheets after he spent the night; the one that mingled with his sweat and musk as he hovered over you, taking you again and again and again.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he smiled, and it looked so much like the one he used to flash you back then; the one reserved for you and you alone. A pang of sadness zipped through you for a brief moment before you collected yourself.
Shaking yourself of your haze, you rolled your eyes, “this is a mandated event for all attendings,” you reminded him, arms wrapping tight around yourself as if it would provide any sort of defense, “you knew I’d be here.”
“Yeah, doesn’t mean you’re any less of a sight for sore eyes,” he leaned forward to whisper in your ear, over the din of chatter. It’s not close enough to be indecent, but it is close enough to make your heart stutter. He was laying it on thick tonight.
“That’s an awful nice thing to say to someone you’ve been avoiding for the better part of two years,” you said, perhaps a bit pettily.
He takes that in stride, jaw shifting side to side as he considers his next move. He settles on, “Where’s the husband?”
You took a deep breath. The last thing you wanted was to engage in small talk with Robby. You didn’t want to talk about the husband, the wife; didn’t want to re-expose the wound you’d worked so hard to heal. But you didn’t want to make a scene, either, so you answered politely, “He couldn’t make it. Had a fishing trip planned with his buddies, couldn’t miss it.”
“Ah, what a shame, I was looking forward to meeting him,” he said with a smug look on his face, disappointment nowhere to be found.
“Another time,” you said noncommittally, “what about your wife?”
“She had a… prior engagement,” he said vaguely, not attempting to go into anymore detail. He cleared his throat, his confident composure flickering for a moment, “Listen, I was hoping maybe we could talk tonight. Privately. I wanted to… I just, I want,” he sighed, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck, “I just wanted to talk to you tonight.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mic-” you coughed, quickly correcting yourself, “Robby.”
“My name is still Michael, you know. You can say it without retching," he said coyly, smirk hidden behind his whiskey glass.
You shook your head, “I think I’ll stick with Robby. That’s the version of you I get now.”
“You can have whatever version of me you want, sweetheart,” he muttered into his glass, quiet enough that you wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t standing so close. The pet name set your body aflame, blood boiling at how familiar he was acting. You moved to walk away, but he stopped you, hand reaching out to your arm, cupping your elbow and thumbing over the soft skin at the juncture. His hand was heavy, the warmth of his skin radiating through your body, the rough texture achingly familiar. This was getting out of hand, and fast.
“Please, I just… I have some things I want to get off my chest,” he said, “Been wanting to talk since I saw you at work a couple months ago. Before that, too, if I’m honest.”
You shook your head again and took a step back from him, creating some much needed distance. “Look Robby, I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but… we’ve both moved on, right? I mean, what’s your goal here?” you asked.
He blew out a puff of air, expression slightly exasperated, “What if I want to be friends?”
You scoffed, “I don’t want to be your friend, Robby,” you said, shaking your head, “I don’t know how to be,” your throat was tight, unwelcome tears gathering fast. You tried to blink them away, didn’t want him to see the effect he was having on you.
“I’m happy now, okay?” you said, hoping it sounded genuine. He looked wounded, those big cow eyes of his soft and sad. You reached for his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze as you continued, “I hope you are too.”
Your head is spinning as you turn away from Robby, but you don’t get a second to catch your breath before you’re swept into a conversation with Gloria and a handful of donors. You smile and make nice, talk about the important work you’re doing in peds, the lives you’re saving, how you could save more if you greedy assholes would just donate your networth without having us do this whole song and dance.
You’re pulled into conversation after conversation, a hellish waltz choreographed without your permission. You’re dizzy by the time you’re able to extricate yourself, slipping out of the ballroom and down the corridor looking for a brief moment of respite.
Peeking into rooms as you pass by, you finally come to a stop outside of a library. Not a Beauty and the Beast type, but a modest room filled with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that are just the right amount of dusty. You step inside, looking around nervously as if some talking candelabra is going to jump out and scold you for snooping.
Leather-bound classics stand out to you as your fingers flit over the various titles, Wuthering Heights, Frankenstein, Little Women, and, ah, Pri-
“First edition Pride and Prejudice, these people must be loaded,” Michael said, startling a yelp out of you.
“Sorry, honey, didn’t mean to scare you,” his hand settled heavily on the curve of your waist, the warmth of it seeping through the satin of your dress. He’s close–how did he get so close?
“Michael…” you warned.
“What was your favorite quote from the movie again?” he ignored you, hand kneading your flesh over your dress.
He inched closer, body pressing solidly against your back, “you have bewitched me, body and soul,” he recites huskily, drawing your earlobe into his mouth and biting down. You gasp, the sensation zinging through you and straight to your core. He descends on you, then, placing hot kisses along the column of your neck, sucking at the flesh with the slightest pressure–he knows he can’t mark you up. Not yet.
Your knees are weak. You need to stop him, have to tell him no, but your body is a traitor, betraying you at the most inopportune time. Your eyelids flutter closed, your hands finding purchase on the shelf in front of you and gripping hard. Tiny mewls and whimpers escape your lips involuntarily, Michael’s lips finding your sweet spots like he’d never forgotten them.
“missed those pretty sounds, baby,” he whispered, and you’re abruptly broken out of your reverie, sense coming back to you in shameful waves.
You turn around, your face all but pressed against his broad chest. He’s got you caged in, one arm leaning against the bookcase next to your head and the other still anchored to your hip. His eyes are dark now, and he’s got the look. The look that says he wants you, and he’s not going to stop until he has you. The look that has been your downfall time after time over the past 6 years.
“What are you doing, Robby?” you asked, bracing your hands against his chest, trying to create some semblance of distance. “You have a wife. A good one, from what I hear. You want to throw that all away?”
“I’m not sure I’d be throwing much away,” he murmured, a solemn look on his face.
You shook your head, scoffing, “fine, so you want me to throw everything away?”
He looks at you, hand snaking from your waist up to your shoulder, grazing the swell of your breast lightly on the way. His hand settles at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, fingers resting against the side of your throat. “I just think,” he said, fingers squeezing lightly, “that you’re not nearly as happy as you want everyone to believe you are.”
“And what gives you any right to make that assumption about me? About my marriage?” you asked breathily, your brain already gone fuzzy from the slight pressure he’s applied to your throat.
He shrugs, “I think that you’ve curated this picture perfect marriage that makes everyone fawn over you, that looks good on mortgage applications and Christmas cards, but it doesn’t really matter, does it?” he asks, hand releasing your throat and cupping the nape of your neck. He tilts your head up, the angle achingly familiar. His lips are so close you can almost feel the roughness of them against yours. Almost.
“You might be able to hide it from everyone else, but I know what you look like when you’re happy; when you’re satisfied,” he said, arrogance wafting off him in waves, “There’s no fire; no spark. I mean, does he even know how to fuck you right?”
You laugh incredulously, not really wanting to get into this with him right now. “We have perfectly good sex, Michael.”
“See? That, right there. Not ‘mindblowing’, ‘incredible’, or ‘passionate.’ You didn’t even call it ‘making love’ which, while cliche, would have at least been romantic. You said ‘perfectly good,’” he shook his head in disappointment. “Really, sweetheart, that’s what you’re settling for?” There was that signature Robinavitch condescension laced throughout his words, and you hated that you were getting wet because of it.
“You have me all figured out, do you?”
“Kind of, yeah,” he said, no arrogance this time–just honesty. “Because I’m in the same boat,” he looks at you, his big brown eyes filled with too much sincerity, and something else harder to place; something more resigned.
“I think we can have a good time,” he continued, “We always have before.” That, at least, was honest. No grand promises of leaving his wife, you leaving your husband, and running away together.
“Yeah, is that what friends do?” you asked breathily.
His head dips down to nose along the edge of your jaw, “c’mon, when’s the last time you were fucked properly, honey? Hm?” You gasp as he slots his leg between your thighs, knee pressing up against your cunt.
“Michael, we can’t,” you huff out, willing your hips not to grind against the firm muscle. “Someone could come in…” you mutter weakly. You choose not to interrogate why you’re more concerned about someone wandering in and less about infidelity.
His hands grab at your waist, shucking your dress up and guiding you back and forth over his thigh. A moan keens out of you, the pressure exquisite against your clit, “when’s the last time someone fucked every last thought out of your pretty little head, left you fuzzy and gooey after bein’ fucked so dumb?” he asked, and you could smell the whiskey he’d been nursing all night on his breath–the way the rich, smoky scent tangled with his natural musk was intoxicating.
Your head lolled back against the bookcase, hips moving against him without resistance now, his big hands keeping your pace steady–not letting you think about it too much.
“Does he know that you like your ass slapped raw, that you beg for it till you're crying?” You cried out, face heating because no, he didn’t know that. There were things about you to which only Michael Robinavitch was privy, sexual proclivities you’d only ever felt safe to explore with him.
“Does he know how quickly you’d fall to your knees when I’d tell you to kneel? How you’d take my cock down so far down your throat that you couldn’t breathe?” he asked, rutting the hard line of his cock into your hip.
The pleasure is dizzying, the sensations the only thing you can think about. But then the pressure between your legs is gone, a loud whine escaping your lips before Michael slaps his hand over your mouth, muffling you. “As much as I wanna hear you scream my name, we can’t let these nice people know what a filthy fuckin’ whore you are,” he grunted, nudging your panties to the side before plunging two fingers into your cunt, hooking them up to rub at that sweet spot on your front wall.
You could feel the cool metal of his wedding band against your entrance each time he buried his fingers deep inside you, the contrast against your hot skin sending shockwaves through your body. You should feel ashamed at how turned on you are by it.
His hand was heavy against your mouth, his skin salty against your tongue as you panted hot breaths into it. His nose traced the apple of your cheek as he continued muttering obscenities into your ear. “He know what a good little cumslut you are? How you love being painted with my cum? How you’d guzzle it down by the gallon if you could?” the questions were coming faster now, your brain unable to fully comprehend them; certainly unable to answer them.
Without warning his thumb starts rubbing tight little circles against your clit. Your knees buckle, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you grind yourself against his skilled hand. The press of Michael’s strong body was the only thing keeping you upright and not a puddle on the floor.
You’re right there, standing on the precipice of your release, the staticky feeling extending throughout your limbs as your orgasm approaches. One more swipe over your clit would send you tumbling over the edge.
“Fuck, honey, he doesn’t even know what to do with you, does he?” he said, disdain thick in his throat, before wrenching his fingers from your pussy, your orgasm fading fast away.
“No no no no nooooooo,” you whined, scrabbling to catch his wrist and failing. Your eyelids were heavy, barely open as you gaped at him, unable to form words to protest this indignity.
He lifted his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean before he settled your dress back into place. He squeezed your hips as he leaned in, mouth hot next to your ear, "I'm staying at the Omni tonight. Room 341."
And then he's gone.
You're left slumped against the bookcase, chest heaving, legs fighting to keep you upright. Your thighs are still sticky with arousal, the ache of your denied orgasm heavy as you move on uneasy legs back to the ballroom.
You’re stuck in meaningless, performative diatribes with potential donors for another hour and a half before you’re able to slip out. Michael, you’d noticed, had made his escape at least 30 minutes before you, the sneaky bastard. You hadn’t yet mastered the Irish goodbye, still feeling guilty for leaving people hanging.
Against your better judgement, you find yourself entering the hotel's address into the uber destination box; swiping to pay before you can think better of it. Leaning back against a column, you close your eyes and take deep breaths of humid summer air, a futile attempt to steady your nerves.
“I know you weren’t going to ditch this place without seein’ me first,” a wry voice calls out.
You smile, recognizing Jack immediately. You’d gotten close with him over the years, Robby’s self-destructive behavior a solvent that had closely bonded you two, and was loath to dissolve just because you and Michael had.
“And miss what I’m sure is going to be a riveting status report on dear old Michael Robinavitch? I could never,” you grinned at him.
He shook his head, laughing, “Am I that predictable?”
“Painfully,” you deadpan.
He put his hands up in a defensive posture, “I just came out here to check on you. I saw that Robby cornered you at the punch table.” Yeah, and in the library where he fingered the living daylights out of me before leaving me high and dry, you thought sourly.
