[etershine]

⋆˚࿔ 𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒘𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒆. 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨ ᰔ ୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

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𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 — 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞 — 𝐥𝐨𝐦𝐥

𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

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fall in love again and again masterlist

𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒔𝒌𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

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©𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞

[bluetimeombre]

Good girl type

You were known as Hawkins High good girl, until you weren't (smut, p in v, fingering, language)

The desk- littered with papers, study notes and guides, lit only by the lamp that needed a new bulb. Your bed- cluttered with books and files and at the foot of it, clothes you were yet to worst between dirty and clean. You hand was cramping with pain at how tight you held your pen as you scribbled your notes.

But your mind couldn't be further from the task at hand.

A small creak from your bedroom door stole you attention.

"Good night, sweetheart," said your mom, peaking her head through the door. "Your dad and I are going to bed now, don't stay up too late studying."

You gave her a smile. "I won't, promise. Good night."

The door clicked softly shut behind your mom.

It wasn't long till another noise, smaller, insistent broke you from your thoughts.

You glanced at the clock first, eleven-thirty pm. On time, just as he said he would be. You set up your vinyl next, Hungry eyes, your favourite song of the moment.

There was more tapping at the window, small stones tapping on the glass. Any more, heavier, would alert your parents.

There was no time to sweep up the papers, hide the pile of clothes or make space on your bed. You gently pushed up your window and looked.

Steve was already half way up, using the hood of his precious car and your drain pipe to climb up like some prince in a fairy tale. He got to your window, holding tightly to the window pain with his foot lodged in a notch in the wall and drain pipe. "Special delivery."

"I thought I told you I was studying."

"Yeah, I know," he lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "Chemistry or Biology?"

You did not miss how his eyes raked down your body, taking in your own biology.

Steve pushed himself up, leaning over the threshold. "C'mon, I can help you study."

His lips met yours before any protest could pass your lips. He kissed away any thoughts you had of studying as he started slow, a gentle press of lips that quickly turned to his tongue prodding against the fat of your lip.

"My parents are down the hall," you mumbled against him, but your hands were already pawing at him.

Steve smirked. "Then we better study quietly."

He stumbled in, practically falling into your room.

"Shit- shit-"

"Shh!"

His foot caught in the window and he thudded in.

The two of you paused, a hand of yours on his arm as he stayed crouched like a ninja ready to pounce. You waited for a noise to pass from your parents bedroom down the hall.

You were still waiting in the room you'd grown up in when Steve's hands guided down to your hips, holding you as he bent and kissed along your neck.

You felt the reaction through your body, tingles running down your spine as his lips were soft and fluttering over your picking up pulse. "Steve, I really do have to study. The test is tomorrow."

He whined against your neck. "You've been studying every night all week, c'mon, it's Stevie time."

His lips found the crook of your shoulder and neck, finding a home there and taking his time in biting down.

It was instinct for your head to fall back to his shoulder, for your body to melt into his, for your core to pulse with need. You had denied yourself as long as you had denied him, this test taking up much of your time. You needed him as much as he needed you.

Steve was already breathless against your neck, an arm circling your waist and a large hand spawling over your sternum and pushing your backside into the hardness of his cock. He inhaled sharply, rocking his hips against your ass. "I've got something you can study."

In spite of the heat and the want you chuckled quietly. "That was corny."

Steve nipped at the slow red mark forming. "I know, baby, gimme a break, I'm desperate over here."

You turned in his hold, hands sliding down his sweater to go under and tease the hairs that adorned him. "How desperate?"

Steve only answered with a searing kiss, biting down on your bottom lip and soothing over the bite with his wet tongue. His hands were at your elbows, guiding you back to the desk, pinning you there.

Papers scrunched under you, notes falling and ink smudging as he lifted you there, kissing you while his hands worked under your shirt that was too big for you and one of his.

A hand groped a breast and he sucked in a deep breath.

"Missed you," he said, kissing down your neck, parting far enough to push your chair back and crouch down. "Missed you so much." He disappeared under the shirt and you felt his hot tongue and lips work over your other breast.

"St-Steve," you uttered, hands gripping the desk. "If I-If I fail this test it's your fault."

He moaned as he took your breast in mouth, the vibration urging you into him. "I can live with that."

It had started a year ago, Steve a senior, you a year below. Steve the king of the high school and you coined the good girl. The one who aced every test, because you studied excessively for every one of them. You were always the first to hand in your homework and get the extra credit in.

Heck, you already had collage applications ready.

But that night you'd gone to a party with a couple friends because the guy- Brad H- you had a school girl crush on was there. He'd even mentioned it to you while you were helping him study. You'd almost thought there was a reason he dropped that in- maybe he wanted you there.

But when you found him practically eating another girls face, you knew it had been a delusion.

You supposed it was that that had you in Steve Harrington's lap, naked from the waist down, his cock buried inside of you, pulsing as his hands helped you move up and down his length. It wasn't even a drunk mistake. It was an acumination of lingering glances across classrooms, you watching his games, him asking for your help in studying when he needed it.

He'd wanted you at the party as much as the guy's name you were struggling to remember.

"Oh fuck, yeah, just like that. Just like that," he mewled as you rode him like there was not tomorrow.

Steve was perched at the edge of the four poster bed, naked completely, sweat glistening off his chest. His feet were planted firmly on the ground as he helped you up and down.

"Steve," you whispered.

If anyone could have seen King Steve turned to a mess of need and want by Hawkins's good girl they'd have assumed the world would have been turned upside down.

"Say my name," he panted.

Your walls clenched around him and his fingers dug into you deeper, harder. "Steve."

He groaned. "Keep saying it, say it while you cum around me."

He helped you, thrusting up when he could.

"Steve, Steve, Steve," you moaned as you clenched around him, your release coating him, rolling down in delicious drips.

Steve's neck craned, groaning loudly over the thumping music. "Awhe- fuck!"

He lifted you up, settling you on the meat of his thighs just in time as his release spurted up in white, thick ropes. He jerked himself, getting it all out as his eyes locked on your heat and juices. "Aw shit."

Curls stuck to his forehead from sweat as he rested back on his elbows, catching his breath.

"Steve!"

"Hm, what?"

You looked down to the pretty little top you had worn for the party, now marked in streaks of his release.

Steve looked up, glancing a moment till he realised your distress. He wasn't mortified like you, he only smirked. "Whoops."

"Steve!" you whacked his chest against his rumble of a laugh. "What am I supposed to do? I have to go back out there!"

He was still smirking as he sat back up, his cock still standing to half attention. "Then you'll just have to come back with me."

"God you're so smart, so smart and beautiful, smart. Smartest person I know," Steve panted.

The library was closing soon, you had stolen time with Steve after dedicating the day for the test last period. You'd all but banned Steve from touching you, looking at you, even giving you a lift to high school. All in fear he would distract you.

Steve waited in the library since your last period to hear how you would do. You'd come in all smiles, showing the A. He'd washed you in so many praises the librarian had to come around and shush the two of you.

That was how Steve stole you away, hidden in a corner between bookshelves, praising you with fingers curling deep inside you, tongue brushing between folds in delight.

Steve lapped up your arousal like an eager dog. He'd wasted no time in falling to his knees, pushing down your skirt and praising you in long licks.

You were muffling your moans, the sort he loved to hear in the safety of a bedroom. But you'd never done anything so daring, yet there was no stopping Steve from showing his devotion when you'd come bouncing in, wide grin and happy kisses.

You bit on the back of your hand as Steve spread your legs wider, fitting himself between them. He flattened his tongue and spread it inside of you.

"Taste so smart too, taste like my girl."

You moaned against your hand, checking in the gaps of the shelf to ensure nobody was spotting you. "Steve," you dared out a breath.

He moaned as his tongue slipped between your folds, taking the best of you on his tongue. "Everyone thinks your good, huh?" he mumbled into you, kissing and slurping your arousal with little care of being so quiet. "Good for me. So good."

Your thighs quivered and Steve wrapped his fingers around your leg, keeping you steady.

"Say it," he said, looking up to you between your legs.

The coil in the bottom of your stomach tightened, calling to him.

He squeezed your thigh, kissing along the skin there and soothing where his fingers dug into you.

"I-I can't," you whispered.

Steve knew why, he just needed to hear you say it. Almost every time you stole unsolicited moments together, he was praising you with the words, dying to hear them from you. "You can, you're so smart you can say it."

"Steve," you whined quietly. "You're being mean." Your hand wined in his hair, tugging to get a look at him.

Steve nodded, tongue out and waiting. "I am, I am. Tell me."

His tongue took gentle strokes on your clit but he was not taking the strokes you liked.

Your mouth hung open wordlessly as your body tensed. "I'm good for you, Steve," you clutched at his hair tightly, pulling him in closer.

"So good?" he teased.

"So good."

Steve dived in like it was pleasure to himself. He found your arousal and licked it up before he took the tip of his tongue to your clit, circling it slow and drawing out your want.

Your breath hitched. "Steve I-"

At the burst of sound from you Steve reached up and shoved fingers into your mouth. Obediently you closed your mouth around his fingers, moaning stifled by him.

His own face shoved into your core, taking your release in mouth and tongue and even some on chin. It was everywhere and he loved it, all for him to clean up and take. But the warmth of his fingers in your mouth, the wet of your tongue circling them the familiar way it did his cock. It had him strained in his pants but this library would close before he could get inside of you.

He stayed nestled there as you came down from your high and only when you gave a nod did he slowly take out his fingers from your mouth, dragging his fingers down your neck and body to his own fingers, taking them into his own mouth quickly.

Suddenly your name was called through the library.

"Shit!"

The two of you scrambled, tidying yourself and brushing back hair, pulling at clothes to straighten and arouse no suspicion.

Steve pressed himself into the book shelves, hiding his erection.

"Oh, there you are," said the librarian as she found you. "I've got a date I need to go but you don't mind locking up for me, do you? You've done it before."

Before you could say another word she left the keys in your hand and smiled at you, gratefully.

"Thank you, I knew I could count on you, you're such a good girl."

Your cheeks lit up in flames at the words.

Steve snorted behind you.

But before the librarian could think much of it she was already leaving, giddy, bouncing on the heel of her feet. The door closed somewhere behind her, some sort of light ahead turning off.

Steve fell behind you, urging his hips into your backside like it was his secret weapon to get you. "Do you get wet when she calls you good girl?"

You whacked at his chest but Steve caught it, wrapping his fingers around your wrist and bringing it back behind his neck so he could reach your arm, kiss the skin there.

He smirked against your skin. "Do you mind if I check?"

[rr-after-dark]

"Yours" - Dr. Michael Robinavitch x Reader

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.”

Support me on ko-fi if you'd like!

[redd-blushing-roses]

U + ME = <3 (forever)

word count: 5.4k

pairing: (med student) michael robinavitch x reader

summary: two med students. a late night. and a reminder that love sometimes lasts in ways that you never expect.

warnings: none really; silly fluff. although reader is a little bit of an airhead (in an endearing way I hope) and robby has some ruminations about his mom. also jack is here because I say so 😌

notes: Is this kinda dumb? maybe. do I like it anyway? yeah. what can I say, I'm a lover girl at heart! I've been trying to write a Robby fic for some time and something just clicked when I saw the ER version of noah wyle.

and, of course, if you couldn't tell, this is highly inspired by olivia rodgo's song u + me = <3!!!

enjoy reading :)

------------------------------------------------------

April 19, 199-

“Hey! Robinavitch!” 

There’s a loud pounding against the hard wood of Robby’s door, the dorm wall shaking slightly. Poorly taped posters and the pages of dog-eared medical books strewn about flutter as the little plug in fan turns, blowing cool air into the hot dorm. The cramped twin bed creaks as Robby shifts, cracked headboard rocking slightly with the reminder he'd broken the frame last semester. 

Cheap university furniture. 

You let out a muffled groan against Robby’s lips, his hot fingers trailing a map against your neck, an elbow buried into his navy sheets as he keeps his weight off of you. Your jean clad hips press up into his sweats and Robby groans. 

Feels just like heaven. 

Robby kisses you fervently, like he couldn't get enough. He supposes it was true. Or maybe he was just desperately avoiding the chem study packet calling his name. 

“Robinavitch!”

Your fingers thread through his long hair, lashes fluttering open slightly as the knocking sounds again, louder. 

Although Robby is less sure it's knocking at his door and not the clashing drums of the cd he's blasting; a throwback mix he’d gotten one of his roommates to burn for him. 

“Why won't you ever know that I'm in love with you?

That I'm in love with you?”

Robby feels you slowing down beneath him, your face turning slightly from his. 

“Robby.”

“Hmm,” he hums, chasing your kiss swollen lips, the scruff of his facial hair scratching against your cheek, dipping into the crook of your neck to ravage your shoulder. You giggle beneath him, pink polished nails digging into the cut up sweatshirt he was wearing. 

“Robby- Michael.” That gets his attention. He pushes himself up, hair falling over his forehead, his necklace hanging loosely from his neck.

“Yeah?” You smile dreamily up at him, still caught up in the haze of his cologne and the heat of the room. 

“I think there's someone at your door,” you point a manicured nail at the big wooden door, the brass handle currently jammed with a wooden chair beneath it. He turns, big brown eyes raking over the band poster falling off by one corner plastered on its backside, the messy pile of sweats and jeans bunched in the corner, the cd player still blasting. 

Robby makes a show of pausing. He shakes his head and turns his back slowly towards you, grinning. 

“I don't hear anyone.” 

“But-”

“Hey Robby! Come on man.” 

“Think you're hearing things.” You laugh sweetly, brushing his long hair away from his face, holding it gently in place. 

“I’m not Mr. Resident advisor. I think your students need you.”

He huffs. “They can wait. I’m busy helping you study,” he mumbles against the crook of your elbow.