“I’m fine, we’re fine,” you waved dismissively, “Just reminiscing on the good ol’ days,” you said, which wasn’t technically a lie.
But Jack looked less than convinced. To your surprise, though, he didn’t jump to pick apart your half-truth. Just leaned against the column opposite you, arms folded as he considered his next words. “He’s been out of sorts lately,” he said, trying to provoke your interest, “picking up more shifts, staying late, doin’ anything to avoid going home.”
You don’t bite, knowing this is a loaded topic, knowing that Jack was leading you somewhere you weren’t sure you wanted to go.
“He’s a grown man, Jack,” is what you manage.
He nodded his head, agreeing, “Yeah, he is. And you’re a grown woman.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, your patience wearing thin.
He looked at you, not quite disappointed but disquieted, like he knew what track the train was headed on, and was hoping it wouldn’t wreck. “Just…make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into, kid. You know I want what’s best for you. For both of you.”
You nod, “Thank you Jack, I’ll keep that in mind. It was good to see you, we should grab a drink and catch up sometime,” you said as your Uber pulled in.
He bids you farewell as you trek to the car, hesitating only a second before sliding into the backseat.
You took a deep breath, then knocked on the door three times. You’re halfway to second guessing when he answers the door. He’d taken off his suit jacket, the shirt beneath untucked and unbuttoned at the collar, showing off the coarse hair on his chest. His sleeves were rolled up, his forearms now bare, and his tie had been loosened, the knot now sitting low against his sternum.
You’re on him before he can say anything, one arm thrown around his neck and the other yanking him forward by the tie, lips crashing against his in a desperate kiss. It was an uncoordinated mash of lips and gnashing teeth, hard and unforgiving, spit gathering at the corners of your lips and drooling down. His lips were slightly chapped, the roughness a delicious friction against yours.
“Woah there, honey,” Michael said against your lips, catching you as you tumble into him–and the room. You're pressed against the door as soon as it's closed, his hands moving up to cradle your head, fingers wrapping around the back of your skull and thumbs brushing against your jaw.
“You’re an asshole,” you mumble against him, unwilling to part from his lips for a second. Your tongue swept across his bottom lip, begging him to open up and taste you. Michael held you still, licking into your mouth with languid strokes, trying to assert control over your frantic pace. Your lips were slick and swollen as you tried your best to slow down, to let Michael guide you like he always has. God, you missed kissing him.
“Yeah?” he asked, fingers tightening around the strands of hair at the base of your skull, pulling enough to hurt, “thought you liked me mean?” The low buzz of pain was dizzying. He tilted your head to the side, exposing your neck and trailing wet hot kisses down the length of your neck, teeth grazing lightly your carotid, pulse racing.
A hand moved behind you, skilled fingers unzipping your dress and letting it fall to the ground unceremoniously, and you were left only in your lacy black bra and panties. Then his hands are on you, rough palms kneading the globes of your ass roughly, pulling them apart and sinking his short nails into the flesh.
“You just left me there,” you whined, head thrown back against the door, hands hastily untying his tie and moving to unbutton his shirt. It’s clumsy work, your shaking hands slipping against the shiny buttons, whining petulantly until Michael intervenes, batting your hands away with a laugh and taking care of it himself.
“Just wanted to remind you how good we are together,” he said as he shrugged his shirt off, “wanted you to come to me on your own.”
Your hands run over the newly exposed skin, savoring the feeling of his hairy chest against your palms. Trailing lower, you palmed his cock through his pants, wet spot noticeable at the tip. You jerked him slowly, hand just barely wrapping around his girth. He was warm, even through the fabric, and the feel of him in your hand only heightened your anticipation.
He captured your lips once more before moving down to your tits, groping them roughly through your bra before pulling the cups down, hot mouth sucking the hardened bud harshly. “So pretty, baby,” he moaned into your chest, licking and sucking your nipples, tongue swirling around one while deft fingers pulled and twisted at the other. Your pace on his cock slowed, mind fuzzy at the attention he was paying your tits, his hips rutting lazily against your open palm. He’s too good with his mouth, and you can’t help the embarrassing sounds that escape your lips. Your chest is soaked by the time he’s had his fill, the spit slick nubs growing cold from the air.
“Missed this so much,” he said, placing kisses to your tummy, right above your panties, teeth pulling at the waistband and letting it snap back against your skin.
“Yeah? Prove it,” you said breathlessly, hand pushing down on his shoulder until he’s on his knees looking up at you. “With pleasure, sweetheart,” he said, content to give up a little control if it means getting his mouth on your sweet pussy.
He wasted no time, yanking your panties to the ground and throwing your leg over his shoulder, burying his nose in your cunt, and inhaling your scent deeply. His tongue delved between your folds, sopping up all the slick gathered there, “taste as good as I remember, fuck,” he moaned into you, licking and sucking at your folds, tongue laving over your clit. He wasn’t teasing–no, he wanted you to remember just how good he made you feel, how helpless you got when you came on his tongue.
He ate you like a man starved, like your cunt was his lifeblood, and he didn’t ever want to forget the way you tasted, the way you felt against his tongue. He pushed your other leg over, widen your stance for him. He traced your entrance before thrusting his tongue in deep, curling and fucking you with a fervor that made your knees weak. You ground your hips against his mouth shamelessly, the image of him below you sinful, eyes glazed over and beard dripping with your wetness.
“Feels so good, please, fuck, right there Michael,” you cried, hands gripping his hair tight, shoving his face impossibly deeper into your pussy. Your denied orgasm from the library was coming back with a vengeance, your thighs trembling as the coil tightened in your core.
He moved back up to your clit, his rhythm unpredictable as he switched back and forth between flicking your clit with short little strokes and massaging it in tight circles. The sensations were too euphoric, the pleasure blistering as you approached your orgasm, “I’m gonna cum, Michael, please keep going, please let me cum,” you begged.
He pinched your thigh, hard, and pulled away just enough to give you direction, “look at me when you cum on my tongue, honey, let go, I got you.”
You tried, eyes heavy as you looked down at him, jaw taut, working hard against your pussy. Your orgasm hit you hard, waves of pleasure radiating to every inch of your body, toes curling and mouth open wide in an obnoxiously loud moan.
“That’s my girl,” he groaned into you, licking up every drop of cum leaking from your pulsing hole, “so fucking good for me.”
You were boneless against the door, barely holding yourself up as Michael cleaned you up, not letting a drop of your spend go to waste. You pushed his head weakly, clit abused and sensitive from his devious assault.
He kissed the inside of your knee, your inner thigh tenderly before getting up, knees cracking faintly. You pulled him close, tasting yourself on his lips as you kissed him messily. His hands travelled down, grabbing at the back of your thighs and hoisting you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he walked you to the bed.
He deposited you on the bed, stepping back to take in your debauched form before descending on you again, kissing up your stomach, nipping at the skin around your hipbones, your ribs. You reach back and finally discard your bra before moving to paw at his belt, desperate to get him out of his pants and into you. “Need you to fuck me, Michael, need to be close to you,” you whimpered, resolve broken; pride nowhere to be found. You had succumbed to Michael’s overwhelming magnetism; you felt like a tiny ball of metal being drawn to an industrial sized magnet, unable to resist, all sense or reason absent from your mind when he touched you.
He doesn’t make you wait, shucking off his pants and boxers, cock springing out painfully hard. You forgot how pretty he was, thick and long, tip a rosy pink color. He was wet from the amount of precum he’d been leaking, shaft sticky with it. Veins protruded along his shaft, ones you remember feeling against your tongue, especially the one on the underside of his cock, the one that made him putty in your hands when you ran your tongue along it. Your mouth watered at the sight of it, vowing to get a taste before the night was over.
He sat on his knees before you, grabbing your legs under your knees and pulling you towards him, the back of your thighs resting atop his spread ones, hips lifted slightly off of the bed. He stroked his cock a few times before slapping it against your puffy clit, the plap plap plap reverberating throughout the room. You moaned, thrusting your hips up to chase the friction.
He ran his cock through your sopping folds, tip pressing gently against your entrance before gliding up to your clit, then back again. “You gonna let me fuck you raw, honey?” he asked, cock slipping messily against your cunt, “Gonna let me fuck a baby into you?”
Oh. That was new. The moan that left your lips was borderline pornographic, “please Mikey.”
His hips stuttered, groaning at the nickname he hadn’t heard in years. “Put it in for me, baby, show me how bad you want it,” he huffed out, grabbing your hand and putting it on his cock. You stroked him a few times, the weight familiar in your hand, before notching him at your entrance and rocking your hips forward slowly against the tip. You continued like that for a while, fucking youself steadily on the tip of his cock. Michael was big, and even the tip stretched you out deliciously.
It didn’t take long for his patience to snap, though, his hand replacing yours as he pushed in deep, inch by inch. The stretch was familiar and new all at the same time; each inch spearing you further onto his cock, the fullness so satiating you couldn’t speak. Michael was equally speechless when he fully sank into you, the feeling of your walls fluttering around him dizzying after so long without you.
“Feels like coming home,” he groaned, hands finding home on the back of your soft thighs and hooking your legs over his shoulders, pressing you deep into the mattress as he fucked into you. The drag of his cock through your walls made you delirious; you could feel every vein, his head rutting against your g spot at just the right angle. Your hands scrabbled for purchase on his forearms–the only part of him you could reach–needing to touch him; to have him as close to you as possible.
He found his rhythm quickly, pulling out almost all the way before snapping his hip back into you, the pace steady but brutal. His balls slapped against your ass with each thrust, and your pussy was squelching loud, slick coating your inner thighs and running down your ass and onto the sheets below. Michael watched his cock pump in and out of you, your arousal coating his cock in a thick, creamy ring around his base, the sight nearly enough to make him cum on the spot.
“You fill me up so good, Mikey, can feel you in my guts,” you whimper, hand snaking down to play with your clit, your second orgasm quickly approaching.
“Yeah, touch that pretty little clit, baby, make yourself cum all over my cock,” he said, grip tightening on your thighs, hips snapping against you faster, harder. You thought briefly about how you were going to explain the bruises.
Another sharp thrust hit that sweet, spongy spot and you’re done for. Your blood felt molten as it rushed through your body, white hot shocks racing down your spine. Your back is arched almost uncomfortably, your mouth open but unable to make any sound as the waves crash over you. Your fingernails dig into his forearms, little crescent shapes nearly breaking the skin. The aftershocks are just as powerful, pleasure zipping through you with each thrust.
You’ve barely recovered when he manhandles you onto your front, his strong hands pulling your hips back against him. Your back arched, forearms barely keeping you from faceplanting into the sheets. One hand settles on your shoulder, dragging you back onto his cock with each thrust, and the other tangles in your hair, pulling the strands tight, the pain and pleasure mingling together exquisitely. Your hips move back to meet his, fucking yourself back against him, desperate to make him feel as good as he’s making you feel.
“Shit, missed this pussy so much, baby,” he grunted, “I think she remembers me, remembers how good this cock made her feel.”
He shifted again, draping himself over your back and bracing himself on his forearms, one one either side of your head. He was so deep like this, the tip of his cock jutting up against your cervix with each thrust. All you could do was lay there and take it, the feel of his soft belly against your back a soft contrast to the punishing slam of his hips. One hand snaked between your body and the bed, ring and middle finger finding your clit and rubbing fast circles on it. It felt so good.
Tears formed in the corners of your eyes, the mix of sensations and hormones garbling your emotions. “Am I good?” you asked, eyes bleary and throat raw, a part of you begging to know that you’re doing good, that you were as good as he remembered. That you weren’t risking everything for a mediocre lay.
“So good, baby, takin’ it so good, always so good for me,” he groaned, hand grabbing your jaw and pulling your head to the side to kiss you. It was sloppy, mostly teeth clanking against each other, but you savored his lips on yours nevertheless.
“Gonna let me cum inside?” he asked, pace faltering just a bit, “yeah? Gonna give me a kid? What would your husband say?” He’s fading fast now, hips grinding against your ass in short, hard thrusts.
“Nine months from now, when a kid with my nose–fuck–my eyes pops out? What would he think, knowing I pumped his pretty little wife full of my seed?”
You moaned, pleasure too great to feel the shame, “please, please cum inside me, Michael!” His fingers pressed hard against your clit and you were cumming again. It was less intense than the first two, but no less pleasurable. It was a warm pulse that emanated from your core, flooding your limbs and making your body sag against the mattress, spent.
“I’ll give it to you, baby, give you anything you want,” he cried out as he came, spilling rope after rope of hot cum into your cunt. He gave you a few more thrusts before pulling out, watching as globs of his cum dripped out of your hole. Using his cock, he scooped up the spend and fucked it back into you, “gotta make sure it sticks, right, honey?” he said, a wondrous look on his face, like your cunt dripping with his cum was a holy sight.
You turned around and sprawled out against the sheets, head fuzzy and floaty, but aware enough to whine out, “want a taste,” sulkily. He huffed out a laugh at you, but shuffled up the bed anyway, bracing an arm on the headboard as he fed the tip of his softening cock into your mouth. You suckled at him, licking the residual cum from his tip, eyes closed in bliss. You would have been content to stay that way, but Michael was sensitive after his orgasm, and couldn’t take much of your warm mouth on his cock, though he was loath to admit it.
“Alright, honey, gotta get you cleaned up,” he said, extricating himself from you despite your disgruntled whimpers.
And this is what always made 'casual' with Michael so difficult. He fucked you within an inch of your life, and then had the audacity to be so attentive, so achingly tender afterward. He cleaned you up, warm washcloth dabbing softly across your sweat-dripped brow, swiping gently between your folds and thighs. He made sure you drank water, reminded you about the importance of peeing after sex. Even carried you to the bathroom and bathed you–washed your hair, your body, rubbed you down with lotion afterward.
Settled back in bed, you were tucked up against him, leg thrown over his hip and chest pressed against his side. Your fingers trailed over his furry chest, fingers deftly grasping the star of his Magen David between your fingers, thumb brushing against it softly. It seemed wrong, like the cool metal should scald your flesh for your sacrilege. But maybe that was just your religious trauma talking–that, or your extensive knowledge of vampire lore. You’d both gotten married under your respective religious auspices–you had a lovely service in a beautiful church; you heard Michael had a traditional ceremony at his synagogue–had even seen the video of them doing the Hora. Yet here you were, committing the greatest marital sin; betraying your Gods and your lovers in one fell swoop.
But you didn’t much believe in any god anymore, so you weren’t sure why you were having this borderline existential crisis over the blasphemous act you’d just engaged in. Maybe because it was comforting in a sick sort of way–you knew what to do with shame, especially the religious variety. You were less certain about how to handle the rotten desire you felt welling up inside you; the bone-deep longing to wake up next to Michael in the morning.
Pushing the thoughts away, you asked, "why do you still wear it?" You knew he had a complicated history with his faith; that he had, on more than one occasion, cursed God’s name and decried his existence.
He remained silent for a moment, then fingered the delicate chain resting between your breasts, thumb stroking lightly over the crucifix pendant. “Probably for the same reason you still wear this,” he said coolly, and you thought, briefly, that he was evading the question.
“It’s from my bubbe,” he answered quietly, “the last thing I have from her, actually. And there’s a bittersweet nostalgia to it, too, I guess. Reminds me of a version of myself that believed in a higher power.”
You understood that more than you cared to admit. It was also uncharacteristically vulnerable for Michael. You found yourself wanting to give him a piece of yourself in return.
You covered his hand with yours over your necklace, “this was my dad’s,” you whisper, thumb stroking over his knuckles, “reminds me of being little, of singing in the choir at church. Wish things still felt that simple.” He nods, understands the feeling, if not the exact experience.
"I think… I think I got married because I thought it was something I should do," he confessed quietly, staring straight up at the ceiling. "I woke up one day and saw that I had nothing to show for my life. No wife, no kids. Not even a dog," he laughed humorlessly, shaking his head. "I care about her, really, I do. But it's how you'd care for a good friend. I want what's best for her, want her to do well, but... it's just not…” he swallowed thickly, turning to look you in the eye, “I don’t love her."
Your heart raced, chest filling with inconvenient feelings that you were desperate to push down. You weren’t sure how much more of yourself you could expose before you reached the point of no return. Perhaps you’re already there. You settled on a safe answer, a deflection, "that seems like something you should tell her.”
He laughed softly, “yeah, I guess so,” he said, hand moving to cup your cheek, “but I’m telling you.”
You shook your head, eyes closing to avoid his penetrating gaze. This had never been part of the deal with him. Sure, your pillow talk had been more intimate than the typical hookup–you told him things you’d never told anyone else–hadn’t told your husband–but that didn’t extend to your real feelings for one another. This time was reserved for morose revelations; a twisted confessional between two people comfortable to wallow in the depravity of it; who knew the other wouldn’t avoid their gaze the next morning.
“Tell me you love him,” he said, voice strained, “look at me and tell me you love him.”
"I do love him," you said, eyes still closed, mustering up as much conviction as you could manage. Which, admittedly, wasn't much.
A beat.
"Then why are you still here?"
"Fuck you," you pushed against his chest weakly, pulling back just enough to create some space.
"hmm maybe in a little bit, didn't bring my viagra with me," he joked halfheartedly.
“Be serious, Michael,” you bit out, making a real attempt to remove yourself from him now. You turned around, scooting to get out of bed only to feel his arms encircle your waist, pulling you back into him, his chest pressed solidly against your back. His grip was loose; you knew you could leave if you really wanted to, which made your complacency that much more infuriating.
“I’m trying,” he said, “we’re done fucking, you could have easily walked out the door 45 minutes ago. But you’re still here, and I have to think that means something.”
You don’t say anything. His breathing is heavy, the puffs of air sweltering next to your ear as he hits you with a gut punch, "I never stopped thinking about you."
“You can’t do that, Michael,” you said, throat tight; tears pricking your lash line.
“I never stopped thinking about you, about how how badly I fucked things up,” he continued.
You laughed wetly, “Stop. You can’t just, just come back into my life after making it clear, for years, that you’re not interested in anything with me, that all I ever was to you was a good fuck.”
“That’s never been true,” he said resolutely, “I know we never talked about it, but you know it was more than that.”
It was quiet for a minute, then, “I’ve been going to therapy, for about a year now,” he said, “I’m doing better. I’m not perfect, obviously,” he laughed, the sentiment clear: I’m here cheating on my wife, so I’m not totally depleted of poor coping mechanisms.
“I was fucked up after Adamson, after Pittfest. I treated you like shit when all you wanted to do was help me, when you were the only one who did help me. I’m sorry for that, how I treated you. You didn’t deserve that, and I’ll spend however long I need to making it up to you,” he said, and the sincerity in his voice made your heart ache.
“I’m not telling you this so you’ll forgive me. I just, I want you to know I’m trying to get better. I’m trying to be the man that you deserve.”
You shook your head, refusing to fall into this trap again. “I appreciate the apology Michael, I really do, but I can’t. We can’t. I’m married, you’re married.”
He laughed bitterly, “Why do you think I'm staying at this hotel?” he asked, not giving you the chance to answer before he continued, “she kicked me out, said I’ve been distant. Said she didn’t want to be stuck in a loveless marriage.”
The air is sucked from your lungs, brain not comprehending the words fully until he finishes, “I want to get a divorce.”
He turned you around in his arms, hand cradling your cheek as he asked you again, “Do you love him?”
“I want to,” you said, eyes closed tight against the tears falling, “I want to so bad. He’s good for me, we like each other, we agree on everything. It should be perfect,” you said, breaths coming out fast and ragged, your next words ripping from your throat unbidden, “But all I want is you.”
You’re crying now, face burrowed into Michael’s chest, the scent of him overwhelming your senses. “I don’t-don’t know what to d-do,” you sobbed, the conflicting feelings of shame and relief pummeled into you full force. He ran his fingers through your hair, pressing kisses to your hairline, “It’s okay, baby, it’s gonna be okay. We’ll figure it all out,” he whispered.
You’d never admitted that you didn’t love your husband to anyone–had barely admitted it to yourself. It was a secret you held close to your chest, one that you were going to take to the grave because you thought it was too late; you’d made your bed, and now you had to lie in it.
But it felt so good to let it out, to have someone to share in that truth, to fully admit it to yourself. Things had gotten harder after the honeymoon, when things weren’t shiny and new. You both settled into routine, and it was harder to ignore the growing distance between you. You liked each other just fine, but maybe that was part of the problem. You felt more like roommates than lovers most of the time, your lives separate in so many ways. He hadn’t even asked you if it was a good time for his fishing trip–not that he had to ask for permission, but it would have been nice for him to consider you. Or maybe you’re just trying to lessen your guilt, to justify the unjustifiable.
Either way, what’s done is done, and now that the admission has been made, you have a choice to make. But that wasn’t exactly easy, either.
“How am I s-supposed to believe that you w-won’t do it again? Leave when things get hard?” you hiccuped, fear gripping your heart in a vise. You want so badly to believe him, to surrender to him, but you can’t stop that little voice in your brain telling you he’ll never stay.
“You can’t,” he said solemnly, “and I’m sorry about that. That I’m not someone you can trust anymore, that you’re going to second guess my commitment to you for a long time. But I want to try, I want to be with you, and I can only hope that you want to be with me too.”
“You make it sound so easy,” you said weakly.
“Not easy. But I’m willing to do the work, however dirty. Because I love you.”
Your breath hitched, teary eyes looking up at him in shock. His thumb brushed against your cheek, eyes honest as he looked you in the eye.
“Yeah?” you asked
“I meant it, what I said in the library. You have bewitched me, body and soul,” he whispered, moving to hover over you. “And I love, I love, I love you.” He kissed you then, soft and slow and sweet this time, every unspoken sentiment making itself known between your lips.
“I love you, too,” you whispered back, the words tasting sweet on your lips instead of sour for the first time in a long time.
He settled between your legs, cock resting against your cunt, still wet with your combined cum. You winced, “I don’t think I can do another one, ‘m too sore,” you whispered, not wanting to ruin the moment.
“Shh, it's okay, honey, just want to feel you, be close to you.”
He slipped in slowly, savoring the way your walls wrapped around him, the warmth comforting. He buried himself in you, hips sitting flush against yours. He settled his head on your chest, ear resting against your heartbeat, his body a comforting weight on top of you. You sat there for a while, stroking his hair and replaying the night in your head.
“Did you mean it?” you asked quietly, “about putting a baby in me?”
He was silent for a moment, the air charged with uncertainty, both of you trying to suss out the other, neither wanting to upset the fragile peace between you.
Finally, “yeah, honey, I meant it.”
You blew out a puff of air, “yeah, okay. Shit. We should talk about that,” you laughed, and so did he.
“We have plenty of time, baby, plenty of time.”
The tension eased, the silence between you comfortable.
A million thoughts raced through your mind, not the least of which was you lose them how you get them. Things weren’t perfect–far from it–but he was trying, and you wanted to try with him.
Maybe that was enough.
a/n: thank you for reading!!! this got way more emotional than I was expecting, so thank you if you actually made it all the way through <3
one shot ✮ michael robinavitch x resident!reader ✮ 18+
summary: when robby leaves pittsburgh for a three month sabbatical, you’re left house-sitting his apartment. what starts as the occasional check-in text quickly becomes part of your daily routine, and somewhere between late night phone calls, shared photos and thousands of miles apart, neither of you realise you’re falling until it’s far too late to stop.
tags: age-gap but not mentioned massively, long distance, robby is yearning, friends to lovers, slow burn, texting, photo texts, eventual phone sex, masturbation, dirty talk, happy ending.
wc: 12.8k
a/n: i haven't included any visuals of the reader in place of where selfies are sent bc i want this to be inclusive for anyone who reads. also sorry for some of the gaps / spacing between texts n paragraphs, i hate the tumblr word block limit and ANOTHER sorry if the pics aren't transparent. i reached the end of my tether at this point
✮
"Silver key is lobby, brass is front door." The bunch jingled between his fingers. "This one is for the mailbox, you can just leave anything that comes in on the side."
You stood in front of Robby with your arms folded, letting him run through his spiel even though you were a grown woman and could probably figure out which key got you through which door. Still, you nodded along, even made a joke about taking notes that seemed to fall flat, and then he was pulling a scrap of paper from his pocket with four digits scribbled across it.