“Robby, we stopped studying, like, an hour ago. And I’m helping you study.” 

“No, come on. We moved on to anatomy, remember?” You giggle, moving to sit up.

Robby doesn't let you, straddling your hips, head tilted playfully as he runs a hand through his long hair. He'd been growing it out this semester. His facial hair too.

Because it was the style and the last time Robby had tried to trim it himself he’d nicked his ear so bad he wore a bandaid for a week.

Or maybe it was because you had mentioned something about liking guys with a beard-

“You're killing me with that floppy hair of yours,” you grin. Robby gives you a look, mouth pulling into a sad little pout. 

“My hair’s not floppy.”

“It is a little,” you giggle. “I like it though. Very Brendan Fraiser.”

“Oh yeah,” Robby’s brow raises, laughing. 

“Yeah,” you sigh, pulling him back down by his sleeveless sweatshirt. Robby hums amusedly as you run your hand over the scruff of his cheek. You blink up at him, eyes darkening a bit as you trail the plane of his bare shoulder, goosebumps erupting over the line of his bicep. He chuckles.

“Thought you said there was someone at the door?” 

“I don't hear anyone now,” you smile. 

Robby kisses your cheek. Then your chin. The crook of your neck. He trails down, your hands threading through his hair again as he moves downward- 

“ROBBY I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE!” 

Robby shoots up, hips twisted as he watches the doorknob rattle. You whine, eyes narrowing in annoyance at the door.

“Okay. Okay okay, maybe there is someone at the door.” You give him a look, pushing him towards the edge of the mattress. Robby hops off the bed, pulling up his sweats as they slide low on his hip. 

He gives you a cheeky grin as he saunters over to the door, moving the chair blocking the lock. You grin from the bed, jean clad legs still tangled in his sheets, the sleeve of your tanktop sliding off one shoulder. 

Robby unlocks the door, and cracks it open, an arm coming up to block the space. He frowns as a familiar looking auburn haired MS1 lets out a relieved sigh.

“Finally man. I’ve been knocking for like five minutes.” Robby sighs, rubbing his forehead.

“What is it? It’s late.”

“I forgot my key.” Robby gives the kid an incredulous look.

“You forgot your key? Again?”

“Yeah. Me and a couple of the guys were at the library s- studying and I thought Sammy had his key so I left mine…” The kid rambles on and Robby sighs. Studying was obviously the poorly veiled code word for smoking… if the smell coming off his clothes and the glazed look in his eyes was any indicator.

“Okay okay- Abbot! Stop talking, geez. You’re gonna make me kill myself with your rambling.” 

“Sorry. Oh shoot. I didn’t realize you had your girl in here.” Jack cranes his neck, peering over Robby’s shoulder. Robby glances back at you, your hand lifting in an embarrassed little wave from the bed.

Your girl. 

Robby hadn't realized people perceived the two of you that way. Like you two were a set. Not just two students who made out and occasionally slept in each other's dorm. The inbetween something with no real stipulation. 

You had both agreed on that first night out together that it was just casual. Nothing tying you down, no big expectations or anything. Robby was cool with it.

He knew you'd been burned by one too many boyfriends before to want to be tied down by something concrete. You knew he had bad habits and liked a gentle escape if needed.

But your girl. 

He liked the sounds of that a little too much for a guy who refused to put labels on anything. 

You laugh, “Hi Jack.” 

“Hi,” Jack grins, stumbling a bit in the doorway as Robby slips his shoes on. “Woah.” 

Robby sighs again, grabbing the dorm masterkey from where it was laying on his dresser and shoving Jack back out the door.

“I’ll be back,” he calls over his shoulder. “Hey move it.”

“Thank you so much brother.”

“I told you not to call me that.”

------------------------------------------------------

When Robby gets back to the dorm, he’s greeted with silence. The cd long run its course, the fan no longer humming softly. The lamp is shut off, the orange glow of the hallway the only light, casting deep shadows across the room.

It’s the first thing Robby notices as he stands in the doorway of his empty apartment.

You’re gone.

Not completely, of course. There are still remnants of your existence lingering. Little touches that remind Robby you do in fact exist and aren’t some beautiful figment of his imagination.

The sheets of his bed have been straightened, the pile of books now stacked neatly on his desk; messy laundry tucked properly into the hamper. There are still little pieces of you: a few pink highlighters and gel pens strewn about his desk, a scrunchie left on his nightstand, a picture of you and him pinned to Robby’s corkboard. It still smells like you. Your fruity bubblegum and sweet bath and bodyworks spray.

Robby scratches the back of his head as he shuts his door, trying not to think about the fact you'd slipped out while he was gone. Sure. Plenty of girls had done the same before. Hey, even he had done it too. Irish exits and promises to see each other again left unfulfilled. 

But you didn't do that. 

You always said goodbye. 

Robby hates the way he keeps thinking about it. Like it meant something.

So what? He didn't care. You could leave without saying goodbye. It wasn't like you two were very serious anyway.

Robby throws the key back on his dresser, chucking his shoes back into the closet and flops onto his bed, face down. 

He doesn't know why it's bothering him so much. Why he feels the familiar tightening of his chest, the worry crawling like maggots in his brain. Robby lays there in the dark. 

And then the phone rings. He sits up, startled by the loud sound echoing from his nightstand. He crawls over the bed, reaching and picking the phone up from the receiver. 

He was expecting a call from another locked out student or someone needing maintenance to come unclog brownie batter out the drain. 

“Robinavitch here-”

“I forgot to tell you goodbye!” 

Robby’s face softens as he realizes it's you. He'd recognize your voice anywhere. He's surprised you're calling, so much so he doesn't catch what you're saying. 

“What?” Robby chuckles, just happy to hear you again. 

“I just left. I didn't even give you a kiss or anything.” 

“That's alright.”

“Did Jack get to his room alright?”

“Eventually. Although he was so stoned out of his mind, I don’t think he’d know his left foot from his right.” He hears you click your tongue on the line, sighing. 

“The life of the party. A shame he’s got to be sent away."

“Yeah.” Robby listens as you move around on the other side of the line. Something clatters and he hears you settle onto the bed.

“I’m really sorry. I should have kissed you goodbye.” 

“It’s okay, really. I think we’ve made out more than some couples do their entire marriage.” 

“Marriage?” You laugh. “You thinking about marrying me already, Robby?” 

The question is innocent. Coy in your own sweet way. Robby grins widely, glad you couldn't see the blush blooming across his freckle strewn face. 

“Maybe,” his voice cracks in spite of the joking tone he uses. You giggle. 

“Good. I really like you, you know. A million times better than the other boys who've tried to suck face with me.” Robby makes a face. 

“That's kinda a crude way to put it.”

“Just saying. They don't deserve to be remembered as anything more.” 

Robby laughs, picturing your cheeky smile. The way you’d shrug. He gets that tight feeling in his chest again and swallows thickly. 

“I know. I like you a lot too.” 

“Like, ‘want to get married’ a lot?” Robby rolls his eyes. 

“We're only 23 sweetheart. Isn't that kinda young?” 

“I’m planning on getting married by 25 Robby. I think I told you this, didn't I?” 

“Yeah. You did. But I'm barely making it through med school as it is. And you can't even remember where you parked your car half the time. You want to get married?” 

“Well yeah. You always remember where my car is. We're made for each other.” Robby laughs, a hand running down his face amusedly. Your next words hit him hard. Right in the chest.

“I don't think I’d ever want anyone else Michael.” 

There's a seriousness beneath your teasing tone. Robby thinks he almost stops breathing. Then you laugh. 

“But maybe you're right. Oh! Actually I almost forgot. I left you a little something.”

Robby clears his throat, trying to recover from that. 

I don't think I’d ever want anyone else Michael

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah. It's just a little note. Something silly.”

You were always leaving little things for Robby to find. Poorly folded gum wrapper hearts in his jean pockets or post its on his car dash. Robby thought it was endearing in spite of the way his friends made fun of him for keeping them. 

“I’m sure it's not silly. Where?” 

“In your study packet.” Robby laughs. 

“Okay, where?” He repeats. You laugh. 

“Well, you gotta actually read the material to find it.” 

“Wow. You have no faith in me, do you?” 

“I do!” You protest. “I believe in you Robby. But you can't be a great doctor if you don't know the difference between the dermis and epidermis.”

Robby smiles. 

“You think I’m gonna be a good doctor?” 

“A great one. Yeah.” 

“Thanks.”

You're quiet on the other end for a moment. And then you yawn. 

“Okay enough mushy talk. I seriously have a test I’ve got to study for.” Robby chuckles. 

“Okay. goodnight hon.”

“Goodnight Micheal.”

He’s about to hang up when you add two little words. “Love you!”

The line clicks.

Robby holds the phone to his ear for a moment longer, heart clinging to those two little words. His chest tightens again, the unfamiliar feeling blooming in spite of the way Robby was trying to push it down. 

The phone clicks against the receiver with a gentle sound, the bed creaking as Robby lays down on his back. He stares up at the popcorn ceiling trying to ignore the overwhelming elation rising through him. 

Which is stupid, he immediately thinks.

It probably means nothing. You guys aren't serious like that. Not serious enough to be joking about marriage late at night at least. 

Robby knows you know about his not so pretty dating history. The long list of girls, the endless streak of letting good love slip away. He knows he's overheard your girlfriends remind you to take it slow. To remember Robby has a bad habit of leaving. 

Not being the one left. 

Robby knows people change. People come and go. He's had plenty of people leave his life. People he cares about. People he’s wanted. 

He knows things probably won't ever stay the same. 

Robby can be honest himself: he's got commitment issues. He can thank his mom for that. He sometimes likes to blame all his worst parts on her. His quick temper, his bossy nature. The need to always be right, to be needed. 

Robby knows you were joking about the marriage thing. Of course you were. 

But no one's said ‘I love you’ like that and not meant it. 

Not to him at least. Without any hesitation or doubt. Without burden. 

You said it like it was a habit he didn't even know you’d formed. Like the two of you had unknowingly grown into something more than casual dates. Something more than two med students who’d bonded over a rough emergency department rotation and less than productive study sessions. 

Something softer and sweeter. 

The thing Robby tried so hard to stop himself from wanting. 

It unraveled something deep inside him. A truth he had been trying to keep at bay for a while now. Because the truth was he did want that. To be your one and only. 

He wanted a marriage. He wanted kids. He had this vision, this dream, of being the dad someone could be proud of. The doctor who would show off his family in pictures around his office, who’d come home from blood and gore to the sounds of laughter and life. 

And yeah, maybe a part of him had begun to picture you as that person. Maybe you had begun to bleed into his dreams; the laughter brightening into your high pitched squeal, the pictures shifting into someone with your face. 

Robby doesn't even realize how long he's been lying in the dark thinking until he hears the hall lights blink out, the sign curfew was officially in place. His fingers clench around the star hanging from his necklace. 

This was stupid. He shouldn't be thinking things like that. Overly romantic and head over heels kind of thoughts that you'd see in movies. 

Life didn't work like that. Robby knew that better than anyone. 

But you’d said goodbye. You said ‘I love you’- 

Robby scrubs a hand over his face letting out a deep breath. 

“Just forget it.” 

He gets up, turning on the lamp and settling heavily into his desk chair, half heartedly picking up his textbook. Robby flips open to the marked page, fingers threaded through his hair as he tries to pay attention to the words on the page. They swim before him. 

It was just infatuation. The biological reaction to receiving attention. 

He didn't… 

You were just a fling. A casual date he’d move on from after a few months. Right? 

Robby pauses, counting how many months the two of you had actually been hanging out together.

 The number is a lot more than a few.

“Urgh, forget it,” Robby lets out again with frustration, tossing the study packet onto the floor. He watches as the packet flutters to the ground in a crumple. As a pink flashcard slides out and onto the wood floor. 

Robby stands, crouching to pick it up. That's right. You had said you’d left him something. He picks the sturdy card up, frowning as he tries to read what it says. 

He moves back over to the lamp, tall frame scrunching close to the poorly lit bulb. The card glows a hot pink beneath the light, your sparkly pen glittering. 

U + ME = <3 

Oh God. 

------------------------------------------------------

It’s early the next morning when Robby realizes he’s totally and completely fallen for you. Literally.

He crashes onto the floor of your dorm room, his long leg catching on the ledge of the window as he tries to sneak in.

Your roommate sits up in her bed, a confused and sleepy look crossing her face as she blinks at the two of you. Robby gives her an embarrassed wave, grunting as you hold out your hand. 

“I got it, I got it.”

“Let me help you Robby,” you giggle as bend down. He lets you pull him up, giving you a flushed smile as he takes in your cotton sleeping shorts, the big band tee you'd stolen from his closet swallowing your frame. Robby presses a kiss on your cheek in thank you and moves towards the bed on your side of the dorm. 

“Sorry Amy,” you whisper, nudging her apologetically. She swats your hand away, rolling over. 

“Just wake me before the exam is supposed to start.” You giggle an ‘alright’, turning back to Robby as he fidgets with the tasseled ends of your pillowcase. 

“What’s up? I thought we were meeting up after class?” 

Robby looks up at you, still high off the adrenaline of running halfway across the big courtyard to your dorm. 

“I just…” 

The words are suddenly lost on his tongue. 

The speech he'd been practicing in his room, late into the morning. He'd been pacing a hole in his wood floors, clutching that pink flashcard in his hand as he went over what he wanted to tell you. 

He knew he had to tell you.

He knew he had to ask you. 

If you wanted to be something more. Something that came with a label and commitment. 

But for a guy like Robby, who'd never even spoken an “I love you”- not even to his grandma who'd taken him in- the task suddenly seemed monumental. He supposes it was. 

“What?” You ask, giving him a curious look. “Are okay? You look terrible.” 