"This is the alarm code-”
"Jesus, what neighbourhood do you live in again?"
"You don't have to use it, but a young woman staying alone? I want you to feel safe."
He handed you the note. That felt sweet.
You weren't entirely sure how you'd ended up being the one house-sitting for Robby while he disappeared on a three month sabbatical. You were the newest resident, barely eight months into your time at PTMC, but for whatever reason he seemed to trust you. He liked the way you taught, how patient you were with the med students, how you somehow managed to balance nurturing them without letting them walk all over you.
You'd been a little intimidated by him when you first arrived. Robby didn't take mistakes lightly. If you fucked up, you fucked up. There was no sugar coating it.
But he'd turned out to be a better teacher than you'd expected, taking you under his wing and dragging you into procedures most residents would have had to fight to get near. Sometimes you wanted to call it favouritism but it was probably just him doing his job. Probably.
"Anything else I need to know?" you asked. "Weird neighbours, paranormal activity, stalker exes?"
You tried to keep a straight face, only for the corners of your mouth to betray you.
He shook his head, laughing. "You sure you're okay doing this?"
"Are you kidding? This is gonna be like a vacation for me."
Robby nodded once, seemingly satisfied, and dropped the keys into your palm.
"Good. Call me if you need anything."
He started backing away towards the chaos of the ER. "Hey, remember. No parties, no pets, no boyfriends. Yours or anybody else's."
You scoffed, not quite loud enough for him to hear. Party? Required more than three friends. Pets? Required energy. And boyfriend? Don't even go there.
You didn't see Robby again before he left. Maybe the apartment handover had counted as a goodbye, or maybe the ER had simply done what it always did and swallowed every spare second before anyone got the chance to wave him off into the sunset.
Either way, all you could really focus on right now was three whole months without roommates and a bed bigger than a single. Happy days.
-
You managed to slip off shift without attracting any attention from the nurses or the night shift. Robby had said the only person he'd told about the house-sitting arrangement was Abbot. If you wanted to tell people, you could, but he didn't particularly care either way.
You decided to keep it quiet.
Work wasn't really where you made friends. You had three good ones on the outside but that was mostly it. Everyone was nice enough in the ER, and there had been the occasional invitation for drinks after a shift, but by seven o'clock you were usually too exhausted to be anything but horizontal.
Your circle stayed small, mainly Mckay and Ellis within the hospital.
You worked with Cassie every day and had become close over the months, and Parker had been your person during those brutal night shift rotations when you first arrived in Pittsburgh.
Either way, you made it to Robby's building without interception. Silver key for the lobby and brass for the apartment. Just like he'd said.
The building itself was nice. Clean hallways, warm lighting, planters hanging in the windows. The kind of place that felt looked after without trying too hard about it. The apartment was even nicer. Or maybe it just felt huge compared to the place you shared with four other girls.
"Well, fuck." The words slipped out before you could stop them as you flicked on the light switch.
The front door opened into a small hallway that led into a spacious living room, all exposed brick and worn hardwood floors. A brown leather sofa sat opposite a huge TV, surrounded by shelves packed with books and an almost concerning number of CDs.
You drifted towards them automatically, scanning album titles as you went. Pearl Jam, R.E.M., Jeff Buckley. A laugh escaped you.
"Checks out."
Your finger brushed across the collection before you moved on, abandoning your investigation in favour of something far more important.
Bed.
The guest room had already been made up for you, fresh sheets stretched neatly across the mattress and extra towels folded at the end like you were checking into a hotel instead of crashing in your attending's spare room. It made you smile.
Maybe your standards for grand gestures were embarrassingly low, but between that and the hundred dollars waiting on the kitchen counter with a note that read for anything you need, you couldn't help it.
There was still plenty left to explore. The contents of his fridge, the bookshelves, photo albums (or lack thereof) and most definitely the bedside drawers. But not tonight.
You peeled off your scrubs, barely managing to change before exhaustion caught up with you. Within minutes you were under the covers, eyes heavy, asleep before your head had properly settled into the pillow.
-
Turns out this house-sitting gig was absolute heaven.
Two days in and it was already starting to feel less like a favour and more like a reward.
Today was your day off. You'd actually eaten breakfast instead of inhaling a protein bar, spent the afternoon doing absolutely nothing productive and met up with a couple of friends for drinks that evening. The friends who weren't doctors, nurses or in any way connected to the hospital.
Then you'd come home, changed into something comfortable and settled onto Robby's sofa with your book.
Life was good.
So far, the hundred dollars he'd left behind had contributed to a half-full fridge and a bottle of wine, which felt perfectly reasonable considering Robby had specifically said it was for anything you needed. It was somewhere around chapter twenty-three of your hot romance fantasy novel (not one of Robby's) when your phone buzzed beside you.
Robby:
Hey, hope you're good. Just checking in to make sure everything's okay?
You smiled before you could stop yourself. He was so proper. So formal. Even his texts somehow read like work emails. Still, you appreciated him checking since you honestly hadn't expected to hear from him at all.
The whole point of this trip was supposed to be getting away. You'd heard him say more than once that he wanted to leave Pittsburgh and everyone in it behind for a while. No calls. No emails. As close to no contact as he could realistically get. According to Robby, that was the only way to properly clear your head.
The one exception had always been Abbot, maybe even Dana. Apparently now it was the three of you.
You:
all good! your apartment is insane by the way
and thank u for the money, u didn't have to!
You took a sip of wine as you hit send. A reply came almost immediately.
Robby:
You're doing me a huge favour!
Spend wisely…
A laugh escaped you. You were a little tipsy by now. Not drunk, just pleasantly warm from the two glasses of pinot you'd had at the bar combined with the one currently sitting beside you. Which, admittedly, was a lot considering you barely drank.
Without thinking too hard about it, you snapped a picture of the glass balanced on the coffee table. Then you zoomed in slightly. Mostly to crop out the fact you weren't using a coaster.
You:
wise you say???
The typing bubbles appeared almost instantly. Then disappeared. Then appeared again. You frowned at the screen.
For some reason, a flicker of self-consciousness crept in. Maybe the photo was weird. Maybe the lipstick mark on the rim was weird. Maybe it was weird to be sitting in your attending's apartment drinking wine and texting him on a Friday night.
Before you could overthink it further, another message appeared.
Robby:
Naughty!
Your stomach flipped. It was ridiculous. The word itself wasn't even remotely suggestive. If anything, it was probably about the coaster.
But between the wine and the book currently sitting open beside you, the message seemed to land somewhere deep in your belly. You stared at it for a second longer than necessary.
"Time for bed." You said it out loud, as though hearing it might make it true.
Leaving the glass on the coffee table with a single sip left, you gathered your book and headed for the guest room.
-
Robby stared at the photo for longer than he meant to. Not at the wine or the coffee table and certainly not at the missing coaster.
His attention had landed on the faint lipstick mark circling the rim of the glass and stayed there for a second too long before he caught himself. He sat back against the headboard of the hotel bed, somewhere around Chicago, after a long day on the road.
The room was forgettable. Beige walls. Generic artwork. The low hum of an air conditioner fighting for its life in the corner. Exactly the kind of place he'd expected to find himself in.
He'd only been checking in. That was all.
You were doing him a favour and it seemed polite to make sure everything was going smoothly.
Except now he found himself picturing you in his apartment. Curled up on the couch, feet tucked beneath you. A glass of wine in one hand and whatever book had managed to distract you from answering his text in the other.
His apartment. His couch. His glass.
He exhaled through his nose. It was ridiculous. Of course you were there, that was the entire point. For the next three months you were going to be using his mugs, watching his TV, standing under his shower and sleeping in the guest room.
None of that should have felt strange. And it didn't. Not really. It had just been that split second when the photograph appeared on his screen and his brain had connected the image to a real person rather than the vague idea of someone looking after his place.
Someone he'd see almost every day at work. Someone currently sitting exactly where he usually sat. Robby shook his head once, more at himself than anything else.
Then he typed out the reply.
Naughty!
The second it was sent, he dropped the phone onto the bedside table and turned off the lamp. Tomorrow he'd have another few hours of driving ahead of him. That was what he should be thinking about.
Not a lipstick stain on a wine glass.
-
It was strange how different work felt when you had somewhere peaceful to come home to.
The shifts were still long and the patients exhausting. None of that changed. But when there were no roommate arguments waiting for you at the end of the day, no mountain of dishes that didn't belong to you and no obnoxiously loud sex through the wall at midnight, everything felt a little more manageable.
You had energy again. Energy to come home and shower. Energy to cook. Energy to actually enjoy your evenings instead of collapsing face-first into bed.
You'd always been a good cook. Your mom had made sure of that. While other kids were watching TV, you'd been standing beside her in the kitchen learning how to chop onions without crying and season food without measuring every ingredient.
Your family tree contained exactly zero Italians, but your signature dish was carbonara. Real carbonara. The proper kind. The kind that required ingredients expensive enough to make you wince in the grocery aisle.
Which was exactly why you rarely made it. But with Robby's hundred dollars quietly subsidising your lifestyle, you figured you deserved a treat.
The plan was going perfectly until you tried to turn on the hob.
"Come on."
You twisted the dial until it clicked. Nothing. You tried again.
Another click. Still nothing.
By the fourth attempt, you were staring at the appliance like it had personally offended you.
"Am I losing my mind?"
Getting a burner lit should not have been this difficult. You glanced at your phone sitting on the counter.
No. Absolutely not.
You were not texting Robby because you couldn't operate a stove. You were a doctor, a functioning adult. You could figure this out.
Another click. Nothing. "For fuck's sake." The curse echoed around the kitchen. A few seconds later, you picked up your phone.
You:
i don't want you to think i'm completely incompetent but i cannot work your hob…
Three states away, Robby's phone lit up. He'd spent most of the day hiking through some forest outside Rockford before ending the evening under a shower hot enough to steam up the entire bathroom.
He walked over to the phone, towel slung low around his waist, hair still damp. The text made him laugh.
Robby:
You have to turn and press. It's more of a button than a switch!
Also don't worry, I couldn't work it for the first six months I lived there because of that…
It was strangely comforting to know a physician widely regarded as one of the smartest people in Pittsburgh had also been defeated by a kitchen appliance.
Following his instructions, you pushed the dial inward and a blue flame immediately burst to life.
"Oh thank god."
You set a pot of water on one burner and poured oil into a pan on the other before reaching for your phone again.
You:
life saver. i was about to starve
and the great robby also not knowing how to operate a stove makes me feel better so thank u
Back in his hotel room, Robby laughed quietly at the screen. A small smile lingered as he reread your message.
He'd answered your question, technically the conversation could end there and it probably should. Instead, his thumbs hovered over the keyboard for a second.
Robby:
What are you cooking anyway?
You saw the message while stirring egg and cheese into freshly drained pasta. Not now. Carbonara required concentration and you weren't risking scrambled eggs for anybody.
Five minutes later, when the sauce was silky and clinging perfectly to the noodles, you twisted a generous serving onto a plate and admired your handiwork.
Then you grabbed your phone.
You:
carbonara!
You attached the picture before hitting send.
The photo sat open on his screen for a moment. He wasn't entirely sure what he'd expected, certainly not that. It looked better than anything he'd eaten in the last week.
After a moment he tapped the heart reaction and tossed the phone onto the mattress beside him. He ignored the part of himself that wanted to ask for the recipe.
-
The next two days brought two hellish shifts.
First a mass casualty then a stomach bug that seemed determined to take down half the ER.
Dana did her best to pull people in for extra coverage, Abbot came in early and somehow ended up working a double, but even that barely kept things afloat. It was chaos. The kind that left you running entirely on adrenaline until your body remembered it was human.
You finally made it home just before eleven: a personal record. The worst part was that when you dragged yourself up the stairs, peeled off your scrubs and collapsed into bed, you couldn't sleep.
You were trapped in that miserable state of overtiredness where your body was begging for rest while your brain stubbornly refused to switch off.
You hadn't looked at your phone once during the shift. Not during the mass casualty or the endless stream of patients. Not even while inhaling a granola bar somewhere around hour twelve. It stayed buried in your pocket until you stepped through the apartment door.
It wasn't until you were under the covers that you finally saw the notification waiting for you.