Robby lets out a puff of air, chuckling quietly as you cup his scruffy face. You've got that assessing look on your face, like you've already nailed down the clinical eye doctor’s need to have. 

“I didn't get much sleep last night,” he finally says. 

“Oh. Were you really worried about studying?” You frown. 

“Um, I didn't do much studying last night.” 

“Robby,” you croon in a chastising tone. He shrugs. 

“I have a photographic memory. Remember?”

“Uh huh. Yet you keep forgetting where your shirts are,” you grin, caressing the familiar edge of a shirt he had definitely stolen back from the laundry hamper.

“That's cause you steal them,” he pinches your side. You laugh, quieting when your roommate throws you an angry glare. 

“So… why'd you come here?” 

“Um,” Robby looks over at your roommate nervously, mumbling quietly, “I wanted to tell you something.” You frown. 

“Huh?” 

“I- I wanted to tell you-” You lean in closer, trying to hear him. Robby is so nervous he can barely get his voice above a whisper.

“Take me?” 

“No-” but your eyes are already lighting up and you let out a surprised gasp. 

“Wait, are we gonna get breakfast?!” Robby blinks. “That's what you were gonna say, right? You want to take me to Starbucks. A pre exam coffee?” 

You're bouncing on the balls of your feet, clearly excited about the prospect of a caffeine pick me up and sugary pastry. Robby gives you a resigned smile. 

“Yeah. Yeah, that's what I was gonna say.” You squeal and throw your arms around him. 

“You're the best guy a girl could ever have! I gotta go change and then I’ll be right out.” 

Guy. 

Not boyfriend. Because Robby and you had agreed: no labels. 

“Yeah sure,” Robby nods, watching as you flounce over to your closet pulling out an outfit and running to the bathroom. When you shut the door he lets out a deep sigh, scrubbing his hands over his face. 

Maybe this was better. He had time to work up the confidence to actually say what he wanted. Besides, maybe it wasn't appropriate to ask someone to be your girlfriend while their roommate was snoring five feet away.

When you come back out of the bathroom, the traces of sleep gone and smelling like toothpaste, you give Robby another concerned look. 

“Are you sure you're okay?” 

“Yeah,” he nods. A little too quickly. You grab your backpack, giving him a look over your shoulder. 

“You know you can tell me if something’s wrong. Right?” 

“Why would anything be wrong?” Robby’s shoulders tense. Was he really that obvious? You smile, reaching out, your fingers brushing against the backside of is hand. The hand clutching his necklace. 

“You're holding your star. You only do that when you're anxious.” 

He hadn't even realized he was doing it. Or that you noticed that about him. 

“I’m okay. Let's just go get your coffee. Okay?”

“Okay Michael,” you say softly. “But, go out the window. I’m not getting fined if someone catches you.”

------------------------------------------------------

The little round table you'd picked out is cold beneath your arm, the metal surface creaking beneath your elbow as you lean on it. Your leg bounces beneath the chair, the smell of roasting coffee beans and something like caramel filling your senses. 

You watch Robby as he stands in line to order, his hands stuffed in the pocket of his sweatshirt, eyes darting around the place nervously. 

Not that he'd admit it. 

He had been unusually quiet on the drive over, knuckles white against the wheel, jean clad thigh tense against the leather seat.

You tried to talk a bit. About how you wanted to get into a pedes rotation soon. If you could bribe Amy into switching textbooks with you because hers was nicer and not stained with lipgloss and coffee. 

But you’d given up after the third “hmhmm” from Robby. 

Which was fine.

You didn't mind listening to his radio, perpetually stuck on an old 70s rock station, and tracing your name on the car seat leather. 

A part of you wondered if it had anything to do with your phone call last night. You had really been laying it thick. Bringing up marriage. Saying you loved him. 

Of course it had been. How could it not.

You sigh at the table, resting your chin in your hand as Robby orders, his hand coming up to scratch the scruff on his jaw. 

You always had this problem. Getting attached too fast. Catching feelings in spite of telling yourself it was casual.

All your girlfriends had warned you. Take it slow. Don't get involved. They had rolled their eyes when you had told them Robby had asked you out. Reminded you Robby had never held a decent relationship for more than a month. 

He was a known flirt. A guy who liked to sleep around for fun. 

But he wasn't like that with you. He was funny and caring. Yeah, you guys agreed to be casual. You knew what you were signing up for.

You had been friends before that, student doctors bonded after a joint rotation in the emergency department; study partners and theater hoppers and restaurant critics and the occasional partygoer. It didn't seem like that big of a leap.  

To blur the line of friendship… with additional benefits.

But some nights, when Robby held you in a too small dorm bed, you felt like it could be something more. 

Maybe that's why you had said it. Because you'd always been upfront about your feelings. No matter who it was. All your ex boyfriends knew. They would scoff and roll their eyes if they had heard your phone call. Because of course you were talking about marriage. Of course you’d gotten attached. You always did catch feelings easily.

Robby often told you about how he felt when he first met you. How he’d asked you out to dinner after an awfully rough shift. 

“Hey. You wanna get some real food? Not the tuna melts they serve here?” 

“Robby, you know you could take me anywhere and I’d be happy.”

He liked to tell you how that had made him laugh. How you seemed so carefree. Still smiling after a terrible day. 

It made you feel special. Like he noticed the little things you hadn't even thought to think of. 

Sometimes you felt like you were getting ahead of yourself when you thought of things like marriage or being a thing. Something that came with a label. With expectations. 

And Robby-

You jump in your seat as the chair opposite you scrapes against the floor, Robby taking the seat. He chuckles as you yelp and give him a wide eyed look. 

“You okay there?”

“Just thinking,” you smile. “Got my banana bread?” 

“Of course,” he nods as he sets down your loaf slice in front of you. “The coffees are gonna be another minute.” 

“Doesn't your black sludge take like three seconds to pour into a paper cup?” You're already tearing into the slice of ooey gooey bread. It's good. Warm and nutty. 

Robby shrugs, fingers drumming against the metal surface. 

“I don't know. I’m a doctor, not a barista. And it's not sludge. Black coffee is perfectly fine for sustainable gut health.” 

You shrug. “I still think you're gonna give yourself an ulcer. Especially with the way you worry about things.” 

Robby lets out a breath, running a hand through his long locks. He doesn't say anything, just smiles. 

Oh boy. 

Maybe you shouldn't have said anything last night. At least, not on the phone. You always did this. Made things more complicated and crossed lines you’d clearly drawn for yourself. 

And now you were spiraling over a piece of banana bread about a boy you really did love instead of worrying about your exam later- 

“Here.” Robby sets a cup down in front of you. You hadn't even heard him get up. “This one's yours.” 

“Oh. Thank you-” you reach out to take the cup, the thick paper cup warm beneath your hold. Your heart beats a little faster as Robby’s fingers bump into yours, his index finger nudging into the flesh of your thumb. 

He smiles at you crookedly, eyes bright with anticipation. You take the cup-

“Hey. Did they write something on here?” You turn it slightly, noticing the thick black sharpie peeking beneath your fingers. 

U + ME = <3

You laugh with surprise, almost forgetting the little flash card you’d left Robby last night. Mostly as a joke because you knew the little things you made him always got a laugh. Or a smile. 

But mostly because it was true. And because you’d seen the way he secretly pockets the things you make him, like they were something special. 

You smile at the cup, another laugh slipping out.

“Aw Robby. You got my note! It looks so cute on-” you trail off as you turn the cup more, seeing he’s made an addition. 

U + ME = <3 (forever) 

You look up at him, his mouth pressed together in a nervous line, brown eyes staring, waiting for you to meet his gaze. It shouldn't feel like this monumental thing. But it does. 

And the way he's looking at you makes you suddenly nervous. 

“Robby-” 

“I, um,” he swallows thickly, hands flexing around his own cup. “I- truthfully I couldn't sleep last night because I was thinking about our conversation. About us.”

“Us?” 

“Yeah,” he nods. “When you said… you said you loved me.” 

You swallow thickly, suddenly feeling a bit like a young school girl. Your heart pounds and you have to remind yourself not to get your hopes up. To stay realistic-

“Did you mean it?” His question only furthers your hope. The earnestness behind it. The golden glint of his deep brown eyes. You nod.

“Yeah. I meant it.” 

“Okay. Good.” You chuckle, brows drawing confusedly. 

“Robby, what's this about?” You gesture towards your coffee, finger hovering over the Forever.

“I- well I have a question I need to ask you.” 

“Oh.”

Robby swallows thickly, laughing nervously. 

“I know we agreed to be casual, no labels. And I know you said you weren’t exactly looking for someone to be your, um,” Robby’s hand moves, frowning as he searches for the word. 

“To be my forever?” You offer shyly. Robby freezes. And then he nods. “Yeah,” you swallow thickly. Robby lets out a shaky breath.

“I know it’s not what you were looking for. Or what I was looking for. But after our talk on the phone last night, I realized… I realized I might like you a lot more than just being my sleeping buddy.” 

“Study partner,” you smile. Robby laughs.

“Right. Although we said no labels.”

“Right,” you look away, flushing.

“Anyway,” Robby clears his throat, hands shaking against his coffee. "I really like spending time with you. Talking and studying and everything else. You’re funny and pretty and smart and… and everything a good doctor should be.”

That makes you feel warm inside. Being called a good doctor. Maybe more so than being called pretty. Of course you were pretty.

“And I wanted to know if you’d like to be something more. If you’d like to by my girl-”

“YES.” 

He looks up at you in surprise, mouth hanging open.You can feel your ears go red, you hide behind your hands.

“Did I say that way too fast?”

Robby laughs, loud and genuine. 

“I- No I think it was just the right amount of enthusiasm.” You smile shyly, peeking out from your fingers. He’s smiling at you fondly, the tension gone from his shoulders. He’s still got the embarrassed flush on his cheeks, the stupidly cute smile on his face. 

“Good. That's good. Forever huh?” You look up at him. 

“Well, I don’t think it’d be appropriate to ask you to marry me.” You laugh loudly.

“No. No, definitely not. I’d have to gently let you down. Tell you we skipped a few steps.”

“Yeah,” Robby scratches the back of his head. “Yeah, I’m definitely not ready for that.”

“What made you think you were ready for this?”

“Being your boyfriend?” You nod and smile. You liked that. Robby nudges your leg beneath the table with his sneaker.

“Something Jack said.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He pauses, and then leans forward, inches from your face. “And how could I not let the girl who said she loves me go without her knowing I feel the same.” 

You go soft at that. Your heart melting. You bridge the small gap between you, noses brushing as you press a gentle kiss to his lips. He deepens it, the table creaking beneath him as he leans further, cupping your face. 

You’re pretty sure the coffees have gone cold. You’re almost positive the exam you had to take had already started. But one thing you knew for sure was that you loved Robby. 

You loved Michael Robinavitch. And you think you would always.

Forever and ever and ever.

------------------------------------------------------

Did you catch the lyric references? ;)

thank you for reading! if you're interested in reading more of my works for the pitt, here is a link to my masterlist :)

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Making Love Out of Nothing At All - Nick Bradshaw x Reader

A/N: I've been sitting on this for a month since I left San Diego and now I'm finally doing it. We're calling this an AU fic where Carole's just non-existent and everyone lives happily ever after.

pairing: Nick "Goose" Bradshaw x reader

warnings/content: p in v sex (unprotected/no mention of protection - he's a silly goose, ok?), fingering, oral (f receiving), public sex, car sex, goose goes down on you like it's an olympic sport, praise kink, body worship/compliments but no mention of specific appearance really?

word count: 1.3k

minors dni below the cut!

Every time I see you all the rays of the sun are all streaming through the waves in your hair, and every star in the sky is taking aim at your eyes like a spotlight.

The dim street lamps illuminated the parking lot of the club in a dusky glow, the cool Pacific breeze licking at your bare legs as you hurried behind your boyfriend to his car, a 1983 Ford Mustang that he’d been saving up for since graduating from the Naval Academy last summer. He had whisked you out of the club so quickly that you were almost certain you spilled the contents of your drink on his best friend, Pete in your hurry out the door, rather than simply handing him the glass as you’d intended. 

Nick turned to face you, his infamous smirk spread across his lips as he placed a hand firmly on your waist, drawing you in closer to him. He leaned his back against his car, easily towering over the convertible’s frame as he stood. At an impressive 6’4, Nick’s body engulfed yours as he pulled you in, ducking his head down to leave hungry kisses in a trail from your jaw to your neck, his hands feverishly roaming over the outside of your dress, finding anyway he could to gain access to what was underneath. 

“Mhmm,” you giggled, shaking your head, “Slow down, baby. You can’t just do it in the middle of a parking lot,” you protested.

“Says who? I don’t see anyone around? Besides, that’s what the car’s for, honey.”

Nick opened the door for you before playfully pushing you on to your back across the backseat. He placed his palms flat against the seat as he hovered himself over you, his lips once again making contact with your skin. A series of hot, open-mouthed kisses peppered your neck and collarbone as his hands palmed at your breasts, grasping them over the fabric of your dress. He grinned as he hummed against your skin, taking delight in the way you squirmed and giggled with every kiss.

“You smell like heaven, you know that? Whatever this new perfume you’re wearing is, I love it.”

“Coco by Chanel,” you teased, raising an eyebrow as your hand guided his face to look at you. 

Leaning up, your lips met his in a tender, yet playful kiss, grinning against his lips as his hands continued to explore your body. His long, slender fingers ran along your leg, brushing against you in a way that made your skin feel like it was on fire, burning with passion at his touch. You took in a sharp breath as he hiked the skirt of your dress up your thighs, the fabric pooling at your waist. His hand slid in between your bodies, brushing his fingertips against the soft, delicate lace of your underwear, that was quickly becoming dampened with arousal.

“Someone’s already worked up, isn’t she?” He said as he flashed you a wicked grin, chuckling to himself at how wet he’d made you without really putting in any effort.

“Shush,” you protested, shaking your head, “I could say the same thing about you.”

Nick grinned as he pulled himself up to his knees, spreading your legs slightly to make room as he hooked a finger into the waistband of your underwear, lazily dragging them down off your leg. He tossed them aside, discarding them somewhere in the front seat before quickly leaning his head down, his tongue flattening as he licked a long, slow strip against your sex, a groan of pleasure catching in his throat as he tasted your arousal. You panted his name, a sigh of ecstasy escaping your lips as his tongue slowly began working at your clit, concentrating on soft, yet precise movements as he encircled the sensitive bud. 

“Tastes so fucking good, honey,” he husked as he lifted his head up slightly, his dark brown eyes looking up at you with a lustful stare as he delved two fingers into your dripping wet heat, curling them slightly to hit your spot. 

“Nick, fuck,” you hissed, your back arching as he effortlessly pumped his fingers into your spot, his tongue lapping at your arousal, “Getting so close.” 

“I know baby, I know, let it go for me,” he encouraged before dipping his mouth back down between your folds, sucking on your clit harshly before running his tongue over it again.

You whimpered as your thighs began to shudder and shake in pleasure, your back arching further as Nick drew you closer to your orgasm. You began moaning out his name over and over, saying it as if it was a spoken prayer as he dragged your orgasm out, his tongue lapping at you, cleaning up the arousal that dripped and threatened to stain the seats beneath you. He grinned up at you as he pulled the neckline of the white t-shirt he was wearing underneath his brightly coloured Hawaiian print shirt up to wipe your juices from his mouth. 

“Have I told ya how pretty you look?” He hummed, his fingers tracing circles on your abdomen, admiring you as if he saw you as a work of art.

“No, but I like hearing it.”

“So fucking pretty, honey. Just look at you,” he gestured to you with one hand while the other palmed at his tightening jeans, the denim fabric becoming more and more restricted with his touch, “I’m not done with ya yet though, honey.”

He grunted as he got out of the car, taking you by the hand and marching you around to the hood of the car. After a quick glance around to ensure no one would be able to see, he gently guided his hand across the small of your back, spinning you around before pushing you down over the hood of the car. He shimmied his jeans down off his waist, just enough to free his cock from the strain of his boxers. 

He stroked himself a couple of times for good measure before flicking the fabric of your dress up off of you, lining himself up with your entrance, he pistoned himself into you, causing you to lay your palms flat against the cold, grey metal of the car. He paused to let you adjust before drawing his hips back and thrusting forward again, causing you to choke out a gasp as you felt your walls stretching to allow him to fit. 

“Nick, shit,” you panted, balling your hands into fists as you tried to keep your emotions and feelings in check as he fucked into you. 

“That’s it sweet girl, takin’ me s’good,” he purred, his hips continuing to crash into yours, hands guiding your ass to make contact with his hips with each movement. 

“Fucking, Jesus Christ, baby, I’m so close, right fucking there,” you sputtered, your thoughts becoming cloudy and incoherent with each passing second.

Nick’s controlled movements began to grow sloppier as he drew closer to his orgasm, unable to focus his precision any longer, his rhythmic thrusts devolving into clumsier, yet just as hard, movements. He moaned your name loudly, the syllables ringing out like some sort of sweet melodic praise as your walls clenched around him. You rode your orgasms out together, harmoniously as you both fell apart. His large hands caressed your body, pulling you gently to stand up and lean your body against his. He held you close for a moment, kissing at the nape of your neck breathlessly, his skin hot to the touch and slicked with sweat. 

A laugh escaped his lips as he shook his head, almost in disbelief as he looked at you. 

“God, you’re incredible, you know that? Absolutely fucking incredible,” he purred, stroking your hair as he held you close.

[etershine]

beneath the witchlight sky

After an accident, Billy Kaplan and a girl he barely used to speak to become inseparable.

Something changes in him afterward - something subtle, like a spell cast wrong or a thread pulled loose from reality itself. He isn’t himself anymore, of course not. Billy Kaplan is gone, replaced by someone who doesn’t yet know who he is.

And she notices things she was never meant to notice.

Shadows that linger too long. Magic that bends around him strangely. A sigil that should hide him from every witch’s sight - but doesn’t hide him from her.

As they begin to explore witchcraft together, what starts as curiosity turns into something far more dangerous. Power comes easily to them, too easily, as if it had been waiting.

But even as they step further into the world of witches and curses and the Witches’ Road, both of them feel it growing stronger,

A sense of absence.

A missing piece.

A name that should be there—but isn’t.

And the Road does not ignore missing things for long.

• Prologue — The Accident

[autvmnangels]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ TEASE

| you motivate your boyfriend finish his homework through sexual favours.

“mikeyyy” you whined as you felt your boyfriends hand clasp around your ankle, pulling you from the other side of the couch toward him. “we have to finish this, let me go!”

“you can’t come over and expect me to sit and watch you do my homework, y/n.” he groaned, hand still wrapped around your ankle tightly.

mike had whatsoever no interest in letting you help him finish his work, and it was about the sixth time he had dragged you by your legs toward him in attempt to get you to ‘hang out’ with him.

you kicked his hand off you, turning around to see him looking as disappointed as ever.

“you asked me to help you! that’s why we’re hanging out!” you said, a giggle falling from your lips as you turned around to look at him, his eyes rolling and chest heaving a sigh.

“didn’t think we’d actually be doing my homework, baby.” he mumbled, eyes fixated on you as you rose from your previous position, now sat in front of him with a playful look on your face.

“so, what did you think we would be doing?” you said, tilting your head at him, gazing up at him with big eyes as he stared at you, brows raised and lips slightly parted.

“i think you know.”

“do i?” you teased, biting your lip slightly and pretending to act like you had no idea what he was talking about. he scoffed, rolling his eyes as his big hands attached to your hips and pulled you into his lap, your legs now either side of him as he looked at you so sternly that you were almost nervous.

“no teasing. you understand me?” he said, his brown eyes looming into yours with seriousness as you tilted your head at him.

if you knew one thing about mike, it was that he had no tolerance for teasing. when he wanted you, he wanted you then and there, and he didn’t like you taking control and making him wait longer than he had to to have you. well, unfortunately for him, he was going to have to earn you.

“it’s clear we both wanna do different things. i say we compromise.” you said, shrugging softly as he shook his head.

“i don’t compromise.” he huffed, his grip on your hips growing tighter and hands growing more impatient.

“you do for me, wheeler.” you mumbled, leaning forward and kissing him softly on the cheek as you heard him practically sigh under the contact.

“m’gonna guess and say this is something to do with my homework.” he seethed, looking away briefly as you leaned forward and grabbed your notepad from beside you, sliding off his lap and sitting in front of him.

“every question you get right without my help, i’ll do something for you. anything you want.” you said, trying to get him even more riled up by biting your lip softly and staring at him, blinking innocently with fluttery lashes.

“fuck. deal, pretty girl.” he mumbled, his voice low and deep as you felt your heart beating faster, one of his hands skimming your bare thigh where your skirt had ridden up.

“ah ah, no touching.” you said, batting his hand away as he narrowed his eyes at you, before crossing his arms over his chest, muttering something under his breath.

“alright. first one, wheeler.” you said, handing him the notebook as you watched him closely, how his eyes skimmed over the page and how he repeated the question in his head. mike was exceptional at math and science, completely excelling in them, but when it came to english or history he was a lost cause. he couldn’t remember dates, key events, significant people, so in a last effort to pass his ancient history class he turned to you for help every-time and any time you were free.

you watched him as he scribbled something down on the paper, before handing it to you with somewhat hesitation. your eyes only had to skim the page for a moment before you knew he was wrong.

“wrong. try again.” you said, handing it back to him as his head fell into his hands.

“god, why are you doing this to me?” he whispered, taking it back from you and looking back over the question again, this time spending longer looking at the page before ultimately writing something down.

when he handed it to you, you saw the doubt on his face, but when you read back over it you recognised it as the right answer.

“this is right, baby.” you said softly, tilting your head at him slightly as his eyes lit up, his frame instantly sitting upright as you almost laughed at him.

“fuck, get on my lap. now.” he huffed, watching you intently as you scooted closer to him, throwing one leg over his side as you settled onto him, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he looked at you with nothing but lust in his eyes.

“start moving, sweetheart. please.” he said, his hands sliding onto your hips as you batted them away, watching as all the colour practically drained from his face.

“i will if you answer another question.” you whispered, bouncing slightly on him as something of motivation as his head shot back against the couch, a grunt huffing from his chest.

“fuck, baby. your so mean, you know that? my cock’s already fucking aching for you.” he groaned, picking up the notebook off the couch as he read the next question, trying to focus on anything but you. after a moment of thought, he wrote something down before handing it back to you with desperation in his eyes.

“right again.” you said softly, mike barely giving you time to get the words out before his hands were on your hips roughly, guiding your body to grind against his as he groaned at the friction.

“such a brat, aren’t you?” he hissed, throwing his head back again when you started meeting him halfway, grinding harder against him as you too let out little whines in response to the feeling.

“you just fucking love teasing me like this, don’t you? huh?” he said through grunts, one of his hands roughly slapping your ass as you bit your lip in response.

“don’t get distracted, wheeler.” you mumbled, biting your lip as you handed him the notebook again, his eyes struggling to stay open as he scanned the page again, barely even thinking before writing something down.

he handed it back to you, his groans of pleasure suddenly stopping once he noticed the little smile on your face. “wrong. sorry.” you shrugged, about to slide off of him before he grabbed your hips.

“don’t even think about it. your gonna stay right here, baby.” he hissed, immediately leaning into you as your hand slid into his hair, lips placing a soft kiss on his own before pulling away to his ear.

“sorry. rules are rules.” you hummed, before removing his hands from your hips and sliding off him until you were sat in front of him.

you watched him as he leaned back, arms now rested on the back of the couch as he let out a sigh, an erection still evident in his jeans.

“you know, if you get the next one right i’ll take care of that. you can do whatever you want to me. no more questions. but— if you get it wrong, i’ll go home.” you said, watching in amusement as his head snapped in your direction in shock.

“you wouldn’t.”

“oh, but i would.” you said, nodding at him as he scoffed, arms crossed over his chest.

“i don’t believe you. i know your fucking soaked right now, you wouldn’t walk away.” he said, his tone almost mocking as you shrugged.

“wanna test that theory, wheeler?” you said, handing him the notebook as he gave you a look before looking down at the question, brows furrowed slightly. this one was harder, purposefully. you figured if you gave mike something to look forward too he’d be a bit more motivated to try harder.

you watched him bite his lip, his eyes not even flickering up at you like they usually would. boy, he really was trying. you almost felt pity for him as you watched him gnaw on his finger nails, before running a hand through his hair.

“you could just forfeit, baby.” you said, trying to suppress a giggle as he looked up at you with a glare, instantly shutting you up before looking back down at the page.

a moment later, he scribbled something down on the page and handed it to you with wide eyes and disheveled hair from repeatedly running his hands through it.

you eyes focused on the page, feeling mike’s intent gaze on you as you found your heart sinking for him when you read his answer. wrong.

you looked up at him, his head in his hands as he tilted his head slightly. you thought it’d be funny to just not announce yourself leaving, so you stood up and grabbed your coat from the other chair quickly, before he could grab your arm.

“wait– what the fuck! was it wrong?” he said frantically, genuinely stressed out as his hands flew into his hair.

“guess you should’ve just done your homework when i asked, mikey.” you asked, a mocking pout on your lips as he stood up, genuinely angry.

he slid in front of you as you walked toward the stairs out of his basement, his arms either side of the wooden stair handles.

“don’t go. please. i need you. it was fucking torture all week, not having you. i was stroking my dick every five seconds.” he whined, shaking his head a you as you looked up at him, brows slightly furrowed.

“you lost, wheeler. a deals a deal.” you hummed, crossing your arms over your chest as he rolled his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“yeah– but i didn’t think you’d actually leave..” he huffed, a giggle falling from your mouth as your hand reached up to cup his cheek, his body immediately melting under your touch.

“i’ll call you later.” you smiled, leaning up and pressing a soft, quick kiss against his lips. his face fell as you broke away, pushing past him and walking up the stairs. you gave him a little wave as he stared up at you, his brows furrowed and expression showing nothing but confusion and dissatisfaction as you opened the door and shut it behind you.

you did want mike, and you almost regretting walking out of there and getting on your bike to head back home. however, you couldn’t help that you were a tease.

[primaviva]

pairing. mike wheeler x fem!reader

synopsis. mike doesn’t think you can distract him from the campaign he’s been working on for 8 hours straight. clearly he’s forgotten how much his girlfriend enjoys winning. well, challenge accepted.

warnings. st5!mike, lot’s of kissing, making out.

god, you've never been more bored in your life.

mike is sitting cross-legged on the floor, back against his bed, hunching over an alarming amount of papers that surrounded him; graph paper, notebook paper, a spiral-bound binder with paper inside with BLOODBOUND SHADOWS OF EBONSPIRE which you could only assume was the campaign name written in sharpie on the cover, hell, maybe even parchment paper. his pencil was currently tucked behind his ear like a nerd straight out of a cheesy cliche movie ready to pop through the theater screen, and there next to him, an untouched can of coke sweating onto the carpet beside him.

you’re on his bed, settling in like you always do, sinking into the soft familiarity of his blue sheets. the white comforter with its grey grid pattern is tucked around you, a little cocoon of warmth, while you wrap yourself in his blue, red, and white patchwork blanket. you’re not doing anything in particular: just sitting there, legs bent, socks half-off so only the tips of your toes are sheltered, caught in that specific kind of boredom that comes from watching someone else be utterly, painfully absorbed in something that doesn’t include you.

it felt like you were third-wheeling a date between mike and dungeons & dragons. and mike hadn’t looked up in… a while. not that you minded, well, not entirely. you knew he’d be busy; he told you that. but wanting to be near him anyway, you were persistent, adamant about keeping him company. still, you hadn’t expected mike wheeler, the boy everyone in hawkins, indiana knew was wrapped around your finger and your finger only, to actually pay you no mind whatsoever. not that he had much mind to spare, you muttered to yourself, letting out a scoff and doing a cartoonish shrug, hoping maybe your exaggerated gestures to your inner monologue would earn a reaction.

nothing.

wow, he really could ignore you. 

mike has been muttering to himself for hours, and hours, and hours, and more hours.