Robby:
I had diner food for the third night in a row tonight, your carbonara is making me look bad…
He'd given you a rough outline of his route before he left and, if you remembered correctly, he should be somewhere near Minneapolis by now. An hour behind. Not too late.
You:
trust me, my carbonara is the least impressive thing about my week
i just survived a mass casualty and half the department trying to die from a stomach bug
diner food sounds peaceful honestly
Robby:
Mass casualty?
You:
three car pile up
and before you ask everyone survived
mostly because abbot worked about seventeen hours straight
Robby:
I leave for one week…
You:
i was waiting for someone to blame
Robby:
Blame Dana…
You:
do you think i have a death wish???
that's not the attending wisdom i was hoping for
Robby:
🤷🏻♂️ ️
You stare at the screen. He's using emojis now? Something about that feels strangely significant.
The conversation probably should have ended three messages ago. Instead, another text appears a few seconds later.
Robby:
You okay?
The question catches you off guard. Not because it's particularly personal, just because he seems to actually mean it. You stare at the message for a moment before replying.
You:
yeah
just tired
too tired to sleep which is apparently a thing
Robby:
Been there. Your body's exhausted but the brain's stress response overrides it
Makes for a very restless night
You:
oh good
thought i was dying
Robby:
You're a doctor..
You always think you're dying
A quiet laugh escapes you. You weren't entirely sure why any of this felt comforting.
After one of the worst shifts you'd worked in months, you were lying awake in your attending's apartment, texting your boss from beneath the covers.
On paper, it sounded ridiculous but the knot that had been sitting between your shoulders since this morning was slowly beginning to loosen.
Your eyes felt heavier, your body sank deeper into the mattress and the first time all night, sleep actually seemed possible.
You:
night robby x
You hit send before thinking too hard about it. A second passed. Then two. Then your phone lit up.
Robby:
Sleep well!
You smiled at the screen. By the time you set your phone on the bedside table, your eyes were already closing.
Robby didn't go to sleep straight away.
Instead he sat against the headboard, phone still in his hand, staring at the open conversation. The room was quiet. Outside, somewhere beyond the hotel curtains, a truck rumbled along the interstate.
His thumb drifted across the screen and paused, hovering over the last message.
night robby x
Just one stupid little letter. It probably meant absolutely nothing. For all he knew, you signed every text that way. You were exhausted when you'd sent it, practically half asleep and already drifting off. He knew that. So why was he still looking at it?
With a quiet huff of amusement at himself, Robby locked the screen.
Tomorrow he'd drive another few hundred miles, stay at another hotel, eat another mediocre meal. Continue doing exactly what he'd left Pittsburgh to do.
And yet, as he finally switched off the lamp and settled back against the pillows, he found himself wondering whether you'd text him tomorrow.
The thought stayed with him longer than it should have. Long enough that sleep didn't come quite as quickly as usual.
-
The next few days settled into something that almost resembled normality (or at least as normal as life in the ER ever got).
The stomach bug finally burned its way through the department, leaving a trail of exhaustion and empty electrolyte bottles in its wake. Everyone looked tired and complained constantly. You included.
It was nearing the end of another shift when your phone buzzed in your pocket.
You ignored it only for it to buzz again.
And because every doctor secretly believed they were the most important person in the building, your brain immediately convinced itself it could be an emergency.
You pulled it out while waiting for the elevator.
Robby:
Rode twenty minutes off route for this
You opened it. Then frowned. Then laughed.
You:
what the fuck is that
Robby:
The world's largest prairie chicken
You:
of course it is
you rode twenty minutes out of your way to see a giant chicken?
Robby:
Yes.
You:
no further questions your honour
The elevator doors opened. You stepped inside, still smiling at your phone. Another message appeared.
Robby:
Thought you'd appreciate it!
Your lips curled at the suggestion he had taken the picture with you in mind.
You:
i'm genuinely concerned about how you're spending this sabbatical
Robby:
That's fair
For the record I did also spend six hours riding through some very beautiful countryside today
You:
and yet it was the giant chicken you sent
Robby:
Correct.
You laughed, probably too loud for the setting as others in the lift glanced over before you quickly looked away.
You:
well i'm glad my attending is making good use of his time
Robby:
You laughed didn't you?
You:
immediately
The elevator dinged and people shuffled out around you while you lingered behind, looking down at the conversation. At the completely pointless exchange.
The kind of conversation that served no purpose whatsoever and yet somehow it had made the end of a miserable shift feel lighter.
Robby:
Worth the detour then
You shook your head but the smile wouldn't disappear. It stayed with you all the way to the parking lot.
Across the county, Robby sat on the edge of his hotel bed with the television murmuring quietly in the background.
The hotels he was staying in were nice, he had the money to stay in much nicer but there wasn't much point when only passing through.
The final destination was a cabin in Alberta. That's where he'd spend the rest of the sabbatical when he got there, that he had spared no expense on.
But he didn't find himself thinking of his trip. The conversation still sat open on his phone. Nothing important, just the giant chicken staring back at him amongst a handful of messages and a stupid amount of amusement considering the subject matter.
After a minute, he locked the screen and set the phone aside. Then despite himself, he found his gaze drifting back towards it as though another message might somehow appear.
He'd be crossing into North Dakota soon and if he happened to see anything ridiculous along the way…
Well he knew exactly who he'd send it to.
-
The next few days followed suit. You and Robby started speaking like it was part of your routines without ever actually agreeing to it.
Nothing constant or heavy, just small check-ins threaded through the day. Snapshots from the road. Snapshots from the ER.
Things you'd caught out of the corner of your eye like the giant pigeon on a fire escape outside the hospital that made you stop mid-conversation just to take a picture.
Food also became a kind of currency between you. The home-cooked meals you'd send, still steaming on the plate whilst he'd drop his roadside breakfasts, gas station coffee, or whatever local specialty he'd found himself staring at that day.
You started waiting for the messages without really meaning to. Both of you did.
Robby:
This morning's view
You:
versus my morning's view
—
You:
i'm going old school and listening to your CDs
you have good taste old man
Robby:
I'll ignore those last two words and take it as a compliment...
—
Robby:
Got caught in a thunderstorm on the road today
You:
😭😭😭 😭 😭 omg
just know i'd be laughing if i were there
—
You:
robby
a guy came in today with an action figure up his ass
and dana made whitaker deal with it
Robby:
Nothing says good evening quite like a HIPAA violation
You:
i know you won't tell x
—
Somewhere between shifts and miles, the apartment stopped being the reason you spoke. It just became something that existed in the background, as if you'd both forgotten the house-sitting gig and this was all normal.
An excuse that had quietly turned into a habit. You didn't really notice the shift until one night you didn't text him at all.
Not on purpose, because of pure exhaustion. A shift that ran too long, a body too tired to think in sentences.
And on his end, Robby found himself checking his phone more than he liked to admit. Each time with a little more irritation than the last.
"Stupid." He muttered under his breath, tossing the phone face-down on the bed.
It didn't stay there long since he picked it back up a minute later.
His trip was still everything it was supposed to be. Long stretches of highway and peaceful mornings. Mountains, towns, weather that changed without warning.
It was all the kind of distance he'd been looking for and for the most part, the noise in his head had settled. It wasn't gone, he needed more than a solo road trip to fix that but it was quieter.
It was at its quietest when you text. Or when he took a picture and thought, without really meaning to, that you'd probably laugh at it.
Then his phone buzzed.
You:
sorry
today's been awful
The irritation disappeared immediately and he sat down properly on the edge of the bed.
For a moment, he stared at the message longer than he needed to. His first instinct was practical, to ask what happened and if you were okay. But it was nearly midnight your time and he knew, instinctively, that whatever you needed wasn't a barrage of questions.
Robby:
Do you want to talk about it?
You:
think i just need bed
speak tomorrow
He stared at the screen a moment longer than he meant to, leaving the chat open, your name sitting at the top of it. He didn't reply.
There wasn't anything else to say that wouldn't feel like too much.
-
The next day didn't actually bring a text. Or the day after that.
Shift patterns blurred together in the ER anyway, time measured in admissions and discharge paperwork rather than hours. You were exhausted, that was your excuse for not texting Robby. But by the second night, you were wondering what his excuse was.
It wasn't anything dramatic, just… absent.
No photos from the road or pointless updates about whatever strange thing he'd stopped to look at. There'd been no diner food commentary that made you roll your eyes while smiling at your phone.
You told yourself it made sense. Robby was on a bike somewhere between states and you were drowning in back-to-back shifts. There wasn't always going to be time.
Still, your phone felt heavier in your pocket than usual.
On his end, Robby told himself the same thing.
He'd spent most of the day on the road, miles of open highway stretching out ahead of him, the kind of silence he'd gone looking for. It should have felt good and it did, mostly. But every time he stopped for fuel, or pulled off to check a map, his hand drifted to his phone out of habit.
There he would find no new messages and he told himself that was normal.
It was normal. Until it wasn't.
-
It happened on a night that started like any other.
You'd left the hospital later than you meant to, fatigue settling into your bones in that familiar way that made everything feel slightly delayed.
The apartment was quiet when you got back.
You climbed the stairs and only realised something was wrong when your keys didn't turn properly in the lock. You tried it once, twice, three times and nothing. You paused then tried again but the lock didn't budge.
"Oh come on," you muttered under your breath.
You stared at the door for a second, exhaustion making it harder to think than it should have.
Of course this was happening now.
You pulled your phone out, looking who to burden with your troubles and force to come to your rescue. For a second, you considered calling Mckay but her shift had been just as rough as yours and Ellis' night was only just starting in the ER, suddenly you were out of options.
Your thumb hovered. Then moved.
In some hotel in one of the Dakotas, Robby's phone lit up on the bedside. His brow furrowed slightly, not expecting to see your name across the screen.
"Hello?"
Your voice came through slightly breathless and oh so tired.
"Hi," you said. "I have a problem."
He sat up a little straighter without thinking. "Are you okay?"
You let out a short laugh that didn't quite sound amused. "Your lock hates me." There was a pause.
Then, quieter, "Which one?"
"Front door."
"Right," he said. "Stay there."
"I am there."
"No," he corrected. "I mean don't try anything else. Just- stay."
You leaned back against the wall, sliding down slightly until you were sitting on the floor outside his apartment door.
"Robby," you said, "I am physically incapable of breaking your door at this point. I'm too tired to commit crimes."
That earned a small exhale of something that might have been a laugh.
"Good," he said. "I prefer it that way."
There was movement on his end. Fabric shifting, something being set down.
"Okay," he added. "Walk me through what happened."
-
The locksmith said he'd be there in twenty minutes which, judging by his tone, probably meant thirty. You thanked him anyway before ending the call and letting your head fall back against the apartment door.
"Well," you sighed, stretching your legs out in front of you. "Guess I live here now."
The laugh that came through the speaker was soft. You'd heard Robby laugh a hundred times at work, usually in passing conversations or when Dana pulled it out of him, but hearing it through the phone felt strangely personal.
"Could be worse."
"How?"
He was quiet for a moment.
"I'll let you know when I think of something."
You smiled. For a while, neither of you said anything.
The silence wasn't awkward, which surprised you. You could hear faint traffic somewhere on his end of the line, the distant sound of a television through a hotel wall perhaps.
"Where are you?" you asked eventually.
“Just outside Sioux Falls."
"Fancy..." You shifted against the wall, tucking one knee up towards your chest. "How's the trip?"
There was a pause. Not because he wasn't going to answer, but because he seemed to actually think about it.
"Good." You waited. "Actually, really good."
"Wow."
"What?"
"I don't think I've ever heard you sound that enthusiastic about anything."
"That's not true."
"Robby, I've worked with you for eight months."
"And?"
"The highlight of your emotional range is usually a nod."
That earned a proper laugh. The kind that made you grin before you'd even realised you were doing it. Why were your cheeks getting hot at the idea of making him laugh?
"That's harsh."
"I think you mean accurate."
"I'll have you know I've been having a great time."
“The giant chicken gave it away."
"Don't mock the chicken."
"I'll mock the chicken all I want."
He sighed dramatically. "This is exactly why I send you things."
Your smile lingered, you weren't entirely sure why. Like even if you wanted to get rid of it you couldn't. Maybe because it was nice knowing someone saw something during their day and thought to share it with you. Or maybe because lately, you'd been doing the same thing.
"Seriously though," you said. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."
The teasing slipped away a little and you could hear it in his voice when he answered.
"Yeah. I think I needed it more than I realised."
You looked down at the floor. You'd thought that yourself. The difference in him was obvious, even through a screen. The texts were lighter. There was an ease to him that hadn't existed back in Pittsburgh.
"You sound happier."
He didn't answer immediately.
"Maybe."
It wasn't much of a response. Coming from Robby, it felt like a confession.
The conversation drifted after that. Work came up eventually, because it always did. You told him about the latest departmental disaster and he laughed harder than he probably should have at Whitaker's expense. Then somehow you ended up talking about music, and when you admitted you'd been making your way through his CD collection, he spent five minutes defending an album you'd called objectively terrible.
Before either of you realised it, headlights swept across the apartment parking lot. You glanced through the stairwell window to see a white van pulling in.
"Oh."
"What?"
"That's him." You pushed yourself to your feet, brushing imaginary dust from your scrubs. "The locksmith."
"Right."
You checked the time. Nearly forty minutes since you'd spoken to him on the phone.
For a moment, neither of you said anything. Then you laughed softly.
"I don't think we've ever actually spoken like this before."
"Spoken like what?"
"Just…" You searched for the right words. "Talked."
He huffed a laugh. "We talk all the time."
"About work."
"Hmm. True."
You shook your head. "I know more about a giant prairie chicken than I do about you."
"Now that's probably not true."
"It definitely is."
The locksmith was already making his way towards the building entrance. You tightened your grip on the phone.
"Thanks for staying on the phone with me."
The words slipped out before you could think too hard about them and for a second, there was only the sound of his breathing on the other end.
"Of course." Robby said it with such ease, as if there'd never been any question about it. Something in your chest warmed at that.
"I should go."
"Yeah. You should."
Neither of you hung up immediately. You smiled even though he couldn't see.
"Night, Robby."
"Night."
-
Robby eventually made it to Alberta, trading motels and roadside diners for a cabin tucked between trees and more open sky than you'd ever seen in one place. The photos changed after that. It was less giant roadside attractions and more mountains, lakes so still they looked painted. Sunrises taken from a porch with a mug of coffee balanced somewhere just out of frame.
Your own contributions remained considerably less scenic.
You:
this mornings view
Robby:
Stunning!
You:
i know
thinking of getting it framed
Robby:
You should. Really ties a room together
The conversations drifted in and out of your days. Sometimes twenty messages. Sometimes two.
But there was rarely a day that passed without hearing from him. It had become your normal and that probably should have concerned you more than it did.
One afternoon you were halfway through a grocery shop when your phone buzzed.
Robby:
What's for dinner?
You snorted. Most days he was interested in what you were cooking, never quite getting over how good that carbonara looked weeks ago.
You:
demanding aren't we?
Robby:
I've been living off campfire food
Let me live vicariously
You balanced the basket awkwardly on your hip. Typing with one hand was becoming increasingly impossible so after a moment you sighed and held down the microphone button.
"Okay, so technically I haven't decided yet," you said, navigating around a woman studying avocados with suspicious intensity. "But I was thinking maybe chicken, potatoes, something easy because I had a twelve hour shift and Mckay spent most of it arguing with a guy who was convinced Red Bull counts as water."
You stopped recording and sent it, immediately forgetting about it as you continued to shop.
Robby was sitting on the cabin porch when the notification appeared. A voice note.
For a second he just looked at it before pressing play. Your voice spilled through the speaker, lighter than he was used to hearing at work, less hurried.
He could hear the wheels of a shopping cart somewhere in the background, people talking. The automatic doors opening and closing. It felt strangely intimate. Like being invited into a moment he wasn't supposed to be part of.
Before he knew it, the recording had ended and he found himself smiling Then replaying the first few seconds just to hear it again.
Robby:
Red bull absolutely counts as water
You:
you're part of the problem
-
A few days later you sent him a photo of a coffee shop you'd stumbled into before work. The picture was supposed to be of the ridiculous chalkboard menu, pretentious and completely overpriced.
Unfortunately, the reflection in the window caught most of your face and you didn't even notice before pressing send.
But Robby did.
He was halfway through replying when he stopped and stared at the photo. Then stared a little longer.
It wasn't as though he'd forgotten what you looked like, he'd worked beside you for months, seen you almost every day and yet somehow seeing your face appear unexpectedly on his screen felt different. Like it was more personal than bumping into you across an ER.
He zoomed in without meaning to then immediately felt ridiculous.
Robby:
That coffee costs more than my first apartment
You:
i knew you'd focus on the important issue
He didn't mention the photo but it stayed open on his screen longer than necessary.
The next Saturday night, you went out with friends.
The three you socialised with maybe once a month, the ones you'd gone out with on your first week at Robby's.
The evening disappeared beneath cocktails, bad music and stories that got funnier with every retelling. By the time you got home, your shoes were in one hand and your keys were in the other.
Your phone buzzed before you'd even made it upstairs.
Robby:
Survived?
You:
barely
my feet are filing formal complaints
Robby:
Worth it?
You:
yeah
free drinks always help
There was a pause before the typing bubbles appeared then they seemed to disappear before appearing once more.
Robby:
Free drinks?
You:
some guy at the bar bought them
either he was being nice or I looked desperately in need of a margarita
Robby stared at the screen. For reasons he couldn't quite explain, he found himself reading the message twice.
Some guy.
An entirely normal sentence since people bought drinks for each other every day. It meant absolutely nothing. Yet his thumb hovered over the keyboard.
Robby:
Which was it?
The message sent before he could overthink it and he immediately regretted it. Not because it was inappropriate, just because he sounded interested.
And he wasn't sure why he was interested.
You:
definitely the margarita
he started talking about crypto ten minutes in
That pulled a laugh out of him. An actual laugh.
Robby:
My condolences
You:
thank you
it was a difficult time
The conversation moved on after that. But later, after you'd gone to sleep and the cabin had settled into silence around him, Robby found himself thinking about the message again.
Not the drinks. Not the guy. But the fact that he'd wanted to know. And the fact he still wasn't entirely sure why.
-
You hadn't really talked about the house sitting arrangement to anyone at work.
It never seemed relevant and, if you were honest, you quite liked having something that belonged entirely to you. That was until Abbot casually asked how it was going in front of Parker and Shen. Both of them had turned so quickly you would have thought they'd rehearsed it.
John loudly slurped through his straw.
You immediately regretted coming into work.
You'd spent the next five minutes trying to explain that, yes, you were staying at Robby's apartment and no, it wasn't a big deal. At the same time, you were reassuring Abbot that everything was fine and that the place was still standing.
Parker wasn't convinced. She waited until the handover was done and everyone had started drifting away before falling into step beside you as you gathered your things from your locker.
You'd only just pulled your phone out when it buzzed. The smile arrived before you could stop it and Parker saw immediately.
"Message from your boyfriend?"
"Just Robby-”
You stopped and looked up to see her already grinning.
"Oh."
"Oh indeed."
"Haha. Very funny."
"I'm just saying," she replied, holding her hands up in mock surrender. "That man hasn't been here for nearly two months and I've heard his name more than I have some of the attendings who actually work here."
You rolled your eyes. Except the comment lingered because you didn't talk about him that much. Did you?
Sure, you texted most days, you snapped pictures when something made you laugh. You answered when he called and never made a secret of it because, in your mind, there was nothing to hide.
But maybe Parker had a point.
You were always quick to tell people where he was, what he'd been up to, what ridiculous thing he'd sent you that morning. You were also one of maybe three people who actually knew how his sabbatical was going and that felt strangely significant when you stopped to think about it.
Which was exactly why you decided not to think about it. Instead, you bumped your shoulder into Parker's arm.
"Leave me alone."
"Never."
You laughed despite yourself, waved goodbye to everyone and headed out through the main doors.
-
Even without a department full of doctors reminding him, Robby found himself thinking about you more often than he probably should.
Alberta was beautiful, exactly what he'd imagined.
The mountains seemed endless, the lakes impossibly clear and every evening the sky stretched so wide it barely looked real.
He'd come here to breathe. To remember what it felt like to wake up without immediately carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
For the first time in years, it was working and yet every time he stumbled across a view that took his breath away, he caught himself reaching for his phone.
The bear he'd spotted at the edge of a trail or the river he'd nearly slipped into while trying to take a photo. The sunset that turned the entire lake gold. All of it was filed away somewhere in the back of his mind. Something to show you, to tell you later.
He enjoyed those moments for himself, he really did, but there was always a second thought afterwards. A quiet one of she'd like this.
And that was dangerous territory for a man who had left Pittsburgh specifically to be alone.
-
Today had been a bad day for absolutely no reason. Work hadn't been worse than usual. There was no mass casualty or outbreak, no disaster waiting for you.
You'd left almost on time and the handover had been unusually smooth yet, somehow, by the time you found yourself curled up on the sofa with a glass of wine balanced on your knee, you felt like you might burst into tears.
You probably wouldn't but it was comforting to know you could if you wanted to.
The apartment was quiet. A CD hummed softly in the background while the evening light spilled through the windows. You'd been enjoying the solitude for weeks now.
Your phone lit up. A text from Robby. It was just a small update about his day, a picture of a lake with a note underneath telling you there was a viewpoint about a mile from the cabin that you would absolutely love.
You stared at it for a second and then pressed call without thinking.
The phone rang twice.
"Hey, you okay?" He'd answered immediately.
Not because he'd been expecting the call but quite the opposite.
You almost smiled at the concern in his voice.
"Hey. Yeah, I'm good."
"You sure?"
"Yeah." A pause. "Can you talk?"
On the other side of the continent, Robby was sitting on the cabin porch with a beer bottle in hand, watching the sky darken over the mountains.
"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I can talk."
You exhaled. You weren't entirely sure why. Just hearing his voice had already made something feel lighter.
"Bad day?" he asked gently.
"A little."
"Want to talk about it?"
You considered it.
"Not really."
He laughed quietly. "Fair enough."
You took a sip of wine.
"Does it sound stupid if I say I just wanted to hear your voice?"
The words slipped out before you could stop them.
For a moment, all you could hear was the wind moving through the trees on his end of the line. Then Robby shifted in his chair.
"Well," he said, amusement colouring his voice, "I sure feel special."
You groaned. "Don't make it weird.”
"I'm not making it weird."
"You absolutely are."
His laugh settled something warm in your chest.
"I can tell you about the bear I saw today if you need a distraction."
You smiled. "Yes please."
And he did. He told you about the trail, about spotting movement through the trees and realising it was considerably larger than he'd first thought. Halfway through the story your phone buzzed with a picture he'd sent while still talking.
You put him on speaker to zoom in, immediately informing him that he was insane for getting that close. He disagreed.
You told him he was objectively wrong then somehow you were refilling your wine while he wandered into the kitchen for another beer and the conversation simply kept going.
Hours slipped past unnoticed. The topics changed every few minutes. Canadian wildlife became grocery shopping.
Grocery shopping became work which became Dana. Dana became the night you'd gone out with your friends. It felt effortless.
Like no matter what either of you said, the other would find it interesting, as if there were no rush to end the conversation.
Eventually, somewhere between your third glass and his third beer, Robby circled back to something you'd almost forgotten.
"So," he said casually. "Any more plans to go out and let random men buy you drinks?"
You scoffed. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but that sounds suspiciously like jealousy, Michael."
Using his first name felt deliberate. The kind of thing you couldn't take back once it left your mouth.
For a moment he didn't answer and you could almost hear him thinking.
"I think I'm just curious."
"Curious?"
"You mentioned him." His voice was careful now. "And then I spent an embarrassing amount of time wondering whether you actually liked him."
Your stomach flipped unexpectedly.
"And did you come to a conclusion?"
He laughed quietly. "Yeah."
"Which was?"
"That anyone who talks about crypto for ten minutes straight probably doesn't stand a chance."
The warmth that spread through you had nothing to do with the wine. You sank further into the sofa, smiling into your glass.
"Good answer."
For a second neither of you spoke. The silence felt different now, like an awareness blooming.