“no, no—okay, wait, that doesn't make sense because if dustin rolls a perception check there, then lucas is definitely gonna—” he groans softly, dragging a hand down his face. “ugh, i should've made the corridor narrower.”

you tilt your head, watching him scribbling something out aggressively with a cartoonishly short pencil adjacent to the height of his thumb that you can tell he's been sharpening for at least a year at this point, the small point of lead scratching louder than necessary. all you could think is surely he has more pencils than this. his brows are furrowed in concentration, lips moving as he silently re-reads whatever doomed note he’s just written in the margins of the paper he's using to divvy up god knows whatever this campaign is about. but, you had to admit, there was something kind of endearing, dare you say even a little cute, about it; how serious he looks, how locked into his craft.

still.

you're bored.

and his girlfriend.

and being ignored.

if there was one thing mike wheeler couldn’t get away with, it was ignoring his girlfriend.

you slide a little closer to the edge of the bed, leaning forward until your knee brushes gently against his shoulder. mike barely reacts if he even notices. instead, he shifts just slightly toward your body, unconsciously closing the space between you, and goes right back to muttering to himself, completely absorbed in his own world.

“okay, but if will figures out the riddle too fast, then the whole thing collapses—unless i add, like… a false door?” he looks up at the ceiling like it might answer him. “yeah, false door.”

you hop off the bed, wiggling your toes as you shake off the sock that’s been stubbornly clinging like a tiny plunger at the edge of your feet. the cold bite of his floor presses against your bare feet, making you shiver just slightly as you pad over to him. sliding in beside him, you settle close, resting your chin gently on his shoulder, feeling the steady coziness of him beneath you.

mike pauses, pencil hovering mid-air from his compulsive writing.

“...you need something?” he asks, glancing sideways at you, tone casual for a question posed so stand-offish but eyes already softening upon landing on you.

you shrug, the edges of his blanket sliding off your shoulders with the motion, and hum softly, “not really.”

he squints at you, disbelief flashing in his eyes, because c’mon, he knows exactly when his girlfriend is teasing him. but before he can get a word out, you lean in and press a quick, soft kiss to his jaw.

the kiss is feather-light, your lips barely brushing against the curve of his jaw, the gentlest press guided by the tilt of your head. it’s quick, almost a whisper of contact; soft enough that it could be dismissed, yet enough to make him pause mid-thought. mike freezes for a moment, eyes widening ever so slightly, the faint tingle of lips lingering against his skin. you can feel the tension in his shoulders, subtle but telling, like a shockwave running through him.

it’s over almost before he can register it, a brief, sweet distraction.

mile clears his throat and looks back down at his notes a little too fast. “okay,” his voice cracks. “uh, false door. trapped…probably poisoned darts—no, wait, that's cliche.”   

your cheeks ache from smiling so much, and you can practically feel the effect it’s having on him, even if he’s pretending it hasn’t. there’s a quiet thrill in knowing you’ve captured even the tiniest fragment of your boyfriend’s attention. his pale ears are flushed a soft pink, his right foot tapping against the carpet to ground himself, and his handwriting has gone slightly messy, letters spilling across the page haphazardly. every little sign makes it clear: you’ve gotten to him, and he can’t hide it.

you lean back, watching him with that quiet, effortless fondness that’s become second nature. the room carries the faint, comforting pencil shavings and annoying fresh, sting to our nose like you inhaled sanitizer type of laundry scent, lingering around the blanket you’re curled into and his neatly made bed; a small sign he probably just changed the sheets before you came to have his room be in its best state for you. outside, a car hums past, and a lawn sprinkler clicks rhythmically in the distance. somehow, all of it makes the world feel impossibly yet romantically small and contained when you’re with mike.

he suddenly sighs and drops the pencil onto the paper, “...i’ve been doing this all day,” he mutters.

you let out a dry laugh, clapping a hand over your mouth when he gives you that twisted, annoyed look, the one that always means you’ve struck a nerve. you couldn’t help it; did he seriously just realize he’d been doing this all day?

you raised an eyebrow at him, “yeah, you have.”

he finally meets your gaze, chocolatey brown eyes soft, though the puffiness underneath makes his exhaustion impossible to miss. “i just—if this campaign sucks,” he exhales, rubbing his face, “dustin is never gonna let me hear the end of it.”

“you say that every time,” you point out, rolling your eyes like you haven’t heard this exact line a dozen times before.

“and every time i'm right,” he shoots back, then hesitates. “okay, not every time… but still.”

he shifts to the side until his thigh settles against yours, head tipping gently to rest atop yours while he flips through his binder. he doesn’t seem aware of it at all; just drawn to you without thinking, embracing your presence the way he always has. like second nature, maybe even first.

“you’re… being really patient,” he adds quietly.

“michael wheeler,” you gasp, stressing his full government name for effect. “you say that like you’re surprised.”

his eyebrows pull up and together, worry flashing in his eyes as he overthinks what he said, and you can’t help but laugh.

you stretch your lips into a soft smile, "i know. i have been patient.”

that earns a small, breathless laugh from him; warm, fond, the kind of laugh that makes your chest feel like it just hung a “now open” sign for butterflies.

“give me, like, five more minutes,” he states. “then i'm all yours. i promise.”

foolish wheeler, he has no idea he’s completely yours. with that sentiment in mind, you move forward without missing a beat.

mike is completely vulnerable, sprawled on the floor with his binder open in front of him, eyes glued to his notes. his pencil teeters between his fingers, the eraser dangerously close to his mouth as he chews it like a shish kebab. 

you slide closer, careful not to disturb the papers, and lean in. the moment your lips brush just below his ear, the world seems to tilt. the warmth of your mouth hits him first, soft and immediate, and his breath catches in a small, startled hitch.

he shivers slightly, shoulders stiffening as a jerk of awareness shoots through him. you can feel the tiny pulse in his neck under your lips, hear the uneven rhythm of his breath, and it makes the back of your spine tingle.

your lips press again, light and teasing, tracing a slow line along the curve of his jaw. he freezes completely, his body suddenly aware of every inch of contact. the hot of your breath, the gentle pressure of your lips, even the faint scent of you, hits every nerve. 

mike’s head tilts slightly toward you without thinking, ear brushing your cheek, his brown eyes flicking up to meet yours with that delicious combination of panic, confusion, and undeniable thrill. his chest rises and falls faster, lips parting just slightly as if expecting… what? he isn’t sure.

he jolts, almost choking on the eraser as he inhales too sharply, shoulders jumping at the sudden spark of sensation. “—oh,” he stammers, clearing his throat a little too hard. “okay, wow.”

then you move again, letting your lips drift from the curve of his jaw to his earlobe, nibbling lightly. the skin there is soft and sensitive, and the furor of your mouth against it makes him flinch.

“—hey,” he mutters, voice catching mid-word, shoulder twitching involuntarily under your touch. “what are you—” he clears his throat, trying to sound stern, but the words come out uneven, faltering. “…are you doing this on purpose?”

his chest rises a little faster, fingers gripping the edge of his notes like he’s trying to anchor himself, but it’s useless; every nerve in his body is suddenly alert, every movement of your lips driving him utterly insane.

you smirk, deliberately slow, devilish, letting your teeth graze his earlobe just enough to make him shiver. “maybe,” you whisper, voice soft but teasing. your lips trail from his ear to the edge of his jaw, brushing so lightly it’s almost a ghost of a touch, but heavy enough to make him inhale sharply.

he freezes, brown eyes widening, a flush creeping up his neck. even though he’s trying to act stern, there’s no disguising the way his body acts in your presence. he swallows, and you can almost see the knot of nervousness sliding down his throat. finally, mike turns his head toward you, and his eyes catch a glint you haven’t seen all night: sharp, focused, and completely detached from anything d&d-related. it’s challenge and nerves, the same expression he wears just before a big roll. a hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips, restrained but defiant, like he’s trying with every ounce of self-control not to give in… not to react to you.

“you think you can distract me that easily?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s amused, or trying desperately to look that way. 

you shrug, innocent as a lamb, but you’re far from it. slowly, deliberately, you lean in, letting your lips brush the corner of his mouth. his lips part just a fraction, and his breath fans over yours, small but intoxicating. you can feel the quickening thrum of his heartbeat under your cheek.

“i can try,” you whisper, lips brushing again as you pull back just enough to let him catch his breath, but close enough that the feverish thrill of the contact still cling to him.

before he can even form a comeback, you lean in, closing the space between you, and press your lips to his properly this time. at first, he doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t kiss back either. his lips hover against yours, just the faintest pressure, like he’s teetering on the edge of a decision that could derail his work for hours or completely consume him. you feel the balminess of his mouth, soft and hesitant, and the subtle tremor of his lips as they brush yours.

a quiet, almost strangled whimper escapes him, barely audible, and you can sense the tension running through his shoulders, the way his chest rises and falls unevenly. he’s trying to fight it, to resist, but every fiber of his body is betraying him, drawn irresistibly toward you. 

your hand comes up, cupping his jaw, thumb brushing gently over his cheek. the skin is warm under your touch, tender and soft, and it grounds him even as his lips are still locked in that agonizing hover against yours. you press closer, letting the kiss deepen slowly, deliberately. his lips part just a fraction in response, the subtle give of them against yours making your pulse race. the faint taste of him, slightly minty, alive, hits your senses, and you feel him shift subtly, leaning toward you, every muscle taut with the tension of wanting but holding back.

it’s all too much: that lingering, teasing press, the brush of your tongue against the edge of his lips, the gentle pull of your fingers along his jaw. 

his resolve snaps.

mike exhales through his nose, a soft, almost defeated sound that makes your chest flutter. his hand drifts up to your wrist, not to push you away but to finally ground himself, closing the last inch of space as he presses into you, letting go of all pretense. 

then he sighs into it, melting just a little. “you’re—” he pulls back barely enough to speak, forehead resting against yours, voice low and fond, “you’re impossible… and kind of evil.”

“you like it,” you quip back, smile displayed on your oh-so-pretty face.

he lets out a small laugh, breathy and low. “yeah,” mike admits, voice softer now. “i do.”

and then, before you can even start teasing him, his hands slide down your thighs. the motion is quick, almost instinctive, like he surprised himself with it. his grip is firm but careful, lifting you slightly before pulling you down into his lap in one smooth, slightly awkward movement that somehow feels perfectly natural. you gasp as you land, knees bracketing his hips, your weight settling against him, chest pressing to chest, every inch of contact sparking a thrill you can feel straight through your spine.

“—okay,” he mutters, eyes flicking up to yours, wide and dark now. his mouth curls into something almost smug.  “that came out cooler in my head.”

you laugh, hands bracing against his shoulders as you settle there, knees on either side of him. he looks up at you now, really looks: eyes darker, more focused, mouth curved into something proud and teasing.

“thought you were calling the shots?” he murmurs, lips just brushing yours, teasing and daring.

you try to answer, but he leans in, closing the space between you, and presses his lips to yours.

it starts slow, a tentative brush of warmth over your lips, soft and exploratory. he tilts his head just slightly, and you mirror him, letting the rhythm build naturally. his lips are insistent yet gentle, testing, coaxing. he parts them just enough, and yours open instinctively in response.

your tongue flicks out, light and teasing, brushing against the seam of his lips. mike let’s his meet yours, slow at first, careful, almost shy. but as your tongues twist and glide over each other, exploring, the kiss grows bolder, more urgent. your knees feel weak, your breath hitching slightly, chest pressing against his, your whole body suddenly aware of his closeness.

his hands slide up your sides, tracing the curve of your waist, fingers pressing lightly but firmly as he leans into you, chest against yours. you arch instinctively, letting the contact deepen. his lips move over yours with a surprising confidence, perfectly balanced with the familiar earnestness you’ve always loved in him.

you tilt your head, deepening the kiss, and he follows immediately, tilting his face to match yours. one hand cups your nape, thumb brushing your throat, fingers lingering just under your ear. the other drifts along your side, grounding him even as he leans in closer. every glide, every flick of tongue, every press of lips is deliberate, synchronized, like you’re moving in some unspoken thing together.

when he finally pulls back just enough to breathe, noses brushing, lips still parted, his hair falling messily across his forehead.

“you—” he exhales, a soft laugh escaping through his nose, warm and breathless. “you always do that.”

“do what?” you murmur, voice low, teasing.

“win,” he says quietly, almost reverently. his thumbs brush slow, absent circles over your sides, still holding you close, grounding both of you. “you always win… when you kiss me like that. you know that, right?”

you don’t answer, because frankly, you don’t need to.

instead, you lean in again, letting your lips meet his, slow and unhurried, savoring the moment, letting the world fade out. this time, there’s no hesitation as mike melts into it immediately, lips pressing, tilting, molding to yours. his eyes flutter shut, chest pressing against yours, hands lingering on your sides, fingers entwining without thought.

his breath mingles with yours, and the quiet little sigh that escapes him is all the surrender you need. you can feel him relax completely, leaning in, moving with you, a body and soul given over entirely to you.

behind him, the binder lies forgotten, the campaign abandoned, notes spilling in a careless heap across the floor. none of it matters anymore.

it’s just you.

it’s just him.

so yeah… mike wheeler. you really do always win.

DO NOT STEAL, COPY, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK. ©PRIMAVIVA.

[peachhcs]

off the record au masterlist ★ ☆

finn wolfhard x actress!reader (she/her pronouns)

UPDATED: 01/27/26

au timeline + background | y/n's st character background

mood board

off the record au in timeline order! (fics listed from beginning to present in their relationship)

imagines

calpurnia!

the tower of truth!

requests

the kitten interview

the tonight show starring jimmy fallon

the chicken wing interview

subtle flirting

couples GQ interview

the lie detector test

meeting the IT cast

trailer concerts

reacting to fan edits!

finn and y/n go live

truth or dare with teen vogue | what’s on finn’s phone (part 2)

getting competitive

first date

alone in the trailer* | part two*

rude interviewer

final documentary snippets

on the red carpet

how well does my co star know me?

elle phoning it in prank calls

stranger strings 10 years later

SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE: FINN WOLFHARD

WIRED: autocomplete interview

little moments in between on set

mudane moments

finn taking care of you when you're drunk

the obvious crushes you and finn had on each other

blurbs

finn protecting you from paps

telling the cast

the most impossible stranger things quiz

a blurb about your st character in the st universe | mike + sloane hcs | sloane's instagram through the seasons

a ring | the engagement! | cast + more fan reactions | the wedding

matching tattoos

jealous finn | part 2

mini argument

getting heated | fan reactions

cuddling

sick day

y/n in trailers after dark music video

fan interactions | more fan interactions | fan gossip blogs

golden globes red carpet

finn asks y/n out + first kiss

y/n’s season 5 wrap speech

finn supporting you during a scene

slow mornings

y/n gets hurt on set

being obvious on the red carpet

social media posts

season 5 premiere

cat’s outta the bag

y/n’s photo dump

finn's birthday + fic at the end

season 5 volume 2 premiere

season 5 red carpet premiere

season 5 volume 3 premiere

finn’s photo dump

y/n’s 23rd birthday

filming break photo dump

wedding post

snl photo dump

one year wedding anniversary

[smithusiast]

what about a cocky will smut where they both “hate” each other?? the sex would be so hot🤭

𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞

pairing: will x reader

wc: 1.5k

warnings: smut 18+ unprotected sex, piv, choking (i suck at this) mdni please!

18+ content below the cut, mdni please!

every little thing about will smith grinds your gears. the way he walks into a room like he owns it, the lazy smirk that's always resting on his face, the way he knows he’s good at pissing you off too. especially tonight, at the stupid party your friend dragged you to where he made it his mission to not leave you the fuck alone.

you hate him, you actually fucking despise this man.

“how’s that working out for ya?”

you dont even bother turning to look at him, knowing he’ll have that fuckass smirk resting on his perfectly beautiful face. you take a sip out of your drink, swirling the rest of the drink in the cup.

“what?”

“where you pretend that i don’t get on your nerves, it's cute really; turns me on actually if im being honest, almost convincing."

you snap your head to face him and there he is, grin resting on his lips like he knows that caught your attention the way he wanted it to. his body is leaning against the wall next to you wearing that black shirt that fits him too well and you hate the fact that he looks hot in it.

"maybe if you took the hint and left me alone, i wouldn't have to pretend."

his grin widens, his eyes flickering to your lips for a moment before locking with yours. "but where's the fun in that?"

you roll your eyes pushing off the wall to walk away, but his hand catches your wrist pulling you back.

"where are you going?"

"away from you."

"no you're not."

you glare at him. "you're so fucking irritating, you know that?"

"yeah, i've been told." he steps closer, and suddenly the space between you is too small, his body blocking you against the wall. "but you keep coming back don't cha? keeps me wondering why."

"i don't—"

"-you do." his head tilts, eyes scanning your face. "i mean even right now, you could've walked away when i first grabbed you but you didn't. you could've made a scene but you didn't. you're still here y/n, still letting me push you against this wall."

your heart is hammering so loud you're pretty sure he can hear it, heat forming between your thighs.

"maybe i just like watching you make an ass of yourself."

he chuckles, shaking his head. "and maybe i like watching you pretend you don't want this."

he leans down, lips lingering against yours but he doesn't kiss you. instead, he lets the moment stretch, lets you feel every second of his eyes on your lips and then he steps back.

"my place, ten minutes. or don't your choice."

and he walks away.

-

and now you find yourself at his front door.

of course you show up and when you knock on his door, he opens it with that same smug look like he knew all along you would.

"took you long enough."

"shut the fuck up will."

he grins and before you can say another word, his arm snakes around your waist pulling you inside kicking the door shut behind you. your back pressed up against the wall and his mouth is on yours.

his hands slide down your sides, gripping your hips pulling you against him and you feel how hard he already is.

"god," he mutters against your lips, "do y’have any idea how long i've wanted to shut you up like this?"

"you talk too much," you snap, your hand finding the back of his neck, pulling him back in, and this time the kiss is hungrier.

his hands find the hem of your shirt, tugging it up and you let him pull it over your head. his eyes drop to your chest, and the smirk on his face makes you want to smack him.

"fuck, knew you'd have tits like this been thinking about them for months."

you should be offended by that instead you feel heat pool between your legs. "you're such a tool smith."

"yeah but i'm a tool who's about to have his mouth all over you, so who's really winning here?"

before you can retort, he's on his knees.

he makes quick work of your jeans pulling them down along with your panties, his hands are on your thighs spreading you open as he looks up at you.

"tell me you don't want this," he murmurs, "look me in the eye and tell me you don't want my mouth on you."

you can't say it because it's a lie, and he knows it too as he squeezes your thigh tightly.

"that's what i thought."

his tongue licks a stripe up the slit before reaching up your clit sucking hard. your knees buckle, underneath you as your hand flies to his hair letting out a moan of his name before you can stop yourself.

"fuck will,”

he hums against you, his fingers sliding into you curling up so perfectly inside you as you gasp as they hit that spot that has you seeing stars.

"there it is," he murmurs, and he presses against it again harder, his mouth returning to your clit. your legs buckle underneath you and you could feel his free hand sliding up to grip your hip, holding you in place.

he works you through your orgasm, fingers fucking you while his mouth sucks your clit.

“cmon, i know you’re close baby,” his fingers curling up and hitting that spot roughly which sends you over the edge as you release. he stands up, sucking his fingers off in between his lips looking pleased.

"not bad for someone you hate huh?"

"just shut up and fuck me."

“as you wish angel.”

he picks you up, carrying you to his bedroom, throwing you onto the bed. he follows you down, settling between your thighs.

"you're so sexy when you're freshly undone from my mouth, i'm gonna miss that look once i'm done with you."

"you're so full of yourself."

"y’know it." he leans down kissing your neck, biting hard enough to make you gasp. "and you're so in denial, perfect combination."

he marks his way down your body, leaving dark hickeys on your collarbone to your chest.

“gotta make sure everyone knows,” he mutters, moving to the other side. "knows who you were with."

"we hate each other—" you breath out.

“yeah? how long are we gonna keep pretending that?”

his hand wraps around your throat, his eyes locking with yours.

"you ready to hate me a little more?"

"just fuck me will."

he lines himself up and pushes, your eyes rolling back at the fullness. his lips brush against your ears, letting out a low groan. he gives you a second to adjust before he starts moving.

his hips slam into yours, the grip on your throat tightening just enough to make your head spin. his other hand slides up to your tits squeezing, thumb flicking over your nipple.

"look at you," he breathes, "taking me so fucking well and you hate me right? that's what you keep saying."

"i- i do hate you—"

"yeah?" he shifts his angle and when he hits that spot again, you can’t help but let out a scream. "you hate this spot too? should i stop hitting it?"

"don't you fucking dare.”

he grins as he aims for it with every thrust. his pace not slowing down one bit as your nails claw at his back.

"that's it, wanna feel you cum all over me. show me how much you hate me.”

“will, i’m so close.” you whine, bucking your hips up to meet his thrusts but he holds you down against the mattress.

“say you don’t hate me.”

“will—“

his pace stalls, as he pulls out and roughly slamming back in causing you to gasp.

“say it.”

he repeats that once again, his hand finding your throat again squeezing gently locking his eyes with yours as he pulls out again causing you to whine below him.

“will please, i was so close.”

“i’m waiting baby,”

and with that he slams inside you even harder than before causing your eyes to roll back as he hits that spot inside you over and over again.

“fuck— i don’t hate you will. i don’t hate you one bit.”

he smirks, his lips slamming against yours in a sloppy kiss. “that’s what i thought.”

his fingers reach down between you two, rubbing fast circles against your clit as you fall apart, cumming with a cry as your body shakes under him. he fucks you through it, groaning at the way you clench around him.

"fuck baby yes," he hisses, "that's it."

he follows a moment later, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a deep moan. he stays in you, his forehead pressed to yours.

“so fucking perfect f’me.”

wills lips find yours once more, before slowly pulling out of you watching his cum leak out of you. his finger slides down, pushing it back inside you before bringing it up to your lips.

“open up baby,”

you don’t hesitate, wrapping your lips against his digits sucking them clean eyes locking on his with every movement.

“so much for hating me hm?”

you bite back a smile, rolling your eyes punching his chest as he chuckles.

“if anything, i think you’re the one obsessed with me.”

“who am i to disagree to that?”

[kamiflix]

▶︎︎ Cloud 10 (starring . avatar aang)

synopsis . Your boyfriend reaching the avatar state when he’s close. content . afab!reader, improper use of air bending, established relationship, dirty talk, missionary, pet names, he (nervously) talks you through it, praise, implied/slight breeding kink, etc.

author's note: i’d lick the sweat off his bald head if he let me.

You should’ve known something was up when the bedroom’s lanterns began to flicker.

But with the way Aang's hips snapped down against yours in such a relentlessly missionary rhythm—plump cock smothered deep within the juicily squelching walls of your pussy—it was hard to focus on anything else outside of the way he stretched you open.

HIs breaths came in searing pants against your neck, one gripping hand braced beside your head whilst his free one occupied itself with one of your thighs, tugging your leg impossibly higher around his waist just so that he could fuck you at that pinpointingly perfect angle.

"Ohhh, that's ittt, sweet girl. T-Taking me so well," Aang murmured as his eyes locked onto yours with shimmers of honest adoration visible all over them. "Keep squeezing me like that, mmgh. F-Feels good. So good." He thrusted even harder then, his breath flying out of him along with it as the wet slap of skin on skin emulated throughout the room.

His muscles tensed and his balls felt sorely heavy with each time they came plapping down against your sweat-slicked skin. The lanterns began to flicker again, brighter this time around as they cast shadows around the bedroom.

Then he leaned all the way down to smush his soft lips into yours, capturing your breath with in a messy kiss. His tongue came out to slide against yours as his firm body rocked into yours, the bed struggling to remain in place with his every move.

When his mouth left yours, he was dazed. This should've been the second signal for you. Especially as he let out a loud groan and went whispering, "Gonna breed this pretty cunt-," Instantly catching himself after and letting those soft grey eyes of his go all the more doe-like on you, "Shit... can I say that? I-Is that okay? Do you like it when I talk to you like tht?"

His hips picked up in pace, jaw going stiff as the balmy head of his cock smudged all sloppily against your cervix. Aang glanced down to see how he was disappearing into you, gasping at the obscene sight below him and then returning his eyes to yours.

"Tell me, baby. Please, talk to me. Tell me how you want me-, how you need me. I just wanna-, ohfuck—" Mid-sentence, his steady thrusts seem to derail and your cunt soaks around him to leave a sheeny layer of aroused slick all over his dick.

You're sucking him in deeper than he expected you to, and it catches him absolutely off guard. Which you notice rather quickly, batting your fucked-out eyes up at him, "Aang? Are you okay?"

"Yeah-, yes.. You just keep—" He hunches over against you—body going taut and lean muscles constricting against one another. "You keep squeezing me like that."

Begining to like seeing him struggle, "Squeezing like what?" you asked in sync with your walls clenching around the deft base of his cock.

Air puffs right out of him as if he'd been choked and his body shudders with something powerful coursing through him. You only catch it for a split second the first time it happens—a brief flash over both his markings and his eyes as his next array of groaning stammers out of him.

Following this is the flash of something wild in his eyes as they broaden, pupils dialating a fraction. Aang's head tips to the side and the plump crown of his cock slavers itself alllll around your insides, the puffy lips of your cunt left to quiver around him.

"You're so pretty-," Your loving boyfriend chuffs out, unknowingly thrusting into you harder via a burst of controlled air slapping against his backside. "H-Have I told you that? Hm?" He's asking as if he wasn't literally air bending himself into fucking you harder.

Your head just barely manages a nod, tears coating your lash line, "Nngh-, yes, Aang."

"Say it back to me then," Aang encourages. In between his breathy words, a brush of air is felt slithering against your cunt. It was almost as if his ability to seamlessly multitask was showcasing the best of his abilities via stimulating you everywhere. "Tell me how pretty my girl is, yeah?"

The sensation brings a stutter to your speech, "A-Aang, I can’t," you cry out, nails lightly scraping at his back.

He smiles halfway before his thrusting grows erratic and his jaw slacks some, "Oh. You're gushing-, shit."

You feel the way his tip pulsates inside you, his hips struggling to pull himself back for a moment long enough to give his cock a second to breathe—not that he much cared to do so anyway.

"So wet. Wanna see you cum-, wanna feel it." Aang husks, "Can you do that? Cum for me?"

"Mhmm," You nod weakly at first but within the next few seconds, as something begins to rumble distantly, you start to second guess your agreement. Mouth falling agape, “Wait, s’too much-,” you try to warn him.

He’s lost though—lost in the feel of your greedy insides begging his dick to spill enough seed into you to repopulate a nation or two at least. Aang’s unconscious manipulation of air only gets worse too, he goes from using his bending to fuck himself deeper to using it to sprawl your puffy pussy lips ‘n legs apart even wider.