On the other end of the line, Robby stared out across the darkening lake, suddenly very conscious of the weight in his chest and the dryness in his mouth. He wasn't entirely sure when the conversation had become the best part of his day.
He was even less sure what that meant.
On your end, the wine bottle was looking considerably emptier than when the call had started.
"How much longer have you got out there anyway?" you asked eventually.
He leaned back in his chair.
"Couple more weeks."
You hummed. "A couple?"
"Three."
You did the maths automatically. Three weeks. For some reason that felt shorter than it should have.
"That's weird."
"What is?"
"You coming back."
Robby laughed softly. “I haven't left forever."
"I know."
You picked absentmindedly at the label on your wine bottle.
"Still weird though."
He understood exactly what you meant. The cabin had become normal, so had the mountains. Waking up and sending you a picture of whatever he'd found that day had become normal too.
The thought settled uncomfortably somewhere in his chest.
"Yeah," he admitted quietly. "It is."
For a moment neither of you spoke. The silence wasn't awkward, if anything, it felt too honest.
"You'll probably be sick of Pittsburgh again within forty-eight hours."
He laughed.
"Probably."
"And I'll have to move back into my shoebox apartment."
He laughed again.
"You laugh, but I've become accustomed to luxury."
"My apartment is not luxury."
"It has an en-suite."
"It does."
You smiled into your glass.
"I'm gonna miss it."
The words came out before you really thought about them and then, after a beat, you added, "The apartment, I mean."
Robby looked out across the lake. The moonlight stretched across the water in silver streaks. He wasn't entirely sure why that qualifier felt necessary.
"Yeah."
Because he was going to miss something too, he just wasn't sure it was the apartment.
"I'm glad I gave you the keys."
The words slipped out naturally.
"Because I've been such an excellent tenant?"
"Questionable."
You laughed. "Rude."
"You locked yourself out and you don't use coasters."
"That happened one time. And yes I do."
"One time that I know about. And, no you don't."
You shook your head, laughing. "So why are you glad?"
The question hung there. For the first time that evening, Robby didn't answer immediately. He could have made a joke and he probably should have but instead he found himself telling the truth.
"Because otherwise…" He trailed off and you waited. "Otherwise I don't think we'd have ever talked like this."
Something in your chest tightened, just enough to make you still. The sounds around you seemed to disappear for a second. The music, hum of the refrigerator, everything.
"Yeah."
It came out quieter than you'd intended. Because he was right.
Without the apartment, he would've stayed your attending, you his resident. You would've chatted during shifts and maybe grabbed a beer with a group after work once or twice.
But this? The hours spent on the phone, the daily messages, knowing what the other person had for dinner. Sharing parts of yourselves that had nothing to do with medicine.
None of that would've happened.
"I guess not."
Robby stared down at the bottle in his hand. His pulse felt oddly loud.
"Would've been a shame."
The words were barely above a murmur. Honest enough that neither of you quite knew what to do with them. You swallowed. Suddenly very aware of the warmth spreading through your stomach.
And not because of the wine.
Another silence settled between you but this one felt different. It felt full. Like there was something sitting quietly between the two of you that hadn't been there before. Or maybe it had and neither of you had looked directly at it until now.
"Yeah," you said softly. "It would've."
For a second, neither of you spoke, neither of you hung up either.
Somewhere between Alberta and Pittsburgh, with a lake outside one window and city lights outside the other, it felt like the conversation had shifted onto unfamiliar ground.
Not enough to turn back yet not enough to move forward. Just enough that both of you knew something had changed.
-
The next morning arrived with a headache.
Not a catastrophic one, just enough of one to remind you that two glasses of wine had somehow become four and how you clearly couldn't handle your booze anymore.
Thank god it was your day off. You'd spent most of the morning moving slowly, making a trip to the store for supplies before returning to the apartment with a bag full of groceries, painkillers and absolutely no intention of leaving the house again.
After a shower, you pulled on an oversized t-shirt, climbed into bed and put something mindless on the TV. You weren't really watching it. Your attention kept drifting back to your phone. In between doom scrolling TikTok, you kept flipping to your messages.
Nothing from Robby.
You told yourself it was normal since he was a couple of hours behind. He could still be asleep or hiking, he could be doing literally anything.
Still, your thumb hovered over the conversation and you found yourself thinking through parts of last night's call. Especially the end.
Would've been a shame.
You groaned and tossed the phone onto the bed beside you. "Get a grip."
The phone buzzed almost immediately.
You grabbed it so fast it was actually embarrassing.
Robby:
Morning
You:
afternoon actually
Robby:
Right
How's the hangover?
You:
presumptuous much?
Robby:
I'll take that as confirmation
You:
i’ve survived worse
Robby:
Doctor approved medical assessment
You:
exactly
The conversation stayed comfortably familiar at first. Small things, nothing important. What he'd done that morning and what you were doing now. The weather in Canada versus Pittsburgh. The coffee he'd burnt.
You laughed quietly at something he'd sent and snapped a quick picture in response.
Mostly intending to show him the disaster of snacks you'd surrounded yourself with on the bed.
You hit send before really looking at it.
A few moments passed, longer than usual. You frowned.
You:
???
The typing bubbles appeared.
Robby:
You know you're in that photo right?
You opened the image again. Your stomach immediately dropped.
Between the blankets and the snacks was a very obvious stretch of bare leg disappearing beneath the hem of your t-shirt. If you zoomed you could definitely see the edge of lace from your panties.
Heat crept into your cheeks.
You:
well
too late now
His reply took a little longer this time.
Robby:
Suppose it is
Something about the message felt different though you couldn't have explained why.
The conversation slowed. Not because either of you wanted it to end but because both of you seemed suddenly aware of it. Aware of each other.
You:
you're being weird
Robby:
I am not
You:
you absolutely are
Robby:
And what if I'm just thinking?
You:
dangerous
Robby:
That's rich coming from you
You laughed and the tension eased for a moment then returned just as quickly. The phone sat warm in your hand. Neither of you quite saying what was on your mind.
Both of you hovering suspiciously close to it.
Then-
A knock sounded at the apartment door. You sat upright.
"Oh for god's sake."
You:
one sec
Robby:
What?
You:
someones here
terrible timing honestly
Robby:
That sounds ominous
You:
don't go anywhere
Robby:
Wasn't planning on it
You tossed the phone onto the bed and headed for the door.
When you pulled it open, Abbot stood on the other side with two coffees in hand, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
"Jack?"
"Good afternoon."
You stared. He stared back.
"Why are you here?"
"Robby asked me to check the place hadn't burned down."
You folded your arms.
"And?"
Jack looked past you.
"Still standing."
By the time Abbot eventually left, the afternoon had slipped away with him. He'd actually brought you coffee because he was passing by, knew Robby cared about you and wanted to check in. Sweet actually.
Your conversation with Robby had fizzled into a couple of harmless messages before disappearing entirely which somehow felt worse. Because now you were thinking about it and judging by the phone call that arrived later that evening, so was he.
You answered on the second ring.
"Hello?"
"I can't believe you left me hanging like that."
You laughed immediately. "Excuse me?"
"We were having a conversation."
"Jack showed up at your apartment."
"And somehow that's my fault?"
"Everything's your fault."
His laugh crackled through the speaker.
"You know," he said, quieter this time, "I did actually spend the next few hours wondering what happened."
Your heart stumbled slightly.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
There was a pause. Comfortable but dangerous.
"Well," you said, settling deeper into the sofa. "Lucky for you, I'm free now."
The silence on the other end lasted just long enough to make your stomach flip. Then Robby laughed softly.
"Good."
The word settled somewhere low and God you hated that it did. Or maybe you loved it. Either way, you found yourself smiling into the darkness of the apartment.
"You sound very pleased with yourself."
"I am."
You laughed softly.
"Because I answered the phone?"
"Because I was beginning to think Abbot had kidnapped you."
"Trust me, if he'd kidnapped me, you'd know about it."
You eased into conversation again, tucking yourself deeper beneath the blanket, listening to him talk about a trail he'd found that morning. He was halfway through describing some impossible view over a lake when he suddenly stopped.
"Can I ask you something?"
You frowned. "Depends."
"That picture earlier."
Your pulse immediately betrayed you. "What about it?"
There was a pause. "Nothing."
You laughed. "That's not how questions work."
"I know."
"So?"
Another pause. You could practically hear him weighing his words.
"I just didn't realise you'd sent it like that."
Heat crept up your neck.
"Like what?"
"You know exactly what I mean."
Unfortunately, you did.
The worst part was how carefully he was speaking. How neither of you was actually saying anything and yet somehow both of you knew exactly what the other was talking about.
"It was an accident."
"I figured."
"You sound disappointed at that."
The silence that followed lasted a fraction too long. Your breath caught, just slightly. Then Robby laughed low and quiet.
"That's a dangerous thing to accuse me of."
You stared at the ceiling. Very aware of the oversized t-shirt you were still wearing and how your nipples were suddenly hard beneath it.
"I think you've become a lot more confident since Alberta."
"Oh yeah? Is that a bad thing?" he asked.
"No, it's kinda sexy actually." You laughed, so did he. Then a second passed and you felt the boldness creep in, so much so it decided your next move. "Do you want me to send another?"
You could practically hear Robby choke on his own breath and in the time he tried to get on top of his words, you'd pulled the blanket away, your phone up high with the front camera on, snapping a pic that showed a lot more than the last.
This time it was the bottom of your face, lips plump and pouty, your t-shirt tugged 'innocently' higher to give way to the band of your panties flashed across your hip. Your legs were crossed, not for the picture but to try and ease the now insatiable ache between them. As for your nipples? There was no denying they were the star of the show.
You sent it before thinking twice.
"Fuck." Robby breathed and you knew he was looking right at you.
"Is that better?"
You heard him take a deep breath and could imagine the blush on his cheeks. "You're gonna be the death of me."
You couldn't help but smile. His voice had gotten lower, a little huskier, almost like he was out of breath.
"Robby?"
"Yeah?" He breathed.
"What are we doing?"
He took a minute to answer. Not sure of what he should say, what he wanted to say. "I don't know." You couldn't see but he rubbed his face over his hand, coming to rest at the base of his neck. "I don't fucking know."
He was sat on the sofa at the cabin. The fire was going, lights dim and warm. Ever since you'd sent that first picture he'd been tight against his jeans but then you sent another and fuck, his hand came to adjust himself over the denim.
"But I'm not sure I can pretend I'm thinking of anything other than that picture right now."
You felt a little smug. That was, after all, why you sent it. It was so nice to feel sexy, for someone to be looking at you the way he was, someone you wanted to see you this way.
"Yeah? What you thinking about?" You knew what you were doing. Knew how it would draw the last breath out of him but you also knew you'd crossed a line and there was no going back. Not that you wanted to.
Your hands trailed over yourself, light touches over the cotton of your t-shirt. Your body jolted when finger tips ghosted the outline of a nipple, trailing left to pay the other as much attention. Fuck, it felt good.
Robby knew the pair of you were in dangerous territory but god, he wanted to be there. His head fell back in disbelief, as if he were mad at himself for what he was about to tell you over the phone.
His resident.
"You touching yourself in my apartment." He paused, waiting to see if he'd taken it too far only to hear a quiet moan from you in response. "Playing with yourself in the guest bedroom..."
"I am." Your hand snaked from your tits slowly to your panties, cupping yourself over the lace and that's when you felt it. "Fuck Robby I'm really wet…”
Jesus Christ. He felt himself jolt against his own hand, the one that was palming the growing outline of his cock.
"Fuck, baby. You're really trying to kill me huh?" He huffed a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief that this was happening. Almost three months of texts, phone calls, voice notes. A camera roll shared, bad days eased by mindless humour and companionship. A relationship built on all of that.
"You want me to go to your bed?" You almost panted down the line as you moved against your hand. "Fuck myself in your sheets?"
"Shit," He exhaled.
"You want that?"
"Yeah…" His reply was too fast and he cursed himself for it. But all he wanted was the image of you, two fingers deep, coming to his voice while soaking his bed spread. "Please baby, do it for me."