You’re a stretched out mess in mere seconds, gasping his name and crying out in pleasure as your back begins arch. Then he’s chuckling all of a sudden and you swear for a moment he’s not even the same man you knew him to be.

Aang’s head cocks back some and his eyes roll back, “You can take it,” he grunts like he knows his words to be true and no argument could convince him otherwise. “You always do. Mmgh-,” He bites his lip for a second before looking down at you once more. “Can’t you feel that? The air helpin’ me fill you up? It’s-, hah.. It’s a little something I’ve been practicing.”

You pout at first, “Aang, I don’t know if-, mmgnh! Y-Your markings!”

The room illuminates with colors of spiritual blue before he notices what you’re talking about.

“What about them?” Aang asks cluelessly, his voice having changed due to the height of pleasure and energy surging through him.

Sweat drips down his body but it doesn’t even manage to touch you or the bed because he’s bending those droplets just as he was the air—completely losing himself in the feel of you and bending all sorts of shit because of it.

“They’re glowing,” You gasp.

Then his cock buries itself all the way in, every stiff inch clamped by your sappy insides, and his body comes to a sharp stop.

You knew there were… concerns when it came to having sex with your boyfriend who just so happens to be the avatar. But, no one told you he’d enter the avatar state just from cumming too hard!!

It’s while creamy gushes of cum are flooding into your poor cunt that his body is shuddering and he’s literally entering a new state of pleasure. He could hardly manage a word out or even move, the state had taken him over entirely.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little worried for him because of it, but honestly you were a tad bit distracted by how fucking hot it was.

You shouldn’t let this go to your head, really.

But who else can say their pussy sent their boyfriend into the avatar state?

That’s something to brag about!

(not proofread) banner from “Welcome to The Muscle Salon!” || tags:

@sukuchohq @chosbaby @missackerman64 @ros3xoxo @yulissacastillo11 @ashsummer @swtiijas @chxseatl @wonderfullymickey @tw0w0

@beebopbiscuit @fave-anime-fics @xxvendettaxx @iiakithegoat @hiromihigurumaswife @millenaosstuff @mel-1s-treading-carefully

additional notes: i might write some more of this tbh, we’ll see.

[zoloft-princess]

[juliettrulyyours]

My Shampoo Fairy

My Shampoo Fairy

Masterlist

synopsis: after being brutally rejected by James Potter, the last thing you expected was for him to show up in your common room—grinning, holding a bouquet, and calling you his girlfriend.

warning: cursing and kinda yearner james

i accidentally made him a yearner because i couldn’t stop picturing that one scene of ATJ in kickass LOL

“Sorry, I just don’t see myself liking fairies,” James tells you, right after you’ve finished confessing your long-standing, deeply rooted crush on him—one that’s been quietly blooming since second year.

The two of you are alone just outside the Quidditch pitch. He had just been practicing with the entire Gryffindor team when you suddenly asked if you could talk to him for a moment. A few Gryffindors had gone, “Ooooh,” or exchanged glances with smug, knowing smirks.

It’s no secret that James Potter—Quidditch Captain and Gryffindor’s Golden Boy—has a long list of admirers at Hogwarts. With his easy-going nature, magnetic charm, and that infuriatingly boyish smile, you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t found him attractive at least once. It doesn’t help that he’s genuinely good-looking. The only real flaw, perhaps, is that he’s arrogant, a bully, and a bit of a troublemaker. Still, even that doesn’t stop some girls from loving the thrill of “fixing” the bad boy.

You never really expected him to accept or say that he saw something between the two of you. But still, you didn’t expect this to be his response to your confession.

“Fairies?” you ask, confused. “What do you mean?”

Fairies? 

What does that even mean?

He visibly looks awkward before scratching the back of his neck and saying, “You know… really beautiful people, but that’s it.”

You stare at him, confused—and now slightly offended. “Pardon?”

Did he just say you had no personality?

He just sighs and mutters, “This is what I mean…” He continues, “You already know what I mean. Don’t make me hurt your feelings more—then you’ll go telling people I gave you some confusing reply.”

He says it, and all you can do is stare at him with the most offended, confused expression you’ve probably ever made.

You couldn’t believe this was real. Sure, you admit it—you knew he wasn’t going to accept your confession. He was most likely going to reject you. But not like this. He was always known as that really nice, one-year-above-you senior. You didn’t expect that this was how he actually talked.

Can someone really be this full of themselves? 

To think that if someone got rejected by them, they’d automatically go around badmouthing him?

That was exactly what you remembered happened last year—when you confessed to James Fleamont Potter about your childhood crush on him.

It was short, bittersweet, and you were ruthlessly rejected.

So why, exactly, had one of your housemates just barged into your room saying that James Potter was waiting for you downstairs… with flowers?

You look at her, confused. “What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

“I’m serious! He’s been standing there for a couple of minutes now—some students are already starting to form a crowd!” she says, her hand still gripping the doorknob.

The two of you just stare at each other for a moment—your eyes narrowing with suspicion, hers wide with urgency, silently begging you to believe her.

Then, you throw on your student robes and rush out of the room together, heading straight for the common room.

When you finally reach the common room, the first thing you notice is the crowd of students gathered near the door, all looking and whispering about something.

“E-Excuse me,” you say. “Please let me through…” you continue as you try to push past the sea of people.

Did no one have classes today? Seriously.

As you finally make it through, your eyes land on the man of the hour—leaning casually against the wall, one hand tucked into the pocket of his robes while the other holds a bouquet of flowers. 

He’s staring down at them, looking at each petal as if counting them. But then, as if sensing your gaze, he lifts his head, turns in your direction, and locks eyes with you. His eyes widen—then he grins and immediately jogs over.

“Fairy! I’ve been looking for you!” he calls, picking up his pace before stopping right in front of you—and wrapping you in a hug, right there in front of everyone.

Shit.

He pulls away, and you just stand there, frozen. You don’t even return the hug—you’re still too stunned to move.

He pouts. “Why didn’t you visit me? I missed you,” he says, then offers you the flowers. “Here. Flowers for my beautiful fairy.”

You take them slowly, glance at them for a moment, then look back up at him—still stunned.

Then, without warning, he cups your face—both hands gently resting just below your cheeks—leans in, and presses a kiss to your forehead.

Your eyes go wide.

And it’s not just yours. All around you, you can hear it—the gasps, the stunned whispers. Some girls are even tearing at the sight, as if their world had just ended.

James Potter isn’t in some temporary fling, this isn’t a will-they-won’t-they with Lily Evans again.

No.

He has just publicly declared, to the entire student body of Hogwarts, that Gryffindor’s Golden Boy is officially off the market.

He then looks at you, still grinning. “So, what time are your classes again? Want to sit in the courtyard while we wait?”

You look at him, now slightly confused. “Uh…”

Before you can respond, someone running towards you cuts off your thoughts.

“Prongs!” the person yells again, sprinting over—two other boys close behind him. You squint to get a better look, and sure enough—it’s Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew.

James turns towards the voice and, upon seeing Sirius, waves brightly. “Padfoot!”

Sirius finally reaches you, parting through the crowd as he pushes forward. Once he and the others are close enough, all three immediately fix their eyes on James.

“We’ve been looking all over for you,” Sirius says, slightly out of breath. “You’re not even supposed to be out of bed yet, remember?”

Remus and Peter stand on either side of him, also panting, clearly having run all around the school.

James just laughs. “Poppy said I could go early. Said I heal fast,” he says with a grin, flexing his right bicep for emphasis. Then, he casually throws an arm around you. “Also, I wanted to visit my fairy.” He turns to you, smiling as he gently tightens his grip on your shoulder.

His response makes all three of them look at you—each with a different reaction, but confusion is the most obvious. They glance at one another, then at the lingering crowd still watching everything unfold.

“Hey, Prongs…” Remus is the first to speak. “Can we borrow, uh… Fairy? Just for a quick talk. Won’t take long.”

He steps closer as he says it, and James looks at him, puzzled.

“Why? I’ll just come with you guys. It’s not a big deal.”

“No! Uh… Wormtail… has something to talk to you about,” Sirius says quickly, throwing a pointed look at Peter.

Peter stares back, blinking. “I do?” he asks, which earns him a sharper look from Sirius.

“I mean… yeah, I do! It’s kind of a thing only you can help me with, so…” Peter adds, hoping he doesn’t sound suspicious.

James raises an eyebrow at them but eventually shrugs. “Okay,” he says, then turns back to you. “I’ll talk to you later, yeah? We have a lot of catching up to do.” He caresses your cheek gently before winking.

You, still slightly frozen, can only respond with, “Y-Yeah. I’ll see you… later?”

He grins, then walks away with Peter. You’re still watching him when Sirius and Remus come closer—Sirius lightly taking your arm.

“Haha, yeah. Just talk to her later,” Sirius says, waving back at James, who waves one last time before disappearing down the corridor with Peter.

Once they’re out of sight, both boys turn back to you. “Can we talk somewhere more private?” one of them asks, casting a glance at the students still lingering nearby, though the crowd has thinned.

You just nod. “S-Sure. We can go to the covered bridge. No one’s usually there at this hour.”

They nod, and you lead the way—both of them walking silently just a few steps behind. The air between the three of you is tense and awkward, thick enough to cut with a knife.

You still can’t believe what’s happening.

What was up with Potter? Why did Black and Lupin want to talk to you? Why did he call you Fairy when that’s not even your name??

A hundred questions circle in your head as you finally near the covered bridge—and just like you said, there’s hardly anyone around this early. When you all get there, the three of you just stand in silence for a few seconds before Sirius finally speaks up.

“So… you’re Fairy?” he says, arms crossed, staring straight at you.

You stare at him before replying, “If you mean my name is fairy, then no.”

He squints, narrowing his eyes at you. “I meant—you’re Prongs’ girlfriend. The one he’s apparently had for a couple of weeks that none of us knew about.”

His words make your eyes go wide, and instinctively, you throw your arms up near your chest, as if that could shield you from the absurdity.

“Whoa! I am not his—or anybody’s—girlfriend. I barely even know the guy!”

“You’re not his girlfriend? Then why did he say you were?” Remus jumps in quickly, eyes narrowing slightly.

You all stare at one another for a tense beat, glancing between faces. And then, all your heads click into the same thought.

“I did not give him a love potion!”

“You love potion-ed my best friend!”

“You gave James a love potion, then?”

All three lines fly out at once.

Sirius pointing accusingly at you, you flailing your hands wildly in protest, and Remus standing there with arms crossed and one brow raised.

“Then…” Sirius stands up straighter. “Who are you to Prongs?” he finishes.

“I…” you start, trying to find the right words. “He rejected me last year, if that counts as being something to him.”

They both stare at you, visibly confused by your answer. You got rejected by James and now you’re his… girlfriend?

“Wait…” Remus says, brows furrowing as something clicks in his head.

“Didn’t Madam Pomfrey say something about possible distorted memories? Since he got hit in the head really hard by that quaffle?” he continues, turning to Sirius—whose eyes widen in realization.

“I’m sorry, but who was hit in the head?” you ask, completely lost.

“Prongs was—last week, during the match with Slytherin…” Sirius says, his tone shifting into confusion. “How do you not know that? It’s been a pretty big deal all week.”

You just shrug. “I’m not a Quidditch fan.”

They exchange glances before diving right back into the earlier conversation, discussing everything Madam Pomfrey had told them—the possible outcomes of James forgetting or misremembering things, how there was even a chance he’d forget his name or his friends entirely. Thankfully, that didn’t happen. Only the first part though.

You suddenly cut in, realization hitting you like a train.

“Wait. Are you saying Potter thinks I’m his girlfriend?”

Your voice snaps them both out of the conversation, pulling their full attention back to you.

“Yes—but it’s fine! It’ll just be for a few weeks—” Sirius starts, trying to reassure you that the situation is temporary.

“No way,” you interrupt sharply, immediately turning on your heel to walk away from the madness.

There was no bloody way you were going to pretend to be the girlfriend of the same guy who rejected you. Especially not now, when you’ve finally moved on from him.

They chase after you instantly. “Wait!” they both shout, jogging to catch up to you.

Once they do, Sirius starts again. “It’ll just be until he gets his memories back on his own. We promise.”

“I don’t care. I’m not doing it,” you say, still stubborn, still walking. You turn a corner without slowing down.

Sirius sighs and turns to Remus.

“I just realized this must be why he couldn’t name who ‘Fairy’ was—because he didn’t even know her name at all.”

Remus gives him a look, then replies, “Realize things later. Right now, we’re convincing her.”

And with that, they break into a jog again—just in time to see you turning another corner. You’re speed walking now. You have free period and your classes are done, so you’re heading back to your common room.

“Please reconsider,” Remus calls out. “Madam Pomfrey said it’s not advisable for us to interfere with how he regains his memory.”

You glance at him, before sighing and suddenly stopping—making them nearly crash into each other trying not to bump into you.

“And what is advisable?” you ask, looking at Remus directly.

“That we don’t tell him anything too stressful. Madam Pomfrey said any added pressure might worsen his condition.” he answers calmly.

“And the news that his girlfriend isn’t actually his girlfriend is… kind of stressful. I’d be going insane if I were him,” Sirius adds with a shrug, which earns him a glare from you. 

He shuts his mouth, then offers a sheepish smile.

You look at the both of them, arms crossed—still unconvinced, but clearly thinking it over.

“We’re pleading with you here,” Remus says. “We know it’s a little weird, but honestly—what isn’t weird at Hogwarts?”

“It’ll just be a few weeks. Or days, even! Prongsie does heal fast—according to him, at least!” Sirius chimes in.

You’re still staring at them, and just as you’re about to speak—

“Also, being Prongs’ girlfriend is a title every girl in Hogwarts would die for,” Sirius mutters under his breath, and you immediately glare at him then start to turn around again.

“No, no, no! Come back! I was just joking!” Sirius says quickly, reaching out a hand.

Remus simply watches him, sighs, and rolls his eyes.

This tosser.

You turn back around, staring them both down.

“Fine. But only because Madam Pomfrey specifically said those things,” you say. Then, you continue. “Not because of… that.”

You finish with another pointed glare in Sirius’ direction. He just flashes you a sheepish grin again.

“Fairy!”

All three of you are suddenly interrupted by someone calling you. You glance over Sirius’ and Remus’ shoulders—and there he is.

Your apparent boyfriend.

—

Just a day after that, the news had already traveled all around Hogwarts that James Potter was apparently dating a girl no one even knew existed. And by that, they meant you.

You weren’t known as the smartest, like Evans. You weren’t considered one of the prettiest, like anyone from the Black family. You weren’t even a well-known Hogwarts Quidditch player.

No one knew who you were.

So—who was Fairy?

You weren’t aware of any of this yet. You were just heading out, having just finished getting dressed and about to make your way to the Great Hall for breakfast. You told your friends to go on ahead, saying you’d answer their questions another time because you weren’t quite comfortable yet. Truthfully, you just didn’t think it was your place to explain James’ situation.

“Good morning, my fairy.”

The moment you opened the door, the first thing you heard was his voice—the one you now knew far too well.

“Potter!” you exclaim. “W-What… are you doing here?”

You look at him and see him leaning against the wall, just like yesterday. He’s already in his Gryffindor robes, hair still a mess—like he just rolled out of bed. 

Has he been waiting for you?

“I’m walking you to breakfast, obviously,” he says with a slight tilt of his head. Then, more pointedly, “Did you just call me Potter?”

You, now slowly walking towards him, glance up. He waits for you to catch up, and the two of you begin strolling together, side by side. His question still lingers in the air. Oh. Should you be calling him something else? Like… what?

“Sorry, uh…” you cough lightly, “love, I didn’t sleep well last night,” you say, deciding on that nickname—because that’s what people in love call each other… right?

He goes quiet. The two of you continue down the corridor towards the Great Hall. There are barely any students around—most of them are already eating. You’ve always been a bit late anyway, so it feels normal to have a few quiet moments before the noise.

Then suddenly, he turns to you with a smirk. “I’m your love now, huh?”

You look at him, confused. “What?”

He grins wider. “Thought you said you weren’t the nickname type? You used to only ever call me James. What changed?” He leans into you, bumping your shoulder like he’s teasing.

“Am I… making you change your ways, fairy?” he whispers in your ear.

Your eyes widened at the way he said it. And before you know it, you shove him away and start walking faster towards the Great Hall. You don’t notice it—but your ears are now the faintest shade of pink.

He laughs at your reaction, finding it adorable, then jogs to catch up.

“Wait for me, love!”

“Sod off, Potter!”

—

You told yourself that you weren’t going to fall for this again.

For him, again.

“And that’s another ten points to Potter!” screamed the Quidditch commentator as James scored once more, causing the crowd beside you to erupt in cheers. You were sitting in the Gryffindor stands because James had asked (begged) you to come. He insisted that the reason he was hit last time was because his “lucky charm” wasn’t there.

Of course you weren’t there. He hadn’t even known who you were.

And yet… you didn’t tell him that. You’d reluctantly agreed, which meant cramming all your homework the night before just so you could make time for James’ game.

“Potter gets the quaffle again, now zooming past the Ravenclaws—will he score another go—He did! Potter scores another goal for Gryffindor! What a game!” the commentator shouted as James’ name echoed across the pitch once more.

James immediately began scanning the Gryffindor stands, eyes darting as though searching for something—or someone. Then he spots you, locking eyes. He then grins and points right at you.

Your eyes widen, and you instinctively shake your head slightly, mortified. James only laughs at your reaction.

“Oh! Looks like Potter is dedicating that goal to someone—who is… his lucky charm?—wait, no, my partner just told me that it’s Potter’s Fairy! Woo!” the commentator cackles, his partner whispering excitedly beside him to clarify just who you were.

The moment the announcement was made, the Gryffindor crowd exploded again. People beside you began pushing playfully at your shoulders, cheering for you, teasing you, all in good fun. James’ “dedicated” goal had now turned you into a minor celebrity. You smiled at them, laughed along with the teasing, trying desperately not to let the heat rise to your cheeks. You were not going to make this a big deal.

You were here to help him recover. To keep your promise to his friends—that you wouldn’t stress him out. That you’d go along with it until his memories returned. And when that day came, you’d forget this ever happened.

That’s what this was supposed to be.

It’s just…

Maybe you were starting to wish it would all be over sooner, because if this went on any longer…

You weren’t sure you’d be able to stop yourself from falling for him all over again.

—

“How long are you going to write that? It’s been hours,” James complains, watching as you scribble another paragraph for your Potions homework.

“As long as I need to, Jamesy. There’s no time limit when it comes to finishing homework,” you reply, skimming over the last paragraph before adding a transition to connect them smoothly.

He just groans again and lays his head down on the table. The two of you are currently in the library. You’d both just finished classes, and he was about to invite you for a walk around the Black Lake—until you told him you were going to finish assignments that weren’t even due for another three days. He’d grumbled at first, clearly displeased with the idea, but eventually gave in, realizing this was the only way he could spend more time with you.

“I’m surprised you didn’t have practice today. I thought Quidditch was like your number one priority,” you say, glancing at him before returning your attention to your parchment.

He gasps dramatically, placing a hand over his heart.

“How dare you?” he says. “Spending time with you is my number one priority. Quidditch is only a close second.” He grins at you.

You make a face at his words before looking up from your work, you punch him playfully on the shoulder.

“Eugh! You’re so cheesy!” you say, scrunching your nose at him.

He laughs, rubbing the spot where you hit him. “I’m not kidding. You’ll always be my priority.”

“Pfft—stop it!” you say, punching him again. “I doubt you even know me that well to say things like that.”

His right brow arches. “Oh? Are you challenging me?” He shifts into a mock-thinking pose, arms crossed. “Let’s see… First off—you like doing your homework way earlier than anyone else in your year,” he says, gesturing toward your parchment, making you giggle.

“You… like arriving late to the Great Hall because you enjoy the silence in the hallways when you walk. You like putting your hair in braids when it gets too hot. You love talking about your family—especially your four dogs…” he goes on, and now you’re smiling, looking right at him.

“Now let’s get into what you hate... hmm,” he muses, tapping his chin. “You hate people telling your stories for you—that’s why you never do that to others either. You hate anything too sweet, especially sweet coffee, because in your words—‘that’s not the purpose of coffee!’ he mimics in a high-pitched tone, trying to sound like you, which makes you laugh.

He carries on, “You hate it when someone uses something and doesn’t put it back where it belongs. You hate running out of ink—so you buy ten bottles every month, just in case. And…”

He leans in closer, the space between you two vanishing, and suddenly it’s just you and him, smiling at each other.

“…You hate knowing that I’m right about everything I’ve said so far,” he finishes, grinning at you.

Then, without another word, he leans in—and kisses you on the lips.

You’re the one who pulls back first, both of you staring into each other’s eyes. His hand gently caresses your left cheek.

“I should’ve never rejected you.”

Your thoughts are suddenly interrupted by what James just said.

“What did you just say?” you ask, now slowly leaning back.

His eyes widened. “I mean—”

Before you can hear another word, you gather your things in a hurry and speed-walk towards the library doors.

“Fairy, wait!” you hear him call out behind you as you rush through the halls toward your common room. Tears are building at the corners of your eyes. Luckily, no one’s around to see it—because if anyone did, you just know this would be all over Hogwarts by tomorrow.

Someone suddenly grabs your shoulder, spinning you around—of course, it’s James Bloody Potter.

He stares at you, eyes pleading. “Please, let me expla—”

“Explain what?” you snap, your voice raising in frustration.

“What I said earlier, it’s not what it sounded like.”

You just stare at him, giving him the chance to explain himself.

“I really, really, really do like you. It’s why I never brought up that… I’ve already remembered what reality is. What you and I actually are,” he says, voice soft, almost desperate. “I know it’s selfish. I know I’m in the wrong…” he trails off.

“But I didn’t want to lose you…” he finishes, his hands now resting gently on either side of your arms.

You just look at him, tears in your eyes as he gazes back at you with those soft, pleading eyes of his. The hallway you’re currently in is quiet—only the two of you, and your voices, would be heard if anyone happened to walk through right now.

You take a breath first before asking, “How long… have you had your memories back?”

He just looks at you, silently begging you not to make him say it. But you shake your head and ask again.

“How. Long. Potter.” You say each word with heavy emphasis.

“…I got them back the night before our game with Ravenclaw,” he admits, still holding onto you.

“Argh!” you push his hands off your arms, clutching your things tightly to your chest as you storm off again—this time faster, heading toward your common room.

“No! Please, just give me another chance—” he calls, catching up to you easily and wrapping his arms tightly around you from behind as you struggle to get free.

“Let go of me, Potter.”

“No. Not until you hear what I have to say,” he insists, still holding you in his arms.

“I’ve already heard what you had to say—and I don’t want to hear anything else,” you say, still struggling.

You can hear his ragged breathing near your ear as you swipe at your tears. “Y-you rejected me… y-you said I-I had no substan—”

“I was wrong. I was so wrong,” he interrupts. “You’re vibrant, sweet, funny, and kind.” His head drops near your shoulder.

“So, so kind… please…”

You try to breathe properly as his words trail off. His warmth surrounds you as he continues to hold you from behind, your tears silently soaking into your hair and robes as you struggle to steady your breath.

“I’ll…” You slowly pull his arms off of you, taking a deep inhale as you try to calm yourself. You turn around to face him, and see that his eyes are red now too, his breathing heavy. You swallow hard before speaking, “I can’t. Not right now… I just… I want some distance between us.”

As soon as you say it, he looks like he wants to object—but then he sees your state. He takes a few more deep breaths, trying to ground himself.

He reluctantly nods. “Okay. Take all the time you need.”

—

It had been a few weeks since that day.

As you predicted, rumors had indeed started swirling around Hogwarts about your supposed breakup with James Potter. The theories varied, most suggesting that James simply wasn’t enamored enough to stay—though you were convinced those were mostly crafted by his more obsessive fangirls.

Just like James had promised, he gave you all the time and space you needed to clear your head before speaking to him again. Still, every now and then, he’d send you a letter just to remind you that he was still waiting. Sometimes, you could feel his eyes on you from across the Great Hall, the Courtyard, the Library... even while walking the hallways. And yet, every time you glanced in the direction of his gaze, he was already looking elsewhere.

You were now walking towards the Quidditch pitch, remembering that James once told you they held practice every Friday after classes. When you finally reached the changing rooms, you approached a player whose name you didn’t know and asked if he could call James for you. He looked confused at first, then his eyes widened slightly as he seemed to recognize who you were, nodding quickly before rushing off.

As you waited outside, you heard a chorus of playful “Ooooh!” followed by James yelling, “Buzzer off, you wankers!”—which was followed by a round of muffled laughter and teasing.

He appeared moments later, scanning the area before spotting you tucked in a corner.

“Hey…” he greeted you with a smile.

“Hey,” you replied, smiling softly back at him.

There was a pause, just a few seconds of quietness before—

“So…” you both began at once.

“Oh no, you go first,” you said quickly.

“No, you go. I’ll just listen,” he insisted, nodding for you to continue.

You smiled again before glancing at the ground, your hands slightly clammy from nerves.

“I’ve thought about it and…” you started, “I think we should move on from everything that happened.”

You raised your head to meet his gaze. James was watching you closely, giving you his full attention.

You continued, “It’s not fair for either of us to stay hung up on a ‘relationship’ that started from something as absurd as memory loss. We both deserve to go through all the cute little things—the awkward first dates, the late-night talks, the butterflies—before being in a real relationship. I don’t want either of us to miss out on that. I’m really sorry.”

You finished your piece and waited. You were bracing yourself for disappointment, maybe even denial—but instead, James just smiled.

He nodded. “I respect that,” he said. “And I hope the person you confess to—or the one who confesses to you—makes you just as happy as I was when I was with you.”

You smiled at that, and almost instinctively, you stepped forward to hug him.

He hugged you back.

A few seconds passed before you both pulled away, exchanging goodbyes. You wished him luck with practice, and he cheekily wished you luck on your walks, which made you laugh.

As you walked away, your heart felt light and a little heavy all at once—happy but sad, calm but kinda conflicted. That was, until you heard that familiar nickname again.

“Hey! Fairy!”

You turned around, surprised to still see James standing in the exact spot you left him. His hands were cupped around his mouth as he called out across the pitch. You tilted your head, confused.

“What is it now, Potter?”

He grinned. “I like you! And I want to get to know you more—over butterbeers in Hogsmeade!!”

Your smile faded, your eyes widening.

What?

He kept going, calling out again with a grin that didn’t falter. “What do you say?!”

You stared at him, frozen—your expression stunned, lips parted slightly. He stood there, just smiling.

A few seconds passed before a grin slowly crept across your face. You laughed, the joy bubbling up inside of you as the words finally registered. He kept grinning, watching your reaction. You cupped your hands around your mouth, your voice carrying back to him.

“Absolutely! I’d love to go on a date with you!”

[sustancy]

[eddielove]

Steve with cap backwards and sweater has me on chokehold 😋

[speakno-w]

₊° 𖦹 ‧₊ ˚✮ 🫧 ✧ ˖ ° . 🧚🏻 ‧₊˚ ☽ . ⭒ 🪐 ༘⋆

[kassy-djomunson]

he’s so cute i wanna kiss him all over his pretty face