And with that, you got up. He heard rustling down the line as you made your way from the guest bed to Robby's. It wasn't a room you'd gone in much. You'd said you were going to snoop through his drawers, his closet just to be nosy but turns out you had too much respect for his privacy. That was months ago. Now you were crawling onto the bed, setting your phone on speaker next to you as you positioned yourself right in the middle.
Robby was waiting patiently. He'd done no more than rub himself a few times over his jeans, grinding a little into his hand but then knowing it'd be too much and he'd end up blowing his load like a teenager. Instead, he waited. For you. To enjoy you.
You laid your head back against his pillows, inhaling him as if he were right next to you. "Mmm, smells like you in here." You said quietly. "It's like you're here."
He wished he was there. You did too. Wished it was his fingers swiping through your wetness, dipping into your panties and feeling how worked up you'd got from sending him one (not even) dirty photo.
"Tell me what you're doing." It felt like an order even though it wasn't and your pussy jumped at the idea. "Wanna hear you."
"Fuck. 'M rubbing myself over my panties." You whispered lightly. "Wanna take them off."
"Take them off baby." He'd hoped you'd throw them to the side and forget, only for him to find them on his return. "Spread your legs, let me hear."
It'd be hard for him not to hear with how soaked you were.
It was amazing how one phone conversation and suddenly this is how you found yourself, legs open for Michael Robinavitch.
With your panties gone, you anchored your legs apart. Fingers sliding through your dripping slit, gathering your arousal to swirl it in tight circles around your clit. The slick sounds filled the room, they filled the cabin too.
Robby couldn't take it anymore. You heard the sound of metal, a belt unbuckling before a zip slid down in haste. He freed himself, pulling his cock from his boxers, thick and hard. He was leaking from the tip, all red and worked up just from listening to you. It felt so fucking good when he finally stroked himself.
"Oh fuck." He tried to bite it back, failing miserably.
That was music to your ears.
"You hard for me Robby?"
"You have no idea. Feels so fuckin good, thinking about you." He fucked his fist nice and slow, wanting this to last and despite his cock not being inside you, he wanted you to cum first.
You decide it wasn't enough. After all this time, the calls and the pictures, you needed to see him. And you wanted him to see you.
"Wanna see you." You picked up your phone, hand still working your pussy. "Can I face- face time you?" Your words faltered a little as your fingers sped up, rubbing your sensitive clit.
Robby froze for a second. He'd got this worked up just by thinking of you in such a state and now, you were actually going to show him?
"Mhmm, yeah."
And within a second you'd pressed the button the change this to a video call. When he accepted, he saw the dark room lit by a single bedside lamp. You'd slowed your motions for a second, to pick up the phone properly and see him for the first time in months.
"Hey." You smiled, like it didn't matter what the pair of you had been doing just seconds ago. You were so happy to see his face. The slight tan he'd caught, his greyed out beard and stubble around the neck.
"Hey." He couldn't help but smile too. Knowing your hands were down your pants but not being able to get past the heat in your cheeks, how your hair had fallen across the bed and despite stating you had a hangover, you were fucking glowing.
He pondered it for a second, how he might have not noticed this before. The way your eyes narrowed when you smiled, how you looked at him.
"You look beautiful."
That might have turned you on more than anything in the last fifteen minutes. You were breathless, a little wrecked, in disbelief at any of this.
Then you set the phone down on the bedside table to free up your hands. That's when you pulled off the t-shirt entirely, leaving your perfect tits in plain view for Robby to see.
His eyes grew wide as he surveyed every inch of your skin before you laid back into the cushions as you were before, shifting to your side facing the phone.
"Is this what you were thinking about?" You snaked your hand back down to your cunt, dipping in but not all the way, just enough for Robby to hear the slick mess.
"Even better." His hand slowly started to work on himself again, matching your rhythm as he held the phone in front of him.
Your mouth parted when you finally sank a finger inside, then another. Two digits curled deep in your pussy, rolling your hips against them and you never took your eyes off him.
"Fuck Robby." You sped your motions a little, so did he. "Wish it was your fingers, wish it was you inside me."
You weren't sure where it came from. The filthy tongue, the boldness. You weren't shy in bed but he was your boss. The boss you were innocently house sitting for until you decided to get attached.
"Christ." He bit back a moan at your obscenity. "Imagine it's me baby." He started fucking his fist faster, wishing it was your pussy. "Imagine it's my cock deep inside you, I'd fuck you so good, make you feel so fucking good."
It dropped from his tongue with little effort. He thought about how much he wanted to be buried inside you, how he'd wanted that for a while and was too scared to admit it.
"Mmmph Robbyyyy." You whined his name, breathing hard, riding your fingers as you felt the coil tighten in your belly. "Let me see you."
He did the same as you, positioning the phone on the side table that sat at the same height as the sofa. It left him in view from the waist up, free hand roaming his covered chest, the other pumping his cock hard.
You watched him intently. Heard the sounds of precum slickening his strokes as his hips drove up with every beat.
"Fuck I'm close-” You worked yourself with both hands, two buried to the knuckle and the other rubbing your clit with such ferocity. "Really fucking close Robby I think I'm gonna cum soon."
"Cum for me angel, let me see. Such a good girl."
Your hands worked even faster and suddenly, the coil snapped with words of praise and you were coming in Robby's bed.
"Oh my god oh my-” Then silence, your body went rigid as you clamped your hands hard, riding out the most intense orgasm you'd had in years.
You were a sight for sore eyes. Mouth wide open, tits bouncing with every movement and all it took was your guttoral moans for Robby to feel himself close to the edge too. He was fucking himself so hard and fast, it was almost a blur on screen until you heard him pant, a strangled "Uh uh uh" and then-
"I'm gonna cum baby oh fuck-”
You watched him spill his load all over his hand. Thick white ropes dripped down his knuckles, marking his jeans as he stroked himself through it, twitching at his now very sensitive cockhead.
You were both left breathless and sweaty, each reaching for your respective phones.
"You-” He was trying so hard to catch his breath. "-are something else."
You both laughed breathlessly. Fuck, this felt good.
You stayed on the phone for hours after until he ordered you to bed. Told you to sleep well, that he'd be thinking of you.
And that night was the best sleep of your life.
-
Everything felt different after that night except it also all stayed the same.
You spoke every day. Called most nights, FaceTimed, voice noted when you were cooking dinner or carrying groceries. But now it seemed like nothing was left unsaid, that you were both being honest with each other. It was amazing.
The only thing eating away at you right before you fell asleep was the idea this might end. When the three weeks crept closer, when the sabbatical would end. Would everything go back to how it was before?
"Hey can I ask you something?" You broke mid conversation.
"Anything."
"When this is over. Your sabbatical I mean. When you come back and I'm not here." You trailed off slightly. "...Will this all go away?"
There was silence on the line for a second.
"Not if I have anything to do with it."
Your smile reached your ears. Good because-” You inhaled deeply. "I don't think I can go back."
-
You worked like a dog over the next four days.
At one point you'd even picked up a double because Lena had practically begged for night shift cover, and despite every intention of saying no, somehow you'd found yourself agreeing anyway.
It meant you barely saw daylight all week and you didn't get to speak to Robby much either. Not in the way either of you would've liked.
You checked in between shifts, during breaks and whenever you made it home with enough energy to keep your eyes open. He'd send the occasional text during the day, but most of your conversations happened at night. Sometimes a quick call, sometimes longer if exhaustion didn't drag you under first.
It was a brutal four days. By the end of it you were running almost entirely on caffeine and stubbornness, convinced you'd briefly developed double vision somewhere around shift three.
When you finally crawled into bed at the end of it all, you slept hard.
Since your FaceTime call, you hadn't stepped foot in the guest room. Every night you ended up in Robby's bed instead, tangled in his sheets and surrounded by things that smelled faintly like him.
He loved knowing that.
Day five arrived with something close to actual rest. You woke around nine and, for the first time all week, didn't feel like death.
After a shower you made coffee, pulled on some loungewear that wasn't technically pyjamas and settled onto the sofa with every intention of finally finishing the book you'd started at the beginning of all this.
You'd texted Robby before getting in the shower. There was still no reply. You assumed he was asleep or hiking or somewhere without signal. Either way, you weren't worried.
Twenty-five minutes later there was a knock at the door. You sighed immediately.
It had to be Jack.
Apparently nobody trusted you to spend three months in an apartment unsupervised.
Already preparing your speech, you marched towards the door and pulled it open.
The words died in your throat.
"Robby."
For a second your brain simply stopped working. Because Robby was supposed to be in Canada. Robby was supposed to be another two thousand miles away. Robby was supposed to be a voice coming through your phone speaker. Not standing in front of you.
"Hey."
His smile spread slowly across his face, tired and genuine all at once. His cheeks were pink from the road and his eyes looked glassy around the edges, like he'd spent too many hours behind the handlebars and not nearly enough sleeping.
You stared. "What are you doing here?"
He laughed softly. "Good to see you too."
"No, seriously." You gestured vaguely at him and the doorway. What are you doing here? You were in Canada. That's like-" Your brain searched desperately for a number. "It's like five thousand miles."
"Not quite."
"Robby-”
He kissed you.
Just stepped across the threshold and kissed you.
His hands came up to cup your face as he guided you backwards into the apartment, the front door swinging shut somewhere behind him.
Every thought disappeared. All the questions and confusion, gone.
Because he was here, after months of messages and phone calls and hearing his voice through a screen, he was finally here. The last four days worked in his favour, you being so busy. He'd hit the road almost immediately, covering far too much mileage to be considered safe. All to make it back to you.
You kissed him back immediately, both hungry and relieved. Like you were making up for every mile that had sat between Alberta and Pittsburgh.
When he finally pulled away, it was only far enough to look at you, forehead resting against yours.
"Two and a half thousand miles," he corrected quietly.
You laughed.
For a moment neither of you spoke.
"You know," you murmured, fingers still wrapped around his wrists, "this is a very dramatic way to get your keys back."
Robby laughed, the sound warm and familiar.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
His thumbs swept across your cheeks.
“Good thing I never came back for the keys”
Your heart squeezed.
And this time, when you kissed him, neither of you had anywhere else to be.
𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘’𝐒 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒. 𐙚⋆°🦢.⋆ᥫ᭡ — please give all of these incredible writers the love and support. 🍯 random fandom & character order, 18+ only please.
— part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven,
robby had two fingers inside you before he even got his coat off. first came you, then everything else.
he never built up to anything, straight to your cunt it is. you’d learned to stop being surprised. hadn’t quite learned to stop making that noise, the one that climbed out of you embarrassingly fast and made jack pause in the doorway, having just finished his shift. but his hand is already on his zipper.
“she been like that long?” jack asked. assessing. like you’re a patient.
“twenty minutes.” robby curled his fingers and you grabbed the counter. “told her to wait for you but she kept —” another curl, deeper, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit, “—you know how she gets.”
you were dripping down his wrist. you knew because he told you, mouth at your ear.
jack crossed the room. got one hand under your jaw, tilted your face up, so you can properly look at him. robby didn’t stop moving, not even in the slightest. because who cares if you can keep your eyes open, right?
“robby,” you managed.
“yeah.”
“i can’t—”
“you can.” he spread his fingers inside you just to prove to you that you in fact, can. whatever you were going to say dissolved into something that wasn’t a word at all. jack’s thumb dragged over your bottom lip, watching your mouth fall open.
“ask him,” robby said.
jack’s eyes dropped to yours. waiting.
“please, jackie.” your hands scrambled for purchase. pathetic. you didn’t care.
jack undid his belt. “bend her over.”
robby smiled against your neck. “thought you’d never ask, brother.”
robby knows it’s wrong. you’re this sweet little thing, clutching your iPad to your chest, looking left and right like you’re about to cross the road. but all you’re doing is standing in the er, deer in headlights expression painting your face.
he wills himself not to approach you, speak to you, but you look so inviting, he just has to. “lookin’ for someone?”
“oh — hi.” if he thought you were adorable before, you being flustered takes the cake. “i am supposed to look for a dr robinavitch?” you frame it like you’re unsure, eyelashes fluttering as you take in his towering figure. “i— i have to shadow him.”
robby’s palm connects with the small of your back, ushering towards the break room like he’s taking you to meet your mentor. well, that isn’t far from what’s happening, is it?
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